coming and going

That's what I've been doing.

Student Teacher

Well? Which am I? Student or Teacher?

...and so the 2012 identity crisis begins!

on the sublime (another post about mountains)

I was new in town, trying not to use my GPS, and not sure where I would end up. Just wandering.

I took in fields, barns, and windy roads while I sang along with Bethany Dillon, “our God is faithful!” Then out of what seemed like nowhere I saw a shiny lake sitting at the feet of mountains. I rolled down the windows and stuck my hand into the warm August air. I wanted to touch them. I pulled over at the lakeside recreational area and stood beside my car for what seemed like an hour, although it was probably five minutes, munching on some fruit snacks and smiling. I slipped my shoes off and felt the grass between my toes -- the warm, tickly, mountain grass. The families enjoying picnics must have thought I was a loon. I didn’t care. I wanted to wrap my arms around the mountains and hold them forever.

surprised by joy

ice cream money goes to the coffee shop...

country music comes on...
cardigans come out of storage...
trees start to show their personalities...
I drive seven hours to breathe in the peanut harvest...

It’s when I can finally lay in the grass or ride my bicycle through the neighborhood without breaking a sweat! Good things happen in October. Welcome changes come in October.

just another day living the dream!

I walked into the church smelling like baby drool, second-day hair still in last night’s ponytail, and somehow I knew what was coming.

“Rebecca had a hot date yesterday!!!”

Amazing what lungs a 13 year old girl can possess, especially when given a microphone. I tried every way possible to explain why lunch with an old friend is not exactly the same as a date, but 7th graders do not cut you any slack. In their minds, boy + girl = date! You know what? I love them for that.

I love that whatever I do on Sunday, I’m going to hear about at praise band practice on Monday afternoon (and so is the rest of the world). I love the way they giggle behind their notebooks like I don’t know what they’re talking about. I love those girls with their developing voices and that one precious red-headed boy who sings with them (I need to remember to give them a hard time for that). I love being real with them, having conversations that I know are being eavesdropped on and then letting them tell me what I said. I love that I’m not such a stranger anymore.

Note to self: Next time, eat somewhere less popular.

“RE-becca, are you really 27 years old?” 

What do you know? For the first time in my life, someone actually over-estimated my age! Her mother scolded her -- making jokes about age is not polite in America -- but I love that little girl’s frankness. I love that sometimes she cries because she doesn’t get to stay for writing lessons. I love that before I can start a writing lesson, I have to hear about soccer camp and Old MacDonald on the recorder and what the baby girl did to her older brother and sister today. I love eating a piece of candy and having no idea what I'm putting in my mouth. I love that when their mom offers me a plate of food, she has no idea how much more she is sending me home with.

Note to self: Always have a job that means something.

I love reading with a baby asleep on my lap because she cries when I put her down. I love knowing glances from middle schoolers. I love three Korean kids waving at me from the front door. If I've learned one thing in grad school, it's that life truly is what you make it.

I love that my life is so full of love in a town that a short year ago was empty.
It doesn’t get any better than that, folks.

the mountains faith moved

I've climbed a few mountains lately, literally and figuratively speaking.

This is why I live in TN.

This picture does no justice to the view from the top of The Chimneys.

Sunset over the Great Smoky Mountains

oh, TESL...

I love internationals! That's no secret. Well, lately I've been having a lot of moments when I become very much aware of the company I keep. You are the people you associate with, right?

You might hang out with Asian students if you...

-recently purchased a shoe shelf to go by your back door
-feel guilty for keeping your shoes on in American friends' homes
-complain because the food at the Chinese buffet can't really be eaten with chopsticks
-know what the spicy red sauce is called
-have American friends who know when you're quoting an international because you pick up an accent
-can't go more than a few days without eating rice -- sticky rice, not Uncle Ben's
-know what a rice cooker is
-often prepare food according to cartoon drawings because you can't read the instructions
-call someone about a job and instead of "Hi, this is _____," you say "Hello, I am _____."
-don't get nauseated at the smell of kimchi
-have tried several varieties of kimchi and have a preference
-get the urge to make the peace sign next to your face in pictures
-would describe a Hot Pocket as "a giant egg roll with a hot, saucy filling."

...that last one was the kicker for me. I just had to laugh at myself. I love it! But seriously, how DO you describe a hot pocket to someone who's never seen one? 

what exactly does that mean?

I've decided some people just don't think about what they're saying. These are mostly things often said to people like myself, people who are young and unattached and doing well just to eat a balanced meal every couple of days.

just one more thing

In my previous post, I forgot to add that the aforementioned young whipper snapper in the gym also practiced a few imaginary free throw shots, and did some pull-ups from the door frame. I didn't want to leave you under-impressed by his immense strength and outstanding masculinity.

boys

Ok, fellas, I need to beg your forgiveness in advance for this post. Please know that I'm not rolling my eyes at your entire species. Really, I'm not. It's just... sometimes... yeah. Moving on.

I haven't blogged one of these stories in a long time, since the early days of my storytelling, but I hope we can all learn something here.

Around lunch time, I walked down the street with two crepe sandwiches and $3.15 for coffee. A latte at the bakery is $2.99, and with 10% sales tax, that clearly comes to *checks calculator* $3.28. But in my mind 10% was on this occasion actually the same as 10 CENTS, like perCENT, so one of those nickels in my pocket was really extra. I went in the bakery and was saddened to learn that they are offering a limited menu this summer that doesn't include espresso (how is that possible?). I quickly settled for an iced mocha at the same price, and obviously I didn't have enough money, so the gentleman in line behind me kindly offered to provide the other 13 cents. How generous! The famous bald barista -- Tony -- had enough in his change cup to cover for me, but I did appreciate the gesture.

Several hours later, I went to the gym with my lady friend (who is single and precious if anybody's interested in moving to Korea this fall). Nobody, nobody looks good at the gym. I drug my pasta-filled body onto the elliptical and had begun to pour sweat when I observed a young fellow standing by the free weights on the other side of the room. I was 99% sure he was a baseball player; I can always tell. Strike 1 (I have known a couple of nice baseball players, but they were exceptions). Then I noticed that he was not even lifting! He walked over to a weight machine, adjusted the weights, pulled a few times, looked at me and smiled, walked back to the free weights, shifted them around, sat on the weight bench, smiled at me drooping on the elliptical, carried some weights across the room to a different machine, went to the water fountain, smiled, straightened all the weight benches, smiled, walked around aimlessly for a minute... moved those same weights three more times without actually using them... You get the point. I think I rolled my eyes as many times as possible in my ten minute "fat burning" cycle. Then I went to use my usual arm weight machine, and the tall joker had it set to the absolute highest notch so that I had to stand on my tip-toes and jump to pull it down to my level. And what was he doing? Watching. And obviously suppressing laughter. Seriously? I don't know what else I can say about that. Little undergraduate boy, you fail.

The end.

sweet summertime

My stomach hurts... bad. really bad.

It could've been the gas station hot dog I ate for lunch (but I had a free coupon!).

It could've been the blueberry cake donut this afternoon (but I haven't had a donut in months!).

It could've been the Route44 Cherry Vanilla Coke (which made me have to pee in the woods on a vacant lot, which resulted in numerous painful bug bites and an extreme feeling of relief).

It could just be my abs burning from that spur-of-the-moment 2.6 mile waterfall hike (in flip-flops).

Bottom line, I went to the mountains today, and my heart feels good... really good.

dirty laundry

So, I go to the laundromat every now and then. I have enough clothes and towels to last almost two weeks, which is about how long it takes me to collect half the quarters I need. In my time at the laundromat, I've done a lot of people watching, and I think the most interesting thing has been the way people carry their laundry.

how B&J made my day

I visited my local scoop shop yesterday and found this on the bulletin board. It really warmed my heart!

Dear Ben & Jerry's Crew,

Thank you for all the trouble you went through to mail my Tomagotchi to me. I named my new baby "BJ" for you.

Sincerely,  

Conner Cross

P.S. Hope to come and get ice cream soon.

a penny spent is a penny invested

...or something like that.

I'm convinced that in every married couple, there is a spender and a saver. One likes to be thrifty, the other wants to be nifty. Ideally, the children will see both sides of the coin (pun completely intended) so they learn how to spend wisely while still enjoying some of the finer things in life. I think I've come pretty close to mastering this lost art of affordable indulgence.

For example, today I had $23 in my wallet. I didn't need any groceries, and I had a little gas in my car, so I decided to run errands and replenish some necessities. Here's what you can do with a twenty.
    ~sandwich, chips, and water from local bakery: $4.40
    ~stamp: $0.48 (walked to the post office and bakery, so saved gas)
    ~toothpaste with coupon: $4 $3
    ~deodorant with package coupon: $3 $2
    ~4-blade razors with coupon: $5 $3
    ~strawberry plants on sale (probably won't even grow, but oh well): $3 $2
(I could spend another post on the sales at Food City this week, but I'll spare you. Just think of 2/$5 V8 Fusion and Buy 1/Get 1 breakfast bars!)

Wait, it gets better. I also had a coupon for a $5.99 dry haircut at Great Clips, which I sorely needed. I didn't bother to wash my hair this morning, and you all know what a mess my hair always is... My mane was so tangled the stylist offered to wash it for FREE just so she could get her comb through it! "Girl, you been ridin with the windows down or somethin? Let me just wash this; I won't charge you."

The moral of this story is that coupons can only do so much, but there is no substitute for unruly hair.
Total Friday Spending: $20.87. Price Without Coupons: $32+

...all this on a day that started with speaking to the mysterious crippled man who walks around town.
Me: "Good morning!" Man: "It's hillbilly time."

Then I almost stepped on a dead bird in the road, but obviously it wasn't an omen.
I consider this a day well-spent.

I'm kind of obsessed with trees.

Of all the things I miss about Georgia, this is pretty high on the list:

one of my favorite views on my favorite bike route in Ailey

Pecan trees will always be my first love... but I think Dogwoods have a new place in my heart.

Today I climbed this tree. It was the best hour of my day.

to do

Here is my list of things that must be done tomorrow, in no particular order:

go for a walk either before or after it starts raining
go to the laundromat
find a better way to cook tofu (that wasn't the most delicious supper)
find a topic for my research paper
call Charter and complain about my 38 missing channels
read read read my library book
look for ways to teach English sentence components to intermediate learners in China
drink another smoothie with granola (that was really good today)
take my favorite Korean kids to play at the gym
fill my backpack with hiking necessities
go to bed early

This is my new life. I don't hate it.

what doesn't kill you

I've been going to the gym all winter, occasionally wearing my chacos or hiking boots around the house and pretending to be outside. I like cold weather, but a person can only breath so much heated-humidified-and-recycled air. Being indoors for too long is like keeping a loaf of bread for too long -- a good thing gone very bad.

"Am I going to die tomorrow?" I asked a friend last week, trying to feel out how much pain I should psych myself up for. His answer: "You might." (Of course we were exaggerating a bit, but I was still a little unsure.) I went on that hike anyway, and I didn't die. I know my legs were burning, I know my ski-knee was yelling at me on the way down, but honestly, I don't remember. I hauled myself up and down 8 miles round-trip, in the soft green mountains I've been in love with since I was seven years old, and didn't regret a single second.

At the time all I could think about was getting over the next ice patch, how to cross that creek without falling in, whether mud or snow was worse. Now all I can think about is how exhausted and satisfied I was at the end of the day, and how clean my lungs felt. I keep thinking about how the trees towered around me; I love trees. I want to do it again.

 MY SON, DO NOT REGARD LIGHTLY THE DISCIPLINE OF THE LORD, NOR FAINT WHEN YOU ARE REPROVED BY HIM; FOR THOSE WHOM THE LORD LOVES HE DISCIPLINES, AND HE SCOURGES EVERY SON WHOM HE RECEIVES. It is for discipline that you endure; God deals with you as with sons; for what son is there whom his father does not discipline? But if you are without discipline, of which all have become partakers, then you are illegitimate children and not sons. Furthermore, we had earthly fathers to discipline us, and we respected them; shall we not much rather be subject to the Father of spirits, and live? For they disciplined us for a short time as seemed best to them, but He disciplines us for our good, so that we may share His holiness.

 All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness. Therefore, strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble, and make straight paths for your feet, so that the limb which is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed. (Hebrews 12:5-13)

Sometimes I'm so tempted to ask God, "Don't you realize how much this hurts? What are you trying to do to me here?" It's easy to forget that the point is not our comfort, but being conformed to His image -- and He suffered quite a bit for that to be a possibility. But in the end, is it the pain we remember, or the results? It seems to me that I only remember that feeling of pain when pain was the final outcome of a particular situation. When I allow God to finish teaching me, I do remember that there was pain, but most of all that He showed me amazing things about Himself. The joy continues; the pain does not, because it was eventually healed.

I see 5 perks of God's discipline in these verses: assurance of God's love, security of belonging to Him, respect for my Father, holiness, and righteousness. That's all pretty good stuff! But in order to get there you have to endure, and that's the hardest part. That's why my favorite verse says, "shall we not much rather be subject to the Father of spirits, and LIVE?" The discipline of our God leads to life! Always! Whatever it is you're going through, whatever hurt you have from failure, whatever painful sacrifice of obedience you're making...  you can hold onto this promise.


It won't kill you. 


I don't know about you, but that sure makes me feel better about a few things.

why I'm in love with my kitchen

If I remember correctly from my literary studies, a well-written Realist text attempts to recreate a sensory experience for the reader. The best of these texts activate all five senses. My kitchen is not a work of fiction, but you might call it both real and Realist.

(I survived for months without a microwave.)

difernt

I'm beginning to understand something about myself: I don't like Americans.

I do love them with the love of Christ. I want each one of them to know Him, to experience His abundant life. But I'd much rather be friends with a foreigner, or for that matter, even be a foreigner.

chopsticks > sporks

But then again, I never have been like everyone else. No matter how hard I try, I cannot be normal. I just can't. I can't make friends in my peer group; I'd rather hang out with older women, borrowed parents, and people somewhat younger than myself. I can't be a herd animal. I can't buy things I know I could make for a fraction of the cost. I can't laugh at SNL because it isn't funny. I can't wear trendy clothes because they're... trendy.

I hate conformity (not to be confused with submission, I'm ok with that). I can't subject my likes/dislikes, my daily habits, my sense of humor, my footwear to the pressure of homogeneity. I'd rather be markedly different than not quite same enough to match. I mean, you don't wear violet pants and a lavender shirt just because they're both "purple." You wear that lavender shirt with pants of some different but complementary color! This is common sense, folks.

So perhaps this is why I find myself befriending the underdogs, the outcasts, the immigrants and exchange students. I find common ground with those who know nothing of norms, either in themselves or their friends. It's comforting to know that we're not expecting anything but open minds, generosity to share ourselves, and peculiarities unveiled. When we're all foreigners, our differences are what we have in common.

I've spent my whole life trying to befriend you, American youth, and how often you've turned your nose up at me. Sometimes the feeling is mutual.