No Sleep Till Thursday

Its 345 am, my computer charger only sort of works, and I am filled with insomnia and backpain both rare to me. I'm nervous-but-excited for Ecuador. I know that I will get it all once I get there, that things will work out, but there are so many things I need to do to get settled, so many moments and interactions I will need to negotiate. The moment I get off the plane and go through customs won't be that hard, I will just be tired and hating my luggage and clutching my passport. But the moment after that might be hard. I'm not sure if anyone will be at the airport for me. I really should not worry about this, I should be able to land some place and do my own thing, but I've got this vision of thieves seeing that I don't have a hostmama to get me and stealing all my stuff on the sidewalk by the airport and everyone laughing at the lonely gringa. Did you know that I love self pity?

The reason I might not get picked up is Pilar might be busy. I'm not sure of the current situation, but I know that about a week ago, her daughter's fiancee (and father to her grandchildren) had a brain hemmorage. This guy, Santi, is a total saint, a wonderful guy, and the breadwinner for his family. It's scary for numerous reasons; as far as I knew he was in good health and he can't be more than 35. So this is scary beause someone is very sick who no one expected to be very sick, and my mama might not be there to meet me at the airport. She might also be at the hospital or talking care of her daughter and grandsons. I talked to hannah today, though, and she says I can stay at her house that first night I get off the plane before I go to Cumbaya. I really appreciate that, to be able to go to someone I already know and trust. Her mama, Miriam, is another member of the Saints, so I know I'll be well taken care of.

Another moment that I keep rolling over is my travel to and arrival at my house where I'll be staying. Will I go alone or with someone? Who- Jimmy? Hannah? Pilar? If I go alone I'll definitely take a taxi, but if I go with someone I guess we could divide my stuff for the bus...but I've never been there before and I don;t want to wander the streets of Cumbaya with all my stuff. I'll take a taxi. Will I need to act tough? I've got this idea that my dueño will be some Humbert Humbert (LINK) esque fellow who will leave me creepy sexual hints all over the house that I will have to awkwarldy ignore, dumping rose-scented love letters down the toilet and throwing away pink-iced cakes. That could be a little amusing, especially because I;m past the Lolita fashion stage. Or he could be a down right assaulter. But that just doesn't seem likely. I made it clear that I want privacy, silence, and security. I have my own room in a non-high traffic part of the hosue. I have a lock on the door. I'll have my phone on me and Hannah on alert for the police. I can do this. And really, I'm just focusing on this person (the world I'll be using is dueño, which means "owner" but also like "landlord" or "guy from whom I rent") because I'm worried about men in general in Ecuador and how I'll behave around them to keep myself safe. Zak suggested buying pepper spray and I think that's a good idea.

But there's tons of stuff I'm excited for. I'm so excited to see the mountains again, to feel that lightheaded dizzy spin as I lie down. I'm excited to be in public spaces that I love and are so different, like the fruit markets, the grocery store, the pharmacy. I'm so excited to be on a bus again. I took a bus down H St with Michael and it was so great to know how to do it. It was also free because the smarttrip reader was broken, making it the only thing in the US cheaper than in Ecuador. I'm excited to see my favorite parks and little roadside patches of grass with statues. It's going to be so wonderful to recognize things, to remember them and myself and others within them but learn them again in this time and place. i wish I was a photographer so I could capture that feeling of return with images. I'm not, I'll grab it with words. I wil snag it when it finds me because I know what it feels like. It is a combination of many feelings, that sensation of return. It feels like the need to write, firstly, which feels to me like the need to pee but from your fingers. All your carple tunnel muscles ache, but ache to be abused more. My tailbone needs firm contact with something hard, my knees want bend. My head rests on my chin, the perfect posture laptops allow. My arms go weak and my fingers get smart and my sensory percption goes way up. My ears begin to name what goes through them, my eyes search for depth of field. I sniff for clues, I start to drool a little bit. I need to call up every memory linking to anything that's familiar around me while simulatneously suck in all that data for more memory making and more instant and further analysis. It's a combination of entry, processing, and storage and I really love it. For all my vigilance, it;s a very calm sensation for most of my body. I'm being slowly lowered into a pool of blue aloe vera gel and once my head is under my eyes will really open and my lungs will breathe fine. As soon as I reall remember what this place was like, as soon as I really understand where I am at that present second, I'll be with it, so good to go that I'll skip and run to my bus stop or meeting point. When that recognition enevlopes me, I am so strong.

Sunday Slow Sleepy Saliteration

I will definitely miss the little routines of the house. Sundays in particular, even though when there's school tomorrow you sort of feel like making it to the nearest bridge with a hard landing. Alone, they are horrible, dark, frozen slow moving stones. Even with family members or friends its not like they move quick or anything. Naps cut things down, the hours in the afternoon when it invariably rains hard. I always think meals will take a long time to prepare and eat but I'm always done in under fifteen minutes and even washing the dishes takes five. TV shows, though, those take forever. Each commercial break stretches it's five segments over and over, the disputes and drama between characters could be resolved in seconds. The lies every episode of Seinfeld is based around (it's true, isn't it? The characters always lie) are so frustrating; Kramer should just go to therapy and get it over with. Of course, there's nothing as wonderful as Seinfeld on on a Sunday. It's mostly Drop Dead Diva re-runs and ancient movies about horse racing.

Abuela and abuelo and Romario were over today as well. I still don't really understand how Romario is related to the family. I think he is a godson which seems to fall between biological child, recipient of scholarship and servant. He lives with Carlos, the suspiciously unmarried Cordova brother and has his own room and stuff. He's over at abuela's every day after school on facebook. And then he came over to help abuelo move around and is always cleaning things with Javier the guard who definitely falls somewhere on the child-empleada spectrum. But it's good that he came because Abuelo really needs help. He is just so old and frail. He has to live in the lowlands of the coast because he has lung problems and there's not enough oxygen up here. He came to Quito for Christmas and either cannot (physically? logistically?) or does not (consciously? actually?) want to return. There have been many attempts and plans and strategies but in Quito he stays.

When I entered the house he was asleep on the floor. His head and shoulders were on the bump of the futon but the rest of him was on the floor, slip on sneakers with skulls and music notes, ripped cardigan, pants far too large. Pilar and Abuela were asleep too, watching said horse-racing movie. Romario was watching it too, seated on the floor. Is that because he's a 16 year old boy and doesn't want to be too close to anybody or because he is a servant and must sit on the floor? the mysteries of another culture! But anyway, abuelo woke up after a while and Pilar and I hoisted him up by the armpits and helped him walk to the bed.

"Mi amor," he croaks to the half-asleep abuela.
"Hola mi marido, ven aca, hay una pelicula de caballos" says abuela. She is very into the word "marido."

I found him a while later with his cane still in his hand but his body slumped over the kitchen table. He hadn't fallen, just resting bent at an 80 degree angle with his face smushed into the wood. It was a napping kind of day, he fell asleep on the bed again, I took a bone-crushing nap, and even Romario drifted off.

Cariño a Largo Distancia

Cold coffee and pouring rain. Its one of those quiet Saturday that follows a loud night and my ears are happy for the rest. I've got headphones on even though its not loud at all in here, just the rumba of the bakery below and the buses on the street.

But I put these head phones on for a reason, to hear my family when I called them on the computer a while ago. Everyone, all six who had to travel and the four that are already there are in Austin for my Grandfather's 90th birthday. His eyes are failing and his ears are gone and he mixes up our names but his hair is holding on and he still has the statley, calm passion that brought him down from Canada, to love in UCLA, to community psychology in Austin, his three children, his grandchildren, his neighbors and collegues and freinds. I could not be more proud to have him for a grandfather. His truck, the chinese food, the stories and the jokes and the sourdough pancakes and the stories, those stories, helped me feel safe as a little kid and strong as a big kid. And I know, as a grown-up, when ever it's quiet, I'll hear his voice.

This is my 101th post and I was going to make a big hullaballo about it. But 90 years to 100 little paragraphs about speaking spanish? I think he's got me beat on this one. So happy birthday, Grandpa, Mr. Dr. Ira Iscoe, itinerant homeboy with a spatula in hand. I hope your day is wonderful and that you know how much we love you.

Kiki Mama Takka Takka

One of the joys of life is watching your friends become friends with your mother, being friends with other people's mothers, and maybe one day being friends with your kids' friends. I've been lucky all my life to have a mother that barely embarassed me and that always has been someone to show off to my friends. Besides being an excellent mother in the nurturer-breadwinner-help-you-grow, she's also a pretty cool person who knows how to make my friends happy with out creeping them out. She's accepting of thier flaws and weirdness and the stupid things they do near my house. When Elliott Day drank a lot of cough syrup and wine and then threw up at my 16th birthday party, she sent him outside to take a walk. When Jill and I smoked cigarettes in my room, she let us talk about what was stressing us out. When Abby Moore and my sister poured nail polish all over the bathtub at age 6, she got out the bottle of acetone.

And it's almost the same, wathcing Pilar talk to Jimmy's friend MonKiki (a man, and a normal man at that, a middle school math teacher), but with one degree more of separation and observation. I see Jimmy look to his mother before he speaks, Kiki glad to be in a warm safe place, Pilar so happy and comforatble. And I see myself, glad to be included, not saying anything, in my pajamas, eating nachos. Its not like what I added to the conversation was important at all, and they might not have wanted me there. But to hear about thier lives, Pilar and her stories, Jimmy's jokes. And sad things too, how Kiki's girlfriend had an ectopic pregnancy and how they really want a baby. How Pilar regrets her marriage and how Jimmy misses a father. I nod, I grunt along, I sip my beer fast and eat the nachos.

Pilar lets them swear and put thier elbows on the table because she knows they call each other "broder" and will sleep together on Jimmy's rotten mattress on the floor. She knows they are freinds and she respects with wisdom. I hope, I can't wait really, to watch my children and their friends with that same love.

Thinkin Hard

Its 10 am here in Ecuador! I am under my covers like crazy rich uncle Dana eating a banana with peanut butter, God's Gift to Food, and my head itches mercilessly. Just giving you my vital stats, you know.

As this program winds to a close, I'm thinking a whole lot about time and how it's expanding and snapping shut and shrinking in front of my eyes. For example, in late January at some point in my life, my mom and sister came to visit me in Kalamazoo. I was almost completley sure that that was one year ago, but once I really think about it, it's clear that it was two years ago when I was a freshman. They visited me in Hoben, my friends in Trow, we walked around the snowy campus and I skipped out on my caf meals to eat at Saffron and The Strutt. Last year, late January? We were cuddeled up in the sus house, trying to not turn on the heat. Zak had just gone to THAILAND. ( I tried to find your Thailand blog, Zak, and couldn't) I was taking sculputure, statistics, and beginning to gnaw my way through my independant study.

And three years ago? Slogging through twelth grade, knowing I was going to Kalamazoo, a secret warmth to get through physics.

Five years ago? I'd just started reading Cat's Cradle with Zak for the first time, and we all know how much that book means to me.

But no matter how many Januaries and Julies pass, each morning I wake up and slip on my glasses and pray that I haven't peed my pants while sleeping. It's not an issue for me, peeing my pants, it's probably happened five times since being potty trained but it remains something that I am afraid of having happened when I wake up.

With that confession over, I guess I could start actually start making sense here. What I mean to say is that no matter how time stretches and rips and gets tangled up on itself and in my mind, there are some things that stay constant. My anxiety about silly things definitely counts as something that's been there for me forever, and it's probably going to be there until my end. Sometimes, often, its no fun, it holds me back, it keeps me in my room writing furiously or imagining my death via food posioning.

However, the strength of the anxiety does help me remember parts of my life that might have faded otherwise. The churning stomach, the paralyzed brain, tight fists and though loops provide strong, clear points of recognition that might have gotten smoothed over it the physical fear wasn't so strong. And now, in a part of my life that's less riddled with anxiety, I can look back and learn from it.

For example, when I was little, I had this big thing about loosing teeth. I felt so miserable, like a part of me was dying or had abandoned me. I remember being six or seven and loosing a big tooth near the back. This seemed worse than anything, I was crying so hard. My mom, genius that she is, gave me a little potted plant from the drug store to help me feel like life was still going on even though I lost a part of myself.

Yesterday, quietly flipping out about how Ecuador is coming to an end and I'll never travel again and I don't know what I am doing with my life and have no friends, I rewound back to the lost tooth and the little plant. Its the same worry and solution all over again: loosing what is yours, the only thing you can identify and grab onto in the messy world, soothed by the reminder that the universe is larger than your bloody mouth, and that this giantness and variety can be a comfort.

So I keep losing teeth, knocking them out, they fall out while I'm sleeping or in class or at a party. And sometimes they hurt, and sometimes I don't notice until months later, but I always miss them, and I can't resist running my tongue over my bare gums.

But then in my backyard, under my bed, in my notebooks and friendships and heard in my conversations, are a million tiny trees, ferns and bonsais, dying or dead or growing strong, moments that I remember the bigger world around me, stop crying over my teeth, and just chill out and go with it.

So yesterday I lost a tooth and today I found a tree: the sounds people make when they are togehter. I heard in in my house growing up, Ma and her friend having coffee at 8 on a weekend morning. Later as I entrerd the teenager-sleep-forever phase, Ma and Lesters talking artifically loud to wake me up at 11.

"SHOULD WE HAVE FRENCH TOAST, DEAR DAUGHTER WHO DOES NOT SLEEP TILL NOON?"

"WHY PERHAPS WE SHOULD LOVING MOTHER! IF ONLY THERE WAS A THIRD PERSON HERE TO MAKE THE COFFEE!"

"ALAS, YOUR SISTER HAS JOINED THE CONVENT OF HER BEDROOM AND WILL NOT ROUSE HERSELF"

The Sus House bickering and disecting of what happened last night, or the frantic key-board and pages turned as an all-nighter winds down.

And now here, with Pilar and Jimmy, just this morning

"Ma, we have to go!"

"Ok, I just have to find my toothbrush. Did you take my toothbrush?"

"Ma, why on earth would I take your toothbrush?"

"Well, you took my hairbrush yesterday."

"That's different. We both have hair that we need to brush"

"We both have teeth my son. And I am going to brush mine before we leave this house"

My teeth make me cry and my trees make me giggle, and both of them help me remember my complicated, boring, wonderful, thrilling, scary, adventuresome life.

She moves, oh she moves (who remembers that little kid singing that song it was so hilarious)

No blog entry for a week, tisk tisk. But it´s not like I´ve just been lying on my back listening to Phoenix or reading Stranger articles about this huge cocaine contamination problem in the eastern United States. I´ve been damn busy, what with my family coming, worring about the Reina del Camino accident, reading Mary Karr, hugging mom and sister, watching celeste get odd looks for her blue hair, eating excellent food and lots of other stuff. I´m just putting my facebook stati up here from the last week because I´m not filled with ganas to write. But I´m off to Guayaquil soon (1 hr) so maybe there there will be time for fun writing, helpful writing, SIP planning writing, that sort of stuff

accidentally was on the ecuator at noon on the winter solstice with Ellen Iscoe andCeleste Here'stoyouMrs Robinson . That´s cosmic, yo

LOTS OF STUFF HAS HAPPENED: Baños, bike rides, a salad shaped like a volcano, almost getting secuestered expressed, seeing Hannah, seeing Pilar, seeing 150 Salazars I never met before, excellent cebiche, horrible hot chocolate, run away attempts, too much Trole, love from my family, Dr. Bronners and happy holidays

Because I've been such a bad blogger, I thought I'd play catch up a little and go over some fun/cool/important stuff that has happened since I last updated about my scintillating life. Surprise surpirse, I'm going to make a list, because I am very bad at transititon sentances.

December 2. Went to a poetry reading with Ecuamadre. It was very beautiful, excellent poets from Ecuador, Peru and Colombia. I was proud I could understand everything. Favorite line: "Escribir cambia equilibrio/ dame con mi ultima respiro balance" "Writing changes eqilibrium/ give me, with my last breath, balance." Of course, I tried to write brilliant poetry in Spanish, and of course, it didn't turn out very well. Not like STEFANO here, who wins prizes in his second language. But then I wrote about that, and it turned out ok:

Agredecido

Sometimes

I forget Spanish is beautiful

But when I listen to the consenants

sound out slowly

I can remember

I tell myself

Interpret the night

not as a metaphor

between your slippery

poet paws

Follow the sine wave

with the grip of logic

some day, you'll find your zero

I promise myself

I will trust my fingers

I will memorize my face.

So yeah, that doesn't really come togehter right, but its soemting. Its the first non-essay non-journal non-rap I've written in a few months, so that feels nice.

December 3-5- Fiestas de Quito! This was so fun! There were lots of things I didn't go to, but I'm happy with what I did. I didn't go to a bull fight because Ecuamadre is really against them, and learning more, it does sound pretty gorey and inhumane. They kill the bull really slowly and agonizingly, and I just don't want to be a part of that. Even eating meat here is getting to me. However on the positive side, I did go to the El Disfile de Fraternidad which means The Brotherhood Parade. It was held on Ave Shyris, a huge street at the bottom of Parque Carolina, where the citizens march when (not if) they want to overthrow the government. The parade was huge, probably three or more hours long. People were packed along the street. I was with Aracely, and she bought a tiny stool one of the many stool-vendors was selling so that she could see. There were lots of different dance troupes ranging from special-ed schools to dozens of indigenous cultral groups to giant puppets dancing with each other. At least 15 high school and college marching bands, all heavily featuring cheerleaders in unbelievably short skirts and many xylophone players.

I almost got my camera stolen for like the fourth time- It was in Aracely's pocket, a lady started reaching in. Cely started yelling at her in Spanish, and the lady got all mad that we had caught her. What? We were sort of spooked, so we went into a Pollo Campero, which is very different than in the States. There are only maybe five menu items and it is very expensive. Its not fast food at all really, its like a place your parents take you out to dinner.

After that, we went home and took a nap so that we could go to Ferria Quitumbe. Quitumbe is at the very far south of the city, about an hour and a half by trole. Cely, Melba and I went and the trole was PACKED. Luckily, we hadn't brought anything of value to get stolen, but it was still nuts. Eventually we got to Quitumbe which had been turned into a giant fairground. We wandered around for an hour or so, looking for food, people watching, and enjoying the rarness of being outside at night. I ate cebiche from a food stall and I didn't get diarreah or food poisioning or throw up or even feel sick which is a huge accomplishment. And i can drink the tap water now too!

Anyway, we were waiting around for our favorite band, Calle 13 to come on, but the current band played these horrible Disney-esque songs, so we wandered around, looking at crafts, people playing, just enjoying being in a new place. By 10, Called 13 was playing and it was PACKED. I am not kidding. There were at least 5.000 people there, maybe 10.000. Lots. The show itsef was amazng even if we had to depend on the Jumbo TV Screen things and Cely wished she still had her stool. I've only started listening to Calle 13 here through ñaño, but they really are amazing, very powerful and positive music and a very powerful show. The main guy, the rapper was like "I want all the guys here to give themselves a round of applause, and to respect women and themselves. I want all the women here to give them selves a round of applause, to remember to stick up for yourselves, to never let any one push them around. I want all the homosexuals, the bisexuals, the transexuals, the people who don't even know what they are to give themselves a round of applause because you are fighitng a good fight, to know your self, and to stay strong against society." That's pretty sharp contrast from a country that was iffy about showing Modern Family because there are gay guys in it.

So that was amazing, and then at midnight it was Aracely's birthday. The show was over by 1, and we were thinking of taking a taxi back north, but knew it would cost like 20$. Luckily, the trole was packed and seemed safe, so we spend 50 cents each instead. The trole was packed again, but everyone was jazzed from the show and friendly and cheerful. We went straight to south station and instead of stopping at the stops every kilometer or so, the driver would just ask if anyone wanted to stop there. The stations themselves were closed, so he just opened the doors the the curb, and people jumped out at will. It was one of those times were everyone is working together, feeling united and laughing. We kept yelling "Que vive Quito! Qui vive Calle 13! Que vive el Trole!" and stuff like that. I told a group of high schoolers that it was my friends birthday, and the whole bus sang to Aracely as we shot through Quito at 2 am.

Eventually, we clambered off the bus and fell asleeeeeep. Que Vive Fiestas de Quito!

Domingo 12 de Deciembre- Went to Ibarra with Sarvie, IGGY, Ecuamadre and another exchange student and his mom. That was fun, we went to a lot of the places we went in Otavalo. Additionally, we also took the Ecuador naked picture for the SusHouse 2011 calender! If you don't know what I am talking about, just ignore that last sentance. If you do know what I am talking about, tell me if you want one. Once I upload my pictures, I'll put those up there.

Martes 14- Improv Class preformance! Superfun, pictures to come as well. Additionally, I wrote a rant, we all did, a sort of slam poetry thing.

Here it is:

Si, que cueraso eres. En tu bikini, tus tacos, piernas flacas, uñas con manicure. Esto no me moletsa. Estoy feliz que discubriste tu moda y te sientes bella. Lo que me molesta es como oscilas entre passiva y agression y blandes los dos como bistrui. Eres passiva cuando dejes tu pelado a empujarte, ignorar tu mente, valorar tu cola mas que tu car. Eres passiva cuando pierdas la independencia y sueños para que trabajaste cuando eramos niñas. Y eres competitivo tambien, con cosas que no son partidos: tu cuerpo, tus habitos, tu vida intima, tu novio, tus jenes deseãdor, tu perfume, tu carro, tu pelo, tus vacaciones, tus vacilas, tu cellular......

Quiero ser tu amiga, pero es dificil a no caerme en celos cuando no me dejas espacio a ser quien son. Y quien soy? Con mis muslos gorditos y my voz alta y ni un par de tacones y my closet? Soy mujer, como tu. Tal vez te da verguenza a llamarte una mujer y no una chica o una dama. Pero, para mi, me da fuerza.

Here's the rough English version

Yup, you sure look good in a bikini, your heels, your skinny thighs, your manicure. That doesn't bother me. I'm glad you found your style and you feel pretty. What really gets undermy skin is how you swich from passive to competive and you weild them both with alarming clarity. You're passive when you let guys push you around, push up your body (you know what part I'm talking about) and push down your mind. Passive when you forget the goals and the independance that you worked for when we were kids. And your'e competitive too, with things that aren't games: your body, your habits, your sex life, your boyfriend, your designer jeans, your perfume, your car, your vacations, your phone..

I want to be your friend, but its hard not to fall into jealosy when you don't give me space to be who I am. and who am I? With my thick thighs and loud voice and not a pair of heels in my closet? I'm a woman, just like you. Maybe its shame ful for you to call yourself a woman, and not a lady or a girl. But for me, it gives me strenght.

So the feminism and fun continues in Quito, soon to be augmented by family! I'm so excited!

500 Years of Solitude

You probably could have read that entire book since I last updated this blog in any meaningful way. I weep for you, dear blog readers, without the antics of your dear dita and her long stories about linguistics, just as you must have wept for me as I took my finals. Actually, several of my classes were truly able to be classified as "a joke," but still, it was a lot of work.

I'm done now, and I have been since friday, actually. Its christmas time now (just like in the northern hemispere!) so thing's have been pretty busy. We decorated the house for christmas, which entailed setting out 5 different tableaux of things vaguely relating to christmas and closer relating to dolls. Ecuamadre has named each little scene. Here are thier names: The Rich People's Town, The Poor People's Town, The People Dancing Around The May Pole With A Clown, The Animals Going to Jesus, The Nativity Scene of Indigenous People, The Indigenous People, The Chirstmas Tree, and All The Left Over Figurines That Are On The Coffee Table. The cat has already broken four little figures and we all hate her now.

My host family also does something called a Novena for each of the days of advent (is it called Advent? I'm not so good with my religious terms). There are many (9?) siblings in the family, so each day they go to a different sibling's house, sing songs, prey, eat dessert and talk about Christmas. It's a really lovely tradition, everyone seems so happy. And I've learned Our Father and Hail Mary in Spañol.

The other really exciting news is that my family is coming today! Originally, until about 6 last night, I thouth they were coming on Tuesday, but no, it is today. I am going to get them at the airport at 7! I'm so excited to see my ma and Lester again, to show them all the wonderful places I have met, to watch them struggle with the altitude and bus routs just like I did, to hug them and eat good food and go to Baños!