26.2

Birdie and I finished a marathon!

Last weekend my sister and I flew to Orlando to run a marathon with our aunt at Disney World. It was fun/hard/rewarding/painful/long/awesome/FINISHED! It was especially wonderful running and training with my sister and being there with my aunt. Plus, if you're going to run 26 miles, I suppose Disney World isn't the worst place to do it!!

I have to confess though, I don't think I'll do it again. Too hard on the old body for me! So, after marathon #1, I am officially retiring from my marathoning career. But I'm glad I did it once. Now at least I know I can. And that is something to be pretty amazingly grateful for!

My sister, aunt and I all done!

The whole running crew with our medals!
My aunt's running group let us wear their team shirts..
"Will Run For Food!"
Right up my ally.

once upon a time it was the year 2012

and in that year I did not die. Though perhaps I went into hiding for a bit. Maybe I haven't come out yet completely. But I can't move on without saying something.

Last year was... not really a year. It was not one. A whole. A unified entity.

I think of last year and I feel I lived so many lives in so little time. It is a little scary. And a little hard to explain--being many people. And yet only one.

2012 started smack dab in the middle of my life in Spain. I rang in the new year with my Spain family in the living room of that house where I lived that part of my life. We celebrated with food and dancing and music and joy. Just a year later and it feels like an eternity ago.

The women of my Spain family!

A reason to go home.  (photo by Spencer Boerup)

A month later, in February, I was home. I was celebrating again. This time, the marriage of a dear best amazing darling friend. It was like being picked up and dropped, for a few days, right into the middle of a life I hadn't lived for years--my friends and family together again for the first time in more than a year for some of us. It was magical. And hard. And wonderful and frightening and short.



Within a week, I was back in my Spain life. Teaching. Traveling. Hanging out with friends and alone and living as if it was all normal and real. Dating and breaking up. Laughing and crying and just being. Until it was done. And there were goodbyes and endings and unanswerable questions about futures. As there usually are.

Half way through 2012. Just turned 25.
Florence, Italy.

I left Spain on my own. I spent my 25th birthday as a tourist somewhere in Tuscan Italy, in the middle of a new adventure that was, for the first time, mine alone. Post-Spain. Pre-NewTucson. I wandered through Italy and fell in love with the beautiful landscapes and churches and paintings and history. I drifted through Paris and was enchanted with everything, even though it was sometimes cold, even in July. I ate the best falafel of my life and entered the homes of great artists and felt like the very air there made the world and people and myself lovelier somehow. I decided that my next language would be French.

(I'm not joking, but I should be.) 

Dad and me at The Alhambra.
Granada, Spain.

Days later, in mid-July, I was traipsing through southern Spain with my Dad. Driving on back roads through beautiful countryside. Hiking through otherworldly rock formations. Floating in the salty sea waters of the Mediterranean. Trying to take it all in. But already being pulled into what was next.

When I arrived in Tucson at 11:30 pm on July 29, I was already scheduled to attend training for my new job at 8 am the next morning. In the most unlikely turn of events, I was already a teacher. A 4th grade teacher at a little charter school. And the next unbearably new part of my life had started.   right at the end of July. Without pomp or ceremony. Without time to wrap anything up or become (re)acquainted with this new home. What was had ended and what would be was already bulldozing a new path I hardly had time to consider before launching myself into it.

The last 5 months of 2012 were a blur. A terrifying, glorious mess. An education and a re-education. A new beginning. A return to the past. I still hardly know what to do with those months. They disappeared faster than my brain could take them in. I was home for the first time in 6 months or 7 years, depending on how you look at in. But really, I was in a new life and a new place, not even knowing the street names (anymore). There was no time to think or process, there was barely time to breathe. Luckily, I had my family. My friends. Such good friends! And zumba classes and running and great co-workers and funny moments and busy-good weekends. I even went rock climbing--a new love!

Then it was over.

Well, sort of. Because the year and the phase are not the same thing.

I still don't know what to make of 2012. Except that it is all a blessing. One more piece of my life. Of my heart. Of my soul. Of who I am and will be. Whoever that is.

With that, I wish you all an abundance of peace and love, wherever this crazy life takes you!
xo

On your mark... Get set...

Let the travels begin!

Wish me luck, adventures and serenity (because I'm a little nervous!! in addition to very excited!!).

First stop: Roma

PS. Please send good luck vibes

that I won't forget to charge my camera battery.

That's the WORST!

(Well, you know, of the

safe and alive

kind of problems.)

Advise me, dear people.

Away I Go!

Next Wednesday I leave Spain for a few weeks of pure adventuring! I'm heading to Italy and France (and maybe squeezing in a bit of Greece...) and then back to Northern Spain. I'll be spending the greater part of my time traversing Italy. I have some things planned and I'm quite excited. But for those of you with some traveling under your belts, any suggestions?? Places I can't miss, great food to try, nice hostels, travel secrets, etc. Anything you've got! I'm trusting in your expertise :)

Mil gracias!

I feel GREAT!

On my last day in London, on Easter, I had the terrible stomach cramps. The I think I might pass out/throw up in the middle of the street kind. So I picked up some Ibuprofen at the drug store and popped my usual 2 pills*. After about 45 minutes I was feeling fantastic! Really perfectly, wonderful! I commented to my friend that these pills really did their job! I was thrilled.

It wasn't until just now when I looked in my medicine cabinet at the ibuprofen I had brought with me from the US that I realized that the pills I took in London are double the dose of my normal medication (200mg to the usual 100). So... oops. hehe.

But if you happen to be wondering, taking the equivalent of 4 ibuprofen IS effective for pain relief. You will feel spectacular. Though I don't know if it is necessarily advisable on a regular basis. Still, thank goodness for those pills or I would probably have spent my last day in London writhing in pain.

God bless the beautiful UK!

(and her double dose drugs!)

*just in case you're worried:

the box said I could take 2 of the double duty English ibuprofen,

so I probably won't die.

yet.

Tangents

When I was in Oporto I heard a great Portuguese song, the subsequent search for which led me to this song, which I am now obsessed with.

It is actually Brazilian. Which reminds me that I drank some delicious Maracuyá juice yesterday at a Turkish Kebab place. Maracuyá grows in Brazil, as do many delicious fruits. And I now want nothing more than to move to Brazil, eat delicious tropical fruit, explore the rain forest, soak up some sun at the beach and listen to good music!!

But Spain is okay too, I guess ;)

Pesadillas

Sometimes when traveling I have a rather hard time sleeping. For various reasons. Sometimes it is because I am scared out of my wits. For example, in high school when my choir went to a competition and I woke up screaming in the hotel only to find out the my roommate was having a "night terror" and was yelling and pounding on the door trying to escape from people she thought were attacking her. Needless to say images of her dream-fiends crawling in the the bathroom window and hovering over my bed in the dark didn't exactly lull me to sleep.

Then there was the time a few years ago when I had to "sleep" in my aunt's "office," where she keeps all of her magic supplies--crystal balls, various useful materials for seances, books on voodoo, magic and spirits. As hard as I tried not to be mortified by the thought of the strange spirits that my aunt evoked in that space, I couldn't for the life of me free myself from the sensation that I wasn't alone in that room. And I didn't like it. I don't know that I've stayed in bed so still and wide-eyed with fear since I was a little kid afraid of the dark. All I wanted to do was get out, but I was too afraid to move.

Most recently, I had a different kind of frightening experience the first night I spent in Porto, Portugal a couple weeks ago. This particular scary night had less to do with dreams and imaginary(?) spirits and much more to do with the two random roommates I was sharing the hostel dorm with.

To try my best to make a long story short (though generally I am much more adept at making short stories long...):
When I went to bed around midnight on the top of one of the two bunk beds, no one else was in the room. So, my first introduction came at 4:30am when one of them flung open the door, half crazy and (I assume) quite drunk. He woke up his friend (who had come in earlier and gone straight to sleep), and me, asking for empanadas which apparently he suspected the other roommate had, or perhaps had eaten. This was all going on in Spanish, and while I was half asleep. I tried to ignore the arguing, until I heard a large crash and, peering over the edge of my bunk bed, witnessed an all out brawl as the formerly sleeping roommated pummelled the other guy, and then vise versa. I think I interjected a few feeble, "what are you doing?"s and "what is going on?"s. And then continued to stare wide eyed and opened mouthed at this unbelievable scene from my loft above. After they stopped hitting each other, the sleepy roommate started getting dressed and throwing things around the room and threatening to turn the other guy in to the police. The other one told him he was making a fool of himself and that he'd kill sleepy if he went to the police. They argued for awhile longer, until the sleepy one left (to go the police??) and I realized I was still staring at this random guy (who I now realized was a potential killer). I quickly lied down tried to look like I was sleeping, as the guy got into his bed and said "sorry" before turning out the light. I confess I found his apology rather feeble and insufficient given the situation at hand! But I let it go.

For the next twenty minuted I stayed in bed half trying to sleep/half contemplating the likelihood that this guy sleeping two feet away from me might be a dangerous criminal. Finding it impossible to sleep under these circumstances I finally crept out of bed and sneaked (why can't it be snuck??) out of the room as stealthily as possible... just in case! When I got down stairs to the lobby the hostel worker looked at my half asleep, dishevelled, barefooted self as if I was crazy. And when I explained that I was having trouble sleeping after being awakened by a rather noisy fight and threats between my roommates he helped me get some tea and eventually found me another place to sleep for the night.

Being as it was 6:30 in the morning before I went back to bed, and that I spent most of my remaining hours of sleep wondering how I was going to get back into the room with the scary strangers to collect my things in the morning, it was overall a rather tiring night.

But by the morning, it didn't seem quite as scary, and I felt perhaps I had slightly overreacted with my hasty escape during the night (though I still checked to make sure I would have different roommates the next night and crept quietly into the room in order not to wake anyone up when I went back for my things). So, when I was getting some hot chocolate in the kitchen after breakfast and some guy who I asked to pass the milk apologized to me for last night, I thought perhaps he had confused me with someone else. Until I realized--"Eres tu!" The dangerous criminal from the night before was there before my eyes, speaking to me quite politely and looking much more like a very embarrassed and sleepy young man than a murder. So after embarrassing him a bit more by recounting and questioning him about the events of the previous night in front of everyone at the table, I felt quite alright about forgiving him entirely. I mean, I might not have gotten much sleep, but at least I had an interesting adventure.

And the next night my roommates were girls who went to sleep before I did! Which reminds me of something I heard once-- a hostel is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get. Or something like that, anyway.

Is this real?

Lately it has come to my attention that I have a somewhat strange perspective on my life here in Spain. It's as if I see this is a step out of reality; some kind of intermission in the story of my life. I didn't recognize it at first, but when I noticed myself continually having thoughts like, "In real life I would...." or "If this was my normal life..." or "When I get back to my real life..." The problem is, I haven't stepped into some alternate reality and left my life behind for me to pick back up someday when I get back.

How did I get this strange notion into my head in the first place? I don't quite know. But I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I am far from home and far from the things I have normally done (like being a students, which only consisted of, oh I don't know, practically my entire life). Because I knew when I came here that it was a temporary and I expect to go back to the United States again next year... and also back to school. But also because I have an overly active imagination that causes me, at times, to blur the line between fantasy and reality. Because for months I imagined life here in Spain and now that I am here it is almost as if I have been subsumed into one of my dreams--something that, although close to my actual life, is not actually true, but a realm of semi-reality and unlikely possibility.

I have this problem often--I have to make a concerted effort to differentiate between what is really going on and the imaginary scenarios that I create in my (day) dreams. Just today, for example, I had to yank myself out of an imaginary situation when I realized I was tearing-up as I was walking home from the train and someone on the street might notice. How do you explain that you are crying over an imaginary event that you created in your mind--not something real, but an imagined possibility (though quite distant) based on certain real life events that have occurred. If you don't think I'm crazy by now, I'm sure some Spanish stranger listening to my broken, confused explanation certainly would!

Anyway, the point of this rambling (which in my world of imagination my many readers are raptly interested in, as always :) is that I have somehow convinced myself that I am on a break from reality. I imagined this experience so often perhaps, or the feeling that I have been scooped up from the normalcy of the life I knew and deposited into another world is so strong, that I have started subconsciously dividing my time here from the rest of my life and my "reality." But that can be no more. I am here. And this is real. My life is not on pause, nor can it ever be.

I don't want my life in Spain to be some hazy dream experience, but a vivid piece of my life that can connect with the many other experiences I have had and that will blend into my future and prepare me for what lies ahead. And so, I commence with a new effort to change my mindset and to really live my life here in Spain.

So, saludos y besos from Spain!! I'm really here :) xoxo

Fairly Representative

I have been in Spain for two days, and I already did this:

In addition to falling down and twisting my ankle, I got sick on the plane, couldn't get money from the ATM or exchange dollars for Euros, felt compelled to eat the ceviche I was served for lunch, and repeatedly embarrassed myself by not understanding or not even hearing things people are saying to me in Spanish (sometimes I have a tendency to kind of block out conversations in Spanish until all of the sudden everyone is looking at me and I have no idea what they just said and then they think I am really stupid).... only 9 months to go.

On the other hand, I've already met some great people. The family I'm living with are so kind and they have helped me out a ton. And the other teachers are fun and friendly. A few of them helped me hobble to the metro after I fell down outside of our meeting (causing the previously mentioned ankle injury). I honestly don't know where I would be, in Spain or in life, if it weren't for the kindness of other people. I am nothing without my family and friends! I love you all! (But if you don't read my blog you won't know it ;))

A Provo Parting

After 6 years, tomorrow I will finally depart Provo, UT.

Everything is packed, and I mean packed, into every corner and crevice of my car. Somehow, I managed to make it all fit. I've cleaned, sorted, organized and de-cluttered for weeks (albeit sporadically). The bike rack I bought and assembled is (persumably) securely attached to the trunk of my car with my bike (hopefully) safely in place (a miracle in and of itself). I've tried my best to say a few goodbyes and tie up loose ends. And now all I have to do is get in the car and go.

I will wake up in the morning and leave as early as I can to make the 12 hour drive to my parent's home in Tucson, AZ as safely and smoothly as possible.

I will sit behind the wheel of my poor little car, crammed with more junk than I ever thought it could hold, and I will drive like hell, and hope that I'll make it out of Provo before I'm too afraid to go and before I try to change my mind or go back or before I let myself cry so much I can't see the road.

Because it's time to go. Because I have to. Because, as much as I hate change and goodbyes and not knowing when I'll be back or when I'll see some of these beautiful people who I love so much again, I know that now it is time to move on and do something new. Because Provo has been so good to me, but I've gained what I came here to gain, and so SO much more, and I am finally ready to see what another little corner of the world can teach me.

And so, Provo, farewell.

America America

Last weekend I went hiking and camping in Moab, UT with two of my lovely friends, Halley and Sarah. We went to Arches National Park and then did some hiking in other nearby areas (BLM land that Halley taught me about!). It was glorious!

I needed that trip. It is so good for me to get out of Provo. And especially out of my office and into some of the beautiful natural places that are so close to me here in Utah.

While we were in Arches, we stopped into the Visitors Center and came across these awesome posters from the 1930s and 1940s that were promoting travel and tourism in the United States (see examples below). I bought a few postcard versions, because they were gorgeous. And they made me feel really lucky to live so close to some of America's great treasures--her mountains and valleys and canyons.



I have only lived in two states in my life, but within those two beautiful states there are so many incredible gifts of Nature to explore! Arizona, the Grand Canyon State, home to one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World!; and Utah, with Bryce Canyon and Arches National Park and Zion's and Capitol Reef and so much more (that I hope to explore a bit this summer!). I am a lucky woman. And while I love getting to visit other parts of the US and other spectacular places across the world, where there are more incredible marvels to witness, I would be quite ungrateful if I didn't pause to wonder at the beauty of all that I have right here at my finger tips!

I love it!

lets fly away

I'm ready to go back.

Cusco, Peru
August 2008

i want to go to africa

now.

TIP THE BUCKET!

Check out The Tipping Bucket!! This project is amazing and every dollar you can donate helps to make it possible. Watch this short video about the GREENHOUSE SCHOOL the Tipping Bucket it raising money to fund!



I was in Bolivia this past summer and I had the opportunity to visit some projects that had been done by the organization CHOICE Humanitarian. One of those projects was a greenhouse school like the one that The Tipping Bucket is raising money to build. Please go to the Tipping Bucket site and donate $1 today! (Or more if you can!) You can help children have a warm and learning conducive environment for school! This is a great opportunity for anyone to make a difference in the world!

Take it.

Here's a picture of my friends and me in the greenhouse school with the kids and their professor.


These are some of the plants that are growing in the Greenhouse classroom. The kids help take care of them.

My friend Doug and I with the CHOICE Humanitarian staff in Bolivia!

Visiting a woman and her daughter using water from a CHOICE Humanitarian water project--one of many they have constructed in the Altiplano. It makes so much difference in these people's lives!

So here's the deal--CHOICE Humanitarian does great work. I've seen it with my own eyes! And Tipping Bucket is helping this them get the funding to make these projects possible. YOU WANT TO BE A PART OF THIS! So, one more time, here's the website: tippingbucket.org. Donate whatever you can--$1 makes a difference!

Thank YOU!

This really means a lot to me and to a lot of amazing people in Bolivia who are hoping to give their children a brighter future!

del ano pasado

I left my heart in Bolivia...

Guatemala . . .

Uruguay...

So I am getting antsy again- it's the travel bug. My roommate Rachel says it's the warm weather that does it, but for me it's something else. It's a kind of fear or nervousness; an anxiety that creeps up on me; the constant hand of time reminding me that with every passing day, every moment, I'm getting closer to the end...

the end of my days at BYU
the end of an incredible five years
the end of life in park place 2
the end of studying
and not studying
the end of plans
security
comfort
the end of knowing what to expect in the next
weeks
months
years
the end of a kind of freedom
from adulthood
or responsibility
and maybe even
the inevitable end of my life.

And I'm not ready yet!
there is still so much to see...