Photo Update

Here are some pictures that Dad took while he was here:



Dad was amazed at the size of the leaves in the Cloud Forest.


This is my school!


This is the library at the Monteverde Friends School. This is my favorite place in Costa Rica. Maybe. This is my favorite indoor place in Costa Rica. Yes. Our kids have been doing a research project and some days I take a group here to work. They sit quietly and learn in the sun lit library. Could it get any better?


This is me eating a granadilla. I have no idea what it is called in English and neither does anyone else I've asked. Any ideas? Dad thought that the packet of seeds inside looks like a brain.


Gooey, juicy and delicious. I especially like this picture because you can see my feet, and they look little and far away.


This is the steepest part of the hill on the way to Santa Elena. This is almost in Santa Elena. See how just past the intersection the road disappears? Yeah.


This is what Dad and I bought at the Farmer's Market on Saturday morning. Yummy, fresh, local produce.


Dad's feet in the mud. I love this picture and I love him for taking it. It hasn't rained this much since he left.


This picture is funny because Dad saved it as Whywasthispicturetaken.jpg

Mr. Awesome and Crew

November 16, 2009

It is 5:20 on Monday night and I am sitting at my dining room table in the light of three candles and one laptop screen. There power is out. Today…today…what a day.

Monday our kids have Physical Education first. They came to us at 9:05 for math class. As they were settling down and trickling in a third grade boy came up to me with a concerned face.

“Ginna, ***** is sad. I tried to get him to come into class, but he ran behind the library.”
Now, this kid, ***** is an awesome kid, so for the sake of the rest of my blogs, lets refer to him by the name Mr. Awesome, because he is. Let’s start over.

“Ginna, Mr. Awesome is sad. I tried to get him to come into class, but he ran behind the library.”
The kid informing me of this?Another cool kid. He always comforts other kids and is the first one to want to translate if needed. Lets call him, IGotYou, since he will almost always have your back. Let’s try again.

It was 9:05, the third and fourth graders were trickling into math class from P.E. IGotYou approached me with a worried look on his face.

“Ginna, Mr. Awesome is sad. I tried to get him to come into class, but he ran behind the library.”

I said: “Thank you, IGotYou, for letting me know.”
I thought: “Crap. Now I have to go behind the library with my sparkly shoes and they are going to get all wet.”
I kept inside: a laugh. Behind the library? Bless his awesome little soul, he must be so sad.
I turned to Tedi. “Um, I’m going to…go find a kid?”
For whatever reason this did not strike Tedi as weird or alarming and she just noded her head at me and kept her eye on the conflict resolution corner where a conflict was not resolving itself.

I stepped outside the classroom and there he was: Mr. Awesome. Lets take a minute to describe Mr. Awesome. He is a third grade boy with knobby knees and floppy brown hair that hangs in his eyes. He is skinny and wobbly. He is my brother when my brother was in third grade. He’s trying to get into sports to have someone to play with at recess and knows more about dinosaurs than any adult I have ever known. When I see him in the hallway he is standing with his head hung low, not making movements towards math class.

Action Plan #1: Try to trick the kid out of being sad. This is one of my favorite things to do. When it works, it works like a charm and makes me feel sneaky and clever, but in the name of Good. Example: Last Friday a four-year-old boy fell down and scraped his elbow. I hid behind pillar observe. He started to whimper, looked around and saw no one and fell quiet. He took a few steps towards where his father was seated across the front lawn and wound up to wail. I popped out from behind the pillar with a huge smile on my face. “Wow! Yes! You totally wiped out! Was it a real one? Is there blood? If there is no blood it doesn’t count. “
He lifted his elbow to see if there was blood and saw none. I am lucky that he is not super flexible or else he would have seen that in fact he was bleeding. He looked up at me and shook his head. Nope, no blood.
“Awww, man! No blood? You’re gonna have to try harder next time.” And then the kid smiled and I walked away.

When I saw a pouty Mr. Awesome this morning outside of math class I thought quickly and remembered that he had been on a trip that weekend. Really, wit had nothing to do with it – his cheeks were pink from the beach.

“Hey, there you are Mr. Awesome! How was Nicaragua? Did you have fun? You look like you got some sun!”
Mr. Awesome looked a little less sad. “Yeah, it was fun.” As he talked he had his right hand cupped over his mouth and kept his head down.
“What happened, did you get hurt?”
Mr. Awesome looks a little more sad and explained that during P.E. class, which was held in the meeting room due to the rain, he had tried to walk across the room with his eyes closed and three girls had run into him at once. Hm. Interesting.
“Was walking across the room with your eyes closed part of the activity?” I asked.
Here Mr. Awesome become more animated and in his roller coaster speech, explained: “Well, no. You see, I saw some of the tougher kids in class doing it and I wanted to be tough too so I tried it.”

And this is where my heart melted. Can you picture it? Skinny kid, knobby knees sticking out of his rubber boots, floppy damp hair hanging in his eyes, explaining how he got hurt, trying to be tough.
“Well, Mr. Awesome, you did it! You got yourself a fat lip, and it looks awesome! That seems pretty tough to me!” As soon as I said this I wondered if it was the right thing to say. One of the most wonderful things about this child is that he does not fit into traditional gender roles and he’s totally down with that. During a conversation earlier in the year about what boys can do and what girls can do he explained that not all boys like sports.
“I’m a boy,” he’d said, “and I don’t like sports. It’s just not my thing!” He was comfortable and confident. And then here I was telling him what a toughie he was because he got hurt trying to be tough like the other kids. Oops.

Well, he looked a little bit pleased with himself. He really did have a fat lip, and it really did look cool.
“Are you ready to come into class?” I asked, standing up from where I’d been crouched to get a better look at the swelling.
Mr. Awesome was not ready. Here enters another fantastic, intricate character: INoticed. This child is very observant and phrases his rather detailed and profound observations with, “I noticed that…” Mr. Awesome crumbled into tears. “IGotYou and INoticed called me a liar!”

“Did you talk to them about it?”
Head shaking. Hair flopping.
“Maybe after math class we can talk to them about it?”
Head nodding. Hair flopping. Mr. Awesome comes into class.

And this is the way the conversation went: After math class I asked IGotYou and INoticed over. “Mr. Awesome wants to talk with you.” Usually this is a step that we have the kids take themselves but since Mr. Awesome didn’t have time during math class, I did it for him. We sat down in a circle. IGotYou and INoticed are quiet and focused on Mr. Awesome. He begins:
“You called me a liar!”
“Now wait, Mr. Awesome”, I interjected. “We’re not accusing, we are telling what happened.”
INoticed, in a very kind way says, “Mr. Awesome, can I remind you that you’ve been calling me stupid?”
Mr. Awesome starts from the beginning and tells his experience. When he is done he sits quietly, pouting.
“And what do you need IGotYou and INoticed to do?” I guided.
“I need you to not do it anymore”, said Mr. Awesome through his fat lip.
IGotYou looked him right in the eyes and in a gentle voice said, “I’m sorry.”
INoticedspoke up. “Mr. Awesome? What did I do bad?”
Called me a liar. Eye contact. Gentle voice. “I’m sorry.” We talked for about 7 seconds about using gentle words even when we are playing and then they are off to recess, and I love my job.

In the time that I have been writing this, it has gotten darker. It is now 6:04 p.m. and I can just barely make out the fading light beyond the trees in my westward facing windows. It is dark and the neighbors have started drumming. They are recording an album of African music. Also during this time, a moth flew through the flame of a candle and careened into my face. I swatted it away only to have it circle back, fly directly into the base of the flame, crash into the wick, splash hot wax on my computer and then fall to its death inside the pitcher that is holding the candle.
Really? People have TVs and electricity? For what?

6:10 p.m. – Yay! Power is back on. Having no electricity is ok but really, only for a little while.

7:09 p.m. – I turned off and packed up my computer for the night, but cannot get my mind off Mr. Awesome and his awesome-ness. I feel the need to make a list.

Other Wonderful and Hilarious Things That Mr. Awesome Has Done

1. Last week at Wednesday meeting Mr. Awesome was sitting in the front row. It was a chilly day but Mr. Awesome had on only a t-shirt, shorts and rubber boots. To keep himself warm he pulled his arms into his t-shirt, tucked his knees up under his chin and stretched his t-shirt over his knees, down to his toes. Now Mr. Awesome was just a head, a t-shirt and a pair of boots. I tried to catch his eye to give him a gentle headshake so he would stop wiggling and fidgeting but he was a man with a mission. He pulled his head into his t-shirt and reduced himself further to just a grey t-shirt and a pair of boots. I started to laugh, which is just as distracting as a kid disappearing into his shirt and boots. I sighed and looked away. He was quiet, but he was cold. I opted to not look his way for the rest of meeting and remind him afterwards to bring a sweater.

2. A few weeks ago Mr. Awesome was in a three-person book group with two girls, one in fourth grade, and one in third. I was circulating among groups and stopped next to their table. This was the update that I got from the fourth grader: “I’m drawing what happened in chapter four, and she is drawing what happened in chapter five and Mr. Awesome”, here she paused and looked at him with half contempt and half confusion, “is drawing a monster.” I looked down. Mr. Awesome had drawn a marine animal leaping half out of the water with a long neck and a set of fierce teeth. Mr. Awesome sneered back across the table at the fourth-grader, “Its not a monster. It’s a Reallycomplexnameasourus from the Wordstoobigformetoremember period.” Duh.

In a Rhythm

I have finally slipped back into my happy, solitary routine here in Monteverde. An exciting change has come to Monteverde these past few weeks: the cold. I love it. My house has no insulation and no heating, so when the sun drops into the Nicoya Gulf at night, so does the temperature. I sleep with my wool hat, sweatshirt and down vest every night. I am always bundled and snuggly (Also, I don’t sweat during the day and I my clothes don’t smell).

Yesterday was a clear, sunny, cool, breezy day. It felt like fall in Rochester. The air was crisp and clean. The wind passing over my skin is cleansing and makes it sound like fall in Rochester but the smell is different. Yesterday was a rare day that made me want to stay in teaching forever. Because:
-I got to work early, like always. At 7:20 a.m. I was not so quietly cursing out the copy machine in the main office when I heard, “Hi Ginna.” Oops. It was one of my fourth graders. He hadn’t heard anything. Phew. I feel like I could write a ten-page essay on why this particular student is so awesome, but I will not. I will just say that I was glad that he was the first person that I spoke to on this crisp, cool Friday morning.
-The second student to show up to school on Friday, at 7:25 a.m. was another one of my students. This is the kid who wakes up at 5 a.m. on Saturdays to make brownies, then wakes up his mom, and they eat brownies together. Need I say more? We had a long conversation about his new bike. This is the first time I have noticed a real difference between the students here and the students in NYC. In NYC students were smart and knowledgeable and articulate, but here the students are smart and knowledgeable and articulate about things that actually interest me: frogs, bikes, how to harvest coffee. They could care less about hip-hop, shoes, celebrities.
-At about 7:30 I headed into the classroom and continued to prepare for the day. A small group of students followed me inside and continued to talk to me about things that interested me: a book called When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, a book I have not read. Then we sat around on tables and came up with a multiplication word problem for the class. This is what we wrote: “Andy is moving to Jupiter. He is bringing seven suitcases. In each suitcase he has nine alien friends. How many alien friends is Andy bringing to Jupiter?” After we solved and discussed the problem in math class that morning a native Spanish speaking students raised his hand and asked, “What is suitcases?” and I love working with English language learners. I love watching them find words and make connections and push themselves and find voice and translate for each other.
-In Assembly we sang a song about not washing your black socks. It was great for two reasons: 1) It had a fun, upbeat melody that put me in a great mood and 2) it was about NOT washing clothes.
- Math class was fun. On Fridays the kids have independent work and Tedi and I test kids on their multiplication tables. Do you know that there is nothing more satisfying that sitting next to a child on the steps, asking them their seven times tables and having them calmly and confidently master them? It all starts from the moment they leave their seat and walk over to you. They get this twinkle in their eye, which makes me smile, which makes them smile. Yesterday, my cheeks hurt from so many smiles during math class.
-After school I sat with a fourth grader who had not completed his math work during class. Watching a kid do work is fascinating. Watching them think, seeing how they grip the pencil, sitting so close that you can hear their breathing, noticing how they position their body, boggles my mind. And makes me happy.

Pero ya. Now it is right before 10 a.m. on Saturday morning and I am sitting on the porch under my brightly colored laundry and sipping tea. Wearing a sweatshirt and wool cap. It has been misting for hours and my clothes will never dry and my house smells like mildew but I don’t care.

Here are some pictures from when Dad was here:


This is when Dad and I were trying to stay out of the rain. He was taking pictures of the workers across the street in the downpour working on the roof of the mall, and I was taking pictures of dried up flowers in the flower box.


When we finally made it to the Ranario we had this great view of a Rufus Eyed Stream Frog. In San Gerardo on a night hike I got to see one of these in the wild. Either way, pretty cool.


When we went back to the Ranario at night these Glass Frogs came out and hung out on the glass. After some experimentation with flashlights and camera setting, Dad and I got some pretty cool shots. The white is the little guy's lungs.


Hour glass frog. I can't figure out for the life of me why they are called that. Supposedly they have an hour glass shape on their back, but I'm not convinced.


Hour glass frog belly.


This was what welcomed us out into the night. This is what we walked through to watch the Phillies watch game 4 for the World Series. It was so worth it.

Alone Again

November 4, 2009

The morning that Ji-Soo left I came into my house after dropping him off and saw that his shoes were not next to mine in the entryway and cried. Today at three o’clock the bell rang for dismissal and my dad was not in the library waiting to tell me about his day. I found my way back to my classroom and let myself cry a little. I got home tonight and saw the mound of dishes that he had washed for me before heading back to San Jose and my heart dropped. Loving people and missing them is hard, but worth it.

Here are some highlights from my dad’s visit:

-Dad introduced me to the beauty that is boiled cabbage. Try this: toasted freshly made whole wheat bread, spicy Dijon mustard, two slices of cheddar cheese and a few pieces of boiled cabbage leaf. You should try it, and then you should thank my dad for telling you about it.

-Dad and I had a great Sunday. We played in the kitchen trying to get something presentable for potluck, showed up late and then hung around chatting. Really, I sat watching the downpour and let Dad mingle and chat. He was happy and I was happy. We didn’t want to walk in the rain so we planned to sit in the library and read until it let up. Just as we were about to execute our Library Plan, the rain let up and we headed downtown to the Frog Pond. The day before we had gone to the Snake House and had a great time and learned lots of useful things. After about twenty minutes the rain picked up again and we ducked into a shop and chatted with a student who is a senior at the school and listened to the downpour. The rain let up again, we started our journey again, it started to pour again, we ducked out of the rain again. This time we were under the awning of a small craft store that was closed. We waited and played with our cameras and cringed at the workers on the roof of the mall in the downpour. We realized that we could spend all day waiting and decided to just suck it up. We zipped up and headed out into the rain. We arrived at the Frog Pond at 3:30 soaked to the bone. We had left the school at 2:00. It should not have been more than a thirty-minute walk. I have no idea what happened. I guess waiting for the rain to stop during the rainy season in the cloud forest takes up a lot of time.

3:45 – we enter the frog exhibit. It is still pouring. The exhibit is in a large warehouse with a tin roof. At times the rain is so loud that our guide has to raise his voice and we have to lean in close. 4:45 – the tour ends. We are cold and sit in the café and drink hot chocolate and watch a Michael Jackson special tribute in Spanish. It is still pouring.
5:30 – we realize that if we sit for just fifteen more minutes it will be dark and we can re-enter the frog exhibit and see the nocturnal frogs. We decide to kill time by reading books in the gift shop. It is still pouring.
6:00 – we re-enter the frog exhibit, this time with no guide. We play with the flashlights and cameras and try to stay out of the way of large guided groups. It is still pouring.
6:45 – we exit the frog exhibit, return our flashlights and stand staring at the pouring rain. We have no choice but to zip up and head out. The road into Santa Elena from the Frog Pond is short, but windy and dark. We get soaked to the bone and do not die.
7:00 – we get to Santa Elena. We find a store where Dad tries on a raincoat since his left him soaking wet. The rain stops. We put the raincoat back on the rack and leave.
7:10 – We find a restaurant that will let us watch the World Series. The man who works there tells us in Spanish, “No one in this country understands this sport. Here we just watch soccer.” About every ten minutes he wanders out from his nest behind the cash register and asks up a question about the game. Dad and I eat even though we are not hungry.
8:55 – we ask for the check because we know the restaurant closes at 9. Our waitress says, “oh, no, we usually close at 9:10 or 9:15”, and does not bring us the check. I think we amuse her.
We returned to the restaurant the following night to watch the game again. As soon as we poked our heads in the door the man behind the register put the game on. I guess this is what happens in a small town. I like it. We left early that night because I felt sick, but the Phillies won. Tonight is the next game in the Series. The Phillies have to win to stay in. I am in my pj’s typing this on my bed because dad is gone and I have no one to go on a wet adventure with.

Returning to my list of highlights:

-My dad spent two days in the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. He took tons of pictures. He sat at my computer at night renaming the pictures so he wouldn’t forget.

-Every night when Dad and I met up I would ask him, “What did you do today?” and waited to hear his adventures. He always has adventures.

-Periodically during his visit, Dad would have to stop by my classroom for some reason. Maybe this was my favorite part of having him here. I would look up and there he would be, standing in the doorway, wincing a silent apology for dropping in during work and handing me my cabbage and mustard sandwiches or, today, miming “Where is the umbrella?”

-Last Friday I went for a run after work. On the way back to the school I ran into Dad on his way from my house to the school. I stopped running and walked the last little bit with him.

-The first Monday he was here Dad helped the library committee organize, file and shelve books. I popped into the library after school and there he was, happily stamping away and chatting it up with the library ladies.

-Last night Ben called and I talked with him while Dad made dinner. This is the amazing thing about dads (and moms). They make dinner for you. And then the next day, when they have left, you find a little Tupperware container with leftovers in it in your fridge. It tastes delicious.

-One day, I don’t remember which, I came home from work to find my father in the hammock, reading. He had been at the reserve for hours that day and had gotten drenched on the way home, which he thought was delightful. He had changed his clothes and stretched out in the hammock, reading and listening to the rain.

Something about the book I’m reading:
I’ve finished The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto Guevara and still plugging along with The Happy Isles of Oceana by Paul Theroux. I decided it was time to read something by a woman, so I picked up Nothing to Declare by Mary Morris (I’m on a travel kick). On the inside cover of this book someone has written, “The author truly has nothing to declare. Read at your own peril.” On the title page, in different handwriting: “Book club selection read 2/14 – 2/17. Well written, interesting, but the author whines a lot.” I am on page thirty-eight and I have found no whining. I have found that it can be refreshing to read something by a woman. On page thirty-five, where the author describes living in Mexico and having two other Americans and a Canadian over for dinner:

…Jerry kept putting his hands on me and finally I asked him not to. He said, “You’re so uptight, baby. This is Mexico. Cool out,” and he raised his glass. “Peace, happiness.”
He put his arm around me again and I said, “I can’t eat with your arm around me.”
Then Jerry announced, “I’m a good judge of people and Mary is a real New Yorker.”
“I come from Illinois,” I said.
“Well,” he said smugly, “you’re sure different from the down-home folks here.”
I said, “I just don’t like to be touched by people I don’t know.”
And he said, “Look, I’m simple, I’m not complicated. I just put my arms on you to comfort you. You need comforting.”
He was going to drive me nuts. “If I need comforting,” I said, “I’ll ask for it.”

This is not whining. This is, unfortunately, what happens to a lot of woman and I was glad to read someone who actually talks about it. This makes me think of an AniDiFranco song. I don’t know the name of it but it’s track seven on a live album. I think it’s worth putting all of the lyrics here:

Me and all the kids from the neighborhood
We’d play out in the street all summer long
The rule was we had to go home at night
When the street lights came on

We were oblivious to the rest of the world
We’d hold up the cars in the street
We’d always play boys against girls
And both sides would cheat
Strange men would stop their cars at the curb
Say, “hey sweetheart come here”
And I’d go up to the window and they’d have their dick out in their hands
and a sick little sneer
I’d say, “here we go again. Yeah ok this time you win.”
And I would feel dirty and I’d feel ashamed but I wouldn’t let it stop my game
We would play hide and go seek
Territory would be the whole block
Sometimes the older boys when they’d find you
they wouldn’t want to tag you they’d just want to talk

They’d say, “what would you do for a quarter?
Come on we don’t have that much time.”
And I’d think a minute and I’d say “ok.
Give me the quarter first.” “Fine.”
This time you win. Here we go again.
And I would feel dirty and I would feel ashamed but I wouldn’t let it stop my game
And I remember my first trip alone on the greyhound bus
A man put his hands on me as soon as night fell
I remember when I was leaving how excited I was
And I remember when I arrived I didn’t feel so well

I remember the teachers at school got me so sick
Yeah I went into the broom and I threw up in my hair
And I could go on but you know it just gets worse
And I’d probably just stop there
Girl next time he wants to know what your problem is
Girl next time he wants to know where the anger comes from
Just tell him this time the problem’s his
Tell him the anger just comes, it just comes

For the record, this last tidbit was not inspired by something that happened. The men I’ve met here in Costa Rica have been respectful and non-assuming. Maybe it is the culture; maybe I’m learning to choose my path carefully. I’ve just found it super refreshing to read something by a woman and thought I’d share. Heck, I put everything else on this blog, right?

Random thoughts from weeks ago

October 20, 2009

Ernesto Guevara in The Motorcycle Diaries says,
“I now know, by an almost fatalistic conformity with the facts, that my destiny is to travel, or perhaps it’s better to say that traveling is our destiny, because Alberto feels the same. Still, there are moments when I think with profound longing of those wonderful areas in our south. Perhaps one day, tired of circling the world, I’ll return to Argentina and settle in the Andean lakes, if not indefinitely then at least for a pause while I shift from one understanding of the world to another.”

This paragraph jumped out to me as if it had been highlighted (by me and not by someone else because I bought the book used, which I did not, it was a gift from my father, and I don’t highlight in books anyway but you know what I mean). This is what I wonder:

-“fatalistic conformity with the facts” – what does that mean? It sounds pretty, but I’m a little lost as to how to apply it to the bigger picture.

-”while I shift from one understanding of the world to another” – I love this too. It seems intricate and complex and wonderfully exciting.

I wish I were in a book group with the book. Any takers on an international forum?
On a less meditative note: There was an interesting article in the Tico Times recently about discussion on teen sexuality in Costa Rica. Some interesting facts:
-teenage pregnancy statistics have only been kept since 1984 (in Costa Rica? Is this different from the States? I feel like we have this data from way back in the 50’s, but could be completely fabricating that)
-between 1984 and the present the number of pregnancies for girls under 15 has nearly doubled to more than 500 each year
-between 1984 and the present the number of pregnancies for girls 15-19 has risen 12% to almost 14,000 a year
My question: is it normal for percentages to increase so much during the first few decades of data collection? Especially when the topic is so taboo? Where are all of my social scientist friends? Help me out here.
And here are some interesting tidbits from the article about the Catholic Church:

-the sex ed. Curriculum taught in all Costa Rica schools if reviewed by members of the culture and education commission of the Episcopal Conference of Costa Rica
-thechurch is not down with condoms, believing that they are not actually as effective as they claim to be and interest in selling them is just for business
-the church is not down with birth control
-the church is not down with alternate forms of sexual satisfaction as an alternative to intercourse. Deacon Federico Cruz, executive secretary of the curricular revision group mentioned above said, “The church isn’t going to promote that. It doesn’t help a person grow as a human…It’s training them for prostitution.”
-the church is down with abstinence only although all of the data shows that it is not only ineffective, but failing miserably
Really? I’m not saying we should push our youth out the door to go get jiggy, but maybe we could try to think outside the box a little?

10/25/09
This morning I left the house I am house sitting at 6:55 a.m. I had been up for an hour and half feeding dogs, eating breakfast, throwing sticks and reading and was getting bored. I called Dad, who was staying at my house, and told him I was coming over. The house I am house sitting is way off the main road, down a dirt road that turns into a dirt path that turns into a walk along a fence past a pasture. This morning at 6:55 a.m. the morning sun was just cutting across the sky, sending bright light to sparkle on wet leaves. I have not yet learned to bring my camera with me everywhere I go so I stood for a moment at the edge of the pasture just looking, and then moved on.

I heard a voice from a neighboring house and looked up. It was a second grade boy from my school, the same one who spent time in meeting one Sunday scratching his back with a stick. He looked up as he heard me. “Hi”, he called, recognizing me. I don’t think he knows my name, but it doesn’t matter.
“Good morning”, I replied as I passed. He was standing on the porch of his house, next to a bike.
“This is my sisters bike”, he said. I kept moving. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly interested in having a conversation with an eight year old at seven a.m. about a bike. “I’m gonna go give treats to dogs”, he called from behind me. I guess there was no escaping this conversation. I looked back and he was walking his bike towards me. In the basket of the bike was a bag of dog treats. His dog, he explained, did not really eat the treats. He had found them in his house and was now going to go give them out to the neighborhood dogs.
He gave me a quick story about how his family’s car had completely run out of gas, and then hopped on the bike with a little “oh!” as he realized how high the seat was.
“Have fun!” I called after him as he pedaled away.
“Thanks!” he called back. I wondered: Were his parents awake? Did they know where their son was? Did they know what he was doing? Does he always get up before seven on Sunday? Where was I?
And then, on the way home, cutting through the woods, I asked myself again: “Where am I?” I looked around and saw nothing but trees and early morning sunlight and dark brown earth and sparkle. I heard only rushing water off to my right. “This is my home”, I thought, amazed.

10/26/09
Last night I did not sleep well. I dreampt of robbers. I drempt that I knew who the robber in the community was and I pointed him out to my landlady. The robber climbed down her terraced garden and she smashed him in the head with a cast iron frying pan. Blood started to trickle out of his nose, but he still stumbled towards us. She smashed him in the head again and he fell down. I felt safe. But then, later in the dream, I was running, running, running for my safety.

I woke up in the middle of the night because the dogs barked. Sitting straight up like in the movies, blood running like electricity. I fell back asleep.

Again I woke up in the middle of the night, quickly and suddenly, but not sitting up. I saw a red light out the window and was convinced that there had been an emergency and my father had wandered from my house down to look for me and was wandering around disoriented in the yard. I crept out of bed and crouched near the window, trying to see who had the light. My father? The robber? Why weren´t the dogs barking? The dogs, I decided, had been gassed. I looked around the room. The red light followed my gaze and I realized that there was no one outside. My pulse was so loud I could hear it. I held my hand out and it was shaking.

I did not sleep well.