Ketchup

Well, let’s see what’s been going on. In no particular order at all:

1. I’ve been listening to a lot of NPR. I like to stay posted on current events.

2. I’ve been reading too many books at one time. Currently I’m swapping between Dickens’ David Copperfield, a Sookie Stackhouse novel, a children’s manga series called Ochibi San, a Julio Cortázar short story in Spanish, and Stephen King’s Four Past Midnight. I like diversity in literature.

3. I’ve been watching a lot of movies, namely, Paranormal Activity, which made me think my apartment was inhabited by demons and prevented me getting any good sleep for about a week. But then I realized that things weren’t moving around by themselves, so I calmed down a little bit.

4. I’m taking the JLPT on December 4, this time Level 3. I’m planning on failing, which means I’m not studying nearly as much as I should be. I just find it impossible to inhale as much kanji and vocabulary as I need in order to pass it. But, like they always say, ganbarou……ne?

5. I want to go look at autumn leaves! I just haven’t gone yet.

6. Since the weather is so nice, I’m riding my bike to school more often. I say hello to Kohei and Ryosuke every morning as I cycle by their house. At the traffic light, I usually run into Misaki, and from Mitsudera Park to the school there’s a steady stream of students to say good morning to. I don’t know why they still act surprised when they see me, though. . . I’ve been riding my bike off and on for months.

7. One terrible thing happened today that I didn’t find out about until later. A 2^nd grade student, a fellow member of the track-and-field club, got hit by a car on her way to school this morning! She is OK, but her left arm and shoulder got hurt pretty badly and had to be put in a sling. She came back to school this afternoon (just to pick up her assignments with her mom) after spending all morning in the hospital. Needless to say, she was still a little shaken up, but seemed to be doing all right. I love that brave little Moe!

8. For the most part, school is going pretty well. My 2^nd grade teacher had to suddenly resign due to health problems, which upset that grade a bit. She’s been replaced by an assistant teacher, who is slightly panicking but still doing a fine job. They say it’s just for a little while, but I also hear that it’s really hard to find a full-time English teacher mid-year. We’ll see if anything changes before the end of the school year in March. Some days I get upset at school because I have so much work to do, and some days I have time to tranquilly sip a cup of afternoon coffee while reading a book. It just depends on what week it is.

10. And last of all in my list of news, one of my Japanese friends is leaving on Sunday to go abroad to Canada for a year. We had a big farewell party for him with a lot of ALTs, which was both fun and depressing at the same time, as farewell parties are apt to be. Later, he told me, “It’s funny how one little incident can change the direction of your life. Two years ago Shinji invited me to have dinner in Shibukawa. If I wouldn’t have gone, we never would have become friends again. Then I wouldn’t have gone snowboarding. I wouldn’t have met Graham and Peter and Jacob and Kaitlin. And I wouldn’t have gone to Canada. And now I’m going to Canada. Just because me and Shinji went out for dinner.”

So now I’m thinking about those things, too, and tracing my life events back to their origins. Where would I be if things had been different?

Upcoming Events

November 13, International Bus Tour, hopefully to meet more Spanish-speakers

November 19, Wine Festival

November 22, ALT Thanksgiving Dinner

November 23, a day off (and my dad’s birthday)

Peru

One fine evening a couple of weeks ago I was walking around downtown Takasaki by myself, feeling hungry. Not wanting to be the girl who sits alone at an actual restaurant, I ducked into Sky Turk, a fast-food type restaurant run by a Turkish guy who works alone selling kebobs and pitas. I was the only customer in the restaurant, besides a college-aged Japanese boy chain smoking at the counter (a personal friend of the owner, I later discovered). The owner, who speaks pretty good English, started to chat with me, and soon found out that even though I live in Japan, my heart is still in some Spanish-speaking country.

“Spanish?!” he asked, incredulously. “Do you know Mr. So-and-So from Peru?”

I actually didn’t know Mr. So-and-So from Peru, and told him so.

“Well, that’s just something we’ll have to remedy,” he said, although not in those exact words.

A week later, I showed back up at the restaurant to meet this famous Peruvian. He’s a nice-looking guy somewhere in his 30s, who has been living in Japan off and on for several years now. Not only does he speak his native Spanish, but perfect Japanese and English as well. We sat down at a table and immediately started chatting in Spanish, while the Turkish owner and ubiquitous chain-smoker gawked at us and murmured, “I don’t understand a thing” over and over in Japanese. It was nice to be able to communicate fluidly in a foreign language for the first time in a while, although I noticed my espanol is taking on some distinctly Japanese characteristics. Mr. S and I decided to get together the following week and enjoy all the Peru Isesaki City has to offer.

I’d been to Isesaki a couple of times before, but only ever with Japanese people. It was actually kind of natsukashii (nostalglic?) to be back at Isesaki Station without having Shogo there. This time, though, I got to see the South American side of the city.

Mr. S and I took the train in and walked a couple of blocks to El Kero Peruvian Restaurant. It’s a little place about the size of my apartment (not very big, I mean) crammed with wooden tables and chairs and Peruvian decorations all over the walls. A television hung from the ceiling in one corner, blasting Latin American hits from across the years. How can I describe the feeling of listening to Elvis Crespo sing “Suavemente” (throwing me back to Cuernavaca, Mexico in 2001), while studying a menu of Peruvian food in some little city in Japan?

We split roasted chicken, some kind of cold sliced potato/mayonnaise deliciousness, a salad, and a beef/vegetable dish. It was truly delicious! After lunch, I mentioned coffee and dessert, and he told me he knew of just the place. Unfortunately, since we had taken the train and not driven, we would have to take a bus across town to get there.

So we walked back to Isesaki Station, just barely caught the bus, and got off about a kilometer away from where the Peruvian Cafe was supposed to be. Twenty minutes later we were still wandering around, but after asking a few people for directions we finally got on the right track.

We’d been walking around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, cracking jokes at how long it was taking and how no one knew where it was.

“Ja ja,” Mr. S said. “Ahora sólo falta que esté cerrado!” (Now all we need is for it to be closed!)

When we finally got there, I noticed four heavy-set Peruvian men standing on the other side of the street looking at the restaurant with their arms folded over their chests. The place is called Mi Casita Peruvian Café, and it’s the kind of place that serves sandwiches and cakes and hot beverages. I felt a little awkward, but tried to go in, anyway.

Yep. That’s all we needed. It was closed.

Mr. S called across the street, “So what’s up? It’s closed?”

“I don’t know,” they called back. “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes but they won’t open.”

I looked at the closed glass door. Hidden behind the random Christmas swirls was the schedule. Sundays were 9:00-1:00 and 6:00-10:00.

“Looks like they’ll be closed another three hours,” I said.

“Well, damn,” one of the men swore. “I’m starving. Now what do we do?”

“Do you want to go here? Do you want to go to McDonald’s?” asked another guy.

“I don’t care, as long as I can eat something.”

“Hey man, did y'all eat?" A third man, taller and leaner than the other guys, directed himself at us.

“Yeah, at this place called El Kero. Do you know it?”

“Never been. Is it any good?”

“It’s delicious.”

“All right, let’s go, then. Hey, you guys need a ride back to the station?” the driver looked back over his shoulder as they started to go off.

“That would be great,” Mr. S replied. “We’ve been walking for a long time.”

“Well come on, no problem. Y’all can sit in the back. If we were back home you two could sit up front but you know here the cops’ll see you and pull us over.”

“Tell me about it.”

The five of us piled into his Honda Fit—four beefy strangers, Mr. S, and me. Two of the biggest guys got in the front, and the rest of us squashed together in the back, me pressed between Mr. S and the passenger side door. Reggaeton poured from the speakers; the men’s chatter rising above it.

“Hey man, you got Facebook?” the driver called back to ask Mr. S.

“Yeah, I’m on there,” Mr. S replied. “Look me up.” He gave his name.

I repressed a sudden desire to burst out laughing at this macho man talking about Facebook. Instead, I concentrated on the rest of their conversation, now on to complaining why the previous restaurant had been closed, but so full of unfamiliar words and slang that I could only catch the basic gist of what they were saying. Something about having to call the owner and complain. “I ain’t gonna do it, YOU do it.”

Ten minutes later we arrived back in downtown Isesaki.

“You can let us off anywhere,” Mr. S told our new friends. “We can walk from here.”

“OK, cool,” said the driver, and turned left down one of the streets. “Is here OK?”

“Sure, it’s fi—” started to say Mr. S when suddenly “Oh SHIT!” cried the guy sitting in the front. “It’s a one way street!”

And it was.

Even though the road was two-laned, it was meant for two lanes of traffic going in the same direction. Our lane just happened to be empty. To make matters even worse, a policeman sat in his police car in the lane beside us. He was sandwiched in between two other cars, so he couldn’t stop us, but

“Oh shit, what if he gets my license plate?” whined the driver.

He gunned the car, and took a succession of turns through little side streets until he felt he had gotten sufficiently far away. He stopped again a few minutes later to let us out, this time on a two-lane street.

“I’m really sorry,” Mr. S told him. “It’s our fault you had to stop.”

“It’s OK,” said one of the guys in the back. “It’s his fault for being a dumbass and going down a one-way street.”

“I didn’t know it was a one-way street!” shot back the driver.

“Muchas, muchas gracias,” I said, the first thing I’d said since getting in the car. I opened the door and got out onto safe ground. “Adiós.”

“Adiós.”

It was kind of these strangers to offer us a ride back to town, kind of them to have pity on us for being one of them, and kind of them to risk getting a ticket for reckless driving. Let's hope nothing happens to them.

We only had an hour or so in Isesaki before we had to head back to Maebashi, so we went to a little Peruvian store near the station and looked around. It was similar to the Mexican stores back in North Carolina, except that there weren’t any Mexican products. There were lots of spices and teas I didn’t recognize, shelves full of dusty plastic-wrapped books in Spanish, and assorted South American snacks and beverages. I got some camote and banana chips again like I did when I was in Ota. Then it was time to go.

What a fun day it had been in Peru! But it was time to go back. We walked to the train station, bought our tickets, and took the train back to Japan. 

Thinking About Things

1982-2000: Littleton, North Carolina
2000-2002: Milligan College, Tennessee; Piedras Negras, Mexico; Cuernavaca, Mexico
2002-2004: UNC-Greensboro, North Carolina; Madrid, Spain
2004-2005: Greensboro, North Carolina
2005-2009: Kernersville, North Carolina; La Paz, Bolivia; Toronto, Canada; Oaxaca, Mexico
2009-2010: Greensboro, North Carolina; Oaxaca, Mexico
2010-2012: Takasaki, Japan; Manila, Philippines
2012 : ?????

Tsukimi, Opera, People, and Other Fun Stuff

There are so many things I’ve been wanting to write about but haven’t managed to do yet! Unsurprisingly, I find myself super busy with both school and extracurricular activities (which will look good on my college applications, let’s hope).

I’m at school almost every day from 8:00 to 5:30 or 6:00 busy with lesson planning, grading papers, and speech contest preparation. My student won 4^th place in the Takasaki City English Speech Contest, so now he’s on to the Prefectural one, to be held on Wednesday. Even if he doesn’t go to the Central Japan contest, I still feel as proud of him as if I were his mom . . . imagine me the mother of a 5’10” 15-year old Japanese boy. Last year I wasn’t quite so busy, but recently I’ve acquired all sorts of new responsibilities that keep me on the go all day long. I’ll never be able to pass the JLPT at this rate! No study time—!

Since I’m leaving school later, everything else gets pushed back later, too. I won’t show up for my weekly Japanese grammar classes until almost 6:00, when it’s almost full-on dark. And I recently found out the hard way that Costco closes at 8:00, so don’t saunter up to the door at 7:58 expecting to be let in.

It’s not all “work” things, though; I’m enjoying Gunma’s lovely early autumn weather and spending a lot of time with new and old friends.

On the Monday night of the full moon back in September, I joined my Japanese friend Sho, my hippie friend Mark, and some new acquaintances to celebrate “Tsukimi” (月見、Moon Viewing). I’d never heard of it before, but basically, it means just that: looking at the moon. My tsukimi experience was this:

The seven of us (Mark, Sho, a Japanese woman and her 16-year old daughter, an older Japanese gentlemen, a 26-year old Chinese immigrant named Liang, and me) sat in the middle of the Maebashi Baseball Field by the bridge, eating homemade dango and sushi, and telling stories about the moon. We made a fun bunch, ages scattered from 16 to past 65, representing four countries, all speaking in our varying degrees of understandable Japanese—but having a wonderful time munching on peanut butter-flavored dango and talking about rabbits. We sat outside enjoying the beautiful warm evening until almost 10:00, when we headed for home.

I had another internationally-flavored night last Thursday. Free tickets to see the opera “Carmen” were procured by methods I am unaware of but extremely grateful for. A group of us girls put on our elegant dresses and made our way to the stately Maebashi Culture Hall downtown. Imagine the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, but in Maebashi, and you’ll understand. It really was a nice place, and brought back wonderful memories of seeing plays back at home.

I’d never seen the opera before, or heard of the story either, actually. And unfortunately, all of the singing and speaking were in French. There were tall contraptions on either side of the stage where the Japanese translation was digitally flashed, so I spent half of the opera looking at the stage and the singers, and the other half vainly trying to figure out what that kanji meant. I was proud of myself, though, because while I obviously didn’t understand everything that was going on, I did glean enough information to follow the basic story. I knew there was a letter from that guy’s mom, and that he had to go home, but I didn’t figure out he was supposed to marry the girl who gave him the letter until intermission, when I checked my understanding with the fluent Japanese speakers there. So “Carmen” gave me a bit of a headache, what with all that trying to read Japanese and listen in French, but it was a fun experience nonetheless. Next up, to find where to watch the Japanese version of “Les Miserables”!!!  

Finally, on October first, the Shibukawa International Association held its annual International BBQ at a big park in the mountains. I went with an American friend and my new friend Liang from Tsukimi, to join the other American, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, New Zealander, and South African attendees. Maybe there were more countries represented but I’m not sure. We were put into teams and there we spent the afternoon, socializing, eating yakiniku, yakisoba, and roasted marshmallows. It was super fun. Afterwards, David (age, 29), Liang (age, 26) and I (age, 29) spent about half an hour playing on the playground. You’re never too old for merry-go-rounds and monkey bars, I always say. But you might be too tall . . .

Next post: My Peruvian adventures in Isesaki, from which I am happy to return alive. Talk soon!

Oze (Part One)

(Part Two will come in October, when I visit for the second time.)

In all of the Gunma travel brochures, the biggest spread always goes to Oze, a National Park located about two hours north of Takasaki. The pictures always show a valley full of wildflowers in full bloom and tiny crystal clear ponds scattered about, all surrounded by tall mountains on all sides. It looks relaxing and beautiful, and I’ve been wanting to go ever since I saw the pictures for the first time last July.

Luckily, I got my chance to go this past weekend. My Canadian friend Mark had been wanting to go, too, as had this English guy named Greg, so the three of us piled into my car and took off on Sunday morning bright and early. Monday was a holiday—Respect for the Aged Day, thank you very much—and we planned on camping out somewhere in the big reserve.

We took the Kan Etsu highway up to Numata, where we got off the interchange to wind our way on mountain roads to the top. We drove past numerous apple and honey stands and roadside vegetable stores, promising ourselves that we’d stop on the way back to fill up with fresh mountain produce.

Even though the map we had said we could park at the top, we soon found out that it was mistaken. We were stopped halfway up the mountain to be told that we’d have to park and then take a bus up to the real hiking area. For 900 yen, we rode with five other people even higher up the winding mountain road until we were dropped off at the base area: a few wooden buildings surrounded by halved tree trunks for benches lined up in front. The biggest building promised 350 yen hot coffee, 900 yen udon, and all the omiyage you could ever want.

However, we didn’t waste much time there, and immediately started our trek.

I soon found out that I had brought too much; the backpack I had borrowed was meant for its 6’4” owner, and seemed to be dragging me down at every step. The first 20 minutes or so were the roughest; the path went up the mountain at what seemed like a 45-degree angle over rocks and branches, and I felt unbalanced. When I tried to roundaboutly ask if anyone else’s shoulders hurt, Mark told me, “Yes, but I don’t complain about it,” and Greg asked, “You’re one of the lads now, aren’t you?” Thus chastised, I quit complaining.

After my body got used to exerting itself, I fell into a rhythm and was able to keep up fairly well with my long-legged companions. The tree-filled mountain path (as always, but for the bamboo, reminding me of the Appalachian Trail) gradually thinned out and soon we were walking up a huge open Sound of Music hill covered in billowing grasses and a few stunted birch trees. This was the marsh part that is so prevalent in all the magazines. Although Mark’s teacher had told him that September wasn’t the best month to see Oze, I found it to be one of the most beautiful – or perhaps THE most beautiful – place I’ve seen in Japan. Definitely in Gunma! And after scrambling up the mountain path to get up there, the flat wooden boardwalk was heaven to walk on.

(The mountains in the distance.)

We spent that first day hiking the paths, alternating between the thick natural preserve and the juxtaposed rest stops of ryokan-style hotels and amenity-filled toilets. It’s kind of funny how completely civilized Oze is when compared to hiking/camping places that I’ve been to in other places; you could only go two or three kilometers before you stumbled into another clearing with buildings. I never felt like I was actually “roughing it” because civilization was always very close!

Around 5:30, we stopped at one of the many hotels to ask if we could leave our bags in the lobby while we explored the waterfalls nearby.

The front counterman was cordial but dubious. “You can leave your bags here,” he told us, “But it’s going to get dark soon. Do you have lights?”

Mark and Greg both did, but I didn’t. However, the man was kind and lent me a light that strapped around my head on an elastic band. With many “arigatou”s and “sumimasen”s, we exited the building, feeling lighter and freer without our heavy backpacks.

The path to the first waterfall was quick and easy, but the waterfall itself was only so-so. Between the first and second waterfall, though, the path became rougher, steeper, rockier, and wetter. Greg and I spent thirty minutes discussing the old Oregon Trail game to keep our minds off the Waterfall Trail. Who’s going to die of dysentery this time?

It was totally worth the trek, though! After we crossed a wooden bridge and made our way down a precariously steep ladder/stairs combination, we stepped onto a platform with a perfect view of a powerful 100-meter tall waterfall. No one else was around because it was getting on towards dusk, and it was so nice to have the whole view to ourselves.

(And that was my last picture, of the waterfall, because then my batteries died and could not be resuscitated.)

It was getting towards dark when we left the waterfall, and full-on dark by the time we arrived back at the first waterfall to take a break. We sat there for a few minutes on some rocks watching the stars come out, then switched on our headlamps and walked back to the hotel, where we claimed our bags and had dinner outside.

It was another 30 minutes or so to walk back to our camping spot. The night was dark, but the boys’ lights illuminated the boardwalk enough to prevent any missteps. Once in a while, we’d stop walking to stare up at the huge starry sky above us, albeit gradually becoming cloudier. That night, the three of us slept in a tent on a wooden platform, cloudy skies above us, lizards all around us, and the sweet sound of grasses blowing in our ears.

Around 5:30 that morning, we started to hear people walking by us, but we didn’t get up until two hours later. It was a terribly cloudy morning, and I was afraid it would rain, but the sun soon burned through the fog and mist. It became another beautiful early fall day.

Mark and Greg wanted to climb a nearby mountain, but I decided not to try it. (Call me a wuss, but I wanted to take it easy.) We stayed together for a few hours in the morning hiking through the marshland and enjoying the lovely scenery before splitting up at 10:30. The boys went off to start their 5-hour hike, and I stayed behind at the rest area enjoying the sun and the breeze.

For me, it was only another hour or hour-and-a-half walk back to our rendezvous point, so I tried to drag it out as much as possible. I stopped at almost all of the stopping-places, and walked slowly through the woods gazing at the leaves and the river so as to savor the moment. After a while, though, my Thoreau-ian peace turned into “get this backpack off of me,” so I hurried it up a little more. The last 500 meters or so was made up of ascending steps that were painful to climb, but I finally made it, panting for breath, right behind the jocular retired couple in front of me!

It was 12:30, and I had about three hours to wait until Greg and Mark got back. I took a nap in the sun, browsed the unnecessary Oze omiyage, treated myself to a 350 yen cup of coffee, and watched the sky gradually darken and drizzle gray dreary rain before they finally returned, a full hour early. Apparently, Mark can make a 5-hour hike in half the time. I’m sure the view was spectacular, but I’m glad I didn’t go on the mountain hike. Surely I would have been left behind!

We only hung around for a little bit more before buying another bus ticket back to the car. Even though we had wanted to stop at a lot of shops on the way back, many of them were closed against the rain. We did find one place, though, a sprawling farmers’ market-type set of buildings, where Greg and I ate spectacularly delicious homemade udon and Mark bought a handful of fresh vegetables.

Greg went back to the train station around 6:00, and Mark and I enjoyed a relaxing onsen in Gunma-machi before going our separate ways. Our trip was physically strenuous, but still a very tranquil experience for me.  It was good to be out in the open, away from the cities and their stresses. And it provided me the best sleep I’ve had on Sunday night; I was out like a light by 9:00. I’ll be going back to Oze again in October with a big group of people, and I wonder if my experience will be any different.

(As a post script, I would like to mention that Japanese girls look so cute in their colorful hiking skirts, tights, and hiking boots! And they can sleep outside and wake up and still look amazing. Why can’t I have that gene?!)   

Lists

JAPANESE THINGS I DID FOR THE FIRST FEW DAYS IN THE STATES


• Kept sumimasen-ing people

• Kept saying “itadakimasu” and “gochisousama deshita” at meals (and taught my mom to say, “It was a feast” in English)

• Did the incredulity-filled “ehhhhh!” or the "un, un, un" while listening to people’s stories

• Responded with “hai” and “sou nan desuka” when speaking with my Spanish-speaking friends, mixing up Spanish and Japanese

• Bowed walking in and out of my old office

• Bowed and said “gochisousama deshita” in restaurants

• Kept running Japanese phrases through my head that I could use with the waitress or the guy behind the counter at Starbucks, before remembering that they could speak English, too (dolp)

• Forgot to leave tips in restaurants (and going back several days later to drop it off)

NON-JAPANESE THINGS I DID:


• Threw my feet up onto the seats of chairs when sitting at outdoor restaurants

• Made small talk with servers and cashiers, who kept calling me “sugar” and “honey”

• Struck up conversations with random strangers in stores (so fun!)

• Kept my shoes on in the house (but dang, that one was hard to do, and sometimes I’d kick them off at the front door out of habit)

• Walked around barefoot outside

• Wore spaghetti-strap tank tops and didn’t care

• Ate with a fork the whole time (well, duh)

THINGS I APPRECIATED ABOUT THE SOUTH:


• The food! (sure, a lot of it is fried and unhealthy, but there’s good stuff too, like fresh vegetables from the garden)

• The warmth of the people (yes, sometimes it’s fake, but it’s still a nice gesture) and facial expressions I can read

• The accent that can only be from rural North Carolina

• The natural beauty in the forests and fields and water

THINGS THAT I NOTICED:


• I had been wondering how they say, “Irasshaimase” because I certainly didn’t think it was “welcome.” What I got more than anything was, “Hi, how are you?” when I walked in a store.

• Customer service SUCKS. The cashiers act like they’re doing you a favor by allowing you to buy something.

• Finding a public restroom is a challenge. But when you find one there are always soap and paper towels. Having soap was great. But even though I gripe in Japan about the lack of paper towels, seeing how much mess and waste they cause has me thinking that maybe carrying around a little hand towel with you isn’t such a bad idea after all.

• There are public trashcans everywhere, but not as much recycling.

• Drinks were WAY too big! My dad got a 64-ounce Dr. Pepper at a convenience store for just a dollar or two. 64 ounces! That’s almost two liters! (1.89, to be exact.) And even the small drink at Chick-fil-A seemed too big.

• Nobody really wanted to hear any Japan stories. And I guess I didn’t really want to tell any, either. I didn’t miss Japan while I was gone. But I was really excited to go back. Why is that, I wonder?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I think my time at home was just right (ちょっどいい！). I felt like time didn’t go too fast or too slow; I just felt like I was never in one place long enough to enjoy all there was to do or see everyone I wanted to see. I only saw six of my friends individually; the rest were all lumped together in a group (so sorry, guys!).


In a way, it was all just a blur: three days here; two days there; three days back here. The longest I was in one place was the week I spent with my family in Littleton (The Small Town With the Big Heart, Gateway to Beautiful Lake Gaston). But even then I didn’t put my clothes into the dresser like I should have; I just kept living out of my suitcase.

After I got used to the time difference (for the most part), I went shopping! My mom took me to Hanes Mall for makeup, the Kernersville Salvage Store for salvage (), Old Navy and Gap for clothes, and Target for school supplies and everything else. I actually bought so much at Target to justify buying stock in it, I think. Being able to recognize brand names and read labels is so amazing! And I found a ton of stuff for school everywhere I went: lined manuscript tablets, vocabulary flashcards, reward pencils, $30.00 worth of paper-correcting stickers, and more, which I packed up and mailed to myself at school.

After a few days at my mom’s house, I went to my dad’s. I had been dying to go for a swim ever since the students started swimming in June, so I spent most of the first day in his pool. My second day, though, I walked outside at 8:30 in the morning to hang my bathing suit up to dry in the sun. But when I went to open the door to go back inside, I realized it was locked. So I spent the next four hours (while dad was at work) trying and failing to break into his house, sobbing in frustration that all my morning plans were shot, reading old copies of the Littleton Observer that I found on the porch, playing with Mangle (my cat), swimming, and being thirsty. Lucky I had my bathing suit, though, huh. And Mangle and I were due for a little quality human-cat time. It was a pretty rotten morning but eventually turned into a nice day of accompanying Dad to Warren County for an afternoon of work. (Honestly, it was fun!)

                                                                           Fun day!

Back in Greensboro, I had dinner with a big group of friends and a drink with a small group of friends. I was supposed to have a party with my old CNNC clients on Saturday, but the message didn't get around in time so it was cancelled. Instead, I just stopped by Dolores’s and Maria’s houses for a quick visit. It was fun, but I didn’t get to eat any home-cooked Mexican food! Maria did give Eddie and me a slice of cake, which was the size of the paper plate she served it on. It was delicious but hard to finish!

I spent the week of July 31 to August 5 at Stonehouse Timber Lodge in Littleton. It was so funny to be vacationing just three miles from where I grew up! There has always been a bit of tension between the locals and the “lake people” who just come on vacation, and here we were converted into them! It was really lovely though to spend a week with my brother and his family, my sister and her family, Mom, Rusty, and Duchess (the dog), after such a long time away. The whole week was spent swimming, boating, reading, relaxing, playing Bananagrams, eating delicious food, cracking jokes about the quantity of snakes in the lake, and spending time with my niece and nephews. It was definitely the best part of being home. Fambly.

BBQ at Grandpa's Barbeque

Sunset on Lake Gaston

You remember my long list of things I wanted to eat. Well, I got through almost everything on my list! (Not everything, but almost everything.) Sometimes it was just a bite (like of Jonathan’s biscuits and gravy) and sometimes it was more than I could eat (like that 16-ounce steak), but it was divine to savor so many exquisite tastes! I also enjoyed a different microbrewed beer with almost every restaurant meal I had! The only things I still have a hankering for are sliced dill pickles (not hamburger chips), spiced apple rings, and baklava (thank you very much for sending those through the mail).


On a final note, I’d like to ask you all to boycott Budget Rental Cars for me, please. I had reserved a car online for $350.00, but the price shot up to $600 when I added insurance at the desk at pick-up time. (“But don’t worry,” the lady behind the counter told me. “$200 of that is just a hold on your credit card; it’s really just $450.00.”) When I went to drop off the car (two days early, might I add), I was told I would receive no discount for dropping it off early, that my new total was $903.00, and that I still had to pay a balance of about $500.00.

“No,” I told them as politely as I could. “I signed for $600. I’m not going to pay more.” (Breach of contract, or something like that.) After a civil conversation with the incompetent soul behind the counter, the manager was finally summoned. It seems that I had been charged for extra services I didn’t receive (like satellite radio or GPS). The issue was finally resolved and I “only” paid $600.00, but I’m still furious about the whole thing because it was supposed to be just $350.00, so I thought. I’m also disappointed with the incompetence of people, who can only stare dumbly at the computer screen before them and not have a word of explanation for the politely irate customer in front of them.

All in all, though, I had a wonderful time, and I’m happy I was able to go back home! Now I just need to think about what to do next year.