Friday, May 28, 2010


As most of you know, I am home for the summer. Yes, I know, make your shock noise... NOW. My laptop, of a faithful four years, has decided to pass on. Therefore, my "plane ticket" will be spent upon a laptop worthy of my graduate studies at Illinois State University. Since there will be no international gallivanting this summer, I plan on nurturing some homegrown adventure...

The ROADRUNNER, affectionately named in honor of its humble horn, became part of our family in 2008. Since then, we have shared many heartwarming times together. Its first summer she had her freshman initiation.

One day Kerrie Isabel, a terribly wise woman, bought a 3ftx3ft whiteboard at WalMart, which is located about 5 miles from our abode. Upon arriving at my scooter, I then proceeded to think about how I would creatively carry this home. Under the bum didn't work. On top of my lap was a distraction. No choice -- I must slip in underneath my backpack straps to hold it in sturdy, all the while cutting off my circulation as my arms are unconsciously lifted into an uncomfortable puppet position (although still able to drive properly). After completing my strangling masterpiece, which everyone admired with jealous eyes, it started to rain. If you have never driven against raindrops at 35mph, I say it's a must in life -- if merely to verify that misery loves company...
Having a scooter is much more fun than I ever imagined. It's as if once the rump makes that first connection with the black, leather seat, the connection will never be severed from henceforth and forevermore. Those old men with mustangs think they have hold of life at its best. Wake up! I must kindly make my dear colleague aware that his accelerator is at his foot's disposal, versus the power at the mere flinch of my hands. I win.
Ever so often, I catch myself talking out loud -- either to myself or to a discourteous driver. I might fervently tell him he has issues, never stooping to road rage (I find it distasteful). I have to remember, however, that no glass keeps my words contained. I must say though that non-verbals are powerful. For example, after a massive white van followed too close for comfort today, I whipped around after we'd both stopped, lowered my sunglasses, and just stared sternly for 2 seconds. The two seconds telepathically communicate everything.
Above all, the motorcyclist code is the most top secret language I have encountered yet, even more than Spanish. When you come across the Harley Davis macho-man, do you go with the low salutation or the farmer two-finger wave? Maybe you do the burly head nod? ...Or simply move on because his aurora is too magnificent for a modest 125cc. Well, I mustn't say much more. It is top secret, after all.
Some call me dorky.
Some call me a wild spirit.
Some call me the happy girl of southern Illinois.

Friday, May 21, 2010

End of Broken Dreams

What aspect of humanity grabs at your life?
Children? The elderly? The sick/disabled?
The mistreated/abused? The homeless/hungry?
If nothing does, you might want to check your pulse.
Well, here I am at 4:30am in the morning just as wide awake as possible. For some reason or another, this semester I've been suffering from migraines, probably at least two each month. Therefore to knock it out of the water, I take Excedrin, which is pumped to the last morsel with caffeine. --My thinking cap is attached the best during the nighttime hours or when my heart is almost leaping out of my chest from caffeine -- And as we have already established, it is presently the latter reason that deprives me of my sleep.
Yet, one theme keeps running through my head: "The Homeless." Whenever I was in Chile this past semester, I was exposed yet again to this aspect (my first encounter being in Mexico when I was eleven). My curiosity gets the best of me... Many days, I wanted to skip classes and "pull up a chair" with them, simply living life through their eyes. I'm sick of lollygagging and just passively glancing at such situations -- whether in Chile or in downtown St. Louis. I think to myself in these wee hours of the morn, "Should I sell my Chilean pictures in the form of a postcard to raise money? Should I take up knitting and make scarves, selling them or merely giving them away to a shelter?" Since I am home this summer, I would like to research this matter out a bit further (accompanied by prayer).

Let's be aware.
Let's be active.

Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God (Bob Pierce).

Sunday, May 2, 2010


Have I mentioned lately that I'm utterly enamored with the Spanish language and culture? I repeating myself?

Epigramas - TAKE 2

I love that the seagulls are so loud of a morning that I have to utilize earplugs.

You come diagonal towards me, and I damage you.

I love being medio flaite in my hip hop Billabong Aussie cap.

Beer nations usually produce more alcoholics than wine nations. Just a theory.

Turn off the boob tube and get your rear in gear. Nature.

From hippie to gangsta to sexy mama, Chile fosters such fashion in my life.

Had to look up “cabaña” on wordreference to know how to spell it in English. English is my first language…

I can see why mom had a crush on Elvis. Is it odd that a 21-year-old would make this statement in CHILE and about a DEAD man? Yes.

Can you be a vulture *jote* and not even know it?

Chihuahua, it is humanly possible to write a 6-page analysis on an 8 stanza poem by Gabriela Mistral.

Buttons should be awarded on top of La Campana.

Looking forward to petting & loving on animals without having to complete a thorough flea check and germ-x lather afterwards.

I had to shake three American’s hands today. No kissies?

I would pay a gamba to hear another random man recite Neruda on the micro.

And we complain about Christmas starting at the end of November… try October on for size.

Just spent 30 beautiful minutes of my day watching flamenco dancers, mouth wide open in awe TODO EL TIEMPO. Men Flamenco Dancers, may I just say... You rock my socks off.

Skirts stop traffic, open doors, and collect smiles in both Chile and America.

Hello, yes, I would like to order more men playing checkers in the plaza…

If I got a cheesy smile, blew up my face on a poster, and put my husband there with me, not to mention have 30 posters in a row lined up, I could run for President in Chile.

If Tata has to play cowboy on another non-handicapped accommodated curb, I might go yell at the first politician I behold.

As has been a tradition in my life for the past three years, I am listening to Michael Bublé to get me in the proper mood for any and all wedding ceremonies. :)

Pringles ain’t got nothing: “Donuts, once you pop you can’t stop”

Riding on the metro instead of the micro is like living in the USA: quite comfortable.

Notamos el jefe de Santa Isabel es medio mino. Lo atacamos. No tan santa. Ay, la mamá chilena.

Merton's Prayer

In today's church service, Pastor Watts shared this following prayer. It really spoke to me, where I am with graduation and life -- but continually trusting in God no matter where the unpredictable path may lead in our lives. ¡Bendiciones!

"My Lord God, I have NO idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that
I am following Your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please You
does in fact please You.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this You will lead me
by the right road though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust You always though I may seem
to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for You are ever with me,
and You will never leave me to face my perils alone."