It has been only two months since I have last blogged (an official word in our contemporary dictionaries, ahh, linguistics) ... and yet with all the ACTIVITY of life, it feels more like six. I have decided to merely give you the snapshot this time around, instead of the full-length video. Snapshots are like random revelations received while eating out and further writing such delights on napkins. Simple yet delightful napkins...
First week in APARTMENT: Oven thinks that 250 degrees means BROIL. Delicious chocolate chip cookies along with beautiful, new cookie sheet completely destroyed -- with a side of shattered nerves from both the canine and the tenant.
Second week in apartment: Got locked out of apartment at 7:30am while in pjs, glasses, moldy teeth and mind not fully engaged. 4 step creative process in getting back inside.
Tenth week in apartment: Smelled gas after furnace was lit for first time. Nobody believed me. Called gas company and girl was right. Landlord sends repairman to fix the issue. Ohhh, but gas leak the following day yet again. Tenant calls landlord not so happy. After three days of dealing with the lethal issue, canine and tenant are appreciating fresh oxygen like never before. Talk about some pooped guardian angels.
First week in GRAD SCHOOL: Found there is an immense difference between over-the-top intellects and outright nerds. I being the latter.
Second week in grad school: Amazed by all the preparation and reading involved. Over 500 pages were read in one week's time, more than was read in the entire summer of 2010.
Fourth week in grad school: BREAK DOWN week. It has to happen sooner or later.
Sixth week in grad school: Getting used to the 8am-11pm schedule. Getting used to absolutely no social life. Getting used to reading endless amount of droll theory. Never getting used to the intellects.
Napkin revelations next time will include...
FLAMENCO dancing classes starting October 9th.
Goodnight ladies and gentlemen.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Canine Criminal
Take a CLICK.
My life is NEVER BORING!!
http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=414275152820&id=149701984&ref=mf
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My life is NEVER BORING!!
http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=414275152820&id=149701984&ref=mf
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In Other Words...
This past Sunday, we sang a new worship song but based on an old, familiar verse.
Luke 10:27 : "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind."
Right in the middle of the song, I received this simple yet somehow profound interpretation of the song lyrics.
In other words,
"Love the Lord" -- GLORIFY HIM ...
heart = emotionally
mind = intellectually
strength = physically
all wrapped up into "soul" = spiritually
This might seem quite obvious, but each of these areas play out differently in our lives. Each of us struggle with maybe one more than the other. Some struggle with logic getting in the way of our faith (loving Him with all our mind), or maybe we are constantly looking to a significant other to fill empty holes of our life (loving Him with all our heart), or maybe we think we are all-sufficient with our muscles, height and external features (loving Him with all our strength). Either way, all three components should be encapsulated by loving Him with our soul. Doing every task, thinking every thought, seeing every situation-- with the intention of glorifying Him.
How hard is this verse to live out?
HARD.
But thank goodness HE ALONE is perfect. :)
Luke 10:27 : "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind."
Right in the middle of the song, I received this simple yet somehow profound interpretation of the song lyrics.
In other words,
"Love the Lord" -- GLORIFY HIM ...
heart = emotionally
mind = intellectually
strength = physically
all wrapped up into "soul" = spiritually
This might seem quite obvious, but each of these areas play out differently in our lives. Each of us struggle with maybe one more than the other. Some struggle with logic getting in the way of our faith (loving Him with all our mind), or maybe we are constantly looking to a significant other to fill empty holes of our life (loving Him with all our heart), or maybe we think we are all-sufficient with our muscles, height and external features (loving Him with all our strength). Either way, all three components should be encapsulated by loving Him with our soul. Doing every task, thinking every thought, seeing every situation-- with the intention of glorifying Him.
How hard is this verse to live out?
HARD.
But thank goodness HE ALONE is perfect. :)
Monday, June 14, 2010
El Día de Juventud
EL DÍA DE JUVENTUD.
Hispanic Youth Day
This summer I wanted to volunteer. I didn't think it would be that hard... The local churches didn't have many outreaches; the Salvation Army YELLED at me; the soup kitchen didn't need any more help; and lastly, I called a local Catholic church. The secretary gave me six different organizations in a matter of 15 minutes. My mouth dropped to the floor with all the (good) temptation. To make a long story short, after I found my Hispanic ministry connection with Sister Cecilia, they quickly got me on board with the different events.
This past Saturday, I volunteered at an event called, "Hispanic Youth Day." It was the Protestant version of a one-day VBS. It was glorious. AND BEST OF ALL.... I was trapped in by 90 HISPANIC CHILDREN. That's what some people (or just me) would call heaven on earth.
Having volunteered with various companies and organizations in the past 10 years, one of my biggest pet peeves is when they don't really need my help. I like for them to keep me BUSY with work. Use me up, by golly! Well, from 8:30am-5:30pm, they most definitely did. From small group discussions, to serving tables, to helping with art projects, to distributing prizes, and just speaking Spanish to my heart's content.
Here comes the teacher-ese talk: BEWARE. I find that second generation children -- meaning they are living in the USA but their parents are natives of another country -- are by far the most interesting case study within the linguistics world. Their accents, the intercultural experiences, and their perspectives on the two languages they speak. In the majority of cases, the children have this rebellious period where they don't see the point of L2 (which in this case would be Spanish, since English is the primary language of the surrounding environment). Interesting to observe and think about.
Anyway, by the end of the day, most of the cuties knew me as the crazy, Spanish-speaking Isabel. It tends to be a pattern in my life. At least, they didn't call me "jirafa" this time. :)
***
I don't know how to explain my passion to most people, especially with all the economic tension in the air surrounding immigration policies. If I personally am being insulted and pressured because of my passion for the Spanish language and culture, I can only imagine what the illegal AND legal Mexicans must hear and endure. I am in no way in favor of breaking our Constitution or the laws of the United States, but neither am I in favor of unempathetic and hateful comments hurled at the Hispanic society in an egocentric way. Take it or leave it. I am neither stating a political belief here nor will I elaborate upon its sub-categories; I merely want to make an observation. Politically, I actually see both sides of the spectrum. Nonetheless, I would encourage anyone reading this to make an effort to separate the illegal actions from the person himself -- which is required a lot in life, no?
Well, I don't where that tangent came from, but I decided to keep it in my blog. It gives a small picture of the things I've heard in this last year I suppose. Please leave comments if desired. :)
In the meantime, I am off to see if any soup kitchen in the whole state of Illinois or Missouri might need my services...
Hispanic Youth Day
This summer I wanted to volunteer. I didn't think it would be that hard... The local churches didn't have many outreaches; the Salvation Army YELLED at me; the soup kitchen didn't need any more help; and lastly, I called a local Catholic church. The secretary gave me six different organizations in a matter of 15 minutes. My mouth dropped to the floor with all the (good) temptation. To make a long story short, after I found my Hispanic ministry connection with Sister Cecilia, they quickly got me on board with the different events.
This past Saturday, I volunteered at an event called, "Hispanic Youth Day." It was the Protestant version of a one-day VBS. It was glorious. AND BEST OF ALL.... I was trapped in by 90 HISPANIC CHILDREN. That's what some people (or just me) would call heaven on earth.
Having volunteered with various companies and organizations in the past 10 years, one of my biggest pet peeves is when they don't really need my help. I like for them to keep me BUSY with work. Use me up, by golly! Well, from 8:30am-5:30pm, they most definitely did. From small group discussions, to serving tables, to helping with art projects, to distributing prizes, and just speaking Spanish to my heart's content.
Here comes the teacher-ese talk: BEWARE. I find that second generation children -- meaning they are living in the USA but their parents are natives of another country -- are by far the most interesting case study within the linguistics world. Their accents, the intercultural experiences, and their perspectives on the two languages they speak. In the majority of cases, the children have this rebellious period where they don't see the point of L2 (which in this case would be Spanish, since English is the primary language of the surrounding environment). Interesting to observe and think about.
Anyway, by the end of the day, most of the cuties knew me as the crazy, Spanish-speaking Isabel. It tends to be a pattern in my life. At least, they didn't call me "jirafa" this time. :)
***
I don't know how to explain my passion to most people, especially with all the economic tension in the air surrounding immigration policies. If I personally am being insulted and pressured because of my passion for the Spanish language and culture, I can only imagine what the illegal AND legal Mexicans must hear and endure. I am in no way in favor of breaking our Constitution or the laws of the United States, but neither am I in favor of unempathetic and hateful comments hurled at the Hispanic society in an egocentric way. Take it or leave it. I am neither stating a political belief here nor will I elaborate upon its sub-categories; I merely want to make an observation. Politically, I actually see both sides of the spectrum. Nonetheless, I would encourage anyone reading this to make an effort to separate the illegal actions from the person himself -- which is required a lot in life, no?
Well, I don't where that tangent came from, but I decided to keep it in my blog. It gives a small picture of the things I've heard in this last year I suppose. Please leave comments if desired. :)
In the meantime, I am off to see if any soup kitchen in the whole state of Illinois or Missouri might need my services...
Sunday, June 13, 2010
EWK Semi-Ode
One may ask... What is this EWK she speaks of?
Why should I invest into one?
You have every right to ask. And every right to be convinced.
THE ELECTRIC WATER KETTLE!
Gurgle, sizzle, steam goes the EWK on the kitchen counter;
all the while the curious eyes watch as water boils in less than 3 minutes.
Oh, all the uses for dihydrogen monoxide during the frigid winter hours.
The stove top takes too long for boiling.
The microwave bubbles it all over, and double ouch while trying to take it out.
So whatever is left to do? Super EWK to the rescue, dear one.
When the luxury of central heating is not at a finger's touch,
you, my EWK, are ever-faithful, filling the water bags of millions.
Simply place it on the table during dinner and every member is catered to --
with the potential of tea, coffee, hot chocolate or other lovely creations.
You MUST refuse ice cube transformation, don't you know?
Please and thank you. I'll grab the blanket to accompany the luscious warmth.
Chile, Ireland, Scotland and other far-off lands have discovered this hidden jewel!
Yet how does such a silver, sassy EWK make winter survivable?
It just does. So give it a try. The EWK beckons you hither...
Friday, May 28, 2010
ROADRUNNER
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.
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).
Readers:
Let's be aware.
Let's be active.
Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God (Bob Pierce).
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).
Readers:
Let's be aware.
Let's be active.
Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God (Bob Pierce).
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