Spiritual Cleansing in 15 Easy Steps

Today we witnessed a cleansing by a Shaman. A Shaman in the Andes is a medicine wo/man or healer. I'll describe the steps in brief:

1. The subject (Erica, in this case) rubs an unlit candle all over herself.
2. The shaman lights the candle, then lights a cigarette from it, and smokes a few puffs.

3. The shaman decides what's wrong with the subject (in Erica's case, bad luck).

4. The subject strips down to skivvies and straddles a smoking plate of embers.
5. The shaman chants over the subject.

6. The shaman holds three candles, swigs some vodka, and spits some flame throwers at ever angle of the subject.

7. The shaman holds a spear over the subject while chanting, then spits vodka in her face.
8. The shaman chants over some plants, spits vodka on them, puffs some smoke on them, and scrubs the subject's body with them. Repeat four times.
9. The shaman chants over four eggs, spits vodka on them, puffs some smoke on them, and scrubs the subject's body with them. Repeat four times. Then send the eggs down the river.
10. The shaman puffs some cigarette smoke all over the subject.
11. The shaman asks the subject to choose a perfume.

12. The shaman mixes the perfume with rose petals and has the subject scrub her face and body with them.
13. The shaman chews up rose petals, swigs the perfume, and spits the mix on all angles of the subject.
14. The shaman chants over the subject with a giant chunk of obsidian.

15. The subject is clean, but cannot eat pork or onions for the rest of the day, and cannot shower for two days.

Food for Thought

"I cried because I didn't have shoes, until I saw a child who didn't have feet."

Si no es Baroque, no Arreglarlo

Our first day we saw the historic part of the city and visited a museum of Oswaldo Guayasamin's work.

There are a lot of churches (of course). All the different types of architecture are really interesting. We toured a Gothic cathedral, a Baroque cathedral, and the President's Palace, which is colonial, all in about half an hour. August is Independence Month (that's right, MONTH) in Ecuador, so downtown was really busy with live music and festivities. There were some avid Argentinian soccer fans downtown too.

Oswaldo Guayasamin was a political-minded artist who lived in Quito in the 20th century. His paintings all reflect the suffering, oppression, and hope of Latin Americans and other discriminated cultures. He's famous worldwide, and his paintings are EVERYWHERE here.

Thoughts From Cruising Altitude

Tidbits from my journaling on the plane:

* JoAnna - I found Starbucks.

* I like making friends with the people I sit with on airplanes. That way if we crash on a desert island and have to resort to cannibalism, hopefully I've got allies.

* Deli sandwhiches are hard to eat on airplanes. I should have thought of that.

* I can never spell the word "sandwhich" correctly. Sandwich?

* From this high up it looks like we aren't moving. I wonder if that's even possible? I always thought planes were like tuna: they have to keep moving or they stop working.

* Colombia smells good.

Llego en Quito

I'm writing this from my room at Hotel Quito, in the capitol city of Ecuador.

Maybe when I wake up in the morning, this will start to feel real.

Maybe.

Up, Up, and Away

Here goes.

Some words for the road from my dear friend Beth:

Lord,

I believe my life is touched by you,

that you want something for me and of me.

Give me ears to hear you,

eyes to see the tracing of your finger,

and a heart quickened by the motions of your spirit

Eternal God,

Lead me now out of the familiar setting of my doubts and fears,

beyond my pride and need to be secure

into a strange and graceful ease with my true proportions and with yours than in boundless silence

I may grow strong enough to endure and fleible to share your grace.

Breathe into me the courage to make something new

Thank you for all I forget are gifts, not rights

Forgive me for all the grievances I remember well

Save me from self-pity, the self seeking the fat heartedness which is true poverty.

Guide me if I'm willing. (Drive me if I'm not)

into the hard ways of sacrifice which are just and loving.

Make me wide-eyed for beauty,

and for my neighbors needs and goodness

wide willed for peace making and for the confronting power

with the call to compassion

wide-hearted for love and for the unloved

who are the hardest to touch and need it the most.

dull the envy in me which criticizes and complains life into a thousand ugly bits.

keep me honest and tender enough to heal,

tough enough to be healed of my hypocrisies

match my appetite for privilege with a stomach for commitment

Teach me the great cost of paying attention that,

naked to the dazzle of your back as you pass,

Breathe into me the restlessness and courage to make something new,

something saving and something true that I may understand what it is to rejoice.

Big Girl Pants

When you're about 4 years old, you get invited to your first sleepover. You pack up your pink Spotty-Dotty backpack with your scooby-doo pj's, your Barbie toothbrush, your blue blankie, and all the toys you can cram into it. You wait at the window until your friend's mom comes to pick you up in her mini-van, and when she finally gets to your house, your mom double-checks your backpack, makes you leave your Polly Pockets at home, reminds you to clear your plate, gives you one last hug, and says the magic words:

"If you change your mind, just call me and I'll come pick you up and bring you home, okay?"

And you giggle and tell mommy that she's being silly, that you won't need her to come pick you up, that you're a big girl now. But, deep down, you feel better knowing that comfort and familiarity will only be a phone call away.

And then, all of a sudden, you're nineteen years old, and about to leave for another continent. There are a lot of similarities: your suitcase is stuffed with things you probably won't need, but can't bear to leave behind. Your calendar is crossed-off, counting down the days. Your parents check and double-check your packing list.

But there's one big difference:

You are a big girl now, and this time there are no magic words this time. Sure, if there's an emergency you can come home, but it has to be more than "their couch smelled funny and I forgot my special pillow."

I know once I get there I will love it. But in these last few hours before takeoff, I could sure use some magic words.

Introductions

Meet McDuff.
McDuff likes Lady Gaga.
McDuff dances to Lady Gaga.
McDuff gets embarrassed when I catch him dancing to Lady Gaga.

This is P.V.

P.V. stands for "Piss and Vinegar"

P.V. knows what suitcases mean.
P.V. has abandonment issues.
P.V thinks that if she stays still, I'll forget she's there and take her with me.

Ten Things....

Today marks my last day as an employee of the Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium. It's bittersweet, really. On one hand, it means I'm one step closer to the next step, but on the other, this place has seen me from gangly 17-year old clueless highs chool junior...to still gangly 19-year old, still clueless, college sophomore.

...okay, so to me it's more meaningful...

To commemorate my three years at the SCICE, I have compiled a list of how best to be a "memorable" customer:

1. Never say please. Ever.
2. Rearrange the chairs. And the tables. And the centerpieces. And when you leave, just go ahead and leave your chair in the middle of the aisle. Really.
3. No scoop should be the right size, no matter what. A child's scoop is too small, naturally, and you couldn't possibly finish a whole single scoop. Why would they think that? You know, the best way to settle this is to get angry. Really, really angry. Ask to see the manager, she has nothing going on, after all.
4. Order a double scoop for your 4-year-old. In fact, order it on a sugar cone. Even better? Insist that he doesn't need a napkin.
5. If your food isn't ready in less than a minute, by all means, march back into the kitchen and demand to know what's taking so long.
6. Change your order no less than three times.
7. Pay for a pack of gum with a twenty.
8. Pay for a sandwich with dimes and quarters.
9. Allow your children free reign of the toy display and card racks. The stickier their fingers, the better.
10. Order everything in "to go" containers, then leave them on the tables.

11. [Bonus] Tell your server how to do his or her job. They certainly don't have a clue.

Long Overdue

If you look to the side of this page, you should see a list of links. At the top is Hometown Radio. This is where I spent the half of my summer not spent scooping ice cream. It's a local radio station specializing in Oldies, local news, and down-home goodness. If you tune in [by clicking the link] you might catch some of my "Fair 2010 Highlights." They've been kind enough to let me invade the studio for the summer, and they linked this blog to their homepage, so the least I can do is return the favor.

La Familia Mendéz

I've been exchanging emails with my host family for a few days now, and the more I hear from them, the more excited I am to meet them, and the better I feel about the trip as a whole.

Mama Maritza - my main contact, she likes to cook, and is looking forward to taking me to the market so I can teach her "como comer mas sano." She also asked what percent vegetarian I am.

Papa Cesar - is more hip than I am. He emails from his Blackberry. He's very adamant that "Cuando estés con nosotros seras un miembro mas de nuestra familia."

Los Hermanos - Stephanie is my amiga de facebook, she just had a birthday (the same day as my fellow traveler and future roommate, Beth). Jessica is in Africa right now, I hope she comes home before Christmas, so I can meet her. Cesar II like Glee and the Beatles



In other news, my Visa is in the mail, my classes are requested, and my bag is packed (sort of). 11 more days!

Tale of an Unexpected Encounter

Dear Diary,
I know that I have neglected you, and that there are many updates due. However, this story takes the cake.

The scene: The Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium

The time: 5 minutes until I lock the door for the last time.

The characters: Myself, a nice man named Joe, his lady friends Wendy and DeeDee (my apologies on the spelling), and a pretty awesome Higher Power

A nice man named Joe (he was wearing a nametag) came in with two nice ladies, Wendy and DeeDee, right before I locked up last night. Joe wanted to know my name, didn't believe me when I told him (that's okay Joe, I get that a lot), and we got to talking about school. Naturally, I told them about my impending adventure, and they were all very interested, especially when I mentioned "Holy Spirit University" (it was about this time that I noticed that Joe was wearing a "work and witness" polo). By the end of their visit, these three beautiful people not only blessed me with a scholarship (which will be going towards Malaria inhibitors), but also asked to pray over me.

The whole exchange was a pleasant reminder that I am in bigger and more capable hands than my own. Thank goodness.

"I Don't Hate It"

The above is a catchphrase that I've picked up from my San Diego friends. It can be heard used after such statements as:

- " My host brother likes Glee and the Beatles "
- " The only clear station is Spanish Talk Radio "
- " I think that cute boy with the good hair is staring at you "
- " We accidentally baked an extra batch of cookies "
- " I caught my parakeet dancing to Lady Gaga " <--[True story]

. . . Etc.

Villa No. 12

Meet my host family. César, Maritza, Jessica, Stephanie, and César II. Now you know as much about them as I do. I also know that they do not have a mascot, whatever that means. If your understanding of Spanish colloquialisms is better than mine, feel free to chime in on that [Rachel. . .] .

Notice their coloring. I may not stick out like a sore thumb after all. Here's hoping.

It just keeps getting realer and realer. I may have to suck it up and actually pack soon.

Teleophobia

1. Fear of definite or final plans.

2. Fear of religious ceremonies.

Well, I am the proud owner of a plane ticket [courtesy of cheapOair.com - leave it to my father to find THAT] to Quito, Ecuador. Weird. This is actually happening.

Perhaps this is a good time for a confession:

Finality terrifies me.

I aim for flexibility. I try to be one of those people who can "roll with" just about anything. I enjoy spontaneity. Last-minute road trip? Count me in. Drop of the hat camping? Yes please. Pack up and leave the country for a third of a year? Put my name down. Really.

But knowing that things, big things, are happening. Knowing EXACTLY WHEN they're happening, progressively getting closer and closer, that scares me. The "point of no return" feeling really gets to me [as a little kid I used to lie awake the night before my birthday - not out of excitement, but because I was worried that I had forgotten some important seven-year-old milestone that could not be fulfilled the same at eight. Ridiculous. I know].

Even worse is having to make those decisions myself [Hence my indecisiveness]. Things like goldfish dying, breakups, and yes, leaving the country for extended periods of time, put me in a strange funk [and a different "funk" than those types of things are expected to cause]. I'm fine after the moment of change has passed. There will be other goldfish, I'm a strong person on my own, and I am wholly excited to immerse myself in anther culture. But watching Goldie swim around sideways, knowing there's nothing I can do; making the fateful phone call, even knowing it's for the best; and getting on the plane, even though I know what adventures lie ahead, all make me second-guess my choices.

It's human. I know. It's normal [To some extent, at least]. But I am seeing and recognizing this fear in myself now, and it's eye-opening.

I will be fine as soon as the plane is in the air. I know it. But getting on the plane? That moment of finality, stepping through security? That's probably going to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

Perfection

"This rock is so pretty, and it's perfect for skipping, so perfect that I almost want to just keep it. I'm afraid of ruining it by trying to skip it and failing."

"But wouldn't it be better to try to skip it and ruin it, than to keep it, since what it's perfect for is being thrown?"

-Conversation of the day.

A Theological Query

If the sun sets on my anger at the system, is that bad?

I'm trying to be patient, but the redundant and inane paperwork and bureaucracy are testing my limits.

Funny that when I land in two and a half weeks, I won't even remember this part.

That's all.

Voy a Extrañar...

Today, as I was rinsing my hair with coffee out of a canning jar (be proud Cassie, be proud), I realized that there are some things about life here in the states that I will miss while on the far side of the sea. So, naturally, I compiled a list:

1. My "quirky" habits (such as java-rinsing my hair) that will probably be too imposing, difficult to explain, or just plain weird to continue.

2. Abelard the guitar

3. Driving myself wherever I need to go

4. Frozen Yogurt

5. Understanding what people around me are saying

Oh, What a Day Is Today

Today I am...

Leaving the dishes in the sink.

Enjoying good food and laughter with Cassie.

Acknowledging my anxieties about this next adventure.

Looking forward to the changes in store for me and those around me who are embarking on parallel journeys.

Needing it to be "okay" that I'm excited to move on.

Certain that the county fair is the best place to re-adjust one's digestive system to meat

(that's one corn dog accomplished).

Finished with County Fair radio broadcast.

Making it my life's goal to experience an Improv Everywhere musical.

Probably not going to sleep until very late.