a breath of fresh air.

it was a long weekend. the first half was spent celebrating host mom's birthday; a night of drinks and raucous laughter, lots of nice ceviche and dip. the next day was the quinceanos of a niece... or cousin... it was a grand and formal masquerade-themed event, with a court of her friends, choreographed dances, speeches, and all the dip and soda you could ask for. (author's note* "dip" refers to a cheese dip, usually eaten with tortilla chips; it's a combination of processed spreadable cheese, cream, some chili flavoring, etc, and it's a big hit. always. and coke. no one turns down a nice cold coke. except sometimes me, just leaving people perplexed.) the family traditions here sometimes remind me of my dad's big family back home, our mother's day celebrations at Grandma's, mariachi bands and margaritas and smoky sweet smells from the grill. my aunt from Honduras always made ceviche and deviled eggs. my Grandma always made her famous refried beans. i feel at home with this new family here. sometimes Belize can feel familiar.

the second half of the weekend was spent with friends in the West. i traveled back to where the majority of our training had been held and felt a rush of memories swarm around inside me as i gazed out the window at the streets and shops. on my way to my friend's house i ran into my first host mom. it was great to see her, to share a hug and bright smiles. our faces both saddened when we mentioned that the other trainee who had also stayed with her had left. she wished me well and i walked the long dirt road down to the tall green house.
that afternoon a group of us played frisbee golf in the middle of a forest, a howler monkey wandering from tree to tree overhead. in between games we drank a belikin. there was a fascinating highway of leaf-cutter ants (also known as wee-wee ants) that night it was good home-cooked food and dominoes. i believe i feel asleep on the couch, but i'm sure i was smiling.
morning of potatoes, eggs, MarioKart, and Twister. that's right, we played Twister.
then a new friend and i got a lift to Belmopan. his house was simple and calm. his books were on religion and philosophy, yoga and gardening, history and business. we sat, listened to Paul Simon, Cake, Bob Marley, Modest Mouse, Blind Melon, Counting Crows... all the music that makes my ears swell with happiness. we chatted occasionally. we shared silence often. Gahtlin had good taste in music and didn't mind enjoying it together in peace.
two other volunteers came by for an evening yoga session; he led a great informal class and i felt relaxed, at ease. we followed yoga with deliciously greasy fried rice and chow mein take-out that we ate slowly at another volunteer's house. i saw more good books. got a glimpse into the lives of a few new people.
heading back to Gahtlin's house, walking through Belmopan at night, it was quiet and still. this place felt like the suburbia of Belize. there is a college here. a park of low trees that were planted too far from the walkway to provide any shade during the day. neighborhoods and big bright supermarkets. i listened to our footsteps on the pavement, caught in rhythm with one another from time to time.
it ended up being a cold, cold night which we filled with hours of red wine and talking, content listening to the music and eachother's stories.
after only a few hours of sleep, huddled under layers of blankets, reminiscent of "cold" Orange County mornings in November, i was faced with a huge lack of motivation to admit that this ideal minivacation was over. we got to the bus terminal just as a northbound bus was leaving the station. i ran after the departing bus and now i sit on the torn brown seat, on my way to the city.

Like little red riding hood.

Yesterday was the 44th reunion of the 1962 Peace Corps Volunteers. It was an interesting afternoon in Belize City with the very first PCVs in Belize. We shared stories and saw pictures. They talked of keeping all sorts fo crazy pets (a crocodile in their bathtub), driving baby blue jeeps, and having only letters to connect with their loved ones back home.
On my ride back home from the City, after chatting with the man next to me, he said, "If you were my daughter, I'd be worried about you going off on your own. You're like little red riding hood, and there's a whole lotta wolves out there..." He paid for my bus ticket.

Earlier this week... we went fishing off a bridge one night. Host family siblings and friends. They pulled out a bag of tangled fishing line, raw chicken chunks, and rusty, bent hooks. We stared down at the black water after casting our slimy pink wads, trying to figure out if the bait had even gone in. After lots of waiting and listening to music from a cell phone and recasting, I got my first bite! (never fished before) It got away with the bait. Even though we were eaten alive by the mosquitoes, it was a good night. We looked good in our fishing hats.
Sometimes you need a release. Especially when lesson planning for only three days of the week somehow turns into this neverending-losing-sleep process. Running a remedial program to children whose language skills are strongly influenced by Spanish and Creole changes everything. Working in a village school with far fewer teaching materials than anywhere I've taught before changes everything. I'm making most of my materials and trying any strategies that might work here. I evaluate things a lot at the end of the day. I get out of bed at night to write down new ideas. These days it feels as though my work has become my life.