Everything is starting to sound, look, and taste like Mexico. And soon enough I'll be there. And it's exciting. But, as usual, a touch intimidating. I'm not used to it anymore. I'll feel awkward trying to speak Spanish. And like I stand out in the Ley (grocery store). And like it would've been easier to stay home. But I'll ride bikes with Mexican kids. And dance to mariachi music. And Order Empenadas with ease. Because it's all tantilizingly familiar in a long-gone sort of a way.
And maybe I'll be back out of place when I get back to Canada. But nope. It's only two months. And I'll keep in touch. Maybe this time I can have the best of both. Well, except the parties I'm not there for.

It's another all-nighter. But this one is different. 'Cause Cor actually does it too and then comes to work the next morning. It's a good shift. As far as that goes. And I won't be back for a bit.
It's a long morning nap. Nothing new about that. Then many errends around town. Most of them twice. Then some reading in a lame attempt to finish my library book. No such luck.
It's getting a call. "We're leaving tonight".
"Right," I reply, "that's just great".
So I pack in half an hour, then go up to a friends for supper. Pancakes with sourcream and syrup. And I feel weird the whole time.
I wonder what I forgot.
It's a first poker night. I have no idea what I'm doing, play conservative, and lose. But it's fun anyway, even if I'm in a weird frame of mind and hardly even laugh at the jokes. After months of saying I want to learn, it'd better be.
My stuff's in my car. And it's straight to my parent's. Because we're off. And my sister stands in the driveway watching us go. This is weird.
It's a big envelope. Full of letters from friends. Plus a parcel from my sis. All dated. And I can't even start opening them 'till the twelvth. It is cruel. I am loved.
It's driving too late. And falling asleep to the rocking of the bus. It's back to Mexico baby!
I want the best of both.

'Tis the season to be jolly.
Bah humbug. That's what I say.
Since when do I have to grow-up?
Somebody tell me that.

And Cor and Kris spent the Night at Cor's brother's. The next day they went to Canadian tire and then accumulated over 1/2 an hour walking to get out of town (Cor naively thought it would take ten minutes). At that point they got a ride within 15 minutes with a nice lady named Jodie from Alberta who was breaking her rules ("cool. Us too"). She let them listen to "Alice's restaurant" and she gave them a ride all the way home.
The end.

Cor and Kris, long time partners in crime, decide we want to go Christmas shopping. Unfortunently the nearest Wal*mart is over an hour away. What to do?
They are not girls to sit around when faced with a problem. They put their heads to the matter. They think. And think. And then Cor strikes upon a solution.
"We could drive your car!"
"No," says Kris decisively, "gas costs too much money."
"Oh," says Cor. And they settle down to think some more.
Finally they have a good idea. They remember a form of transportation knowing to most of the English speaking world as hitch hiking.
On Kris' next days off (cause she works) they get up early (Kris is in a surly mood due to talking on the phone after midnight the night before). They step into their baggy jeans, button up their plaid shirts, lace up their hiking boots, and belt on their knives. It's light by time they're walking out of town. It takes a while to get used to thumbing passing vehicles.
Kris is obnoxious. She thinks she knows about hitch hiking since she's ridden with lots of them, and her Dad did it across Canada. She keeps trying to tell Cor to stick her thumb up better.
Their first ride comes along soon. They know this woman. She is a homeschooled mom, firendly, all around safe. All good. They climb in and ride a kilometer or so out of town.
Fifteen minutes along comes another ride. Pretty cool ride. Except Kris has to ride in the back with a weiner dog named Sasha. The diver is Czech, friendly, interesting. He's going about halfway to their destination.
"Cool," think Cor and Kris, "This is pretty easy."
They start walking again. Kris wishes she wore long johns. She wishes her boots didn't hurt her little toe. Cor gloats. She is glad she wore pj pants and that her boots don't hurt.
They walk for a very long time. Or so they think. They eat granola bars and Cor blows her nose many times. They thumb a lot of vehicles. Not very many pick them up.
Kris thumbs one vehicle. She sees a man with long curly hair and a baseball cap driving an old pick-up. Said truck pulls over.
Kris and Cor find themselves in the back seat of a beat-up pick-up with two grungy longhaired redneck types smoking a joint and using coarse languages while talking about course subjects in the front.
It is interesting. But they get to their destination with only minor harm to their lungs, braincells, and innocence.
Thus passes the first time Cor and Kris went hitch hiking.
They spend a lot of money. But really, to be honest, the shopping was kind of an excuse to chalk up another experiance.
At time of writing they were halfway along in their little adventure.

What's up with me? I'm busy, and I'm sick. That's basically it. On with a crazy life even though I cough 'till it hurts and have an externally chapped nose. But it's nicer then when I had the sore throat.
That said, what I really wanted to tell you is a story. A story about 40,000 children.
Yesterday I got together with a bunch of friends. And one asked us if we'd heard of the Gulu Walk. We had not. I don't know if you have, but it's a walk that was held yesterday to raise awareness. A ten kilometer walk to think of the kids who have to walk from the country to more populated areas every night in an attempt to keep themselves safe from the Ugandan rebel army. These kids are the untold victims of a harsh civil war. Captured and forced to be soldiers and sex slaves.
So my friends held their own Gulu Walk. A small act that won't make any difference. Unless making us think about can help change something somewhere.
I was smart. I didn't go. Because it was hard enough trying to wait up for them to get back. And I'm not resting enough to get better anyway. But also because I was able to stay back and feel perfectly safe. Because I don't need to make a two hour walk every night.
And so maybe that's the good it did. Because suddenly my cold doesn't seem quite so bad. I'll get over it eventually.
realize. (dial-up users beware. The link has a video clip).

I steal Cor's bike for the afternoon. I then zip around town. Small town alleys. Rough paths. Classic shortcuts. A quick glance to make sure the coast is clear before dashing across the road. With my hair blowing behind me.
It's true when they say you never forget how to ride a bike.

I'm starting to remember what I dislike about sitting on my rear for hours trying to find the correct answers for too many questions in a row.
I'm starting to remember the thrill of figuring the right answer after trying twenty times.
I'm starting to remember the frustration of fighting against stupid english courses that tell me to believe in not using incomplete sentences.
In short, school returneth.

I was singing Larry Norman. Not even his most impactful song, as far as I'm concerned. The one that goes,
I've been shot down/
kicked around/
some people scandalize my name./
But here I am talking 'bout Jesus just the same.
Talkin' bout Jesus. Shouldn't that be what it's about? Talking about Jesus, living for him, putting him first before everything else? Going out and doing what we think he's leading us to.
But it's not. I tell myself that if I was forced to choose I'd stand as a martyr for him. But How could I? When I don't even do the simple act of having time with him regularly in a country where I'm free to do so. When I don't even bother asking him to guide me except when I'm stressed and I need relief. But only to fix my mistakes.
I go through life. I've set my standards. I know where I draw my lines at what's wrong. Still mildly confused when faced with some stuff. But I try to follow the guidelines given to me. But then I don't read them. Because I think I find them boring.
I get caught up in theology. And I think we should learn through it. Study it. Form our opinions. And be able to face the tougher questions. But at which point did it turn from 'Yeah, brother!' to 'Yeah, but do you accept your denomination's doctrine?'.
There's a lot of important issues out there. And they need to be faced. But in the end it needs to come back to what's basic. And what's important.
So let's hear it.
There is love in the red letters/
There is truth in the red letters/
There is hope for the hopeless/
Peace and forgiveness/
There is life, in the red letters/
in the red letters. (lyrics gratis of DC Talk)
And you have no idea how hard it's been for me to keep this post as simple and basic as I have.

Both of us sitting at either end of the couch. Under our own blankets, and deep in our own books. Our toes touching. Aware the other is there. But not thinking of it. Unless we come to a section of our book that needs sharing. Or let our minds wander to a thought we need to tell the other. Until we're back in our books.
I involved in the plot of an Agatha Cristie. Her deep in some philosophical novel. And each of us planning to read the other's. Once they're through, of course.