Lists and Things

Updates all around.  Simplifying, meeting people, then Master Cleansing, k?  K.

Still reading 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess  and loving it.  Currently praying/thinking/meditating/beatingmyheadagainstwalls about simplifying my daily life.  Nothing has been officially initiated or committed to yet.  And this is not due to procrastination or lack of zeal.  Rather, I need to think about what I need to do, what our family/household needs to do, and how to make things happen.  I don’t want to jump in too quickly and take on a bunch of new hopes and dreams I can’t (well, ok... won’t) actually do.  But, here’s my current list of needed changes in 2012:

1.  Start recycling (again).  I grew up in the Northwest.  Recycling everything is basically the 11th Commandment.  So, it’s not new or weird or radical to me.  But, since moving overseas, I haven’t done it.  No curbside pick up or city-issued bins here.  No composts.  I’m gonna actually have to work at this.  Buy bins, haul loads to various sites, contact farmers who want my gloopy food dirt, etc.  Worth it?  YES.

2.  Stop using “disposables.”  Again, this was normal growing up.  If you don’t use things that need to be thrown away or recycled, you’re doing the planet a whole lotta good.  I’ve decided to slowly wean our home off Zip-locks, paper towels, and other not-necessary-but-oh-so-easy products.  Reusable (BPA free) containers and old fashioned rags and towels will be just fine.  

3.  Buy local.  This is somewhat easy and somewhat tricky here.  I live in the desert.  The produce that grows here is beautiful, juicy, and delicious.  But it’s very limited.  Very.  And, just because it’s locally grown by the iPhone-carrying Bedouin down the interstate doesn’t meant it’s healthy or organic.  A common misunderstanding here is that if a little is good, a lot must be great.  This translates into overuse of pesticides and “protective” chemicals.  Anyone ever heard of vitamin and mineral rich soil that naturally protects plants??  I need to do some research (here, that means conversing with people) and find out which of the large, daily produce trucks sells the most healthy stuff.  But ultimately, if it comes between chemical-laden produce from the grocery store or the same stuff via my farmer neighbor, I need to buy local.  So, I’ll start with fruits and veggies and go from there.

4.  Plant a garden.  Again, a little tricky.  We live in an apartment, and the wee bits of balcony space we have are needed for hanging wet clothes.  But I’m going to buy/make some planters suitable for our space, and look into an indoor herb garden.  I have such fond, childhood memories of the fresh herbs and veggies bursting with life right in my own backyard.  Even if it’s only a fraction of what we consume, I’m ready to start my garden.

5.  Be a homemaker.  Okay, so this sounds so anti-feminist.  But I don’t mean it that way.  I mean it to encourage a more whole, healthy, appreciative, and productive life.  I’m not against convenience, but a lot of times my reliance on what is easy is just pure laziness.  I’ve always loved health, fresh produce, cooking, and baking.  So I’ve decided to find more opportunities and new ways of making things from scratch (or scraps, if I’m out of the kitchen and braving some sort of crazy craft).  Isn’t it ironic that simplifying your life doesn’t necessarily mean making life simple?  I see work in my future.  Ha!

That’s my list so far.  Don’t worry; there will be more.

In terms of my meet n’ greet challenge, I’ve already met some keepers.  My first day, I succeeded in connecting with five amazing women who all work at a mall close to my home.  I’ve already hanged out with three of them, and I’m planning on visiting the other two during their breaks sometime this week.  I’m actually baking birthday cupcakes right now for one of the women (she’s a 34 year old, divorced mother of four, has about eight broken teeth, and works six, 12-hour shifts each week; she deserves cupcakes).  I’m already loving my strangers-turned-friends.  This challenge might continue past the month...

Lastly, I’m on day 8 of a ten day Master Cleanse.  I haven’t cleaned out since last fall, so it’s about time.  Today I made popsicles out of the lemonade mixture.  They (I had two...) were incredibly delightful.  Since this is like my seventh or eight cleanse in the past four of five years, I’m thinking I’m qualified to make a Master Cleanse cookbook...?  We’ll see.  Short list of ingredients, endless possibilities (and by endless I mean about five or six).

Time to pour more white-sugar-white-flour-egg-ridden batter (but made from scratch!) into disposable cupcake papers.  *sigh*

Until next time,  Ana

Meet 'n Greet.

Do you ever find yourself—while driving down the road—in deep thought and amazement that there are that many cars in your city?  That many people?  Enough to ensure a constant flow of traffic on all interstates, highways, and arterials?  That all those people actually have lives... and somewhere to go?  Sometimes this boggles my mind.  How are there so many people?  And, how do I know so few of them?


This month is an attempt to change that.  No, not the number of people on the earth.  I'm not pregnant, and I'm not planning on taking anybody "out."  But I would like to meet more of the faces streaming by me everyday, everywhere I go.  So, after lots of thought and consideration, I've decided to commit this next month to meeting strangers.  Wherever I go.  Yes, I'm that girl.  The girl you've probably never encountered yet because it's so strange and creepy, no one else does it.  But I'm gonna.  Here's the plan.


Five to ten people a day.  Whether I'm in the taxi, walking to a nearby store, taking advantage of some cafe's free internet, I'm going to meet people.  I'll walk right up to them, introduce myself, and see where it leads.  No less than five times a day, and shooting for ten.  If I haven't met my quota by the end of the day, I'll head to the nearby mall to fulfill it.  Because of cultural issues, I'm aiming for females.  And, just to avoid freaking any paranoid parents out, I won't be targeting kids.


I'm not really sure what to expect.  New best friends?  Hopefully.  Kind and gracious people who want nothing to do with me after the initial, awkward five minutes?  Likely. Weird, annoyed grunts and stares?  Probably.  Escorting of crazy, overly-friendly American from public places?  Oh, Lord; I hope not.


I'll weigh in on my experiences and progress.  Not really sure what to say after the "Hello, my name is..." part.  But I'm kinda looking forward to being so vulnerable and out of control.  Too much of my life is put together, comfortable, and organized.  Time to jump out of my safe and tidy circle of friends and mix things up.


I wonder what it was like several thousand years ago if you journeyed to a new city.  Would you be in awe of any passerby you met on the road?  Would it be weird to see someone you never met before?  Who didn't live in your area and provide some trade or skill that forced you to interact at some point?  Who wasn't related to you?  For some of the villagers who live in my general vicinity, this is still true.  New people are an anomaly to them.   If they see a fresh face or someone who's not from around there, they, well, treat them like a real, live, breathing human being.  They stare in curiosity and amazement, ask you your name, and might even touch you.  The next gesture is almost always the same, "Come to my house!  Drink tea and coffee with me!"


I love this.  I want more of this.  Even in my big, bustling city.  I don't want to pass by people and not notice them.  I've probably missed countless of "the best people in the world" and BFFs just by taking humans for granted and going about my business.  Time to change all that with a fun little experiment.


If you decide to join in on the craziness, please let me know.


Until next time, Ana

7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess

I finished The Hunger Games trilogy last night, feeling a slight pang of despair at the realization my adventures with Katniss and Peeta have come to an end.  It’s amazing (and a little weird) how connected you can feel to nonexistent, fictional characters.  No wonder I was a lit major.

I based my next read on a recommendation from a friend I just visited for a few days.  Actually, she first recommended it three months ago when Husband and I were touring the States.  Since then, I’ve heard mention of it from several others, but was too bogged down with grad school to even give it a second thought.  So, upon my return to the US to for my graduation ceremony, I had the privilege of receiving the second recommendation for this book by the same friend.

I know you’re all biting your nails and and screaming at the screen in desperate curiosity.  The recommended read is called 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess. Here’s Amazon’s book description:

American life can be excessive, to say the least. That’s what Jen Hatmaker had to admit after taking in hurricane victims who commented on the extravagance of her family’s upper middle class home. She once considered herself unmotivated by the lure of prosperity, but upon being called “rich” by an undeniably poor child, evidence to the contrary mounted, and a social experiment turned spiritual was born.
7 is the true story of how Jen (along with her husband and her children to varying degrees) took seven months, identified seven areas of excess, and made seven simple choices to fight back against the modern-day diseases of greed, materialism, and overindulgence.
Food. Clothes. Spending. Media. Possessions. Waste. Stress. They would spend thirty days on each topic, boiling it down to the number seven. Only eat seven foods, wear seven articles of clothing, and spend money in seven places. Eliminate use of seven media types, give away seven things each day for one month, adopt seven green habits, and observe “seven sacred pauses.” So, what’s the payoff from living a deeply reduced life? It’s the discovery of a greatly increased God—a call toward Christ-like simplicity and generosity that transcends social experiment to become a radically better existence.

The most striking chapter so far was on Month 3: Possessions.  I read it during a 2.5 hour flight from Phoenix to Spokane, and pretty much cried the whole time.  I’m sure the sweet, young love birds sitting next to me were equally perplexed and amused.  When I apologized to them for having to move them from their seats so I could slide out and go the bathroom, the girl looked deep into my eyes and said quite compassionately, “Don’t be sorry.”  She probably thinks I’m going through some mental/emotional breakdown.

And maybe I am.  Challenged by the author’s pledge to give away 7 items from her home each day for an entire month (that equals no fewer than 210 things total, but she ended up giving over 1,000 items away), I can’t help ask myself and the Big Guy upstairs where my allegiance lies.  A Wise Man one said you can’t serve both God and money.  He also said that where your treasure is, there your heart is also.  

Where is my treasure?  What does that even mean?  I can’t help immediately thinking about the shopping spree that always ensues upon any return to the US.  No joke, I descend the plane with my list of “needs” in hand.  Who doesn’t need Costco-sized bags of quinoa and 6 bottles of Trader Joe’s salad dressing? (Btw, I’m trying to trick you into thinking all the items on my list are understandable and reasonable... I mean, frugal and healthy, right?  If only I was so innocent...)

My heart leaps to a quick hope that what I’m feeling is condemnation, and the last time I checked my Bible, condemnation is not from the Lord.  But neither are excuses.  And that’s what I’m trying to do right now; make a list of excuses long enough to match and rationalize (and re-rationalize) my crazy, capitalistic, consumer sprees every 6-9 months I’m “home.”  More likely, I’m experiencing healthy conviction.  And feeling a good dose of guilt.  

Guilt.  So often we're against other people (and when we say “other people” we’re really meaning “me, myself, and I”) feeling guilty.  “Oh, honey; don’t feel guilty.  That’s not from the Lord.”  But maybe I should feel guilty... if I am guilty.  And this time around, I have a sneaking feeling I’ve done the crime.

I’m not sure what this all means for me yet.  Husband and I are planning to move to a new home in the next month, trading in our convenient, pretty, upperclass apartment for simpler accommodations in a poorer, more communal area of town.  I’m thinking the move (and all the organizing, disorganizing, and reorganizing) will provide the perfect opportunity to greatly reduce our almost-embarrassing amount of stuff.  

Anyone ever see the old VeggieTales episode featuring Madam Blueberry and her adventures at Stuff-Mart?  “I’m so blue-hu-hu, blue-hu-hu, blue-hu-hu-HUUUUUU! I’m so blue I don’t know what to do!” is playing in my head right now.  Although, I’m not blue about wanting all the stuff I can’t pay for or push around in my shopping cart.  I’m a little blue about everything I’ve already paid for, accumulated, and lugged from country to country.

Consumer.  Capitalist.  Spoiled, Western, Christian girl who grew up thinking she was middle class but was really rich as all get out.

Guilty as charged.

As I said above, I’m not sure what this means in terms of daily living and application.  I’m asking the Big Guy for clarification in my own heart about simplifying life, loving others as much as I love myself, and finding more of Him in all of this.  Updates soon to follow...

Until next time, Ana

Roots.

Stateside travels and work appointments have ruled my time the past couple months.  Recently, I started my final semester of grad school, greatly exciting me, Husband, and our bank account.  Two classes and a completed thesis stand between me and my May graduation.  

Between the travels and academic studies, not much time is left for personal activities.  I have managed to squeeze in a great read in the last three days, though.  The book, Romulus, My Father, tells the true story of a Yugoslavian immigrant to Australia, and his battle for family, morality, and life.  A close friend recommended the read to me, knowing my family’s deep Eastern European roots (Croatia, Slovakia, Austria).  

I’ve always been interested in my family tree and knowing about my family’s cultural origins.  But I have to admit, I’ve never given it deep thought and taken the time to internalize (or even familiarize myself with) the deep sacrifices and hardships taken upon my ancestors to give me the life I now live.  

Romulus, My Father lit a fire in me.  I can’t stop thinking about what it must have been like for my paternal great-grandfather who came to America from Zagreb, Croatia, one hundred years ago this spring.  My grandpa was the first generation of his family to live his entire life in America—to balance what it means to be fully European by blood but fully American by birth.  My dad recounts tales about the cruel and racist words and activities my great-grandparents and grandpa endured.  Considered “non-white,” they were limited concerning what jobs they could work, where they lived, and who their children played with on the streets.  My great-grandfather, grandpa, and dad all worked in the coal mines in Butte, Montana, each for a shorter amount of time than the last.  My brother hasn’t worked with coal a day in his life.  

My maternal grandmother was also first generation American, originally from Vienna, Austria.  Her father died when she was very young, leaving a single, twenty-something year old girl with a small child to find options for “building a life” for future generations.  She entered a relationship with a man twice her age, offering her stability, security, and possibly a sense of love and belonging.  But, what went on in their household—how both my great-grandmother and grandma were treated, used, and abused—is only known in part.  My grandma currently suffers very deeply from serious mental ailments, and my family believes many of these issues stem from multifaceted abuse by her mother’s lover.  Some answers we’ll never know, but it’s no question that with stability and financial security often come a great sacrifice to the whole self.  

As a young girl, Grandma spent time in Europe during an extended stay with relatives, probably feeling more at home among native German speakers than the Americans in St. Louis, Missouri.  I’m thankful I had the opportunity to study abroad in Vienna as an undergrad.  Although never flooded with romantic notions of my grandmother or moments of extreme emotion, I did think of Grandma almost daily as I walked the cobblestone streets of the seat of the former Holy Roman Empire.  So much history everywhere I turned—the kind you read about in textbooks, and the unknown and unappreciated kind wrapped up in the mystery of my grandma’s early childhood.  

I am overwhelmed with emotion and thanks.  So much of my family’s story is still unknown, and will probably remain that way.  But I do know it couldn’t have been easy to start a life in America before multiculturalism was trendy.  I imagine my small, nine year old grandma trying to interact with her fellow classmates in St. Louis, Missouri, only to be bombarded by barriers of language, culture, and social class.  And I can’t help but laugh at the fact my blond haired, blue-eyed Croatian grandpa was considered “non-white.”  

I doubt my great-grandparents ever dreamed Husband and I would forsake our privileged, educated, caucasian American status to be humanitarian workers in the Middle East.  In fact, I wonder if they’d be unable to understand it and believe it disrespectful of previous sacrifices made for us.  I hope they would be proud—proud of our willingness to sacrifice the comforts of our citizenship to build bridges between those who have and those who have not... those who have “made it” and those who are the current recipients of much racism and hatred across the Western world.  

Although The Hunger Games Trilogy is vying for my attention and readership, I’m most looking forward to continued studies of the land and culture of my ancestors.  This spring, my family in Croatia honors the 100th anniversary of my great-grandfather’s immigration to America.  It’s doubtful Husband and I will join them in person for the celebrations, but I’ll be there in spirit as I further explore and embrace my Croatian heritage through the written word.  

I challenge you—my family, friends, and readers—to embrace today’s immigrant population.  It wasn’t too long ago we were them.  It wasn’t long ago we were the newbies, divided by race, culture, language, and often religion.  May we not forget the sacrifices made for us, and those being made by present-day immigrants for their future generations.  

Until next time,  Ana

26 and R.I.P.P.E.D.

I just celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday.  Burrrr.  Twenty-six?  Late twenties?  Well, I'm still claiming mid-twenties.  I'll make the full and formal transition into the elder part of this decade next year.

The birthday was wonderfully spent.  It began with an eight-hour fitness training.  After two and a half hours of vicious workouts (my buns still burn!), five hours of detailed instruction and textbooking, and a final exam, I'm now certified to instruct R.I.P.P.E.D.—The One Stop Body Shock!  R.I.P.P.E.D. is a "plateau proof fitness formula" that utilizes free weights, resistance, and body weight training to masterfully combine Resistance, Intervals, Power, Plyometrics, Endurance, and Diet to kick your body into high gear.  The 50 minute class combines explosive cardio in the interval, plyometrics, and endurance portions of the workout, and great strength training during resistance and power.  The average person burns 750-1000 calories in this less-than-an-hour class (are you salivating yet? Cause I am)!  The diet and nutrition information found here helps you get the maximum results for all your effort.  I'm really excited about introducing this class to the Middle East and seeing all the great transformation that will take place!  Yay for fitness, wellness, and health!

Speaking of health, I encourage you to say a prayer of thanks for yours.  Today, I found out very hard and disappointing news.  My former choir and drama teacher, Ms. Kathleen Blair, passed away in early October.  Ms. Blair (1950-2011) fought a seven-month battle with cancer, and will be deeply missed.  I am so saddened to hear of her passing; she was a fiery, no-nonsense, God-fearing woman, and she touched thousands of students' lives as they passed through her classroom.  Please pray for her husband, son, and other loving family and friends as they spend their first holiday season without their beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend.  I'm consoled by the fact I was able to see her and visit with her one last time this past July.  Thank You, Father, for Ms. Blair and all she brought and offered to the world.  We will miss her.

Well, my tangled and wet hair has been locked up in a restrictive tower of a towel after showering two hours ago.  I guess it's about time to release it!  As William Wallace said, "Freeeeee-dommmmmm!"

Until next time,  Ana

What a horribly good day.

Today is one of those best/worst days of my life.  I know; not dramatic at all.  

Husband and I are on our way home to the States for a few months, and we stopped to spend a few days in the city/country we were recently forced to leave.  We just got here today, and I'm experiencing a wave of unexpected emotions.  I knew it would be really nice to see our friends here (friends seems like such a shallow word to use for these people; family is much more in line with the truth), but I didn't think much more about it.

Backtrack.  So, we've recently settled into our new home in a new Middle Eastern country.  Life is much more convenient and, in many ways, much more "American."  We have water (not mention water pressure and hot water!!), dependable electricity, paved streets, meters in the taxis, and oh-so-much more. We've felt kinda guilty living in such luxury, but it's not too hard to get used to!

Until we came home today, that is.  We shared two meals with two of our dearest and closest families.  Playing cards, laughing, switching back and forth between two languages, and cuddling all together on old couches made me yearn and ache for our life here.  It hit me much harder today than when we left less than two months ago.  

Tonight, as two of our best friends drove Husband and me to our place of lodging for the next few nights, I couldn't hold back the extremely unexpected and ever-so-abrasive tears filling my eyes.  This is our home.  These are our people—our friends, our family.  This is where I want to be.  Why couldn't we stay?  Could we have fought harder?  Gotten better legal help?  Won the battle for our home and our family?

But a still, small voice comforted my spirit as I sat there crying, just soaking in the voices of the family we love and miss so much already.  I don't understand why we had to leave this place.  And today more than ever, I'm having a really hard time with it.  But I do know my life is not my own, and that is a good—very good—thing.  

Sometimes I wish I had all the answers and reasons for every happening in life.  But as I turn around and survey the beautiful tapestry that's already been woven by the comings and goings of people and places in my life, redemption, joy, and faithfulness are to be found in undeniable abundance.  And the beauty I see in that tapestry has nothing to do with me or my choices or logic or reason, and everything to do with One who knows in full.  I must remember the hesitations and questions I had when I first came here.  I had months of frustration, loneliness, and prayers for change.  And somehow, emptiness turned to the most beautiful and overflowing fullness.  This became my home.  These became my people.  And if it's happened like this once, I know it's possible again.  I know my already-much-better-and-easier start in our new home and country can turn into months and years of glorious friendships and bliss.  But it sure is hard to say goodbye to the home I still love and long for...  to the family I miss so dearly.

I am more than grateful for today and the next few days we're here.  But I'm not ready to go to the airport on Tuesday.  I'm not ready to turn around and wave goodbye to the people who still hold my heart and (what feels like) all my love.  I'm not very happy about "moving on."  Sigh.  At least Christmas cheer, birthday fun, tree decorating, best friends, siblings, and my Mom and Dad are waiting on the other side.  I don't anything less would suffice.

Until next time, Ana

So, we finally meet, ay?

I rarely get stressed out.  In fact, in college, I swore “being stressed” was a figment of my friends’ imaginations and that they simply weren’t privileged to grow up under my parents’ high standards of performance and work ethic.  Just do your work and stop complaining, I commonly thought.  It’s just school work; it can’t be that bad.  I know, I know; compassion would have probably been a better response.  

So now, I get to stick it to myself.  I am self-admittedly, absolutely, no-turning-back stressed to the max.  And yes, it all revolves around school work.  I still would like to believe my previous outlook on stress was correct, and that there is more forgiveness for stress due to graduate work (aka 50-100 paged research reports and audits) than under-grad studies (aka one-page-reports on Whitman and multiple choice Communications quizzes).  But that would be kinda snotty of me.  So, for the record, let’s just say my opinion on stress is officially altered.

As briefly mentioned above, the source of my stress is a communication audit I’m currently conducting.  It’s the first audit I’ve done, so the “unknown” is the biggest giant I’m wrestling.  I’m learning how much I treasure the familiar.  For instance, I love writing papers.  Yes, of course I trick myself into thinking I hate and despise them in the midst of the word-wars and message-madness that ensues when trying to put my thoughts on paper.  (Why do my fingers have so much trouble typing out what I’m thinking in my head?  Unreal.)  But, in reality, I love papers... I love to write.  And I’m comfortable with it.  You tell me to write 5-7 pages, and I’ll beg for 7-9.  10-12?  Can I please have 14??  To me, writing an academic paper is the equivalent of snuggling up with the most tried and true cashmere blanket (yum! can I get one of those??), sinking into an overstuffed leather chair, and enjoying the competing sounds of a near-by crackling fire and distant, drizzling rain.  Ahhh, home sweet home.

But if you really want to pull me out of that chair and (Moses forbid!) steal that blanket from me, tell me the paper writing isn’t as important as the research.  Tell me to conduct polls, surveys, interviews, observation, and focus groups and analyze the findings.  Tell me to base my writing on these stats and results and you’ve just about forced me out of my beloved and luxurious paper-writing fantasy.  Why would you do that?

Absurdity, yes.  Don’t we have enough research being done in this world?  Is it really crucial that I engage in this craziness, too?  

So, alas!  I am at my wits end, trying to pull together a couple months-worth of research and findings to craft a suitable “paper” that will mesmerize my stat-loving professor. I keep telling myself I see the Christmas lights blinking at the end of this long and dark tunnel, ushering me home to entire mansions filled with cashmere blankets and cozy cushions (aka my grand thesis next semester).  I will soon reunite with and re-indulge in the beautiful pleasure of theory papers.  But for now... dun dun dunnnnnn...

Sometimes I wish grades and achievement didn’t matter so much to me.  It might mean a lot less stress when asked to come out of my familiar den and face the roaring lions (aka surveys and focus groups).  But I’m pretty sure aiming for anything less than 120% is not in my DNA.  So, come stress or relaxation, I’ll be plucking away, trying to win the hearts of artsy gurus and stat-loving professors alike.  

To brighten the mood, I think a little rendition of “Christmas Don’t Be Late” by Alvin and The Chipmunks is in order.  “Christmas, Christmas time is near! Time for toys, and time for cheer! We’ve been good, but we can’t last; hurry Christmas!  Hurry fast!”

Seasons greetings and well wishes from a finally-stressed and dethroned lion fighter!  Hey, life could be SO MUCH worse.  As my Dad always says, I have good problems.  

Until next time, Ana