Maria Luisa, our housekeeper of 3 and a half years, has had a brother in the hospital for about a week. Not sure exactly what it is, but it had something to do with his liver from decades of hard drinking she says. This morning she called me to tell me she wasn't coming in today because he passed away last night. He was at Hospital Escuela, which I have heard is slowly improving, but still lacking in every way possible. I was very sad for her and I wondered if he could have been saved if he was in a better hospital or had better workers? I will never know if this would have made a difference, but it probably would have helped somewhat. It's just another reminder of how tough life is for these people. I would actually consider Maria Luisa and her family low to middle class, not poor at all. So then imagine what it's like for those extremely improvished people? Is there no hope for them at all?
On the other hand, I get to spend time with my son. Of course I try to spend as much time with my children as possible, but when there is someone else in the house to watch your kids, it's so easy to just give the kids to them while you run errands. So this morning, I may not have written and answered all the emails, or gotten any online Christmas shopping done, but I did get to water the frontyard and backyard plants with him, watched Thomas the Train while explaining the difference between a diesel and a steam engine, and shared a bowl of eggs and rice with him. The emails can wait.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
So This Is Christmas...
It's Sunday, the day after my toy drive, and I am officially exhausted. It's been extremely tiring and emotionally draining, but my 4th and last toy drive is but a distant memory.
I'll admit it, I cried. Twice. I didn't want to, but I just broke down. More on that later.
It started off on the wrong foot Saturday morning. After staying up until 10pm on Friday night packing about 95% of the toys, along with some very kind friends helping, I decided I was done. I glanced at the cookies and juice that people have been donating for the children and it didn't look like it would be enough for 450+ children. Crap, I'm not going anywhere tonight, I thought. So in the morning, I decided that I would go and buy more cookies and juice. I left about 7:40am and although I knew that people would start trickling in about 8am, I had no choice. Maureen, a Peace Corps volunteer who stayed over at our house Friday night, stayed and opened the doors for people. I didn't get back to my house until 8:30am+ and of course everyone was already at my house. We all ended up leaving for Ojojona and what would happen on our way there? We, as the lead car, missed our turn. Crap. This is Honduras - it's not always that easy to get back on the right track once you've missed an exit. I called one of the Embassy's drivers and asked him what the hell to do now. Thank goodness he was able to lead us back on the right track, literally.
We get there in Ojojona and it looks good so far. It's the same day as the start of the Fair in Ojojona, but there isn't too much of a crowd yet. Maribel, my main contact in Ojojona, is there waiting for me. She works in the municipality in Ojojona to better women's lives. She is a fighter and a hero of mine. Two Peace Corps volunteers are also there, along with the pick up truck I would rent for Lps. 600. Very cool. No waiting. We get down to walk around a bit and go to the bathroom, then we're off! All of the people with us, except for two, have never taken this trek with me before. It seems that whoever goes in the previous years don't return with me. Why would they? It's sacrificing their whole Saturday, driving 5mph on an unpaved, rocky, hilly road for two hours to see dirty, poor children and their parents. Who would be crazy enough to do that????
As we're driving, I think there is a lot of tension and fear among the two SUVs following us. This is their first year, and they didn't expect the roads to be this scary. Ten minutes before our destination, we stop to regroup. Santa and Pepe, the non-Spanish speaking elf, get dressed in the woods. There are two stories here. The first, the funny, haha-look-our-friends-are-getting-dressed-up-hey-lets-take-tons-of-blackmail-photos part.
Then there's the second story. The real reason I have been doing this for years. The children:
We arrive at the "school" (what school do you know have a few tables and chairs and no books?) and the children are waiting for us, and they have been since 9am. It is now 11:00am. They are quiet and cautious as I approach them with a smile and even mutter a few words of greeting. I ask my friend Luis to get the kids separated by gender, youngest at the front. Sadly, when you ask these children how old they are, they just look at you like it's the toughest question in the world. Sometimes their parents don't even know.
I ask for the keys to open the door to the school so we can set up the cookies and drinks inside. Of course, the keys are nowhere to be found. I ask for a table and a chair for Santa. Nada. Finally, someone is able to find a table and a chair for me in one of the houses near by. We set up the toys behind the table and chair. I'm noticing that there is nowhere near the 450 kids I was expecting. Nothing close to that. I'm relieved, yet saddened because I really wanted to get those kids some toys, especially on my last year. I ask and they say that one of the aldeas (villages) didn't show up because word probably didn't get around to them. I look at the bright side: it's easier to manage now.
Luis gets the kids excited, as much as unenergized, malnourished children can be, to see Santa. Finally Santa and Pepe, who have been waiting behind the hill the whole time, come down and greet the children. Many are smiling, and many more are a little confused, as is Santa himself I presume. Santa, who this year is played convincingly by one of the Marines, sits down and talks to the first child. She wants nothing to do with this and doesn't come forward. Santa, trying his best to make this work, entices her with a toy. It doesn't work. The mom comes by and tells the child it's ok. Finally she takes the toy, apprehensively. It's as if this is the first time in her life anyone has ever given her anything. And sadly, it probably was.
Things go a little smoother as the children go down the line. Then it hits me - this is my last year. I look at the children, and I don't see their beauty anymore. I see everything that is wrong with them. Their dirty faces, their tattered clothes, their shoeless feet, their lack of energy due to malnutrition, their ignorance from not being schooled. I look at their parents and I see they are no different from their children. It's as if I am seeing into their children's future, and it does not look good. I get mad. At the system. At the government. At the rich. At the way things are. It doesn't have to be this way. Why is it? Not being able to help myself, I repeat to myself, "No child should live like this!"
Then I turn away and cry. I'm giving them toys. Toys? They don't need toys, they need shoes and clothes, they need food, they need comfort, they need EDUCATION. They need a fucking future. I can't stop crying. Some haven't eaten in days and I'm giving them a fucking soccer ball. I go for a walk and try to calm myself down.
I often look at my own children and I see so much spunk and internal strength. They rule our house today, and will one day rule the world if they so choose. These children that I am looking at don't believe that. This is their now, and this is their future. Without hope, any sign of a future is gone. They just lack spirit because no one has ever told them that it's there. They just have to one day find it.
I vow that will try to do more work in the future. Even as I return to Washington D.C. next year, I will continue working for these children. It may not be giving away toys, but it'll be in some other way.
I speak with the aldea leader, a soft-spoken man. I ask his name, but no matter how many times I ask him to repeat it, I could not say it back. He tells me that he has a three-year-old girl with cerebal palsy and hands me a paper from the hospital with her information on it. He asks if he can bring home a toy to her as his eyes well up with tears. If I was sad and crying earlier, how must these people be feeling on a day-to-day basis?
After they receive their toys, they walk over to the other side and take their cookies and juice. We are getting close to the end of the lines and I'm somewhat satisfied. Not completely, of course. People who stand up for change do so because they are never satisfied.
We leave, and that's it. My 4th toy drive in Ojojona has come and gone. I don't feel like crying at this point. I feel somewhat indifferent.
Next comes my favorite part, handing out toys to children who live in the houses on our path back. We've always done this in the previous years, but this time, it was hardcore. We had more than enough toys left over so I was determined to give away as much as possible. Any child within a shouting radius was not safe from our toy purging. At first, it was slow and infrequent. I had to keep getting out of the truck to find a toy in the back. Then after several stops, it occured to me that it was better to take a few toys with me to my seat. Then from there, it evolved into bringing in bags and bags of toys with me.
We'd stop and my helpers would give them cookies and candycanes and I'd give them the bags of toys. After a while, more bags from one of the SUVs following behind were delivered to the pickup truck in front of us. In that pick-up truck was Maribel, a Marine, an English teacher and two Honduran college students (with whom I was very pleased to see helping their fellow Honduras - Hondurans helping Hondurans - what a concept). They probably couldn't have been more different, but yet here they were, waving and shouting for the kids to come out of their houses and get their toys! And boy did the kids come, one, two, three, four, five at a time, running, jumping, falling over - just for a toy. They were extremely thankful. You can see it in their eyes.
Suddenly, it occured to me. I may not be able to change their lives, or their way of life, like I wanted to back there at the school, crying and cursing this country. It may happen one day, if Honduras gets better leaders, leaders who know what it's like to be poor and humble and who fight for their own people the way Maribel and that man with the unpronouncable name do, and when they instill in their children a goal of getting a better education, so that they may not end up like themselves.
But for today, for these last several hours anyway, I've given them something to smile about. They now have a teddy bear to hug during those lonely nights, a puzzle to stimulate their minds, coloring books to help their creativity. In their faces, I saw confusion at first at the idea of a complete stranger handing them a bag of toys, then elation. You care about us?, their eyes seemed to question. Then smiles and lo and behold, a sparkle in their eyes! The same sparkle that exists in my children's eyes! They are no different from my kids, except for the fact that they were born into his life. If only these kids believed they could rule the world as well.
I'll admit it, I cried. Twice. I didn't want to, but I just broke down. More on that later.
It started off on the wrong foot Saturday morning. After staying up until 10pm on Friday night packing about 95% of the toys, along with some very kind friends helping, I decided I was done. I glanced at the cookies and juice that people have been donating for the children and it didn't look like it would be enough for 450+ children. Crap, I'm not going anywhere tonight, I thought. So in the morning, I decided that I would go and buy more cookies and juice. I left about 7:40am and although I knew that people would start trickling in about 8am, I had no choice. Maureen, a Peace Corps volunteer who stayed over at our house Friday night, stayed and opened the doors for people. I didn't get back to my house until 8:30am+ and of course everyone was already at my house. We all ended up leaving for Ojojona and what would happen on our way there? We, as the lead car, missed our turn. Crap. This is Honduras - it's not always that easy to get back on the right track once you've missed an exit. I called one of the Embassy's drivers and asked him what the hell to do now. Thank goodness he was able to lead us back on the right track, literally.
We get there in Ojojona and it looks good so far. It's the same day as the start of the Fair in Ojojona, but there isn't too much of a crowd yet. Maribel, my main contact in Ojojona, is there waiting for me. She works in the municipality in Ojojona to better women's lives. She is a fighter and a hero of mine. Two Peace Corps volunteers are also there, along with the pick up truck I would rent for Lps. 600. Very cool. No waiting. We get down to walk around a bit and go to the bathroom, then we're off! All of the people with us, except for two, have never taken this trek with me before. It seems that whoever goes in the previous years don't return with me. Why would they? It's sacrificing their whole Saturday, driving 5mph on an unpaved, rocky, hilly road for two hours to see dirty, poor children and their parents. Who would be crazy enough to do that????
As we're driving, I think there is a lot of tension and fear among the two SUVs following us. This is their first year, and they didn't expect the roads to be this scary. Ten minutes before our destination, we stop to regroup. Santa and Pepe, the non-Spanish speaking elf, get dressed in the woods. There are two stories here. The first, the funny, haha-look-our-friends-are-getting-dressed-up-hey-lets-take-tons-of-blackmail-photos part.
Then there's the second story. The real reason I have been doing this for years. The children:
We arrive at the "school" (what school do you know have a few tables and chairs and no books?) and the children are waiting for us, and they have been since 9am. It is now 11:00am. They are quiet and cautious as I approach them with a smile and even mutter a few words of greeting. I ask my friend Luis to get the kids separated by gender, youngest at the front. Sadly, when you ask these children how old they are, they just look at you like it's the toughest question in the world. Sometimes their parents don't even know.
I ask for the keys to open the door to the school so we can set up the cookies and drinks inside. Of course, the keys are nowhere to be found. I ask for a table and a chair for Santa. Nada. Finally, someone is able to find a table and a chair for me in one of the houses near by. We set up the toys behind the table and chair. I'm noticing that there is nowhere near the 450 kids I was expecting. Nothing close to that. I'm relieved, yet saddened because I really wanted to get those kids some toys, especially on my last year. I ask and they say that one of the aldeas (villages) didn't show up because word probably didn't get around to them. I look at the bright side: it's easier to manage now.
Luis gets the kids excited, as much as unenergized, malnourished children can be, to see Santa. Finally Santa and Pepe, who have been waiting behind the hill the whole time, come down and greet the children. Many are smiling, and many more are a little confused, as is Santa himself I presume. Santa, who this year is played convincingly by one of the Marines, sits down and talks to the first child. She wants nothing to do with this and doesn't come forward. Santa, trying his best to make this work, entices her with a toy. It doesn't work. The mom comes by and tells the child it's ok. Finally she takes the toy, apprehensively. It's as if this is the first time in her life anyone has ever given her anything. And sadly, it probably was.
Things go a little smoother as the children go down the line. Then it hits me - this is my last year. I look at the children, and I don't see their beauty anymore. I see everything that is wrong with them. Their dirty faces, their tattered clothes, their shoeless feet, their lack of energy due to malnutrition, their ignorance from not being schooled. I look at their parents and I see they are no different from their children. It's as if I am seeing into their children's future, and it does not look good. I get mad. At the system. At the government. At the rich. At the way things are. It doesn't have to be this way. Why is it? Not being able to help myself, I repeat to myself, "No child should live like this!"
Then I turn away and cry. I'm giving them toys. Toys? They don't need toys, they need shoes and clothes, they need food, they need comfort, they need EDUCATION. They need a fucking future. I can't stop crying. Some haven't eaten in days and I'm giving them a fucking soccer ball. I go for a walk and try to calm myself down.
I often look at my own children and I see so much spunk and internal strength. They rule our house today, and will one day rule the world if they so choose. These children that I am looking at don't believe that. This is their now, and this is their future. Without hope, any sign of a future is gone. They just lack spirit because no one has ever told them that it's there. They just have to one day find it.
I vow that will try to do more work in the future. Even as I return to Washington D.C. next year, I will continue working for these children. It may not be giving away toys, but it'll be in some other way.
I speak with the aldea leader, a soft-spoken man. I ask his name, but no matter how many times I ask him to repeat it, I could not say it back. He tells me that he has a three-year-old girl with cerebal palsy and hands me a paper from the hospital with her information on it. He asks if he can bring home a toy to her as his eyes well up with tears. If I was sad and crying earlier, how must these people be feeling on a day-to-day basis?
After they receive their toys, they walk over to the other side and take their cookies and juice. We are getting close to the end of the lines and I'm somewhat satisfied. Not completely, of course. People who stand up for change do so because they are never satisfied.
We leave, and that's it. My 4th toy drive in Ojojona has come and gone. I don't feel like crying at this point. I feel somewhat indifferent.
Next comes my favorite part, handing out toys to children who live in the houses on our path back. We've always done this in the previous years, but this time, it was hardcore. We had more than enough toys left over so I was determined to give away as much as possible. Any child within a shouting radius was not safe from our toy purging. At first, it was slow and infrequent. I had to keep getting out of the truck to find a toy in the back. Then after several stops, it occured to me that it was better to take a few toys with me to my seat. Then from there, it evolved into bringing in bags and bags of toys with me.
We'd stop and my helpers would give them cookies and candycanes and I'd give them the bags of toys. After a while, more bags from one of the SUVs following behind were delivered to the pickup truck in front of us. In that pick-up truck was Maribel, a Marine, an English teacher and two Honduran college students (with whom I was very pleased to see helping their fellow Honduras - Hondurans helping Hondurans - what a concept). They probably couldn't have been more different, but yet here they were, waving and shouting for the kids to come out of their houses and get their toys! And boy did the kids come, one, two, three, four, five at a time, running, jumping, falling over - just for a toy. They were extremely thankful. You can see it in their eyes.
Suddenly, it occured to me. I may not be able to change their lives, or their way of life, like I wanted to back there at the school, crying and cursing this country. It may happen one day, if Honduras gets better leaders, leaders who know what it's like to be poor and humble and who fight for their own people the way Maribel and that man with the unpronouncable name do, and when they instill in their children a goal of getting a better education, so that they may not end up like themselves.
But for today, for these last several hours anyway, I've given them something to smile about. They now have a teddy bear to hug during those lonely nights, a puzzle to stimulate their minds, coloring books to help their creativity. In their faces, I saw confusion at first at the idea of a complete stranger handing them a bag of toys, then elation. You care about us?, their eyes seemed to question. Then smiles and lo and behold, a sparkle in their eyes! The same sparkle that exists in my children's eyes! They are no different from my kids, except for the fact that they were born into his life. If only these kids believed they could rule the world as well.
Friday, December 5, 2008
The Day Before The Toy Drive
It's crunch time. Less than 24 hours before I leave my house for Ojojona and do my very last toy drive there. Sad? Yes! Relieved? Yeah, kinda. And I feel guilty for saying that. I will still continue working for the Hondurans even when I'm in D.C. (I hope).
I have to include this blog from Michael Miller, from the very generous Micah Project, here in Tegucigalpa. When I read it here at work, I was having a very hard time not breaking down in tears. It really is heartbreaking, yet inspiring. It makes me wonder just how things can rapidly change here in Honduras if there were more Michaels around.
Here's his post:
One answer, yes or no, could determine the future course of this young life. So…what do I say?We have gotten to know Hector well through our street ministry over the last year. He occasionally lives with his dad, who sells fruit out of a wheelbarrow in the market area of Tegucigalpa, but most of the time, his addiction to yellow glue keeps him on the streets.As we have gotten to know Hector, both on the streets and through the Saturday outings that he occasionally joins us on, we have found a sweet kid with a pleasant personality. Even so, whenever we have talked to him about joining the Micah Project, he can never see clearly enough through the fog of his addiction to accept our offer. .
Lately, though, his defenses have been lowering little by little as he has come to trust us more. Last night, a “cold front” came through Honduras, with temperatures in the 50s (okay, I know that’s nothing to cry about, but for Hondurans, it’s considered a deep freeze!). Hector came up to the Micah House looking for food in an old battered coat that was about three times his size. After feeding him, we decided to let him sleep in the house so that he wouldn’t have to spend a cold night on the streets.
So put yourself in my shoes. The kid spent a peaceful night of sleep in the Micah House. Now, he has his arm around you, shivering from the cold air, asking if you will take him in. You know that if you say no, or not right now, or we will talk about it as a staff and get back to you, you are sending him back to the streets, and closing this window of opportunity that the cold air has shaken open.
So…Can Hector stay with us forever? My answer is: I sure hope so!
Now we are praying that one cold night might be the turning point in Hector’s life. The glue addiction is strong; both Wilmer and little Marvin, who joined us in June of 2007, are still struggling to overcome theirs. To truly overcome the addiction to glue and to street life in general, the following things are indispensable: personal determination, a unified group of people at Micah that are willing to help every step of the way, and a constant sense that there is something better waiting for them in the future. And…of course…lots and lots of people praying.
We’ll let you know how it goes!I also wanted to update you on the flooding here in Honduras as well. I was just up at the public school two blocks from the Micah House. There are almost forty families in the school that have either lost their homes or have been forcibly evacuated from them because of fear of landslides.
Though the rain has pretty much stopped, at least in Tegucigalpa, the ground is incredibly saturated, and anyone who lives in wooden shacks clinging to hillsides, which is a common site in Tegucigalpa, is at risk of a landslide.We continue to help out the families in the shelter when we can. We have provided dinner at the shelter and continue to provide supplies when they run out. I have talked to several of the families in the shelter, and they are not sure how long they will be there or if they will be allowed to return to their homes once things dry out. Additionally, we have helped two families rent small rooms in order to get them out of dangerous situations. One of the families is Maycol’s mom, whose shack is beginning to tilt dangerously downhill. A few of our guys helped her and her family move to safer ground yesterday. We will see what happens to these families once this time of crisis passes.This week is the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Mitch’s destructive passage through Honduras. The BBC has written a good report on Honduras ten years after Mitch. You can link to it here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7682412.stm .I appreciate your prayers for Hector and for the victims of the recent flooding!Muchas gracias,Michael MillerThe Micah Project ( http://www.micahcentral.org/ )
I have to include this blog from Michael Miller, from the very generous Micah Project, here in Tegucigalpa. When I read it here at work, I was having a very hard time not breaking down in tears. It really is heartbreaking, yet inspiring. It makes me wonder just how things can rapidly change here in Honduras if there were more Michaels around.
Here's his post:
One answer, yes or no, could determine the future course of this young life. So…what do I say?We have gotten to know Hector well through our street ministry over the last year. He occasionally lives with his dad, who sells fruit out of a wheelbarrow in the market area of Tegucigalpa, but most of the time, his addiction to yellow glue keeps him on the streets.As we have gotten to know Hector, both on the streets and through the Saturday outings that he occasionally joins us on, we have found a sweet kid with a pleasant personality. Even so, whenever we have talked to him about joining the Micah Project, he can never see clearly enough through the fog of his addiction to accept our offer. .
Lately, though, his defenses have been lowering little by little as he has come to trust us more. Last night, a “cold front” came through Honduras, with temperatures in the 50s (okay, I know that’s nothing to cry about, but for Hondurans, it’s considered a deep freeze!). Hector came up to the Micah House looking for food in an old battered coat that was about three times his size. After feeding him, we decided to let him sleep in the house so that he wouldn’t have to spend a cold night on the streets.
So put yourself in my shoes. The kid spent a peaceful night of sleep in the Micah House. Now, he has his arm around you, shivering from the cold air, asking if you will take him in. You know that if you say no, or not right now, or we will talk about it as a staff and get back to you, you are sending him back to the streets, and closing this window of opportunity that the cold air has shaken open.
So…Can Hector stay with us forever? My answer is: I sure hope so!
Now we are praying that one cold night might be the turning point in Hector’s life. The glue addiction is strong; both Wilmer and little Marvin, who joined us in June of 2007, are still struggling to overcome theirs. To truly overcome the addiction to glue and to street life in general, the following things are indispensable: personal determination, a unified group of people at Micah that are willing to help every step of the way, and a constant sense that there is something better waiting for them in the future. And…of course…lots and lots of people praying.
We’ll let you know how it goes!I also wanted to update you on the flooding here in Honduras as well. I was just up at the public school two blocks from the Micah House. There are almost forty families in the school that have either lost their homes or have been forcibly evacuated from them because of fear of landslides.
Though the rain has pretty much stopped, at least in Tegucigalpa, the ground is incredibly saturated, and anyone who lives in wooden shacks clinging to hillsides, which is a common site in Tegucigalpa, is at risk of a landslide.We continue to help out the families in the shelter when we can. We have provided dinner at the shelter and continue to provide supplies when they run out. I have talked to several of the families in the shelter, and they are not sure how long they will be there or if they will be allowed to return to their homes once things dry out. Additionally, we have helped two families rent small rooms in order to get them out of dangerous situations. One of the families is Maycol’s mom, whose shack is beginning to tilt dangerously downhill. A few of our guys helped her and her family move to safer ground yesterday. We will see what happens to these families once this time of crisis passes.This week is the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Mitch’s destructive passage through Honduras. The BBC has written a good report on Honduras ten years after Mitch. You can link to it here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7682412.stm .I appreciate your prayers for Hector and for the victims of the recent flooding!Muchas gracias,Michael MillerThe Micah Project ( http://www.micahcentral.org/ )
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Thursday Before The Toy Drive
It's really coming together...kind of. I had a bunch of people over for a "coffee" type thing that they do every other Thursday. Instead of the typical coffee, I put the people to work helping with seperating and packing toys! I think they enjoyed it, I hope it. It was a little different from the typical frou frou Coffees and it was actually very helpful to me. I don't drink coffee so I didn't actually have any coffee. I did have tea, however. It was so refreshing to see these people coming to the Coffee with my bags of toys in their hands. A Coffee with a purpose! But without coffee.
I haven't counted all the toys yet, but it looks like we're going to be pretty short. That's going to suck big if I ran out. Each year, I always think I will run out of toys, but it always works out. This year I think it will work out as well.
I'm still working out the transportation issue. Right now we have three vehicles and I'm not sure that everyone and every box will fit. Once we get to Ojojona, we will need to pick up 4 more people. I may need to rent a pick up truck for Lps. 600 in Ojojona, just in case. That may be the way to go. Last year, we definitely had a lot more people coming with me. This year, a lot of those people either left Honduras or don't want to do it again. That's fine. That's really their choice.
I had to do my Girl Scout demonstation in about 2 hours. That should be pretty interesting.
I haven't counted all the toys yet, but it looks like we're going to be pretty short. That's going to suck big if I ran out. Each year, I always think I will run out of toys, but it always works out. This year I think it will work out as well.
I'm still working out the transportation issue. Right now we have three vehicles and I'm not sure that everyone and every box will fit. Once we get to Ojojona, we will need to pick up 4 more people. I may need to rent a pick up truck for Lps. 600 in Ojojona, just in case. That may be the way to go. Last year, we definitely had a lot more people coming with me. This year, a lot of those people either left Honduras or don't want to do it again. That's fine. That's really their choice.
I had to do my Girl Scout demonstation in about 2 hours. That should be pretty interesting.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Our Non-Traditional Thanksgiving Menu
We had a great Thanksgiving this year. Our plans unexpectedly changed at the very last minute, something I was not too happy about. So when faced with what to do for Thanksgiving, I thought we'd either have a nice, quiet meal as a family, or have a HUGE dinner at our house. I decided on the latter, because it was to be our last Thanksgiving here in Honduras. I invited a lot of international people, because they don't really celebrate Thanksgiving, so I thought it would be a great way to share a little tradition. Of course, we are far from traditional. I don't ever cook a turkey - they are extremely smart creatures. And the other dishes are pretty boring to me. The only real traditional dish is my husband's stuffing, which is great. And the cranberry sauce. Instead I made several ethnic dishes, including Chicken Adobo!!!
One of guests had a guitar so after dinner he played it, and some of the guests sang. The children played. It was really, really wonderful. I don't usually drink, but I had a few glasses of Italian white wine.
Our Menu:
Salmon with Dill Butter Sauce
Herb Encrusted Pork Loin
I don't cook meats other than chicken or seafood in my house, but I figured the guests will love it, and they did
Chicken and Zuchini with Cilantro Coconut Sauce
I got this recipe from a British podcast I downloaded from iTunes called "10 Minutes to Table." It really was easy. Just add handfuls of cilantro in coconut milk, and with a stick blender, mix it up and add to the already sauteeing chicken and zuchini.
French Rosemary Chicken
Smoke Salmon, Capers, Cream Cheese and Onions
Soy Balm Making!
Well, after almost 4 years in hiatus, I made 6 tins of Soy Balm, to prepare myself for the Girl Scouts demonstration. I have been dreading this whole thing ever since I found out about it, and yes, I know, I didn't have a gun to my head, but I really, really, really didn't want to revisit that part of my life. But yesterday, I opened up more boxes full of my crap, and I found some more soap supplies I thought I had lost. I felt a little better about my demonstration. So today, after hours of stalling, I packed up my unrefined shea butter, sweet almond oil, extra virgin olive oil, soy wax, and my lavender essential oil and I went to the kitchen and went to work. Holy crap, I actually enjoyed it! I remembered now how much I loved and miss having my business. Perhaps when I return to the States, I can continue my business.
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