Back in Massachusetts

I'm back at school. And it's weird. Weirder than I expected.

Not so weird last night, when I got in at 1:40 AM. But there was no one around except the angel/fellow Bromley resident who could let in a poor girl sans key.

As a side note: Does anyone else get really pedantic about everything late at night? At 10 o'clock, even midnight, I can be a careless slob, but post midnight Dani has to brush her teeth the full recommended 2 minutes, make her bed exactly how she was taught in Girls Club, and empty her car of almost every item she can feasible carry herself.

But the daylight took me on a rollercoaster ride. Walking across campus this morning was surreal. The freshman were wandering around with lost looks, the sports teams were practicing on the quad, the faces were unfamiliar. I almost felt like I feel when I go back to my high school.

Once, I knew people, I did things, I belonged. What's my place here now?

I couldn't help picturing the students at la Catolica, walking el Tontodromo, sitting in the outdoor cafeterias, taunting the deer.... Much like I pictured the university I'm at now the first time I left it to go to la Catolica.

And then later meeting up with a group of students interning in Lynn, a nearby city, and discussing community development. It was a lot of great conversation, a lot of really important topics, a lot of really cool people.

A little overwhelming.

But at least now, it's a familiar overwhelming. I've changed scenery enough by now to know that it takes some adjustment for me. I feel small. I feel alone. I cry a little. I smile. I adjust. I settle in. I move on. I grow.

For me, there's comfort in knowing the cycle.

And oh yeah... you go candlepin bowling.


And laugh.

This week in the news of Dani

Yo dudes! I know I haven't been writing much. But hey, this blog is supposed to be a fun thing, not a stress thing. So you get what you get, buddy.

A random sampling of the thoughts I've had over the past week:

1) The highways in Virginia and West Virginia makes me nervous. Too much tree-y space. Too many giant hills to climb. Toooo little signs of civilization. I wanna speed up but I'm constantly having to check myself for fear of those undercover traffic cops that just pop out of nowhere. In PA we may drive 15 miles above the speed limit, but at least you can blame it on the cars in front and behind you. "But officer, I was just going the speed of traffic!" (In theory...I've never actually been stopped for speeding, so, maybe don't try that excuse.)


2) Oh how I miss the city!! Lima, yes, but just any city. I want the tall buildings that make you feel like men can do great things. I want the strangers running around who are simultaneously a part of each other and paying no attention to each other. I want the neighbor's noises leaking in through my window. And a hundred other things. I'm practically tearing up right now just thinking about it.


4)Even after a month and a little, I still occasionally lapse back into Lima phrases and habits when I'm in new situations. Especially with new acquaintances or service people. I accidentally mumbled "Como?" last week when I didn't understand the man in the ticket booth. He obviously didn't understand, but mercifully I think he just thought he didn't hear me. But it was still embarrassing.

5) I'm super super excited to go back to my college in good old New England! (Writing and saying college again, instead of university, like it would be in Spanish, still feels very strange. Actually, I'm pretty sure I mostly don't change it, even though my school isn't technically a university.)

Especially apartment living again. Really cannot wait. Especially looking forward to being with my lovely friend and future roommate Jess. (I love you Jess!) You'll probably be hearing more about her.

4) I've searched through and gleaned out some of the best photos from the last year to hang in our apartment. My original idea was like ten 5x7s and ten 6x4s. So naturally I ended up with about twenty 5x7s and eighty 6x4s. But I won't hang them aaalll, silly! I mean, probably not. Maybe not.

Here's a sample of my soon-to-be wall paper. Some have made it into this blog before:

From a birthday party for my friend Nate last semester, which was in a very nice house

Champion, the driver of the boat when we went to swim with the dolphins.

An old woman (or man, can you tell?) buying a magazine in New York last winter.

An inspiring wall in Via El Salvador, Lima. One of the poorest districts.
From when we went to talk with a former mayor.

A wall and floating stools from la Casa de Panchita, where I taught English classes.
Okay, I turned it upside down. I like it that way.

A flower in our front yard from the first real rainstorm we had after I got back from desert Lima. I ran outside to take pictures. I got soaked. The lens got wet. It was miraculous.

I love these photos. I love that they're each a different story. I can't wait to hang them.

Hikers who are not in the Trail Club

Last weekend my Dad and I went on a three day, two night hiking trip on the Appalachian trail. A real one. The whole no showers, the paste-like power bar dinners, water from the stream kind of trip.

Cause ya know, I'm the whole tree-hugging, technology-shunning, who-needs-civilization kind of girl.And even so, the phrase, "We're not real hikers" came out of my Dad's mouth at one point, because we met hikers who are doing the trail in one go, from Georgia to Maine in a few months. They do take breaks visiting friends and eating in restaurants and what not, but during that time they mostly, as one girl said "walk and eat and sleep."

Many of them get to know each other, asking "Have you met so-and so?" and " How long have you been out?" They have trail names (like Panda Bear and Peter Pan and Red Flag) and trail lingo (Sobo and pack-slacking and purists) and inside trail jokes (hiker smells and the creepy old men). It's like a dirty, smelly exclusive club. With some of the strictest entrance requirements I've ever seen.

How do they afford four or five months in which they make nothing and spend money on expensive hiking gear and occasional restaurants and hotels?

I don't know. The one guy said some people are retired, some just out of school, some on disability. (I know, right? Anyone on disability who can hike for four months...my tax dollars at work.)


But anyway, our three days was a pretty good first trip for me. I saw some great countryside views, I walked in the rain, I made my ankles sore jumping over rocks. I spent time with my Dad and we sang such hiking classics as "The ants go marching," "John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt," and "I know an old lady who swallowed a fly."



It was a good time.

But tip to myself for next time: bring a sleeping mat.

The wildlife varied from tame and cracker-eating to slightly dangerous.

Prime PA views.

This is what cool people do...

... when they've reunited after six months of away-ness.
1) Stop first at a Mexican restaurant, which in reality only lists maybe three Mexican items on the menu. And calling even those Mexican at all is probably very generous. But there was a lot of hot guys, so who's focusing on what she's eating anyway?

2) Spend 20 minutes in the parking lot of the Salvation Army after the clerks see smoke pouring out of the ducts. It was half-off day, so we were naturally all much more concerned about our stockpiles of two dollar shirts than about our lives. So we sat as close to the building as possible, ready to rush back in and claim our dressing rooms, as all the king's horses and all the king's men (who were apparently bored in the station, just waiting for the a puff of smoke or a kitty in a tree) stood around and tried to convince us that it was serious business.

Now that's a classic Q-town love story right there.

3) Picnic in the park and attempt to be all intellectual and book-y. But we mostly napped.

4) Attend Shakepeare's classic Two Noble Kinsmen (You haven't heard of it? Shocking! But neither had we.) and whisper the whole time about how the actor playing Palomon looks like a serial killer and how distracting Hippolyta's fake Australian accent is.
5) Watch Gigantic, which is the weirdest movie I've ever seen, and not even worth all the snooty, hipster buttons you might get to put on your girl scout badge because it's an indie film. Who's that homeless guy? Why's he hitting whatsisname with a metal pole? What kind of weird eight year old wants to adopt a Chinese baby? Is whatsisname's face capable of smiling or frowning or expressing any emotion other than boredom? Though looking bored while getting hit with a metal pole is impressive.

Dude, admit it. We're way too cool for you.

Although, I've discovered I have just about zero cool-dar. Obviously. Or I wouldn't be writing the word cooldar.

Eating in Chilis and circling parking lots

Today I had a severe bout of what I feel like should be called "homesickness" for Peru.
For starters, this afternoon on the porch I was reading a book of a British man's journalistic experiences in the Middle East (why is that capitalized?) and reflecting, as I often have before, on how the heck anyone should approach a culture and a country not their own. Accept bumbling Westerner status? Struggle vainly to become as much of an "insider" as possible? Bungle your way through helping with what you see as the problems? Give up and accept that you have no proper perspective or position to do anything? Are these the only choices available to us? God I hope not!

And then of course, my Mom comes out and hands me the Travel section of the Philadelphia Inquirer, which just happened to be titled "Deep into 'wonderfully weird' Peru."

As I read the article, I found myself getting really defensive about the sort of simple, unexplainable weirdness this guy was projecting. The only cultural detail he really got into detail on was "la hora peruana, Peruvian time," which he claimed was "indecipherable to North Americans." He described an event in a book by another North American in which a man lied to his mother and told her that his own wedding ceremony was at 12, when really it was at 4 and she shows up "red-faced and puffing" at ten till 4.

RI-diculous. Totally false. Obviously the woman found out that it was actually at 4. How could you not? She's not a child. Four hours late would be logistically impossible. And anyway, any Limeno I know would find showing up that late for your own son's wedding shocking. Do the readers of the Inquirer actually buy that hooey? She just coincidentally shows up ten minutes before the real start? Give me a break.

Yes, time definitely works differently in Peru. Yes, it can be bewildering and frustrating at times for foreigners. But, I thought to myself on the porch, I would hardly call it indecipherable. You get to know the circumstances: Business meeting or house party? You get to know the people around you: Relatively on time or chronically without a watch/cell/sundial? You get to know the phrases and the cues and the times of day and the priorities and....

Okay, so umm....it sounds more complicated than it is. Or maybe I got used to it. And I guess I can't reasonably be annoyed that someone who hasn't spent the same amount of time in the country would print things with such nonexistent clarity.

And then I started seeing all the details of the last year playing over in my mind. My Peruvian friends taking me to American restaurant chains that I hadn't been to in years. The expensive churros late at night. The old men who took it upon themselves to educate me about American culture and laws. The classic Peruvian literature that described the city as poop brown. The gringos in the touristy district with boots and hiking backpacks and lost looks on their faces that we laughed at. (Er, I mean with, of course.)

But well, here I am. And there's plenty to learn about this place.

Like for instance, why do Americans circle parking lots forever searching for the closest spot in order to spend less time walking to the building? Is that some territorial instinct? Do the primates swing from tree to tree to tree looking for the tree that will require them to do the least swinging?

PS. Happy Birthday to my brother Darren! Who will most surely not read this. But the universe shall know that I'm so glad we've gone through these first 22 years together, even if half the celebration is rightfully yours.

Meet Veritably Clean

Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are truly, truly magical. The David Blaine of cleaning products, if you will. Or, am I David in this situation? And the eraser is like...one of those ladies who gets sawed in half. Or an invisible elephant. Or a top hat with bunnies. Whatever. Moving on. It occurs to me, that good old Dave isn't much for the coin from the ear type of magic anyhow...

What did maintenance workers do before Mr. Clean invented his eraser anyway? How did scuff marks come out of the walls? How did permanent marker get off the under sides of desks?

I don't intend to look too far into how exactly the eraser does these things, because anything that is like five times more power than our other already powerful cleaning products has to contain something that could wilt every flower within a 10 yard radius.

Actually, what I was really wondering about was why the creators of Mr. Clean gave him the image they did. Was it aimed at women? Women want a big muscly white man to help them clean? Or, they really want their husband to help them clean, but this will do? Would the image work the same if he were some other ethnicity? Why is he old? Why is he bald? Why does he wink? Why does he roll up his pant legs?

I tried to research this topic, and all I got was that Ernie Allen created him in 1957. And that his name is Veritably.

Which makes him sound a little bit like he should be out picketing for prohibition with Constance and Prudence.

This has been another delightful episode of Philosophy from the Janitor's Closet. Tune in next time for, "How discovering a woman cleaning what's supposed to be the men's bathroom throws a little boy into an identity crisis."

Summer slacking

I know, I'm sorry, a week. But I'm in summer mode, and not very busy at all. Which naturally means that nothing gets done.

A couple updates:

1) My love of country music has sadly dwindled since I came back from Peru. Maybe cause I haven't listened to it for six months? Or maybe cause it just now strikes me as sooo....irritatingly American.

2) Keeping up with American entertainment must have gotten incredibly exhausting sometime in the last semester. The new TV, radio, movies...I don't even try. Makes me feel out of the loop. Is there a loop? Is it worth getting back in the loop? Can you be cool without being in the loop? Cause I definitely don't wanna be risking that...

3) I'm missing Lima. I miss the going out and the micros and the speaking in Spanish. And I miss living in the city. All these beautiful trees...fresh air...lovely scenery...you can see how there's only so much you can take of that. Pollution and traffic for me baby.

That's me with my twin up there. Do we look alike?

But dude, I did miss the late night cookie dough runs courtesy of the time Mom didn't have to bake those suckers. People in other countries don't know what they're missing out on.