Visit to Houston, TX

Between SOWER projects, Terry and I had a free week.  We decided to visit our friend Bongwol.  Delta Airlines had given us travel vouchers back in April when we made the dental trip, which almost paid for the flight.  I should say flights, as we had to first fly to Minneapolis, MN before connecting to Houston, TX, where Bongwol lives.
The adventure began with an unexpected chance to walk on snow and ice, as we missed our connection.  We'd had to wait  for an hour and a half in Tucson for the brakes of the plane to cool off.  So we spent the night in Minneapolis at Delta's expense.

Here are Bongwol and Terry in a similar pose to a picture I took in Switzerland two years ago.

We always like to take pictures of food!  This pizza with tomato slices, loads of spinach, and feta cheese was delicious!

This was the boat we rode in the Houston harbour, although we actually went at 6:00 pm when it was already dark.

It was great to see real trees and leaves after the
stark landscape of the desert.

I wish I knew what these berries were.

Fresh oranges from the tree!

Most houses are made of brick and not wood.  This is Bongwol's house, part of a beautiful neighbourhood lined with huge live oak trees.

Visit to the George Ranch Historical Park, which portrayed several generations of families' lives. The first was a log cabin from the 1830s.

 This interpreter explained about life in the log cabin

Holly helps her dad make cornbread.  She puts the scoop of flour into into the oval wooden bowl and mixes in the baking powder and egg.  It goes into a cast iron pot covered with hot coals. 

Holly grinds corn for the cornbread. This scenario was so realistic, it had me believing the story told to the visiting school children, that they actually lived in the log cabin.

It was entertaining to listen to an account of a cattle roundup in the old days.

Our visit ended with a meal at Taste of Texas, already beautifully decorated for "the holiday season".

The Feeding of the 500

Last week, Pusch Ridge Christian Academy where we were working served up a Thanksgiving Feast.  The students, from grades six to twelve, all got to have a free meal.  They were very excited.

Bev and I helped with setting out the pumpkin pies.

 I pried the boxes off the pies, and Bev cut them up and arranged them in perfect formation. 528 slices.

 They didn't stay in perfect formation once the students came to pick up their dessert, cutlery, cranberries, a bun, and a bottle of water. We helped them juggle all this and their plate of food by saying, "Tuck the water bottle under your arm." Along with the turkey their plates contained gravy, mashed potatooes, corn and green beans.  Most of them thanked us warmly, as if we were responsible for the whole meal.  Well, we did our part in true servant fashion. 

 These "hamburgers" were not part of the menu, but were specially crafted for the students' stage production which began that evening.  We see some interesting things outside the Art room, which is just across from our parking spot.

Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor was set in the fifties and very well done . We were thankful to be able to watch a real stage production!

The Holidays Begin

The parking lot was deserted.  Terry thought he would take me to Trader Joe's, a store I had somehow missed during the last three weeks here in Tucson.  He had to get gas anyway before we left in the morning.
"It's American Thanksgiving; I don't think it'll be open."  I said.
It wasn't.
"At least let's get some milk at Walmart; it's sure to be open."  We had just come back from a "holiday" so needed a few things for the fridge. 
On our way across the parking lot we noticed a few people sitting on folding chairs outside a store.
"What are they doing?" I wondered.
"It can't be!  Are they really waiting in line for the big Black Friday sale tomorrow?"  It was only
 4:00 pm!
I should have asked them, but I already knew the answer.   

Walmart was pretty deserted, but it was open. The air conditioning was on full blast, and the air around the dairy case raised goosebumps on my bare arms.  I should have worn my hoodie I thought.  It was November 27, and I could hear "...walking in a winter wonderland" over the sound system.  Here I was in shorts and a t-shirt. The next song was a real Christmas carol.  Already? I thought.  A perfectly white, fake tree hung with shiny green balls graced the produce section.   The occasional shopper appeared; Mom was in a dress and heels, the little girl also in her party dress.  At the bakery counter a couple of men consulted by phone over which pie to buy for dinner.  "See you soon!"  they sang out to their caller.
Terry had requested a pumpkin pie, so I got that as well as two tomatoes, a cucumber, some apples, and  the milk of course.  We were having turkey for dinner.  Turkey wieners, that is, and sauerkraut.  We'd already had our thanksgiving dinner more than a month ago in Canada.   
"Happy Holidays!" the cashier cheerily called out as I paid for my groceries.  I had always wondered why Americans used the term "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas".  Now I see that Thanksgiving is included and both holidays extend the season. Not to mention Hanukah during the same time frame.  It's a far cry from my childhood when Advent was celebrated as a preparation time for the coming of Christ, and Christmas didn't officially begin till December 25th. 
How things have changed!

Qualifications for the Job

Our first SOWER job of the season is Pusch Ridge Christian Academy in Tucson, AZ. On Monday morning my working partner, Bev, and I began our first task.  It was an interesting one--making pieces of paper look old, to be used in a class project as "WANTED" posters. I felt comfortable doing this, as I had once made pirate map invitations for a birthday party.

We actually worked outside, but forgot to take pictures the first time.

The heat gun we used was much more successful than burning the edges with a candle. The classroom teacher was thrilled.  Teachers appreciate someone else doing their time-consuming jobs.

Our next job was shredding.  We searched carefully through piles of resumes and applications of those not hired, to find certain reference letters that our supervisor wanted to keep.  As I flipped through them, I was struck by the applicants' extensive qualifications.  Pages and pages of awards, previous positions, degrees, and other experiences.  What hurt the most was shredding original transcripts, printed on heavy paper, and embossed with the seal of the university that issued them.  Yet they were not needed.  That degree meant nothing in this particular hiring process.  They appeared really impressive, yet these people were not hired.  There was always someone else, evidently, who met the requirements more exactly.  The official transcript ended up as a flash of pink  in the garbage bag of otherwise white shredded paper. By the way, someone in the staff room claimed the paper shreds for a craft project.
This morning made me think about the way we come to faith in God.  Our heavenly father accepts us at face value, through the death of Jesus Christ on the cross.  We don't have to have qualifications and lists of achievements; He accepts us just the way we are.  The only requirement is to come in faith, agree with Him that we need Him, change our direction, and He accepts us into His family. That is the Gospel--Good News.

He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy.  Titus 3:5a

Ghost town in the desert

At noon on a hot Nevada day, we found ourselves walking in the desert to explore a ghost town.  We have seen a few ghost towns in our day, but never one whose occupants were forced to leave because their homes were to be flooded in the name of progress.  St. Thomas, Nevada, originally grew up on the shores of the Muddy River, which flows into the Colorado.

In the 1930's, the Hoover dam was built, and as the waters rose to form Lake Mead the last citizens of the 500 person town reluctantly left.  By 1938, the whole town was 60 feet under water.  Only with the recent droughts and the receding waters are people able to explore what is left of St. Thomas.

                                                                      

                                                                  

Foundations of the old post office

Artifacts cabled together to prevent theft

Trees? or a fence?  or a boardwalk?       

                 

                                                                                                 

Interesting foundation

Mud transformed to hard baked clay         

   

Thanks, Terry,for the fabulous pictures!

French Camp

Three years ago my daughter-in-law asked me to have a French Camp for Caleb and Emma.  They were home-schooled, so didn't have the opportunity to study French at school. The first year progress was slow because we were starting from scratch.  Here Emma is trying to smack the correct number with a fly swatter. We played the colour game this way, too.

Three years later I found the children were more solid in their dialogues, and seemed to learn new vocabulary  faster.  Caleb and Emma are having a conversation with their personalized salt and pepper shakers. These were from their Great-grandmother's collection; they each picked the pairs they wanted for their temporary family.  When it was time to go home, I said they could choose a pair to take with them.  Caleb made a beeline to his favourite pair, a set of pointy Indian brass shakers on a tray, and set about cleaning and polishing them.  Emma agonized over two choices, and finally settled on the kangaroo with its baby, whom she uses in the video. 

They added faces and expressions to any shakers that weren't people or animals, and gave them special names.  This was to compensate for the fact that we had only two students to practise with.  Every morning we would go to the collections, each on their own special spot, and "greet" a few of the shakers. Then

in a squeaky voice, they would answer back. 

The first year I told the children they could have a candy any time they attempted to say anything at all in French.  Caleb caught on quickly.  "Un, deux, trois..." and he would finish the rest of the sentence in English.  Gummy fruit and fish worked better this year, especially if they had worked hard in a game and used their vocabulary well.

Here I am holding up a flashcard with a picture of a certain feeling, like, "Je suis grincheux" (grumpy).  The person throwing the beanbag would first say the expression, and then would have three throws towards the indented cardboard that some soccer balls came in.  Caleb suggested we give each indentation a higher value, thereby practising lesser used numbers like vingt, trente, douze, and treize.  If the beanbag hit the edge and didn't actually go into the hole, it was no score, and we'd call out, "je regrette" .  The quilt is on the floor in case the occupants downstairs heard the loud "thumps", but actually I think they had gone to work, and we didn't hear any complaints.  This game was a lot of fun.

YouTube was a good source of a few simple French songs complete with catchy tunes and cartoon figures.  Last year I thought, "This is too hard; they're not getting it."  This year I found they thought it was normal to start our lesson with the "Bonjour, bonjour, comment ca va?" song, and imitate the moves on the screen.

After lunch we did other non French activities. The first year we baked and decorated cupcakes for Georges, the special guest dog puppet's birthday.

 This year, we decorated a cake for Canada Day.

And of course, can't have French Camp without our usual fondue lunch!  This was Emma's special request.  I think she was thinking of the chocolate dipped strawberries more than the cheese sauce. 

Au revoir, a l'annee prochaine!  (can't figure out how to put in the accents on this blog)

Corona Extra

       There I was, shortly after 8:00 am, at the dentist's in Los Algodones, Mexico.  This is the "dentist town", with about 500 dentists in business.  We didn't have an appointment, but made sure we waited on the bench a few minutes before the office opened. I handed Dr. Catalan the small piece of paper with the diagram showing which teeth needed crowns.  He slid over the x-ray machine.  I agreed to have him do as much as possible in one day, although over the phone from Canada he'd initially told me there should be 24 hours between each crown.  I also agreed to have the space filled in from the tooth he'd pulled 2 1/2 years ago, even though I knew nothing about bridges.  So that meant four crowns, one bridge, two more crowns on either side of it.  There was also a tooth that needed a filling.
The tooth that had broken off in Hawaii needed a root canal.  Not because there was anything wrong with it, but because there was a post in it that had held a large filling together. 
       "Let's start with this, " said the dentist.
       "OK,"  I agreed.
A short while later he held up a tiny, pink. thread-like piece of flesh.
       "This is the root!"  he said.
       "Holy cow!"  I thought.  I'm not Hindu, but that is the strongest word in my vocabulary.
       I was feeling pretty mellow, not at all nervous.   On the wall were a couple of Bible verses which I studied.  I had complete faith in this dentist.  In fact the whole time I sat in the chair I was so relaxed, I could've fallen asleep. Once he had put freezing into my jaw, that is.  Then, without comment, he started drilling.  I grunted.  A few more jabs of the needle.  Never had I experienced drilling without waiting for the freezing to take effect!  It wasn't that bad, though.
       Dr. Catalan is a man of few words, and worked quickly and quietly.  He kept up a conversation in Spanish, however, with his assistant, Jilda.  I didn't mind.  The background patter was better than listening to an inane conversation in English.  He didn't say anything to me at all except "Open," and "Close."  I decided to ask him a question.  I signalled to Jilda that I wanted to write something.  She pointed to the paper towel roll on the wall.  No.  "Escribar?"  It sounded close enough to the French that I knew the word meant "to write".  I nodded, so she brought me a pen and the backside of a receipt book. 
       "Do you remove ALL the old fillings before putting on a crown?"  I wrote. 
       "Yes, " he said.
       While Dr. Catalan sat and ground the temporary crowns, I did sideways stretches, and moved my neck from side to side.  Jilda brought me a roll of paper towel, and placed it behind my neck. 
The hours rolled by.  I didn't even have to use the restroom.  What a miracle!
       Finally, exactly four hours later, he announced, "All done!" 
       "Everything?" I asked incredulously.
       "Yes.  Come back on Thursday for the permanent crowns."   I had one day's reprieve. 
On Thursday Terry and I were on the road again at 7:00 am.  It only took about 20 minutes to get to the border, crossing through a tiny corner of California from Yuma, Arizona, where we were staying with our friends. 
When I saw the white crowns, I asked, "Is it possible to have them match my yellow teeth?"
"Yes, come back in an hour."
I don't know what they did at the lab, but when I returned, they were a perfect match. Soon they were cemented into my mouth, and we were off, threading our way through the maze of coloured shirts, purses, and jewelry to get back to the parking lot.
The cost?  About an eighth of what it would've cost back home.  Even though we had to fly down, it was worth it.  I'm so grateful to have all this work taken care of.