crave

Those of you who know me know that I love food. A lot. Far more than the average person. I´m not ashamed of it - I´m quite pleased, actually, that I was created to be such a food-loving machine. Food brings a lot of happiness into my life; but that also means that when I´m far away from my favorite foods my life becomes a little less bright. So today I am going to pay tribute to all of the foods I have been dreaming about and missing dearly...

Pancakes with real maple syrup. Cheeseburgers from the 112 Eatery and The Bulldog. Punch Pizza. Surly Furious.

Brunch-related carbohydrates: waffles, french toast, hashbrowns, bagels, english muffins, and donuts from the Old Fashioned Donut Shoppe.

Normal ketchup.

Panang curry, spring rolls, peanut sauce, thai iced tea. Kihn Do's basil-with-beef.

Junk food: frozen pizza, Velveeta Shells & Cheese, tater tots, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, licorice.

Sushi.

My mom's famous sandwiches.

Burrito bowls with heaps of guacamole. Cheese tamales.

Cream of Wheat with raisins, brown sugar and whole cream. (This one surprised me too.)

Tapioca pudding.

Andy's scrambled eggs. Bacon.

Peanut butter. Kashi. Old Home Vanilla Yogurt. Cottage cheese. Soy milk. Hummus.

Hope Creamery butter.

Mmmmm... only 72 days until I embark upon my American Food Marathon... who's coming with??

internal to external

I've been feeling pretty selfish lately. It all began a few weeks ago when my brother Jeb sent me an email and asked if I was doing any volunteer service in Buenos Aires, aside from teaching English. Staring at that question made my face burn a little bit; I was embarassed with myself. "No, I haven't," I thought. "Not one bit." These past few months have been all about Me, Me, Me.

I want to quit my job and move to Argentina. I want to live in a big, beautiful city. I want to shop for a new pair of pants. I want to try every restaurant in this book. I want people to come visit. I feel lonely. I feel happy. I don't want to have a real job while I'm here, because I want time to read and write and practice my Spanish and enjoy my life. I need support. I need you to give me up for five months. I want, I need, I, I, I.

I was surprised by myself, by my lack of external focus. I've always been introspective - something that requires a lot of internal focus - but I've also tried to see the big picture, think about others, find ways to drive that internal focus outward. So why, then, was I not doing that here? How could I have let three whole months pass without questioning my actions (or lack thereof)? I didn't really have a good answer...

I think the first month and a half I was so focused on pulling myself out of loneliness and homesickness and just trying to keep my head above water that my brain didn't have the energy to think outside of those emotions. Then I finally started teaching, and shed my loneliness, and really started liking the city... so my attention was being directed towards simply enjoying the happiness I was feeling and my newly formed, positive, relationship with the city and the people in it. But now, here I am, with sadness behind me, a healthy base of happiness under me, and two months ahead of me.

Well, Lia, it looks like you're out of excuses. So what do you plan to do about it??

I'm going to email the volunteer coordinator of my program and ask what my options are. (Actually, scratch that, I already did.) And if that doesn't work, I'll track down every volunteer organization in the city and harass them until they give me something to do. But, most importantly, I'm going to make the mental switch from Internal to External.

And you know, I think maybe all that internal focus was necessary. (And even if it wasn't, I'm going to believe it anyway.) Maybe in order to truly help others, to send positive energy into the world, everything inside needs to be all lined up in an orderly manner first. Like truly being able to love others; first you need to truly love yourself. Plus, I'm a firm believer in internal work; in letting your soul learn the lessons it needs to in this lifetime... internal focus doesn't always go hand-in-hand with selfishness.

I'm also certain that I've learned a lot in the past few months - even if every lesson hasn't yet materialized - and that all that internal focus has changed me for the better. Maybe it was fate's plan all along, and I was just making my way through the course, finding my way to where I am right now... standing in front of a big question mark that slightly resembles my brother's face, being asked how I'm going to give back to this amazing city that has taught me so much.

I have to admit that when I first read my brother's email I felt a bit of annoyance mixed with that embarassment. It ruffled my feathers, having to think outside of my little world. Having someone challenge me to question myself. But I recognized that the annoyance wasn't directed at Jeb - he asked the question in a kind, honest, thoughtful way - it was directed at myself for not asking it first. I'm better than that; I know it, and he knows it.

Which is why I feel so lucky to have him, and everyone else who questions me, in my life. Even though I, Miss Don't-Tell-Me-What-To-Do, usually react to such inquiries in a stubborn manner, that immediate reaction always fades into the knowledge that The Questioner is right to question me.

So thank you, Jeb, for supporting and encouraging me, but also for challenging me, if only because you believe in my ability to become something great.

like mother, like daughter

As predicted, my mom and I had the best week together. Seven days and six nights of walking, walking, walking; lots of laughter; oogling over boots and dresses and jewelry and scarves and anything shiny/sparkly/pretty; snapping endless photographs; and drinking glass after glass of wine during our nightly two-to-three-hour dinners. I couldn't have asked for more.

I won't bore you with the play-by-play of each day (though you better believe my mom and I both have a fully detailed report in our individual journals), but I will give you a random selection of The Best Ofs.

Seeing my mom in the airport, sitting patiently by her baggage cart, waiting for me to realize I'd been waiting in the wrong terminal for an hour. Having her arrive, safely, and pull me into a motherly embrace.

Lunch on the first day, at one of my favorite spots. We ordered our first of many half-liter jugs of wine and let our mouths motor away (both talking and eating).

Taking my mom to yoga and listening as she squealed with laughter behind me when the instructor made us hold really difficult poses for longer than she could handle.

Waking up to her padding into my room to lie down next to me and rub my arms and back the same way she's done since I can remember.

Spending hours going from booth to booth at the outdoor markets, becoming giddy with all of our fantastic bargain purchases, our arms growing heavy with overstuffed plastic bags.

Walking in silence through the bustling city, watching her take it all in.

Sitting in warm sunshine at outdoor cafes, lingering over coffee and croissants, people-watching.

Getting to ask my mom questions about her life - hearing about roadtrips and old friends, her youth, her dreams. Listening as she recounted my dad's proposal to her on a mountain in Colorado. Watching her become lost in old memories, wearing the same look she gets when she looks out at the ocean.

Ordering two half-orders of meat, then realizing that a half-order in Argentina is equivalent to a double-order in America, and giggling over the little table at the absurd amount of food before us.

Walking arm-in-arm through the streets, window-shopping.

Eating too much ice cream out of styrofoam containers; two spoons, one tub.

Renting bikes in the ecological reserve... tooling around on rickety old frames down gravel paths; taking in the fresh air and lack of city-ness; hearing the marsh come alive with spring peepers; seeing the long shadows of the city's skyscapers stretch out over the pampas grass; racing down a crowded boardwalk to get our bikes back before closing.

Drinking really strong margaritas and laughing at their powerful effect.

Eating dinner with my host family, and translating between my real mom and my "adopted parents" for two-and-a-half hours... having my mom be able to experience the family dynamics and daily routines that have become my life here.

Just being able to show her the little things - have her meet people who have become so important in my life; taking her on neighborhood tours; pointing out random shops and places that hold memories for me; and, of course, eating lots of good food.

I felt so fortunate the entire week. To be here, in this beautiful city. To have my mom all to myself for an entire week. To have full bellies and money to shop and a warm place to stay. To have a relationship like I do with my mom, so full of love and support. To learn new things about her. To see her in new ways. To realize, once again, how every day I become a little more like her.

I broke down when she left, crying in her lap and then later in the street, trying to explain to her driver through snot and tears that he should drive carefully or she'd get sick and puke in his car. It wasn't even sure why I was crying... I think I was just so sad to see the week end, and it was mixed together with all of these emotions I was having trouble putting my finger on - gratefulness for all that I am blessed with; a deep love for my mom; a sudden panic that I hadn't asked her enough questions about what she was like when she was young; a realization at how quickly the sweetest days of life go by. The world suddenly seemed so beautiful and melancholy all at once.

I ended up tucking those melancholy feelings away, and as I recounted the week in my mind, I couldn't help but smile. I know this will be a week we'll remember forever; one of those trips that grows more monumental with time. And I also know that I am one lucky girl, to have my mother here in the world... to love, support, hug, and encourage me... to listen to my dreams and questions and give me advice... to tell me that I'm a beautiful young woman and she's proud of me.

I'm proud of her too.

a fantastic surprise

My mom sent me an email last Thursday, wondering if it would be too much trouble if she came to visit in a few days. ¨I´m thinking next Wednesday or Thursday,¨ she said. I couldn´t help but laugh out loud - partly because her request was so spontaneous, but mostly because a smile just wasn´t sufficient to express how happy her proposal made me.

We´d been talking about her coming, discussing different dates, trying to work around her crazy schedule... and nothing was working. But then this wave of spontaneity hit her when she was deciding how to celebrate her birthday (on the 16th), and the thought of spending yet another birthday in Austin (as lovely as the B&J is) was just too much to bear. ¨I want to celebrate with you, in Argentina! So I´m coming.¨ Quintessential Kay.

So she arrives Thursday morning, and will be here through the following Wednesday night. She´s going to stay in my homestay with me, on a mattress on the floor of my bedroom. I can already picture us stifling giggles into our pillows into the wee hours of the night.

We´re not going to travel outside of the city - there´s too much to see here. We´re just going to walk, eat, and laugh; do some sightseeing and shopping; and walk and eat and laugh some more. I can´t wait to show her my life here, and to be there as she experiences her first taste of South America.

We´re going to have an absolute blast.

and life goes on

It´s not as if I expected life at home to be put on pause while I was gone... but I had no idea so many big things would happen in the lives of my friends and family in my absence. People are getting married, engaged and impregnated left and right. Friends are buying homes, running their first marathons, moving to China and Europe, taking new jobs, starting grad school, starting families. My sister left for college, my brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law are planning their wedding. My parents became empty-nesters, my mom is going back to school.

And daily life continues as well. Friends get together for drinks and dinner, run into each other on the street, have birthday parties, laugh. My dad does yardwork and watches birds, my mom paints and runs and fills me in on the inane details of life that I love so much. Seasons change and life goes on, and I get to hear about it from afar.

I look forward to my homecoming; to being a part of all of these simple, beautiful things once again. To seeing engagement rings and wedding bands, baby bumps and newborns, familiar faces with new stories to tell. To sitting around tables at my favorite restaurants, enveloped in the deeply satisfying warmth of friendship.

Thousands of long miles will make you appreciate millions of little things.

¿minnesotan or brazilian?

In the past two weeks, I´ve been asked if I was from Brazil on four separate occasions. This both baffles and pleases me. When I look in the mirror I definitely do not see a South American, let alone some bronzed Brazilian... but I´ll take it. Their line of reasoning? Apparently I speak Argentine Spanish with a Brazilian accent. Maybe those drawn-out Minnesotan vowels are finally paying off.

As flattering as this line of questioning is, and as lovely as it would be to be able to introduce myself as a sensual, exotic Brazilian (and not some Downhome Girl from Minnesota), I´m really, really glad to be from a state in which I don´t have to don a G-string bikini year-round. Or ever, for that matter.

You know what? I take that back. I like being a Downhome Girl. And I love Minnesota. I wouldn´t change my place for the world... but I´m still thankful for full-coverage bathing suits.

laundromat love

Today Lourdes, the hired help in my homestay, reported to me that the guy at the laundromat where I take my clothes is ¨very in love with me.¨ When she went this morning to pick up some dry-cleaning he asked her what my name was (and of course she told him). He told her that he thinks I´m very beautiful, and asked her to tell me hello for him. He also said that he´s looking forward to the next time I have dirty laundry that needs to be washed. (I´m hoping that´s not a double entendre.) Apparently he´s engaged.

I´m trying to ignore the fact that he sees my underwear on a bi-weekly basis.

making friends

Well, I did it. I made friends. And not just other lost Americans wandering the streets of Buenos Aires (though I do have a few of those as well), but real, live Argentines. It´s amazing how quickly time passes, and how un-homesick you can be, when your days are spent enjoying the company of others, building a life in a new city, feeling like you belong.

The other weekend I went out to Sunday brunch with a group of friends from my yoga studio. We spent hours lingering over delicious food at one of my favorite cafes, strolled through the streets afterwards with our arms hung loosely around each other, grabbed coffee and dessert, window-shopped our way past trendy little boutiques.

The past few Sunday afternoons I´ve gone with my host brother, Ia, and his friends to sit in parks, drink mate, listen to live music, people-watch, kick a soccer ball around, and watch the sun set over the city.

Last week I was invited to Friday-afternoon tea with the female teachers I work with. We met in one of their dining rooms around a huge table filled with pastries and snacks, talked about men and relationships, complained about the students at the school, and drank so much coffee I had the Caffeine Shakes.

This past Saturday my yoga friends invited me to watch a fútbol match at one of their houses. I sat between an Argentine and a Brazilian while the team of the latter beat that of the former, learning a lot of new Spanish curse words, drinking good wine, and eating delicious pizza afterwards at a local spot that had a line out the door when we left at 1am.

Yesterday I met a couple of friends for lunch. The other day a different friend and I grabbed a late breakfast. This weekend I have a barbeque and a farewell party to attend. Next Thursday I have dinner plans.

I have a newfound happiness and contentment with my life here, and I owe a lot of that to all of the fantastic people I´ve met... they´ve welcomed me into their lives, they put up with my slow Spanish and constant vocabulary questions, and they give me a safe haven in this big, noisy, chaotic city.

It feels pretty darn good.

my argentine solstice

Today is my Argentine Solstice - the mid-point* of my time here. Seventy-eight days behind me, seventy-eight days ahead of me. It´s hard to believe two and a half months have already passed, and it´s exciting to think I still have two and a half more to enjoy. I can´t wait to see what kind of adventures, stories and learnings this downhill slide back to Minnesota brings.

*I have defined my time here as the five months of my ¨structured¨ program. However, I´ll be in South America for an additional two weeks once it ends, traveling with Andy... and I believe that falls under the Vacation Category, not the Lia Learning Lots About Herself Category. Plus, I´d be fooling both you and myself if I tried to deny the fact that The Day Andy Arrives was the unanimous winner when choosing my Countdown Date.

american meatheads

I spend quite a bit of time in internet cafés (known as locotorios) here, catching up on emails and blogging and skyping and doing similar internet-related activities. Things usually run pretty smoothly, with the occasional hiccup of a lost connection, a crappy headset or a keyboard that you have to slam away on to get the keys to work. Most days I take these little issues in stride, but every once and a while I get fed up.

Today was one of those days - Andy and I had a date on Skype (oh so romantic), and I was sitting at my favorite locotorio (still am, actually), looking forward to chatting ¨face-to-face.¨ Andy signed in, and although we could see each other and he could hear me, I couldn´t hear him. This has happened to us before... and as much as I´d love to blame South American computers for this problem, we´ve discovered that it´s actually his faithful Mac that´s messing things up. Well, I didn´t care which country´s fault it was, today was not a day I felt like tolerating yet another annoyance on the long list of annoyances. So I started swearing under my breath (just a little), and called the computer a few choice names. (Not something I´m necessarily proud of, but it helps calm me down when I´m really frustrated.)

A few minutes went by, and Andy and I were still trying to trouble-shoot, and all of a sudden I look up and there´s a guy standing next to me, asking me something. I took off my headset to hear what he was saying. ¨Did you just call my girlfriend a whore?!¨ I almost laughed, a full out Guffaw!. With a smile on my face I explained that no, in fact, I did not call his girlfriend a whore; I was talking to the computer. He didn´t buy it, and spewed off something about me not having the balls to say it to his face. He was visibly shaking with rage. I repeated my defense, and he gave me Death Eyes. Then, thankfully, his (apparently whorish) girlfriend tugged on his arm, mumbling something along the lines of ¨Let´s just go¨ and dragged him out the door. He glared at me the entire way out. And I thought I needed to practice anger management. Yikes.

I suppose the moral of the story is that I should swear less in public? Or never assume that the people around me in locotorios don´t speak English? Or maybe there is no moral, and a Head-Busting American Meathead will be waiting for me as I walk out the door in five minutes to teach me my lesson.