Squash- it's what's for dinner.

I discovered a new vegetable today- the Spaghetti Squash. How I've gone this long without knowing its deliciousness is beyond me... But we've been brought together now, and our dinner repertoire will never be the same.

I bought two, since I wasn't quite sure how much one football-sized squash would yield. But after almost slicing off a few fingers cutting it in half and then baking it for 40 minutes with some olive oil, salt and pepper, I was very happy I'd only done one.

Holy spaghetti squash, Batman! That is one very large plate, with an even larger pile of squash! Easily enough for four people, even considering how much my husband can put away. Sorry there aren't more prep pictures. I had no intention of blogging about this, but it just turned out so darn tasty, I couldn't resist. After sprucing up some plain sauce with fresh basil, mushrooms, black olives, bell pepper and garlic, I ended up with this:

That bowl is ginormous and makes it look smaller, but that's two cups of squash and about one cup of sauce in there. Holy crap it was delicious!! And filling. AND barely over 200 calories! I'm shocked at how good it was. Leo hasn't tried it yet, but I'm thinking I'll let him eat it and then tell him what it is. Prejudgement will only cloud the response from his taste buds. :)

It's just sew nice!

For quite a while now, I've had the urge to start sewing. This is especially ironic because I cannot even count the number of times my Mother tried to teach me when I was younger, and now that we live many hours apart, I want to learn. I know, I know- my timing is impeccable... but alas, I still want to learn! I mentioned this to her awhile back, and asked if she had any old sewing machines lying around. You never know what my parents have stashed up in the attic, and I didn't need anything shiny and new if she had an old one I could learn on. She said she didn't, and I dropped the subject for the time being, thinking maybe I could ask Santa for one for Christmas.

Little did I know, Mom had other plans. About a week after I asked, I got a rather large package in the mail. And guess what was inside??

A beautiful new sewing machine of my very own! Its arrival happened within about 48 hours of all the pricey shenanigans with the car, and I got just a wee bit teary eyed when I opened it up. Just the pick-me-up I needed. And the funny part was- Leo apparently has secret sewing knowledge! As I pulled the pieces out of the box, he began to tell me all about how it's important to put pleats into skirts so they hang better, and how you're supposed to put the two nice fabric sides together and then turn them inside afterward to make it all look nice... Say what?! Such a handy guy. :)

Not long after, I found myself at Joann Fabric. Again- this is ironic since fabric stores were some of my most despised locations as a child. (My sisters and I would often end up in the craft section, practicing our batting with styrofoam balls or launching things over the aisles to whoever was standing on the other side...) But I needed the proper accessories to get started, so away I went. I may know nothing about sewing, but I do know fabric and thread come in handy. And lucky me- I found a perfect little starter kit that would put me on the right path!

Unfortunately, being in the middle of a school semester and all, I have about zero extra time to devote to my new hobby, but through YouTube instructional videos and my dear friend and quilter extraordinaire, Amy, who was in town visiting not long after my new little machine arrived, I have made progress!

That's right ladies & gents- I can now sew a STRAIGHT LINE! Alert Vera Wang she's got some new competition. I'm not willing to disclose just how long it took to actually thread that bobbin- but the point is: we were successful!

I have a long way to go, and I can't imagine ever reaching the ranks of my Mother and Grandmother, but I guess everyone has to start somewhere, right?

Let's catch up, shall we?

Hello readers!

I won’t even try to explain where I’ve been for the past 2 months… but just know it’s involved a lot of books and hours spent in the computer lab and quizzes and tests and blah blah blah. I’ve basically given up on blogging regularly and have come to accept that as reality. BUT- I do get a chance to jot down random ideas from time to time as things occur, and the next few blogs (however sporadically they’re posted) will probably revolve around past events.

First up- the washer.

Our amazingly beautiful washer and dryer were hands down my greatest craigslist find to date. I picked them up in San Antonio, shortly after arriving back in the States, from an Air Force family who was in the process of moving. They were about 4 years old at the time, in superb condition, and I got them for about ¼ of what they would cost retail.

High efficiency, great condition, pretty color, with fun lights to watch and buttons to push? Ahhhh… love.

Now, as a set they’re beyond incredible, but really- the washer is my true love.  I honestly miss having a clothes line and wouldn’t mind using one full-time. (Nothing beats the smell of sunshine.) But in the apartment world, they’re frowned upon. So the dryer definitely serves its own important purpose. But the washer makes me happy like nothing else. After hand-washing in Botswana for 2+ years, I get downright giddy every time I fire up that beautiful blue beast and consider it a prize when the clothes come out all clean and fresh. (No bleeding hands required!) We had a lovely, perfectly functional relationship… up until about 5 months ago.

Suddenly, the washer turned on us. After all the loving compliments and singing of praises, it began to throw what can only be explained as tantrums.  The drum which once handled bulky comforters and sheets and towels with no problem whatsoever began thumping and bumping and trying to walk across the floor during nearly every use! If even one t-shirt ended up on the wrong side during the spin cycle, look out! After dealing with it for a few months, we finally called Sears. And after some consideration of our options, we chose to go for the 1-year warranty contract that basically covers any and all maintenance expenses for the year it’s in effect. So we scheduled a service call.

Unfortunately, it happened to fall on a day I was at work, and it didn’t end as planned. The technician apparently showed up, did a load of laundry, and everything worked absolutely perfectly. (Of course.) After months of memorizing the sounds and movements of the washer and going so far as to set the timer on the microwave to dart in there just in time to avoid it walking across the floor and upsetting the neighbors… Frustration doesn’t even come close! We’d already shelled out the cash for the year-long warranty, and I vowed that even if I had to take a HAMMER to it, we would get our money’s worth!

So then we got busy with the semester and all of this went on the back burner. We continued to set the alarm on the microwave and generally deal with it. And then one night, I jotted down this little nugget:

“Leo has sent me to the bedroom to cool down. He walked into the apartment and found me yelling obscenities at and threatening to kill the washer. And you know what? IT DESERVED IT. It continues to be off balance and drive me insane with every cycle. I would take pleasure in launching it off the balcony, to die a quick and painful death on the pavement below, and then claim innocence tomorrow morning when our neighbors find the carcass. But unfortunately, Leo is much too level-headed to help me with the murder… Not only is the machine stupid, it’s sexist, too! It goes all nutso 100% of the times I start it, but Leo has a much better track record. Therefore he doesn’t fully understand when he walks in to find me cursing like an especially foul-mouthed sailor or whispering “I will kill you” to it after I’ve had to open the lid and rearrange clothes for a THIRD time.”

Yeah.

It wasn’t pretty.

For a while, we resorted to turning off the spin cycle all together. Do you know how WET clothes come out when there’s no spin?? Definitely not an ideal fix. So eventually, we scheduled another service call. On a day I would be home.

And that’s when Mario entered my life. Mario, my new BFF from Sears. He was in the apartment for literally 5 minutes and knew exactly what the problem was. The suspension was shot. Up until that point, I had no idea washing machines even HAD suspensions, but apparently there was a lot I didn't know. He dealt with all of my ridiculous questions, passed on all sorts of knowledge and hilarious stories from his 25 years on the job, and most importantly: FIXED THE WASHER!!! There was jumping up and down and cheering when it hit its first spin cycle without incident. After months of tense relations, our friendship had been restored. We were on good terms once again, and I apologized for ever fantasizing about its death.

I gave Mario probably the best online review of his life, and Leo, the washer and I lived happily ever after.

A labor-free Labor Day.

I woke up this morning with a full to-do list on the brain. I was going to go to the gym, take a few minutes after to get cleaned up and then head up to campus for a day-long study session... Maybe with a trip to the grocery store during a study break. But you know what I did instead? NOTHING. Absolutely NOTHING. And it was heaven.

I rolled out of bed at 8:30 and Leo and I enjoyed an amazing breakfast:

Mmm... The omelettes were so good and so filling and who were we to force ourselves off the couch and interrupt the digestion process? So we sat around and watched frivolous TV and got absolutely nothing accomplished. Then we took a nap. And then watched more meaningless TV, argued over which houses the shoppers should choose on House Hunters, and snuck in a movie or two on Netflix. We are still in our PJ's and have not set foot outside the apartment door even once. In our defense, we did manage to wash a couple loads of laundry and clean up the kitchen. So there's that.

Yes, I will absolutely regret this come Wednesday morning as I surely fail my pathophysiology quiz, but for now, I'm not budging.

Thankful.

Several friends and acquaintances have made amazing immigration progress this week. Visas were issued, permanent green cards are on their way... it's been great to keep up with all of it! And as I watch it all unfold, I can't help but be completely and utterly THANKFUL for all that I have.

Leo and I started our immigration journey two and a half years ago. We were on opposite continents when he was given his US Visa, and it's exhausting just to think about those emotions, fears and sleepless nights we both went through. We still have a long way to go until he gets his citizenship, but now that we're married and under the same roof, the rest just seems like fluff.

His two-year American anniversary isn't until October 11th, but I just couldn't help but post this now.

As of today, we are both back in school for the semester, and already sprinting to keep up with the assignments... We've tried to implement a rule of having a date night (textbook and work free!) at least once a month, but we'll see how that goes. We may have to settle for a free hour instead of an entire date. Yes, it's hectic and downright infuriating at times, but I know how blessed I am and how happy I am to have him by my side through all of it.

Parlez-vous Francais?

Not long ago, I found the perfect gift for Leo:

French magnetic poetry! How fun is that?! As I meticulously tore apart the 1 million little magnets, I picked out the ones I knew. And while it may not seem like much (because it's not), it's still a start.

(I got WAY excited about lumiere-- he was the candlestick in Beauty and the Beast!)

Leo's a nice guy, so he's sharing the magnets with me as part of my language learning curriculum. Until now, my "French" has mostly included me ending sentences with a Pepe le Pew-like-grunt or substituting "ze" for "the." Examples: Let's go get in ze car. Would you like more of ze pizza? 

I'm hoping now that I have fun little magnets to play with, my vocabulary will only expand from here! 

The Damn Car.

So, as some of you may have seen lately on facebook, I've been dealing with some automotive drama this week. And I don't want to jinx it and say it's in the past, but I think I'll go ahead and share it with you anyway.  

At the beginning of July, I took the Civic in for a routine oil change. The guys at Midas got it all taken care of, and also informed me that I was long overdue for a timing belt change. They explained what the heck a timing belt WAS, since I'd honestly never heard of one, and I went on my merry way, telling them I'd deal with it. Well, the very next day, I got an email from the Honda dealership advertising a timing belt special they were running. Hmm- how peculiar... And then! Less than a week later, a co-worker started talking about how she'd just changed the timing belt in HER car! At this point, I couldn't help but wonder if the universe was speaking to me. Never had I heard of a timing belt, and then three times in one week?! I decided to listen.  

After calling around to compare prices, I was shocked to find the Honda dealer actually had the best offer. So to the dealer I went! Last Wednesday, I dropped off the car at 9am and had Leo pick me up about an hour later. I got a few things accomplished around the house and decided to lie down for a nap around noon. At 12:30, the phone rang. (In hindsight, those 30 minutes of sleep were the best 30 minutes of my entire week.) My friendly Honda representative was on the other end of the phone, and delivered the very tough news that our cost had just more than doubled. In short, the wheel clicking I'd been ignoring for about six months turned out to be something kinda major (imagine that) and they basically needed to rebuild the front suspension. Fantastic. There was no more sleeping after that-- just pouting. And around 4:30 that afternoon, Leo dropped me back off at the dealer. They close at 6pm and after watching every other customer leave, and most of the staff, I was finally escorted out the front door at 7:15. It was not a fun night.  

And that was the end of it …or so we thought. 

The next day, as I was walking up to my car after work, I realized there was something hanging underneath that I’d never seen before. I actually had a friend check it out as well- just to confirm I wasn’t nuts. And on top of that, I was noticing a “springy” noise in the back passenger wheel I’d never heard before. Ugh. So on Monday- I went back to visit my new Honda dealer friends.  

Sure enough, the splash shield underneath was hanging loose and missing a chunk. No one seems to know how that happened, but it mysteriously occurred less than 24 hours after they tore apart the underside of the car, so they went ahead and replaced it for free. (Hallelujah.) And they informed me that the springy backend noise was the exact same problem they’d just fixed in the front, now occurring in the back. Apparently the bushings (?) have had enough and are starting to voice their displeasure every time I hit a bump. But you know what? I. Don’t. Care. For $750, I’ll just go ahead and listen to the periodic squeakiness. Fine by me. So they replaced my splash shield and I was on my way.  

But I didn’t get far. 

About 20 yards in front of the dealership, I was doing a U-turn and headed toward home when something HORRIBLE happened. I heard a loud pop and there was lots of grinding, and the car wouldn’t accelerate or shift or do ANYTHING correctly. By the grace of God, I had just enough momentum to coast into the entryway of a Subway restaurant, and there I stayed. I tried exactly twice to put the car in park, only to hear more horrible grinding and continue to coast backwards into traffic. So I pulled the emergency brake and sat and thought for a moment. First I called my Honda friends. I informed them that I was stuck at Subway right out their front door and needed their assistance immediately. Leo was coaching and didn’t have his phone, Dad didn’t answer on the first try, so Mom got to endure the freak out that came next. I could hardly breathe I was crying so hard. People were honking at me because I was blocking the entry to Subway, and I was 100% convinced I had just left my transmission back on the roadway somewhere.  

The Honda guys arrived in a minivan within moments, and helped me at least push the Civic into the nearest parking space. They threw me in the minivan and got me back to the dealership, where I went directly to the ladies’ bathroom to mop up my face and try to regain my composure. It was ridiculous, but it’s like every ounce of keeping it together from the week leading up to this just broke. There was no holding back that sense of frustration and helplessness. I came out of the bathroom just in time to grab a complimentary bottle of water and watch five more Honda employees head across the street to push my poor car across the five lane, highly-traveled road that was in front of us. By this point, I had two Honda guys sitting on either side of me in the waiting room, explaining that it would all be ok. (They probably just wanted me to stop scaring the other customers.) All I kept thinking was maybe if I asked reeeaally nicely, they would put that ridonkulous amount of money we’d just given them toward a down payment on a new car.  

They got the Civic right in and figured out pretty quickly that it wasn’t the transmission, but I’d managed to shatter the front driver-side CV joint. (Another new car term to add to my vocabulary.) And while that isn't pleasant, at least it wasn’t something internal that would cost another small fortune. My new minivan-driving friend actually took me back to the garage and showed me the underside of the car and the damage. (If I hadn't been having a mental breakdown at this point, I would've taken a picture for you.) He then dropped me off at home, where I got to fill in Leo once he arrived about an hour later. Luckily, he's mastered the art of talking me off the ledge.

The car had to stay two nights at the dealer (mostly because I work crazy hours and we couldn’t pick it up after the first night.), but I felt that time was important for it to sit there and think about what it had done. I asked my mechanic guys if I got a discount for strategically breaking down just steps from the front doors, and they just laughed and thanked me for "handling it so well." Ha! If that was handling it well, I'm afraid to see someone handling it not well.

We picked it up yesterday, and it’s driving beautifully. Of course, I’m completely terrified to ever make a U-turn EVER again, but I’ll get there. I just need it to last until graduation. The goal is to avoid a car payment until at least one of us is out of school. But honestly- I'm pretty darn tempted to trade it in for a scooter at this point. I'm guessing maintenance for those is a little easier on the wallet.

Short, Sweet... and hopefully satisfactory.

Yes, it has been WELL over a month since I returned from my trip to Central America. And yes, I promised you a blog all about it. But I think I'm going to break that promise.

The problem is, I have started writing about it at least ten times, and scrap it every single time, not liking what I've written. I often have no idea how to sum up my travels- especially when volunteering is concerned. Not that I'm ever short on words, but I just feel it comes across the wrong way. I'm not out there digging wells and saving babies, and I'm afraid that's exactly what people think. But I will tell you this- it was just what I needed.

My leaving for Nicaragua came at almost the exact two year mark since returning from the Peace Corps. Two years since I'd used my passport, two years since going through customs, two years too long for any of it... And going back out again, volunteering and seeing a new corner of the world was exactly what I needed. Living in the United States is extremely frustrating and exhausting for me at times. I love being so close to family and friends, but the materialism and closed-mindedness of so many really do grate on me after awhile. I'm not immune to being sucked into that line of thinking, and I don't like it when it happens. I LIKE being places where people have so much less and appreciate it so much more. It's where I feel most at home.

So basically, I had an amazing time in Nicaragua, and learned all about an amazing organization named FIMRC, which I will stay in touch with in the years to come.

And I had an amazing time in El Salvador, playing tourist for a few days with my dear friend Carolyn.

We avoided medical emergencies for the entirety of the trip (priority #1), and I had a truly fabulous time. Not sure when I'll be able to go back out again, but I hope it's not another two year wait.

Need even more pictures?? Check this out!

Domestic Bliss - Part Deux.

We don't really do pasta for lunch around here- especially during summer. But there were special circumstances, and we made an exception today. And since I'm a dork and have an iPhone camera handy, I documented it just for you.

I'm a little proud of my basil this year. Not long ago, it looked like this:

Just past the seed stage, all cute and tiny. And now, it looks like THIS:

I grew that! From SEED! :)

Our cooking lately has revolved around basil and jalapenos... because food just tastes better when you've grown it yourself. And those are our most plentiful crops at the moment. So today, since I had a free afternoon, I decided to try something I'd never made before.

PESTO.

Talk about a good way to use up a lot of delicious basil! And with the Ninja as my partner in crime, we were cookin'.

Hot damn I love that machine! Notice how in the before picture you can barely even see the top blades, and then in the after picture you can easily see all three sets of blades! The basil/walnuts/garlic/olive oil never stood a chance against the awesomeness of the Ninja. (I'm tempted to grunt like Tim the Toolman Taylor every time I fire it up.)

We had a couple of bell peppers and an onion that were all about to die, so I decided to throw them in the mix as well.

Penne or rotini would have been my first choice, but we had neither, so spaghetti it was!

And there you have it! My first attempt at pesto! If I can manage to keep the caterpillars away, this may become a recurring delight around here.

Domestic Bliss.

I found an awesome new recipe awhile back, and finally got around to trying it out today! I mean, c'mon... banana nutella muffins? Heck. Yes. So the orange wonder and I got down to business in the kitchen. It had been far too long since our last adventure together, and it was a happy reunion.

The recipe calls for a basic banana muffin, with a dollop of nutella mixed in on top. It says to use a toothpick to do the mixing, but since we don't have those in the house, I found that a chopstick worked just fine.

And they didn't have any hazelnuts at the grocery store, so I substituted walnuts. Still crunchy and delicious.

In a word: AH-MAZING. I can't wait for Leo to get home. He flips over pretty much anything involving bananas... And if he doesn't devour every last one of them, the excess will come with me to work tomorrow. Having to start a 12 hour shift at 5:30am is surely made better by muffins for all!

AND- since we had a jalapeno ripen up in the garden, I decided to do a mango salsa with dinner. I'm sharing a picture because I enjoy all the pretty colors.

I love days off work. :)

We fly through the air with the greatest of ease...

Last night, I had a dream. (Just call me MLK) And I must share it with you all because it was that awesome.

It started with Tom and I sitting in a house. I didn't recognize the house, but we were sitting at a kitchen table, discussing an upcoming trip. Apparently it was going to be fun and we were both pretty excited to get going. Next thing I know, we had set off and were headed toward our destination. But instead of driving in a car or traveling by airplane, we were flying. As in, FLYING. Technically, Tom was flying and I was along for the ride. He had his arm around me and I had my arms around a pillow as we cut through the clouds. It was nighttime, so we were looking at all the lights down below. And I just know I was very concerned about that darn pillow. As he would duck and weave through the clouds, I held on tight and told him at one point: "Don't you dare lose this pillow! It's my favorite!" As far as I could tell, we had no luggage. Just my pillow.

After flying for awhile, Tom told me it was time to land. He handed me what looked like a small backpack, and told me to put it on. Apparently it was a parachute just in case he couldn't land us without assistance. It had four straps total, and he helped me put it on "properly." Basically, one set of straps went around the front normally, and the other set went on backwards. (I've never been skydiving but I'm pretty sure that's NOT the right way to strap on a parachute.) 

We started our descent, and within seconds we were approaching an enormous house. Tom told me it was his goal to land under the kitchen table, since that was safest. (Duh.) And we more or less came in for a skid/crash landing. Chairs flew everywhere as we landed hard and went sliding across the dining room floor. We breathed a sigh of relief, and began to take off our unnecessary parachutes. 

Suddenly, a dark figure came out of the shadows and we were being pelted with pink paintballs. The figure clearly didn't want us in his house, but as we ran for cover, Tom started to talk to him. He set down his paintball gun, and as I looked up, I saw, standing before us, Michael Jordan. BASKETBALL SUPERSTAR, Michael Jordan. Apparently it was his house we had been planning this big trip to! And apparently we were all friends. 

Michael apologized for the confusion and led us to his guesthouse, where we'd be staying. Yep- staying at Michael Jordan's house... no biggie. 

The end. 

Tom used to tease me all the time about my crazy dreams. He accused me more than once of smoking crack before bedtime... I just love that this time around, he was IN the crazy dream.

The 1LT Tom Martin Foundation launched a new project last week called "Keeping TIME." If only we could have taken pictures at Michael Jordan's house wearing a few of those shirts, it would've been a TRULY great dream.

Getting away from it all right here...

I realize I've been back from Central America for over a week now and have yet to write a blog about it. I will! I promise! I finally got around to unpacking and putting everything away yesterday, so that's a step in the right direction, yes? But first-- you get a completely different reading experience.


Leo and I love to travel. No secret there. It really is one of our favorite things to do together. Especially with school and work and the countless other things we're juggling on a daily basis around here, it's so nice just to drop it all, find a place we haven't been yet, and go! So, being the type of person I am, I started planning back in JANUARY and trying to come up with different possible summer travel scenarios for this year. And it's been one obstacle after another.

Our schedules are ridiculous. There's no other word for it. Mine's a little better than his, but when added together, there's zero wiggle room. Since January, I've scribbled little notes to myself of important dates: when each of our classes start and stop, Leo's teaching schedule, Leo's summer camp teaching schedule, his coaching schedule, my work schedule... These dates were then projected onto several color-coded spreadsheets, and analyzed time and time again to try to find a loophole. (Don't judge me.) One did not exist. We originally thought of flying up to the Midwest and making our way through South Dakota and into Montana and Wyoming- visiting Mount Rushmore, the Badlands and Yellowstone along the way. Definitely no time for that. So then we thought about heading up to Portland/Seattle and setting sail on an Alaskan cruise from there. Nope. And then maybe a trip to Hawaii? Again- no. (Notice how the days necessary for each trip are shrinking...) I held out hope that we could find at least four days together and we could do Vegas or Miami. But that idea also crumbled.

I realize this may sound strange seeing as I just got back from an amazing trip to Central America and had a fabulous time (to be chronicled later). But traveling WITH Leo is much different. The idea is to get away together.

It was about this time last month that I finally came to the conclusion that we would not be leaving Dallas as a twosome this summer. The spreadsheets were erased from my computer's memory in a fit of crankiness and I reenacted this scene from Anchorman a few times:

HOWEVER, we did come up with a Plan F. As of 4pm this afternoon, we will be checking into the beautiful Magnolia Hotel in downtown Dallas and enjoying an entire weekend of absolutely nothing.

We may walk around the West End or go to the Botanical Gardens or get some pampering at a spa... but nothing is officially planned. It is also very likely we could stay in and eat room service and watch soccer all weekend! I guess we'll see. Although made-up words like "staycation" make me cringe, I've been told that's exactly what we're doing. Tourists in our own city!

Guatemalan Stitches

I dream of one day writing a book. Haven't quite settled on a title yet, but I'm thinking something along the lines of "The Wandering Klutz" or "A Roaming Klutz" or something incorporating "Crazy Aunt Llaura..." We'll see.

It will include the many (often entertaining) mishaps that have happened to me over the years while traveling. There have been more than a few "sticky situations"- both good and bad- that simply must be shared with the general public. But unfortunately, there are hurdles involved: 1) getting published is hard. (I've researched this and know it to be true.) and 2) I lack the free time to chain myself to a publisher's desk and demand a writing deal. So I've hatched a plan. I'll start posting stories here on the blog, and a big and powerful publisher will catch wind of them one day and BEG me to write an entire book. I figure I can't fail.

So to start things off, I give you--

Guatemalan Stitches.

*Disclaimer: Awesome, but somewhat graphic, photos below. Read at your own risk.

In 2006, I went on my first international medical mission trip to Guatemala. I traveled with an organization called HELPS International, and we set up a clinic in the (extremely) rural village of Uspantan for a week. It was an absolutely amazing time that cemented my passion for both humanitarian aid and travel. After finishing up our clinical duties, the team members got to spend 3 days in the enchanting city of Antigua. (One of my favorite little cities EVER.) We were put up in a beautiful hotel, with a pool and comfy beds and little towel creatures made for us every day... and from Antigua we were able to enjoy day trips to some of Guatemala's coolest offerings.

I liked it so much the first time around that I elected to return to Guatemala with the same team in 2007. And in Antigua, during those rest & relaxation days, is where this story begins.
I had chosen to partake in a trip to the beautiful Volcano de Pacaya. It's an active volcano that people can hike up and watch the flowing lava and enjoy the amazing scenery of Guatemala.

With our faithful guide along for the journey, we started to climb very early in the morning. The clouds were still hanging low and it was so fun to hike through them as we headed upward.

Now, I'm not sure if you've ever seen hardened lava, but it's pretty impressive. It's incredibly sharp and jagged, and as we got closer to the top, it was important to pay attention to your step because one false move would cause your shoe would melt. There were pockets of fresh lava everywhere, and we were instructed to step ONLY where our guide was stepping. Definitely no handrails or anything of the kind in sight. As we climbed, a few friends (who knew my gravitationally challenged history) were teasing me to pay extra close attention and not trip. And I was doing great! Only stepping where I should, no shenanigans of any kind, just steadily hiking and trying to focus.

As we got closer to the top, someone in our group shouted "Look! The lava flow!" and we all looked up. Sure enough, we were close enough to see the river of fresh, molten lava flowing about 30 feet from where we were standing.

And apparently in my excitement... I lost my footing. Suddenly, I fell forward, landing hard on my right knee on the extremely sharp hardened lava below. I remember not saying a word as everyone else reacted- I was stunned. The pain in my knee was excruciating. I stood up and looked down just in time to see the blood come gushing out of the leg of my capris, and head straight down to my sock and into my shoe. All I could get out was: "I'm going to throw up." It wasn't the blood, it was the pain! The urologist of the group (yes, I see the joke here) came to my rescue and used the bandana from his head as a tourniquet around my leg. They did their best to mop up the blood and get me semi-decent for the climb back down. As we were stuck on the top of a VOLCANO, I had no choice but to hobble back down on my wounded extremity.

Just before attempting to stand up for the first time, I remember hearing "Laura, smile!" and looking up for someone to take this beauty of a picture:

By that point, the bandana was saturated, and I ended up with a white tank top tied around my knee. No clue who donated that to the first aid effort... I somehow scrounged up two walking sticks from other members of the group and used them as crutches to get back to the bottom, hobbling and cringing the whole way.

I bent down and grabbed 2 lava rocks, which still sit on a shelf in our dining room to this day, and left a message to future volcano climbers:

The guide had a horse waiting for me as we got back to softer ground, and though it was nice not to walk anymore, that stupid horse did manage to run my newly injured leg into a few fences on the way to the parking lot... It was lucky I had temporarily lost the ability to kick it.

We got back to the hotel, and word quickly spread among the group that Laura had managed to injure herself on what should've been a perfectly serene and accident-free day in Guatemala. Luckily, I was with a MEDICAL team and had an excellent general surgeon who could piece me back together. We turned the hotel room into a mini OR and got to work. The cut was still full of lava bits (and God knows what else) and was definitely in need of a good debridement and some stitches.

Don't worry- it was a new toothbrush.

Bag of saline with a hole in it, and a flashlight- worked like a charm!

The doc managed to get it cleaned out and put back together nicely. Six stitches later, I was good as new! We used an eye patch for a post-op bandage and I paid my faithful surgeon with a Twix bar.

It was then he exited the scene, as he wanted nothing to do with the "disposal" of the bloody rags and towels that were left behind. The cleaning staff would surely think there had been a murder. So to avoid the backlash from a murder investigation, a friend and I snuck to the pool area late that night and tossed all the bloody evidence into a poolside trashcan. We figured by the time they found them, we'd be long gone. Sadly, the pants I had been wearing ended up in the same trashcan. The lava had cut straight through them and with the blood and everything, it was a lost cause. I think that was the most traumatic part for me. I loved those pants! 

My stitches were taken out a couple weeks later and all that remained was a lovely V-shaped scar on my right knee. It fits in nicely with all the scars that came before and after... and though it's faded over the years, it always makes me smile and remember that trip to Guatemala.

730 Days.

As of today, it has officially been two years since I left Botswana. Two years since I kissed my fiance goodbye, boarded a bus, and cried all the way to Johannesburg. So very, very happy we're on the same continent now-- but missing Botswana.

O Backpack! My Backpack!

Back in 2003, I was an orientation leader for the University of Arkansas. And as part of the gig, we were given free backpacks. We carried them around campus as we gave tours and led sessions and helped out the incoming college students with whatever they needed... It was a free backpack. Nothing special. But it's been with me ever since.

It's been taken around the world and back and has been washed and dried and beaten half to death on countless occasions. But somehow, it is still looking great and doing a fine job! When I started grad school last fall, Leo encouraged me to buy a new fancy one to tote around campus, but I adamantly refused. Why would I replace a bag that was still perfectly usable?! It got me through my bachelors program with flying colors, and I had no doubt it would work just as well this time around.
And I was correct!

However, over the past few months, I've noticed that it's starting to show its age more & more. A small hole has now developed on the bottom, which is steadily growing bigger. And the lining is starting to flake away. I'm not sure if all backpacks lose their linings eventually, but it seems to be a trend among those which have been exposed to African heat. (We'll get to that in a minute.) I'm sure one of these days all of my books & binders will come crashing through the ever-growing hole in the bottom, but for now, it still works just fine.

But that leads me to my second backpack story. A beautiful North Face variety that I inherited from my brother, Tom. It was a little bigger than a school pack, and a little smaller than a full-sized pack for travel, but it made the perfect carry-on. Tom used it for years, and I then took it with me to the Peace Corps.

This was taken in April 2008, right after landing in Johannesburg, South Africa. Check out the cart's upper basket.

It was taken from country to country, in and out of tents and questionable hostels... and by the end of my 2+ year assignment, it had taken about as much as it could handle. The lining was flaking at an alarming rate, and soon anything you put inside would come out covered with pieces of disgusting old backpack guts. But I brought it back to the States with me, and have been holding onto it since.

While I thought for a split second about keeping it for the sake of sentimental value, that idea quickly vanished. First off, what good is a busted backpack- sentimental or not? Second, Tom would hate that! And third, North Face has a lifetime warranty! After a quick phone call to the company, I decided to give it a shot and send it in. Yes, it was about 10 years old and had been "well-used," but why not? Best case scenario: a free new backpack. And worst: a coupon towards my next one! No downside in sight. So I threw my traveling companion in the bathtub (per North Face's request) and got it ready to go!

That was several weeks ago, and the they got back to me within no time. The verdict: definitely not a new one for free (no surprise there), but they did give me 50% off on a replacement! And while I had hoped to put off getting a new one until Santa could bring me one for Christmas, how could I pass up 50% off??

A few days ago, this beautiful new Recon arrived in the mail.

I'm absolutely in love with the green, and even more in love with the fact that I got it for 50% off, got free shipping AND it's a direct descendent of Tom's old pack. I'm sure it will accompany me through the remainder of grad school (and whatever comes after) just fine. But just to make sure, I plan to test it officially in Nicaragua come June 9th.

It has some mighty big shoes to fill... but here's to the next generation!