Unfortunately, I think I'm now an adult

So, in the last few blogs, I've found myself reflecting most often on things of a cultural and political nature. While it has been mentioned to me that these are still interesting topics to certain folks I know read this blog, I find myself somewhat hesitant to post about them.  I am wary at the outset because, in large part, I find opinions to be very personal, and I am increasingly aware how the connected anonymity of the internet lends sharp brutality of rhetoric where I would much prefer compassion or silence, and I do not exclude myself from this indictment. I find myself frustrated and heartbroken at what I witness happening, and what is being done about it by myself, my friends, and others.  I know that, often, some excellent writing has transpired from the "greats" in times of righteous indignation, and that their prose has become inspirational and legendary and, some times, life altering for those who read what they capture in words. The truth is, however, I am...

Before I start, I'll give a quick reminder that if you got here through a Facebook link, you may not always see exactly when I post new stuff.  The best way to do that is to subscribe.  If you already have a RSS feed, you can follow easily.  If you have no idea what that means, or just don't want to figure that out, you can subscribe by email in the side panel (or at the bottom on a mobile device).  That way new stuff will guaranteed make it to you!) So for my YASC class, in terms of locations, Brasilia is the farthest from an ocean, over 100 miles further inland than Paris, France, and double that of Dodoma, Tanzania from the coast, and clearly beating any spot in Haiti, Japan, the Philippines, and other island nations and port cities.  So this Florida girl has been seriously limited on beach time this year.  However, lately, the ocean has certainly been on my mind.  Mostly because I'm being haunted by another song again. It's a song I sang last s...

Story time! When I was very young (because I am retelling this story as it was told to me by my mother because I don't remember it) I used to have a lot of nightmares.  Any time I was too afraid to sleep, I would wake up my mom (pretty sure she wasn't thrilled about this).  She would take me back to my room, put her arms around me, sing a song to or with me, and we would talk about why I was afraid.  And then, we would pray about it.  And nearly every time I would go back to sleep quite quickly.  But, according to her telling, there was one night when we prayed that I mentioned that I was ok because my angel had arrived to guard me.  This kinda freaked her out, and even more so when I pointed to the foot of the bed behind where she sat to a place with another indentation, despite the fact that no one had sat there and my legs didn't reach that far down the bed to muss the covers. So what does an angel look like? Well, for the angel in that story, I h...

I'll say this upfront, this is not a particularly happy post, is extremely personal, and does not contain information about my work here in Brazil.  So consider this point your parachute.  Jump out now if that's not your thing. I was planning for my next post to be a lovely recap of what I've been up to here; it was to be about how great it has been to settle into my new house, get the classes for the kids up and going, being involved in this new community, and celebrating a wonderful Lent and Easter while learning of the differences between my traditions and those found here.  But that is not seeming to be the case with this post. In my life, I've often joked that I have the true luck of the Irish.  By that, I mean, historically that they were often a conquered, subjugated, invaded, discriminated, or just all around unlucky group of people, and also a decent portion of my ancestors.  I wouldn't say that everyone in that group was suffering the absolute worst...