Level: Legendary

Slayer!

Killing spree!

Imagine you're playing Halo (the original because I'm outdated...do kids even play Halo anymore?) and you're walking down a dark hallway.  The music is warning you that the Flood is coming out any time now.  Even with the warning, you poop a little bit when they show up.

Now, instead of Halo, put yourself in a dark bathroom without theme music and, instead of the Flood appearing, you hear the unmistakable whir of roach wings.  You can't see it, but you know it's there. Understandably, you poop a little bit.  That's okay because you're on the toilet.  Until you realize YOUR UNDERWEAR ARE AROUND YOUR ANKLES AND THE COCKROACH COULD LAND THERE AND HIDE UNTIL YOU PULL YOUR PANTS UP AND THEN IT COULD CRAWL INSIDE OF YOU LIKE IN SPOILSBURY TOAST BOY.

So now your feet are obviously suspended in the air while you wipe, because that is somehow going to prevent a cockroach from landing in your grotchies.  

Don't forget the lights are still off.  And don't watch the Spoilsbury Toast Boy.  It is unfathomably terrible in every way.

In the end, you escape sans-cockroach panties and without washing your hands.  Let's be real, no one braves the sink when the cockroach is discovered chilling out in the solitary sliver of light between you and the tap.  You know you'll meet the bugger again as you fumble with the locked doorknob.  Nobody in their right mind turns their back on a roach, either.

That was my night at some point this past week.  To be honest, I don't even remember what specific night because exhaustion and terror make everything except the fine details a blurry haze.  I can, however, report without a doubt that our rematch took place on Saturday, the eve of May.  As I stood, 100 % exposed, prepared to take a well-deserved shower, Herodias clung to the pink shower curtain with practiced stillness.  Maybe she was waiting to ambush me.  Maybe she was trying trying to hide.  Whatever the case, I had been expecting her all week.

With only minor hesitation, I took up the fly-swatter that was broken and forged anew.  I struck once.  My foe faltered, but refused to give any ground.  I struck again, this time rendering her helpless by turning her belly up. Then, as is my embarrassingly barbaric custom, I pounded Herodias into pulp with the swatted that was broken and forged anew only to be broken yet again.

Mindless death really does hurt my soul.  I'm vegan for more than one reason, you know.  Cockroaches just flip the berserker switch inside of me.  Blame my heritage.

At any rate, we head out to conference in a couple days for just a couple days.  It's building up to be a whirlwind week.  Not to mention, I officially have only five months left in the Philippines! The time, how she flies!

Pictures that Aren't of Food

 

(Helping each other with flower crowns)

 

(Waiting for the helicopter)

 

(This week's artistic efforts, to be used as thank you cards)

Lunch Lady Land

Remember that time when I was like, "Sorry, food hijacked my life but it's all good now"?  Apparently that was a lie. There is something remarkably romantic about food.  Not a boy-meets-girl romance.  It is more of a quaint romance, the quiet kind that settles contentedly in one's soul.  To be honest, it is one of the purest joys any basic creature can experience.  The amazing part is that God allows mankind to take it one step further.  We have not only been given the ability to play with flavor and elements, but we also get to share it with each other.  In short, good food lays better foundations for great relationships than anything else.

Don't argue with the facts. Jesus himself ate with his disciples and demanded they continue that tradition until his return.  Nearly every budding relationship is nurtured with well-made food. (Coffee counts.) Babies bond with their primary food source for the majority of their early lives.  Good food isn't an accident and someone sharing that food with you isn't just nice.  It's everyday romance.  Deal with it.

All of that said, good food or bad, I hate seeing it go to waste.  Imagine a house where people compete to see who can eat the oldest left overs.  (Yes, that's you, Uncle David.) But in tribal Filipino culture, waste is even more offensive and they don't have refrigerators.  One social gathering will tell you all you need to know.  Personally, rice is the only permissible choice as far as food goes at these things, but take a glance at everyone else's plates.  They're happily tucking into fried pork blood and intestines with gusto.  Get the picture?

Daily life is organized around meal times...and coffee times...and the preparation of food for those times.  There is an ongoing assessment of The Fresh: What is going to spoil first, so it can be eaten first? Is anything too far gone to be eaten that is salvageable for baking or cooking? Can this be preserved by freezing?  Is anything showing signs of worms or rot?  The surprising part is that it's more of a game than a chore because all of the above questions have follow-up questions: Cookies or bread? Stir fry? Would these flavors pair well together? Could I try substituting this for that? What if we invented something savory with this, instead of the usual sweet?  The results of our labors are almost always good.  If they aren't, the process was still fun, a lesson was learned, and the desire to make it better is undeniable.

Around the food, life waltzes along.  Just yesterday a beautiful baby girl was born in the village. Two of the kids spent time expanding their portion of the garden this morning.  Adobo the pig has an umbilical hernia that might determine the length of her extended lifespan. All of these things happen slowly, then all at once. Through it all, we break out bread, give thanks, and bask in the romantic blessing of it all.

They Say It Lasts A Lifetime: Photo Edition

 

(Men playing the gansa drums.)

 

(Dancing!)

 

(Look closely. That's fish head soup.)

 

(The rice featured here was the only dish I could eat,  but apparently the stuff in the green dish tastes like bacon.)

They Say It Lasts A Lifetime

I think we all have random memories.  Something from the dark recesses of long-term memory will occasionally bob to the surface of recollection and we think, "Seriously? Out of everything you could have saved, you picked that, Brain? Consider yourself fired." Exhibit A: is it really that important for me to remember the orthodontist's tuna breath at 3 a.m., a decade later?

But we hopefully also experience moments that we know, without a doubt, are memories that we'll carry as long as our brains are sufficiently functional. Exhibit B: yep, I definitely remember the time I dropped, not one, but two perfectly good tampons, applicator and all, into a dirty toilet.  Talk about five bucks in the toilet.  Maybe a better example is Exhibit C: thanks for holding onto that midnight trek through the jungle by moonlight, Brain.  While I didn't get pictures of the moonlit mountainscape (not for lack of trying, mind you), I know it is a memory that will linger.

In addition to that hike, I was privileged to attend a couple different weddings the week. One was a massive affair with 1,500 guests that the hosts fed for a grand total of three meals, if I'm not mistaken. The other had fewer guests, but still an impressive gathering.  Apparently, the way weddings work here is everyone gets together the night before the wedding for a blowout party that goes strong until the ceremony the next morning, only to revive the party afterward the the remainder of the day!

All that said, I think my take away memories were two traditional dances.  The first is one I think of as the bird dance.  Men play brass gansa drums while men and women dance around each other with their arms raised like bird wings.  A man will single out a woman and dance around only her.  After several minutes, he will offer his hand to her and she will either reject it or accept.  If she rejects, he can try again or try to get another girl. If she accepts, they walk out from the dancers together as a pair. If she doesn't, he can try again or go after a different girl.

The second dance is strictly (to my understanding) a wedding thing.  The bride and groom are the only dancers and the sort of slowly revolve in the middle of everyone.  The guests bring out money and pin it to the bride and groom's clothing as a kind of gift!  This dance can happen several times at one wedding and they'll end the dance covered in money every time.  Another similar dance happened at the second, but not the first. A scarf was draped across the bride and groom's arms, then guests placed folded bills or coins in either the bride or groom's mouth. If the coin started between the groom's lips, he would pass it mouth-to-mouth to the bride and she would drop it into the scarf.

That's all I have for today, except some pictures that will upload at their leisure!

The Master Chef?

Did I mention I spent almost every night watching cooking shows in Manila?  Well, I did.  Most of them were of Australian origin and my favorite was by far Master Chef Australia.  Despite it being an old season (and literally NONE of the food being vegan), my inner foodie was all like, "No big deal.  We can do that."

So, with our limited supply of produce, my work has been cut out for me.  I'm talking breads, muffins, slaws, salads, humus, baked tofu... Heck, falafel is even on my "to make" list.  It's fun to try recipes, dabble in creating dishes, and hodge-podge whatever substitute ingredients we need.

Granted, this normally wouldn't be the best time of year to go all Martha Stewart.  Hot season is supposed to be cranking up to high heat right about now.  Key word: supposed.  The past couple days have brought some of the coldest weather I've experienced in the Philippines thus far.  We even dropped to 19°C (which is something like 65°F, but still, I had woolly socks on, okay!), so the heat of the oven has been welcomed for the most part.

In addition to baked goodies, I've been enjoying some mailed love from my family.  Letters and packages and even emails from the states have perked me up just as much as Banana-Pineapple Bread.  Trust me, it's delicious.

We're slogging away through 4th and 2nd grades with the girls, but they've seen the light at the end of the tunnel.  Once they realized there are less than 60 school days to go, the morale in the schoolroom brightened considerably. I feel kind of bad because my being here means they don't really get a summer break.  We'll "finish" the school year with the month of June and be neck deep in the next grade by mid July.  Even still, we're all pretty excited for the finish line.  Finish line = a trip out of our village to do some cultural exploring in other areas of Luzon!

I just need to remind myself that this isn't a sprint. It's cross-country through and through. The analogy would probably work better if I was actually a runner.