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Imagine you're playing Halo (the original because I'm outdated...do kids even play Halo anymore?)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!

Hunting and Exploring

In a couple days, some of us adult ladies will be heading to Manila for some appointments and odd supplies.  We will be out of the village for some ten days, while rest of the family will remain here.  The kids are excited because this means they will get a two week break from school.  I'm excited because this means I will get to FaceTime with my family back home.

One of the things we need to do while we're in the city is search for art supplies.  I will be "teaching" (though in art, I feel it's more like guiding than anything) two of the high school age girls through a homeschooling art curriculum.  I made a supply list on Wednesday and set out to find what we already have, so we don't purchase anything unnecessary.  Thursday night, I'm going through the final drawer and lo!  Gary the Cockroach twitched his nasty little antennae at me from his nestled position between the molding clay and finger paints.  The molding clay was my objective, but there was no way I was going to reach for it with Gary just chilling there.  As I debated my options, Gary waved farewell and crawled deeper into the recesses of the drawer.  That made my decision for me.  I shut the drawer and went up to bed.

Friday morning, I announced to S and J that we would be going on a hunt after our morning lessons.  True to my word, once snack had been consumed, S was armed with a fly swatter and J was bequeathed a bottle of Baygon.  We opened the drawer with due apprehension.  One deep breath.  Two deep breaths.  Eventually, winged by my fearless cockroach slayers, I began to unpack the drawer.  The results?  A whole lot of cockroach poo and rock solid molding clay.  At this very moment, Gary is at large.  The only questions is where?

A couple of us have started going on an early morning walk every Saturday.  It's enjoyable for a number of reasons: it gets us out in the sun and fresh air, we become more familiar with the land around us, fellowship...  Needless to say, walking in the morning has become something I look forward to all week long.  This week, we took a familiar path out, but a new ridge path back.  All was well until we reach the end of the loop, where we were met by a lovely standing pool that looked to be about 5/8 water buffalo poop.  With many laughs, groans, and helping hands, we technically made it across.  Sufficed to say we needed to rinse in the river before we made it home.

Each passing day brings a new lesson, picture, or idea.  Whole pockets of flowers hidden from view in the bush praise God with their beauty.  A mother water buffalo protects her young by chasing the strange white people away.  A little pineapple sprouts from a plant beside the river.  Piglets are born.  It seems to me that the details might make a difference after all.  Maybe it just depends on the details I choose to focus on.

Farewell, Francois

Mom, you know how I don't really sleep much.  After I got over my jet lag and stopped falling asleep every time I sat down, I fell back into my four hour sleep-rut. I guess my sleep pattern doesn't really explain why, around midnight last night, I was standing in the bathroom, hyperventilating, with a shattered toothbrush holder in one hand.

Rewind a little bit.  My first week here, one of the older girls and I cleaned the schoolroom to prep it for the following week.  She warned me, "Last time we cleaned out these drawers, we found so many cockroaches.  We actually started naming them like hurricanes."  In that moment, I asked myself, "What do I think I'm doing here?" But we only found a handful, half of them already dead.  Agatha, Bernard, Candace, Deidre, and Emily.

Since then, other people have spotted one or two, but I've been blessed with limited exposure....which might have something to do with me begging God to keep them away from me.

Last night, however, I made the familiar moonlit journey down the hall to the bathroom.  Usually, I just do my thing in the dark, but I had forgotten to brush my teeth earlier so I flicked on a light.  Hand halfway to the faucet, I froze.  Almost the size of a thumb, resting on the sink, antennae twitching, sat Francois. 

To the best of my knowledge, I did not scream.  I did, however, thump him into pulp with my plastic toothbrush holder. One hit. Two.  Three.  I thwacked him with a speed uncannily reminiscent of you, Mom, with your wooden spoon on a deserving behind.  Francois was thrashed beyond an inch of his life.  In the deafening silence after my berserker reaction, I started hyperventilating, clutching the splintered remains of my unfortunate weapon.  It was at least five minutes before I could remove his corpse and anothe five before I convinced myself another roach wouldn't jump out at me if I turned the water on.  Eventually, though, I found my way back to my bed, teeth clean, heart at a somewhat normal rhythm.

RIP Francois the Cockroach.  I don't really condone mindless killing, but I'm more sorry about my toothbrush holder than one less cockroach to worry about.