Perfection Through Weakness

Here's what I know...

-After four years of dorm/apartment life, and three months of living in another country...I'm now living at home...with my parents.

-After four and a half years of hair pulling work to obtain my degree in Middle Childhood Education, I've finally concluded that teaching...is not for me.
 

-After collecting info and crunching the numbers, I have more college debt than I anticipated...and I start paying in June.

 

Add that to the fact that I'm not entirely sure what I want to do, besides move to Miami Beach, I've suddenly became a smidgen stressed. It seems that after four years of loving the independence and endless opportunities of college life, and my latest experience on my own in Costa Rica, I have had a serious set back. Suddenly, I'm sitting alone in my freezing, jam-packed room, with a part time (what my dad refers to as “fake”) mall job, debt up to my eyeballs, and what feels like ceaseless pressure from all sides to “figure things out.”
 

I'm stuck.
 

Most of the time, when we're stuck, we look to others for encouragement. We need reassurance of “I've totally been there,” or “Everyone goes through this.” After several wise and reassuring words, we realize, although encouraged, we still lack the power to instantaneously change our current situation.
 

At this point – I have a verse I always turn to. Usually it's after I've tried to figure out and accomplish something completely on my own, failed completely, or have finally been humbled enough to admit defeat.  It's underlined and highlighted in my Bible, you know the ones.

2 Corinthians 12:9

“But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.”

It makes me want to scream, “I'm WEAK!” right here in my quaint little hometown coffee shop as I write this. Because, when I am weak, his power is perfect.
 

All this to say, I am learning to be content. I'm frustrated with always waiting for the next stage of life to begin. First we say, “I just want to finish High School” then, “Life will be so much better when I'm done with college” next, “I'll really be able to relax when I start my career” and of course, “When I get married, my life will be perfect” (which is maybe the most dangerous one of all).

So, these facts remain:

God always knew I would get my degree and not want to teach. He knew I would be living at home, with little direction and lots of dreams. He wanted me to go to Cedarville University, and he will help me pay it off. He knows I love working at Forever 21, and it's right now, and it's not fake (cough, dad). He makes me strong. He is my joy.

So to all you recently-graduated-working-a-fake-job-waiting-for-the-next-step-payments-pending-big dreamers reading this, I wish you contentment. Stop waiting for the adventure to begin...because it's already started.

Much Love,

 

From an adventure living, job hunting little darling

 

 

 

Burning Red

And that's when I knew. I was sitting on a sticky bus, on my way back from a weekend at the beach, and I wanted to cry. Everyone warned me “don't lead this boy on,” “protect your heart,” “don't make it serious.” But at that moment, as I stared out the fog-framed windows, I knew...it was too late.

His name was Hro. I had come to Costa Rica to do my Student Teaching and would be there a total of three months. A couple weeks in, on the way to a local concert, I saw him. I was in the car with my friend Maria Paula, waiting for some boys we were picking up. The first thing I saw was his shadow – broad and tall. I looked up as he was running his hand through his perfectly combed over hair, eyes sparking, laughing as he and his friend made their way to our car. We made eye contact through the window and I involuntarily stopped breathing.

As he walked around the front of the car, I caught my breath,

“Mari, who is that?”

“Hro...why?”
 

At that moment the car doors opened and the boys jumped in. As Mari introduced me, I flashed a smile at the adorable friend named Uribe, and then found myself unable to look away Hro's gaze.

“Hola.” He said with a rather shy smile.

“Hi.” I mustered, then I turned back around. Mortified.

_______________________________

So that is how we first met. I was warned against him, a few times. (Maria Paula, Maria, Mela...I wave my white flag of surrender). After the concert, he followed me on Instagram, left flirty comments, and floated to mind from time to time. It wasn't until one Sunday, standing alone, waiting for my ride after church, that someone tapped me on the shoulder. About a month after meeting him, he magically appeared before me. I was so excited to see him that I wrapped him in a huge hug. We stood there with sheepish smiles, and talked Spanglish for a moment before he had the audacity to ask for my number, which I gave to him, of course.

Later that week, while relaxing at home on a Thursday night, I invited him over to my host home. We had been trying to hang out all week, and it just so happened he was free the night I was making cookies (the key to any man's heart). We ate chocolate chips, showed each other pictures of our families, and shamelessly flirted the entire night. We spoke Spanglish, more Spanish than English, but somehow we understood each other perfectly. As I walked him out to his car and hugged him goodbye, we stood under the a perfectly full moon in the rich Costa Rican breeze, and suddenly I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's all those chick flicks, or maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me – irreguardless I looked up at him with my baby blues as the following words thoughtlessly poured from my mouth, “Hro, I feel like I want to kiss you.” To this day I am still amazing that at his rapid response as I motionlessly experienced the most electrifying kiss. Even now, as I reflect on it can't help but smile...it was perfect. He drove away, promised to text me, and I promptly walked inside and collapsed to the floor. What. Was. Happening.

The next week involved cuddle sessions, dates for ice cream and pizza, a late night tour of the city on his moto (don't tell Dr. Brittan!) and precious texts that I woke up to every morning. To say I was swept off my feet is an understatement. During my week vacation from school, I left for a short adventure with my gringa friend, Kat. We had a wonderfully amazing and hilarious time, but I'll admit I was restless to get back to a certain Tico who had remained in the back of my mind. On our bus ride back, I texted him something to the extent of, “There's a certain gringa excited to see a certain Tico very soon.” And he immediately replied, “A gringa who holds the heart of this Tico.” Ok, as I write it sounds cheesy, but in that moment a profound butterfly-like sensation made it's way from my heart to my toes. Subconsciously, I reached for my ipod and journal. After putting Taylor Swift's “Red” on repeat, I scribbled the excerpt you read above. It was then that I began to feel something more than “like” towards this romantical young man.

The next weeks were much of the perfect same. He as a gentleman – he would walk on the side of the street with the cars, insist on paying for everything, and held my hand...fingers intertwined. He took me to his house, introduced me to his family, and always texted me goodnight. His last adorable moments were the night before my last day of school. I was making cookies and notes for my students and he came over just to hang. We played tic-tac-toe, doodled tattoos we'll never get, and each wrote the each other a note, which I still have (but may end up throwing it in Cedar Lake – for those of you who know that story, I'm laughing with you. If you've never heard it, ask me sometime, you won't be sorry :).

My last weekend there, he wanted to go to the beach for a day. We planned it weeks in advance, and I was beyond excited. The day, however, ended with me sitting on a bus, deciding that I'm not in love with this Prince Charming after all. I'm thinking there may be another girl (or two), or maybe he became blatantly bi-polar overnight, but that day, everything was different. He wasn't excited to see me, he didn't hold my hand, he didn't make me laugh like he always did...and the sparkle in his eyes was gone. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he was just sick and tired. That was true, but the end fact was: he wasn't there. Even though he was right beside me all day, he was long gone. (This is the part where I had “I Knew You Were Trouble.” on repeat if that last line sounds familiar.) So it was there, on hot an sticky bus ride, equal to the one I took only a short month before, that I pulled back my heartstrings...one by one.

Although I was warned (several times) about getting heartbroken, I don't think that's what I am. I think my heart, ironically, is wiser than ever. Hro taught me so much: he gave me a glimpse of what a relationship looks like, set a standard of how I deserve to be treated, and confirmed that this little darling seriously isn't ready for anything serious. I have Taylor to thank for writing songs about me and my heart, that I still can't stop listening to.  More importantly, however, I am grateful to my Savior, because He knew I needed a little Hro in my life. For one month, for the first time in my life, I needed to be treated like a Princess. I needed to add a million bullet points to my “Liem John Gilmore III” list (what I named my future husband – God bless him). I needed to realize, again, that above all I am HIS Princess, and I am fine china.

I needed a taste of what's to come, and to surrender (again) to HIS perfect timing.

In closing,

“Loosing him was blue like I've never known

Missing him is dark gray all alone

Forgetting him is like trying to know somebody you've never met...

But loving him was red. Burning Red.”

-Taylor Swift Red

Xxoo,

From a not-heartbroken, optimistic, memories-filled, expectations heightened, stronger little darling

p.s. Hro, if you're reading this (or more likely if Uribe is translating it for you) just know that you're lucky you're out of range of my daddy's shot gun...but word on the street is he's building a missile. Watch. Yo. Back.

 

 

Adios, Miss. Britt!

As I sit down to write one of, if not my last, blog from Costa Rica – even here at my little cafe, with a grande latte, this. is. hard.
 

This one's about my school. Over the past three months I've been a Student Teacher in Mr. Valverde's 5^th grade class at International Christian School in Heredia, Costa Rica...with a bunch of rambunctious little munchkins. I could fill pages and pages of things they've taught me, ways they've made me laugh, and how they've loved on me. But, I think all I need to do to demonstrate this is recall the events of last Friday, my last day at school.
 

There was a blanket of sadness throughout the day as the students and I knowingly exchanged “the glance” that meant: “I can't believe you're leaving us” and “I'm so sorry I have to go.” The day before my teacher sent an email letting parents know that today would be my last, and I wrote a small paragraph thanking them for each of their children. Shockingly, this translated into the idea that we needed food, and lots of it. For, while exchanging sad glances, students and parents kept bringing in snacks and goodies that eventually accumulated into an entire feast.

 

That day, we ate fresh Chinese, chips, cookies, candy, ice cream, cake, brownies, and a whole slew of other things that made these fifth grade kittens jittery with sugar, all in my honor. It was incredible the way the parents had, in the past 24 hours, rallied together to create such an amazing celebration of my time spent there. After lunch, we all ran back to the room, where I assumed the impossible task of settling the kids down for lessons would begin. Instead, my teacher opened the closet in the front of the room, and one by one the students went up to the hiding place, grabbed their gift for me, and proudly presented it to my shocked self. Before I knew it, my desk was a mountain of coffee (of course), chocolate, flowers, hand-written cards, and other gifts, along with a blown up picture of all of us, that they had each signed. I. Was. Stunned.
 

As the day ended, I left them each with their own little note to remember me by – filled with a memory or two and the promise to never forget them. Well, that's what did it, and from them on came the waterworks. They all hugged and kissed me (even the boys, which never happens!) and promised to email/Facebook often.
 

As I sat down to collect my gifts, still in shock at the accumulation of them, my teacher asked me to run and give a message to someone in the teacher's lounge. I promptly went on my merry way, and entered to find balloons, signs, coffee, and more food. Thinking I was interrupting something important, I uttered, “excuse me...” and they all cheered, “Yay! She's here!” I stood there like an idiot and asked, “Wait, is this for me?” They all laughed and nodded. We ate more food, drank more coffee, and they said the most precious things while trying to convince me to return. It was wonderful.
 

To my (almost always) precious students: Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for making me laugh every day. Thank you for welcoming me to Costa Rica. Thank you for trying my patience, because it made me stronger =) Thank you for your love - I will never forget you!
 

To the staff/teachers at ICS: Words can't even describe my thanks to you. In these past three months you have made me feel so special – beyond what I deserve, and I can't thank God enough for each of you! You all hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for helping me get through each school day with laughs, coffee, and a break from the little humans. I will never forget your kindness. Until we meet again <3

I'll Be Seeing You,

From a little darling who's leaving a little piece of her heart in Costa Rica.

Xxoo

 

 

Rain in Waves

Rain in Waves

My red toes play in the dark sand.

The sun beats strong, and the rain falls soft.

Alone with the waves, not wishing you were here.

They warned me, and I'd like to say I knew better.

It wasn't a dramatic end, and I'll pretend like I understand.

I'll pretend it was real, the way I lingered on your lips.

I'll pretend I'm made of steel, because you steal hearts.

Forgive me, but I don't run from a beach when it rains,

I get drenched.

My Missionary Monday

Memories, laughs, a full tummy, and a renewed appreciation for missionaries everywhere are just a few things I left with after visiting the Roughts and McGinnises a couple Mondays ago. After a rather adventurous trip to their house, I was greeted by the ever-beautiful Gretchen, warm Ryan, and was soon-after awestruck at the size of their girls! The last time I remember spending some quality time with these beauties was five years ago when I was with them for a week here on a mission trip. These young ladies before me were talking to me like the teenagers they were becoming, and I felt old! Minutes later, that dynamic duo, Jon and Joni, arrived with their whole kitten-kaboodle!  After hugging the oh-so-grown-up, Katie, and next-oldest Megan, I smiled at Lindy and JD, who simply blinked at me. These poor children had no idea who I was, but I made them hug me anyway :)

As we sat drinking coffee (of course) I updated them on all things Sarah, and then later I was privileged to get a peek into what “Missionary Talk” looks and sounds like. Planning meals, accommodations and other necessities for the pending arrival of their TACTICA team, asking questions about the correct way to conjugate a Spanish verb, and hearing about how they've been adjusting to the culture in general, left me wide eyed and speechless as I soaked it all in.

After I sat at the “grown-up” table for dinner we headed outside in the drizzle for a good ol' fashioned bonfire. It was there that I was able to hear exactly how all their kids have adjusted – especially Jon and Joni's, and the difficult decisions their families have to make regarding education for their kiddos. It suddenly occurred to me that the rather difficult time I had adjusting to this culture here for the first month or so was absolutely minuscule compared to what these family have been and are currently going through. I don't think I ever personalized their transition of packing up house and home and throwing themselves into a completely different culture...

As I hugged them all good-bye, and Ryan and Gretchen kindly drove me home with their exhausted girls, I was beyond thankful for these incredibly close-knit families willing to sacrifice everything familiar for the sake of spreading the gospel of our Savior. Wow.

So thank you – Ryan & Gretchen, Jon & Joni, and family (and missionaries everywhere) ...for everything!

Much Love,

 from a blessed, enlightened, and thankful little Darling <3

I'll leave you with some snapshots with the cutest kittens around!

 

 

 

Girls Will Be Girls!

It should not come as a surprise to me that a couple weeks after arriving here I had found some fabulous girlfriends. What also should not have surprised me were the things that brought us together. There are things that girls like, things we obsess over, things that mesmerize us, things that define us. These things, I have come to believe, are true for girls everywhere.

Do you remember in the beginning of He's Just Not That Into You when they show clips of girls all over the world discussing their boy problems? They show a clip from Africa with a woman saying “He probably just forgot your hut number,” and a clip where one British girl swears to another, “He so obviously liked you...” Well, it has been my experience that the subject of men is a universal girly topic that never ceases to unite us. Within days of knowing girls down here, we were already talking the “boy talk.” And I'm not referring to your casual “he's cute” comments, either. I'm talking about the “I have no idea what he wants!” conversations or “I think I gave him my heart...” tragedies. It is simply astonishing to me that these lovely ladies from a country so far and different from my own, are experiencing the EXACT SAME THINGS when it comes to our manly woes. What's funny too, is the way we react to one another. Always ready to give support, offer mutual hatred, or tear up over a romantic gesture. All in all, us girly girls, are all the same.

Besides men, I can promise you that the ever materialistic drive men make fun of us for is actually built into our very feminine existence. Listen (cough, DAD, cough) girls love shoes. Period. It doesn't matter if your in the US or Costa Rica, us chicas gotta have our fancy footwear. And purses. And nail polish. I'm telling you we can't help it.

It is no secret, either, that at a certain time of the month, us ladies crave a particular dark brown delicacy and turn to our favorite chick flick for it's promised comfort. This is exactly what you could find last month as one of my girlfriends and I sat on her bed in our leggings...eating chocolate and watching The Five Year Engagement...crying. This equally shared chocolate/movie necessity can be compared with that of our music needs. With a car full of girls the other week, on our way to the mall, we could be found misty-eyed while singing (loudly) to Jason Mraz's latest hit, I Won't Give Up. When it comes to our emotionally-driven chocolate craving craziness, it's been proven, we are all the same.

Lastly, I'll highlight my recently found favorite activity – watching soccer (or futbol, if you will). After Monday night Bible Studies, some of us girls can be caught sneaking into the boys' soccer van and snuggling up to one another to “watch the soccer game.” Which, every girl everywhere knows, really means to talk about our latest boy drama, shopping plans, funny stories, and future hopes and dreams. Yes, I submit to you, that female friends everywhere are all talking about the same things on the sidelines, with the occasional “Go, Fight, Win!” thrown in too.

So here we are: men-obsessed, nail-painted, fancy-shoe-wearing, top-of-our-lungs singing ladies. The following truth remains: while boys will be boys, girls will be girls. And as I close, I can't help but think of the profound title of that popular 80's hit, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, because that, my friends, sums it up pretty nicely.

Here's to you, my beloved Ticas: Maria, Maria Paula, Mela, Pipa & MJ <3

XXOO,

From a french-manicured, chocolate-splurging, Rom-Com watching, fun filled, little darling <3

 

 

 

 

p.s. I've been slacking on my Wardrobe Challenge updates...

 

 

I may have cheated a couple times...but there have been BIG sales down here...don't tell my mom!

  

Errybody Kissin' Errybody

As an observer and receiver of perpetually new cultural differences and customs, I've decided to blog about one in particular...heaven knows it deserves a darling little blog or two...

I'm just going to say it straight – everybody is seriously kissing everybody down here. Now me, being a touchy-feely person, at first, did not mind this. However, I found myself in some strange and rather awkward encounters with this ever so normal complementary peck on the cheek. To put this in perspective – think about how occasionally awkward it is to meet someone for the first time anywhere. In the U.S., it's customary to shake hands, but even now, especially with people my age, the gesture seems too formal. Instead, we wave or mutter a polite “nice to meet you.”

The same is true for down here...apparently the younger generation sometimes feels it too formal to greet with a kiss, which is fine, if you understand these inaudible social cues, which I don't. Every time I meet someone my own age, I wait to see if they do the “lean in I'm about to mooch you” move, or just offer a friendly “mucho gusto.”

 When I first arrived in Costa Rica, kissing my host mom and brother was fine...but when I arrived at school and met my twenty-something, recently married, male teacher and he leaned in for a kiss, I was a smig taken aback. Not only that, but every time a mom comes into visit, he kisses her on the cheek, because it is honestly rude not to.

Two blunders come to mind with this whole kissy kissy situation. One time, when I went to the movies with my host mom (to see movie in Arabic with Spanish subtitles...that's a story for another day) we ran into an older couple whom she knew. She introduced them to me, and they spoke English. I immediately introduced myself and started asking questions about where they had traveled and how they learned English...but I never offered a kiss on the cheek. That's like meeting a precious old couple and forgetting to shake their hands. Oops.

The other blunder came when a father arrived at school to drop off his daughter's books. I opened the door and greeted him with a casual “Buenos Dias,” and then he leaned in...and I stood there. It was probably only a milla-second, but it seemed to me like an eternity before I realized that I, myself, needed to lean in and kiss his cheek. This was a FATHER of one of my STUDENTS...here I was trying to remember how to say “Who's father are you?” in Spanish and he was leaning in for the kill. Whoops-a-daises (said in a Notting Hill British accent).

My last thoughts on the subject are these: Tico men certainly are some lucky guys, within the first few seconds of meeting them, they receive a complimentary kiss. Secondly, if I kiss you when I return to the States...you're welcome ;)

Xxoo (litearlly),

A kissable little darling

A Tribute to My Grandfather

Grandpa Stewart

My favorite memories of my grandpa are recent, after he hovered on death's door. If he told you about his near-death experience this summer, he would have said that I saved his life. I promise I did nothing more than schedule him a doctors appointment. However, after his heart was literally zapped back into rhythm, he approached life differently. Suddenly it didn't matter how loud we were laughing in a restaurant, how much dirt we tracked into the cabin, if we ate cookies in the living room, or if we took over his garage with motorcycles. What mattered was his family, and the precious moments he had left with them. At any random moment he could be found attempting to hand his grand kids a twenty or take us out for a bite. He actually tried to pay me after I took him to the emergency room, ever afraid of being a burden.

There are things about my grandpa that I will never forget. According to him, his grand kids were going to rule the world someday, just like their mother was already doing. Growing up, us Brittan kids got called the wrong name by grandpa so many times it's a wonder we don't suffer from identity crisis. On the other hand, what better compliment than to be mistaken for “Kathy” every time grandpa visited? If you ever met his dog, Sandy, she was his baby. She had a chair in the house that no one dared sit in, and a special place on his bed and in his heart. She temporarily replaced the void of my grandma who is ten years passed, the void that will now be forever satisfied.

Grandpa enjoyed hitting a tennis racket well into his eighties and had a sweet tooth or two in that golden smile of his. Probably one of his more well-known attributes was his ability to tell awkward jokes at the most random of times. Often we would laugh not at the joke itself, but at the absurd moment of its delivery. Family dinners will never quite be the same.

However, there is one family meal that rises above the rest. Grandpa insisted on taking his family out to dinner, his treat. He chose Pizza Hut, one of his favorites, and somehow all six Brittans found a free night a few months ago to spend together with grandpa. At dinner, I noticed he didn't say much, but rather reveled in his surroundings. He was engulfed in his legacy. They were laughing, eating, and enjoying one another all around him. He was proud, and he was thankful.

After that, for the next couple of months he could be seen muttering to himself, that was when he was talking to his Jesus. He started praying ceaselessly, and thanking his father for every little thing. At the end, in the hospital and later in Hospice, not a complaint could be heard. He could be found flirting with the nurses while he was flirting death itself.

But the truth remains that I believe my grandpa was never happier than when he was dying. It took a life-threatening experience for him to declare everything in life a blessing. He started giving radically, realizing the fleeting value of material things this side of glory. His glass went from half empty to perpetually half full. As I sit down, far from home, to write this, I can't help but realize what a valuable lesson he has left behind.

My grandpa wouldn't want a fuss over him, he never did. He would want you to live, and live to the fullest. Abandon the dirt covered floor and crowded garage. Forget the loud laughter in public, and eat cookies in the living room. Live for the things that will last, the things you can reap the befits of when your short life here is over. Above all, consider it all joy...and it never hurts to add a tasteful joke or two.

Read at my grandfather's funeral 9.21.12



XXOO, from a little darling far from home

When the Earth Quaked

It was a Wednesday just like any other day. I woke up after a short night of sleep, slapped on some make up, scarfed a delish breakfast from my host mom, walked my daily jaunt to where I get picked up, and prepared for another day of 5^th grade shenanigans. School starts promptly at 8, and as my cooperating teacher started the class off with devotions, I sat down to grade some composition notebooks. About 40 minutes later, as I prepared to take over and teach Reading, my teacher was taking a minute to explain to the class just how fragile and expensive the new “Interactive Board” in our classroom was. As we all looked at the screen, we couldn't help but notice that it started shaking ever so slightly. Some of the kids looked at me in the back of the classroom to see if I was playing a little joke, then we all directed out attention to the projector hanging from a pole from the ceiling of the classroom, which was definitely trembling. “Is that...?” my teacher started to say, and looked at me. Suddenly the entire earth started to move.

“Under your desks, under your desks!” Mr. Valverde yelled in a voice I had never heard before. Like magic, the students simultaneously scurried their little bodies under their desks. “Protect your head!” He yelled again.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to argue, so Miss. Brittan shoved herself under her desk too! (Which is the same size as the student's I might add). It was probably the longest thirty seconds of my life. There, on the ground, I looked at the white tile underfoot. It had turned to a big pan of jello, it was moving up and down, swaying back and forth, impossible to stand on.

I suddenly realized that my teacher had completely endangered himself attempting to save the expensive projector dangling from the ceiling. I started feeling rather silly for being the teacher and hiding under my desk, so I bravely decided to peek my head out and move the curtain from the window next to me. Outside I could see teachers and students who were on the playground had started to gather in circles and sit on the ground.

“Is it over?” My teacher asked as he looked at me. I shook my head “no,” as there was still a little movement felt.

A few more seconds allowed the foundation to stabilize and everyone made a line and paraded outside to wait. At this time, everyone counted their students and accounted for staff members. For the next half hour, parents called, emailed, and some came to pick up their kids. But I assure you that an hour later, we were all back in the classroom and learning was in full speed, like nothing had ever happened.

As I returned to my desk, I swear I felt another earthquake coming, but I was told later it was probably just a tremor. I did feel dizzy and have a headache for the rest of the day – I think the whole “tile turning to jello” thing really messed with my equilibrium. And honestly, as I sit here in my living room and write this, I'm getting a little queasy! There's something unnerving and unsettling about having one's foundation taken from you, from seeing something completely stable and reliable become unpredictable and threatening.

My host brother sent me a lovely “Welcome to Costa Rica” text later that day, and my host mom swears that the earthquake happened just because “Sarah es en Costa Rica!” All this little darling knows, is if that's my first and last earthquake experience, I'll be just fine.

The earthquake was originally estimated at 7.9, but later was downgraded to a 7.6 – the strongest to hit Costa Rica in about 20 years. Only two deaths have been linked with the earthquake, and the entire country is working together to repair buildings, roads, and houses that were in the effected areas – there was no damage where I live, thank the Lord! Since the initial earthquake on Wednesday there have been hundreds of small tremors, mostly in the northwestern part of the country, including a magnitude 5.6 that happened yesterday. Don't worry – I haven't felt a thing!

Who would have ever thought that after countless fire drills, tornado drills, even lock-down drills, I would be lacking in the basics of “Earthquake Procedure” … well, not anymore =)


All for now,

XXOO

His Name Was Monkey

On Saturday I had another adventure – I went white water rafting! It was an early one – right around 7am we all made our way (me with my java in hand, of course) to commence the impressive car-pooling and later mountain-driving escapades in a 15 passenger van...but I'll get to that.

After making it out the door on time and in the car, (which I thought was an impressive feat for such an ungodly hour) I found myself transferring to another car which contained two Costa Ricans, a Spanyard, a Russian (and a partridge in pear tree, right?). There we were, attempting to speak some impressive Spanglish, or really anything at that hour of the morning, following a line of cars we trusted knew where in the world we were headed.

Sure enough, over an hour later, we were shuffled into 15 passenger vans with nothing but our nerves of steal and change of clothes. We began ascending one of Costa Rica's many mountains to our pending doom. Crammed in the caboose of a blazing vehicle with people who didn't know each other from Adam, we all became friends...fast!

As the story goes, my host brother (David) invited 25 of his many friends on this crazy adventure. Little did I know that almost all of them didn't know each other, and there we several of us represening foreign homelands...he apparently has a gift with us outsiders :)

So there we were, leaning back and forth as we circled the mountain and tried to calculate how much of our day would be spent in a hot, circling, vehicle...when we arrived. On a desolate river bank lay heaps of life jackets, paddles, helmets, and rafts, patiently waiting for young amatures to come and have the time of their lives. Without question we adorned our fashionable gear and out of no where a guide gathered up our group and led us to our fair inflatable vessel.

He spoke English and Spanish (thank heavens) with a heavy dose of humor. We were to call him “Monkey,” as was our team name for the day. As he rattled off instructions in Spanish I simply smiled and nodded (a practice I've grown quite accustomed to) and simply prayed I wouldn't perish due to a misunderstanding of what was Spanish for “bail out.” With no time to panic, we were off.

The first rapid was called “Welcome,” and what a welcome it was! This little darling shoved her feet deep into the crevices of the raft and prepared for the white water ahead. Throughout the day we experienced fun and adventurous waves, absolutely breath-taking waterfalls, and a wonderful team-building experience. Each wind in the river allowed another beautiful view of this incredible country. At one point I would see mountains, another, deep green forests, and yet another a wooden bride swinging high above the rushing waters below. In all honesty, I'd say it's one of the most romantic places I've ever been.

Speaking of romance, I can't help but share this little tid bit of the day, which I have to admit was really the icing on the cake. Not far into our river-tackling escapades, Monkey started asking this darling gringa some rather personal questions. The infamous “do you have a boyfriend” never throws me off guard here (everyone says I need to find myself a Tico man...I promise you it's not that easy) and once telling him the perfectly acceptable news that this baby 22-year-old is unattached, he proceeded to inform the raft that this was a problem.

 

 About halfway through the trip, our precious Monkey decided everyone needed to re-arrange places in the raft. Imagine my surprise when I somehow ended up assigned to the spot right next to him. Towards the end of my journey (after some extensive “practicing of his English”) he instructed, “Let me see.” I turned to him and waited for an explanation, but he just stared into my eyes. I sat there dumbfounded for about a minute until I mustered, “Let you see what?” “You're eyes,” he replied, “they're the color of the sky.”

 

 Well, if my eyes were the color of the sky, my face was the color of a fire hydrant (whyyyy, ladies, do they always start with the eyes? I swear it works every time). His Spanish accent helped take off the corny-ness of his next line, "My eyes, are the color of the jungle.”

 

Okay, okay, I thought – we've got a whole nature-love-theme going on here.

 

 If he would have finished there, I would have stayed a smitten kitten, but his last question stopped me dead in my raft as he asked, “So, you want to go on a two day trip?”

 

I'm sorry, we're vacationing now? Flashes of me floating dead down this very river clouded my mind as I asked, “Like, a rafting two day trip?”

 

 He smiled and nodded. I didn't.

 

“Like, we camp out or something?” Bigger smile, bigger nod.

 

 As I stared at him (somewhat in disbelief in regards to the progression of this relationship) I was saved by the river bank as we now had to beach the raft, arriving at our destination. I smiled and muttered a polite no thanks, harbored the thought of giving him my number, and then, on second thought, decided to die another day (mommy, be proud:). 

 

 

All in all it was a GREAT day! I met new people (besides Mr. Monkey, I promise), explored more of this rich country, and rode a wild river! I received several battle wounds, muddied up my ever-faithful tennies, and left with unforgettable memories.

 Pictures pending – trust me, I rock the helmet/life vest look.

 

Sometimes, as I sit on my bed blogging, it seems serial. I'm here – I'm in Costa Rica and I'm having an experience of a lifetime. Climbing volcanoes, conquering rivers, getting chased by a Monkey, and teaching some of the cutest (and brightest) kids I've ever met.

All for now,

Xxoo

 

 

...The Wardrobe Challenge - Behold Some Evidence...

 

 

 

 

The Wardrobe Challenge

Who? Yours truly.

What? Never wearing the same outfit twice.

When? For 3 months.

Why? So I can blog about it.

How? 

• I can only use the things I packed in Delilah and her baby (as well as random things my host sister has left behind :)
• The basics will have to remain the same – but through the use of layers and accessories, I must create a different look everyday.
• I can not buy new outfits while here...however random “must-haves” for the right price are always allowed (although I haven't purchased anything yet! So don't freak out...mom).

The proof? Every time I blog I will include an outfit or two.  You're welcome :)

pink cardi, necklace - F21

black & white tank - thrifted

precious bow sandles - Aldo

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pearls - JCrew (bridesmaid gift from my roomate!)

bling necklace - gift from a teacher I worked with

dress - Plato's Closet

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necklace - F21



ring - Body Central

Feather Cardi - F21

Purple dress - Plato's Closet

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Simple light blue ring - The Amazon, Brazil

Bow Necklace - F21

Sheer White Cardi - Franchesca's 

Patterned Purple Ruffle Dress - random thrift store in Dayton

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Flower Sandles - Rue 21

Funky Earings - F21

Tan Cardi - Target

Sheer Navy High-Low Button Up - F21

Green Shinnys - Khols

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Vintage Earings - Salvasion Army

Casual Maroon V-neck T - Target

Flower Printed Scarf - Walmart

Comfy Cotton Skirt - Goodwill

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White Bling Watch - Khols

Leapord Flats - Plato's Closet

Lipstick - Sephora Rouge Shine: V.I.P

Leapord Scarf - Thrift Store in Dayton

Neon Blue Off-the-Shoulder - Yonkers

Skinny Jeans - Khols

Black Purse - Borrowed from Vale (my host sister...who's in America)

~

Sephora Nail Colour - Metro Chic

Funky Fingers - Taffy Town

Green Necklace - F21

Baby Pink Striped Maxi Dress - Lauren Conrad line from Khols

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It's funny (and I admit rather silly) how something like your favoirite clothes can be so comforting when you're far from home...

XXOO