The Way

So lately my heart has been here. 

It might be because I saw the movie, "The Way" (brilliant by the way) and it might because this is what I'm teaching in my classroom, but lately there has been a significant pull on my heart- both to Spain and to the dream of walking the Camino de Santiago Compostela.

For over 1000 years pilgrims have walked the camino to find themselves, to find God, or just to find some time alone. In a world whirring with overstimulation a few months of quiet nature seem more than appropriate- it seems downright healing.

Here are some other photos to stir your heart. (all courtesy of an old-fashioned google image search)

You'll put a boot where?

This weekend I attended a rodeo- a legitimate boot-wearing, cow riding, oh-my-gosh-that's-a camouflage-stroller rodeo. To say it was an experience in culture is an understatement. Moreover...a 9/11 memorial at a rodeo? It doesn't get more cultural than that.
I have to admit...I sort of expected the intense and emotionally charged memorial.
I also expected the military salute.
I was a little surprised..but not shocked when the rodeo clown openly poked fun at Obama ...
but what shocked me out of my mind was the national anthem.

All of us were standing on our boots (ok..I was wearing cute ballet flats), hands over our hearts, as the last notes sounded like this...

"O're the laaaaaand of the freeeee and the hooome of the braaaaave....We'll put a boot in your ass, it' the American way!"

and the crowd. went. wild.

 In an instant I was jolted from the comfy melody of the national anthem to a crowd of self-proclaimed rednecks whooping as Toby Keith's controversial"Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue" blared on the loudspeaker. without single note between the two. Even stranger...I think I was the only one jolted and possibly the only one (minus my friend who was with me) who noticed a contrast between the two songs.

It's official. I may have grown up in this culture, but I am officially.....an outsider.

 In a way it reminded me of Jamaica. Oh no, there wasn't any jerk chicken (or marijuana that I know of), but as I sat there with mouth agape,  people would look me over, stare at me, and try to figure out what an outsider was doing there. I'm not sure what labeled me the outsider (other than my scarf- I couldn't help myself), but they knew....In a weird way, I kind of enjoyed it.

Anyone else ever feel like a foreigner in their own hometown?

I grew up here..

I grew up here- where we draw the state line on the street because it's the only tourist attraction. Where Appalachia meets the dirty south. I grew up where the whole town goes to the Friday night football game, everyone knows someone who still makes moonshine,  and the homecoming queens will have their 3rd baby before their 5 year reunion .  I grew up in the land of Sunday hymns and Saturday night dirt tracks.

And I never planned to leave.

10 year later....
just north of the hip-hop capital of the world.

I have a degree in Spanish and spend most of my day teaching (unbelievably priviliged) high school students the value of  a foreign culture.

I am head-over-heels for a Taiwanese man, totally enchanted by his family, and attempting to learn mandarin.

 ...and I have had the great blessings of hiking the Jamaican jungle with machete wielding tour guides,   falling in love with  a baby honduran monkey, accidentally finding myself in the middle of a Spanish labor rally, and dancing with the rural Scots on New Years Eve.

I am a cultural cocktail
                     a student of every place
                                              and very much still finding my way.