luciana

Meet Luciana, one of the most loveable first graders on the planet. She is a bright girl, though she can often be found daydreaming in her own little world. She says the cutest things every day. I wish I had time to write them all down. There were a couple instances this week, though, that are unforgettable.
We were brainstorming words as a class that start with "wh" and one we came up with was "which." Somehow, in one of her unfocused states, she thought we were thinking of rhyming words with those words. So, she starts saying rhyming words with "which," and of course, in total innocence comes across the one that begins with "b" and says, "Miss, is b**** a word? B**** is a word, right, Miss?" It took everything in me not to burst out with laughter. I just reminded her of the exercise and we moved on.

The following morning, Luciana was praying for a classmate's prayer request:

"Dear God, Thank you for to help othered again Joaquin's uncle for he going to have a baby. Amen." Precious, right?

Dear God, Thank you for Luciana. Please help her to realize that all good things, including her sweet spirit, come from you.

never a dull moment

Oh, the adventures of living in Bolivia. I went to Uyuni with a couple friends over Easter break. We took a 3-day tour of the Salt Flats (google "Salt Flats Bolivia" if you've never heard of them...simply amazing), the deserts and a few lagunas. It was an incredible time of gasoline-tasting bread, the bumpiest car and bus rides I've ever experienced, and the most fascinating scenery I've ever seen. My friends and I played in the salt, stayed in hostels, climbed rocky mountains and even learned how to make delicious, homemade granola from the chef of a hostel restaurant.

However, the most adventurous part of the trip would be when I got stuck in quicksand. That's right. Quicksand.

Here's how it all went down. There's a sign that read, "Toilet 5 km." And below it said, "Stop!" So I'm thinking, Wow. They really don't want people using the bathroom here, as most backpackers tend to go anywhere and everywhere outside. I proceeded to walk out toward the little salt islands on the lake to get a closer picture of the flamingos. Bad idea. Two steps and I was up to my knees in gloopy, gloppy mud. Apparently "Stop!" does not have a thing to do with the bathroom. It means "Stop! Quicksand! Do not walk! If you take a step further you might die!" They should have been clearer. But I wasn't upset. All this was pretty funny, especially since just before a friend had said, "Tell us how mushy it is!" It was very mushy, though now no verbal explanation was necessary.

I had not yet realized it was quicksand because, from the movies I'd seen, I thought quicksand was something that swallowed you in one fell swoop if you happened to fall in. So, I began attempting to get myself free. My friends tried as well. No luck. After about 10 minutes of attempting, or struggling rather, in this sulfury, stinky sand, I managed to turn around, though not without coming close to breaking my knee cap, and free one foot. But as the tourists were snapping photos and my friends and I were cracking up at the hilarity of it all, I realized I was slowly sinking on the other side. And I was bummed because my shoe on that leg was halfway off. I really didn't want to lose my favorite tennis shoes.

By now lots of tourists had gathered around to witness the illiterate girl trapped in quicksand; and by now I was feeling a little bit like a circus animal. I probably resembled one with all my grunting trying to get free. I never really was afraid, but after a couple failed attempts by my friends to pull me out, I really was curious as to how I was going to get unstuck. I was now up to my hip on one leg. Then a lady from the nearby hostel, looking very distressed, came running to tell me not to move. Golly, if I had known before that it was quicksand, I would have known that I was making it worse. Some guys with masks followed the scared woman, tying an elastic band around my waist and pulling. It snapped in half. There was talk of having to get a car to pull me out, but the guys tried pulling me (hard!) several times by the arms. After I came to grips with the fact that I would not get to keep my favorite sneakers, they yanked me out and set me free! I'm lacking the lovely photo of the aftermath and the videos that my friends captured. That's okay. I'm not likely to forget much about this incident. Afterward, I threw the other shoe in, derobed in a freezing cold pond, paid three bucks to take a freezing cold shower in the hostel and gave my smelly, quicksand-covered clothes to the people working there. Good lesson to remember about not hanging on to material things.

Now, I wonder if they don't specify what "Stop!" means so they can keep dumb tourists' clothes. Not a bad idea.