Combis and Micros

Back to the Andes series again. As always you can read independently, but it was meant to be read consecutively with some other snapshots from this series. The previous installment was Día de Arequipa (part one and part two). 

Have you had your fill of this enchanted world yet? No? Good. I can see that the strings have been attached and you are being reeled in. Can you hear the rhythm yet? Can you feel the beat of the call start to tug at your mind, seducing you without trying? Has it entwined your thoughts so that you cannot disregard it? Come now, let us go for a ride, shall we?

Approaching the street, your eyes are caught by the enormous amounts of buses lined up on the street. Big buses, little buses, all just waiting on a few more customers. They all fascinate you. The big ones are called "Combis" the little ones "Micros." Some of the large ones look rather like a school bus, and in looking closer you can tell that some are, and have just been painted a different color. The micros look like vans, or sometimes are a bit larger than vans. All of them have been gutted and more seats than might have been thought possible by the designers were put in. Benches with backs really. Usually with some type of sparse padding. They are run by two people: the driver and the cobrador (collector), two very interesting people by all standards.

The driver is by necessity somewhat of a crazy maniac, at least this is what can be deduced from his weaving patterns and constant horn blaring and the string of blue that comes out of his mouth whenever he gets cut off by another suicidal driver. And yet somehow, he never seems to be really upset with all the commotion, that is just standard behavior. The cobrador, now, he is altogether another breed of human. Fearless and loud, he can range from around 12 to mid or late 20s. Sitting at a stop he ops off the bus and starts belting out the next few locations on his particular bus route. A complicated singsong list, it takes a bit for your ear to grow accustomed to the rhythm and sort out what he is actually saying.

Look here, this is the combi we want. Come, let us get on and find some seats. It looks as though there are plenty of seats left, you will not have to stand for this ride unless you decide to give up your seat in favor of some other person later on. What an amazing assortment of people there are on this bus. Elderly and young, middle and lower class, women, men and children, maids and executives, the buses are always a good place to be to people watch. Crowded together as they are normally on these rides, everyone becomes equal in some sense. There is an inherent code of honor or how things work on the combi. If someone more deserving of a seat comes along - be that more tired, elderly, pregnant or needy looking - then a seat will be given up for them. On the other hand, everything else being equal, seats are fair game and no manner of pity will be shown to a late comer.

Glancing around you realize that you have lost sight of the cobrador and wonder where he has disappeared to, no longer can you hear him for all the other cobradores and people at this stop. The combi has started to move no, and for a moment you wonder if the driver doesn't realize that his other half is not on the bus. Now you see him though, wandering back through the crowded stop at his leisure, still belting out his string of half incomprehensible locations. Will he make the bus? The combi driver isn't really slowing down much to look for him, but instead is just slowly driving off. But here comes the second in command: hopping on now with no problems, still halfway hanging out the door calling destinations, looking for last minute passengers.

Moving down on the street as no more prospective passengers are in sight, the combi starts to pick up speed. Our cobrador retires from his perch on the door's bottom step and, no longer hanging out of the door, starts on his way towards the back of the bus. Now he has a handful of coins out and is clicking them together with a particular chink-chink that comes natural to him, though when you try it isn't so well imitated. "Pasajes a la mano" he states in a calm and clearly audible voice, "Have your fare on hand". Get your money out, this is where he gets his title from: he is the money collector. 20 centavos for students (must be wearing a uniform), 50 centavos  for adults. On the micros it tends to be a bit more because they cannot fit as many people in, but the nice part about a micro is that while it is small, there is not any worries about having to stand up the whole ride. Amazingly the making of change is a one handed process for this multitasking individual who can take the sol you gave him and hand you back 50 centavos quicker than you could have with two hands.

Would you like to get off and walk around for a bit? I'll let you do the honors of stopping this bus. No? Not sure how? Well here, let me show you then. Get up, we need to walk to the door. Don't worry about battling the rhythm of the buss, just flow with it. Bend your knees a bit more and try not to be so stiff. Hold on the hand rails on the roof- that is what they are for; that and the people we are now crowding by to get off of the bus. "Pare en la esquina!" Stop at the corner! Brace yourself, here comes the stop. Ah, now jump off and move out of the way, because the bus is already moving on leaving you behind.

Come now, let us walk around and see what else can be found in this city that will haunt you when we go back. Remember that when you do go back there will be no more escaping this intoxicating city, country, continent. Older than old it is there calling to you. But come... let us walk around...

In looking for pictures, I came across this other blog post from whence I borrowed the picture.

All Hail the Thumb!

It has been brought to my attention that I have slacked on my blogging in the past couple of days and that the re-posting, while interesting, does not actually give updates on things like...oh say...grandchildren. In my defense... well... there is no adequate defense. I was told once that reasons are just excuses in disguise, so instead I will go about the business of updating my blog now.

A couple of weeks ago we had friends visiting from Ohio - Randall and Paula & Andy and Holly. We had a great time visiting and they got to meet Rachel, who at the time was two (2!!) months old. Mike and I hadn't seen them since May at Andy and Holly's wedding, and it was nice to catch up with some of the people who were in my every day for 3 of my 4 years of college. It was definitely too short of a visit, as visits tend to be.

While they were here we caught up on recent happenings, remembered old times, quoted movies - like the Emperor's New Groove, played Scrabble and watched a couple movies. We went to the mall to see the Apple store (Randall doesn't HAVE to go to an Apple store in every place he visits, but....) and got to see a couple other stores too like Bath and Body Works. Rachel managed to spit up and poop through a couple layers of clothing onto Holly's beautiful non-machine-washable jacket. The guys - wonderful gentlemen that they are - offered to change the massively poopy diaper, and I am still trying to decide if it was an excuse to not accompany us into the B&BW store or not. Probably not, right?

We had some good laughs, took some good pictures, and then they were gone in a whirlwind on to Charlotte and Warsaw, NC, to see some other friends before returning to Ohio. Randall and Paula are now in Brazil on a 7 week trip (see their blog here) and are making me quite jealous with their pictures. Not a good Lenten sentiment, guys! Hold off on the pictures till I'm not trying to improve myself, eh?

Meanwhile, it occurs to me that I have not posted any updates on my attempts to train myself into habits. Has it been 6 weeks? I'm not quite sure, but if you have to re-start the ticker from each time you mess up, then it is probably closer to 1 week. Scratch that - one day! Ugh, habits are not easily formed! While Rachel is doing much better at sleeping around 10pm now, I am not entirely sure that it has anything to do with my attempts, or if it is to be entirely attributed to her having found her thumb. The thumb is powerful and puts her to sleep better than I can! Pre-thumb she was sleeping around 4.5-6 hours during the night. With the powers of the thumb she now sleeps 7-10 hours (I am discounting the fact that she usually wakes up around 4.30am because now the thumb puts her back to sleep and she doesn't need to nurse). All hail the thumb!

So that's the good news. The bad news is my attempts to be more organized and pro-active are a constant struggle and one day of slacking usually results in a massive struggle the next for me to care enough to keep going. Don't be misled - my apartment is not nearly the disaster it was after Rachel was born and after my grandmother was no longer around to help. It is actually pretty decent - dishes are done daily, vacuuming more often, and the place is generally picked up. Dinner gets made nearly every evening; sometimes we subsist on leftovers. What I cannot figure out is how people used to handle life living on farms and eking out a living from the wild. It appears laziness was just not an option. Cooking, cleaning and childcare have been much simplified with  the use of gadgets and technology, but have these made life better? But that is another topic, and one I will not delve into at the present.

Instead: would anyone like to come and help me with my larger projects? I'll make you lunch! No? Well I guess I had better get down to it for the day....

Dia de Arequipa (part two)

Here we go, it's part 4.2 of the Andes series. Don't forget this is the second half of a story; you really need to read the first half first! Part 4.1 is Dia de Arequipa (part one). Hope the suspense from yesterday didn't kill you! :)

Every school that is any school has its band, some type of dance group, or at least batallones out for the festivities. What is a batallón? Just what it sounds like - a battalion. Silly you think, to call a bunch of marching students this? Maybe so, but so caught up in their history it is that never will it change. Dressed up in their school uniforms, the "best of the school" are lined up here on parade. A few from each grade to represent the entire school, chosen for their grades and marching skills, here it is an honor to be one of the few chosen. Every child has to know how to march in their own school, but the ones chosen to march outside the school walls and put forward the school name are picked carefully. Strange how something that would be considered to be a chore in the United States would inspire such hard efforts here in Peru. Oh, look, they are moving out now. Why do you laugh? Ah, because they are goose-stepping. Yes, well again, it is something that is very caught up in their history.

Shall I tell you a bit about this part of the history? Peru was under military control for many years, not too far in the distant past, and everything was run by those standards. Due to rampant terrorism, dominated in the majority by the Sendero Luminoso or Shining Path Guerrillas, all schools were required to adopt what is called the uniforme único, the "only uniform." This regulation uniform was to help protect the rich children from being kidnapped based on their clothing and held for ransom. At the same time that the uniforme único was implemented other military procedures began to creep into the schools. Do you begin to see where this fascination with parades and marching comes from? Just wait till they get before the grandstand and begin to really kick up their heels. Shall we head over that way now?

The spashes of color and swirls of dancers' skirts are all over the place. Nearing the central plaza the crowds grow thicker and it is much harder to get a glimpse of anything, having to walk at the back of the crowd as we are. No matter, reservations at one of the restaurants on the plaza await. Balcony seats with a clear view of the streets and events below with all of its participants - marchers and spectators alike. Today seats like those are hard to come by and very expensive, even if you know someone who might... make the process easier... shall we say. Ah, here we are! Come, shall we ascend to our table and watch the events unfold below?

First come the pendants, decrying the schools to follow. Accompanying the pendants are the galardones - the awards that each school (battalions and bands) have won in contests. Next comes the band, playing their marching tunes. Here they stop, turn, and walk up into the Plaza, crowding together with enough room to still play and do a 90 degree turn. So now they are facing the street but standing up away from it. Following the band is the batallón marching smartly along in their neatly pressed uniforms and white gloves. Have you noticed that all the people marching have white gloves? Probably pointless trivia, but interesting none the less. The dancers follow, and the band either strikes up a new tune or keeps silent as some other music is broadcast from some speakers for the dancers to take their cues from. Colors all over dart out at you. Bright bold colors from dancers and bands alike - no dull colors today. Once the dancers pass, the band moves back into the street and takes up the vanguard, following with some music of their own as they make their exit. Fear not though, this is still early in the parade... there are many many more to come with their gay festivities!

Ah... I can see you tapping your foot to the beat. Do you know, I wonder, that the beat you are tapping out is the beat of the call? Subtle is it not? Everything is falling into place, then, and the strings are being irreversibly placed onto your heart...


Still more to come in this series, but this chapter is finished. Hope you are enjoying.

Dia de Arequipa (part one)

Welcome to part four (actually 4.1) of the Andes series. This is a continuation of some homesick writings I did a couple years back. Part three is Ciudad Blanca. It can be read independently, but I suggest following the series as it was written. Because this chapter was so long, I am dividing it up into two segments.

The hustle and bustle of the crowd around you only serves to pique your interest more. Obviously there is something of interest going on today. The city is decked out in its finest colors and everyone is out in the streets. All week long there has been a tension in the air, as if the whole city were building up to something important. The little shops have been selling firecrackers and all sorts of festive wares for the past month. Today you woke up early with anticipation and feeling the excitement that runs along the air. The city has been awake for a while already today, even though it is only 9:30am. In the chaotic patchwork of images around you, your mind picks out a few to store away as memories to be pulled out at a later date.

On the corner a child of indeterminate age, somewhere between seven and twelve, carries a little box that hangs around her neck by a leather strap. In the box, probably two feet long by one foot, and 6 inches deep, the child carries a wide variety of cheap candy, gum, and cigarettes. At first all you see is someone selling candy, then it registers... this is a child. She has flip flops on her calloused feet, both her and her clothes look like they haven't been washed in quite some time, if ever. At first you didn't realize because she doesn't act like a child. This little girl can already count out change for her customers, she hawks her wares like a pro, and has a little boy of probably three or four tagging along behind her. Her eyes tell you that she is a twenty or thirty year old stuck in a child's body. This little lady has grown up quite beyond what your little sister could expect to be when she is twice that age. Never having been to school, and never expecting to, this girl already is one of the primary breadwinners of the household and guardian of the younger children. In a daze you feel her putting your change back into your hand and then she is moving off to sell more of her wares.

Something brushes past your knee level and you look down to see a mangy dog weaving in and out between the people. Have you noticed all the stray dogs in the city? They eat where they can, and usually run from people and crowds. No one really cares about them, nor is anyone really scared of them. Is there a pound? Most assuredly there is, but it is already full and has no time to worry about all the rejected animals on the streets. Today most strays are not out because of all the people who are out en mass.

As your eyes absentmindedly follow the mutt, you notice that the buses are having quite a time trying to get through the people on the small streets like this one. Their usual kamikaze style of drving has become worse at this point from having to deal with the crowds. You wonder how it is that no one has been run over yet, or why the bus drivers have not bust some internal organ from all the outrage that they seem to be suffering from. Taxis also are in the same predicament, but being smaller, it is easier to weave in between the people and potholes found scattered throughout the streets.

Somewhere ahead you hear some strains of music and you notice that the crowds are getting thicker. It sounds like a band is practicing. No... two bands now. Marching bands, by the sounds of all the instruments. Rounding the corner there they are. But there are more than two. Row upon row of dancers and dressed up cars in between them. What is all this? Have you no clue? I'll tell you then... this is Día de Arequipa... the most celebrated day of the year here in the city of Arequipa. August 15th, the day this city was founded on, this is a day to show pride and joy at being Arequipeño. For such as we, who were not privileged to be Arequipans by birth and yet still feel a tie to this fantastic city, we are allowed to be Arequipeños de corazón... in heart and spirit. Settle back, enjoy the festivities, the day proposes to be outstanding.




..Get ready for part 4.2 tomorrow! ...

Ciudad Blanca

Below is part three of the Andes series. Part two of the series is The Mountains. Looking back, I was very upset with people who considered the only "important" thing to be "progress" and would completely ignore history if possible. But to someone who has been where history lives, ignoring it seems to take the beauty out of life. 

Misti, Chachani, and PichuPichu, the three volcanoes that surround Arequipa. By far the dominant one is Misti, and it first catches your eye. Visible from anywhere in the city, the tall peak is covered with snow and surrounded by a constatn cloud. At times the cloud is thick, making it seem as if the whole mountain is just in your imagination. At others, the swirling of the mist makes it seem as if the volcano is erupting again. Yet other times, the mist clears and leaves a beautiful, picture perfect moment, belying the dangers that the dormant volcano holds. Look again, though, and you will realize that the jagged crest holds no promise of benevolence on behalf of the human population living below it in calm content. While dormant now, this majestic volcano has, and will, continue to make life lively for the city's inhabitants.

Unlike Misti, both Chachani and PichuPichu are extinct. This, however, does not stop them from being beautiful. Comprised of multiple peaks, these two volcanic mountains are, like Misti, topped with snow. It is as if the very tips of all these mountains had been covered with a light frosting of powdering just for effect. Not in many, many years has anyone in Peru met an actual snowflake, and at that, it was not much and buried deep in childhood memories of the "one time it happened to me" region. The snow glitters in the early morning sunlight and the volcanoes, especially Misti, are framed perfectly by the glowing rays. Living beneath such grandeur day after day by no means makes it mundane or detracts from the dangerous beauty of the peaks. Nature has a way of reminding the inhabitants of Peru that she is still there. Temblores, tremors, are a constant factor of life in Arequipa. Daily life does not stop unless there is an actual earthquake, and then not for long, simply long enough to pick up the dead and wounded and continue on. Voluntad de Dios, the will of God.

Shift your gaze now from the mountains down to the city, to Arequipa, Ciudad Blanca,  the White City. It sprawls across the whole valley that these three volcanoes create and creeps up into the foothills. Bustling and full, yet relaxed and untroubled by the passage of time, it combines all sorts of architecture, from the simple to the complex, from the old to the new. Next to each other you will find houses with three walls and a roof of corrugated tin, a house of adobe (mud bricks), a house of cement, and a house of sillar (volcanic rock). Stop for a moment and think... this city has been around almost as long as the constitution of the United States of America, and unlike most cities in the USA, it has kept its history and as you walk along the streets you will see it portrayed in everything you pass. Think for a moment... what is progress if we leave our past behind? If we lose our identity, will it help to rush on as fast as we can? When was the last time you were in a building that could compare your lifetime to the blink of an eye?

But listen, can you hear the music that's floating up here to where we are standing now? Folkloric music of the type that puts to shame our modern and contemporary music. Music older than old, that is found in the roots of the mountains and by some chance is found and caughtup by a human and taken back to others. Music that creates images of far away lands, beautiful places, stirring your blood and heart. Music that is part of the call, sometimes accompanied by words, sometimes no words can do justice to the call. Does it really matter what they say? Not in the least. They speak of love of the land, pride of being born in this place, of beauty, of mystery, but even were you not to understand it (and well you might not), just listen... is it tugging at you yet? Instruments not really known to the northern "civilized" world, these have been around forever and are capable of making you feel more than any electric guitar ever could. The zampoña- reed pipes that vary from a handsbredth to being as large as a human being, the quena- a wooden flutelike instrument, the charango- looks to be a miniature guitar or something like a banjo, but emits sounds much finer than any banjo ever could, the bombo- a large base frame drum covered with animal hide, the cascabeles- rather like a large bunch of seed pods that are shaken for rhythm. Can you hear it? Listen, it's getting louder...

[more to follow...]

The Mountains

Below is part two of the Andes series. Part one of this series is "The Call". I hope you are enjoying. The video at the end is mostly for music. As it is quite long I recommend playing it while you read the below post.


Deep in the Andes Mountains, the call originates. From somewhere within the mists, the arroyos, the rain forests, the altiplanos and folds of the mountains, the string pulls. Can you feel the pulse? As you soar in over the mountains, you realize that these... these are real mountains. These are not simple hills that make you think "oh how tall, how pretty," no, these are grand. When you look at them it inspires awe. Tall and unforgiving, beautiful and bold, mysterious and full of history, they are as close to eternal as human beings can come in this world. Some are bare, some are covered with rain forests. Some are desert mountains, some contain shrubs. Looking at them, it is easy to believe that the word majestic was made for such as these.

How many civilizations have lived in these mountains? How many have died here? What ruins of older times exist in the folds of these beautiful and treacherous slopes that have yet to be found, or that will never be found? To look at them, one can easily imagine the conquest of the new world happening as we speak. Mist folds around us as we fly over the cordilleras. Shadows and sunlight contrast to bring out in bold relief treasures untold. It is easy to see how a complete civilization might be lost here thousands of years in the past, to be found tomorrow, and remind us of what we have lost. Suddenly, progress does not seem like progress at all. What do these mountains care about DSL or skyscrapers? In a hundred years you and I will not be here, but they will remain.

Through these mountains so many different tribes roamed. Taquileña, Cupisnique, Huari, Chavin, Chimu, Inca, Nazca, Aymara, Quechua, and on and on the list goes. Living with each other, taking over surrounding tribes as opportunity permitted, dying out. Then followed the Spanish, with their dreams of riches and conquest. How brave, how modern, how civilized they thought themselves. How right and knowledgeable. How in control those Spanish thought they were, like as if no other nation had taken over another one in those same regions. Like as if no one could possibly take them over later. They were the top of the food chain. And the mountains laughed.

Keep your eyes closed, let me take you now to the country of Perú. Into the heart of the Andes mountains we go, you and I, strangers in this timeless land, yet pulled here by a string that makes no difference between peoples. Can you feel the rhythm yet? No matter, it will catch you soon enough. Past the Manú rain forests = with all their one of a kind wildlife and gorgeous rivers, flowers, trees, and people. Past Lima and Ica on the coast with their bustling fisheries and even busier cities full of progress and history. Past the desert expanses of Nazcca and over the Nazca lines we travel. Over more mountains and now we're almost there, almost to the place that has captured my heart, almost to Arequipa.

Over one final crest, and there it lies, cuddled in the bosoms of three volcanoes, full of more history than you or I can imagine: Arequipa. Ciudad Blanca, de eterno azúl, puro sol, montañas de cillar... Mariano Melgar, along with many others, expressed better than I the place it is. Arequipa the White City, eternal blue sky, pure sun, mountains of volcanic rock. So much said in so few words for those of us who have been there, but not enough for those who have not. So let me show you this place, you whom only have my words to put the images of a lifetime into your blood. Listen... can you hear it? It's calling...

[More to follow...]

The Call

The following is a reprint of some of my writing from years back. I was very homesick at the time and it turned into a series of short snapshots. There are a couple of installments, I'll post them bit by bit. Hope you enjoy!

Shhh... can you hear it? They're calling. Be still for a moment... can you feel their call pulsing through your blood? Like a heartbeat foreign to your own, on it's own steady rhythm, millions of years old, it's calling you back. Pulling you in with a string that was attached without your knowledge, it will catch you at a time when you least expect it. In the middle of your busy life, with all the sounds of your hectic existence going on around you, pause but for a second and all of a sudden you will realize the pulse is there.

Their call is like a live creature, it has a mind of its own. It lurks in the background, waiting for you to realize that something is there, and once you have, it pounces. Stronger and stronger it grows, singing through your entire being, vibrating, twisting, pulsating, showing you everything that could be, that was, and that you no longer have, making you wish you still had it, or that you could go back. Be careful where you pause, the call has never bothered with decorum. It will leave you aching and despondent in the middle of a meeting, a class, a date, a walk, or just in the middle of your room. At  the same time, what a glorious call it is! I should warn you, the ache does not come from this pulsating creature, but from having to deny it. So again, be careful where you pause.

But what is this? You say you have never heard this exquisite sound? Perhaps you have never been close enough for the string to be attached. Or perhaps no one has brought the string close enough to you. Close your eyes... shall we travel? I will take you to this far away land from whence originates their call. Pause from your daily life and settle down for a moment. Put aside all your busy chaotic thoughts and come with me to a place older than old. Close your eyes and let me paint you a picture.

Halfway around the world lays a land that laughs at us. Laughs at creatures who think that two hundred years is a long time. That in two hundred years you can form greatness. What are a paltry two hundred years when compared to thousands of years? What kind of culture can you form in two hundred years that could stand up for one honest moment against the intricate beauty of one that has been in formation for more than 20 times that length? A simple wink conspires to be greater than a gaze. Beauty against grandeur. Will you not laugh too?

So let us begin our journey to this enchanting land... Let us go to this place where the exotic is an everyday experience and every day experiences are exotic. Let us go to this place where the ancient and modern worlds meet and coexist. Stop the clock and relax. For just a moment, let us become someone we are not, or in some cases, become again that which we are. Can you hear the drums? Can you hear the reed pipes? Can you feel your blood begin to stir in response to them? Close your eyes... let me paint you a picture of South America...

[Part two is "The Mountains". Meanwhile, may I suggest this group?]

The Rug of Death and other short stories

One day some time ago, in a small one bedroom apartment somewhere in central North Carolina, something extraordinary happened to an unsuspecting family. Their hallway rug which had hitherto been a simple, if rather handsome, woven mat morphed into the Rug of Death. Following is the true story of this event and the days thereafter.

The rug had been a gift from the husband's parents who were quite unsuspecting of its true nature. That in itself is surprising as this particular rug had been in their possession for quite some time before they had gifted it to the young couple. Its twin sat in the front entryway of the couple's apartment and boasted of an assortment of shoes. Ironically, the entryway rug to this day remains a gentle soul who loves to entertain the family's and visitor's shoes. Not so with the Rug of Death.

The young couple acquired both rugs over New Year's weekend. They brought it home and after a couple of days decided on the perfect placements. It is possible that the reason the hallway rug turned bad is from jealousy. It did not get to entertain shoes on even the most infrequent of occasions, while it's companion rug was constantly celebrating. This would have been enough to drive the most unselfish of rugs to despair, however to add insult to injury, the couple used the hallway rug to cover up a mass of cords. A coverup rug! Really? The rug must have brooded for weeks.

Finally the whole situation became too much for the rug. One day, the unsuspecting young wife looked over to check on her baby daughter and the rug was all bunched up. Not only bunched up, but she saw it moving! It had grown into a lump. An angry lump. The wife, however, did not realize her peril, and went to straighten out the rug. Next thing she knew the rug had sprouted claws and teeth! Oh no! She retreated hastily. Look there - a tail! Oh goodness, things are not looking good for our heroine. Maybe she could tame it - if nothing else it was essential to try to save her baby daughter. The Rug of Death saw her approaching and it meowed. The young wife retreated hastily again and decided to wait it out.

Eventually, the Rug of Death became so irate that it had kittens. Well, a kitten. Okay, so it had a full blown cat! After that it was silent for a while - probably recuperating.  To this day one must be careful, because at times it becomes again so irate that it lashes out at the nearest foot. So if you are ever in central North Carolina, and you happen to visit a family with two rugs, make sure you keep your feet to yourself!

If you liked this story, let me know.. other short stories might follow!

6 week habits

In speaking with my mother (aka Su Majestad) she informed me that it takes 6 weeks to make a habit. I assume that means to break one also. No wonder it is so difficult to change behaviors! Does anyone have any new years resolutions that they have still kept?

There are a couple of habits that I am currently trying to make (or break). Some of those are even mine! If you've been reading this blog, you know I have been trying to change Rachel's bed time from 12am to a more reasonable 10pm. I realize now that it's not her habits I needed to change, but my own. She can't do a doggon thing on her own. I should have learned this from all the times I watched the Dog Whisperer. NOT that I am comparing my daughter with a pet, you understand. Cesar always makes it clear, however, that most of the bad habits dogs have is a direct result of their owner's behavior/habits. Now you see the parallel? To change Rachel's sleep habit, I have to change my habit of laziness and not only make a routine but keep it.

It's been about a week now that I've been working on her bed time. We started a routine and I have been faithfully keeping to it. Not that she really appreciates going to bed at 10pm, but after she screams her head off for a couple of minutes (we're up to 11min now, I add one per night) I go in, nurse her, and she knocks off before 11pm. Still an improvement on 12am. Tonight she actually fell asleep all by herself, no screaming (it's 10.26pm as I type this). I'm not sure if it's because the shots she got at her wellness checkup made her drowsy or because this is actually starting to work. I'm not holding my breath, but last night she did sleep 7.5 hours straight, so she is getting a hang of this sleep thing.

Another habit that I've been attempting to cultivate for approximately 2 weeks now is being proactive. The opposite of laziness. The opposite of "there's always tomorrow, today I want to play with the baby." Hard to do, but as I keep finding out over and over, it is much easier to stay on top of things than to try to get back on top of something you let get away from you. Like laundry, dishes, vacuuming, sorting papers, and all the other interminable things that need doing around the house. So far those 2 weeks have been mostly proactive. The laundry is completely done, the dishes are done daily, all the recent papers are done and an attack plan for the filing cabinets exists, the vacuuming is done... woohoo!

Next week I need another habit to start (more than one a week will NOT work). Maybe going out walking once a day? Exercise is important. Maybe just starting out with the yoga videos. Maybe learning a new recipe every couple of days? I do like to cook, even if it is more difficult with a baby. Hmm... any suggestions?