A Disparaging Assessment of Lackadaisical Numismatics

Or, Coin Collecting Sucks!

Sarah and I moved in to our new house on Saturday. We are renting a house in Kensington, which is a lovely neighborhood on Adams Avenue in San Diego. We have two bedrooms, a giant kitchen, a jacuzzi bathtub, and a backyard (where Gus will play in less than two weeks). It is definitely a step up from apartment living.

Sarah and I have moved every year for the last four years. Sometimes the moves were short (changing apartments within the same complex) and sometimes the moves were long (1,276 miles to be exact), but every time we made the mistake of thinking we could move everything over a weekend. True, it is possible to move a one bedroom apartment in two days, but those are miserable days. This time we were smart about the move and arranged it so that our leases overlapped for the entire month of August, so we could move things over at our leisure. This was a great idea except for the part where I got my appendix out at the end of July and was not allowed to lift more than 10 pounds, so Sarah had to move almost everything. Another thing that we did not consider in this plan is the fact that once you have moved all your stuff to the new house, living in a largely unfurnished, decoration-free apartment is not pleasant. As a result, I have realized that, whether you have an hour or a year, moving is still a chore.

Now that everything is moved into the house and mostly set up (due to the diligent and tireless work of my wonderful wife) we are settling in to our new role as home dwellers. There are a lot of differences between living in an apartment and living in a house. One that I am quickly learning is that there are a lot more windows in a house than there are in an apartment, so I have to make sure the shades are down before I walk from the bathroom to the bedroom in just a towel (or less). Sarah is learning a lot about taking care of rose bushes. We are both getting used to the quirks associated with living in a house from the 1920s. The only real problem we are experiencing is a shortage of book storage space and it doesn’t help that Borders is having a store closing sale.

I love going-out-of-business sales, but I hate the people who shop at going-out-of-business sales. These people do not understand how the store closing sale works and they ruin it for true bargain hunters. Before the sale begins, the store marks everything up to MSRP, which means that Mastering the Art of French Cooking which was $40.00 last week is now $60.00. This is a smart move by Borders, because when they announce that cookbooks are 10% off, stupid people swoop in and buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking for the excellent deal of $54.00 (as a side note, Mastering the Art of French Cooking is currently $22.00 on Amazon.com). Anything that would be worth buying is usually gone before the sale reaches 15% (when Circuit City went under I witnessed people buying LCD TVs for a shocking 5% off MSRP, while the Best Buy across the street was selling the same TVs at a lower price everyday).

It is rare that I buy anything at going-out-of-business sales because, as noted above, I am too picky about the deal. Sarah usually has good luck finding novels and one time we found a National Parks travel guide for cheap. In fact, the only thing that I bought exclusively for myself, in a moment of weakness, was a Whitman Coin folder to collect the new National Parks series quarters that are being issued by the US Mint. “The Statehood quarters are so common nowadays, surely the National parks quarters will be too soon!” It has been a test in patience like I have never experienced before.

One of the many down-sides to apartment living is that it is hard to find a unit with a washer and dryer included. In our old apartment, we had a coin-operated laundry facility on our floor. Once a month I would go to the bank to get $20.00 in quarters for laundry and by the time I got those quarters back to the apartment I was brimming with anticipation - What quarters would we find this month? Sarah and I would promptly tear into the rolls (one each) and sort through the coins for any National Parks quarters we could find. In one year, or roughly 960 quarters, we found exactly one National Parks quarter... Yellowstone. It is not for a lack of trying, I asked the bank teller if they had the new quarters, I went to different banks to get the quarters, I made transactions in cash, I even looked up strategies on the internet. Coin collecting is a cruel mistress; she lures you in with the notion that cramming minted legal tender into a sheet of cardboard will somehow result in a greater sense of accomplishment, but instead of accomplishment all you experience 960 small failures.

The thing I am most excited about in the new house is the fact that we now have our own, in house, free washer and dryer and I will never have to get quarters from the bank again. I am going to put that Whitman National Parks Quarters coin folder on a shelf and not think about coin collecting again until we move out... which hopefully will not be next year.

Another Snorkeling Adventure

Yesterday, I was adventurous.

Saturday morning Pascal, Samantha, and I went on another grand snorkeling adventure with the 3R's program (see a previous blog entry for full details).  This was my third time, Sam's second time, and Pascal's first time to participate.  I'm now getting to the point where I recognize many of the other participants, and the president of the San Diego Council of Divers asks me every time, "We haven't scared you off yet?"  to which I always reply, "Nope, not yet!"  

Looking scared?  Not us!

The first and second timer

Ready to take on the ocean!

Samantha and I were partners; Pascal was paired with a random guy, who ended up being a rather useless partner.  

We entered the water at Hospital Point, which is a rocky reef bed, so entering the water involved a very graceful period of dragging ourselves along the rock covered ground being hit by tiny waves in the face.  After that oh-so-dignified entry, we swam into the rip current (which felt a lot like just swimming really hard through the surf) to get past the breaking waves.  After a quick check (and by quick I mean much too fast to get a chance to catch our breath) to make sure we were "all clear", we then swam north past the rip current and swam between the breaking waves and the rip current to get back to shore.  It was harder than it sounded!  For most of the time it felt like I was making no progress except for making my legs and lungs really tired, and then all of a sudden a wave would come and I would jump forward about 10 feet.  The whole crew finally made it to shore through an equally dignified combination of rolling, tumbling, and dragging ourselves across the rocks.  No wonder my wetsuit is starting to develop some wear and tear!  That was the first bout of snorkeling. 

The second round began, again in a rip tide.  This time, on the way out, while diving underneath a wave to avoid being tossed around, I came up expecting to take a gulp of air and instead took a nice big gulp of sea water.  It was not as delightful as it sounds.  Pascal told me, "Well at least ocean water is nice and clean!"  Ha!  Once we swam past the breaking waves, we had to continue swimming until we reached the kelp beds (which seemed much closer when we were on shore than when we were actually in the water).  Sam and I have figured out that following close by the lifeguard is the best tactic because 1) if we get in trouble, we'll be saved first, and 2) we can take breaks while waiting for the others to catch up.  So, after a brief break, we swam back to the edge of the rip current and the breaking waves and, after the usual wave pounding, made it back to the shore.  At this point we were all a bit beaten and out of breath.  


Then, instead of being done, there was a third optional section where we would take a "leisurely" snorkeling swim to "Wipe-Out Beach".  


Sam looked at me and said, "I can take it or leave it."  
I said, "Let's go!"
Sam said, "Okay!"


And we did.  (Pascal, see how I didn't mention how even though you can run marathons, you didn't do the third part because of a leg cramp?  Wasn't that nice of me?)  


Samantha and I quickly realized that though we were promised a leisurely snorkel, we had been lied to.  I don't know why we believed them.  Our entrance into the water demonstrated that.  Instead of having sand to walk on part way into the water, we entered the water directly on the reef.  This meant that the waves were already breaking on rocks (not sand) and that it was a true human vs. ocean experience to get past them to reach the "leisurely" snorkeling.  At one point, Sam was a ways ahead, I was moving through the water and realized that the wave in front of me was quickly turning into a giant wave, and there was no where for me to dive under it (like we had been taught to do).  That was the first time I felt like a wave really would pick me up and send me flying in whatever direction in wanted.  Luckily, I just swallowed a mouthful of water and was still pointing in the correct direction when I came up for air.  Then, the second wave hit, and the same thing happened.  After what seemed like an eternity of kicking and not moving much, I finally made it past the breaking waves into the calmer water.  Another realization of this experience was that I discovered why they have you pick a partner/ buddy and only ONE partner/ buddy since it is difficult to keep track of yourself in the water, let alone one other person.  


The swim toward "Wipe-Out Beach" in reality was not bad.  I was actually able to put on my mask and snorkel and look under water for the first time!  I saw a lot of eel grass, a few Garibaldi, and some other small fish.  Sam paid attention to instructions above water and so I just followed where she went. 


As we moved toward the beach, I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of breaking waves.  And then.... 

We found out that "Wipe-Out Beach" is not an over exaggeration.  While the beach is sandy and looks like a nice place to exit the water, it is impossible to see that the shore drops off at a steep slope creating ideal conditions for really powerful and really large waves.  This meant that even though we were trying to ride waves in, the receding water kept us trapped in the break-zone.  One of the lifeguards stood there yelling, "Move, move, move!  Get out, get out, get out!" while I lay in the water at his feet trying to both move and get out, rather unsuccessfully.  It was at this point that I looked at him and said, "I don't think you know the meaning of the word 'leisurely'.  To which he just laughed!  (If I were in his position, I would have too!)


I finally managed to get close enough to the shore to push myself backwards with my hands and butt, and crab-walked myself up the shore with flippers on. I didn't feel quite so ungraceful as I watched the water picking up and spitting out several of our fellow snorkelers.  


And then, covered in salty water, sand, and with liberal amounts of snot running down our noses, we were done.  


Another 3R's conquered, or (at the very least) survived.  

Survivors!

An Unexpected End...

...to our First Year of Marriage came in the form of a two-centimeter large appendix inside Sean's abdomen.  


**Note:  Not realizing this would be a picture taking occasion, I forgot my camera so all my pictures are iPhone quality.  Just another reminder that I should always carry my camera!


Sean, who'd been experiencing some stomach pain for a couple of days, informed me on Wednesday evening that he thought maybe we should go to the doctor the next morning if he wasn't feeling better by then.  Since Sean hasn't been to a doctor really since I've known him, this alerted me that something must be truly wrong.  Based on Sean's descriptions of his symptoms, I got on Web MD and looked up appendicitis, since Sean described the majority of his pain being located in his lower right abdomen.  While all the symptoms didn't fit, it worried both of us enough that we decided that if he still felt bad the next day, we would go to the doctor.


The next morning came, and Sean woke up at his usual horribly early morning hour while I lay still sleeping, hoping that he would feel much better so that I could continue sleeping.  Unfortunately, for both of us, this was not the case.  We arrived at Urgent Care by 7:15 am, and Sean was quickly admitted.  Around 7:45 am, Sean had changed into a very masculine gown (which would be his outfit for the next 36 hours).  I was a very supportive wife--I laughed (a lot) and took his picture.  

His outfit for the next two days

The first (of many) doctors ruled out two of the four options for males with unexplainable pain in the lower right abdomen (testicular torsion and kidney stones) since Sean was sitting upright and not in awful, gut-wrenching pain.  The third option, a hernia, was ruled out by poking around on Sean's belly.  That left, you've guessed it, appendicitis.  Well, to be fair, it meant appendicitis or some unknown pain.  To make the diagnosis official, Sean had to get a catscan.  After drinking special clear fluid over the course of two hours, a wheelchair arrived to wheel Sean to the catscan facilities.  


Having never seen Sean in a wheelchair before, it obviously meant I needed to take a picture.  

Rocking the wheelchair

Since I am used to walking around with my 6'2'' husband at my side, it was a  strange experience to be taller than him as we moved through the hospital.  The catscan took a total of 10 minutes, and then we were returned to our room to wait for the results.  By this point I was starving since we hadn't taken time to eat breakfast when we left our apartment.  A nurse pointed me in the direction of the coffee cart outside the hospital where I bought myself some breakfast.  Upon coming back, I tried to give Sean a kiss to which he replied:  "Get your smoothie breath out of my face.  You get to have a smoothie and lemon cake, and I get to have appendicitis."  Well, technically he didn't know he had appendicitis (yet), so he was really just whining.  


During this thirty minute waiting period, Sean and I made a bet with the two quarters left over from my breakfast purchase.  Since he was in the hospital gown, I let Sean choose which side of the bet he wanted to call.  Sean said, "I bet I have appendicitis.  That way I win either way."  


A few minutes later (about 11 am), the doctor appeared saying, "Yep, that sucker is coming out of you today!"  Sean won the bet!  

Displaying appropriate "Oh no, surgery!" reactions

In case we didn't believe him, the doctor showed up the catscan images, meaning we saw cool pictures of the inside of Sean's body.  The doctor explained that when looking for the appendix, it should be no bigger than about 7 millimeters in size and appear on the screen as a thin line.  Sean's appendix, however, was a whopping 18 millimeters and was quite easy to see as a large ball on the screen.  Sean's surgery was scheduled for about 5 pm, so we had a while to wait.


We spent the next several hours reading, talking, reading, being bored, and reading.  Luckily I had brought Harry Potters 5, 6, and 7 with me to keep me occupied, and Sean had his Kindle.  

Passing away the HOURS...

Having never done anything like this before, I didn't realize how boring waiting for surgery could be.  I mean, the morning was exciting and fast paced!  Waiting the five hours between finding out he was having surgery and the actual procedure..not so much.  AND, to make matters worse, since it was mid-day on a Thursday afternoon, nothing good was on the TV in his room (not for a lack of checking).  

Waiting with a smile

Around 4 pm, a wheel-ey (I guess the proper term is gurney) bed was brought to Sean's room to take him to prep for his surgery.  While I was allowed to accompany him down to the first floor, I was not allowed with him while they prepared him for the surgery and was directed to the Family Waiting Room.  That part was not fun.  I maintain that it was less fun for me since I had to do the waiting (and I've seen lots of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice shows where not good things happen in surgery) while Sean got to have his stomach shaved, get oxygen, remove his underwear, have socks put on his feet, and be put under anesthesia--all things much more fun than waiting.  


About an hour and a half later, the surgeon came to talk to me (side bar:  Being the person who the surgeon comes and talks to after performing a surgery made me feel really, really old).  He said the surgery had gone well but had taken longer than expected due to its LARGE size (two WHOLE centimeters!) and that Sean was being moved to recovery.  Feeling much better, I tried the hospital cafeteria food (which was surprisingly good) and continued to wait.  Once he was moved back to the room, I was allowed to go up to see him, and go up and see him I did. 


When I made it up to the fourth floor, Sean had just arrived strapped to the gurney in front of the room and was in the process of being moved into the room.  Definitely loopy, he smiled at me and said, "Hi wife.  I love you".  (I doubt he remembers that, as he promptly fell asleep again).  After moving him into the room, getting him all set up, and hooking him up to medicines and the IV, we were left alone...so I took some more pictures!  

Here I told him to smile, and then I decided it
looked more pitiful than not smiling.

Here's the less pitiful picture

Sean subsequently slept on and off for the next many hours what with having surgery, being drugged up, and being tired.  I definitely didn't blame him!  In fact, I was quite jealous of his ability to go to sleep and the fact that he got a  bed.  Since they were all out of cots, the nurses found me a reclining chair that I could sleep in (which I greatly appreciated) and provided me with pillows, sheets, and blankets (which I also greatly appreciated).  It is amazing how many machines, especially machines that made noise, were required to keep Sean in good health through the night--the bed would move every minute to prevent bedsores, the IV dripped continuously (except when something would go wrong like air in the line in which case it set off a horrid alarm clock-esque noise until a nurse came and took care of the problem), and his "socks" (blood-flow socks for his calves) would make a air mattress noise every five minutes or so.


When it finally became daylight (neither of us had any concept of "morning" since we woke up almost every hour), I was thrilled that we would be able to go home.  Sean had breakfast, and then I thought we'd get to go.  Breakfast came and went, no going home.  The nurse told Sean to walk around the hallways to make sure he could move around all right before we were sent home.  

Taking a stroll

Move around the hallways we went, and still we didn't get to go home. Lunch also came and went, no home.  Finally (can you tell I was a bit anxious to head home to shower and sleep?), by the time I had finished my third book (Harry Potter 7), the nurse came in and gave Sean his discharge.  


After 36 hours in a hospital gown, 1 surgery, 1 organ removed, and at least 24 hours without underwear, Sean was allowed to go home!  


And this, dear people, is how we spent the last day (really, two days) of our first year of marriage.  

Snorkeling Adventure

Through a new friend  (James), my labmate, Samantha, and I heard about an awesome opportunity called the Three R's: Rips, Rocks, and Reefs, a program hosted by two former San Diego lifeguards every two weeks during the summer where they teach people about how to snorkel and dive in different locations across San Diego.  Last weekend the location was Shell Beach in La Jolla, California.  

The rocks in the background of this photo are
where this particular adventure took place.

Sam and I showed up at the appropriate location by 7:45am, an impressive feat when you consider that I am not a morning person (ESPECIALLY on Saturdays) and Sam is notoriously a late person.  We also showed up fully dressed in our wet suits with our snorkeling gear in hands, ready to go.  We quickly realized, once we looked around and saw everyone in their street clothes, that most people don't come fully dressed.  That didn't stop us though:  We were ready!  


At first there was serious doubt about whether or not the program would take place because some large swells were coming in and they were worried about our safety.  Sam and I were of the  "BRING IT ON!" opinion.  (Shortly later, this was not the case.)  We'd woken up, put on our wetsuits, by golly, we were going in that water!

After one of the former lifeguards and leaders of the Three R's came in from testing the water, we were told that the adventure would take place!  Everyone else who had arrived (around 30 people or so) got "suited up", and we gathered around the lifeguards for the most terrifying safety talk of our lives.  The first lifeguard, a slim muscular fifty-or-so year old man started by making sure that we were are capable of giving the "all okay" symbol in the water (grabbing both of your hands above your head in the water) and the "need help" symbol (waving one fist in the air and slapping the water with it).  He then proceeded to discuss, in detail, exactly what could go wrong and the amount of pain, bleeding, and broken body parts that could result from what we were about to attempt.  I remember phrases like "gushing blood" and "face planting on the rocks" and "having your feet and hands torn to shreds".  At this point, Sam and I began glancing at each other with really wide eyes, seriously questioning this particular outing.  But, we persevered.  

We then gathered around the fence looking down at the beach where we would be swimming with the second lifeguard, an older man with grey hair, who looked like a cute grandfatherly figure.  Here, I assumed, we would get the reassurance of "You'll be fine; just be careful".  Surely they had a "Good Cop, Bad Cop" thing going on where one person scared us and the other provided us with the necessary confidence.  


No.  They did not.  He pointed out all the rocks that we could hit and slammed his fist down on the fence railing to demonstrate what our faces would do on the rocks if we were caught in the breaking waves.  Sam and I began staring at each other with eyes wider than before and huddling closer to one another.  With our confidence levels plummeting with each passing moment, we hiked down the stairs to the beach.  I informed Sam that I had three goals: 1) Not to die, 2) Not to lose or break any body parts, and 3) To have fun.  The initial crowd had dwindled to a mere 15 or so people (half of what we had started with).  In addition to the two lifeguards, three rescue divers went out with us into the water with "cans".


We were informed that: "If you touch these during the swim, I will assume you need rescued.  I will personally swim you to the shore, and make sure you are okay.  These are not for play."  

  

The "cans"

Properly scared and timid, we all entered the 60 degree water walking backwards so that we didn't trip over our flippers.  Once in the water, we swam into the rip current.  Now, I have always been taught to avoid rip currents, as they are dangerous and cause people to drown.  Apparently, as I learned through the Three R's, they are also useful and can be used to be taken out to sea if you know how to do it properly.  So, into the rip current we swam, and it was amazing just how fast we were moving without much swimming.  Unfortunately, that was the only period of rest.  As soon as we got around seal rock (a rock with, you'll be shocked by this, seals), we turned parallel to the shore, swimming as quickly as possible to avoid being pounded by the incoming waves.  Then, on the far side of the rock, without much of a break, we then swam quickly perpendicular to the shore, again swimming exhaustingly quickly to avoid the breaking waves.  Once on the far side of the rock, we then had to CONTINUE swimming fast (much to my and my lungs and my heart's disappointment).  At this point, the remaining lifeguard left us to go rescue someone and, somehow, we had also lost the rescue divers.  By lost, I mean that they had to go rescue other people behind us.  The lifeguard just pointed us to the shore and said, "Keep going!"  The water got surprisingly shallow so "going" meant swimming/ crawling/ bumping along the rocks.  Finally, Sam, James (the friend who had introduced us to this adventure), and I, plus two other people (which adds up to a total of five), made it to our destination: the shore.  


Everyone else had to abort the swim mission and get out at an easier spot or be rescued by the lifeguards and rescue divers.  So, out of thirty people, only five of us made it through the entire exercise.


That's right.  We're bad butts. 

Samantha and I (on a different occasion),
being awesome

Rio Grande City Adventures

Like whales and birds, I have my own annual migration that occurs in late May when I travel from wherever I am at the time (in this case San Diego, California) to Rio Grande City, Texas in order to see my former students graduate from high school.  Now, I am not the only one who has this annual migration to RGC, my former roommate, Erin, and several of our close friends/TFA teachers, also make this trip.  This year’s trek to Rio Grande City (and back again) was more arduous than I expected.  Due to unforeseen traveling mishaps (I’d like to point out that none of them were my fault), I arrived a day late and with less sleep than I had originally intended.  When I stepped out of the airport, my lungs were assaulted by the heat and humidity that, living in San Diego, they had become unaccustomed to.   The temperature in San Diego had been around 70F, the temperature in McAllen, Texas was 106F.  While I miss many things about Texas, I do not miss the heat.  

Before we went to visit the high school, we stopped at Tacos Aka #1, one of our favorite places, to have lunch.  When we walked in, everyone stopped eating and talking to stare at us.  This was something I'd forgotten:  as a white person in Rio Grande City, you stand out (i.e. glow) and people stare.  Of course, by the end of lunch, we were conversing in our broken Spanish with the owners about how we used to be teachers at the high school, were from Montana and California, and were in town for graduation.  When we left, we waved and everyone waved right back!  

Our yummy leftovers

Erin and I then proceeded to the high school to visit our favorite teachers and staff.  "Technically" school was in session, but as attendance was no longer being taken and grades had been submitted weeks ago, it was more of a teacher work day than anything else.  Everyone from the custodians to the office staff still recognize us.  When we taught there, people were constantly getting Erin and I confused (although we don't look much alike).  Now that we only come back once a year, I'm convinced that people won't recognize me without Erin at my side (and vice versa).  In fact I walked into one teacher's classroom and after enthusiastically greeting me she asked, "Where is Miss Mohr?" because she knows if I'm around, so is Erin.  Another teacher upon seeing us said, "Oh, the Bobbsey Twins!"

Erin and I, the "Bobbsey Twins".  It must be the hats.
(Don't worry, we didn't go to Mexico this trip)

This year there are now two high schools: La Grulla HS and Rio Grande City HS; this meant we had two graduations to attend rather than the usual one.  This also meant that RGCHS no longer needed all the portable buildings they had in the past, like the one I taught in for two years.  I watched as they carried off the portable where my friend Amy Long used to teach with a tractor.  Apparently "my" portable will have the same fate, but it didn't happen while we were there (if it had, I would have taken a video to post!).  

Where the magic happened, Classroom 908.
The last time I'll see it.  

As Erin and I are old pros at the graduation thing, we knew to get to the football stadium early so we could see our students as they lined up before the ceremony started.  This year we were the very first people to get to the stadium, which meant we had prime choice of parking (turns out it didn't matter where we parked since we were some of the last to leave as well and there was no traffic anymore).  La Grulla's graduation was on Friday night, and we got there at 5:00 pm for the 7:00 pm ceremony.  That might have been a bit early since we didn't actually see students until 5:45 pm.... Graduation went well, and it was delightful to see our former students.  Apparently appearances change quite a bit from freshman to senior year, so I was having a hard time recognizing some of my students.  Luckily, though, if I didn't recognize them right away, they recognized me.  I'm always jealous of their graduation gowns--I've only ever graduated in black--but theirs were a pretty blue (La Grulla) and red (Rio Grande City).  

Two La Grulla graduates and their proud (small) teacher

After the ceremony we wandered around on the field, congratulating our students.  When I saw a student graduate and didn't have a chance to see them beforehand, I memorized their shoes in order to make it easier to find them afterwards.  Using their outfit wasn't terribly helpful since they were all wearing blue.  

I wouldn't have missed seeing her graduate!
She was wearing silver shoes.

For our late dinner, we ate at Tacos Nay, another favorite, that stays open incredibly late, and I had a Taco Pirata.  Sean wanted me to bring one back for him; he calls it the Pirate Taco.  I didn't think it would fit in my suitcase very well.

A Taco Pirata--Chipotle could take a lesson.

That night, as we were going to bed, a former student and graduate of Erin's knocked on our hotel door and asked if we wanted to come down for some cake to celebrate her graduation.  Erin, in her PJ's already, politely declined and said we were getting ready for bed.  I'm convinced this sort of thing only would happen in Rio.  I would NEVER have knocked on a teacher's door, especially hotel door, EVER!  Nor did we figure out how she knew what hotel room we were in....only in Rio.  

The next night was Rio Grande City High School graduation, and we got there plenty early (not quite so early this time though).  Once again, it was difficult to recognize my former students.  The girls, especially, look so much older!  The boys just grow taller and larger (and facial hair-ier).  It was so wonderful to see them graduate.  

They've been friends since freshman year, and both
pinky promised they'll go to college.

SO PROUD!

Afterwards, I went down on the field to offer my congratulations.  Shortly after all of us friends and family poured onto the field, the stadium lights went out (Oh, Rio).  Now, trying to find grown up students in the dark is even harder than finding them in the light!  Luckily though, I found almost all of the students I had wanted to.  

One of Erin's favorites invited us to her house for a graduation party, so we stopped by.  After getting lost on the way to her house and having to be rescued by the student herself, we finally made it to her house.  Her graduation party consisted of her grandma, mother, sister, and two aunts and uncles... and us!  They welcomed us graciously into their home, even though I had never actually taught their child, and fed us a wonderful meal.  This student turned down going out with her friends to spend her evening with us.  

Unfortunately, because it was a short trip, we left the next morning and migrated back to our respective homes.  First, though, we bought some Texas memorabilia, and a nice lady took the only picture of the two of us together on the trip.  

Erin and I, the Bobbsey Twins.  It must be the shirts.

I can't wait to migrate to Rio Grande City with Erin again next year to see my last group of students graduate.  That city, the students, and the people will always have a special place in my heart.

Alcohol

Last night, Sarah and I ventured forth from the apartment in a quest for good Tex-Mex – the kind that was so prevalent in San Antonio. We found ourselves at a little hole-in-the-wall in Point Loma at 6:45 and by 7:10 we were quite full of quesadillas and burritos and 500mL of Mexican Coca-Cola. We were not ready to return to the apartment (and school work), so we headed over to Sunset Cliffs to watch the sunset over the Pacific.

Sarah and the sunset over the Pacific.

Since we had not initially planned on watching the sunset, neither of us was dressed appropriately; I did not bring a sweatshirt and Sarah’s flip-flops did not offer enough purchase for the short, sandy walk to the cliffs edge. A few steps into our descent down a gradual slope of maybe 30 feet, Sarah’s feet slid clean out from under her and she landed hard on her hands and butt. The ground did quite a number on her left hand, which soon began to bleed quite profusely. I offered for us to head home so we could treat her injury, but my wife, stubborn as ever, refused to leave before seeing the sunset. It was beautiful.

It really was a beautiful sunset.

By the time we left, Sarah’s hand was not looking so good.

Sarah's hand not looking too good.

The conversation during the drive home went a lot like this:

Sarah: “My hand hurts.”
Sean: “I know. I’m sorry you fell.”
Sarah: “It really hurts if I turn my wrist like this.”
Sean: “Don’t turn it like that.”
Sarah: “But it hurts.”
Sarah: “It’s getting all puss-y!”
Sean: “Eww. Don’t mess with it.”
Sarah: “I’m going to take a picture and send it to people!”
Sean: “Why?”
Sarah: “Cause it’s gross!”

By the time we got home, the dirt had had a good opportunity to get deep into Sarah’s still bleeding wound. To stave off infection, we needed to clean it with something more than just soap and water – all we had were alcohol swabs. Before we started, I asked Sarah if she had ever had a wound cleaned with alcohol, she said “maybe” but we soon found out the answer was “no.”

As long as I have known Sarah, she has never really felt the need to swear, but when that alcohol touched her wounded skin, it was as like the floodgates were opened. An absurd number of Damn’s and Damn-it-all-to-hell’s filled our bathroom. Sarah was in agony, and the worst part was, she made me clean the wound with alcohol two more times after that. Afterwards, we both felt bad: Sarah, because of her wound, and me, because I had to hurt my injured wife more to clean it.

If this experience has taught me one thing, it’s that we need to keep a first-aid kit in our car – that way the next time this happens, while my wife screams obscenities like an old-timey prospector, at least I’ll be able to watch the sunset.

My First Easter Away From Home

Every single Easter in my twenty-six years of life has been spent with my family celebrating the holiday Stachura-style.  The last four years, Sean has been a part of that tradition participating in Easter egg hunts, beach trips, and candy swapping.  This year, however, I was in California and my family was in Texas, making this the first Easter ever without being at home, and I've quickly learned that holidays away from home are the hardest.  


I strongly hinted to Sean for a couple of weeks now that it wouldn't feel like Easter without an Easter egg hunt.  (Sean does not feel the same way.  After four years of losing the Easter egg hunts with my family have left him scarred and bitter)  I woke up this morning by Sean jumping on top of me handing me a plastic bag and telling me that it was my Easter egg basket.  I had strict instructions to find twenty-eight plastic Easter eggs, a bag full of jelly beans, and four Milky Way eggs.  The jelly beans I found early on (Starbursts jelly beans, all red ones!), but the eggs took a little bit more work.  The hardest one to find was among the corn husk flowers in a flower vase.  The egg blended right in.  Camouflage at its finest!  Now, comparing this Easter egg hunt to those of my family, this one had several major differences.  1) There was no competition among me and my sisters to race and find the eggs as fast as possible, 2) My parents, after twenty something years of hiding eggs, have started putting eggs in hard to reach, difficult to see, obscure places that usually involve all of us at the end searching for the remaining 1-3 eggs; Sean, this being his first time, has not reached that point yet so they were much easier to find, and 3) I had no one to compare eggs and loot with (since Sean did not partake in an hunt himself).

Zorro and I searching for Easter eggs

After collecting my loot, I opened my eggs finding Dove chocolate and Legos!  Legos in a an Easter egg?  Who knew!

Legos?  In an Easter egg?  YES!

Of course, after eating some chocolate eggs and some red Starburst jelly beans, naturally pre-breakfast we needed to put together the Legos.  It turns out, after I dumped out all the Easter eggs with Legos into one giant messy pile, that there were TWO separate Lego kits with two separate sets of instructions.  Oops!  Luckily, the pieces were distinguishable enough to figure out which was which.  

Where does this piece go?

A Star Wars fighter and a fireman

Another Stachura tradition is going to the beach over Easter weekend.  I'm not sure when it started, but my family in Texas was beaching it up again this year, so naturally Sean and I needed to do so as well in California.  Not that we need much urging to go to the beach!  This tradition was especially easy to follow this year, now that we live in San Diego only a couple miles from the beach!  


Sean has been wanting us to go boogie boarding for quite awhile, and we had finally bought boards this weekend.  What better day to try boogie boarding than Easter day?  We looked up the weather before hand: 62 degrees in the ocean, 66 degrees in the air, cloudy but will disperse and be sunny.  A nice beach day!  

Boogie-ing

Boarding

Although I didn't really know what to expect, boogie boarding was absolutely fantastic!  I couldn't stop grinning and "eeeeing" every time we caught a wave.  How had I never done this before?  On the same level of excitement, a California sea lion (Zalophus californianus) popped his/ her little head up nearby right when we were in the middle of catching a wave!  I have this dream where one comes up near me, we have a special moment where he/she knows that I love him/her and he/she loves me too, then he/she lets me touch him/her while Sean (or someone else) captures this special moment on camera, and then we both go on our merry way.  Anywhoo, that did not happen today.  We boogied, we boarded, and we boogie boarded.  We boogied so hard that we barely noticed it had started to rain...until it started to pour.  Upon realizing the beach was emptying out, that the skies were dark grey, and that we had electronics that might not enjoy getting wet inside our beach bag, we rode one last wave into shore, packed up our stuff, and headed home.  


The rest of the day was spent in hot tubbing, lazy lounging, napping, grocery shopping, home-working, and more lazy lounging.  Overall, I would declare this Easter day a success!  Keeping traditions and beginning new ones is one of the great parts of being part of a new branch of a family: the San Diego Kienles.