That girl ain't right...

Trek Chapter 4, Acclimatization Day in Namche

2012-01-15T13:56:00.000-08:00

To my faithful blog readers, thank you for patiently waiting 8 months (eek!) for an update. So many of you wrote and asked if I was ok and why had I stopped blogging and didn't I know they loved my blog so much? As the months passed, you concerned folks stopped asking when I would go back to blogging and began to ask if I would go back to blogging. The truth is, in these last 8 months, things weren't ok. I got divorced. And any of you that have gone through it know that divorce yanks you upside down by the ankles and shakes everything out of you, leaving only the ability to somehow just survive the whole process. Hobbies, happiness, and the desire to wash one's hair become dim memories, while sadness, paperwork, and tearful discussions over parenting plans takes their place.

Shit happens.

Since it has been 2/3 of a year, you may want to back up and re-read chapters 1, 2, and 3 to refresh yourselves with the story and to reignite that desire to find out, just how is that chocolate cake prepared?

* * *

The next day was reserved for rest and acclimatizing, so we stayed a second day in Namche. If you go too high, too fast, you risk getting altitude sickness, so trekkers and mountain climbers will often spend two days here in this village while on their way to the higher parts of Nepal.

After breakfast that morning we took a short walk up a trail to a clearing where we had high hopes of, weather cooperating, catching a glimpse of Mt. Everest. It was cloudy, so we killed some time by wandering through a little museum that showcased the history of mountaineering in the Himalaya. Kamal, our porter, hadn’t joined us that morning since he wouldn't have to pack our stuff anywhere, and Chris and Michelle had gone off to be by themselves, which left Kalyan, Katherine and me to hang out happily on our own. We sat on the grassy hillside and shot the breeze while waiting for Queen Everest to reveal herself.

Soon the three of us were bored. We’d been waiting patiently for the clouds to part for, like, hours. So I handed my camera to Kalyan and told him to take my picture. “This is what my face will look like when I actually DO see Mt. Everest!”

Then I laughed at my own joke.

Our patience did eventually pay off and the clouds parted just enough to snap a few quick photos of the mountain in all her glory. Here it is…

Wait for it…

We made our way back down into the village and parted ways. Katherine and I headed to the cyber café where I banged out an email as fast as my fingers would go to Clarissa, giving as many details as I could recall about how the trek had gone up to that point, including Michelle’s lack of bra the day before. “So every time I looked at her I got an eyeful of nipple.” I even added. I emailed home, then did a quick scan of Facebook. The higher in the mountains you trek, the more you pay for Internet, so I worked fast.

We all met back at the lodge for lunch. I only picked at mine. At this point, the altitude was causing my digestion to move along at a snail’s pace, and it was all I could do to choke down a few bites of my meal. I always feel guilty whenever I am in a poor country and I let food go to waste. Really, I don’t like waste no matter where I am or what it is. But as much as I tried, I just couldn’t stomach it.

Katherine and I left to explore more of the village. Namche has lots of little stone pathways and nooks and crannies and we didn’t want to leave any bit of it unexplored. We tried to find the Namche weekend market. It was something I’d read about in Doctor on Everest, and by the way the author described it I knew I’d have to see it for myself. The problem was, we couldn’t find it.

As I leaned over a table closely inspecting some beautiful beaded necklaces I jumped when Katherine call out “Hey!” I was so focused it startled me. I spun around to see Kalyan and Kamal standing behind us…holding hands. Now, I have written about this before, about how it is totally common in some Asian cultures to see men showing affection to one another in public, but for some reason Katherine and I were totally caught off guard seeing our guide and our porter showing PDA. They must have read our faces because they instantly snatched their hands apart and laughed awkwardly. And I think I said something stupid and inappropriate, like “Whoa…mmm…that’s cozy.”

“We’re going to the market”, said Kalyan, re-directing our attention.

“Can we come too?” I asked, inviting us along. “We’ve been looking for it.”

We followed them to the edge of town, to the tip of the horseshoe, if you will, to a busy gathering of villagers socializing and laughing and exchanging fistfuls of rupees for chickens and spices and potatoes. The place bustled like a anthill clinging to a mountainside.

Look at this brave, young vendor.

Do you suppose the rent for his space is the highest or lowest of all the stalls at the market? The highest, for the amazing view of the entire universe, or the lowest, for risk of a shortened lifespan? He seems confident, though, clearly protected by a fortress of San Miguel beer, an impenetrable barrier keeping him from an early and accidental death.

We took some group pictures, and Kalyan and Kamal took the opportunity to make fun of their affection for one another.

As we finished up meandering about the market, Kalyan invited us along to go have some tea. “Do you want to go where just the locals go?” he asked. Of course we wanted to go where just the locals go. So we made our way inside of a building and up a steep, narrow, dark staircase into a tiny, dark, family owned restaurant with only about 4 tables. We sipped sweet milk tea and chatted. There was a soccer game on TV. Katherine and I (especially Katherine, being from the UK and all) wanted to see if the royal wedding was being broadcast, so Kalyan flipped through the channels. No luck.

The conversation turned to Chris and Michelle. Kalyan told us that Michelle had complained to him that morning that her hotel (remember, she chose a different hotel over the one he had reserved for us) was “really noisy”. I asked him, “What the hell does she expect you to do, wave your magic wand?” He just laughed.

We squeezed in for some pictures, then made our way back to the lodge to plan a meeting time for dinner.

I ate dal bhat that evening and when I finished I took advantage of the daylight that was left to go buy some souvenirs for my kids. I remember fighting waves of homesickness and trying to suppress the chronic lump in my throat. I went back to the cyber café and checked back in at home.

Before bed, I wrote in my journal: After I checked my email I went back to the lodge to hang out with Katherine and Kalyan and some of his local friends. Michelle’s name came up again. He said that in 10 years of guiding no one has ever rejected that hotel. We talked fairly late into the night. Then he got us water for the next day, extra blankets, and I joked, “While you’re at it, could you do something about the snoring man in the room next door?” Kalyan also told us that he had gone to Michelle’s room to check on her and when Chris found out, he told Kalyan (Kalyan imitates Chris’ Romanian accent in a confrontational tone), “You didn’t need to go to her room. I already told you she was fine!”

Katherine and I headed off to bed, in hopes of a good night’s sleep in preparation of our trek to Khumjung the next morning.

Trek Chapter 3: Namche Bazaar

2011-05-21T20:00:00.000-07:00

Trekking the Himalaya: Where accessorizing means a headlamp, makeup means tinted lipbalm, and dressing up means your least dirty outfit.

To Namche Bazaar

We headed out and began what would be the hardest day of the entire trek. The trail made it’s way uphill, almost continually, for seven hours. It was really, really tough. I’d remember “slow and steady wins the race.” Or sometimes I’d hear Dory from Finding Nemo and sing in my mind, “Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!” Kalyan had instructed us to breathe in through our mouths and out through our noses and find a pace we could hold. I found a steady rhythm I could maintain. Again he allowed us to each go at our own pace, given none of us got too far ahead or too far behind. At one of the breaks Kalyan told me I was very strong and “I give you good marks.” A compliment from our guide! Now I had a reputation to maintain.

I had to keep reminding myself to look up every once in a while and enjoy the view. You are always going either downhill or uphill. Since you are never on even ground, and there were never ending piles of yak poop along the trail, I got into the habit of watching the ground in front of my feet. Because I used trekking poles and had a backpack, being a little hunched over and looking down became a natural position for my body, for both safety and comfort. But I’d realize long stretches would go by and so I’d pause for a moment and take it all in.

A great deal of the path ran along a deep gorge, which meant usually the inside of the trail was a cliff going strait up and the outside of the trail jetted so far down you could not hear the river. I was in the middle of a dry pine tree forest, dotted with wild rhododendron trees in full bloom. “The national flower of Nepal!” said Kalyan.

Yak trains would lumber up the trail. I’d hear them coming by the bells they wore on their necks. When you heard the clang! clang! you had only a few moments to scramble out of the way, because they moved surprisingly fast. Trekkers always yield for animals and always stay to the inside of the trail, lest the yak nudge thee off the mountainside. I was always nervous when these mammoth beasts passed by. For one, the trail is never that wide, two, they are big and scary, three, they have even bigger loads strapped to their backs, and four, they have long, curved, pointed scary horns that slope away from the sides of their heads and twist outwards. I always pictured myself being pinned to the cliff wall by the horn of a swaying yak.

We stopped for lunch, and I ordered Dal Bhat, the same as the day before. Dal Bhat translates directly to lentils and rice. It is eaten twice a day by the Nepalese. Did you hear me? The same meal. Twice a day. Everyday. It’s kind of reminds me of say, you know, any given Friday night in America and the wife says to her husband, “It’s Friday! Let’s go out for pizza!“ and the husband says, “No, hon, I already had pizza today. I went out with the guys at lunch.“ and the wife wouldn’t dream of torturing her husband with the same meal twice in one day, twice in a row no less! And the thought of doing that everyday- unbearable! So she suggests something else, like Thai food, and soon they are shoving spring rolls and cashew chicken into their mouths, happy to have averted disaster.

If you’ve read Little Princes (which I HIGHLY recommend) you will already understand that dal bhat is as much a part of Nepal as Mt. Everest. I am surprised they don’t have a picture of the dish printed on their currency, right beside their beloved mountain that graces every note and coin. When in Nepal, do as the Nepalese (right?), so I tried to eat as much dal bhat as I could. I always ate it at least once a day, and I really did enjoy it. It is either served very basic, with only the rice and lentils, or quite elaborate, also being served with any combination of curried chicken, sautéed spinach, yogurt, pickled vegetables, sliced carrots, cucumbers or radishes.

As I sipped on my sweet milk tea, I journaled: Just entered Sagamatha National Park. Michelle isn’t wearing a bra today so we all get to enjoy the view. She told Katherine that’s what European women do. Funny, Katherine is also European, but she still manages to keep her boobs bound nicely in place. Energy is pretty good. Diamox is working. No headache, just not much appetite…can still manage to eat, though.

Namche Bazaar would be our destination that day. The last two hours before reaching the village were grueling. I remember Kaylan saying “Oh, Namche’s just over that ridge line!” and I glanced up to see what looked like an entirely separate mountain. I continued on, step after slow step. I’d take breaks and chat with anyone near me who looked willing since there's always somebody going by on those trekking routes. I mostly found that whenever I’d start talking to someone I’d assume was American, they were almost always ended up being Canadian. I've concluded Americans don't venture out much beyond Mexico or Hawaii. I really didn’t meet many of us at all. Whenever I met any British people along the trail, I’d say “But you’re going to miss the royal wedding!” and they’d say, “Yes. Exactly.”

After gaining 3000 feet in altitude, we finally we made it into Namche. Even if I live to be 100 I may never see anything that will amaze me this much, and did you know I’ve seen the Mona Lisa? It’s a terraced, horseshoe shaped village that has the look of an amphitheater carved into the mountainside. This photo was actually taken the following day, above the village.

We made our way into a lodge where Kalyan and I were the first ones in, so he rounded me up some tea, then left to go square away the rooms. Quite a bit of time passed, and I wondered what happened to everybody. Eventually Katherine came in and told me Chris and Michelle had asked Kalyan to take them to a different lodge, because Michelle wanted a room with a private bathroom and shower. Mind you, the lodge Kalyan had lined up for us also had a bathroom and a shower, but they were just a jaunt down the hall from the rooms. Actually, it was quicker for me to reach that shower from my guestroom than for me to reach the shower in my bedroom in my own home.

Chris and Michelle later joined Katherine and I at the table. Michelle looked like death from the hard climb. “Don’t worry guys,” they informed us in an arrogant tone. “We got a room for you, too.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” I told them. “I didn’t even expect to have a shower at all, so one down the hall will work just fine. Furthermore, I think it’s very disrespectful to Kalyan to snub the rooms he’s arranged for us. I'll be fine where I'm at."

Eventually Kalyan joined back up with us we ordered dinner. The way it works in those trekking lodges is that there is no wait staff. The guides take the orders from their groups, then turns them in with a decided mealtime. Then the group meets back up in the dining hall and voila! The food is ready. Here is Kalyan taking our orders.

As we were deciding what to order, Chris and Michelle were being so rude to him, going through the menu asking ridiculous questions and bossing him around, like (I am not making this up) “Go ask the kitchen how the chocolate cake is prepared.” I was so embarrassed.

We headed off to our respective quarters: Kalyan and Kamal to the guides’ and porters’ areas, Katherine and I to the original lodge, and Chris and Michelle to their handpicked hotel. We had a few hours to rest and recover before dinner.

After getting settling into our room (we’d be spending two nights here to acclimatize, so we set up home a little more than at the other lodges) Katherine and I went and wandered around town. I quickly discovered it’s a pretty fun place to hang out, with a maze of little cobblestone walkways, unique markets, cozy bakeries and countless tiny shops filled with yak wool knitted hats and knockoff North Face coats. It was here, though, at 11,300 feet, that I really started to feel the altitude.

At higher altitudes, there is less atmospheric pressure. That means there are less oxygen molecules floating around any given volume of space. Less pressure means less oxygen entering your lungs with each breath. Your body responds by increasing respiration in order to get as much oxygen into your bloodstream as possible. Simultaneously, your body begins to rapidly create more oxygen carrying red blood cells. This process leaves you out of breath and exhausted.

What’s strange is, I couldn‘t match my brain to my body. Coming back to the lodge for dinner, Katherine and I made our way back up the path and came to a section where we had to climb up a few gradual steps . Something my brain saw as no problem, but about half way up (like, five steps) I had to stop for several seconds because I couldn’t complete the task all at once. We stood there, breathing hard and laughing at ourselves.

I actually did a double-take when I saw Michelle entering the dining area ahead of us. She could barely stand upright, and Chris had to help her walk. At the table she was in a foul mood. She was hating it there and wanted everyone know it. Michelle had admitted to us the night before that she hadn’t worked out in almost ten years, and she didn’t even know what the term trekking meant. “I looked it up online. It said walking. I didn’t know I’d have to be climbing up hills.” Here we were, in the tallest mountains in the world, and Michelle had no idea we’d be going uphill. She should have read the information packet. The last time I checked, there weren’t elevators up there.

Brace yourself. I am about to get really mean.

Better yet, while she was Googling trekking, it would have been advantageous for her to have narrowed down her search a bit and typed in, more specifically, trekking the Himalaya. Then she may have discovered that she’d be staying in unheated lodges, using some of the worst bathrooms she’ll encounter anywhere, crossing scary suspension bridges that bounce with each step and become terribly slippery in the rain, and would probably come across bugs in her food. She may have read that, pondered it for a couple seconds, and possibly came to the conclusion this isn’t for me. But she didn’t do that. She did nothing to prepare, and now she was miserable. If I had a small amount of sympathy for her the first day, I had no sympathy for her the second day. She felt completely entitled to be awful to everyone.

We met for dinner and after bringing us our food, Kalyan left us to eat on our own. When the meals came, Chris took one tiny bite of his pizza and pushed it away. “Too doughy.” They both sat there, mad. “Seems like such a waste.” Katherine chimed in. I wanted to high-five her. British and very proper, Katherine rarely said a square word. “It’s only a waste for them,” said Chris, and with disregard he waved it away. I sat there, FUMING. I am sure I had actual steam pouring out of my ears. Here we were, in a region of the world where everything we saw around us- every nail, every sink, every can of coke- was trekked in on a porter’s back or a yak’s back, in a third-world country where kids go hungry, but heaven forbid Chris doesn’t like his pizza.

I quickly ate my meal (or what of it I could stomach, sitting across from World's Two Most Self-Righteous People). I clicked on my head lamp and headed outside into dark night. I walked in the direction of the lodge and was ready to hit the sack. I saw Kalyan heading towards me from the opposite direction. I met him half way.
“They are making me crazy with how they are treating you.” I told him, finally addressing the issue.
“It’s ok. I have lots of demanding clients.” he reassured me cheerfully.
“No…it’s not ok. It’s never ok to treat someone like that.”
“Jessica…" He pauses. "...Not everyone is nice.”

Trek Chapter 2: Phakding

2011-05-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

A great deal of the first day was spent going downhill. I believe this is nature’s way of saying rest up now, for tomorrow you will be wishing a yak would push you off a cliff simply to give your burning legs some relief. But I am getting ahead of the story.

Early down the path we ran into a pair of porters coming towards us. Kalyan greeted them like long lost friends and enthusiastically shook their hands. “They are from my village!“ He announced to us happily. I quickly came to find he knew nearly every porter, guide, Sherpa and lodge employee we’d come across in this most remote part of the world and treated everyone as his family. He was quite the social butterfly.

Kalyan is on the left.

Soon our group spread out and an order between the four of us was established: Me out front, Katherine in the middle, and Chris and Michelle in the back of the pack. The first two days Kalyan mostly stayed with the two of them and allowed Katherine and I to continue ahead at our own pace. Later on in the trek he’d thank the two of us for not needing him as much, which allowed him to give Chris and Michelle (especially Michelle) the extra attention they required.

I had trained really hard for this trip. Dale helped me by giving me advice on which exercises were best for hill climbing and regularly reminded me that the more in shape I was, the less misery and pain I’d be in, and the more I would enjoy myself. I often silently thanked him throughout the week for pushing me to be prepared as I trudged up long, exhausting, unforgiving hills.

We stopped for a tea break. Because when you are hot and sweaty and working hard, you sit down for a cup of hot tea. When in Nepal, do as the Nepalese.

The view from my perch:

We hiked along and soon stopped at another small village to have tea. Again, we sat outside, as we always did when the weather allowed. As we got up to leave, I noticed Michelle’s zip-up sweatshirt in the bottom of her chair. “Don’t forget your jacket,” I reminded her, then tuned my attention towards Katherine to ask her about something unrelated. We continued on.

The path the first day wound down and around the Dudh Kosi, a churning, beautiful milky turquoise colored river that originates from the Khumbu glacier on the slopes of Mt. Everest. We crossed several suspension bridges on the route. Michelle did not do well at all. She cried and hyperventilated . Chris and Kalyan stayed close by and helped her across each one.

This one was my favorite. It spanned a deep, narrow canyon and the wind whipped throught there like crazy. It's decorated with prayer flags and scarves.

Katherine took my picture...taking a picture of the bridge. Notice the shoes. Y'all voted. I listened.

Eventually we made it to the village of Phakding, a cluster of cottages nestled on a small creek.

After checking into a small, white lodge, Kalyan showed us our rooms. Katherine and I in one and Chris and Michelle in another. Ours was small and basic, with a twin bed on either side. We got into the habit of photographing our room each night.

I really enjoyed getting to know Katherine better throughout the trek and as roommates, we had a ton of fun. She was born and raised in Wales to Chinese immigrant parents. What that means is when this cute little Asian girl opens her mouth, Princess Diana comes out. That was something my mind never got used to. She’s soft spoken and very sweet. I’d already worked with her the previous week in the dental clinic, but our stations were far from each other and I hadn’t spent any one on one time with her. One time in the clinic I caught her reading New Moon during our lunch hour. “Hey Katherine,” I said. “I live really close to Forks. Come visit me in America and I’ll take you there.” That was like, beyond exciting to her.

Like me, she is the middle child between a brother and sister. She’s been traveling alone for the past year. First, she went to Australia where she worked as a dentist and saved money so she could travel more. From there she spent some time in New Zealand, then onto Nepal. (How I love a girl with gypsy feet!). After our Nepal time was up, she headed back to Australia, then she is going to meet up with her sister who will be doing (from what I understand) a project for her medical residency in Cambodia. I was excited for her to be going to there and we talked about it quite a bit.

Necessary Tangent- I read a ton of books. Like, lots. I devour them. I read one on the way to Nepal, one there, and one coming home. I have another going right now. It’s on my lap, right here underneath the computer. About two years ago, I was wandering around the house, bored. I’d finished my last book and didn’t have another lined up to go. When Dale learned of my crisis, he told me he had a book for me, and trust him, I’d like it. It was called No Shortcuts to the Top, written by Seattle resident Ed Visteurs, one of world’s most elite mountain climbers. I read it, and he was right, I liked it. I liked it so much I continued to read all of Dale’s books on mountaineering: K2, Into Thin Air, Eiger Dreams, Touching the Void, Doctor on Everest. There was one topic in every book written about summiting Everest that I loved reading about: The trek to base camp. Through these books I learned about each little village the expeditions passed through. This part was often described in great detail. So when I headed down the trail from Lukla just over a week ago, I sort of knew what to expect. “How does it feel to walk the path of many famous mountaineers?” Dale would ask in an email. I told him I’d been thinking about it a lot.

We sat around the dining room in the lodge and settled in for dinner. It was a big room with a shiny wood floors, small rectangular tables along the perimeter, and a continual bench around three walls. Then came the bombshell. Michelle realized she'd forgotten her jacket, which caused her whole world to come crumbling down. She hinted heavily for Kaylan to go back and get it for her. He didn't, and I was glad. She'd been treating him like her personal servant all day already. Had it been an important article, like a down coat, he probably would have, but it was a simple hoody. He told her we'd check to see if they still had it when we passed back through that village at the end of the week.

I wrote in my journal:

Kind of bored. Very few other people here at the lodge. Did not bring my laptop- regretting that- wishing I could write on it instead of this tiny little notebook. Sitting here at the restaurant, just ate egg drop soup. Feeling really good, no problems with the altitude yet. I’ve been taking Diamox, so that must be helping. Not much appetite is the only thing I notice. Our guide is great but once our group gets settled in for tea breaks or meals he leaves us alone. I can’t say I blame him, I would too, Michelle is awful to him. She is driving me nuts. ENTITLED! She asked him to change the light bulb in her room because she felt it wasn’t bright enough. Then at dinnertime she complained that this place is dirty. Since I’ve never been good at keeping a lid on my thoughts, I spoke up. “What did you expect? We’re in the Himalayas. Did you not read the information packet?” She snapped at me that no, she didn’t read the information packet because she works 16 hours a day and doesn’t have time for things like that. So, of course I reply with “Well I have two kids, my own business, work full time, and I made time to read the information packet”. She comes to the mountains, UNPREPARED, and feels free to complain about the undesirable conditions. I swear I am going to go crazy. I have the urge to strike up conversations with complete strangers, I don’t even care if they speak English. I just want somebody new to talk to. How am I going to survive the week? Whenever Kalyan comes into the room I try to send a telepathic message to him apologizing for how rotten she is acting. But I don’t know him well enough say that to him yet, and I don’t want to come across as stirring stuff up. He told us that the thunder and lightening going on right now is supposed to be good for trekking tomorrow since it’s a dusty section of the trail.

I woke up to blue skies with a few fluffy clouds. This was the view when I stepped out my door and turned to my left.

There wasn’t much to do in the getting-ready process, considering we’d slept in our clothes and wouldn’t be showering. Kalyan knocked on our door with hot tea for us to enjoy before our established meeting time for breakfast. After brushing our teeth, adding a few more swipes of deodorant over the previous days’ layers, and shoving our sleeping bags into their pouches, Katherine and I met the rest of the team in the dining hall.

I journaled a little after I ate, and noted it was so quiet in that village you could hear the river running. I wrote: Just finished a vegetable omelet. Guess what? Michelle doesn’t like hers. Now she’s pouting and eating beef jerky. I am sitting as far from her as possible.

Trek Chapter 1: Lukla

2011-05-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

It’s taken me a while to figure out exactly how to tell this story, this story that is the second half of my trip to Nepal. The trekking story. It’s complex. I could just say, oh, we hiked up into the mountains and when the clouds parted we saw Mt. Everest and we stayed in local little villages and ate lots of rice and drank lots of tea. I actually entertained the idea of glossing over many details and writing just that and leaving out the ugly parts. That way I wouldn’t have to fear people accusing me of being mean and insensitive, or writing in a way that makes me look good and others look bad. But if I left out the ugly parts, I’d be altering the story all together, and there wouldn’t be much of a story left at all. So here it is. The story as I experienced it. Not all of the story is mine to tell, so there are parts I am respectfully leaving out, but the rest of it I am sharing with you the way it happened to me.

To be honest, I was dreading the trek from the very beginning, and I even considered canceling and returning back to the US 10 days early after the dental portion of the trip was finished. This was all over one person. Out of all the volunteers on our dental team, only 4 of us remained in Nepal to trek after our clinic time at the boarding school wrapped up. In total, there would be six of us. Myself, our Nepalese guide and porter, and Katherine, a Chinese dentist from the UK who was my roommate. Also along was a married couple. I will not be showing any pictures of them, nor will I reveal their real names. For the intents and purposes of this story, I will call them Chris and Michelle.

I did not like Michelle from the beginning. I am putting that out there right now. She and her husband are from Romania, but recently immigrated to the US and have lived there for the last few years. She is a hygienist, like me, and in the dental clinic our stations were next to each other. She has, what my sister would call, “a jagged aura”. I noticed right away that she was very pessimistic. And she was bossy. I particularly don’t like this trait in a person, because I do not like being told what to do. I actually have this little motto that I pull out from time to time: If you’re not my boss, don’t boss me around. There were a few times when she told me specifically which instruments to use and questioned my choice of anesthetic. The way I’d hear her talk to her patients would make my spine go rigid. Once in the clinic I turned around to see her right down in her patient’s face. “Do you want to loose your teeth!?“ she demanded to know from this young boy. “Because you WILL loose your teeth if things continue the way they are. Is that what you want?“ She was never able to “go with the flow” and was extremely idealistic. And this is an appropriate time to point out this woman does not have children.

In the clinic she was always upset because she often had to face not being able to give her patients the level of care she’d be able to give at home. The first day I respected this, but by the end of the week all her constant dwelling on it did was annoy me. One day we were walking back to our guesthouse after clinic, and Michelle was crying over one of her patients; a young adult with a 7mm pocket (hygienist talk…why she measured it in the first place I‘ll never know, since there‘s little you can do about it anyway). I talked with her as we walked along. I didn’t really like her, but I didn’t hate her either, and I did attempt to make her feel better. “Michelle, don’t focus on what you didn’t do for that patient and think about all the things you did.” What I really wanted to know, but didn’t ask, was what the heck did she expect? Wouldn’t it be common sense that if you signed up to do dentistry on one of the poorest countries on Earth, you’d experience the frustration of too many patients with too great of need, combined with limited time and resources, which would force you to compromise your standards of ideal care? It seemed obvious to me that as a any type of medical volunteer, you’d have to come to grips real quick with the fact that you have to do the best you can with what you have.

* * *

Two days before the trek, Those of us going on the trip met our guide at the guesthouse one evening after clinic so he could give us a quick run through. When we met, he introduced himself as Colin.

This guy was clearly very much Nepalese. Now just why the hell was his name Colin?

We were in a country where people had names like Topgyl, Prasuna, and Tsering. Why did Colin have such a Western sounding name?

We were picked up at the guesthouse at 5am the morning of the trek. There was a strike expected that day (why I do not know) and we needed to get to the airport extra early in case said strike snarled traffic. Although we made it to the airport without any hang ups, I did see plenty of police in full riot gear lining the streets.

At the airport we had some down time so I decided to strike up a conversation with Colin. Up to this point I’d been around the same few people the entire trip. Now don’t get me wrong, my dental team was a great group of people, but I was looking forward to having a new brain to pick. I went and found him. Up to this point, the only words we’d spoken to each other were brief introductions.

“So your name is Colin?”

“Yes, Colin.”

Colin had a strong command of the English language, but his accent was also very strong. By the end of the trek I had almost no trouble understanding him because I learned how to understand him, but it was tough at first.

“Colin?” I asked again, raising my eyebrows.

“Yes, Colin”, he confirmed.

“How do you spell it?”

“K-A-L-Y-A-N. Kalyan. It means ‘social welfare’ “.

That made more sense. Now I was getting somewhere. So Colin was actually Kalyan.

Around 7am we walked out onto the tarmac and boarded a tiny little propeller plane with Sita Air painted on the side. One my mom would refer to as a “Puddle Jumper”. There were two pilots, the four of us trekkers, Kalyan, and a flight attendant with a baby on her lap. Every bit of space left in the plane was packed tight with random cargo. We stuffed cotton in our ears and taxied to the runway.

While queued up to take off, I pulled a small folded note out of my pocket. It was a letter from Clarissa. As we’d said our goodbyes the night before, she’d slipped it into my hand and told me to save it until I was on the way to Lukla. Clarissa is a dentist and practices in New Mexico. We hit it off right away and when we showed up at breakfast our second morning in Nepal dressed alike, I knew we’d be friends for life. We've even made a pact to climb Mt. Rainier together in July 2012.

Her little note put it all into perspective, and I was glad I hadn’t bailed out on the trek. She thanked me for opening up to her and becoming her friend and that she had a great time seeing this part of the world me. She told me to enjoy everyone else and reminded me to take some alone time. Not to read or journal, but to sit and be quiet and take it all in. She told me she’d miss me.

Her words gave my nose that tingly feeling. That feeling that you get just prior to your eyes welling up with tears. When I finished it, I said a quick prayer of thanks to God. I have a great family, have had many wonderful experiences, have been given even more people to call friends and was now sitting on a plane heading into the magnificent Himalaya. God has given me an amazing life. After giving thanks I had one last request for the big guy: A safe flight.

Soon after takeoff, we were out of the thick, hot, polluted air of the Kathmandu valley and into the clean, clear air that comes with areas void of too many people, factories, and cars. As the terrain became more mountainous I watched out the front window, between the two pilots, as Luka came into view.

The airport is often referred to as Lukla, because that is the name of the village in which it is located. It’s official name, though, is the Tenzing-Hillary Airport, after Sir Edmund Hillary and his Sherpa, Tenzing Norgay, the first to summit Everest. It is famous (or more aptly infamous) for being the most dangerous airport in the world. At 9000’ above sea level, the altitude makes it more difficult to create lift for planes taking off. The runway is only 1500’ long, and is built on a 12% grade. This means there is a difference of 200’ from one end to the other. To put it another way, you land going uphill and take off going downhill. Because there is no margin for error, the pilots who fly in and out of Lukla are among the best in the world. If there is a mistake upon landing, you crash into a mountainside. If there is a mistake on taking off, the plane falls off of a cliff. Please don’t tell my mom any of that.

The landing was abrupt and quick. They usher you off of the plane and into the terminal as fast as possible in order to swiftly load the next group of returning trekkers onto the plane and back to Kathmandu. Since the weather turns without warning (I’ve never seen anything like it) they get as many passengers into and out of Lukla quickly, quickly, quickly as the weather allows. Because of aforementioned dangers, they do not allow any flights when conditions are anything less than ideal.

We ate breakfast in the courtyard of a small lodge next to the airport. I ordered an omelet, a trend that would continue throughout the trek. Because of my gluten allergy, I cannot have anything containing wheat, oats, barley or rye. There goes pancakes, bread, oatmeal, toast, waffles, and cereal. As I finished my omelet and sipped my milk tea, I leaned back in my chair and admired the view of gigantic mountain peaks ahead of me. I couldn’t complain.

We met up with our porter. He was a petite, polite, dark-skinned man named Kamal. He always had a smile but knew very little English, so the conversation between he and I was pretty much limited to “Good morning Kamal! How are you doing?” I wish I could have gotten to know him better, because we spend a whole week together. He is 30, seemed full of personality, and word out on the street is that he is looking for a wife.

A porter’s job is to carry the load of the group. We each had a backpack with the gear we’d need throughout the day, like water and extra layers, but Kamal carried our big bags containing everything else we’d need for the week. Sometimes he’d walk with us, but most often he’d set out ahead of us and meet up with us later. Here was a man carrying easily his own body weight on his back, going strait up the mountains, reaching the destination at the end of each day usually hours ahead of us.

Our trek officially began just outside of Lukla as we passed under an archway welcoming us and reminding us HAVE A NICE TREK! We entered a region of the Himalaya known as the Khumbu, which is the area around Mt. Everest. If you followed this particular path all the way to the end, you’d eventually find yourself surrounded by rocks and small tents and a giant mountain looming in front of you: Everest Base Camp. There are many trekking trails around the Himalaya and you can travel on foot all throughout the mountains, but I was excited to be on this one. While we would not make it all the way into base camp, it was still beyond cool to me to be on the first half of this very famous route.

Me, You, and Kathmandu

2011-04-20T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's taken me a while to update y'all since I've arrived here in Nepal. There are a few reasons for this.

The first being the horrible exhaustion brought on by flying half way around the world, combined with, obviously, the time change, and add that to a schedule packed to the gills- Let's go have lunch! Now let's go set up the clinic! Let's go see the stupa! Now let's go shopping at the market! By the end each day I've been stumbling back to my room all puffy-eyed with barely enough energy to find my bed.

Another force keeping me from my blog is something load shedding. Here in Kathmandu (or as I like to call it, "The Kat") electricity is a precious commodity. Feel free to point your finger at global warming and overpopulation. I sound like the liberal that I am when I say that, but it's true. Nepalese rely on hydroelectric power. There is less snowfall in the Himalaya, therefore less water moving through the dam to generate power. When you add that to extreme population growth here in the city, you're left with not enough power to go around. So they ration it and call it load shedding. Twice in a 24 hour period, they shut off electricity for several hours at a time. The power-less hours are never the same from day to day, either. To come home from the clinic to have no wi-fi to blog and a laptop that needs to be charged... it's just been to easy to put it off another day.

The last, and biggest reason for not blogging is that I have been really, really homesick. I've never been good at hiding my feelings or sounding chipper when I'm not, and I was afraid if I sat down to blog all my fingers would type out would be a plea for someone to get me out of here.

I am feeling better now.

But it was really hard at first. If you followed my last mission you may remember I turn into a big crying snot ball when I am overly tired (not unlike a toddler). I was sorta beating myself up for not loving it here the second I stepped off the plane. I had a knot in my stomach for all the money I'd spent to be here only to be miserable. I wasn't able to look at the poverty around me and see all my blessings. No matter how hard I searched, I couldn't find the high I felt in Cambodia. I didn't immediately fit in with my team and I was lonely. I sat on my bed and cried more than once.

Depression sometimes sneaks into my life. That's just how God made me. The PMS monster wasn't help much either.

Now before my mom's protection mechanism goes into overdrive and books me a flight home, I am happy to say my sadness has lifted. I have made good friends and have realized they days are flying by. I reminded myself that the only one in charge of my world is me so I turned on some Jim Croce, drew back the curtains, and said to myself, Dude.......You're in Nepal.

Nepal: See You Soon!

2011-04-10T13:35:00.000-07:00

I think if I don't start committing to this blog, Dave and Darold will send a lynch mob to my house. I'm sure Kaylee will tell them where I live. My mom will make sure I am home.

I finally received an information packet about my trip several days ago, which is a good thing since I'm leaving in six days. Looks like we'll have a pretty diverse group, which will include 5 dentists, 3 hygienists, and 4 support staff. The homes of my teammates are WA, NM, OH, CA, The UK, Canada, Germany, and Australia. I am pretty sure, too, that our team will grow as we will have some Nepalese members join us we get there.

We'll be staying in a guesthouse while in Kathmandu. I instantly hopped on Google once I had the info in my hands. Come to find out, this guesthouse is connected to a Buddhist monastery, which is right by a Stupa (a religious monument). I borrowed this lovely picture off the Internet of this stupa which will be the view from my balcony (this really is the stupa, but the balcony part I made up. I can wish, right?).

During the trekking part of the journey, we will be staying in local tea houses. As the information packet stated, "These tea houses are not equipped with western amenities. Have a sense of humor about it." That's another way of saying, "You are not going to shower for a week. Have a competition with your trekking mates to see who can smell the worst."

Trekking Shoes

2011-03-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

Friends, I am having trouble deciding on which ones I like more. Help me out here.

The First of Many, I'm Sure

2011-03-12T22:03:00.000-08:00

The other day I was driving Bella to one of her classmate's birthday parties. All I was going to do was walk her to the door, discuss with the mom a rendezvous time, and be on my merry way. The drive was pretty quiet until Bella broke the silence with a question she asked through clenched teeth. "Moooommmmm...why are you wearing those ripped jeans to the party?" I could tell by the way she said it she'd been thinking about it for a while.

Hello! Has the girl not been following the trends? Tattered denim is totally in right now. But with my flip-flops and no makeup, I guess I was looking pretty scrappy.

"Bella, I am just going to walk you to the door and ask Katie's mom what time to pick you up. No one else is even going to see me." That is, unless Stacy and Clinton from TLC's What Not to Wear were hiding in the bushes, waiting to sabotage me for dressing like a ragamuffin in public, and if so, HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE?

She didn't say much after that. I was a little surprised at her shame in my outfit, considering she dresses like a total gypsy. This is the first time she's been embarrassed by me and I found it to be both funny and sad. As I drove away I realized I'd just experienced a rite of passage as a mother.

A Few More Check Marks On My To-Do List

2011-03-09T08:23:00.000-08:00

Have you ever tried to photograph your own Band-aids in the mirror in an attempt to capture a somewhat flattering image? Don't bother. It's too hard.

Yesterday I got my travel immunizations. I assumed I'd need only one, which was the second Hepatitis A of the two-part series I started last year. I was only partially right.

When you get travel shots, it's not quite a simple and quick process as it might seem. It's not like they say, oh, you're going to Nepal? Ok, you need X, Y, and Z shots. Now lift your sleeve...this may pinch a little.

The doctor must ask a barrage of very specific questions to determine the exact cocktail that must be formulated. A small sample of the conversation:

Where will you be working? In the city.
Who will you be working on? Children.
Will you be working on any adults? Maybe.
Who will you be working with? I don't know.
Where will you be sleeping? In a hotel.
Will you be handling any farm animals? No.
Do you plan to get pregnant while there? No.
Will you be sexually active while there? No.
Do you know the top two causes of death of young healthy people traveling in third world countries? (I didn't) It's car accidents and swimming while drunk.
Are you aware of any animals you will be in close proximity with? I know there are a lot of Monkeys running around Kathmandu, and there will be yaks on the trekking trails.
You're going trekking? Yes.
To what altitude? 13,500 ft.
Tell me what you know about Altitude Sickness. Know the symptoms and not ignore them if you have them.
Where will you be staying while trekking? In the villages, in tea houses.

At this point the doctor turns from her computer screen and faces me. "I'm so jealous right now," she says.

Ultimately she decided I need that second Hep A shot, and that boosters for MMR and polio were necessary. I don't have to get a new Rx for antibiotics since last year's dose doesn't expire for another year and I never had to use them. That's in case a bug throws a party in my stomach.

While I'll bring a medicine called Diamox to help my body adjust to less oxygen at altitude, I will only have to take it if I need it. In addition, I am happy to report I will not have to take Malarone (for malaria) this time. You have to take it daily, starting a week before your adventure begins. To summarize this expensive burden:

28 days @ $6 per day = YIKES!

Confucius Say...

2011-03-05T16:06:00.000-08:00

I SWEAR THIS STORY IS TOTALL TRUE.

"Ok honey," I said to Dale, sitting across the table from me. "Whatever this says, it is predicting how my mission is going to turn out."

We'd just polished off a platter of sushi and the waitress plopped down the bill and four fortune cookies. I grabbed the closest one and snapped open the crispy little confection.

This little lucky charm's going in my suitcase.

Scoop: Nepal Trip

2011-02-23T13:09:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, I do not know a ton about my upcoming trip yet. I wish I did! I am itching for more info. Here is what I do know:

This mission is not with Medical Teams International, as it was when I went to Cambodia. Humanitarian organizations only serve certain countries, and since I had my heart set on going to Nepal, I had to find a group that serves there. Introducing Global Dental Expeditions.

I leave April 16th and will be gone for 3 weeks. (I promise I will blog as much as I can!)

We will spend 2 weeks doing dentistry in the capital city of Kathmandu, then we will fly up into the Himalaya and go trekking. We will trek the Mt. Everest trail. We won't make it all the way into base camp, but we will at least get to see the mountain.

I do not know my team or how big it will be. I won't meet them until I get there.

That's it! Frustrating, huh?! I will post more as I learn more.

Seattle-to-Portland 2011

2011-01-31T19:23:00.000-08:00

Because the opportunity to create friction sores that bleed through spandex is an opportunity that Dale and I cannot pass up, we signed up for the Seattle-to-Portland bicycle classic this coming July.

If you remember, we participated in 2008 and 2009. In 2010, Dale spent the summer focusing on climbing Mt. Rainier (after the avalanche he attempted it again and was successful...still on my to-do list of blog posts), and I spent the summer not riding a bicycle. How did I spend my summer? I don't know. It's kind of a blur. But I do remember the weekend of the STP, and the two of us were bummed knowing it was going on without us.

So, the next question on everyone's mind is, will we ride it in one day or two? If you ask Dale, he'd tell you we'd do it in one day. But we'd stop half way, climb Mt. Rainier, then finish up the ride. He'd be all, what? WE TOTALLY COULD.

Brittany's Senior Pics

2011-01-23T14:34:00.000-08:00

Back a few months ago (so sad is my lack of blogging that now my posts begin with back a few months ago...) Anyway, a few months ago my Cambodia team met up for another reunion, and a couple days before our party I got an email from Brittany. Little refresher: Brittany is Franklin's daughter...Franklin was our team leader and Brittany came along as his assistant. That was like a year ago, I know.

So this email was basically one brief question. Hey Jessica, if you are going to bring your camera to the party, do you think you could take a picture of me so I could use it in the yearbook?

And I was all, um, no. Brittany, dear, let's do this right. So we came up with a plan to meet a few hours beforehand and do a real photo shoot. When I picked her up, I was all DAMN GIRL, YOU CLEAN UP GOOD! We shot at Oregon Health Sciences University, and didn't exactly have weather or daylight on our side, so we worked quickly.

We both fell in love with the same image, and this is the official yearbook picture. She is leaning up against the dental building here, which seems appropriate since she wants to follow in her father's footsteps. This is one of those photos that is equally beautiful in black and white as it is in color.

Bells

2011-01-12T21:42:00.000-08:00

I think I'll keep her.

Random Story #314

2011-01-09T13:18:00.000-08:00

I have no idea what has possessed me to share this story, but it popped into my mind this morning and well, here we are.

I was in Las Vegas with my office for a dental convention. It was 2006, and I was 6 months pregnant with Rowan. It was really hot, as it is there most of the year, and I was laying out by the pool by myself. I don't remember why I was alone...oh wait, yes I do...we only had like 2 hours before we were all to meet to head to the airport, and most of my coworkers wanted to head down the strip to shop and see some of the other casinos. Well, I'd been to Vegas several times before this, and I knew how time and distance seems to escape people there, and I wasn't about to join them and risk missing my flight on my boss' dime. No way. So there I was, sunbathing alone amongst strangers at the MGM pool.

I was at the point in my pregnancy where I definitely looked pregnant, but I wasn't big and waddly and swollen. I thought I looked cute. I had confidence. I rocked a hot pink bikini.

In the sweltering upper 90 degree desert heat, I decided a smoothie was just what the baby needed. I wrapped a sarong under my belly, tied it into a knot at my hip, and made my way to the outdoor bar.

I got a few sideways glances from passersby for being pregnant and bare-bellied, but I didn't think too much of it. I was was standing in line behind a middle-eastern man. He turned around and looked right at me, lowered his eyes to my abdomen, looked me dead in the eye again, then turned back around. This man wasn't Indian, he wasn't Hispanic, He was a Muslim, and probably had ties to Al-Qaeda. Women in his culture don't even show much of their veiled faces or any of their bodies, lest their pregnant bellies. I was an infidel of the worst kind. I'd had sex with my husband, and there I was, brazenly showing the world the result. This man, I was sure, was furiously praying to Allah to strike me down. I wanted to bolt from the line to the safety of my hotel room. Surely the Taliban would soon be on the hunt for me.

The man turned around again. He was smiling and had kindness in his eyes. In perfect English, he said, "You're pregnant. That's great! I deliver babies for a living, I'm an OB-GYN. It's a beautiful thing. Well...good luck to you."

The moral of the story?

Don't stereotype people.

Frosty Outside...Frosty Inside

2011-01-02T15:25:00.000-08:00

With lots of concern on my Facebook page, I thought I'd share the full story how our furnace picked a fine time to leave us.

We woke up Jan 1st to 2011 and an awfully chilly house. Dale checked the thermostat, bumped up the heat, and went about making coffee and breakfast.

But the heat never came on.

So, being Mr. Handyman Troubleshooter, he tore into it. The motor, he found, had taken a poop. Great timing, considering we are in the middle of a COLD SNAP!! And there is frost on the ground that has no intentions of going away any time soon. In fact, it may even snow later this week!

Yesterday, we drove all over Olympia from one industrial parts store to another. This, we soon discovered, was a tall order. Finding a store that was A) open on a holiday, and B) carried precisely what we needed...needless to say we returned empty handed to a very cold home.

But don't worry about the Ackleys! Dale ordered said part online and by Wednesday our house should warm with the cozy hum of a working furnace. In the mean time, in addition to wearing down coats to battle the inside temp of 47 degrees, we have a fireplace downstairs. It is extremely inefficient at heating this big, old house, but it's better than nothing.

The real saving grace, though, is Rowan's room. The first few years living in this house, we discovered that that particular bedroom, with three exterior walls, was impossible to heat in the winter. So Dale installed a heater into the wall. Here is the sleeping arrangement:

I find it kind of funny that we all congregate to Rowan's room to seek relief from the cold. In the summertime, our bedroom is the only place in the house that has air conditioning. When the really hot spells hit, we all sleep in there, like weary little refugees.

If You Can Figure This Out, I'll Think You're the Coolest Person Ever

2010-12-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

There is something that has me completely baffled.

See, since signing up for my mission to Nepal, I have been doing my homework. I have to know what to expect about the place, such as, the climate, the currency, the local customs, and will there be a Starbucks along the Everest trail? (Actually, yes.)

So the other day I pull up the world clock app on my iPod to see the time difference between Seattle and Kathmandu. I think it's pretty well known that if it is, say, 2:38 here it is 11:38 somewhere else and 6:38 somewhere else, but it would never be 2:38 here and 12:52 somewhere else. No, it would never be like that.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

My iPod read something completely wacky, like Seattle 6:00, Kathmandu 8:45. And I was all, This damn thing is broken! Later on, I investigated this matter further by pulling up an online world clock. Sure enough...check this out. Look at all the other time zones. They are all normal. They play by the rules. Kathmandu is clearly the black sheep. It flicks it's cigarette and says, Don't tell me what to do.

Seriously, folks. WHY IS THIS?? Does anyone know?

I'll Serve My Next Mission In...

2010-11-23T12:11:00.000-08:00

Hello From Lake Tahoe

2010-11-19T23:11:00.000-08:00

Happy to be in Lake Tahoe...Sad my camera's battery read full when we left the house, but now, for some unknown reason, it is dead. (I'd only shot five pictures.)

Happy to be here during a full blown snow storm...Sad all routes out of here require us crossing very high passes where the snow is measured in feet. (The news says stay put if you can.)

Happy to be able to see many great friends all together in one place this morning...Sad to watch a friend of nineteen years be put into the ground today. (Sharon, your kids carefully chose your plot with a view of the lake.)

Exciting News! (No, I'm Not Pregnant)

2010-11-14T18:00:00.000-08:00

I was going through my hard drive last night and came across this photo, taken my last day in Cambodia while we were touring the Angkor Wat temple.

If you read my blog, you may remember I was planning a return trip to Cambodia to attend my friend Ratha's wedding. That would have been at the end of August.

I ended up cancelling that trip. I also cancelled a mini-triathlon I was training for around that time. I rescheduled photo shoots, stopped blogging, and basically dropped out of life for a few months. I took that time to simplify my life. I was exhausted from always living life at full speed, doing things that weren't always best for me, but for others. I got over my fear of disappointing others and saying no. I spent less time on the computer and more with my kids. I reconnected with my husband and realized that a strong marriage must come before EVERYTHING else. Yes, that's a biggie.

One thing that will always be important to me is going on missions. Water, food, shelter, my husband and family, a good job, and humanitarian work...see, it ranks right up there on top.

With that said, my gypsy feet have been itching to travel again. So a few months ago, I signed up to serve another dental mission. This trip will be for 3 weeks, leaving mid-April. Words cannot express how excited I am to go again.

Guess how mean I am? I am not even telling you where I am going! Not yet!! I am cruelly going to make you guess, and I'll divulge the location later on.

Leave a comment and tell me where you think I'll be going. And you can't guess if I've already told you! Here are three hints:

1. It is in Asia
2. It is not Cambodia
3. I'll need a warm coat and trekkiing poles

Halloween Pictures

2010-11-01T14:47:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been so long since I have blogged I can barely remember the HTML code to post pictures. I'd love to share the last four months with y'all...

Anyway.

Here are some pictures from Halloween last night.

Another Check on Life's List

2010-09-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

Congratulations, Dale. At 8:01 this morning you reached the summit of Mt. Rainier. I am so proud of you. Way to not give up! I will see you soon.

Don't Waste Your Money on Therapy and Antidepressants, Just Visit the Third World

2010-07-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

I came back from Cambodia in January a different person. The experience changed my values, my relationships with my husband and kids, my view of money, my view of my own country and it's government and it's definition of poverty, and most of all, it changed my thoughts. I returned home feeling like the luckiest person in the whole world.

Stuff just didn't bug me anymore like it used to. I saw the positive side of every situation. For months, I rode that high. It was the best feeling ever (well, one of the best, heh). I saw the world through new eyes. I was grateful for everything. Knowing my children have access to education, opportunities, health care, food, and clean water. And hope. I'll never have to endure the helpless feeling of watching my children starve or die from treatable diseases. I'll never have to make the unthinkable decision of abandoning them or giving them up with the tiniest bit of hope that they will find a better life. They'll never loose a limb to a landmine, or sleep under a mosquito net, or be forced into slavery, or prostitution, or work for pennies in sweatshops so Old Navy provide us with the latest styles.

I was thankful for my home that provides me warmth, safety, security, and protection. I don't have to grill rats on the railroad tracks directly behind my shack built of sticks, right next to the bushes where I defecate. No, I don't have to do any of those things, and I knew I was lucky.

I was thankful that I have a good job. And a nice car. And a president who wants the best for my country. And freedom.

Seriously, you guys, I'd stand in my closet and think to myself, I'm so lucky to have shoes.

Do you know what it's like going through life feeling like you've struck gold? It's a feeling you never, ever want to loose.

But as I feared, I am starting to loose it.

I am starting to get hung up on stupid, trivial shit like I used to. The other day, I was in the drive-thru at my favorite coffee shop. And it was a Sunday, and it was taking forever. Why do they only employ one gal on Sundays when the rest of the week there's always two girls working? Why not spend a couple extra bucks for the second employee so the line can clip along like it usually does?? Ugh, so annoying.

Yesterday I sat down to do some photo editing, so I opened up Photoshop, and what's this? My format couldn't be recognized? As it turns out, because I have a new camera but a two-year-old version of Photoshop (I know! So ancient!) my RAW files cannot be edited. There's no way around it. Wait- there is. Upgrade from Photoshop CS3 to CS5 for a couple hundred bucks. The world heard a steady stream of expletives over that one. I was SO mad. Fuming. Pissed. Furious. Why can't life be fair!?? Why does stuff like this always have to happen??

I read a comment on an Adobe forum over this exact problem that contained the line "If you can afford the 5D Mark II, than you can afford to upgrade your software." That just made me more pissed!! I wanted to tell that guy, Look! I finally saved enough for that camera! You know, good old fashioned SAVING!! Not on credit, not borrowed, not given from mommy and daddy, but saved!! And I didn't buy it until I had enough! And I don't want to drop a few hundred more because Adobe changed the system!

The old me would have instantly thought...It's not the end of the world. I have the jpeg files as a back up. Jennifer Skog encouraged us to not bother shooting in RAW anyway. Shooting strictly in jpeg from here on out will actually improve my photography skills, since I won't rely on RAW to save my images. ...And how lucky am I to have access to such technology?

I miss the old me.

Sorry for the rant. Where was I, again?

Oh yes, Cambodia.

I can't wait to go back to Cambodia...so I can again have the feeling, every moment of everyday, that I've won the lottery.

I Could Not Think of a Title for This Post. I Really Couldn't.

2010-07-01T21:41:00.001-07:00

This is Darold. Remember him? From my mission?

Yes, I know that was MONTHS ago, but still. I think the moment he met me he decided that it'd be his life's mission to torture me. On our trip, there wasn't a minute that passed between us when there wasn't some form of teasing, fun-making, ridicule, or joking.

The first few days in Cambodia my ankles swelled to unbelievable proportions. It must have been caused by the flight that lasted longer than the Bush Administration, then made all the worse buy the stifling heat. This was simply delightful to Darold, as it provided him with all the more to tease me about. One time he said, "Ya know, Jess....I'm trying really hard to picture you with normal sized ankles. I just can't. Maybe someday when they return to normal, you could send me a picture?" And so I actually did. A few weeks after the trip I sent him the following email and picture:

Hi Darold. I tried to take a picture of my own ankles. As one could imagine, that is a difficult shot to capture, since you have to contort your body into unnatural positions. I drew a picture of my ankles instead. They have slimmed down quite a bit, as you can see. Love you.

Anyway, I endured this harassment then entire length of the trip. Sometimes I'd get fed up and say, "Can't you be nice? Can't you JUST TRY???" Then Darold would look off in the distance, squinting his eyes as though deep in thought, wait a few moments, then look back at me and say no. Then the torment would continue on.

In other words, we got along great.

Each day after eating our lunch, a few of us would go for a walk around the neighborhood of dirt roads surrounding the orphanage (remember the alligator pit??) One day towards the very end of the mission, I was walking along with Jim (who is Darold's partner). I don't remember what led up to this, but out of the blue Jim says, "Darold is putting Ratha through school, you know." I didn't know that. But in an instant it did make perfect sense. I mean, realistically, how would an orphan have the resources to go to dental school? He wouldn't.

Here I'd spent almost two full weeks with these people and it was the first I'd heard of this. As it turns out, Darold has done this Cambodia dental trip several times and met Ratha years ago when he served at Ratha's orphanage in Phnom Penh. I don't know all the details or timeline of how this all went down, but either way, it doesn't really matter. This whole thing is just right up my alley. Maybe it's because I've always cheered for life's underdog.

Later that day I confronted Darold about what Jim had told me. Honestly, one could really brag about this. Darold could've be all Why yes, it is quite noble of me to do this, you're right, but he wasn't. When I brought it up, he was pretty nonchalant about it. What he said was along the lines of "Well..you know Ratha is just such a great kid..." He simply passed along the compliment. While I do think Darold is fat, ugly, and stupid...there's a tiny part of me that thinks he's pretty awesome. Sometimes.

And Ratha IS a great kid. I call him a kid, probably because of his stature, but he's actually 24. He is the kind of person that the moment you meet him, you just want to tuck him safely under your wing and protect him from the perils of life. He has had, buy American standards, a pretty crappy life. But like he told me, he knew how lucky he was to be given up to the orphanage at age 11 because it saved him from child prostitution. Ratha is always laughing and smiling. Always. The second day we knew each other he said, very matter-of-factly, "You are my sister." And that's what he calls me. To me he is wise beyond his years. One day we were riding along in the truck and I was wearing flip-flops. I have this little patch of spider veins along the inside of my foot that was caused by my two pregnancies. I am a little self conscious of this, so when Ratha pointed to it, for a brief moment I braced myself to be teased. "Sister," he says. "This happened because you are a mother." In his emails he writes things like, "Thank you for coming to my country with your love, skill, and kindness."

Recently Ratha shared some very exciting news. He is getting married! And he said, "Sister, I love for you to come to my wedding. But I know this very hard for you."

He's right. It would be very hard for me. I mean, go all the way to Cambodia for a wedding? Who does he think I am? That's just crazy!!

Crazy.

There is this lens that I have been saving for. It's the Canon 70-200 2.8 with Image Stabilization. Do have ANY idea the beauty I could create with a lens like that? It is HAW-SOME. And I have wanted one since I was about 12.

But lately I've been thinking...I mean...like...how bad do I really need that lens anyway? I've survived so far without it, and I can always buy it later. Someday, when I reflect back on my life, will I even think about it? In my dying moments, as my life flashes before my eyes, will I see a picture of the UPS man on my front porch with a box in his hands from B&H Photo? (Although it is entirely possible. That lens IS pretty fantastic.)

But isn't life about living? Isn't it more about the people we love...our friends, our family, our experiences, our adventures, our memories, and less about our stuff?

I made my travel arrangements yesterday.

Haley's Garden Cake

2010-06-26T22:52:00.000-07:00

Our office threw a baby shower for Haley last week (#3! Finally a boy!) and I happily accepted the job of Cake Lady (come to think of it, though, I've been Cake Lady for all our office get togethers for the past several years). Anyhoo, I chose to do a garden cake instead of something actually baby related. The garden would represent Haley's family. I even stuck a little "wooden" sign in the garden that read:

Haley's Garden

Watch it Grow

See? It is a metaphor for her adding another child to her family. Look at me, thinking all deep! Did you know I had that side to me?

For Father's Day

2010-06-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

Just me and my little bratty brattertons. They stopped fighting long enough to get through the shoot! It was great! Oh, and the jumping picture...all Bella's idea.

Thank you Amy and Forrest Cooper!

June Birthday Cakes

2010-06-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

With Dale's intensive mountain climbing the past several months, he's lost a ton of weight. Like 20 pounds on his already slim frame. I have been thinking he's been looking almost too skinny. I joke with him that he's starting to look prepubescent. He says he won't stop loosing weight until you can count all of his vertebrae...from the front.

I tell him that I am secretly sabotaging him behind his back. I'll bring him home a great big mocha from Starbucks, then after it's gone I'll ask how the extra whipped cream tasted. I'm all "It didn't clog up the little sippy hole, did it? Mua-haha..."

I added extra butter to the frosting on his birthday cake this year.

While we're on the subject of his cake, I had a hard time deciding what to make for him. Bella and I were in the kitchen, and I was throwing out some ideas to her, which all were complicated. "Mommmmmmmm....", she said, rolling her eyes and pointing out the obvious. "Why don't you just make him a Mt. Rainier cake?"

It was genius! Why hadn't I thought of that?

So a Mt. Rainier cake the kids and I made, the night before meeting dad up on the mountain. I woke up the next day and to my horror realized that the gray/black food coloring had faded to varying shades of blue. When I pointed it out to Dale, he was all, "No honey, when you're up there, the glaciers really are blue!"

For Bella's birthday cake she wanted a tooth. With her recent baby teeth loosing events, coupled with a mom who is a "dentist", I guess this is her new favorite thing. So a tooth it was! And as everyone knows...it's two roots and four cusps makes it a mandibular second molar.

Bella at her party with Uncle Eric (my handsome little brother!)

"Are You Going to Let Your Husband Climb Again?"

2010-06-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the questions and remarks I have been getting from people when they hear about Dale's experience on Mt. Rainier.

"Let's keep that boy home!"

"A thrill seeker, is he? One of those adrenaline junkies?"

"You need to keep him off the mountain for a while."

"Are you going to let him climb again?"

In my heart, I know people ask this because they care. I get it. But when I tell people that he has plans to climb again, I am getting a lot of raised eyebrows and "Hmmm....s" and "Ohhhh.....s". I had one friend flat out argue me and imply that he was basically reckless and putting his dangerous hobbies before his family.

That would be like me saying to someone, "I've noticed your husband has gained a lot of weight around his mid-section. That drastically increases his chances of dying from heart disease, you know." Or to my friend Erin, who is married to a cop, "Erin, I know Matt is beyond passionate about his job and loves it with everything that he has, but don't you know how many police officers die in the line of duty each year? Maybe he should find a new line of work, at least until your two children are grown."

Honestly, to give you a little insight to our marriage, we don't "let" or "not let" each other do anything. Listen. Dale loves mountain climbing. He is not a thrill seeker or an adrenaline junky. He likes to physically challenge himself and meet his goals, and there's a big difference. The guy has never even tasted alcohol. He is responsible and reliable, and if climbing mountains lights his fire, well, then I am behind him all the way.

You can't live your life in a safe little bubble. In 1998 my husband was diagnosed with stage II Hodgkin's Lymphoma. One of his tumors took up 1/3 the width of his chest. My point is...life is meant to be lived. What if I said, "No way, no more mountain climbing!" and he had another giant tumor growing in his body?

We support each other. He knows how passionate I am about my missionary work...even though I could catch Malaria, or AIDS, or Dengue Fever, or die from food poisoning, or in a plane crash, or I could die on the way to the airport. He backs me up because he knows I come back from those trips a happier, more grateful person who counts every blessing and doesn't waste a single moment sweating the small stuff.

I know how lucky I am to have a husband who supports my dreams, and I want to fully support his dreams, too. He is an amazing husband, and he deserves that from me. And yes, he has signed up to attempt the summit of Mt. Rainier again in September...and I'll be there, sitting at the computer watching his satellite tracker, cheering him on the whole way.

My Little Birthday Girl

2010-06-14T22:19:00.000-07:00

Happy 6th Birthday, my sweet little Tootsie Pop.

Dale's Experience on Mt. Rainier

2010-06-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned lately that my husband has taken up mountain climbing? Well, he has. I think he caught the bug when we climbed Mt. Ellinor in the Olympics late last summer, and one day not long after that the UPS man showed up on our front porch with a gigantic box and I was all, are we getting a new refrigerator? No, not a new fridge, but a complete compliment of mountaineering equipment from REI. For Dale.

Dude, he was so lucky we keep separate finances. I'd joke with him that he took up mountaineering because road biking just wasn't nearly expensive or dangerous enough for him.

Around that same time, Dale signed up to Climb Mt. Rainier for his 36th birthday and began intensive training. More than once I saw him busting it out on our StairMaster, wearing just his underwear, a full pack, and boots, covered in sweat. Ahh, a visual treat. He worked really, really, hard to prepare. He not only conditioned physically, but devoured any book, magazine, or video dedicated to Mt. Rainier or mountaineering in general. Dale never half-asses anything, and I trusted his judgement and abilities and supported this venture wholeheartedly. Dale does not take foolish risks, and I don't worry about him.

On Wednesday, Dale left for the mountain. Orientation would be that afternoon. Thursday would be training day, where they learned and practiced maneuvers like the self-arrest technique. Friday they would depart base camp and climb to Camp Muir at 10,000', where they would spend the night (Camp Muir is very small and basic. No electricity or running water. It has several plywood bunks for the climbers to sleep on and take refuge from the elements. That's about it). Then the plan intended for Saturday would be to wake up around midnight, where the guides would assess the weather and climbing conditions, then give the green light (climbing Gods willing) to depart and head for the summit. Once the summit is been reached, then the group climbs all the way back down that same day. That's how the plan goes on paper, anyway.

This is Camp Muir:

Dale has a satellite tracker that he wears when he climbs. It's the niftiest little gadget. It sends out a signal every ten minutes, and I can track him on the Internet. So Saturday at about midnight I was glued to the computer screen, waiting for his little signal to start moving. Finally at 2:20am, his group of 6 guides and 16 climbers (which included a father/son team from New York, a laid-back British guy, two Jet Blue pilots, a few guys from Colorado and Minnesota, several Seattle "locals", and Dale and his good friend Chris) finally left camp and headed up. I was so worried that the weather wouldn't cooperate and that he would be let down. I was so proud of him. Even if he didn't reach the summit, I was still so happy that they were making their way up the mountain. I finally went to bed.

Dale on the left, with his friend Chris.

I got up at 8:30 that same morning. I could have stayed up all night and tracked his progress, but I did have to get some sleep at least, since our plan was for the kids and me to drive up to the mountain later that afternoon where we'd watch Dale and his group come down. From there we'd have dinner, celebrate his birthday, and spend the night at the Paradise Lodge. When I checked that computer after getting up, I was a little confused at the route that I saw:

I was like what in the world? (Or better put, WTF???) I looked out our bedroom window to see if the "mountain was out" (yes, that's an official phrase for all you non-locals) and it wasn't. Hmm...cloudy. So they'd been turned around because of the weather. I was sure that was it. It didn't seem too cloudy, though, but I didn't really dwell on it. So I got the kids up and started running around getting everything ready since we would be heading up there sooner than planned.

We hit the road for our uneventful 2+ hour drive. When we were within the National Park but still had about a half hour drive to the actual mountain, Bella says to me from the back seat,

Bella: "Is Mt. Rainier the tallest mountain in the world?"

Me: "No"

"Well which one is?"

"Mt. Everest."

"Has dad climbed that one?"

"No," I chuckled, "But he'd like to."

"I don't want him to. ...A lot of people die up there."

Turns out she'd been paying more attention to Dale's mountaineering documentaries that I'd realized.

"Yes...sometimes they do. But don't worry about dad. He'll be ok."

But with that conversation I could no longer ignore that nagging gut feeling I'd been fighting all morning. I had been reassuring myself that the clouds had rolled in and made for poor visibility, and the clouds had of course brought snow, making the guides turn them around. But the weather was fine, and that didn't explain away their erratic path, or the fact that they had sat in one spot for over an hour. My stomach dropped considering that they probably turned back because something bad had happened.

Dale met me in the parking lot of the visitor's center. He hadn't been able to check into our room yet, so he just waited outside for me. All in all, I knew he'd been ok, since I had tracked him back down the mountain too. But I was really happy to see him all in one piece. Before I even had one foot out of the car, he said, "Boy do I have a story for you."

And boy did he have a story for me.

It's better in his words, because it's his story. This is taken directly from his journal (this starts at Camp Muir, second climbing day, attempting to head to the summit):

Chris and Dale in their bunk, looking all cozy:

Saturday June 5th, SUMMIT DAY!
“Ok guys, it’s 1:30, the weather is great with light wind and no precipitation...Here is some boiling water for your breakfast and be ready with your crampons, harness, helmet and headlamps on in one hour...We have a good shot at the top today”! All of our moods went from exhausted and sleepless to excited and anxious. Outside the guides called out the names of the climbers that would be grouped together in roped teams. My partner Chris and I were teamed up with Thomas, the guide who was from New Zealand. We were to be the second team to leave. The lead team consisted of two lead guides, Tyler and Adam, with four climbers in between them. The third and forth rope teams had five climbers each, not counting the three guides, Caroline, Mark and Tim. Looking across the Cowlitz Glacier to our first obstacle, Cathedral Gap, we could see a little trail of eight or so headlamps that were already on the trail to the top. They were not affiliated with RMI or any other guide service, rather a string of private unguided climbers hoping to reach the summit in a few hours. We headed off into the blackness with only a spot of light shining on the snow at our feet about eight feet in diameter. We followed team number one across the glacier. I was at the end of our team with my partner in the middle and Thomas our guide leading from the front. The spacing was about thirty feet between us.

The silence on the mountain was pierced by the sound of my ice axe spike plunging into the snow on my left side and my crampons making a metallic crunching sound below my feet. There was no wind and the moon was shining bright behind me. As we wound ourselves across the glacier and up the series of steep switch backs to gain the ridge on Cathedral Gap, I could start to hear the two way radios of the guides start to come alive. The team ahead of me was steadily making their way up the ridge and starting to make the small but tricky descent onto Ingraham Flat at the head of the Ingraham Glacier.

A warning from Tyler came over the radio about iffy snow conditions and to take it slow and easy so conditions could be assessed. There was a crust about two inches thick over the top of bottomless layer of powder. It was tricky climbing though this as you could hear chunks of ice would break off the surface with each step and go skittering down the glacier surface and into the abyss. Thomas our guide stopped us and instructed us to wait until Tyler and Adam in team number one said it was ok to continue. The call came over the radio to head cautiously onto Ingraham Flat and group up with all four teams. A feeling of “this is the end of the climb” was staring to embed itself in all of us. For God sakes, we were only ninety minutes into the climb! The guides unroped from their respective teams and met to devise a game plan. After a few minutes (these few minutes most likely saved our lives), Adam addressed all of the climbers. He told us that the snow conditions were very borderline right now and needed to be properly tested before a decision to climb the base of the Ingraham Headwall and gain the ridge of Disappointment Cleaver could be made. One climber pointed to the string of lights that we saw earlier who were now traversing the base of the head wall. Adam quickly replied with sharp emotion, “I don’t give a shit what those climbers are doing! If we decide we can climb just because they are, and we make it to the top, we then have to deal with possible worse snow conditions on the descent after the morning sun has made the snow even more unstable." He continued on, "We will walk fifteen minutes ahead, dig a snow pit to measure crust depth, angle of rapose, and sloughing, and then make an educated decision to continue or turn back."

The guides went back to their respective teams and roped in for the walk. Five minutes later, from behind me, I heard a frantic yell from the guide over the radio. “Tyler! Run!” My head shot up to look at Tyler’s team ahead of us, and I caught a glimpse of a huge avalanche sliding down the Ingraham Headwall one hundred and fifty yards in front of us and the team of headlamps disappear into the tidal wave of snow. A huge plume of powder was airborne and doubling in size with each second. I then focused on Thomas who was pointing to the right and shouting “RUN, RUN, RUN!” Instinctively, my partner and I wasted no time attempting to get out of the direct path of the plume headed straight for us. We were only able to run thirty feet or so before we ran out of time and dove into the snow, assumed the self arrest position (ice axe dug in deep over my right shoulder, shaft of the ice axe diagonal across my torso with my left hand gripping the spike end for dear life, and kicking foot holds wildly into the snow while keeping a low rigid position) and braced for the unknown. Thoughts of being swept down the glacier and deposited into a crevasse overcame me. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself, as the loud freight train sound enveloped us and the snow plume blew over the top of the teams. I don’t know how long the whole event lasted, but it seemed very surreal, as if I was in a movie. I thought, “I just turned 36 and this is how it ends?" As soon as it hit us it was gone. Covered in a light layer of snow, Thomas got to his feet and yelled back at us, “Get up and get out of here!” We hurried as fast as we could a few hundred feet lower in elevation to a safer area and the glacier. A call came over the radio that Tyler and Adam from the lead team were heading to the debris field to search for the buried climbers.

We could hear the shrill beeps of their avalanche transceivers as they were attempting to locate survivors. After fifteen minutes of silence, “We have pulled five out, one is unconscious but breathing and more are still buried...We will continue our search and notify NPS (National Park Service) to get help up here." Even during the chaos and urgency of the whole situation, Tyler and Adam were very calm and precise in their radio transmissions. I instantly gained a whole new respect for what mountain guides do on a daily basis. It was the foresight of these individuals who made the right call to have us abort our attempt at the summit due to unsafe snow conditions within minutes of the unthinkable happening to us. The sixteen of us “weekend enthusiasts” were lucky to be alive and we all knew it. At this point, the disappointment of not making the summit faded away to feelings of appreciation to be alive and in such capable hands as these guides from RMI. I now realize the $1000 dollar price tag for hiring a reputable guide service just paid me back one hundred fold, a thousand times over! Rescue efforts continued as the remaining guides roped us all together as one team of sixteen climbers. We made our descent to the top of Cathedral Gap and waited on the ridge until further notice from Tyler and Adam. Everyone now had a chance to collect their thoughts and assess injuries that went unnoticed in the chaos of the scramble to flee danger. The only woman climber of our group of sixteen had managed to pierce her inner thigh on her right leg with her crampons. She was ok and was capable of making it down. Lots of people had torn pants and gaitors from running in crampons. I luckily escaped with no injury to myself or damage to my clothing.

This photo is one our lead guide, Tyler, took of the avalanche.

We were about 200 yards closer to the avalanche when it hit. You can see Tyler, Adam, and Mark (our guides) digging out the buried climbers.

Thirty minutes later, two climbers were helping an older Asian climber down to our spot on the ridge. They dropped their equipment and pulled the Asian climber’s hat off and his hair was saturated with blood. He had big cuts on his head and they attempted to bandage it with butterfly bandages from a first aid kit. This was one of the climbers buried in the avalanche and in broken English, he pointed to the top of the mountain and said, “Go up?” To which one of the climbers that helped him down replied, (using lots of hand gestures) “NO, GO DOWN!”, pointing at the ground. He was probably confused from his injury. “You are done! You were just in an avalanche, you are done!” This guy didn’t have a backpack, helmet, ice axe or harness. Meaning he wasn’t roped and he didn’t have any supplies other than his coat and goggles. Unbelievable! The two climbers took him down to get him medical attention. Just then and rescue climber from the NPS showed up and Thomas briefed him on the situation. Finally Tyler and Adam had help on the way. We got the ok to descend to Camp Muir and because I was on the far end of the rope, Thomas instructed me to lead all sixteen climbers and the remaining four guides across the Cowlitz Glacier and into camp. Secretly I was excited to have such an important job! It was my time to shine!

We made it down safely and Thomas shook my hand and said, “Good job leading mate” in his New Zealand accent. We all packed our remaining items which were left in the bunk house and headed back down to Paradise with mixed emotions.

Boy Do I Have a Story Coming...

2010-06-06T14:19:00.000-07:00

I have a big post coming, with pictures, video and all. I hopefully will have it done tonight. But the extremely condensed version goes like this:

My husband attempted to climb Mt. Rainier this weekend for his 36th birthday. Unfortunately he did not reach the summit...but was nearly swept away an avalanche that buried 11 and killed 2 right in front of him.

I am very happy my husband will see 37.

The Wishing Flower

2010-05-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, these turned out a little blurry, but I still like 'em.

I Love You, Man in Brown Shorts

2010-05-28T19:24:00.000-07:00

Dear UPS man,

You've really outdone yourself this time. This is your best delivery yet.

With Love, Your #1 Fan

Only in Cambodia, Part III

2010-05-26T14:54:00.000-07:00

When I travel, I have a certain rule that I stick by: Never Be Without Your Camera.

Working in the orphanage, we had a little lunch time routine of going for a walk once we finished eating. On our very last day working there, a few of us headed out for our usual walk around the neighborhood. The orphanage sits on a dusty, dirt road which is one of several dirt roads configured in a grid. We had our same usual route. There was never really a whole lot to see, just mostly lots of palm trees and a few homes. On this particular day, I went to grab my camera, then thought, I don't need to lug around that big old thing today. I've done this same walk a gazillion times and have already photographed anything worthy of a picture. Yes, folks, I broke my own rule.

Some of the kids from the orphanage had joined us that day. I had fallen behind the group, and I think I was with Jim, when someone from up front called back to us and said the kids were gonna show us the alligator farm.

Ahh...Only in Cambodia. The theme Cambodia Does Not Have Lawyer appropriately and equally applies here too, as you will soon read.

Now, this "alligator farm" is the adjacent property NEXT TO the orphanage, and the kids knew right were to go. This whole scene is hard to describe, but I'll do my best since I only have two pictures. From the front, it was pretty much a normal looking house, set back from the road just a bit. We walked back in behind it, and I didn't see anyone else around besides those of us in our group. Behind the house was this kind of concrete patio area with some chickens running around, a few monkeys in cages, and if my memory serves me right, I may have seen a peacock or two. It was all very makeshift, like those stories you hear of people keeping exotic animals illegally, cuddling with their Siberian tigers until they are interviewed from hospital beds, arms and legs ripped off because their wild animal followed it's instincts and turned into, well, a wild animal, and ate it's master's limbs for breakfast. And they're all, "I've raised Fluffy since she was a kitten, when I smuggled her home from that African safari we went on five years ago. I don't know why she'd turn on me like this."

We followed a path further into the jungle, then up a ramp into dwelling best described as a glorified tree house. From there we turned to the right and walked out into the open again, finding ourselves out over these alligator pits. So it was us, some railing, and ten feet below were hungry alligators. There were different sections, grouping these man-eaters by, I'm guessing, stages of maturity. Damn, no camera.

I never would have told this story without pictures. It's just too crazy. But I got these from Dave.

Honestly, this first pic does not even do it justice. Some of the pits had to have had upwards of a hundred alligators.

Aww...'lil babies.

Oh wait! It gets worse! We walked further down (we were basically on catwalks over these pits) and then there wasn't any railing! Like, you could just fall in! And the kids that were with us obviously had been there before because they were all running around like they knew the place inside and out.

Now, of course I wanted to get eye-level with these kids and in my caring-yet-stern mommy voice tell them not to come play here! Because they could fall in! And the alligators would eat them in one bite! But how do you do that when they don't speak English and you don't speak Khmer? Even in translation, how do you convey the importance of that?

Only in Cambodia, Part II

2010-05-26T10:57:00.000-07:00

Often chickens would wander into our dental clinic and we'd have to chase them back outside.

Ahh...only in Cambodia.

One day I was walking back to the orphanage from using the bathroom (two words: squatty potty), and I noticed one of the chicken's feathers looked...sort of...red. Hmm...Strange, yes, but I didn't think much of it. Then the next day, another chicken with white feathers looking a faded shade of blue.

Later on, I found out (and I swear I am not bullshitting you here) that at the orphanage, for entertainment...the kids enjoy that good old family favorite activity of watching cock fights.

No really, I guess they somehow dye one of the chickens, then introduce it to the other chickens who then recognize it as a stranger and attack it. And these orphans, the sweetest, most well behaved, God loving kids partake in this violent activity for fun. I never actually witnessed this myself, but I did see the evidence of the colored chickens.

Now how does this even fly (no pun intended, heh) that in this Christian-run orphanage? Because apparently, cock fighting is in the bible.

Only in Cambodia, Part I

2010-05-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

Remember how I said I could write a thousand posts with the theme "Cambodia Does Not Have Lawyer"? Well, I could also write just as many themed "Only in Cambodia".

One day, during one of our morning walks, we walked through the temple grounds. There was a big, beautiful temple (obviously) in the center of the compound, with several smaller buildings including monks' quarters surrounding it, a cemetery, and an outdoor crematorium all set on the banks of the Serei Sophorn river.

We stop and talk to these monks, and one of them, through his broken English, asks us if we'd like to see his monk elder who had recently passed away.

*blink*

*blink blink*

Sure, we said, and followed him into one of the smaller buildings. Now let me back up here and explain something about myself. There is a great battle that goes on in my mind when it comes to death. One half of me has a very strong morbid curiosity. That's the part of me that would be fascinated by watching an autopsy. Then there's the other half, that has an extremely low creep point. That's the part that after watching said autopsy would go home and have nightmares about it for weeks. So as we follow this monk, my mind is screaming- Scary! Don't go! Cool! Interesting! Don't look!! Turn around and run!

We enter this small building as the monk runs ahead and starts turning on all of these switches, illuminating the place with brightly colored Christmas lights, all blinking and twinkling. There were candles and incense, the whole scene kind of had a birthday party feel to it. I half expected to see a mariachi band playing in the corner.

The corpse was in a glass coffin that seemed to me to be like a life sized fish tank. The younger monk was quite proud of this display, you could tell, as he explained that this elder had been on display here for three months, and would stay here for three years (YIKES!) I noticed he had little cotton balls up his nose, which I assumed was to keep the cartilage from collapsing. And since you were wondering...no, I didn't smell anything.

These pictures are from Dave's collection, since I didn't have the guts to take any:

I haven't had any nightmares about this. Guess that means I am growing up.

Yearbook Yourself

2010-05-15T08:43:00.000-07:00

Check out Yearbookyourself.com

I have actually sported most of these hair styles at one time or another in my life. I am sort of liking my 1940s war-bride look here in this first one.

Cambodia Slideshow

2010-05-05T21:41:00.000-07:00

I just made a slide show of my dental mission. I put my heart into it so I'd love for you to enjoy it. I cannot post it directly here on Blogger, as they limit videos to 10 minutes and mine is 14.

Here is a link to my public Facebook page. If the video isn't right there on the profile page, go to the far left of the page, scroll down a bit, and it should be there under Videos.

So make yourself cozy and enjoy! Oh, and there's music, so make sure your volume is up, and I think it's better to watch on full screen. Click here: Facebook Jessica Johnson Ackley

That's a HUGE Load

2010-05-05T09:04:00.000-07:00

Yes, another Cambodia story.

One day Ratha and I were working in the clinic where I had just gotten a patient into the chair. He was a teenage boy. Always when I first see a patient I take a thorough look around their mouth, a reconnaissance, if you will. This boy had two fillings in between his two front teeth. Rarely did I see any existing restorations on the patients I saw on my mission, as the majority of the kids had never seen a dentist. So I stop and stare at these two fillings. They were horrific. They looked like they were made out of white Play-Dough, blob-like, with no attempt to smooth them or make them fit the anatomy of the teeth. Honestly, I could have done a better job my first day of dental school. Blindfolded.

Ratha sees these fillings, too, and notices I have stopped to stare at them. "A dentist did not do this." he says. Our conversation continues.

Me: "Well if a dentist did not do this..........WHO DID??"

R: "A dental practitioner."

Me: "What's a dental practitioner?", a position I have never heard of.

Ratha goes on to say, in his limited English, that in Cambodia, about 75% of the "dentists" there aren't even dentists at all. Often what happens is maybe someone knows a real dentist, and they talk them into showing them the ropes, then good enough, they open up shop and start practicing dentistry. And they are referred to as dental practitioners.

I ask Ratha if there is someone to regulate this. He gives me the look that he gives me when I talk too fast, or use phrases or words he does not understand. It's a look he gave me about a hundred times a day during our mission. "You know," I said, "Someone that makes sure this doesn't happen?"

"Sister," (he always called me sister) "Cambodia not like America. Cambodia does not have lawyer."

Which explains a lot, really. I would write a thousand posts with the theme "Cambodia does not have lawyer".

Anyway...On with my story.

My first day in this new land, we were driving along and something caught my eye, and for a brief moment I thought, HOLY CRAP IT'S THE IKEA HALF YEARLY SALE.

But no, I quickly realized, as I saw these massive loads all over the place. Really, I don't understand how they even load these little trucks so high. Do they use ladders?? Pull up really close to buildings and load from a second story window?

As if these loads weren't scary or dangerous enough...you'd see people riding on them!

Also, it seems that when it comes to riding on a moto in Cambodia, the more the merrier. Check out this picture. Dad with baby on his lap, dad has a helmet, baby doesn't.

Heading off to school, perhaps.

Count 'em. Four heads.

See the baby?

I did ride on a moto once there. I talked Jock into taking me to the Internet cafe in town so I could call Dale. I assumed we'd walk. But no. Jock asked the security guard at the hotel to take us. The security guard goes and gets his moto, they climb on while I just stand there. They both look at me like, Um hello, hop on. So the three of us head off in the dark, with me holding on for dear life, feverishly praying for safety.

Siblings Road Trip, Oh-Ten!

2010-05-03T18:40:00.000-07:00

So yeah, my older sister Jenn and my younger brother Eric have been training for a half marathon for the past several months and always in the back of my mind, I'd think, have a good time with that. I did a half last summer, and let's just say it was the longest 13 miles of my life and I vowed I'd never put myself through that again. This event was to be held down in Reno, and several of our "Tahoe Friends" would be joining them.

On Wednesday I got a wild idea, and I called my sister at work to see if she minded if I joined them for the weekend. I would ride with them down to Nevada, see our friends, and be the official half-marathon photographer. Within a matter of minutes and a few phone calls later, it was a done deal.

Friday afternoon, my sister, her husband, and my brother picked me up and we headed down I-5. To say the least, my sister and brother are some of my favorite people on the planet. They are SO funny, I spent the majority of the trip in the back seat of my brother-in-law's truck laughing so hard I was almost peeing my pants. Whenever people tell me they think I am funny, I always think you should meet my siblings. Besides being funny, us "Johnson kids" all share the ability to read while riding in the car. We each were able to read an entire book, and my sister finished off two. This was my view for much of the trip:

We spent the night in Susanville, CA. I didn't fall into a deep sleep, as my brain was on high alert to not allow my body to forget who I was sleeping next to and accidentally cuddle with my brother. Here we are the next morning, leaving the hotel in search for the nearest Starbucks. Clearly I am incapable of applying makeup without caffeine on board.

We arrived in Reno a short time later and met our friends for breakfast. While we were eating, someone got the bright idea to mention I should register to run with them. I think I had mentioned that I had brought along my running shoes, (not with the intention of actually running, though). Once it was brought up, everyone joined in and finally, I said what the heck? Why not?

We headed downtown to the Eldorado Casino where I registered, and we picked up our race packets. Here we are at the marathon trade show, were we sampled the latest in protein bars and energy drinks.

The next morning we awoke at 4:30 (still didn't sleep well), left the house by 5:45, and here we all are at the starting line. I ended up running in what I had intended to be my pajamas.

Rachel and I stuck together since we had trained the least. Rachel had trained some, while I haven't actually ran in like...I don't even know the last time I ran, to be honest. I always work out, but running is my least favorite form of exercise so I never do it. During the race we ran some, walked some, ran some, etc. I am proud to say I beat my time from last year! Here we are crossing the finish line.

My sister, brother, and me. Yes, that IS a Shelton High School Highclimber's track jersey my brother is wearing.

My brother

We went to lunch afterwards. Rachel and I split off from the group and she took me to her favorite sushi restaurant. Sushi and all-you-can-eat are some of the best words in existence, if you ask me, and I ate myself into raw fish oblivion. It was some of the best I have ever had. Sushi in the desert? Sure.

While we originally weren't going to drive home until Monday morning, we ended up leaving that same day after lunch. Lemme just say riding couped up in the backseat of a truck for 13 hours after pounding the pavement for 13 miles is just plain inhumane. Here are a few pics from the road.

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We were so uncomfortable. Whenever we stopped for ice cream, corn nuts, and pop, we would groan and creak and waddle our way into the gas station, wincing and arguing over who was in the most pain. Eric was all "Man, I am going to need to use a Rover 'Round tomorrow if I go to the grocery store."

They dropped me off at 1:00 this morning. Glad I didn't have to work today. I am walking pretty stiff-legged.

I Could Not Think of a Title for This Post. I Really Couldn't.

2010-04-24T00:23:00.000-07:00

Ever Experienced Durian?

2010-04-21T14:54:00.000-07:00

The first time I ever heard of durian was when my sister-in-law Dawn told me about it. Durian is a fruit that grows in Southeast Asian countries. Dawn spent her teenage years living in Malaysia while her dad worked there for Boeing. She was like "Yeah there's like this fruit that smells really, really bad..."

To call it foul is like giving it a compliment. It is illegal to take durian on public transportation (in Cambodia, at least). As in, You brought this retched fruit with you onto the train. Now everyone is puking. Thanks a lot. Here's your fine. I was pretty much under the impression that although it smells bad, it tastes fine, because when I asked the dental students if they eat durian, they were all, "Yes. Durian good." The looks on their faces were like hello, duh.

I was curious about this, and when we were in Siem Reap Darold pointed some out to me. I laugh every time I see this picture. When I brought it up to my nose, I thought to myself, Oh yes. I've smelled this before. In the market. But I just thought I was walking past a stall selling filled cow intestines that had been left out in the sun for five days.

I actually tasted some at the CACO party after we'd gotten home. It was baked into a custard. And yep, still nasty. I am a pretty brave eater, but no amount of sugar can make that awfulness palatable to me.

A Few More from the Boudoir Shoot

2010-04-14T19:52:00.000-07:00

Because My Boss Loves a Good Mormon Joke

2010-04-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

My boss is Mormon. I've talked about this on my blog before. He and I kind of have this brother and sister, make fun of each other at every given moment kind of relationship. We'll joke that he has so many kids that he can't remember all their names, or I'll throw in a polygamy joke on occasion, too. "I don't need more wives," he'll say. "I already have ten at the office that nag me and boss me around."

The Mormon Missionaries visit my house all the time. Seriously, like every couple of months. Sometimes it's the same ones, and sometimes it's new ones. I have respect for what they do, because I know that deep in their hearts, they are serving God the best way they have been taught. They have to make many difficult sacrifices and face a lot of flack for doing so. Even poor Dr. Bowers got a Slurpee thrown at him from a passing car while diligently riding his bike when he was on his mission. So because of that, I am always nice to them. Always. But at the same time, I am always honest with them, too. If I can sense that they can take a joke, I'll be all dramatic and say, "I can't become a Mormon!! You guys would make me give up coffee! It's my favorite thing in the whole WORLDDDDDDD! And why do you want me to suffer like that???" But sometimes when they start into their spiel I'll just stop them and say, "Look you guys. I am never going to become a Mormon. I have tons of Mormon friends, and I have done a lot of research on your religion and have a great deal of respect for many parts of it and what you're doing, but it's just never going to happen, and I don't want to waste your time out here." Then I'll change the subject, and ask them where they're from, how they like Washington, how their mission is going so far. Their little name tags only say their last name. One time I said to one of them, "Hey, what's your first name? WAIT! Don't tell me. Is it Paul? You look like a Paul."

"Nope. It's Sean."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Sean. Can I still call you Paul?"

One day at work I asked Dr. Bowers why they still come by my house, even when I tell them every time that I'll never join their church. "Is there like a gigantic map of Shelton at the Missionary Headquarters, with a little push pin marking my house, with a post-it saying Stop by there. She'll be nice. She may even invite you in for dinner?" (I did this once. They accepted. We ate lasagna.)

"Well," he said, "Maybe something like that. Or maybe they stop by often because you live in a neighborhood with lots of houses, kinda like trick-or-treating," then he pauses and gets a serious look on his face. "Or it's because God is sending them."

"Righttt...because my soul needs saving?" I'll laugh and roll my eyes.

So yesterday I left this picture on his desk with a little note saying Even in the far reaches of Cambodia, I cannot seem to escape them.

Boudoir Workshop with Jennifer Skog

2010-04-10T00:14:00.000-07:00

So while I have been blogging about my Cambodia mission for the past three months, life has been going on, as they say. In march I attended an AWESOME workshop in Las Vegas taught by the amazing and talented photographer, Jennifer Skog.

I have been a fan of Jennifer's photography for a few years now, specifically her boudoir work. Everytime I snoop at her blog, I always amazed at her ability to keep her subjects looking classy, tasteful, but still sexy at the same time. She always manages to stay on the appropriate side of that very delicate line. I believe a woman's beautiful body should celebrated, and Jennifer is so great at what she does.

So just before I left for Cambodia she posted this upcoming workshop on her blog. I was already spending a ton of money to go on the mission, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn from the very best. So I signed up...and I am so glad I did. It was a super fun class. It was a small workshop, so we go a lot of individual attention, and I left that day armed with all kinds of tips and tricks for my next shoot. Can't wait!

Here is Jennifer in action:

Not surprising, Jenn is also a fabulous wedding photographer. We had a model who was actually one of Jenn's recent brides. Her name was Steph, she was a great sport, had a stunning body, and was absolutely up for anything. She made the already-fun class even more fun!

This is another student shooting:

We paired off and two-by-two directed our own little shoot. This is the gal I partnered with:

Here are a couple of my favorite shots from the workshop. They are a little on the racy side...so please...if you think you may be offended by this type of thing, then just don't scroll down any further. :)

I've never done a boudoir shoot before, so this was all new to me...and I am kinda proud of myself. I liked how some of these turned out:

Mommy Day

2010-04-07T12:41:00.000-07:00

Bella's been bugging me to get a pedicure for, like, months. I've been ignoring this request up until now because of my intense fear of creating a diva. First a pedicure, then a cell phone, than an American Express card, then she'd want personal assistant. And overmydeadbody am I going to raise a spoiled brat.

But ya know what? She's a great kid. She's polite and kind and respectful and doesn't give us a lick of trouble. She presented us with a stellar kindergarten report card and her teacher raved about her as well during her recent parent-teacher conference.

Ya know what else? I decided that giving her a reward for all her efforts probably won't create a monster. We discussed, at length, the benefits of working hard and meeting our responsibilities. I mean, that concept applies in real life, right? It's called a paycheck.

And while I still have pangs of guilt treating my 5-year-old to a pedicure when there are 5-year-olds in Cambodia dying of abscessed teeth, earlier today we sat side-by-side at the spa and enjoyed an hour of pampering. She loved it, and even better...she said thank you for it.

She chose blue polish. That little rebel.

Teaching us to NOT be ugly Americans

2010-04-04T18:49:00.000-07:00

I know I still need to blog about Road Trip part II, but in the mean time, I wanted to share this picture.

This is one of my teammates' pictures. I LOVE seeing everyone's pictures from the trip. Love it. I love seeing that they captured things that I didn't, or saw things in a different way, or having memories come back that I'd otherwise forgotten.

When I came across this one, at first I thought, what is going on in this picture? But when I realized what it was, I remembered. I love the little story this picture tells. It was at the start of the mission, we had arrived at the orphanage to set up the clinic and were leaving for the hotel. We had just met the dental students and they were teaching us the proper way you hold your hands together up to your face and bow when you say hello/thank you/goodbye. This polite gesture helped us stand out like sore thumbs just a little less.

Chapter 7 Road Trip! Thailand

2010-04-03T18:24:00.000-07:00

What's up with my blogging block lately? Where have I been? I used to love blogging...I still do. But it seems to have fallen further and further down my list.

Am I spending too much time on Facebook?

And another thing I just can't believe is that here it is April, it's been three months since I was in Cambodia, and I am only about HALF WAY through sharing my adventures. I guess that means only one thing: Time for me to get back on the wagon.

Seems so strange to continue telling the story since Mike has died. I had a patient last week pretty much imply that it was wreck less of me to travel and work in a country so "unsafe", and what was I thinking doing this when I have two small kids at home and not to mention that I am a "fragile" woman? "I never leave the United States," he said. "I don't even cross the border into Canada because I can't pack my gun." I told him that those were all things that I'd considered. Then I told him about Mike. After loosing my dad without warning almost 5 years ago, I realized that you never know what tomorrow is going to bring, and Mike's death just reinforced that. If you want to do something, think it through, weigh your options, do your homework, then just do it. Sure, there were many times I thought it might be a better idea to wait until my kids are a little older and less dependant, but I am so glad I did it. You can't live your life in a bubble. I loved every second of that trip, it has changed me in so many ways, and I can't wait to do it again.

Oh yeah, road trip.

We got one day off in the middle of the mission, which wasn't exactly a day off considering we were again busy from sun up to sun down, but at least we got to play.

After breakfast our team loaded into the little truck and headed down the highway towards Thailand. It was about a two hour drive from Banteay Meanchay to the city of Poipet, where we crossed the border. Here are a few pics from the road. Here is Darold...insisting I take his picture while hanging out of the back of the truck as we drove. I was like, "GET BACK IN!! GET BACK IN!!"

Franklin, me, San, and Bot

Brittany, Jim, Ratha, and Darold

Bot, Mike, Mary Kay, Dave, and Pat

Jim, Ratha, me

Ratha, Rith, Jork, San, Tola, and Bot

Darold and Jim

Ratha and me. Don't I look fragile?

Darold bought these cigarettes there. I thought the anti smoking message was genius! You know, you hardly EVER see people smoking in Cambodia. Maybe this is why (aside from being poor). I bet there is a big exchange of money going with the tobacco industry in the US to keep the labels from looking just like this.

Our road trip held a very special meaning for Franklin, our team leader. It's been a while since I have blogged, so you may be a little foggy on my teammates. Franklin is a practicing dentist in Portland, but immigrated from Cambodia when he was 20 after escaping from the Khmer Rouge in 1979. During the reign of the Khmer Rouge, it is estimated that up to HALF of the entire Cambodian population were killed by execution, torture, starvation, or forced labor. The cities were evacuated to the farmlands where the citizens were forced to work as slaves and survive anyway they could. Think of it as Cambodia's Holocaust.

Franklin had a best friend that he made while working in the labor camps, but they were separated and after all these years after Franklin's escape, he never knew what happened to his friend. He didn't even know, after over three decades, if his friend had even survived the Khmer Rouge.

A short time before our trip, Franklin became in touch with a friend, and that friend knew another friend, who knew another friend...and he found out that yes, his long-lost friend was alive and living in Thailand. They got in touch and decided to meet up at the border in Poipet when Franklin came to Cambodia for the mission.

While the rest of us goofed off and played and had coffee at the knockoff Starbucks at the Casino in Thailand, Franklin went and reunited with his friend. When we met back up with him a couple hours later, he was so happy. I captured this picture of the two of them. That's Franklin on the left.

Franklin was so happy to see his friend again. No, not happy...beaming. He couldn't stop smiling. "I not see him for 31 years," he excitedly told our group. "But I recognize him right away!" This, of course, got me misty-eyed. Of course Franklin wouldn't have even had a picture of his friend, considering the time and circumstances of their friendship. And after 31 years, you'd probably struggle to remember the details of one's face.

We hit the road again and headed back to Sisophon where we had lunch at a local restaurant, then loaded back into the little truck and headed of towards our next adventure at Prasat Banteay Chhmar. Stay tuned...

Remembering My Friend and Teammate Mike

2010-03-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

I was reminded of the fragility of life when I received the awful and shocking news that Dr. Mike Eilers, one of the dentists from our Cambodian mission, died this morning of a heart attack. His wife, Mary Kay, who also served with us, told me via email, and asked me to pass along the news to the rest of our team. As I read the words it seemed like the room began to spin, and I had to re-read the email several more times before it sunk in what her words meant.

I only knew and spent time with Mike for two weeks of my life, but I am deeply saddened by his death. When you serve a mission like this, it's hard to describe how close you become to your teammates. You are very far from home, in a third world country, doing emotionally and physically hard work. Your teammates become your best friends and your family. You are literally together all day, everyday, under extreme and unique conditions. Those kind of conditions create bonds that you don't have in ordinary friendships.

I liked Mike right from the start. He was a tall, handsome man with a huge smile and a gentle spirit. It goes without saying that he was kind, generous, and selfless, because no one would spend their own time and money to work in an orphanage under less than desirable conditions if they weren't. To paint a more accurate picture of Mike for those of you never having the honor of knowing him, I am sharing a recent email he sent me. After our mission in Cambodia, Mike, Mary Kay, and Dave and Pat (also from our team), traveled onto Vietnam:

Hi Jessie,
Mary K and I, along with Dave and Pat, are now home and recovered from our jet lag. Our 12 days in Vietnam were fabulous and again we found a really interesting culture and wonderful people. Vietnam is light years ahead of Cambodia in development and is truly an emerging market to be reckoned with. We stayed in very nice hotels and had excellent English speaking guides the whole time. We visited Hu an, Hue, Hanoi, Sapa and had an overnight cruise on Ha long bay. Our favorite area may have been Sapa where we did some hikes into some remote villages to see different ethnic mountain people. They all had different customs and colorful tribal dress. You would have gone nuts with your camera. We talked with many people who lost friends and family in the Vietnam war. Without question the people hold no grudge against Americans. We scratched our heads many times on our trip wondering why we went to war against this faraway land.
We so enjoyed our trip to SE Asia, but far and away the best part of it all was working with you and the rest of our team in Banteay Meanchay. I close my eyes and think of those wonderful little kids all the time. This experience has had a tremendous effect on both of us. Our 2nd day back in Portland we went to our grandson's basketball games. It seemed almost surreal watching their games in a nice well lit gym with polished hardwood floors, uniforms, new basketball shoes and referees. I kept thinking about the dirt playground, bare feet, no toys or athletic equipment, but smiling faces all around. We have to say, it's been a little adjustment coming home.
Jessie, we tuned into your "that girl ain't right" blog and truly enjoyed your assessment of our time working together. You really nailed it. You have talent as a writer as well as being a terrific photographer. The story of the monk could be published. Laos? Righttt.
I'm sure your reunion with your family was special. We are so fortunate to be living where we are.
Please stay in touch.
The best to you and your family,
Mike and Mary K

Mike was fun. We had a great time on the mission. I remember we'd see something crazy, like a family of five on a motorcycle, or an unmanned alligator farm, or rats being barbecued on the railroad tracks, and Mike would shake his head, laugh, and say, "You can't make this stuff up!!" Then he always follow that with, "Jessie, do you think if you told your friends back home about this, they'd even believe you?"

I have so many great memories of Mike. Each one brings tears to my eyes, but also makes me laugh. One day he told all of us about how he called down to the front desk of our hotel to have a pot of tea sent up to their room for Mary Kay. But the Cambodian gal was having a hard time understanding what he was asking for, due to her limited English. "Can I have a pot of tea sent to my room?" he asked.
"Excuse me sir? No understand."
"A pot of tea."
"Oh, yes. You want to party?"
Then Mike cracks up laughing as he tells us the story and says he almost said, "I'd love to party. But it's only ten in the morning."

I became very emotional the last two days of the trip with all of the saying goodbye we had to do. We left the orphanage, then we lost the dental students...then Franklin left to travel on to see his family...then we lost our team coordinator, Jock, when he headed back to Phnom Penh...I cried as I watched our team shrink when members peeled off like layers. I remember wishing we could get the goodbyes over with at the same time, so I wasn't always bawling and embarrassing myself. I remember telling Mike I felt stupid for being such a big old baby. I was touched by his reassuring words. "You're not a baby, Jessie," he said in his always-kind tone of voice. "You're crying because you care."

The morning I had to leave for the airport and tell the rest of the team goodbye, I remember we were sitting around the table, eating breakfast poolside in the warm morning air. I was really trying to hold it together as the time I had to leave grew near. We were sitting there chatting and eating when there was a long pause in the conversation. Then Mike said, "I'll miss ya, Jess." With that, tears sprang to my eyes as I laughed. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry, Mike!!"

I am thankful to God that I had the opportunity to see Mike one last time when we were honored by the CACO three weeks ago. As we said goodbye, we talked about serving another mission. We ended it with, "I'll go if you go!"

I am closing this post with some pictures of my dear friend, along with a few that Dave sent me from their time together in Vietnam.

I'll miss ya, Mike.

Being Honored by the CACO

2010-02-28T20:08:00.000-08:00

Saturday Dale and I headed down to Portland where we were reunited with my MTI team. I was so excited to see everyone. All week at work I am sure my coworkers got sick of me saying "I get to see my team on Saturday!" and "Did I tell you I get to see my team on Saturday?" and "I can't wait to see my team on Saturday!" Also, I wanted Dale to meet the people whom I shared such an amazing experience with and who mean so much to me and who turned me into an alcoholic (just temporarily).

The occasion that brought our team all together was a party put on by the CACO (Cambodian-American Community of Oregon) to say thank you for helping their people. See, to me it felt strange to be honored in this way. It's like, go on a fabulous vacation with all these fun people, go on lots of exciting little adventures, get lots of warm and fuzzy feelings from helping those in need, have your life changed in so many positive ways, eat lots of good food, gain tons of life experience, and drink lots of beer, then have people throw a big fancy party to officially thank you for it. It seemed silly, considering I am the one who is thankful.

It was wonderful to see everyone again. Unfortunately, Dave and Pat are in California and were unable to make it, but the rest of the team was there and we had a great time. Here are a few pictures. They are a little bit small. I "borrowed" these, because I was enjoying myself a little too much and realized I hardly took any pictures.

Ok, I didn't steal this one. I think this picture captures my relationship with Darold quite well.

It was fun to see everyone in their dress up clothes. I was so used to scrubs and MTI shirts! There's Mike, Mary Kay, and Franklin.

This is Ravy, Franklin's wife. The baby belonged to someone at the party...and I have never seen so much hair on a baby!!

The party was held at the BEAUTIFUL home of one of the CACO members. And there was so...much...food. Oh, I was in heaven! It was so good. Of course we had lots of good Cambodian food when we were actually in Cambodia, but we ate a lot of the same thing, and it was nothing like this. Here are all the lovely ladies who made all the fabulous food.

Darold's mom came as his guest.

The group during the speeches.

Mary Kay brought her photo album of our mission. I loved seeing it! I love seeing how different people photograph the same things, but in different ways. I was like "I want a copy of this picture!" and "I want a copy of that picture!"

Handwashing, Cambodian Third World Orphanage Style

2010-02-28T14:56:00.000-08:00

I wasn't planning to blog about this story originally, because I didn't have a picture to share, but I discovered Franklin's daughter Brittany had one, so here we are.

The first two days we worked in the orphanage we had no way to wash our hands. Since there was no running water, we could only use hand sanitizer. This was sort of ok to me at first, but I quickly realized how much I took washing my hands for granted. By the end of the second day it was driving me nuts. Now, I am not OCD about hand washing, but simply put, I like having clean hands. I remember that evening, as we were winding down in the clinic, I asked Mike, "Don't you miss washing your hands?" And that opened up a conversation comparable to two starving men talking about a cheeseburger. We were all, "...and it smells good...and it feels good..."

Taking into consideration the volume of patients we were seeing each day and that they were (bless their hearts) the dirtiest little mouths I'd ever seen, that night I decided that not being able to wash my hands was something I was no longer going to compromise on.

On the drive back to the hotel, I went over it in my mind.

I discovered it really wasn't rocket science, this hand washing business. How hard could it be? When you think about it, all you need is soap and water, right? So back at the hotel, I wandered around until I found the maids' stash of towels and toiletries, where I stole a big towel and several small bars of soap. Yes, I know, thou shalt not steal, but I hoped in this case God would give me a freebie.

At the orphanage the next morning, hotel loot in hand, I found what could be used for a basin, then found some empty water bottles. I took the bottles and poked several holes in the top (think garden watering can). Then I hung the towel through the bars on the window and voila! A hand washing station.

Nobody likes a bragger, I know, but what can I say? Everyone loved it.

Tomorrow...

2010-02-26T22:42:00.000-08:00

I have been a little behind on my blog lately, but I do have a lot to talk about, so I'll play catch up soon.

I get to see my team tomorrow night. We are having a little reunion and I am
BE-YOND excited to see everyone. They are seriously some of my favorite people ever.

So stay tuned...more to come.

Cambodia Pics...A Few More Favorites

2010-02-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

Conversations With Ratha Part II

2010-02-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

When I flew to Cambodia, I sat next to an American guy on the plane who was living in Siem Reap. He was working for Engineers Without Borders doing temple restoration (is that not the coolest job ever??) Anyway, just as we are about to land, he let's me in on a little secret: Traffic in Cambodia is CRAZY! His advice to me was "Maybe...when you're riding in a car...um...don't look out the window. Just don't pay attention to what's going on." I was like, whaaaatt????

The first 10 seconds I rode in a car in Phnom Penh I think I screamed for my life. OK, I did scream for my life. Traffic there is like...how do I describe this? You know when you're a kid and you look really closely at an ant hill and you see millions of ants, all going different directions, all with different agendas? That is the best analogy I can come up with to describe the tangled, crazy mess of motorcycles (motos), bicycles, and cars that make up the roads in that country. I believe this is why rental cars there come with a driver. Because no foreigner would EVER attempt to negotiate those road rules, or, as it seemed, lack thereof. Once I asked our Cambodian teammates if they ever see motorcycle accidents. Without even pausing to think, almost in unison they said, "Oh yes. Everyday in Phnom Penh."

So anyway, remember my Cambodian dental student friend Ratha? One day he and I were working on a patient and I cannot remember what thoughts lead me to the question, but I asked, "Do you have a moto, Ratha?"

Ratha: "Yes, but I never ride it because I never have money to put gas in it."

Me: "So how do you get to school? Do you have a bicycle?"

R: "Yes", he pauses and looks up. "But I got hit by a car just before I came up here, so I don't know what I am going to do when I go back to Phnom Penh"

Me: "You got hit??"

R: "Yes"

Me: "By a car??!"

R: "Yes. The car hit me, I fall off my bike to the side. Then the car run over my bike and doesn't stop. Just keep going. And the police does not even care. They do nothing to help me. I cannot ride my bike anymore. It is all bent."

Now, because the world is a generous place, Ratha has a new bike.

I receive a message and a picture from him the other day. It said: Now you can see my a new nice bike, sister. God bless you.

Buddhist Monks

2010-02-10T07:46:00.000-08:00

Cambodia is a mostly Buddhist country. Because of this, it was not at all uncommon to see monks wandering about.

I was completely fascinated by the monks. I was just as excited to see my first one as I was my last. I was intrigued by their orange robes, their shaved heads, their devotion to their faith, and the air of mystery that seemed to surround them. And some of them were so young. I wanted to know everything about them. Were they planning to be monks for life? Or serve for just a short stint (like the Mormons do?) Were they serving because they really wanted to, or doing it to please someone else? Didn't they ever want to see what their hair would look like a little longer than 1/8th of an inch? Or wear a pair of jeans? Or kiss a woman? Or more?

The following picture was taken one morning during our walk. Here we were, traipsing through the temple grounds at 6:30 in the morning, and we stopped and talk to these monks. They were friendly enough, but you know they were thinking, What the hell?

I didn't find out until way later that females aren't even supposed to look at monks, let alone talk to them or touch them. Look at me in this picture, doing all the wrong things. So I was an alcoholic, rule breaking, monk stalking missionary. The part that I find the funniest in this photo is the monk in the background, laughing. You know he is thinking ...Ooooohhhhh! You guys are in TROU-BLE! And it seems my eye-contact has already corrupted that monk on the right. Looks like he's flashing a gang sign.

I love this picture of this old monk.

I don't think this monk was planning to stab his monk brother. If I remember right, he had some fruit.

Do you suppose they wake up in the morning and think, which shade of orange shall I wear today? Saffron or pumpkin?

Usually, I'd just spy on monks from afar. I loved just observing their silent ways. It's like, they'd be lurking around in the shadows, and I'd be, well, lurking around in the shadows...taking their picture.

I'm closing this post with an excerpt from the book Committed. It is a new release that I just finished reading, written by my favorite author Elizabeth Gilbert. Gilbert is known for her phenomenal best selling memoir Eat Pray Love. In Committed, Elizabeth and her fiance Fillipe are living in exile in Laos, while waiting for permission to return to the United States to marry. While living in Laos, Liz, like me, is fascinated by all of the monks (I knew I liked her!) and commences to spying on them too. In this part of the story, she talks about how she often sees the monks in the internet cafe, and she can't help but sometimes peek at what they are looking at online. From Commited...

On this day, though, the young monk sat down right beside me. He was so close that I could see the faint hairs on his thin, pale-brown arms. Our workstations were so near to each other that I could also see his computer screen quite clearly. After a spell, I glanced over to get a sense of what he was working on, and realized that the boy was reading a love letter. Actually, he was reading a love e-mail, which I quickly gleaned was from somebody named Carla, who was clearly not Laotian and who wrote in comfortable, colloquial English. So Carla was American, then. Or maybe British. Or Australian. One sentence on the boy's computer screen popped out at me: "I still long for you as my lover."

Which snapped me from my reverie. Dear Lord, what was I doing reading somebody's private correspondence? And over his shoulder, no less? I pulled my eyes away, ashamed of myself. This was none of my business. I returned my attention to Delaware Valley real estate listings. Though naturally I found it a tad difficult to focus on my own tasks anymore, because, come on: Who the hell was Carla?

How had a young Western woman and a teenage Laotian monk met in the first place? How old was she? And when she wrote, "I still long for you as my lover," had she meant, "I want you as my lover?"- or had this relationship been consummated, and she was now cherishing a memory of shared physical passion? If Carla and the monk had consummated their love affair- well, how? When? Perhaps Carla had been on vacation in Luang Prabang, and maybe she'd struck up a conversation somehow with this boy, despite the fact that females should not even gaze at the novices? Had he sung out "Hello Mrs. Lady!" to her, and maybe things had tumbled toward a sexual encounter from there? What would become of them now? Was this boy going to give up his vows and move to Australia now? (Or Britain, or Canada, or Memphis?) Would Carla relocate to Laos? Would they ever see each other again? Would he be defrocked if they were caught? (Do you even call it "defrocked" in Buddhism?) Was this love affair going to ruin his life? Or hers? Or both?

The boy stared at his computer in rapt silence, studying his love letter with such concentration that he had no awareness whatsoever of me sitting right there beside him, worrying silently about his future. And I was worried about him- worried that he was in way over his head here, and that this chain of action could only lead to heartache.

Then again, you cannot stop the flood of desire as it moves through the world, inappropriate though it may sometimes be. It is the prerogative of all humans to make ludicrous choices, to fall in love with the most unlikely of partners, and to set themselves up for the most predictable of calamities. So Carla had the hots for a teenage monk- what of it? How could I judge her for this? Over the course of my own life, hadn't I also fallen in love with many inappropriate men? And weren't the beautiful young "spiritual" ones the most alluring of all?

The monk did not type out a response to Carla- or at least not that afternoon. He read the letter a few more times, as carefully as though he were studying a religious text. Then he sat for a long while in silence, hands resting lightly in his lap, eyes closed as though in meditation. Finally the boy took action: He printed out the email. He read Carla's words once more, this time on paper. He folded the note with tenderness, as though he were folding an origami crane, and tucked it away somewhere inside his orange robes. Then this beautiful almost-child of a young man disconnected from the Internet and walked out of the cafe into the searing heat of the ancient river town.

I stood up after a moment and followed him outside, unnoticed. I watched as he walked up the street, moving slowly in the direction of the central temple on the hill, looking neither to the left nor the right. Soon enough a group of young monks came walking by, gradually overtaking him, and Carla's monk quietly joined their ranks, disappearing into the crowd of slim young novices like an orange fish vanishing into a school of its duplicate brothers. I immediately lost track of him there in this throng of boys who all looked exactly the same. But clearly these boys were not all exactly the same. Only one of these young Laotian monks, for instance, had a love letter from a woman named Carla folded and hidden somewhere within his robes. And as crazy as it seemed, and as dangerous a game as he was playing here, I could not help but feel a little excited for the kid.

Coconuts in the Clinic

2010-02-06T20:31:00.000-08:00

One day, towards the end of the mission, we decided to make the day of the man selling coconuts from his bicycle so we pulled over on the way to the clinic and bought several of these delicious fruits.

After lunch we were trying to think of a way to gracefully drink the milk from the coconuts when someone came up with the genius idea to use -my dental people are going to love this one- surgical suction tips.

To prevent any mix ups, I put my initials on mine.

As everyone knows, coconuts are a multi-purpose fruit. Here is Mike teaching Bot how to place stitches.

Chapter 5: I Felt Like I Was in a Doublemint Commercial

2010-02-03T20:22:00.000-08:00

When we first started working at the orphanage, I right away noticed the cutest little girl. I couldn't help but notice, because I always seemed to see her. She'd be smiling from far away, or peeking at us around the corner, or peering through the window watching us work. Although she did not speak any English, I got into the habit of talking to her anyway. To this girl I'd say "Hello my sweet pea" or things like "Wow, that is a pretty dress!"

Anyway.

This is my little cutie:

So one day, a few days into the mission, I saw my sweet girl, and I thought to myself, I could have sworn that she was wearing a black shirt earlier. Later that evening, as we finishing up the last of the patients for the day, there was a group of kids playing near the entrance to the clinic. I walked over to where they were, and saw my girl. Then I looked to the left...and saw her again. I looked at one, then the other, and back and forth, put my hands on my hips playing mad that I'd been duped, and even though I knew they wouldn't understand, said "Are you guys TWINS??!!" They both giggled and one of them held up two fingers and nodded her head yes. They did understand!

Their names are Chantha and Channa and I think they are about ten.

Here is Ratha and myself after cleaning Channa's teeth.

I had brought a huge bag of ribbons with me and tied one in the hair of each little girl that was my patient. I let Channa choose one and here I am playing hairdresser. I must say...the ribbons were a huge hit.

Me, Mary Kay, and the girls.

The last evening in the clinic, as I was finishing up, Channa passed me a note through the bars on the window. She must have had someone help her write it. It was covered in hearts, and read:

I love you and miss you forever

What is it like here?

Can I speak English a little

But I want to learn speaked English?

Chapter 4: Daily Routine, Life at the Orphanage

2010-02-01T22:06:00.000-08:00

We provided dental services for about 300 orphans in the Banteay Meanchey area where we had our makeshift dental office set up at Ou Ambel. We saw many different faces stream in and out of the clinic during the time we spent there, as truckloads of children were brought in each day. As for the roughly 30 kids that lived at Ou Ambel, though, theirs were the same faces that welcomed us every morning and waved goodbye to us each night.

We got to know these kids. It didn't matter that we didn't speak each others' languages. These kids were so sweet. They were so respectful and well behaved. They had nothing, yet they were happy.

As a mother, I struggled to fight sadness my first few days there. I'd be working away, doing just fine, then my mind would begin to wander about the kid before me. Where did they come from? What were the circumstances that made them orphans? Did their parents turn them over to the orphanage in hopes that it would provide them a better life? Was it just plain old poverty? Land mines? Had their parents died of AIDS? Motorcycle accident (#1 killer of Cambodians)? Did they know that they were loved? What did their futures hold? Would their parents come back to claim them, enticed by the profit of selling them into the sex slave trade? This does happen, unfortunately, especially to the prettier girls. I would brood over this, then I would get choked up while I was working. This was one of the hardest parts for me. Eventually I did learn how to separate my emotions from the situation and just not think about it, but it was really hard in the beginning.

Here are some of the children of Ou Ambel:

I found the little boy in orange especially cute. When I found out his name was Moses, I thought that just added to his cuteness.

His name is Ra Ven:

I remember the little girl on the left because she was afraid to get her teeth worked on, and she cried. This sticks out in my mind, because so few of them cried. I gave her a bracelet and carried her around for a while.

It didn't take me long to realize why several of the little girls there have closely-cropped haircuts.

I love this picture. The kids liked being photographed. I think they liked the attention. They especially liked seeing their image on the back of the camera.

This is unrelated, but I read that when they excavated the land to build the foundation for Ou Ambel a few years back, they unearthed two land mines. (The were safely disposed of.)

One day Jim and I snooped around upstairs. I think those are mosquito nets.

This little boy's name was Makara. He was one of the few that could speak a little English, which was limited to the following conversation:

Makara: Hi. What's your name?

Me: Jessie. What's your name?

Makara: My name Makara.

Me: Hi Makara. It's nice to meet you. How are you?

Makara: I'mfinesanks. (He meant to say I'm fine, thanks, but he'd say it as all one word, and the thanks came out as sanks.)

So every time Makara and I would see each other, which was several times a day, we'd repeat the conversation as though meeting for the first time. After a while, I became bored with this, so one day, I squatted down to eye level with him. "Makara", I said in a serious tone. "When I say 'How are you?' you say (my face lighting up) 'I'M AWESOME!!' Ok, let's try. Makara, how are you?"

"I'm AWESOME!"

"Good job!" Then this was our new greeting to each other, which we carried out, of course, several times a day.

These were some of the kids from another orphanage.

This baby never wore a diaper. I never did see how they take care of the obvious result of that. This little guy always had plenty of attention, though, as there was never a shortage of little girls willing to play mom.

This girl is doing the Asian Squat. You'd see this all the time. Even adults did it. I don't know how! I tried once, my knees aren't strong enough. Plus, it's hard to balance. But the Cambodians seemed to have mastered this position.

The evening that we left the orphanage was a moment in my life I will never forget. I remember that day in clinic being excited that it was our last day and finally all of our hard work was finished! No more backaches from sitting in those evil red chairs! Mission accomplished! I was excited to head to Siem Reap, where awaiting us was a hotel with a pool, time off from working, and fancy restaurants where I could enjoy three vodka tonics with dinner (oops, did I just share too much?) I had that last-day-of-school feeling of excitement.

We finished up with the patients, packed our stuff up, and closed up shop. Earlier that day our team had given money to the ladies that work at Ou Ambel so they could buy the ingredients to make the kids a grand feast for dinner that night. While we were packing up all the dental stuff, the children were eating in their outdoor seating area. I was the last one to make it outside and over to where the kids were to say goodbye. I'd had to wash my hands, and dilly-dally around per my usual fashion.

Let me back up a bit here and say that when I am really, really tired, I can get emotional fairly easily. I have talked about this here on my blog before. By the time we finished up the mission, I'd been running on 4-5 hrs of sleep per night, with days that were filled to the max with activity.

With that said, I wandered outside to where the rest of my team was gathered around the big table where the kids were eating. It was dark out, but the table was illuminated under one light bulb hanging from a wire. Those kids were eating like I have never seen kids eat before. They were smiling, and laughing, and shoveling food in their mouths strait from the serving bowls. They were so happy! They had curry! And juice! They were little piggies at the trough, practically climbing over one another to get the most food. I thought of my own kids back home, who never have to do without. Seeing this, I felt a wave of emotion overcome me. I went and leaned against a pole, sort of in the dark and sort of away from the others, and told myself just to hold it together. But I couldn't, of course. As I watched them, I realized I would never see these kids again. Even though I will return to Cambodia next January, it will be to another orphanage, in a different town.

I thought I was being discreet, my perch against the pole, but then I felt Mike put his arm around me, and squeeze me to his side, and when he said "I know, I am having a hard time, too," that's all it took. The floodgates opened and the tears spilled forth. I was embarrassed that I couldn't keep my composure. I couldn't even tell the kids goodbye. I wanted them to know that I loved them, and would miss them, and admired how brave they were, and how much they have touched my heart and changed my life and that I would never forget them. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't even say goodbye. All I could do is wave as we walked away and got into the truck.

I cried all the way back to the hotel.

Cambodia: One of my Favorite Pictures

2010-01-31T20:26:00.000-08:00

Whenever I saw a Cambodian over the age of about 35, and there aren't that many, I always wondered about they horrors they'd seen in their lifetime. They would have lived through the four years under the reign of the Khmer Rouge. How had they managed to survive?

Honey, They Made Me Do It

2010-01-28T07:11:00.000-08:00

I can be kind of strait-laced. Rigid. Prudish. Go ahead and call me a total square.

Sitting down to dinner that very first night in Cambodia, everybody ordered a beer. So I thought, why not? And ordered myself one, too. Angkor beer, made locally. Tasty.

Then the second night, everyone ordered a beer, and I thought, oh, sure. What the heck.

Now, a word about alcohol: I hardly ever drink. Dale doesn’t drink (as in at all), so therefore I rarely do either. Every once in a while I may order a glass of wine if we go out to dinner, but I never have a second.

So anyway, on the third night at dinner, Jim ordered beer for everyone. Without taking a moment to think about how dorky I would sound, I said loud enough for anyone within 25 feet to hear, “I can’t drink beer THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW! I never drink this much at home!” and Jim says, “Yeah, and you’re not at home. Now have a beer!”

So I did. And soon it became kind of a fun habit. I drank every single day I spent in Cambodia. We’d work our asses off in the clinic, then come back to the hotel physically and emotionally exhausted, sweaty after long days spent in those stiff, red, plastic, chairs. Sitting down to a cold beer became a nice way to unwind after all of that hard work.

Then sometimes I’d really let my hair down and pre-funciton with wine in Dave and Pat’s room before going down to dinner. How does that old saying go? When in Rome, do as the Romans do?

The irony is kind of funny, you’ve go to admit. Who serves a mission and goes on an alcohol binge all in one trip?

On our drive from Sisophon up to Siem Reap towards the end of the trip, Dave was all “I brought beer and pop. Anyone want anything?”

“I’ll have a beer,” I said. There’s no such thing as an open container law in Cambodia. Come to think of it, are there laws at all in Cambodia?

So I am sitting there, minding my own business with my beer, watching the Cambodia countryside go by, when Jim grabs my camera and starts taking my picture.

I’m all, “What?”
“You’re drinking a beer.”
“So?”
“So it’s 10:00 in the morning.”

Chapter 3, Daily Routine: Clinic at the Orphanage

2010-01-20T18:09:00.000-08:00

This is a long one. Get yourself a cup of coffee.

This is the orphanage where we worked most of the two weeks we spent in Cambodia. It is called Ou Ambel, and is one of over 100 orphanages in the country ran by the Foursquare Children of Promise (FCOP).

It is located on a dusty dirt road just off of the main road in Sisophon.

Before I get too involved talking about clinic life, let me first officially introduce our team: Back, L to R- Jim Stephens (assistant), Franklin's daughter Brittany Young (assist.) Me, Franklin Young (dentist) Front row- Darold "Slacker" Slack (assist), Mike Eilers (dentist), Mary Kay Eilers (hygienist), Pat Long (assist.), and Dave Long (dentist).

Our Cambodian team members: L to R: Ratha, Rit, Jork, San, Tola, and Bot.

There was another dental student on the team. His name was Da. He was only with us the first week, and I don't have a good picture of him. Here he is with Franklin. He is very stylish; quite the fashionista. When our team was first learning the students' names, behind the scenes one of us would refer to Da, and the other would say, "Now which one is Da, again?"
"You know, Prada glasses."
"Oh, yes. Prada glasses."
That's Da on the left.

Anyway. Each morning began with Franklin screening the patients. Written on a small white slip would be the only information we had on each child, which included the name, age -sometimes a guess- , orphanage, and dental needs.

Here is our clinic. One side of the room was the treatment side, the middle was the supply table, and the other side was the waiting area.

There was no running water or electricity at Ou Ambel, so all of our dental equipment was ran by a generator. We wore headlamps for light. This is our sterilizer. We boiled the instruments.

The kids would sit and wait, patiently, along one side of the clinic, directly across from where we were working. They would wait for hours (and I mean hours). I never saw kids freak out, or become impatient, or whine. They just sat and waited for their turn to be seen.

We treated the dental needs of the children of Ou Ambel, then each day after that, they'd truck in kids from other orphanages. And by "truck them in", this is what I mean: I am getting ahead of the story here, but this is a picture of an entire orphanage-load of kids, leaving after a long day at the clinic, packed into the back of this small truck. We counted 25 kids in the bed of that truck (with 10 more in the cab). They did have a bit of a system- The bigger kids sat along the perimeter, with the smaller kids in the middle and standing room only in the center. At least they implemented safety measures wherever they could. You can't really tell from the picture, but it was actually pretty dark by the time they left. They had about a 30 mile drive back.

Back to the story...I photographed this sweet boy as he sat and waited.

Hours later, still waiting, he eventually gave up and conked out.

My first day in the clinic, I instantly knew I was doing what God put me on the Earth to do. Besides becoming a mother, I have never been so sure of anything. I felt it sitting down with my first patient. I remember thinking about my one patient back home who said to me, "I don't know why anyone would EVER want to do that." I thought to myself, "Who wouldn't??" Serving a mission like this was the best of everything I love to do.

It was hard for me to not be able to communicate with these kids. Most times we didn't have anyone to translate. I couldn't ask them if they were scared or if it hurt...and you'd otherwise never know because they always laid there like perfect little mannequins. The were the best patients. So I got into the habit of doing this little trick that my friend Slacker showed me. Right when I got the patient into the chair, I'd pull my chair up real close to them (like the 10 o'clock position). I'd kind of drape my left arm around the top of their head and place my left palm against their cheek. Then I would take my right hand and lay it right across their chest. Normally, at home, I am not so affectionate with my patients. These are orphans, though, and I wanted them to feel comforted. But I used it as a gauge. I could feel their heart rate, and if they were scared, their heart would be pounding out of their chest. This, sadly, was often the case.

I remember when I came home, Erika asked me what the best and worst parts of my mission were. My first thought was everything, and nothing, respectively. But after a little thought, sitting in those plastic red chairs for 9-12 hours a day was the worst (aside from saying my goodbyes, that sucked, too). I took for granted the luxuries my chair back at home provides: A nice cushion, and up-and-down lever, and WHEELES! Oh how I missed the ability to swivel!!

We had no charts, no x-rays, no medical histories, no antibiotics, and no real way to follow-up.

I remember this one boy in particular. He was probably 6 or 7. He had on pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a jeans jacket buttoned all the way up. Then, we always covered the patient in the chair with a fleece blanket. I never understood this...but then found out it is another comfort measure. But they always wanted the blanket when I offered it so after a while I just stopped offering and just draped it over them. Just looking at them made me hot. Mind you- everyday I was in Cambodia it usually hovered around 90 degrees and I'd be sitting there sweating in my capris-and-flip-flops clinic attire. Anyway, back to jacket boy. So he is laying there all bundled up, and this big old fly starts to land on his face, over and over. This kid does not even flinch. I couldn't believe it. It would drive. me. nuts. Then, when I was finished with him, he had to wait another 3 hours do see the Dr for some extractions. This particular series of events would be the purest form of punishment for my kids (whatever we did, mom, we're sorry. Please don't make us suffer in the heat with a fly attacking our face and then after that make us sit against a wall for 3 hours, then pull out some of our teeth. We'll behave!) But this kid never made a peep the whole day.

There is Dave. Hi Dave!

Each day for lunch Jork would bring us takeout. Either fried noodles or fried rice. We'd sit in a big circle. After lunch we'd usually go out for a walk.

Hi Tola.

One great part about working with the dental students was trading jobs. Here Tola was doing a cleaning while I assisted. It was nice to have little breaks here and there.

Here is Prada Glasses. I mean Da.

Franklin

Da extracting. I was bummed I never got to pull a tooth...but I did get to drill out a cavity once. It was Dave's idea. It was fun.

Ok, if you have a weak stomach close your eyes and quickly scroll past the next two photos.

Still here? Cool. The next photo is of a little boy (about age 6). I was counting the abscessed teeth. He had 3...in 3 different quadrants. In the photo you can see I have cleaned the 2 more forward teeth, and have yet to get to the 3 teeth towards the back. See the red lump on his gums just in front of my finger? That is a fistula, which is a manifestation of an abscess. I had a hard time with this kid...It broke my heart knowing how much pain he had been in...and for how long he had to have been hurting for it to get to this point...yet he didn't make a peep, of course. Such is life as a Cambodian orphan. They tolerate because they have learned to. It makes me sad.

This is a typical mouth...lots of calculus.

Dave and Tola

Ratha assisting Mary Kay. We'd fight over Ratha because he was such a good hygiene assistant!

Mike and Bot. I know these two became friends for life.

Hi Pat!

I Will...I Will

2010-01-20T14:37:00.000-08:00

I have been emailing with my friend Kaylee. This is what part of her latest email said:

I want to hear more personal stuff about your trip. Is your heart so moved? Do you want to go back? Are you glad to be home? I'm more interested in how it changed you than just your day to day schedule. I spent 3 months in the Philippines after high school. The experience is as clear as day still, even after more than 10 years.

Perhaps some of you are wondering the same thing. I say...be patient. I will get to the personal stuff...stuff that brings tears to my eyes to think about...stuff that has changed who I am and what I care about and what is important to me...I will.

Chapter 2, Daily Routine: The Truck

2010-01-20T13:05:00.001-08:00

This is the truck. This is how we got around. The first time I saw saw it I thought to myself, this...is...AWESOME! Hey Darold- Why didn't we name the truck? We could have called it Roughing It.

After breakfast each morning, we load into the back of the truck and head off down the road to the orphanage. The gears would grind and sometimes it felt like it was going to roll over, but riding in it was fun.

Tap water in Cambodia is not fit for drinking, so everyday we'd stop in town for ice, drinking water and water to use in the clinic. Usually The Cricket Lady would try and get us to buy some of her delicious snacks. We did the first day, however, none of us was brave enough to eat them*.

When I arrived in Phnom Penh on my first day, I noticed most people out in public wore face masks. I thought, Are all these people germ phobic? Is there some disease running rampant that they are all trying to avoid? How come nobody warned me about it?

In addition to bad water, the air quality there is very poor. It is SO polluted. Most times I wore a face mask, too. When I didn't have one available, I got really good at shallow breathing.

Weird, risky food...bad water...dirty air...Why would anyone in the world want to go there? I don't know why I loved it so much.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

*All the travel literature warns you not to eat anything from the market or roadside stands. None of us wanted to take our chances. Spending 3 days in the hotel room curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor just didn't sound fun to any of us.

Jet Lag Blues

2010-01-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

I have got Jet Lag. Bad. Right now I am completely foggy-headed.

You know, being as clever-minded as I like to think I am, I thought I could outsmart this whole system. My flight home took a total of 26 hrs. And I stayed awake the whole time. I landed at SeaTac at 8pm and was in bed by 10. Voila! I though. I'd be back in rhythm. My plan couldn't fail.

But I couldn't sleep for more than 3 hours.

Last night, 4 hours.

I guess I am making progress. I just googled jet lag remedies. It said to plan for 1 day of adjustment per 1 hour time difference. Does that mean I am going to suffer like this for 15 days?

All that I think about is sleeping. Help!!!!!

Chapter 1, Daily Routine: Morning

2010-01-16T19:39:00.000-08:00

As I have said before, it was my grand plan originally to blog at the end of each day. Since our days ran from about 6am to 10pm with 9-11 hours of that seeing patients, combined with jet lag, I felt like I stumbled around half conscious for two weeks. Oh, the exhaustion! Then, on top of that, if the internet connection in that hotel had a name it would be Now You See It, Now You Don’t, so most nights the only attempt I made to record the events of each day were just to scribble a few words in my note pad.

Also, some of this is written in present tense (I did write some while I was there, just in Word) and after that will be in past tense (like right now, I am on the plane, over the Pacific, reflecting back) so just bear with me.

I have been struggling with how to tell this story in a way that does it justice and is also entertaining, as well as properly preserving all those memories for myself. So while I may get pretty wordy and your eyes will cross and glaze over, I don’t want to forget a thing, so I am just going to share it all. There is just so much to say…I feel like I could write a book. So I have decided to do just that. Not really write a book and get all Barnes & Noble, but with titles and chapters from beginning to end.

I’ll quit talking about how I am going to tell the story now and just tell it.

We worked in a small town deep in the heard of Cambodia called Sisophon in the province of Banteay Meanchay. It is poor, dirty and there is not one touristy thing about it, but brims with activity everyday. It is exactly what I wanted to experience: Real Cambodia.

My day usually starts off between 4 and 5 am. I am still not quite adjusted to the difference in time, so I just go with it and let my day start extra early. First I shower. The bathrooms here are really quite interesting. They are just all one room. No stall or tub, just a shower, a toilet, and a sink all in one small tiled room. What the heck! It works! After that, I go down to the lobby, or as I like to call it, my office, where I first pray for internet connection, read emails (sorry for the lack of responses, everyone!) write, and go through pictures.

At 6:00 am each morning, we meet in the lobby to go for a walk. Sometimes there’s just a few of us, or sometimes it’s the whole team. On this particular day, it was, from left to right: Mary Kay (the other hygienist), Dr. Franklin Young, Bot, Ratha, Jim, Jork and Tola.

Our team leader, Dr. Franklin Young, is great to have along on these walks. He is Cambodian and since his native language is Khmar, he can speak to the locals and answer all of our incessant questions, but at the same time has not lived there for 31 years, so he is just as much a curious tourist as we are. Aside from that, he’s just an interesting man to talk to. He is a survivor of the Khmer Rouge and met his wife in a Thai refugee camp. I am ashamed to say I knew very little about the Khmer Rouge before doing my homework prior to this trip. I’d heard the term The Killing Fields, but I never really knew who was killing or why, and I remember in the early eighties Cambodian refugees that immigrated to America were called Boat People, but that’s about it.

It is hard for me to hear him tell stories about those days. “They work us so hard and barely give us any food. I so skinny, I look like skeleton!“ He says, laughing. Today I told him I fight tears when he tells us the stories. He says, “I cry so much about Khmer Rouge, I have no tears left.“ When he immigrated to America, he changed his name from Fay Yang to Franklin Young. Franklin, because well, he just really liked it, and Young because it is sort of an American version of Yang. The man radiates kindness. He is always laughing and smiling. Even when he is not smiling…he’s still smiling. He does this nod thing and says “yeah yeah” whenever you talk to him. He has two teenage girls, and when he talks about him he says “They good kids. Everyone always say to me teenage girls hard to raise. But I never see that.” He is a caring and compassionate dentist and it is obvious that he loves everyone of these orphans that we treat. This is Franklin:

One of our favorite walks is to the local market. He took this picture after buying us this fruit called Jack fruit (insisting we’d be safe to eat it). It had the texture of pineapple but tasted like banana.

We'd get stared at a lot when we'd walk through the market. I suspected some of these people had never seen Caucasians before. I experienced this a lot...considering I am a woman who is taller and more sturdier built than most Cambodians. And since it is January, I am especially pasty these days. I began to feel like quite a spectacle. When this would happen I'd put my palms together up by my face, bend forward in a little bow, and say Suorsdie! (hello). My goodness how they would laugh!!

This is Tola. His English is pretty limited so it was hard to get to know him. At 29, Tola is the oldest student in his class. I got the scoop from Ratha. He said Tola had a different degree (and I assume career) before going to dental school. "In what?" I asked Ratha. "Decoration", he replied. I thought, awesome, he's a party planner. What Ratha was trying to explain was that Tola was an interior decorator.

I think these were ducks.

These were rats:

This little boy was eating one of the rats. I could hear him crunching the bones.

Jim

Lots of sad images, such as this one, everywhere you turned.

Our favorite part of these morning walks was watching the sun come up and the city come alive with activity. You can see the temple silhouette there in the distance.

You'd see this often too...children taking care of babies.

This is near the other market in town.

On one of our walks, Jim, Ratha and I broke off from the group and walked down to the river behind the temple. We were just standing there quietly looking at these homes when Ratha told us that this way the type of house he lived in before going to the orphanage.

Here he is explaining to Jim how he'd catch fish by sticking his hands in the water like this and patiently waiting for them to swim within his grasp.

On one of our walks we realized we were going to be late for breakfast and leaving for clinic, so we caught a ride back to the hotel.

This picture was taken on our last day before heading to Siem Reap. When Dale saw this he was laughing at their method of feeding their cows.

Back at the hotel we'd meet the rest of the team for breakfast. The buffet is the same everyday: Porridge (I like), fried rice, noodle stir fry, salted goose egg (I didn’t like), pickled turnip, fish jerkey, fried eggs and toast. They do serve coffee here, but tea comes to your table automatically. The coffee puts hair on your chest. Or if you choose, you could use it to paint your walls black (it would only take one coat). They serve it with condensed milk. I love it.

Cambodia Teaser Pic

2010-01-16T18:39:00.000-08:00

I arrived home last night, safe and sound. I can't believe my mission to Cambodia has come and gone. It went by so fast! While I missed Dale and the kids and was excited to come home, I was really, really sad for my trip to come to an end.

I am working on a long blog post (which will be one of mmaaannnnyyyyyyyy), I have a quick teaser photo to share with you all. I snapped this one while touring some temple ruins.

Siem Reap

2010-01-13T07:51:00.000-08:00

quick update...

The internet connection where I have spent the last 10 days left me so frustrated I often had to fight the urge to throw my laptop into the path on an oncoming Tuk Tuk (even thought it wasn't my laptop's fault).

This morning we left Batneay Meanchay for Siem Reap for some R&R before heading home on Friday. I can't wait to sit down and share my stories and pictures on my blog with you all. Until then, here are a couple quick pics:

Conversations With Ratha

2010-01-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

In addition to our dental team from MTI, we also have 4 dental students working at the orphanage with us for these two weeks. It is super fun to work with them and get to know them, and I am surprised how fun it is to teach them. I have made a friend. His name is Ratha (but you say it like Rattah). I am about 7 inches taller and outweigh him by a good 50 lbs, so he is like my little buddy. His English is pretty iffy, but enough to get by, and he laughs at everything I say. I am always in his business. He told me he went to live in an orphanage at age 11 when his mother could no longer care for him. I asked him he was scared when he moved there. No, he said, he felt pretty lucky because otherwise, in that situation, he'd be sold into child slavery or prostitution.

He tends to be a little on the timid side when it comes to dentistry, so the other day I was trying to encourage him:

Me: (I went up to Ratha at the dispensary table) Ratha, I have three injections to give to this patient. I will do the first two and talk my way through it while you watch, they I'll have you do the third. I'll be right there to help you.

R: No, my hand will shake.

Me: That's ok, my hand shook when I was learning too. It's alright. Listen, I will teach you how to do this and then you'll go back to school and impress all of your teachers.

Then he took off! I sat down, put my gloves on, and Ratha was gone! I guess I scared him. He did do an injection the next day...and did great.

* * *

Our team is going to Thailand tomorrow. It is one of our only days off and we collectively decided to skip church and get an early start. Today at the clinic I invited Ratha to join us.

Me: Ratha! We are driving to Thailand tomorrow. Come with us!

R: Tomorrow is Sunday...What time you leave?

Me: Early.

R: ... What about worship?

Me: So skip church. (He looked at me like a deer in the headlights. I continued on) Ratha, if God were here right now he'd say Ratha, go have fun with your friends in Thailand! (He laughs).

He is joining us tomorrow.

* * *

There is something really interesting about Cambodian men. They are very affectionate towards one another. We ride together in the truck with the dental students (you'll learn about "the truck" in the next post) every morning and evening I see them cuddling, or holding hands, or even just resting their hand on the others' knee as they sit and talk. I find it strange, but in an interesting, good kind of way.

Today after lunch I went out and talked to Ratha while he laid in the hammock with one of the other guys, San. I took a picture. Ratha is on the left, and the guy behind him is Bot.

That night, as we drove home from the clinic, Ratha was sitting next to me, and the student on the other side of him had his arm draped over Ratha's shoulder.

Me: Ratha...men in your culture like to touch each other a lot.

R: Yes.

Me: Men in my culture do not do this.

R: (looking completely perplexed) Why is this?

I didn't know how to explain to Ratha that I come from a culture of men who fear being anything less than manly, and that if they touched each other they'd be worried someone would think they are gay, or even worse! that it would actually MAKE them gay. So I said, simply, I don't know.

Internet is down!

2010-01-09T04:27:00.000-08:00

I am alive, but internet is down at hotel. I talked Jork into taking me to the internet cafe. Hopefully I can blog soon!

Days 1 and 2, Phnom Penh and Banteay Meanchey

2010-01-05T14:44:00.001-08:00

I know what you're thinking. Sure you're in Cambodia, Jess. Righttttttt...

No, look, I really am:

So where to I even begin?

I’ll start out by giving you the speedy version of days one and two and then I will feel more caught up. I wasn’t exaggerating by saying that every minute of our days here are filled to the max. I haven’t had time to get all artsy with my photography or sit down and make my pics all pretty and vibrant in Photoshop. I was hoping that I could blog at the end of each day. That is, after all, why I bought this laptop…so I am hoping I can bring y’all up to speed.

My fight over was great. It was my first trip on a 747 and -get this- I had 3 seats to myself. It was like first class without shelling out all the dough. I flew out with our team leader, Dr. Franklin Young, and two other teammates, Darold Slack and Jim Stephens. The other half of our team was already in Cambodia, two days ahead of us.

That's Darold on the left and Franklin on the right. We were in Taiwan.

On the left is Jim

Arrived in Phnom Penh. Got my work Visa, customs, etc. We got picked up by Jork. Jork is the Cambodian coordinator between the Foursquare Church of Promise (which runs several of the orphanages here in the country) and the medical teams.

Checked into hotel. There was a sign on the inside of my door that listed the hotel rules, then at the bottom it said Hopefully your collaberation with would be appreciated and happily stay with full of enjoyment. Asian-English always makes me giggle.

Then to the genocide museum and then out for a late dinner at restaurant called Steve’s Steakhouse where our team got to know each other. We also got to meet the couple that started the foursquare Church of promise, which runs several of the orphanages for which we are serving.

Went to bed exhausted.
Next day, had breakfast (fish soup with these doughnut stick things)

Then our team piled into our rented minivan (complete with driver) …We fit 12 adults and 24 pc of luggage into that thing and I still don’t knowhow we did it. We hit left Phnom Penh and headed for a 5 hour cross country trip to Banteay Meanchey where we are now. Whenever I travel someplace, I don't have much of a desire to see the touristy stuff. I always want to see the neighborhoods and the way of life for the locals. So a road trip across Cambodia was right up my alley.

We arrived in Banteay Meanchey and went right to the Ou Ambel orphanage where we set up clinic. Checked into our hotel which would be my home for the next two weeks. The very first thing I did after setting down my bag was to see if I could get online. Not a chance. My heart sank. What could I do? Nothing. Sad, I got dressed for dinner and made my way down to the lobby. Then I saw the most glorious sight ever. Jork, our Cambodian teammate, was sitting there on his laptop. "Jork!" I practically yelled. "Are you online?!" He was like..Um, yeah, internet available here in lobby, didn't I know?

Hello From Cambodia

2010-01-04T14:52:00.000-08:00

I am alive! I will do an actual post soon. I promise.

Since I have gotten here every minute of eveyday has been filled, then when each day is finally over I collapse into bed, exhausted.

But it is going great. I love it here. Right now it's about 5:40 am and I am in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for a few of my teammates to take an early morning walk that we planned at dinner last night.

I have internet here, so send me some love from home. Jackley17@hotmail.com

Keep checking back! I will post soon.

Hello From Taiwan!

2010-01-02T16:01:00.000-08:00

Just hanging out in Taiwan during my layover! Sorry~ Can't post pics just yet. Doing great!

Heading Out

2010-01-01T15:44:00.000-08:00

I'm heading out for the airport in a few short hours. Scary! Exciting! Wish me luck. No, really, wish me luck. Your encouraging works calm my anxiety...if even just a little.

Deep Conversations

2010-01-01T13:02:00.000-08:00

Another post without pictures! No fun!

After eight years of marriage Dale and I still love to just sit and talk. We have deep, meaningful, communicative conversations where we share our innermost thoughts.

We've been watching this documentary that's been running as a series on TV about Mt. Everest, and they were showing the struggles of one particular mountaineer who had contracted a stomach bug. The following conversation insued over ice cream:

Dale: Wouldn't that suck to be so sick up on the mountain and you have no other choice but to shit yourself?

Me: Horrible. And let's face it. There aren't washers and dryers up there. Or showers.

D: Yeah, and those down suits cost like a thousand bucks.

Me: Poor guy. I wonder if the stains come out.

D: They probably wouldn't even let him on the plane back in Katmandu, he'd smell so bad.

J: Don't those climbers not shower for like three months as it is? I wonder if there's a maximum to how bad a person can smell. Like, does body odor cap out?

D: Yes. And I've smelled it. On the bus. It's like the worst combination of ass, balls, and onion.

T minus 2 Days

2009-12-30T23:12:00.000-08:00

So. I leave for Cambodia Friday night. Since I often get asked the same questions over and over, I thought I'd share my answers here on my blog for those of you following my mission.

Q: Are you ready?
A: Actually, yes. As of tonight I am pretty well packed. I want to spend the next two days just hanging out and doing nothing.

Q: Where will you be staying?
A: I don't really know. They said a Guesthouse. I am not sure what that involves. Will I be like an actual guest in someone's house? Like a foreign exchange student? Awesome! I have always wanted to be one!

Q. Is Dr. Bowers paying for your trip?
A. Haha...I WISH!! No...I am paying for it myself. And with the same amount of money I could be buying a Canon 5D Mk II nicely equiped with a big fat lens, which trust me, I really, really, REALLY want...but I want to serve a mission more.

Q. What is the time difference?
A. It is 15 hours ahead.

Q. How long is the flight?
A. 20 hrs on the way there, 26 on the way back (more stops...grr...)

Q. What will the weather be like?
A. Hot. We'll be missing the monsoon season, so that's good! Mid 90s in the day, mid 70s at night.

Q. Will you get to travel while you are there?
A. Not much. The only day we get off is the last day before going home. I am hoping to see the temples.

Q. Are you scared?
A. To death.

Ok, It's Not Actually PERSONALIZED

2009-12-28T13:37:00.000-08:00

Ok, Courtney, and the rest of you curious ones...No, my license plate is not actually personalized. Just numbers and letters. Really- I'd never go that far.

But I did see one once that I thought was extremely clever:

PBFOOT

Get it?

Get it??

It means lead foot. For those of you not quite up to my level of nerdiness, on the Periodic Table of Elements, lead is Pb. I remember this because I made up this little trick...Pencil Broken. See? You break a pencil and see the lead inside.

Does the fun ever end?

Maybe someday I will share how I remember gold is Au, silver is Ag, antimony is Sb, mercury is Hg, and sodium is Na. Until then just wait on the edge of your seat.

Snoqualmie Falls

2009-12-27T21:20:00.000-08:00

Here are two pics from our little family day today up at Snoqualmie Falls.

Share the Road

2009-12-26T21:42:00.000-08:00

So anyway.

Several weeks ago I recieved a notice in the mail telling me I was due for my 5-year license plate renewal. I'm not really a personalized license plate kind of gal, but as I glanced through the forms I honed in on this catchy bicycle one. Why not? I thought. I'm a roadie.

Do I think it's message to SHARE THE ROAD will really deter those jerks who try to drive as close as they possibly can to me while I am on my bike? I doubt it, but heck, it's worth a try.

My Teeth Will Be Clean While I Shovel Hot Coals

2009-12-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

I get a lot of mixed reactions from my patients when I tell them I am going to serve a dentistry mission in Cambodia. Most people, of course, are very supportive, excited for me, want to see my blog, can't wait to hear all about it, tell me it will change my life, bring me blessings, etc. Some people aren't as supportive, saying things like "I don't know why ANYONE would ever want to do that!" Yes, one lady said just that. Whatever. It doesn't bother me.

Today though, was a different story.

I have this regular patient. He's an older guy. He always brings a various religious book with him and keeps it in his lap while I clean his teeth. At some point during every appointment I have with this patient, he brings up God and wants to know if I have a relationship with Him.

A word about religion: I wasn't raised under any organized religion. The only time I attended church was when I was invited to go with my friends. I know this will feel like a punch in the stomach to many close to me, but I don't attend church now and I doubt I ever will. I am not even baptized. Oddly enough, I feel close to God and always have. But I have been judged for this. I have been told, strait to my face, that this is not enough. That my relationship with God just isn't up to par. That I need to do more.

Really, what I believe matters most is that you have a personal relationship with God, and however you choose to manifest that relationship is fine by me (as long as you don't go and join the Taliban).

So I am cleaning this guy's teeth, and I tell him about my mission. He asks me if my team is going to be spreading the word of God while we are there in the orphanages. I sort of kinda gently say no, that MTI is a Christian based organization, but the purpose of our mission is dentistry.

This is what he said to me, looking me in the eye, in an accusing tone:

"So you'll be sending these kids to Hell with clean teeth?"

*BLINK*

*BLINK BLINK*

Whaaahappen?

I was completely caught of guard. He continues to lecture me:

"It just amazes me that people will travel all over the world and not spread the word of Jesus Christ. You know if people never hear of the gospel, when they die, they will go to Hell. You have a responsibility to these children."

Honestly...This guy's intentions were pure, but his in-my-face delivery just really rubbed me wrong.

I changed the subject.

Toward the end of the appointment, the conversation turned to his many years working as an RN. I thought that surely he has served a mission at some point in his career, considering how passionately he judged how I will and will not be serving mine. So I asked him if he'd ever gone on one. "...Uh, no..." he said, gazing off into the distance. "I'd like to...but...I've never really gotten around to it."

TUCHINBRUSH

2009-12-21T21:16:00.000-08:00

Not long ago I was looking through Bella's list to Santa (deciphering her kindergarten handwriting -all caps- and spelling) and I'm all, Bella what's TUCHINBRUSH? And she's like, you know mom, so I don't have to do this anymore. And she does this motion with her hands like she is putting toothpaste on her toothbrush. And then I was like Oh yeah! Touch-n-Brush!

So I have a very strong hunch that Santa Claus will be bringing Bella a TUCHINBRUSH for Christmas. And soon that girl will have neat, clean, precisely measured out portions of toothpaste perfectly applied to her toothbrush. The rest of us will continue to struggle the old fashioned way, just like the guy on the infomercial...fumbling about, all uncoordinated, hands and counter top all covered with blobs of toothpaste while awkwardly attempting just get some of it onto the bristles.

Kai Lan

2009-12-16T19:34:00.001-08:00

My kids love Kai Lan. For those of you who don't have youngsters running about your house and are wondering who the heck Kai Lan is, she is a Chinese cartoon character.

So I was doing some Christmas shopping earlier today and was standing in the toy aisle of Target, looking at all of the Kai Lan toys. I just couldn't help but notice something. She is Chinese...BUT SHE HAS THE ROUNDEST EYES I HAVE EVER SEEN.

Am I Back in Yakima?

2009-12-09T16:09:00.000-08:00

What's wrong with this picture??

As I waited in line for coffee this morning (tall nonfat Latte, extra foam...it's all about the foam) this is what the temp gauge read.

Yikes it's cold.

The word 'teen' should never be used when describing the weather. Thirteen. Degrees. That's just wrong.

...Actually, I kinda like it ;) It's supposed to snow tomorrow! Yay!

My Sister

2009-12-09T08:09:00.000-08:00

I did a photo shoot over the weekend of my sister's family and before I was ready to start I snapped a few test shots of her while I got my camera settings just right.

I saw this one and I was like...What a hot mama my sister is!

Hey Tooth Fairy!

2009-12-06T19:59:00.001-08:00

A short time ago we discovered Bella's tooth was loose (letter O). I had no idea how long it takes for a tooth to actually fall out from the time it starts feeling a little wiggly. She's never lost a tooth before, and hello it's been like YEARS since I've lost one...I was worried that she would loose it while I was gone to Cambodia, and it goes without saying that as a mother and a dental hygienist the thought of not being there to witness my daughter loose her first tooth would just make me curl up and die.

Good thing I get to live another day.

Last night I told Bella, "Tomorrow lets take take a "before" picture, then will pull that tooth out." That tooth was so loose she could push it over completely horizontally with her tongue.

Here's Bella Before:

Then I tried to talk her into taking out her own tooth. (I have had patients who have tried that but it usually involves Jack Daniels and is often unsuccessful.)

Little guy was too slippery so I reached in with some guaze and plucked it out!

I Got to Meet My Team Yesterday!

2009-12-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

A while back, I chatted with a doctor who had gone to Peru, while in his residency, to serve a mission repairing cleft palates with Operation Smile. There's one thing that I clearly remember him saying. "On your mission, you will get to work along side of the most inspiring, highly motivated people who will remain your friends for life."

Yesterday I went to work and saw my one and only patient for the day. Then I went and saw my MD for an H1N1 vaccine, then I hit the road and headed down to Portland. We had an official Cambodia mission team meeting at Medical Teams International HQ.

I got there early and sat in my car for a little while. I was nervous to meet my team. I was! What if they didn't like me? What if there was no chemistry in the group? What if none of us clicked? What if they were competitive, or cliquey, or standoffish? We'll be spending 14 days in close proximity under extreme conditions. We'll be working together, eating 3 meals a day together, staying in the same place together, hanging out together. What if we didn't get along?

My team consists of our team leader, who is a practicing dentist in Portland but is from Cambodia. His daughter Brittany is coming along as well. Then there are two retired dentists and their wives (one of the wives is the other RDH besides myself). These two couples are friends with each other. Then there's me, and lastly, two guys who are in a committed relationship. One of the guys has done this mission five times before, while it is his partner's first time.

The moment I met these people all of my worries were gone in an instant. They were so warm, friendly, and welcoming. We all got along like lifelong friends. When we all left to go home there was lots of hugging and "See you soon!" and "See you at the airport!"

As I drove away in my car I was so happy. It just feels right. This is the mission I am suppose to be on with the people I am suppose work with. It's meant to be. I feel it in my bones.

Elfie's Return

2009-12-01T12:15:00.001-08:00

Today is December 1st and that means Elfie's in the house! Let me refresh your memory about Elfie.

We started this cute little Christmas tradition with our kids a few years ago. Elfie is this tiny little elf (whom Bella named, appropriately) who shows up at our house each year on December 1st. Elfie is on special assignment for Santa Claus. His one and only duty is to watch Bella and Rowan throughout the day. Then after they are fast asleep, he flies back to the North Pole and reports to Santa whether have been good or bad. Elfie returns back to the house before the kids awake, and each morning he takes a new perch to spy from. When the kids get up, we make a game of who can find Elfie first. There is also one very special thing about him, we tell them. They cannot touch Elfie, or it takes away his magic.

Here are a few places we've found Elfie in the past carrying out his reconnaissance mission:

Date Night

2009-11-27T21:24:00.000-08:00

Went out on a hot date this evening with my sweet husband.

Mmm...sushi.

My sexy date.

Starry Night Cake

2009-11-26T17:30:00.001-08:00

While the rest of America got up this morning and started in on their turkeys, I made a birthday cake.

I have wanted to make a Starry Night cake (you know, Van Gogh) for a long time now but haven't had an excuse. Then the other day when my sister told me we'd be celebrating TJ's (my bro-in-law) birthday on Thanksgiving, since we'd all be together. I instantly volunteered to make his cake, of course. Now I had a chance to put my idea into motion.

I got up early and got busy. Dale snapped this picture of me while I decorated...I am still in my pajamas.

And here is the finished product. I decided to be nice and take a shower and put myself together.

Today's Project: Christmas Cards

2009-11-22T11:35:00.000-08:00

I'll be finished with this by today and will happily cross this off my list!

New Moon

2009-11-22T08:51:00.000-08:00

I went to see New Moon last night with my nurse-friend Erin Lea, and two of her nurse friends.

I had a hard time finding the right words as we left the theater. I was let down.

There was a different director than Twilight, which gave this movie a different feel. I liked Catherine Hardwick's approach to the first movie much better. This one was like too...high budget. Too many special effects. Too Hollywood.

The story was good. The acting was good. The passion was there.....But it didn't feel very Pacific Northwest. Like really- what was up with those forest scenes? I mean hheeelllllloooooooo...... the Olympic Rain Forest is not made up of cedar trees. And the ground is not dusty! Even in the dead of summer. It just didn't look or feel like Forks. Twilight was on a much smaller budget, but ultimately that's what gave it it's charm.

It seemed like the new director tried too hard to make it great and it doing so, took away the essence of the story.

Ok. I am being harsh. I'll get off my soapbox.

I loved the Volterra scenes and when I read the book, that is strangely just how I pictured it in my mind, so that part was well done and really nailed it.

So will I see it again? ...Probably :)

Ways to Help a Friend Through Loss

2009-11-18T07:52:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I received an email from one of my very great friends asking for advice. Since then I have thought many times about how my reply to her would be good to post on my blog, because someone else may find the information useful, too. I have put it off for a while now, as sitting down to write this forces me to face memories and emotions that I usually stifle and keep hidden away.

Here is the email:

Hi Jess!

Loved the picture of you, Dale & the kids on your blog. I thought it captured all of your characteristics so well. :)

A very good friend of mine from work lost "the love of her life" yesterday to an unexpected heart attack. It's very sad! She's been married a few times, has grown children with their own children, etc. She has been with this guy for the last twelve years, she is in her late forties & they planned on getting married in the next couple of years. They were so in love -- she smiled every time she talked about him. She is DEVASTATED!! You might have heard of him before. He's the guy that owns Dick's Brewery down in Grand Mound/Rochester. You might have heard of the beer Dick's Danger.

Anyway -- I was hoping you could tell me what you appreciated the most from your friends at the time you lost your father. I'm trying to be a better friend to everyone. In past hardship situations (especially yours), I realize that I could have done things differently to show my friends how much they mean to me, how much I care, and that I'm there for them. So, with that being said -- I'm hoping to really help Lori out in every way that I can. Any ideas you have about what you appreciated the most or wished someone would have done for you -- I'm all ears! And...I apologize if I let you down a few years ago when you lost your father. Take care!

Stacy

Before I write about what I shared with Stacy, let me back up a few years.

I attended my 10 year high school reunion the evening of August 13th, 2005. I remember sitting there and a few tables over I saw my good friend Dennis Bohanon. I don't think I had seen Dennis even once in the 10 years that had passed, but he was one of my favorite high school friends. I had heard through the grapevine that he had lost his dad to cancer just two weeks before. As I sat there and watched him, wondered how in the world he could be holding it together. He had to have been in so much pain. I cared for my friend, but I didn't go up to him and tell him I was sorry for his loss, or even acknowledge it in any way. No way. I didn't know what to say. What if I would have made him cry? What if he was barely hanging on and that sent him over the edge? How awkward would that have been? I'd never lost anyone. I didn't know that level of pain. How could I relate? What could I have possibly said? I don't think I even told him hi.

That same evening, while I attended my reunion, my own dad died suddenly to a heart attack at age 52.

Do you remember the episode of Grey's Anatomy from a few years back when Dr. O'Malley looses his dad? He and Dr. Yang have the following conversation:

CRISTINA: "There's a club. The Dead Dads Club. And you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss... My dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club."

GEORGE: "I... I don't know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't."

CRISTINA: "Yeah, that never really changes."

It really is hard to relate to someone during their time of grief if you've never been there yourself. Just like how I felt with Dennis, it's your natural instinct is to stay away. You feel like you shouldn't bring it up. Don't make them hurt. Act like nothing's wrong. Don't call or stop by, because they are probably really sad and need their space.

The best advice I have for someone who wants to show that they care but don't really know "how", you first of all have to fight your instincts. Be there for them. Acknowledge them. Don't hide away like I did. Even if you don't know what to say, just try. Or really, you don't have to say anything at all. Just be there. Your friend won't think What do you know about what I am going through...you've never been there. Trust me. They will appreciate your effort and won't forget it. Keep them company. Offer to go out for a walk. Share your favorite story about the person.

When you write a sympathy card, really sit down and think about what to write. Try to avoid My thoughts and prayers are with you. Even if that is the only thing you can think of, maybe say I have been thinking about you and I pray that God helps you find peace in the tough days ahead.

I received many flower arrangements from friends, but one person sent a house plant. I still have it, over four years later. I love it, and it is beautiful. My sister's boss gave her a Japanese Maple for her to plant in her yard. While flowers are always a kind and thoughtful gesture, think about giving something that can be appreciated for years to come.

Consider attending the service. Even if you didn't know the person who passed, but you still want to support your friend. I remember how touched I was at which friends of mine attended. Childhood friends whom I hadn't seen in years, and friends who never even knew my dad but wanted to be there for me.

For me, there were a few periods in time what were really difficult. There's aways a huge wave of support in the days following the loss, and then you have the service. After that, the flowers wilt, the cards trickle to a slow then stop, you go back to work, back to life. I felt that month two was especially hard. Your grief and pain is still so raw. This is a time you should let your friend know you are still thinking about them. Remember that their first year without the one they love and miss is especially hard and to acknowledge that during holidays and anniversaries.

Well hopefully my advice to Stacy was helpful and someone out there learned from it too.

Oh, I did get in touch with Dennis after that via email and I found sharing similar experiences to be very helpful. We are fellow members of the Dead Dads Club. Haven't seen him in years, but still consider him a good friend.

Don't You Hate Dreams Like That?

2009-11-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

I hate being late. I hate feeling unprepared. It's a tossup which I hate more.

I leave for Cambodia the evening of Jan 1st, and as my patient reminded me today, "That's not that far away, unlike Cambodia." Pretty witty, for a 12-year-old, I thought. I just nodded and laughed and said, "Well put."

It always seems like a race against the clock between Thanksgiving and Christmas without a mission to prepare for, and to battle the constant anxiety I have been experiencing lately I have become freakishly organized and on top of things. My Christmas cards arrived this evening from Shutterfly, and soon they will be stuffed, stamped, addressed and placed in a perfectly neat little stack with a post-it note on top reminding me to mail them December 7th. I have my shopping lists ready. I have plans all ready for my new Christmas decorations. I have the date we are cutting down the tree already written on the calendar.

This gives me a little bit of relief. On the surface.

But deep down, I still feel like I am unprepared and out of time. The dream I had last night makes this obvious. In my dream I was walking down a hallway of a hotel. Suddenly this woman appears and she's really upset with me and yells "Your plane is leaving in 7 minutes!! Why haven't you packed yet?!" And so I go into this hotel room to pack but in every drawer I open all I find is Bella's baby clothes. The only thing I find to pack is a pair of ugly flip-flops from 7th grade.

If anyone has any stress-relieving tips for me, I'm all ears.

The Torch Has Been Passed

2009-11-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

Remember this post? If not, I'll remind you. Someone in my office is always expecting. It's weird but true. When one baby is born, within a few nanoseconds, someone else becomes pregnant.

So I am sure lately you have been thinking, Now that Dr. Bowers and his wife had their baby, who is pregnant now?

Haley announced today that she is pregnant. Baby #3! And by my calculations...she must have conceived right around the day the Bowers baby was born. And thus the cycle continues...

Halloween Pictures

2009-11-14T16:51:00.000-08:00

Ok...I am about two weeks late on posting these pictures. My friend Melissa had an 80's Halloween party, but only a few of us fun souls actually dressed the part. Here are a few:

My bangs had fallen (I've lost my touch!!)

Got the bangs teased back up and reinforced with extra hair spray.

That's Melissa's sister and my co-worker between us, Shelley.

Don't Look Now, But There's a Butterfly on Your Back

2009-11-09T21:29:00.000-08:00

Dale, the kids and I spent the weekend up in Seattle with our friends Chris and Jennifer (because you're never too old for sleepovers, I always say). Chris and Dale spent the greater part of Sunday at the Seahawks game, while Jenn and I entertained the five kids by taking them to the Pacific Science Center.

There's this butterfly exhibit, where you are in a big green house of sorts with, like, thousands of butterflies fluttering about.

My kids were instantly scared.

A word about my kids: They're scared of everything. Especially Rowan. There's the usual...bugs, spiders, ants...then there's the innocent...puppies, kittens, butterflies.

Throughout the exhibit there was lots of handholding and constant reassurance.
"Look at how beautiful they are!" We'd say with exaggerated amazement. "They won't hurt you! They want to be your friend!! They're really nice!" and so on.

When Rowan bent over to look at the Koi fish in the pond, this friendly butterfly landed on his back. Of course I whip out the camera. And then like that- it came and went and Rowan never even knew. It's a good thing, too, because he would have FA-REAKED and everyone else in the exhibit would have blown eardrums from what Dale and I refer to as The Whistle Scream.

Thank You Kansas Rachel!

2009-11-05T18:53:00.000-08:00

When we came home from our weekend getaway at Debbie's cabin, there was a package in the mailbox from my friend Kansas Rachel. What could this be? I thought. Look what she made for me!! Hand warmers! I call them hand cozies. She did this simply because she is a kind and generous person.

I love them. They're a little bit Eddie Bauer...a little bit Madonna...they're my favorite color...and who doesn't love cable knit?

Shaggy No More

2009-11-05T18:49:00.001-08:00

Lately Little Ro Ro has been looking like a hairy monster, so I told Dale to buzz him. I shot a few pics while he did so...and I think this one is so cute. Look at his little face!

BTW...Congratulations to my 300th post! Who knew I had so much to talk about?

I Own the World's Two Most Expensive Bandaids

2009-11-04T15:19:00.000-08:00

Ok. So. I just got home from the travel clinic at Thurston County Public Health and see my new band aid? I have a matching one on the other side, too. Now I am immune to Typhoid and Hepatitis A (the former is required, the latter is recommended) but I wish I was immune to "Shot Sticker Shock" because I almost died writing out a $270 check for two little pokes. Also, that doesn't count the Malaria pills I will get at the pharmacy @ $6/day for 3 weeks (I won't be drinking my daily latte there so it will almost even out) and the beefy antibiotics the travel nurse HIGHLY recommended to ward off Traveler's Diarrhea. Because nobody wants that.

I think I will call my insurance company to see if they will help me out here.

And since I brought up coffee...I can't help but wonder...will I have coffee there? Because I recoil and hiss at the sight of daylight without it, and nobody wants to see that.

10 Thoughts on Cambodia

2009-11-03T21:20:00.000-08:00

It's a for sure thing now...I am going to Cambodia. When I first posted about my mission, I knew very little about the trip besides that I was part of the team and we were going for two weeks in January. I now have more information and a few thoughts to share. In my mind, I struggled with how to write this post and make it cohesive and flow, so I gave up all together. I have decided to write this "list style", and name it 10 Thoughts on Cambodia. Here it is:

1. I leave Jan 1st and return Jan 15th. What a way to start the year.

2. We fly into Phnom Penh, the capital. It is pronounced P'nom Pen. On my favorite show, The Amazing Race, one of the teams didn't know how to pronounce Phnom Penh, so they just called it Sean Penn. I am really excited to fly into Sean Penn, Cambodia. We will then do some training there, then head to the Banteay Meanchey Province. I will fly out of the second largest city, Siem Reap.

3. I have to go get my "Traveling to a Third World and Hope to Not Catch a Funky Jungle Bug" shots tomorrow. I expected to have to get a whole gamut of shots. I don't. Just Typhoid and anti-Malaria pills.

4. We will be working out of the Ou Ambel Church Orphan Home where we will be serving the dental needs of 3-4 orphanages. On the site it says (don't read this part, mom) Malaria, landmines, childbirth complications, along with poor health care contribute to the large orphan population in this area. An average of two people per day become casualties of landmines in Cambodia, and this is one of the most heavily mined regions in the country.

5. I received the list of my teammates in the mail. By matching last names and/or addresses, I concluded that the 8 other people are actually 4 couples. Uh! was my first thought. I'll be the odd man out! I won't have a travel buddy! Then I decided I am just going to put my big girl britches on and go make friends.

6. The night I got the list of my teammates' names, I had a dream. It must have really bothered me that I won't have a travel buddy, because in my dream, I did have one. And it was (naturally) James Taylor. But not present-day James Taylor, but James Taylor from the 70's. Long hair and guitar and all.

7. I have been thinking about what I can bring for the kids. It had to be small and easy to pack. I have decided on stickers and ribbons (for the girls' hair).

8. I counted the days on the calendar and much to my delight I discovered that my "monthly friend" won't be along for the trip. Yes!! Because who knows what the conditions will be where we are staying, and that is a burden even when conditions are good, and considering we'll be there for two weeks, I had a 50/50 chance- Wait a second. Am I really talking about my menstrual cycle on my blog? Boundaries, Jess...boundaries.

9. I am planning on buying a laptop so I can blog and post pictures at the end of each day, but...

10. I am dying to know, but I can't manage to find the nerve to ask the mission coordinator if I will have Internet access. It's like Hey, I realize these kids are orphans, and there is poverty, disease, and landmines in an area who's not-too-distant history consisted of genocide and the loss of 50% of the population, but will I be able to get online? Really, I am afraid it will make me sound so selfish and high maintenance.

Halloween, Ackley Style

2009-10-31T14:27:00.000-07:00

Rowan, Roaming Gnome
Rowan just returned home for Halloween from Nepal. He was trekking the Himalayas. Before that he was mastering the art of Southeast Asian cooking in Phuket, Thailand. Stop by to see him soon. He will be heading off to Lake Como, Italy, where he will learn to water ski. In the off season Rowan will be traveling to his cabin in Northern Alaska to write his twelfth novel. At the age of 72, He enjoys life with five grown children and eleven grandchildren.

Bella, Spanish Princess
Bella, like Rowan, is also just home for the holiday. She flew in last night from Barcelona, where she entertains locals and tourists alike as a Flamenco dancer. For years she resented the dancing lessons her mother forced her into as a small child, but now she is grateful because she makes a fabulous living at it. She wins every ballroom competition she enters (much to the resentment of the other dancers, really). In the off season, she vacations in Ibiza, where she stays out late then sleeps in. She has many boyfriends, but nobody serious. Her parents often wonder when she will settle down.

Dale, Mountain Climber
Dale recently met his lifelong goal of summiting Mt. Everest. But on the descent, he was caught up in a unpredicted blizzard and separated from his team. His friends cannot find him, and have no other choice but to leave him for dead. Frostbitten and disoriented, he eventually finds his way back to base camp. Dale's wife arranges a helicopter rescue. It is a risky mission at that altitude, but in the end, successful. It costs her a fortune, but it's worth every penny. His wife loves him very much.

Jessie, Rock Star Groupie
In 1988, Jessie attended every single concert of Def Leppard's World Tour, following the group from city to city. To this day, she still leads a pretty rough life. Because of her past substance abuse, her mind is clouded. She doesn't notice styles have changed, and she still likes to tease her hair up to the sky and wear her makeup heavy. She struggles with holding down a job and remaining sober.