The Wishing Flower

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

I Love You, Man in Brown Shorts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

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.

Ever Experienced Durian?

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