I am in India, then Hawaii, then Europe, then Mexico. I have seen monkeys and camels, but no tigers. I have seen the Taj Mahal. I am having the dead skin on my feet bitten by little fishes. Then I am touring a castle in Germany or visiting a beach town in Italy. I can… Continue reading My Autumn Travels
It was 1977. I was finishing up ten weeks of student teaching in an American oil school in Caracas, Venezuela. My roommate, Christy, wanted to travel for two weeks before we went home to the states. She wanted to visit Machu Picchu in Peru. I’d never heard of it. “It’s the lost city of the… Continue reading Machu – whatchu?
When my new science teacher announced on the first day of 7th grade that no one would get an A in his class if they didn’t make an insect collection, I was like, “NOOOOOOOO! I hate bugs!” My mother hated bugs. Her mother hated bugs. They hated mice, snakes, and dog poop, too. I walked… Continue reading Don’t Let the Bugs Bug You
While student teaching in Venezuela, we learned how to have fun with not much money. One of the American teachers had stolen a couple of striped beach towels from an upscale hotel, and she had been sneaking into the hotel pool for years. “Just carry the towel and act like you belong,” Linda said. Christy… Continue reading Sneaking into the Pool
At the end of my ten-week student teaching in Venezuela, one of the teachers said that I could probably come back to teach at Campo Alegre the following year. She said they were always looking for American teachers. “You can stay with me during the summer,” she said, “until you get your apartment.” The American… Continue reading You Can Take the Girl Out of Iowa
Kristy and I met at Iowa State University. We had been around the world together, at least to Venezuela where we did our student teaching, plus Ecuador, Peru and Colombia. Then we were roommates in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. As the story goes, I applied for the third grade teaching job, the principal interviewed… Continue reading One Flood, Two Fishermen
At the end of my ten-week student teaching in Venezuela, one of the teachers said that I could interview to come back to teach at Campo Alegre the following year. She said they were always looking for American teachers. “You can stay with me during the summer,” she said, “until you get your apartment.” The… Continue reading You Can Take the Girl Out of Iowa . . .