Walk To School Day: Florida Edition

In Florida, it could be raining one minute and then have skies so clear you could literally see a rock fall through them the next. You can’t change this. You can’t wish for anything different. You can either take it or leave it. That is Florida, the land of the sunshine and beaches... And rain and water and waves and fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun.  Unfortunately, I experienced Florida all too well one day.

            But I digress.

            Walk to School Day. And walking to school wasn’t something unusual or strange either. I did it all the time. It’s a lot smarter than trashing the world with fumes and gases that a car gives off.  Plus, it was four blocks away. Our Walk to School Day just happened to be on a day with one of Florida’s rainy spells, where the clouds decided to pull the drain and let all their water from the past week spill out over the land of sun. Sun. Not rain. Sun.                        

I, with my pigtails and backpack, my mom with the fading blue Baby Jogger my brother sat in, sucking his thumb and hanging onto an old, tearing, stuffed animal were determined though. It was rain, not acid. It wasn’t going to kill us. We were going to continue walking to school.

            You see, it wasn’t raining when we first set off. It was more of a fine drizzle. Like the pipes up there in the skies were leaking, or the plug in the cloud’s almighty bathtub wasn’t actually plugged in all the way. We managed to get halfway to school before they let it loose.

            Yes. Those clouds pulled that already failing plug and decided that everyone down below them was toast. Wet, soggy, toast. Or at least those of us walking to school that day. We were the only ones that seemed to be doing that though, since we couldn’t see anyone out on the sidewalks. But still, we trudged on through the rain. My shoes were soaked through. My hair was plastered to my neck and face. My tiny fingers were shivering and trying to cling to the straps of my backpack that were so wet it was like they were put in a washing machine and set to high. Meanwhile, my brother was sobbing his eyes out because he was soaking wet and my mom was trying to keep us on our feet.

            Where were all the kids?

            Even though it's storming and gray, you would expect to see a couple of people toughing it out. Maybe joining us in our victory walk against Mother Nature, our final stand against unpredictable weather and unfair circumstances.

            Where were all the parents?

            Were we really the only ones that could tough out the rain? Surely not, these people could survive anything. Hurricanes were like baby storms to them; this was nothing.

            We were drowning.

            I couldn’t see more than two feet in front of me, and I was so unbelievably cold and wet that you could’ve thrown me in the ocean and I would’ve looked the same. This was impossible. The wind was blowing me over, I actually fell over twice, into shallow, laughing puddles, which shook with each drop of water and seemed to be enjoying this damp, dark, day. My eyes were in slits because the wind was so harsh it sliced across them. We couldn’t get to school in this weather. We couldn’t. We couldn’t.

“Hannah, let’s go take cover in that garage.”

            My mom’s voice managed to reach me through the thunder that was booming outside, and her finger was like my lighthouse, pointing to the shore, or in our case, someone’s garage.

I nodded my sodden head and we stepped into safety.

            It didn’t last two minutes.

            Looking around the garage, a garage that certainly didn’t belong to us, I felt a twinge of guilt. Who were we to hide in some random person’s garage? What if they came out with a machete or something?

            The door connecting the garage to mystery machete owner’s house started to open with a squeak. My heart was pounding; we were about to get yelled at for sure, or maybe they would call the police and put my mom in jail and me and my brother in a foster home, or maybe they would kidnap us and cook us in their stove...

“Hannah?” Shock.

“William?” Utter disbelief. “William, this is your house?” My voice caught in my throat and I started to laugh. “Mom, this is William. He’s in my class.”

William’s grandmother entered the garage after him and peered at us through her glasses.

“Why are you so wet? Are you actually walking to school?”

“Well, it’s Walk to School Day,” my mother replied, leaning down to wipe my brother’s eyes.

“Oh, it is? Well, then we better get going, or we’ll be late,” she said, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She clapped her hands, pushed us out, and pressed in the code that closed the garage.

            And then we started to walk to school again, my mom, my brother, me, and the addition of William and his grandmother. We had one more block to go. We were going to make it. We were going to make it.            

            Dripping wet and exhausted, we made it to school.

            We were the only ones that had walked to school.

            My mom and William’s grandmother dropped us off at our classroom, like a soggy present to our teacher.

“Why…?” she questioned, gesturing to our sodden clothes and soaking hair.

“It’s Walk to School Day, miss,” we replied.

“No it’s not,” she said. She paused, and looked at the calendar on the wall. “Tomorrow is.”

People

In the two weeks that I haven't posted, a lot can happen.

A certain Language Arts essay about an event in my life and the emotions that came with it can be submitted.

A certain Dad can come for a visit and leave again.

And a certain family over here in Jordan, then reunited can open all their Christmas presents, for what is Christmas if not celebrated with the ones you love?

I think that Languae Arts paper has wiped all of the words right out of my head, so I'm sorry for the neglected blog post.

And I think my Dad visiting hasn't left me much time for actually thinking through a post, and finding the time to write it.

But besides that there's really not much to write about right now anyways.

We have seven more months left here in Jordan, which means that I think of Colorado more often... The life we're going to have there, the people we're going to meet, my school, our house, and even the people we're leaving behind. Everyday at school I talk to my friends, sometimes about their next posts, sometimes about mine, and sometimes just about nothing at all. But it gets harder and harder to find something to talk about, becasue so many things lead to leaving. And leaving leads to never seeing each other again.

I mean isn't that the main reason everyone's so scared of moving? And leaving? And starting over? It's never the place, it's never the fear of what's going to be there when you arrive. It's who. Are they going to be nice? Are they going to the best friends I've ever had? Or am I going to be that new girl that comes from the Middle East and no one wants to bother with getting to know because it's to much of a hassle.

Well it's a hassle getting to know them too. Getting to see how they live, and what they like, and what they've done their whole entire lives. And sometimes the whole entire first year of living somewhere is exhausting because you're trying so hard to make sure that you have friends. It's easy over here with an embassy and an international school. Everyone has done this their whole lives. They understand what it's like to feel alone. They understand what it feels like to know that no one in the world knows what you're going through. Because the truth is we can explain it to them, and write it out for them, and tell them as many times as we want. But they will never understand. We've all seen different things, and met different people that have changed us in so many different ways. We all know what it's like to be different.

Moving around in America... Well it's scarier. I'm not going to speak for everyone, but in my experience the people that I've met have lived in one place their whole lives. They all listen to the same type of music. They all wear the same brands of clothes. They all have literally been best friends for life. And I'm the new girl. That person that shows up and changes everything. That was in elementary school. Now I'm older. Now we're all older, and it's even harder.

But then what about those people that you leave? Well half of the people here that I know are leaving too. They're going off to their branches of the world. And the people that are staying will be gone in a few years too. I'll never see any of them again.

Heck, I'll never see any of this again. Because places change right along with the seasons, and if I ever come back to visit Jordan, everything will be different.

I'm scared.

I'm scared for the people in Colorado, and I go over a million scenarios in my head every day of what they could be like. They're a mystery to me, and they will be for the next seven months.

And I'm scared that I'll lose touch with the amazing people I've met here.

I wish I could just pick up the embassy and drop it in Colorado, that way I could adjust right along with everyone else. And I won't be alone.

People are the cause for everything. They can make you laugh and cry. They can make pick you up and bring you down. They can make a place worth being, and a day worth living.

They can determine whether or not moving is worth it.

Luckily for me, it usually is.

But that doesn't make it any easier.

Gingerbread and 60 Degree Weather

It's December third now, correct? That means we're just 22 days away from Christmas, and 28 days away from 2012. At our house we have the Christmas tree up, and a few presents from family under it. Our stockings are actually over the fireplace, which has candles in it for when the electricity goes off. Christmas parties and ginerbread houses are being planned, skiing stuff is coming in boxes for our trip, and advent calendars are being opened everyday.

And yet it doesn't feel like Christmas.

I know, I know. I say this about every holiday. But it's true. Maybe it's the 60 degree weather or our missing family member, but it really doesn't feel like the jolly holiday that everyone loves.

Oh, and also, our teachers seem to be giving us more homeowrk, so it's not like when I get home from school I have time to daydream about gumdrops and "Santa".

In Florida, we'd be hauling in our Christmas tree and going down to the beach in just sweatshirts and jeans.

In New Jersey, we'd be shoveling snow and preparing for the Nutcracker ballet I was in every year.

In Virginia, I'd be outside until way past it got dark, having snowball fights and sliding around on the thin layer of ice over the sidewalks with my friends. Each day finding new sledding hills and drinking hot chocolate together.

Here, we're getting out our fake Christmas tree from the storage shed and trying not to dress to warmly. Anything more than a sweatshirt, and you're toast.

And in Colorado? Who knows. At least my dad will be back and there will be snow again.

Christmas feels like it's way more than 22 days away. It feels like it's months away. But maybe that will change with the weather.

And maybe the weather will change, and the temperature will drop.

Maybe.

Israel

At our house you never know when a fire alarm is going to go off. Or maybe I can just never tell. Which is ironic since is happens so often. Like today for instance. Colin and I are staying home from school and we had pizza rolls in the oven when the fire alarm started blaring. Our dog, who is terrified of it started shivering and whining so our housekeeper took him out while I turned off the oven, opened all the windows, and waved a towel around. Then all was normal. These episodes are kind of alarming since when there's actually a fire we'll probably not know because we're so used to the alarms.

Oh wait. Why'd we stay home? Well we were in Israel with a bunch of other families, seeing all the religious sites and touring around. My mom likes to joke about how a big weekend trip for her was going to an amusement park. I guess overseas that just doesn't cut it. We toured around our neighbor country with other embassy families. I think we walked at least ten miles in all. At first the trip was great, we saw so many things and had so much fun, then the second day Colin got a fever, and by the third day he was throwing up every hour. We don't know if it was a virus, or a fever, or just motion sickness from riding around in our big tour bus for three days, but he was miserable, my mom was miserable, and I was pretty much the only one from the whole family touring.

In fact we have some pictures of just me in front of some amazing places. While all the other families stood together and got people to take their picture, I was all alone in ours. I'm sure in a couple years when we go back and look at the pictures it'll be pretty funny.

"Oh hey! There's Hannah on a boat in the Sea of Galilee!"

But at the moment it was pretty darn sad. My dad's gone, and my mom's taking care of my sick brother on the vacation that she was so so so so excited to go on.

So that's why my brother's staying home. I'm staying home becasue the border crossing from Jordan to Israel is such a lengthy, tiring process that we didn't get back in Jordan until eleven o'clock. And we didn't go to bed until twelve. Plus, who knows if I caught the horrible possible virus my brother got. No signs of it yet, but I'm still crossing my fingers and hoping that it passed us.

We went form this,

 to this in three days.

It Rained

I must be some kind of fortune teller.

Or maybe I jinxed it.

Or maybe I'm just amazing at writing posts and mentioning something that then happens the day after.

While I explore into this talent I have just discovered, I will tell you how exactly it developed. In my last post I said, and I quote: "How many times has it rained here?

Zero. We need rain."

Well guess what, it rained last night and this morning. Of course I'm on break and slept in so I didn't get to see it. But I saw the wet streets and water droplets on the windows.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, it didn't flood the streets like last years, but the rainy season just started, we've got four more months to go. And then it will be hot and dry again.

I gotta give it to Jordan, although the country needs way more water, the weather is amazing, and in the summer you'll never have to rebook an outdoor party because of rain. You might have to because of dust and sand storms, but it's not like those happen all the time.

I love winter over here, it gets just cold enough that you need a heavy sweatshirt, hat, and scarf. So you feel all cozy and warm. And then the air is so crisp. Well, it's actually normal, the dust's just gone so it feels more clear.

I've made up my mind. I think I just jinxed it.

I have jinxed the weather. Now be amazed since this will probably never happen again.

Oh well, it still rained.

Baking Therapy

Okay, okay. I know I wrote a new post yesterday. But something's happened between now and from when I hit submit.

My mom went a little crazy.

See? She put on an apron!

But who can blame her? Her husband left for Iraq and her daughter got blue hair extensions and went to a school dance all in 24 hours. 

So, for therapy she decided to bake food. Most moms would go to a salon and get their nails done and call it nail therapy, but not her. She baked food.

Which is a miracle in itself since we don't bake food. If I want cookies or brownies, I make them myself. We don't even bake food for holidays, we throw parties and let people bring us deserts.

But yesterday, some strange bell in my mom's head went off and she got out recipe books and googled food conversions and went to grocery stores.

It started with pumpkin pie.

And then two pumpkin pies.

And then cookies.

And then frosted cookies.

And then bread,

brownies,

pretzels,

and pumpkin cheesecake.

 And meanwhile poor Ike scavenged around waiting for something to fall on the floor.

 We had to bring in another table to hold everything.

But frankly? My mom can do the baking therapy as many times as she wants. It benefits me anyways. She cooks, I eat. Everyone is happy.

And now we have deserts ready for Thanksgiving. I hope it's okay to put pumpkin pie in the freezer for a month.

Field Trip Trouble

Some of you may have hard about the unrest over here right now. Just might have glimpsed it on the news. Well there's stuff like that here too, in Jordan, it's not as bad as Egypt and Syria, but it's not a once in a lifetime thing. So now that that's settled, let me tell you a story.

There once was a girl named Hannah in seventh grade who had a field trip to one of the old crusader castles in Jordan. All of the middle school was going on field trips that day in fact, and they were all so excited. The sixth grade was going over to our friend the Dead Sea, and the eigth grade was going on a trip to another crusader castle, farther north than the seventh grader's castle. So the day before the field trip came and as Hannah was eating dinner, her mom got a text. It said something along the lines of this:

Due to the protests, road blockings, riots, and unrest in the ______ Castle area, the seventh grade field trip will be postponed to a later date. We are sorry for the inconvienence but the student's safety is our top priority, have a good day.

Okay, I'm done being narrator now, I don't know what the text said, something along the lines of that I bet but anyways, yeah. Our field trip was canceled becasue of protests and road blocks and danger.

Now there's a lot of crazy reasons for why field trips get canceled, maybe the weather was bad, there was a freak tornado, the whole class got sick, the place shut down for revamping, I don't know.

But for the most memorable field trip canceling, I bet I win the prize.