Come Together Now

06/11/10

It seemed, at some times during this week, that Institute here in Gallup was the perfect storm of boredom, pseudo-business jargon, and brainwashing, all wrapped up in a too-warm, Western old-timey, darkened conference room in the quaint little El Rancho hotel, where the employees were far too kind to recognize what was going on. At times, the topics and the discussion questions we were given were either so unrelated, clearly leading, or just stultifyingly dull that I couldn't imagine that such a successful, big-deal movement as TFA could possibly have meant for us to spend our first days together on them... or, more cynically, that perhaps the point was to bore us and stuff us with enough unhealthy food that we'd slip into a stupor, accept the party line, and stop asking questions.

This, I think (now), is silliness. I'm not sure of why Teach for America does some of the things it does. I don't know why we were given the schedule we were, why we were given the assignments we were, or why we discussed things like the hierarchy of TFA and other details about the organization that we'd already joined during the very first days together as a Corps -- days I'd expected to be using to get to know my peers and get pumped for interviews, Institute, and the instruction of our students. But I think, whether by design or by accident, this week brought us together. And for that, I'm very glad; I really, really enjoy every one of the people I've met and had a chance to talk to.

Today -- Friday -- for some reason, post-chaos and post-anger, seemed to get miraculously better. The sessions were more relevant and, on the whole, more stimulating; the people that gave their opinions were engaging, and had interesting, useful things to say, and I think the whole Corps just seemed closer, as a group. We laughed at the jokes of the cops that gave us a safety talk together, taking notes about how the local country radio station made one officer want to "go home and beat [his] dog," on how another officer noted that there is mace available online that "comes in different colors!" for the girls, and how, since it's the 4th highest grossing store in the US, we should "Stay away from Wal-mart!" ... especially on the 1st, the 15th, and weekends. The community session was great, too; there was a huge panel of intelligent, articulate Native American folk that told us how they wanted us to get involved in our communities and school, what their kids need, and how we can be culturally sensitive as teachers. I think the danger of having come out to New Mexico knowing I would be serving low-income, generally low-performing schools is that I had, somewhat unwittingly, imagined that many people with whom I'd be in contact would not be well educated, or at least not value education as much as I think they should. So, in addition to being impressed by the number of people who took time out of their day to address a room full of mostly 20-something-year-olds and all wanna-be teachers, I was also impressed by the passion that became apparent in everything they said: passion for their kids to do well, passion for education, passion for a generation of strong thinkers and potential leaders for the tribes here. I felt equal parts inspired and humbled -- and wholly hopeful for all of the things I know I have to learn from this place and its people.

But the best bits, I think, were yet to come. After a nice little (and by little, I actually mean enormous) buffet dinner at the most ostentatiously Chinese restaurant in town -- the King Dragon, complete with the Forbidden-City style yellow pagoda roof -- we came back to El Rancho, digested a bit, and found ourselves milling about in the now more homey, but still hilariously overdone southwestern themed lounge area, mimicking bits of Weezer's Sweater Song: "Hey, did you know about the party after [dinner]? ... Aw man, it's gonna be the best, I'm so stoked!" ... "Hey, I'd like to go to this party, but my friends don't really want to go... do you think I could get a ride?"


We'd all been invited by Tom Ponce -- already known to most of the New MexiCorps to be a character, though we hadn't yet met him -- to a party at his house. At first, the thought of trudging in the warm night off to an unknown place to drink cheap liquor over beer pong didn't really appeal to me, but the camaraderie of the day, of dinner, and the general relief of knowing we'd not have to be attending sessions the next day -- as well as invitations from several people I wanted to hang out with -- all worked in tandem to change my mind. So, around 9, rather than do my duty by you, Dear Reader, and blog like I'd intended, I instead headed out with Ally Johnson and Julia Ecternach, to find the house that we'd know by the "Got Tom?" sign in front. (Did I mention he was already established as a character?)

After a moment of misdirection, we arrived, and I was immediately glad we'd come. The inviting glow inside the little house was the first thing we noticed upon having the front door opened to us, and already there were people clumped off and talking in little, warm groups, beers and other drinks in red plastic cups in hand. There was laughing, and flirting, and talking, and all with a spirit of having been unshackled, not having to watch words any longer or worry about being overheard. For the first time in a week, I think we none of us had to worry about being sure we sounded professional, or sounded like we were thinking along TFA party lines; we could just... be. And the exuberance of this small freedom brought a joy and a sense of community that I knew wasn't just the alcohol. I'd been to parties where the attendees were drunk and alone. Here, at varying levels of intoxication, we were family. Sure, there were clumps of cousins who were closer to each other than to older Auntie Mae -- people with similar interests or shared geography that had already brought them closer to a few than to others -- but there was genuine gladness to see every new face that came to the door in the faces (and the greetings) of those already there. It was like, after a week of real or imagined adversity, coming home.

The kitchen was painted a vibrant goldenrod yellow-orange, and was filled with an everchanging ebb and flow of people. We met and re-met older Corps Members, re-introduced ourselves to people in our own Corps, and generally got to know things about each other we hadn't known before. There was the usual bunch of silly antics -- Joe Mensah got "iced"; he was presented, somewhat ceremonally, with a Smirnoff Ice and made to drink it in one go -- but there were also conversations about homes, and interests, and passions, advice from people who'd been there and questions from we who haven't yet been... all intensified by the fact that generally everyone involved was actually listening to the stories, the answers, the jokes and the opinions being presented. At least, when we weren't trying to avoid random encounters with Smirnoff.


I made my way downstairs, past the beer pong tables and huge clumps of people talking, and ended up striking a conversation with a girl named Heather, who went to George Washington University. Having recently been quite close to her campus, I asked her about it, and what she'd done there... and was delighted at how the girl, who seemed to be quite quiet in our sessions, sprang to life. She told me about how she had run the sexual awareness group on campus, and told stories about her interactions with transgendered people, the gay community, giving advice, and finding her own comfort level with herself -- all with a passion and a hilarious sense of humor I hadn't known she'd possessed. Before that night, I'd known heather was quiet, from Kentucky, had a scar on one of her arms, and had enviably straight hair. I loved that conversation.


By the time I was ready to head out. Ally, Julia, Patty, and a couple of other girls had joined and left (and joined again) our little group, and we'd talked about the Sandlot and the stars overheard and any number of things that people getting to know each other touch on, our conversation flowing as intently and changing as quickly as the river of people upstairs. Ally, Julia, and I walked home, climbing sidewalks most of the way, laughing ourselves to tears and assuring each other we'd grow a garden together and have kittens and puppies and lambs and llamas if we could find a centrally-located enough compound on which to make it happen.

I climbed into bed not too late, and drifted to sleep looking forward to the camping trip that would come the next day, and the leisure of being able to go for a run, sleeping and packing and showering all on my own time, and looking forward to the ride on the way to Arizona. Like it or not, liking the way it had run or not, and perhaps mostly in spite of our feelings for it, the TFA-NM 2010 Induction week had brought us together, and I couldn't wait to greet what was to come with the people around me.

Pictures courtesy: Steph Asper, Google Maps Streetview, and Angela Cerci.

You'd think I'd know this by now

I was PISSED. I was a completely livid, angry, ugly mess of held-back tears, obviously upset and upsetting everyone around me. I kept hearing muffled cries of "Congratulations!" as people learned that I'd been placed... and sometimes didn't respond with anything more than a half-hearted nod because I just didn't want to tell them the whole story.

The whole story was this:

This morning, I got up in the morning, got ready, got down to breakfast, and got so prepared, it wasn't even funny. I'd written out answers to possible interview questions, looked up the places I'd been slated to interview online to find out more about them, considered how far outside of Gallup I'd be willing to be placed, thought about what I'd be willing to coach or do or teach, and even figured out how flexible I'd be willing to be with principles to get a job; I'd figured out everything. I felt calm, confident, filled with a sense of possibility. I even went upstairs and smiled at myself in the mirror after I'd dried my hair and gotten my makeup on; I knew I could do it, that I would do it, and that things would be great from here on out. I was stoked.

We got to the GMCS (Gallup McKinley County Schools) job fair a bit late, but I still got to sign up for three promising-looking interviews in the immediate Gallup area... and then headed back in a shuttle van to the Teach for America office in Gallup, where I had an interview with Borrego Pass. I figured this would be my warm-up interview, but I got word from the few people who went before me that it was actually kind of like an info session. When it was my turn to meet with the tiny, warm, but sort of wrinkled and very down-to-brass-tacks Principal, Mr. Whiteagle, about his school, he basically gave me a bunch of details about his school, the packet of information about it, and some details from his head of HR, and I determined it wasn't for me. The very first thing they said was (I kid you not!!), "You have beautiful eyes!", and about the only question I answered was, "Where are you from?" to which my reply of "Wisconsin" was greeted with, "OH! You're basically Ho-Chunk!" .... so, yeah.

I must have just tuned out at some point during the interview. I took notes, and have them, and vaguely remember hearing that we'd have to be monitored, clock in and out, stick to very strict curriculum, use only tests that are in the format of the State exam, and turn in lesson plans 30 days in advance -- leaving no room to adjust to students' needs, seemingly no room for games or play or interaction with the material, and certainly no room for giving students more time to grapple with the extremely difficult concepts -- but I pretty much just wrote it down without hope. Clearly, this school was not for me. How on earth would I bring the awesome Teachah Katy theories of introducing theories thoroughly, and then reinforcing them with games to this kind of hardened, unyielding table? I was polite, and nodded a bunch, and asked about Navajo in the school when I saw there was "Ya'ah'teeh" on the brochure, but I didn't even really pay attention to the details as the HR lady went over the packet in her tired, raspy voice; I wasn't going to apply. These two seemed nice, but I was going to find a place where I'd be a better fit.

I shuttled back to the GMCS Job Fair and had quite a long wait until lunch. Though it'd been scheduled to arrive at 12:00 noon, nothing actually arrived until 12:40pm, which meant not only that we'd gone from 7am to almost 1 without eating anything (and all work and no food make for pretty cranky TFA members), but also that I had only 20 minutes to get food, shove my face, then wash said face and get back into The Zone before my first actual interviews of the day. Fortunately -- even with a much-anticipated phone call -- I was able to do all of those things, and I pretty much killed the interview at Turpen Elementary School. I loved it; loved the principal, loved that their school motto of "Work hard, go far, and never forget who you are" aligns so well with the TFA idea of "Work hard, get smart", and liked the idea of incorporating Navajo stories and culture into my classroom. I mentioned that I think that I have at least as much to learn from my students as I have to teach them, mentioned that I've already started working toward my Master's degree at UNM, mentioned my various teaching experiences and even tutoring Josie and Jeanie... and I felt like I did great. I felt convinced I'd get the job on or before next Tuesday, which is when the principal said I could expect to hear back from them. It seemed like a great fit; here in Gallup, elementary school, I'd be teaching 4th grade, so I could really show how much progress my kids had made in measurable, documentable ways, and I'd be able to take classes and attend cool cultural events and visit others using Gallup as my main hub. I was psyched... and still had two more interviews to go!

After Turpen, I was slated for an interview with Sanders, a school actually just outside of New Mexico in Arizona (but still on the Navajo reservation). This seemed promising; I'd be working on the rez, but with a principal who seemed open to change and creativity, knew it was All About the Kids, and was even giving out flash drives with the school district logo on them! Awesome!!


... When we arrived, the Executive Director of the New Mexicorps branch of TFA -- Landon Mascareñaz -- was on the phone. So, I'm sitting in the conference room, readying for this interview, psyching myself up again and reviewing the notes I'd made on what I should say in answer to possible curveball interview questions, get up to go to the bathroom, come out... and am told that I have a job.

"Oh, Catherine!! You have a job."
"I have a what?!?"
"You have a job."
"... what? I don't see how that's possible." I was glowing with the very small hope that the Turpen principal had decided she wanted to hire me on the spot.
"Borrego Pass said they were really impressed with you, and want you there."
"Well, that's... flattering, but I wasn't given an offer. I was given an application, and was not planning to apply..."
"But they've said that they want you. You're hired."
"I feel as if I should have been contacted.... I..."
"You look as if this has taken you by surprise. Is there a problem?"
"I just hadn't been planning on taking a position with Borrego Pass. It seems as if I might be a much better fit at another school, such as Turpen, or..."
"Well, you've been hired by Borrego Pass."

... and that was supposed to be that. So, I was trapped. And abandoned. And swimming in the tears of frustration that I was failing at fighting back. I had already been wondering about TFA's questionable placement methods; my friend Julia had been told she was to apply for positions teaching high school science, when she neither has a background in science nor a desire to teach it; several other TFAers have backgrounds in biology or political science, never taught a day in their lives, and had been placed in early childhood Special Education positions, and lots of people that hadn't had math since high school trigonometry were being told that they were to teach middle or high school math. Most of us had wondered what was up with that, but had been quelled somewhat by the ubiquitous insistence of the TFA Staff Members that this had been thoroughly researched, and we'd be fine.

Well, we weren't fine. Apparently -- through no fault of TFA's own, I admit -- the state standards had recently been switched around, so we found out today that hardly anyone was actually qualified to teach the things they'd been told they would have to apply to teach. The whole range of positions that our corps was applying for shifted, and soon several people were competing directly against each other for positions. It was a mess. Now, not only had we gotten there too late to sign up for interviews in anything but the morning, but several people couldn't apply for any interviews at all, because the ones they'd signed up to interview for wouldn't be able to hire them no matter what.

On top of all of that, I felt particularly abandoned. This was NOT something that I wanted, in any way, shape, or form. This was not just a case of flexibility; the things that Mr. Whiteagle had talked about seemed like things I would NOT be willing to do, NOT be willing to subject my students to, NOT be willing to sign on for. I was so bewildered, I began ending sentences in prepositions. I simply would not work there. I thought of quitting TFA right then and there.

I calmed down for a moment; Laura said that she had talked to one of the staff members in charge of hiring -- Jenn Love -- about her concerns about the Borrego Pass school wanting us on for three years and some such. We haven't placed any corps members in Borrego Pass for three years because the principal before Mr. Whiteagle didn't seem to be doing anything good, and I don't know that we're sure they've improved. So, I got on the phone with Jenn, who pretty much told me, 'tough luck'. She insisted that many other Gallup-McKinley County schools are by the book, have strict principals who often come by and observe, and will likely have similarly unyielding curriculums and discipline policies. Basically, I felt like I was being told, "Well, you're going to hate it wherever you go, so you might as well hate it an hour and a half from the middle of nowhere." .... Great.

I spent the next hour trying to keep it together while I waited for a shuttle to talk to Jenn in person; she said she felt as if she were "barking out answers" on the phone, and I knew that I was blinking back tears I didn't want to have in my voice while we were talking about something so important to me. I knew Jenn had almost a hundred other people to think about, but I felt this was important. So, I started making calls. I called Mom. I called Papa. I called Dan-o. I called Betsy. I called Paul. I called Grandma Williams. I called Aunt KJ. I called Aunt Ann. I tried calling friends I have out of the country. I called Craig and Rowans' US numbers, just in case their parents picked up. The only other time I'd thought I needed so much help and had found absolutely none was when I had been laying in desperate pain on Aunt Ann's couch, in need of surgery. And I felt that my straits this time were just about as dire. This hurt; it felt as if TFA, New Mexico, and all the powers that be were conspiring against me to keep me from the one thing that consistently brings me happiness: working persistently in a challenging classroom to help students learn, and to create a great atmosphere in which I can learn from them while they're learning from me. For the past few days -- and months before -- my only real hope was to enter into a classroom where I could learn my students' names, learn what makes them tick, learn what kind of music they like to listen to, learn what they love to talk and think and dream about... and it seemed like this would be an abject, straight-up impossibility if I were to work at Borrego Pass.

I got back to the job fair. Jenn reiterated that I was going to have to deal with things I hated, no matter where I was, and there was no helping it. If I hated it a lot, and with good reason, I could talk to my Program Director and plan how I would be moved to a different position.

I was heartbroken.



....But, somewhere among the desperate clawings of my brain to make sense of how this could all be, I decided to try to give TFA and Mr. Whiteagle the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, maybe... maybe I was overreacting. I couldn't figure out how, or wrap my mind around what could possibly be a case scenario that would make me accept the monumentally awful task that beset me. But... I ... I was going to try. Because the coming months would keep me writhing in agony if I didn't figure out some way to deal with it.

I got back to El Rancho, and found Erin and Angela -- the other two who had gotten the job. I remembered coming out of the Borrego Pass interview and responding to Erin's inquiry of "How'd it go?" with "Oh, it's awful. Totally not for me." ... so I wondered at them when they both seemed to approach me with smiles and hope. What had they heard that I hadn't heard? What had he told them that had give them a sliver of a possibility of a glimmer of hope? I beckoned them both into my room, and asked them to explain to me what their impression was of the prison that awaited us.


... I had been totally, completely, utterly wrong. When I had shut down, I had lost the opportunity to ask questions, and didn't. But Erin and Angela had, and Mr. Whiteagle had seemed open and receptive to all of the slightly out-there things that both had asked about. It seems we'll be helping to revitalize a school of about 150 kids, K-8, whose school was in danger of shutting down, and whose principal was just looking for a few good [wo]men. It hadn't been a personal affront that he hadn't asked us specific questions about us; he just needed to nail down a few people, and work it out from there. At Borrego Pass, we may be able to help design lesson plans for the curriculum, work with some very young students and possibly impliment reading-buddy programs, help coach volleyball, really figure out a way to make learning interactive... it seems that nearly all of the things I may someday want to be able to do with a school of my own, I'll be able to start working on here. It'll be a huge challenge; we'll be out in the middle of nowhere, working from at latest 7am to at least 5pm, and there will be lots of training and professional development and manditory meetings and planning sessions. But... there's so much hope. It started in those two, and it infected me. There is so much possibility, so many things we can help this school, these people, these children with; and I'm going to pour all of myself into it. I have accepted the position, my place at Borrego Pass, and everything that it will mean to have me there. I'll begin training in late July in Oregon, and be working from there on out (more on that once I know about it).


The thing is, I think the Turpen job would have been much easier. It would be in Gallup, with almost no commute to my classes at UNM, and it would be less of a challenge, more straightforward; I would have had a class pet with a rotating feeding schedule, some autonomy, not so much accountability, and would have done a great job. But it wouldn't be the huge challenge which I know I can rise to meet. I had actually been talking to Allie, one of my roommates here at Induction (in the El Rancho), last night about how the world seemed to have come together to push us to our very limits... and I think this will be mine. These next several months are going to be brutal, but they will also, if I put my everything into it, be so incredibly rewarding that I think I will not be able to imagine having been anywhere else. I'll know all of my childrens' names, and their favorite games, and what makes them tick, and their favorite music (if I can help it, I'd still like to have periodic iPod dance parties for them to shake their sillies out in between lessons)... and I want very much to help lay the foundations for that school to know continued success. I think, with help, I can do it. Just as I had been in the shower this morning, I am filled again with a calm sense of hope, of possibility. I hate to use the term -- it's one of those overused pieces of TFA jargon that I think I use to mean something different -- but I really do think that making a tangible, incredible, needed change is possible.


This evening, after a delightful dinner with Michael Mahoney, Allie my roommate, and Julia, we were treated to several traditional Native American dances in the down square, just outside the courthouse. The emcee, Vernon Smith (?), was delighfully longwinded and I loved his teaching of Navajo words and welcoming of TFA and spectators from other countries. He expertly filled the time it took for the dancers to change between dances, and expertly described the impressive or meaningful bits of their costumes. The dances themselves -- and the flute-playing in between -- was impressive, and it was almost hypnotic to listen to the voices and drum while the wind blew low over the Gallup plain and up over the sun-warmed steps of the square at sunset. Just as the sun was about to go down, all of TFA -- and everyone in the audience -- was invited to take part in the circle dance... so we were all connected, over and above the strife and worry and aggravation of the day, in a dance, in music, in the scene, to each other.

A small group of us walked back, and enjoyed the little sights of Gallup; a couple fixing their fence, a cat on a giant heap of discarded rubble, the dogs barking and falling over themselves for attention from the passersby, the gorgeous, rolling landscape that was lit by the sideways light of sunset and the clouds above that blazed purple, pink, and orange. New Mexico, I think, is going to take care of us. And in return, I will take care of its children.

An adventure a day...

Up at 6:00am today, I went with Callin out to jog/hike the Red Rock State Park's Pyramid Rock Trail this morning. The sun rose over the sandy rocks, and we ended up coming over a ridge to see one of the most beautiful canyons, lined with gnarled juniper and soft green grasses blowing gently in the wind. The calm was palpable... but then we had to go.

After jogging back down, getting back to El Rancho, taking a quick shower, and finding a place at the table, the sessions began. The powerpoint eventually subsided for Indian 101, which was a quick two-hour overview of all things Native American. We then bussed out to the gorgeous campus of the University of New Mexico - Gallup, where, after a lovely bag lunch, a couple of the girls in my group and I lay down under the grass in the shade of an olive tree and relaxed for a bit between sessions.

The afternoon was taken up by introductions to UNM, which just got better and better. The very first thing was a greeting -- "Ya at'eh" which I've been able to say for months because of my Navajo CD, but I'd never known what it meant. Apparently the hilarious syllable, "Oh" (which is said in a low tone, as if someone has just told you that you can't go outside to play today because it's raining, and they just ran over your cat) is the respnse: 'Ya at'eh' means "It is good", and the response 'oh' means, "yes". How wonderful! I hope very much to learn Navajo. I might take it online in the fall, but I'll have to figure out the credits first. Here came the next bit of good news; I may be able to not only earn my license in two years, but my Master's (of Arts in Education), as well. I took one course online last Spring, and if I take classes either here, online, or at a different university and transfer them back here after that, I'd be able to come away from Gallup with a full Master's degree! I'm pretty darned excited, and the staff seem like they're very knowledgeable, and that the university will be small enough to give its students individualized attention. It seems like it'll be a much tighter-knit community than Madison could offer, and I think I'll like the change. Better yet was the view; the rooms of the building in which we met looked out over wide stretches of great plain and red mesas and buttes, as far as the eye could see. I can really see myself liking that place.

This afternoon, we came back to get our interview assignments and information on our placements and what to expect with interviews. I've got interviews with elementary schools all over the area -- from right here in Gallup to up to three hours away on the Navajo reservation -- and I look forward very much to (hopefully) getting hired; being able to start making plans based on a placement, in a school, with a certain location, with a certain group of students. I also look forward to being at Institute; though we'll be much busier, we'll all be teaching... so I think we'll all be, in the words of one of the staff members here, "much happier camper[s]". I am very much looking forward to us all getting placed; until then, we're all trembling bundles of nerves, still trying to meet people and put on a good face, but not sleeping terribly well and asking each other incessantly, "How are you doing?" We're really all a kind of funny bunch, and I quite like all of the Corps Members I've met; I can't wait to really start getting to know everyone, when we're not so worried about interviewing and what's to come.

After dinner at a pizza place called The Rocket (complete with a Family Tree on the wall and lots of pictures of cats with garlic and oregano), Julia and I went for a walk at sunset, and the calm returned. We walked up a hill and looked down the bluff at kids playing tennis and running around the track and generally being kids all over the grounds of a school, then walked a little further on and saw a gorgeous husky dog just before turning around and heading back down to El Rancho at dusk. All of the neon lights seemed to be coming on at once, just as all of the locals seemed to be coming out of the air conditioning. Julia commented, "There's a totally different vibe here after the sun goes down," and she couldn't have been more right. The song Summer In the City could have been written about Gallup.

In any case, much calmer from the sunset and the walk, I'm winding down and feeling like I'll be ready for tomorrow. But in order to be really ready, I'll have to hit the hay pretty soon. I'll let you know about my placement as soon as I do!

A Land of Extremes

After signing off last night, the people with cars arrived, and my life began. First, it was a small troupe of wonderful women; there was Laura, from San Francisco, who is super involved in the Youth Climate (is that right?) Movement, just got done working for Greenpeace, and talked with me all night long about positive affirmations and her crazy trips to Europe via Iceland; Rachel, who is our lovely brown-haired and our resident Native Guide to New Mexico (she's from a different part of the state) that recently finished up at Rice and had the most wonderfully sparkley broad smile and silver shoes I'd ever seen; and Hannah, who reminds me of someone I can't quite place, who had worked in New York for two years at an NGO and had just left her roommate of six years. They recognized me from facebook (I friended everyone I could find from the 2010 New Mexicorps back in April sometime in order to organize a caravan that would get us from Gallup to Institute in Phoenix and back), and I recognized them as the group Paul had been talking about. Paul Appell, with whom I have been exchanging messages via facebook, had proposed that all of us go camping on our first night in Gallup, and I'd been pestering him for most of the day about when he'd be arriving.

Around 6:30, after a bit of dinner and lots of looking around El Rancho for possible incoming TFAers, Paul arrived, and we got ready to leave. It was only then that I realized I had absolutely no sleeping bag to my name. Fortunately, a kindly bystander (well, by-sitter) named Andrea came to our rescue, and lent us her spare sleeping bag and tent. I have a feeling I'm going to be constantly amazed by people for the next month; not only have the local Gallupites and TFAers shown an incredible magnanimity, friendliness, and willingness to share, but the latter group also seem to have a HECK OF A LOT of camping/rock climbing/hiking gear. I'd be jealous, if I wasn't so sure I'm more or less bound to end up with similar sorts of stuff. In any case, I'm pretty impressed that there are so many people who just camped their way here; I haven't been rustic since Girl Scout camp, with the possible exception of a night spent on the ocean's edge with my fellow teachers in Taiwan.


Anyway, the kids in cars had arrived, and we were off. Though the Red Rocks State Park was only 15 or so minutes away, the girls ended up going the wrong direction at first, so Paul and I killed time chatting with a TFAer named Allison and her mother, Gail, who were picnicking at the park as the sun set. The park lived up to its name; as the sun sank lower, the rocks glowed, illuminating the layers of sediment on the smooth outcroppings and drawing our attention up to the spires on the top of the hill -- Church Rock. It was an incredible sight. Eventually, Hannah and then Laura and Rachel found us, and we all sort of sat at the picnic table, conversing about everything from the moon-faced feral cat and stinkbugs that came to visit to our various adventures (especially to Washington, D.C.), to positive affirmations (like Jessica's!) and yoga and neuroscience.

Hannah brought cards, so we played a rousing round of Gin as the last light of the day faded rosy and blue-black behind the huge rocks that surrounded us. The breeze died down to the point that it barely rustled the silver-green leaves of the trees that surrounded us, so though the temperature dropped, it felt just pleasantly cool. The stars, one by one, came out above us, until there were so many stars that we could barely make out the fainter ones behind their brighter counterparts that made up the Summer Triangle, the Big Dipper, and Taurus. I have never seen a more beautiful sky, and between Cusco, Peru and Richland Center, WI, I've seen my fair share.




After waking up in the morning and breakfasting on the brownies with which Paul's mother had sent him off to Institute (all the better to make friends with, my dear!), we rolled back into town, stopping at Auralia's Route 66 Diner for $3.95 Breakfast Burritos, OJ, and coffee. We learned from Rachel that the correct way to order both green and red chiles, if you're undecided, is "Christmas on the side!". (Apparently, New Mexico has a state question: "Green or Red?" It refers to the chiles that come with EVERYTHING here.) The 50's decor was charming and a little hilarious, and we all enjoyed the friendly crowd of what were obviously Regulars that huddled together at the bar. The waitress was wonderfully attentive, and we never once wanted for water, coffee, or more chiles.

We got back to El Rancho and milled about for a bit; the girls and Paul had no room, and I had no key to get into mine, but after a bit, we all were able to check in to our new room assignments, shower off, change for the day, and get going. Registration involved getting lots of forms and our nametags, and then we lunched in the 49ers room of El Rancho and had our three lectures of the day. The room was, in turns, too hot and too cold, and I fidgeted quite a bit a half hour into each power point presentation, but the monotony (important information though it was) was broken up with group discussions, little jokes here and there, and a walk (:D!!) mid-day, with Julia. (Julia, who I met serendipitously in the hallway just before registration, is a lovely little pixie of great.)

Post-lectures, we all herded into vans and were off to the Taste of the Southwest, where we had a lovely buffet dinner and Julia and I talked with a bunch of people about all sorts of issues in Biology and nutrition. Most of the kids at our table were bio majors or pre-med, and I certainly got my science fix for the evening. I also made plans to go jogging tomorrow at the Red Rocks State Park -- an opportunity I'd missed this morning.

In any case, this may be my only free period for awhile; it seems as if our days will be pretty packed from here on out, and get only more packed as the weeks go on. Still, I'm really enjoying everyone we're meeting, and really liking the weather, climate, landscape, and people of Gallup. I think we'll get along just fine, New Mexico and me.

On the Road Again

After a whirlwind weekend of goodbyes, good meals, and poor time management, I managed to get out the door and to the airport on time. Kansas City International, where I had a layover of two hours, supplied me with endless amusement at a stream of curious (and loud) five-year-olds as well as pacing, frenetic businessmen... and the internet, so the time passed quickly. When I stepped foot off the plane in Albuquerque, however, there seemed to be a palpable change. No longer in just a slightly more twangy version of the Midwest I know and love, people seemed just as friendly, but time was slower, everyone was tanner, and everything from the decor to the cowboy hats let me know I wasn't in Wisconsin anymore. Huge, painted engravings on the wooden rafters that spanned the vaulted ceiling of the airport came into view as I galumphed awkwardly onto the escalator that took me to the baggage claim, and the entire stucco-cement walls of the airport outside sported that charming Santa Fe combination of faded terra-cotta orange and teal. If nothing else, I was entirely charmed.

One by one, I met up with four other TFA New Mexicorps members, as well as a staff member: Kimberly Heu, from Hawaii, reminded me somewhat of the Robin Takamine that Rowan and I met on our first day in Taipei; Jonathan, from San Diego, is tall, dark, and quiet, but seems charming; Christina "Christy" Cunningham is a wonderful, boisterous, red-headed lady from St. Petersburg, Florida; and Colleen Dunwell, from Boston, is absolutely lovely and seems to have had an interesting at Brown (and at a boarding high school before that). The nice lady who offered us candy and drove us in her van was Lindsey Cross, one of the first people to talk to me from Teach for America (and to friend me on Facebook, which is always important.)

It's been nice; I've already been impressed by the people with whom I'm here. The only other person in the first wave of newcompers, who didn't just graduate from college is Christy, the one from Florida. She's a mother of four, so my first impressions of her were that she talked about her daughter and sons a lot, an had a slight bit of a twang to her speech; I think, in a different situation, I might have dismissed her at that. BUT SHE'S AMAZING!! She's a mother of four, and not only knows her children very well, but also has just earned her Masters in Education and made lots of progress with the children that she worked with as a student teacher. She has a story for all of her students, and even from the little fragments of bits of stories that I got, it's obvious she met her students where they were, and worked with them to make small, manageable steps to really substantial progress. She also likes anime, video games, and has a guild on WoW -- she wanted to let her 'guildies' know that she made it here safe, as well as her family -- so I think she'll be right at home with all of us. She's incredibly personable, and I think she helped me and Colleen feel more comfortable right off the bat.

I've not had time for many other impressions, but there are some. Already I can tell it is dryer here. My nostrils and throat have started to launch little protests, letting me know that they will soon be scratchy if I don't get them back to humidity soon. (Deal with it, face. We're here now, and you're going to like it.) The landscape shows it, too; as we were landing, the mesas and mountains of the landscape were clearly visible, but much of the rest of the landscape seemed a vast expanse of light, dust brown, dotted with innumerable round bushes. In the van on the way to Gallup from the ABQ airport, the vast brown continued, through with large outcroppings of great, red rock protruding from the rolling mounds of dust and green-brown.

When we arrived in Gallup, we passed something like seven signs announcing we were along the famous Route 66, and our hotel, El Rancho, boasts a list of hundreds of stars that stayed within its quaint walls while filming Westerns. The slogan on the front reads, painted in white on a brown board that stretches the entire front of the hotel: "CHARM OF YESTERDAY ... CONVENIENCE OF TOMORROW." I don't know about the convenience bit -- I guess there is air conditioning? And wifi! -- but the charm is certainly here. The headboards of the beds are shaped like wagon wheels, and the lobby is adorned with mounted deer heads, a giant amethyst, signed pictures of stars of the silver screen that stayed here, and lots of rustic wooden and woven décor. Even the railings are the stuff of Westerns; they're made of that same rough wood that are reminiscent of olden hitching posts.

I can't wait until everything lights up with neon.

Sitting in a chair that looks like a conglomeration of used covered wagon bits and the cushions from a couch from the 70's, it seems like life might move a bit slower here, like maybe we'll take more naps here or something. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but it certainly seemed... hushed, the kind of quiet it gets when the people at whose home you're staying realize you're tired and try to make a bit less noise, and lower their voices. I bet that'll all change -- the slower and the naptime bit -- tomorrow, but, for now, I'm rather enjoying the lull. Heck, it meant time for a blog update.


But, to be honest, I'm not sure I had much to say. I left, on a jetplane. I arrived, and drove, and have observed a single place and then farted about for most of the afternoon. I have not the way with words, nor the keen observations, nor even the penchant to address whatever poor schmuck views this as "gentle (or "dear") reader" that my three known friends with blogs (Famigerate , Aidan on an Island / 'La Islaidan', and Of Ivory Towers and Holy Waters) boast, but I shall try, at the very least, to post more than two updates. Stick with me. I'm holding out for great things.