Berenice, Bucket Lists, Black Beauties and Balls

I figure I've now paid my keratin debt to society, in full.

A full 10 inches that is.

Remember this post?

Please don't hate me for the lack of technology in my life to prove this.  Someday when I have enough loose change to buy a camera cable, I will.  But let's just say that the girl with the scissors said I'd still be able to brush my hair on my shoulders--easy.  But somehow she just couldn't cut in a straight line and I'm just grateful it only partially resembles a bowl cut.

But, it was for the children.

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Speaking of poverty... I think it might be kind of obvious what is at the top of my bucket list these days: Find a job by Summer 2010.

So far...the best that I've been able to come up with is a temp stint in the posh office of one of the VP's on campus. Not too shabby. Unfortunately it only lasts for a matter of days, and not months.

But...I can't say that I'm alone in this effort. "Welcome to America"...I know. It's funny though, after living in Kenya, I feel a lot more grateful than I probably normally would for normally normal kinds of things. Like...carpet. And kitchen appliances. And sometimes I forget that there's this black hole developing in my bank account.

Life just seems so good.

And it is.

And it is, even when we drive up to campus in our '99 Black Beauty (that looks like it has an acute and neglected case of vehicular leprosy) and see all of the Beemers and Mercedes and Passats of the other grad students in the parking lot. I send Aaron off with an air kiss, as I slow down just enough for him to jump out of the car and run inside before someone recognizes us...or our car.

We joke about it on a daily basis. 

I grip my emotions tightly to the lessons learned in Kenya as I realize it's a lot easier to live in a world where status is relatively arbitrary.  At least we have a car. 

(But we still  park on the far end of any lot of any establishment where there might be people we even remotely know inside.)

Pride?  Maybe.

I like to think of it more of self-respect. 

(And anyone who has seen our car would nod in the affirmative.)

But such is life.  And whether it's in Kenya or South Bend should be neither here nor there.

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Just for the record...  I've played more kickball in the last 18 hours than I have in the last 18 years.

That's right.  Kick. Ball.

And I've never been more aware of my hip flexors in my life.

But, it was for the children.