Indian Summer.

It's been almost a month and it still doesn't seem real. I still cannot look at any of these photos or watch any of these videos without getting goosebumps. 

The Cleveland Indians went to the World Series.

Let me say that again. The team that no one thought would amount to anything. The team voted "most disappointing team in the playoffs" swept the Red Sox to win the ALDS, held the Blue Jays to win the ALCS, and then took on the Chicago Cubs and their 108 year drought in the WORLD SERIES.

And, in the end, we lost. BUT WE WERE THERE.

Seriously. I used to pay $7 for tickets when I was in high school because it was one of the cheapest forms of entertainment in Northeastern Ohio. This year they were in the World Series. And I paid way more than $7 to see them play, but it was worth it.

I went to a couple of games while I was home in August, when playoff dreams were just close enough to start entertaining, but far enough away to not get our hopes up too much. (We are Cleveland fans, after all.) I even tweeted about how sad I was to be at the Jake for the last time until the 2017 season. 

At the end of October, I returned to Rio de Janeiro where I really got my money's worth of MLB.TV when I tuned in to the game almost every night. I watched the Magic Number get smaller and smaller and smaller. And then it happened-- our Magic Number was zero. 

We started talking more and more about the Cleveland Indians in class, and I had the students write good luck messages to the team on our whiteboard. Some favorites included "The Boston teams looks like a baby next to you, Cleveland Indians" and "For the hot dogs!" We might have been big fans of the hot dog races...

Each night, I stayed up waaaay past my bedtime (thank you, two hour time difference) and watched as the Indians were up 1-0, then 2-0, and then as they swept the Boston freakin' Red Sox. It was like a dream come true-- the Cleveland Indians were Central Division Champs. 

I'll admit, I kind of thought that's where things would end for us. We'd done so well, I figured that the other shoe just had to drop. 

Sweeter words have never been spoken.

But it didn't.  We went on to play the Toronto Blue Jays, and I spent all week receiving picture and video messages of the games from my best friend and brother.  At the end of the week, against all odds and circumstances, and a really unfortunate drone accident, we walked away ALDS champions. 

I think that I went to school with a smile on my face every day for two weeks. The Cleveland Indians, MY Cleveland Indians, were going to the World Series.

I watched Games One through Three on MLB TV and cheered alone in my room. And then I started making plans. I spontaneously bought an incredibly expensive ticket to be home to attend the watch parties for Games 5-7, although I secretly hoped we would have already crushed the Chicago Cubs by then. I didn't, and don't, regret a single penny spent on that ticket.

Upon boarding my flight home, I looked for a flight attendant who looked like they would know a thing or two about baseball and asked if there was a way for them to keep me posted on the score throughout the flight. He looked at me with a questioning look and asked "...What sport is the World Series for?" I had clearly chosen the wrong flight attendant. 

They weren't able to keep me updated, which is okay because I passed out cold for the entire flight and I woke up to at least 50 text messages from my friends and family telling me all about how Cleveland had killed the Cubs in a 7-2 game, how Kipnis hit a three-run homer at Wrigley Field, and how the Indians were up 3-1 in the WORLD SERIES. I couldn't wait to be home.

That night, my family and I bundled up and headed down to the stadium for the watch party. It was freezing, but it was worth it. After all, it's not every day that your team makes it to the World Series. The only thing that would have made it better would have been, you know, a win. But it was okay, the Indians were coming home to win it all in Cleveland.

Over the next few days, you could feel the excitement in Cleveland. It was everywhere. Everywhere I turned, someone was wearing a Tribe shirt. Every single cashier and I talked about how this year was our year and how we couldn't handle the stress of going to Game Seven. Cleveland felt so alive.

Obviously, Joey and I were unable to actually purchase tickets to watch the games from inside the stadium, but that didn't stop us from driving downtown and watching the game in the plaza next door. It was packed. It was crazy. It was the next best thing to actually being inside the stadium. 

 On the first night, we watched the Indians fall to the Cubs again. But it was okay. We were disappointed, but we still had Game 7. We could do this. Plus, we all had free Doritos Locos Tacos waiting for us at Taco Bell the following day, courtesy of Fransico Lindor and his stolen base.

Thanks Frankie, you da best. 

The next night, we headed downtown again. And again, like the night before, we stood in the plaza between the Jake and Q and cheered on our Tribe. We were bummed, and upset, when we were losing in the first. We shouted angry cheers when Joe Buck was shown on the screen. We all cheered Jose, Jose, Jose when my dude, JRam, was up to bat. There has never been a happier group of people than we were when Rajai Davis tied the game in the eighth. Strangers hugged each other. People cried. We were in it to win it. Lebron knows what's up.

via GIPHY


In the end, the Cubs won. Their drought was over and ours lives on for another year.

For the next few days, Cleveland fans were met with many "who blew a 3-1 lead now" a la Golden State versus the Cavs. And, of course, we came back with a "Well, we were missing three of our best players and lost by one run in extra innings of Game 7, sooooo..." The fans took their lead from the players and the management, who must be some of the best in baseball. The players were proud of what they had done and they were disappointed in the loss, but they weren't angry. And, in turn, the fans weren't angry either. Not the real fans anyways. We shared in their disappointment and in their pride. We were all consoled, and even congratulated, by Cubs fans who recognized what it meant for Cleveland to be in the World Series and how hard of a fight we put up.

Cleveland against the world. Cleveland or no where. Cleveland that I love.

February 27.

It was like any other Saturday. Except for the fact that I had Saturday School, but even that isn't out of the norm. I woke up and cut it a tad too close getting to school, I taught, I came home and spent the rest of the day at the beach.

It was like any other Saturday. But it wasn't.

Because my heart was heavy thinking of my snowy hometown. My heart wasn't on the beach in Ipanema, but rather on the hills of Ohio.

Four years ago, my quiet hometown was shaken to it's core. Four years ago, we were known for snow fall and maple syrup and our schools all having excellent rating. Those aren't the only things that come up when you Google "Chardon" anymore.

And it was tough. It was tough to watch the lives of the people you've grown up with change. It was tough to hear people who have never heard of your town talk about it in a negative way. It was tough to be in Brazil instead of being with people who love and know Chardon the same way that I do. But people from Chardon are resilient. We have to be to deal with long, lake effect winters. And as a community, so many good things have come from such a terrible tragedy.

Some students have been working with contractors and adults within the community to build and open the Chardon Living Memorial Park.

Others have created scholarship funds to be given on behalf of the students who were killed.

And my students always, always, always get a lesson on bullying. Because whether or not this shooting was a result of bullying, others are. And it is never a bad time to discuss bullying and it's harmful effects.

So we wore red. We empathized. We spoke of Coach Hall and what makes a hero. We discussed bravery and we talked about choices. We prayed to God for continued healing of a city that many have never been to.

Heading Home: Honduras 2016

Although it never used to be, but January is quickly becoming my favorite month of the year. I spend time with my family and friends in my beloved hometown in the States, I spend entirely too much time on airplanes traveling to destinations that most people don't know exist/ confuse with a more popular country (no, Taiwan and Thailand aren't the same country and Honduras isn't in Africa), I eat weird foods, I set foot in my tierra amada where I get to hug my babies every day and have coffee with friends, and then just as life out of suitcase starts to be too much, I return back to Brazil as summer is coming to a close and spend my days at the beach.

It's a hard life, but someone has to do it. And I volunteer as tribute.

As I did last January, I flew to Honduras this year to spend ten precious days with some of my favorite people. I spent four days in Siguatepeque hanging out with my kiddos and visiting my old stomping grounds and then spent the next six days on the missions trip with Pilgrim.

The homecoming was phenomenal. There's really nothing like driving into your old hometown; seeing the restaurants where you used to eat every week, passing the same vendors selling the same goods at the same spot on the side of the road, smelling the scent of burning trash which is somehow simultaneously gross and comforting, walking into the four walls that you called home and opening your arms to the students who taught you how to be a teacher and the friends who walked beside you as your navigated life in a place so far outside of your comfort zone. 

We laughed. We laughed so much. We worked on Language homework (which is more fun when Miss Caitlin isn't your teacher anymore). We completed Reading Logs (which are still a drag). We played soccer. We went out for coffee/ lemonade. We dined together for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. We spoke English and we spoke Spanish. For four short days, we were doing life together again.

And then on Sunday, some of my favorite people from Pilgrim came down and I got to spend a week showing them my beautiful city. Our days were spent in the mountains singing "Un simple muchacito que se llamaba David" ("Only A Boy Named David"), painting nails, and having VBS with the local children. In the afternoons, we really lived the Honduran experience-- which included riding in the back of pick-up trucks, eating at Norberta's, driving up a mountain to buy fireworks and then shooting them off in the middle of the street, and eating ice cream at the Mennonite store. 

I think I was Honduran in a past life. Truly. There's no other way to explain the love I have for these people and this country; how at home I feel when stepping off the plane and how devastating it is to leave.

It's my dream in life that everyone can experience Honduras, and, hopefully, love it as much as I do. For those people who can't physically go to Honduras, for whatever reason, I used my top notch iMovie skills to put together a video montage of my favorite week of the year. This is Siguatepeque. This is our Honduras.

Be Joyful. Pray Always. Give Thanks.

Thanksgiving was, is, and forever will be my favorite holiday. Christmas is my favorite holiday season, but Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It started selfishly-- you eat, you nap, you don't have to spend your money one presents. It's every college kid's dream. But over the years, I've actually come to love Thanksgiving for the act of giving thanks. You know, the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Thanskgiving in Honduras 2012. Thanksgiving in Rio 2014.

As with most people, my family and friends top my list for what I am most thankful for. Sadly, it's been four years since I have celebrated Thanksgiving sitting around a table with blood relatives. It's hard, there's no need to sugarcoat it. Each year, Thanksgiving is one of my guaranteed homesick days. It's hard knowing that my brother is flying in and my cousins are driving home and everyone will all be spending time together while I'm thousands of miles away (and usually teaching, nonetheless). 

And yes, I've been so blessed in both Honduras and in Brazil. In each country, my friends and I created our own traditions and eaten delicious meals with the hodge-podge family that we have become. We've played American football with our students. I introduced my students to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. We've hosted dinner and made everyone go around and say what they are thankful for. But we also all know that, despite how much fun we are having together, we still miss our friends and family back home. 

Closely following my family and friends on the list of things I'm thankful for is technology. I'm so connected to the people who are important to me and, honestly, I don't think I could live abroad if it wasn't for that. Throughout the course of the day I was able to Skype many of the people who are so special to me. The people who watched me grow through high school and move to college and then make the difficult decisions to move abroad, but who love and support me every single step of the way. 

So to you guys, I'm thankful for all of you. For your love. For your laughter. For your support, even from another country. For your understanding when I text you at 4am because there's a three hour time difference. For being the people who I miss every single day. 

And to these goons. What a perfect day to Skype the 45 babies who filled my life with more joy and laughter and tears and stress than I ever knew what to do with.

Honduras is Great.

This past Tuesday, September 15, was Independence Day in Honduras. As I wasn't able to be in Honduras celebrating with parades and fireworks and trips to Copan or Tela, I celebrated in Brazil with a trip to Ipanema. And by wearing my Honduran soccer jersey to school.

Kelly and I went to the beach despite the rainy weather and overcast skies (cabin fever, remember?) and since the beach was empty, it was the perfect opportunity to take pictures with my beloved bandera de Honduras. When I returned home, I Facebook messaged it to a Facebook page, Honduras is Great. Next thing I knew, they had posted it to their Facebook wall. And now I'm an internet sensation. Just kidding.

I did start Facebook chatting with a Honduran who is living here in Rio which is  AWESOME. We chatted about all things Honduras and commiserated together about how there are no baleadas in this country. My catracha heart was so, so full.

It's a beautiful life I'm living where I can combine my love of three very different countries each day. To say that I am blessed is an understatement.

For those of you who are wondering, the Spanish says, "Stories that we love... "I'm not a catracha (a Honduran person) by blood, but I'm a catracha at heart. Now I live in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and I always have Honduras in my heart", these are the words of Caitlin Casavecchia, a young North American who fell in love with Honduras while living with us for two years. A Honduran sister, like many others who were born in other places, shows that the only thing you need to be Honduras is to love this country."

Meet Mera.

If you know anything about me at all, you know that I LOVE Honduras. I love the people, I love the food, I love my school there, I love the beaches, I love the mountains. I love it all. I also really love my students. And while I haven't been their teacher in a year, they will always be my students. Always my Grade 2's or Grade 1's.

Each one of them is crazy and wild and funny and awesome. I could tell you so many funny stories about each and every one of them. But today is all about one wild little girl. One wild little girl who was my student for only a year, but who changed my life in more ways than she could ever understand.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Mera.

She just finished Grade 2, and like I said, she's wild. She's energetic and she's stubborn. She's funny and she's loving. She's girly and she's a tomboy. She loves me to death and wants nothing to do with me.

She also needs surgery ASAP.

Mera currently has a whole collection of kidney stones that are causing her a lot of pain and not allowing her body to work properly. She will need a procedure called a lithotripsy which is when kidney stones are broken down (usually through ultrasound shock waves) that can then be passed through the body.

The only place in Honduras where this surgery can be performed with proper pediatric equipment is in the capital city of Tegucigalpa, located approximately 2 hours away from Sigua. The approximate cost is about $3000, as well as about $3000 for follow up procedures and a second lithotripsy.

This is where you come in.

$3000 is a pretty substantial amount of money. Especially for Honduras. (As a reference, I was making about $300 a month while working there. That was enough for me to be considered wealthy.)

Will you please consider donating money to help Mera with her surgery? It's as easy as skipping that Starbucks coffee for a day. Or not buying that pair of pants that you have to have don't really need online. (Trust me, this is a feeling I know well right now.)

If you are feeling led to help financially, money can be mailed to me in the States and I will get the money to Mera and her tías (aunts). We can also work out a way to transfer money through PayPal, if that is easier for you. You can also donate through this fundraising website: Mera's Lithotripsy. Heck, I will travel to you to pick up the money, if that's what needs to be done.

Also, will you please keep Mera and her tías in your prayers? Mera is one of the bravest (and most stubborn) people that I know. When talking to her tía about the upcoming procedure, she said that the other night Mera was inconsolably crying in her arms-- a mixture of pain and fear. For Mera to show such strong emotion this way, she must really be in pain and very anxious. She needs our prayers!

Thank you in advance for all of your help. I cannot tell you how much it means to me, to Mera, and to her tías.

Everything Is Different

As I was looking at my TimeHop today, I was met with these two images. 

In that instant, I was transported to one year ago at this time and so vividly remember the feelings that I was plagued with each day. For a brief moment, I felt like I was reliving that day all over again. The pain was so real.

I was suddenly reliving the days when tear stained cheeks and red puffy eyes were the norm. I was remembering the physical pain I felt when saying good-bye to each of my students and to the friends who had become more like my family. Each "This is the last time I am going to do/ eat/ see this." was coming flooding back to me. And I quickly became reintroduced to feeling so disoriented; as if it was someone else living my life.

Not only did I go back to the difficulties of leaving Honduras, but also the struggles that faced me upon landing in the States. There were so many tears for the life I had left behind and so many tears for not being able to embrace the blessings in front of me at home. There was the feeling that I didn't belong anywhere anymore and that I would never love any place more than I loved Honduras. That I would never love my life anymore than I did during the two years I called Siguatepeque my home.

The pain was intense and it was constant. At the beginning, I couldn't make it through a church service without crying. Naps, tears, and hours spent alone we part of my daily routine. At the beginning, I was unable to see past the pain. I was so wrapped up in it that I was unable to see all the blessings that come from loving places and people so deeply. And there was no way that I was going to find any comfort in all of the blessings that were heading my way.

Slowly, and without realizing it, the time spent alone grew shorter. The sobbing calls to my roommates from Honduras became weekly as opposed to daily, and soon monthly as opposed to weekly. 

Soon, I was able to look back on my time in Honduras without feeling pain that it had ended, but rather joy that it had happened. That's not to say that I don't miss Honduras and the relationships that were built there. I miss that country as much today as I did the day that I left it almost 365 days ago. 

When looking at the images that appeared on my TimeHop, the pain I felt wasn't for me. Not the me that I am today. The pain I felt was for the me who I was one year ago. What she was going through was hard, sometimes unbearably so. She thought that the good-byes would be the hardest part, but was unprepared for the weeks ahead of her in the States. I felt pain for her, but I didn't feel pain for me.

Over the last 365 days, each day was a battle. A battle to find the positives in the situations given to me. A battle to look back on my time in Honduras with love as opposed to the thought of it filling me with sorrow. A battle to love Honduras while also loving the States and Brazil. Some days were good, some days weren't so great. But each day brought me to here-- 365 days later when I can see all of the positives that came from living in, and leaving, Honduras.

A year ago today, I couldn't even fathom a life that didn't involve living in Honduras. But here I am, one year later, doing exactly that. Day by day, nothing seems to change. But all of a sudden, you look back and everything is different.

Jet Lag.

Let me preface this by expressing my disbelief in realizing that I have been living outside of the country for THREE years now. Three. Last time I was living in the States full time, neither Beyonce nor Prince William had children. The Hunger Games hadn't hit theaters yet, 50 Shades of Grey had just begun creating international scandal, and Call Me Maybe had been stuck in people's heads for about three months.

Three YEARS.

I've experienced the whole spectrum of culture related emotions in those three years-- some more than others. I've been in awe of the beautiful countries I've lived in, I've been frustrated when things aren't as easy as they are back in the States, I've pushed outside of my comfort zone and been absolutely elated to do so, I've been so mad that the only adequate way to express myself is through tears. Lots of tears.

Not only have my emotions really been through the ringer, but I've added so many experiences to my list of "one time, when I lived in Honduras/ Brazil" stories. I've eaten fish eye balls and chicken hearts, I've completed a Color Run, I've seen one of the 7 Wonders of the World, and gone barefoot for One Day Without Shoes in two different continents.

I've also become well-acquainted with culture shock, reverse culture shock, and jet lag. Better friends than I had ever hoped, actually.

Reverse culture shock and I are not good friends. Really. I spend 11 months out of the year away from my family and then the one month I am home crying because I miss my friends and can't handle being back in the United States.

I felt so guilty for it. I desperately wanted to enjoy my time in Ohio. I wanted to soak up late nights with my friends and family and embrace every opportunity to hang out that came my way. But the reality was that a day didn't pass without tears and on some days I could hardly even get out of bed. The prospect of going home was always a blend of happiness to be seeing my family and friends again and dread of the crappy mod swings headed my way.

I knew that what I was feeling wasn't completely irrational. I would trade dirt roads and two lane highways for Wal-Mart SuperStores and subdivisions in a matter of hours. Not only were my physical surroundings different, but my heart was also different. In my search to validate my feelings, I found this article, Jet Leg and Heart Lag by Rachel Pieh Jones, in which she puts a definition to my anxiousness and sadness upon returning home-- heart lag.

Everyone is familiar with jet lag, whether it be by experience or just the word. You change physical locations and time zones and your body physically takes time to catch up. Heart lag is the same concept except it's the time that your heart needs to catch up when trading one home for another.

I've heard that a good rule for figuring out jet lag is to give yourself one day to recover for every hour of time difference. So since there's a three hour time difference between Ohio and Rio, I could expect to be feeling the effects of jet lag for three days. I don't know how accurate this actually is, but its a nice, clean cut equation. As a math teacher, I can appreciate the equation. As someone who constantly has to know what is going on, I can really jive with knowing exactly how long until I start to feel like myself again. But, of course, heart lag doesn't come with a nice equation. There's no WikiAnswers answering the question "When will I feel whole again? When will I be normal?"

So, like many other things, I take it one day at a time. Sometimes I jump back into life in Rio/ Ohio/ Sigua with both feet. Other times it takes my body a week to catch up. Sometimes the tears come out of nowhere and don't stop. Other times I don't see tears for weeks.

Culture shock, jet lag, heart lag-- we've become fast friends and yet their arrival still startles me every time.

Tell The World I'm Coming Home

I've been waiting for this day for 207 days.

The day I can finally return to Honduras.

I'm coming home. Tell the world I'm coming home.

Giving Thanks For The Simple Things In Life

Living and working abroad comes with so many perks-- exposure to a new culture, meeting new people, eating new foods, seeing new things. It also comes with it's fair share of downfalls-- homesickness, missing the life milestones of family and friends, spending holidays thousands of miles away.

Since leaving Ohio almost three years ago, I've spent every holiday (except Christmas) abroad at least once. I haven't attended an Easter service in English in three years and I forget what it's like to be cold on Halloween. Despite the fact that I've now spent Thanksgiving away from home three times, it hasn't gotten any easier. 

Part of the struggle is that neither Honduras nor Brazil actually celebrates Thanksgiving. It's hard to feel like a holiday is approaching when the majority of the people around you don't know or care that it's approaching. 

Part of the struggle is that Thanksgiving is such a family oriented holiday, and yet I find myself far, far away from my family.

But the good news is that I'm not alone here in Rio and I wasn't alone in Honduras. I made incredible friends in both countries-- some of them North Americans, some of them Hondurans or Brazilians. People who understand the difficulties of being away from your family and friends for so long and during such meaningful times. People who have taken me under the wing and welcomed me into their country.

So while my Thanksgivings have been less than traditional, they've become more and more reflective of the lifestyle I've come to love-- a blending of cultures coming together to celebrate the differences and similarities in all of us. 

This year our table was adorned with the typical turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, etc, but placed right a long side the traditional dishes were Brazilian risoles and palha italiana. Last year, in Honduras, we had the typical Thanksgiving trimmings, but we also had Canadian Swiss Chalet sauce and Honduran baleadas. And when I looked around the tables, I didn't see a family that I was blood related to, but I saw a family that I had built for myself. 

Thanksgiving hasn't looked the same for me in years, but the feeling of Thanksgiving has always been present. The gratitude you feel for the people in your life, the happiness and laughter shared, the exhaustion yet pride that comes with cooking a Thanksgiving meal, the contentment you feel when you look around your crowded house and see the faces of people you care about it-- these feelings are universal. 

Thanksgiving may be an American holiday, but the sentiments are felt everywhere.

I Was Born And Raised Here.

I got it made here. 

As with any big event, I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember where I was when I found out. I remember the emotions that went through me. I remember where I was when I actually realized what had happened.

I was completing my fourth week of student teaching at OLM in Rio de Janiero, Brazil and had just begun packing up to go to lunch. My roommate walked in my classroom, just as she did every day, so that we could walk to lunch together. But that day she asked if I had ever heard of a town named Chardon. Of course I had, I grew up there. My heart would forever left in that sleepy, little town. 

I knew something was wrong just by looking at her eyes. And I nervously laughed when she told me that there was a shooting at the high school. I accidentally left my cell phone at home that day and thought that I could make it through the rest of the day without going home to get it.

Fast forward twenty minutes and I realized mid-bite that I HAD to go home and get my cell phone. I didn't have any messages. Nor could I get a hold of my mother, father, brother, or sister. (I hadn't discovered the magic that is MagicJack yet, so I was relying solely on texting.) Where were they? Was my brother okay? What in the world was happening?

I called my best friend and hysterically asked him to call my parents or my siblings and then call me back as soon as he knew everything. He called me back at about the same time as I received texts from my parents. My brother was okay, everyone was okay.

Two years later and I'm not sure that everyone is okay. Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Doubtful. 

CBS' 60 Minutes aired a special about the shooting and Coach Hall tonight. I sat on my coffee table and sobbed. I sobbed to see the snowy streets of the town that will always be my home. I sobbed when I saw my teachers, my school, the hallways that I walked down every single day. I sobbed when I saw my brother. I sobbed when they showed Coach Hall's first Lakeside versus Chardon football game where the Chardon students rolled out a "We Love You, Coach Hall" sign.

It's likely that I will be posting about this every February 27th from now on. But it's worth repeating.

That's my town. Those are my teachers. That's my family.

And while my mailing address might currently be Siguatepeque, Honduras, but home will always be in Chardon, Ohio. To show their support for their favorite English teacher and the town that raised her, Grade 1 and 2 came to school sportin' their red on February 27.

Two towns. One heartbeat.

Home.

A word that has become more difficult for me to describe in recent years. Is my home in Chardon where I was born and raised? Is home in Ashland where I set out on my own for the first time? Is home in Rio de Janeiro where I officially realized my calling in life? Is home here in Siguatepeque where my life has been changed within the walls of my Grade One and Two classroom?

I honestly don't know.

To me, each one of these places is home. Each one of these places holds a very real piece of my heart. Without each one of these places, I wouldn't be the person who I am today. Longevity has nothing to do with it-- I spent 18 years in Chardon and only 3 months in Brazil.

Every day my heart longs to be home. To be in Chardon, to be in Ashland, to be in Rio, to be in Sigua. Every day I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like I'm not completely whole. The unfortunate truth is that since my heart has made it's home in so many places, it never feels whole.

Going home is always a tricky blend of happiness and heartache. Joy to be seeing the people that have always meant the world to me (and joy to be eating Taco Bell again, if I'm being completely honest), but sadness to be leaving the people who have become regulars in my daily life.

While I don't particularly love always feeling like a piece of my heart is missing, I cannot help but know that this means I have been more abundantly blessed than I could have ever believed possible. I've loved people in many places, I have so many people and places that are hard to say good-bye to. And for that, I am grateful.

I'm going home tomorrow. While doing so, I'm leaving another home behind, but I'm coming home tomorrow.

Thankful.

thank·ful [thangk-fuhl] adjective 

feeling or expressing gratitude; appreciative. 

Sometimes I get in really cranky, wallowing in self-pity moods and think of all of the things I've had to give up to be here. I play the victim, portray myself as such a good person who sacrifices so much for others. But let's be honest here for a second, I'm not. And I haven't.

We spent a lot of time in Grade One and Two talking about all of the things that we are thankful for. Which really reminded me of all of the blessings that came into my life the second that I stepped off the plane over a year ago.

Starting here, with Grade Two and all their crazy adventures.



Continuing here with my twenty-four blessings in Grade One.

And ending here with all of the people who have enriched my life inside and outside of the classroom. 

Being here is hard. There are things that I have given up to live here. But what I have gained has more than made up for the things that I have left behind. My life is more abundantly blessed because of all the people who have walked into it throughout the past two years.

On a more lighthearted note, Cristian and I gave our students the real American Thanksgiving experience by playing a little football on Thursday afternoon. It involved a lot of shrieking, a lot of  "hey, run that way!", and a lot of laughter. None of us may be headed to the NFL, but there's always next year.

Karen and I could never seem to decide if we wanted to high five or fist bump and accidentally ended up combining the two. All while saying "gobble, gobble". In true Thanksgiving tradition, we gobble gobbled all day long.

I am so thankful. I am so blessed.

Never Forget Your Roots.

"Or, maybe, in a more macabre turn of thought, Cleveland is like Hotel California – you can check out, but you can never leave."



There's been so much from home to miss these past few weeks. The Tribe chased October. My family and friends proved, yet again, how blessed I am to have them in my life. Ashland celebrated another homecoming week. The shores of Lake Erie have been calling my name. Homesickness is a feeling that I am becoming well acquainted with.

And then I find this article: You've Never Been to Cleveland? Here's What You're Missing. which singlehandedly sums up everything I love about Cleveland.

"You’ve never seen the lights in the distance as you come over the Detroit-Superior Bridge. You’ve never seen the bridge lit up, all purply and hip. You’ve never seen the sun rising over Lake Erie – although scientists say that bright, burning bulb in the sky is supposed to rise in the East – casting its light over the rippling water. In some areas, particularly if you happen to be close to the lake’s edge, the sunrise (and, consequently, the sunset) looks like something out of a postcard.

If you’ve never taken the bus in and seen the lights of downtown, particularly, the warm, yellow lights of street lamps and door lights (on Tower City), you’ve also never seen the bustling cars and the way the light reflects off of the cracked and poorly repaired pavement in a sort of watercolor haze. You’ve never seen the way the trees, even as they lose their leaves, still look more alive in the middle of a rainstorm.

If you’ve never taken the bus in to downtown, you’ve probably never had to deal with the odd person who insists on sitting too close or talking too loud. You’ve never felt as though you were invisible and about 2 sizes smaller than what you were given to think you were just mere minutes before. And, while all that sounds terrible for the morning commute, if you’ve never been on the bus in the morning, you’ve never had the crystal clear mind focusing time not interrupted by driving.

You’ve never, upon taking every pain to stay dry out in the storm, had someone who was perhaps not so careful make your one side wetter than it had been before.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you have missed the diversity of the city’s peoples. From every part of the world, of every shape, size and color, they have come here. Why? I don’t think anyone knows. This city has an odd attraction.

Sometimes akin to the allure of NYC, but most time akin to the magnetism of a train wreck. You just cannot look away. Or, maybe, in a more macabre turn of thought, Cleveland is like Hotel California – you can check out, but you can never leave. While downtown is kind of snazzy, the rest of the city is – for lack of a better phrase – falling apart. Odds and ends restoration jobs are taking place all over the city – very slowly progress is being made. We will be the Comeback City, they keep saying.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you don’t realize the deep, abiding, and sometimes crazy, stupid love that Clevelanders have for their sports teams. You’ve never seen so many people so enthusiastically cheering on a team that will most likely not win the game of the day, let alone the season or the title. That same crazy, stupid love extends to the love of their city. You’ll never hear a Clevelander deny that Cleveland can really make you depressed if you let it. In the same sentence, however, the same Cleveland native will say that the city is on the rebound, that they have faith in their hometown.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland on a rainy, cold morning in the month of October, you’ve never seen the wind blow so forcefully that it presses together the opposite ends of umbrellas, conspiring to make each and every person a sopping wet mess – with a hot mess of hair to boot. The mutterings of disgruntled umbrella owners who had not, until that moment, pondered the aerodynamics of an umbrella. And, once they had, found that umbrellas are incredibly wanting as a method of protecting oneself from the elements.

If you’ve never walked down Cleveland streets and surveyed the wonder that is old architecture. The old, federalist style buildings that house both the public library, the court house, and, down on another street, the post office. The old, regal style buildings that house the old Arcade, the Galleria, and the Rockefeller Center. One can never have enough glass, red brick, masonry stone, or marble, after all. Oh, the majesty! This, combined with the unmistakable notion that there’s probably a crack in the foundation of each of these old buildings (whilst we pray to God, who ever he is, that this isn’t true), that they cannot possibly stand the test of time.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you have never heard the stories about old tunnels underneath the city – long fallen into disuse – and, probably, disrepair. A collapsing tunnel or two would explain a few city streets which are more uneven than the uneven bars at the last Olympics.

If you’ve never travelled into Cleveland’s many different residential neighborhoods, you’ve never seen the art, architecture, and style that permeates each neighborhood, making it distinct from every other neighborhood. The old-world charm of Ohio City (now, that’s a comeback neighborhood, if ever there were one) patched together with the likes of the artsy, high falutin’ Tremont neighborhood. Little Italy and WestPark. All together. One big town. You’ve never encountered streets that are still paved with red brick. Some might say this means Cleveland is too poor to update it’s infrastructure. Clevelanders would say it means that Cleveland is rich with heritage and history.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you wouldn’t know that our churches and cathedrals are works of art, even as they function as places of worship. The stained glass windows of the Old Stone Church bear, on some panes, the signature of none other than Louis Comfort Tiffany. The ivy that wanders and climbs up the one spire of Trinity Cathedral adding a certain beauty to an already awe inspiring building.

If you’ve never walked into the Art Museum – and seen the splendor as well as appreciated the price of admission – you’ve also probably missed out on University Circle: home to Case Western Reserve University. If you’ve never seen a play or a concert or what-have-you at a theatre in Playhouse Square, you’ve missed out on some small treasures in the nation’s second largest theatre district (behind, one would imagine, the great New York City). You’ve never heard the jazz musicians who play in Public Square on any given sunshiny day – putting notes into the air from some tune you’ve probably never heard . . . That probably never existed before that moment.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you’ve never heard about our lake and how its dying, although you have probably heard about our burning, crooked ol’ river. You’ve never seen the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – and you would probably not know that Cleveland is sometimes regarded as the birthplace of rock and roll. Clevelanders know – and some people other places will acknowledge – without Cleveland, there would be no rock and roll as we know it today. We are aware that other cities think we are full of bullshit, but we know the truth. Yes, yes we do.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you’ve never seen the sheer determination and grit of this small midwestern town that used to be a large midwestern powerhouse. As Cher has said, you haven’t seen the last of me. You haven’t seen the last of this city either. Whether it be in medicine, or arts, or music, or education (we can educate our students better than we do currently), we will lead the way for the rest of the nation – and, in some cases, the world.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you have never seen the sun, which manages to align itself directly with Euclid Avenue somedays (and Superior other days) – and becomes a hazard for any drivers heading into it’s blinding brightness. Imagine walking out of a building on Euclid, past Playhouse Square, and wondering if the orange light you see is part of a marquis before realizing the sun has turned the sky into it’s canvas.

If you’ve never been to Cleveland, you’ve never seen our zoo. It’s free on Mondays to people who live here. You wouldn’t necessarily know that pink flamingos smell or that the bears are like moths to the flame when it comes to putting on a show for visitors – they love the attention. We don’t have the ever popular octopus that predicts the winners of games with a great degree of accuracy, but the elephants are up close and personal – and you feel like they are kindred spirits as you look into their big eyes.

You may think this was written as a propaganda piece. And, in many ways, the hope is that it entices you to come and visit Cleveland. But, if you don’t make it – we here in this city, the land of the Cleve’s, will forgive you. We’ve built a casino – maybe that interests you. Maybe, like this author and a lot of others, you wish casinos weren’t a necessary reality. We, as the general public, won’t try to woo you. But! A welcoming atmosphere does await you. You’ve got nothing to lose, right? One day, a long time from now, we hope not to have to inquire in an exasperating manner, who in the world would vacation in Cleveland?!

If you’ve never been to Cleveland . . . You’ve never seen the microcosm of a global society in one small dot on a small map. Perhaps this author is too self assured – perhaps other cities are like Cleveland. But, when you go from being the “mistake on the lake” to the “comeback city” – one feels the need to be conceited and narrow minded. We beg your indulgence and understanding. This rainy, cold morning in October has turned into a rainy, cold afternoon in October and the author is feeling much as though she should be wrapped up in fluffy, warm blankets, by a nice warm fire, with a nice warm cup o’ joe (or is that cocoa) in a great big mug clutched between two small, pale hands."

Lake Erie sunsets. Check.
The Tribe. Check.
Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. Check.
Ohio City (AKA Happy Dog). Check.

Honduras is an incredible country that I have fallen head over heels in love with, but Cleveland? Cleveland will always hold my heart.

I Don't Ever Want To Leave This Town

Somewhere between sobbing at the airport in Houston and seriously regretting my decision to move to Honduras while driving past the lake in August and shooting off fireworks while saying our goodbyes in June, I have completely fallen in love with living in Siguatepeque.

It's a slow, slooooooow paced life. But it's MY life. A life that includes Spanish and catcalls and baleadas and a motorcycle. And 50 wild, spunky, energetic, children who wear me out while simultaneously bringing so much joy to my life.

My love for Siguatepeque and my love for my students is calling me back for another year. I'll be resuming my position as the Grade One and Two teacher, but hopefully I have things a little more figured out this time around. In our education classes at Ashland, our professors always told us that we shouldn't smile until October. At the time, I thought it was crazy. But now I see the truth behind it. Sorry guys, but there's going to be a new Miss Caitlin in town.

While I have only been home for four days, I am stuck in a weird place of missing one of my homes, trying to enjoy my original home, and anticipating my return trip home. It's difficult to explain to those who have not experienced it, as well as somewhat hurtful. I lived in Ohio for 21 year and all of a sudden I'm incredibly homesick for a country that I have only lived in for 10 months. There's an article What Happens When You Live Abroad which accurately portrays how I've been feeling these past couple of days.

At first, the article seemed really harsh. I may have cried upon reading and thinking that I would never fit in anywhere ever again. I was going to be some weird, wandering nomad for the rest of my life. And I had chosen that lifestyle for myself. After finishing a year in Honduras, though, I can better relate to the author and would agree 100%. Without tears.

My favorite part?

"So you look at your life, and the two countries that hold it, and realize that you are now two distinct people. As much as your countries represent and fulfill different parts of you and what you enjoy about life, as much as you have formed unbreakable bonds with people you love in both places, as much as you feel truly at home in either one, so you are divided in two. For the rest of your life, or at least it feels this way, you will spend your time in one naggingly longing for the other, and waiting until you can get back for at least a few weeks and dive back into the person you were back there. It takes so much to carve out a new life for yourself somewhere new, and it can’t die simply because you’ve moved over a few time zones. The people that took you into their country and became your new family, they aren’t going to mean any less to you when you’re far away.

When you live abroad, you realize that, no matter where you are, you will always be an ex-pat. There will always be a part of you that is far away from its home and is lying dormant until it can breathe and live in full color back in the country where it belongs. To live in a new place is a beautiful, thrilling thing, and it can show you that you can be whoever you want — on your own terms. It can give you the gift of freedom, of new beginnings, of curiosity and excitement. But to start over, to get on that plane, doesn’t come without a price. You cannot be in two places at once, and from now on, you will always lay awake on certain nights and think of all the things you’re missing out on back home."

Ohio and Honduras. Two very different places. Two places that will hold my heart forever.

One Heartbeat.

I received a package from my mom yesterday. They always seem to arrive at the best times-- the day after the shooting and in the midst of my large bout of homesickness. In it was a Chardon shirt, some bubbles, and some Tagalongs. My mom, what a lady.

So much has happened at home since I have been here. Things have changed, people have changed. Things are different from when I left and at the same time, I am very different than the person who stepped onto the plane two short months ago.

Life is scary, things you've always known to be safe are suddenly cast in a new light. But from that comes hope. I suppose Chardon has always been good at having hope. We've always been good at coming together when it mattered most.

This video came out a couple of days ago and I sobbed when I watched it. Sobbed. Those are the halls that I walked down, that's the cafeteria where I ate, that's the gym where I watched countless pep rallies. That's my school, those are my teachers, that is my town.

Take ten minutes of your time and watch this: http://www.cbssports.com/video/player/play?channel=videos&pid=jp8OHBuYHE28feO7PG_o94vJUPa4XFA4.

It is so worth it. CBS Sports cast Chardon in the light that it should be-- safe, fun, a community, a home.

Two Months In, One Month Left.

"The world is an open book and those who do not travel only see one page."

I cannot believe that I have officially been living in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for TWO MONTHS. Last Friday we went to the Copacabana vendor fair with Lacy, Jordan, and Ruth. As we were walking around Lacy asks " Are you ever walking around trying to live a normal life and then you realize that you are living in Rio de Janiero, Brazil?" Yes, yes I do. Almost every day.

I cannot believe that we have one month left. Exactly a month from now, at this time, I will be flying from Texas to Ohio. Or just about to land in Texas. I will have completed my adventure in Rio de Janeiro and will be headed back to good old Ashland, Ohio.

I have mixed feelings about that. Part of me is excited to go home and see my friends and family. I MISS everyone. I miss running across the hall to go talk to Tracy or Andrea. I miss seeing my ECE girls every day for eight hours a day. I miss hanging out in my apartment with my roommates and doing the most ridiculous things. I miss the 7:00-8:00pm hour watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. I miss seeing everyone in Convo every day. As much as I never thought I would say it, I miss Alpha Delta Pi. Lip Sync was last week and ADPi won-- I was soo excited for them, I can only imagine all of the hard work that went into it, but I was sad for me. I missed my last Lip Sync. Formal is tomorrow and I won't be there. Senior Retreat is coming up soon and I can't go. I miss everyone in the States.

But then another, maybe bigger, part of me is sad to leave. I am in love with this country, with this city, with my class. Every day my students say or do something that makes me laugh out loud. They are FUNNY, they have huge, vibrant personalities that shine through each and every day. Their imaginations run wild and they are more than willing to give me a glimpse into the workings of a first grade mind. They are wild and crazy and leave me totally exhausted, but I love them. I have never been in a more dynamic class and truly cannot imagine leaving them here.

I love this city. Never before have I lived in a city and I love all of the freedom and options that it provides me with. I love being able to catch a taxi or hop on a bus and going wherever I want. I can go to downtown Rio or I can go to the beach. Rio really does provide everything that you need. I love the welcoming atmosphere. I love the opportunity to expand my horizons-- meet new people, learn a new language, become a part of something that I hadn't realized existed outside of the States. On a totally superficial level, I also love the juice bars that I find on every single street corner. Life in the States isn't like life here in Rio at all. It's different; not better and not worse. I know that wherever I end up in life, I will not find another environment like that which exists in Rio.

I love Brazil. It's a wonderful country filled with beautiful people and breath-taking natural creations. It makes me so sad to think that I will be living this incredible country soon and not knowing when I will return. I have been able to go to the beach and a tropical forest all in the same day. This is NOT something that I am able to experience in the States. Throughout my time here, I have further solidified the idea that the best things in life are free. I haven't paid for a beach sunset, I haven't paid to hike up the Sugarloaf and feed a monkey.

Being in Rio has changed me. I am dying to see the rest of the world, to experience things that I would not be able to see while living in the States. The world has so much to offer and I would miss out on so many incredible places, people, and experiences if I do not go out and see them for myself.

I go back and forth on how I feel about going home. I am happy, yet I am sad. But in the end, I know that I will look back on this trip with nothing but fond memories. Rio pushed me farther outside of my comfort zone and proved to me that there are lots of things that I CAN do. I've met many wonderful people here and will leave with memories that will never leave me. I am happy to return to the people that I have known for years, but will be sad to leave these people who I have only know for three months yet have changed my life forever.

This City Is My City. And I Love It, Yeah, I Love It.

Wow, homesickness hit hard and fast today. I haven't really been homesick for the States at all, I've been more homesick for Costa Rica, actually. It's not that I don't miss my wonderful family and my fantastic friends, but I'm just soaking up this incredible opportunity.

But today, on Februray 27, I have never felt more homesick in my life. If you had asked me around lunch time if I wanted to go home, I would have been packed and ready to go before you could blink your eye.

Geauga Theatre.

I was getting ready to go down to lunch when Amanda walked into my classroom. She asked me if I had ever heard of Chardon and, of course, I answered that I have once or twice because I live there. Her face went white and her eyes got wide, which is when my heart started to race a little bit. She goes "Oh, um, there was a shooting at the high school today." Heart. Stopped.

EVERYONE has been changing their Facebook picture.

I text mom, dad, Joey, Sarah, anyone and everyone that I knew. I read as many news reports as possible. Between various news reports and from talking to Joey, I found out that around 7:30am a student, who was in the cafeteria, began firing a gun before taking off down the hallway where he was chased by Mr. Hall. Four students were injured and one has been killed. My mind cannot fathom this at all.

Out of 130 picture changes, 126 were to a Chardon logo.

Luckily, my dear little brother who I pretend to hate, but actually really love, was in Sociology with Mr. Leikala. He's fine and safe which is a good feeling. Especially because I'm 5000 miles away and there is literally nothing that I would be able to do.

In the midst of this horrific tradgey, I am FLOORED by the love and support that has been shown to the community of Chardon and by Chardon. I have NEVER been more proud to have grown up in Chardon and attended Chardon High School. The support that has come from all over has absolutely blown me away. The way that Chardon has come together has floored me. This is what Chardon is all about. All about love, support, and community. Tragedy has struck, but Chardon has risen through it in ways that I could not have believed to be possible.

Claire and I went to the Marriott in Copacabana in hopes of buying a pool membership which would allow us unlimited access to the pool and fitness center. Unfortunately, those plans fell through. Obviously we don't exactly scream 'carioca' especially when we speak English to the people at the front desk. We were headed towards the elevator and an older American man was headed in the same direction. He asked us where we were from and when we replied "Ohio", he goes "Oh, you know there was a school shooting there today?" Of course, I told him that was my high school. He appeared to be a little started and kind of grossed out, like that sort of thing is contagious. I wanted to scream. I wanted to set him straight. Chardon is NOT defined by this shooting. Chardon is about the community that is built and the love that is shared between the people. Chardon has risen up and banded together in this time of tragedy. THAT is what Chardon is about, not this shooting.

Holla at my brother for being on national news.

Go ahead and click here for the news report that features the above tweet: MSNBC Report

Out of my 21 and a half years of life, I have never, ever been more proud to be a Hilltopper than I have been today. Proud of the love, proud of the sense of community, proud of the incredible teachers who work at Chardon High, proud to wear red and black.

Update: It's currently 4:08pm Brazil time on Tuesday, February 28 which translates to 2:08pm in my dear Chardon, Ohio. Since I originally posted, two other students have died. Which is horrendous. My heart stops each time I hear about another death. I still cannot emphasize how incredible it is to see everyone come together to support each other. The Facebook groups and profile pictures and statuses from everyone around the country blow me away. I cannot say it enough, I am so, so proud of my community.

Please go to this website to watch a video from the Candlelight Vigil that was held on February 28. It moved me to tears.