Krazy Korean

My last year in Camden I had roommate named Jaeduck Park, who we affectionately called the Krazy Korean. At the time he was studying for his second Masters in Linguistics at the University of Pennsylvania. We became quick friends. He was always whipping up exotic Korean concoctions in the kitchen. When I would try them, he would reply with one of his pat sayings, like "You my friend man!" (Insert cool Asian accent)

We both moved away in 2007. He took a job with the government in Monterrey, California teaching intensive Korean language classes to CIA-types by day. At night he teaches English as a second language at a local community college to Mexican immigrants. Through his experience he's become very interested in the Spanish language and culture. So when he heard I would be in Mexico for 6 months, he didn't hesitate to book a flight for a visit.

It's been amazing to watch him attack the language from such a technical standpoint. Despite having no formal Spanish education, he's constantly asking about different verb tenses and grammar structure. Unlike most tourists he actually uses his Spanish/English dictionary with incredible efficiency. He's developed his own entourage of kids who follow him around, so he's had plenty of time to put his knowlege to use while I'm working in the clinic. Not to mention, he's a really funny guy, which he finds a way to transcend with his limited language skills. I'm glad he's here. We'll be heading to Mexico City together this weekend for a little descanso.

Mexi Stache

I was experimenting with the mustache before I left for Mexico, but decided to go clean cut before I left. Ever since I've been waiting for the inspiration to bring it back. After being mustache-less for the last two and half months, my mustache whiskers were jumping out at me, so I decided to leave it when I shaved the other day. As is usually the case, I've gotten mixed reviews. One of the best was from one of my fellow volunteers, Kelly, who complimented the stache in the early stages, saying it was on par with the Mexi Stache. Mexican men aren't known for the full beard but if they don't shave for a few days, the mustacle seems to represent the strongest. I'm not sure if my stache will last, but I feel like it gives me a little extra street cred for now.

Adventures With Pati

I mentioned last week that my Saturdays are always different. One activity that I forgot to mention was taking Pati to visit friends in the pueblo. This usually involves pushing Pati through the backroads of Miacatlan literally for miles. I'm feeling much more comfortable with my off road wheelchair driving skills. The good news is that there is usually a nice meal on the other end of the journey. Today we ended up in the home of a very nice family who had prepared a birthday pozole for Pati. Being both a foreigner and a visitor I was gifted with the pig's foot in my bowl of soup. I asked if it was edible or just for flavor. When they told me it was a delicacy, I ate it up, little hairs and all!

One other bonus to the trip was this little guy Juan who you see in the pictures. He's 4 years old and such a cute kid. Little ones love Pati and he's no exception. As he layed with her on the floor he would ask me great questions, like "Does she ever cry?" Which I responded, "Sometimes." Then he asked, "Why doesn't she grow?", which I didn't know how to answer. Me and Juanito also played soccer and explored a nearby river after lunch. He's quite the climber, refusing to hold my hand even on the steep inclines.

Mexican Hot Dogs

Having just bragged the other day about having access to homegrown meat here at NPH, I must reveal that we also eat our share of meat slurry. Hot dogs are big staple here, for breakfast and dinner in particular. Often for breakfast they're chopped up and served with salsa. Yesterday for Pati's birthday party Dona Felipa whipped up a special concoction with hot dogs, cheese, and green salsa. Tonight was straight up hot dog night. The line is always slower to get your food because there is an assembly line of condiments: first is the maynaise bucket (as seen above) - which goes directly on the bun, then chilis - a Mexican favorite, then tomatoes and onions, lastly ketchup - which is squirted haphazardly over the whole plate. The final product is quite the creation as you see Paco displaying. Even a true Chicagoan would be proud, minus the ketchup of course.

Girl Talk

Girls are more responsible than boys. I've known this for a long time, but now I'm being reminded of it every day. I'm finding that when a girl has an injury, they come in for an evaluation right away and they keep coming back until they're better. The boys tend to wait a couple of weeks until the injury is really bad and then ask for help. Instead of focusing on what they need to do to get better, they perseverate the whole session on when they can go back to playing soccer. I'll usually see them again whenever it's convenient for them. I'm still trying to find ways solve this problem.

For the time being, I have a lot more girl patients than boy patients. In fact, many times in the afternoon, there are several of them at once. Lately these three young ladies in the pictures; Fabiola, Blanca and Nancy, have been working out together. As I coordinate all of their treatments, I also tend to get caught up in their girl talk. Conversations tend vary from anything from school to boyfriends to who believes in ghosts. They tend to critique my music selection and recommend movies I never intend to see. I still have Twilight (Crepusculo) and New Moon (Luna Nueva) DVDs sitting on my desk. I tried to explain that I won't watch them, but they won't take them back.

Eating Local

I've mentioned sheep (borrego) once before, it's the nickname given to kids with curly hair. Some people count sheep to help them fall asleep, but I just listen to them instead. My room happens to be a straight shot from the sheep pen, so when I'm lying in bed at night, I fall asleep to the rhthmic "bahs" of my wooly neighbors. There's something comforting about sleeping so close to my food source. They say the average piece of food in the United States travels 1500 miles before it arrives on your plate. It takes a lot of chemicals and fossil fuels to sustain such a journey, not to mention a cost to the nutritional value and flavor. Today we had barbeque lamb for lunch...and it only had to travel 500 feet from the farm to the dining room.

Spiders and Flies

When I was applying for a position with NPH I was most intrigued by the opportunity to provide physical therapy in a Latin American country. I downplayed the fact that I would be working with kids, both in my own mind and when describing the opportunity to other people. The reality was that I had very little pediatric physical therapy experience and limited interactions with kids in my personal life. Living and working in a big city like Chicago, sometimes it felt like days would go by without seeing a kid. During my morning bike commute it was always a shock to see a kid riding his bike or walking to school. My most recent kid credentials involve being an uncle to my nephew and niece, which usually involves fighting the rest of my family for their short bursts of attention.

One of my few legitimate kid experiences involved working as the part-time phys. ed. teacher at Sacred Heart School during my last year in Camden. I would teach K-4th grade on Tuesday mornings and 5th-8th on Thursday. It was a tough gig because they were inner city kids and it was the only scheduled physical outlet that they had at school all week. I wanted to respect their need to burn off some energy, but I also needed to retain some sense of order. The result was chaos...fist fights, cat fights, and tears almost every class. Not to mention the fact that I was usually alone with them in a park across from the school and I had to leave right after class to go to my other job, so I could never enforce any of my punishments.

One of my few positive memories was playing a game called Spiders and Flies with the younger kids. They would line up at one end of the soccer field and I would pick a couple "spiders" who would go to midfield, the rest of the kids would be "flies". Then there was a chant between the two groups: "We are spiders!"..."We are flies!"..."We're going to catch you!"..."You just try!" Then the flies would try to run to the other side of the field without being caught. If they were, they'd become spiders.

Every Sunday here at NPH we do a volunteer activity with the kids in the afternoon. Today I decided I would do Spiders and Flies (Aranjas y Moscas) with the younger kids. I wasn't creative enough to come up with a chant, but I made sure to hype them up before they ran. They really got into it. As you can see from the pictures, they were at a pool activity before mine, so they're sporting their swim gear. No fights and no tears...it was good day.

As far as my kid credentials go, I think I'm slowly advancing. I was pretty shell shocked my first day here, but I'm learning. I've noticed that kids often don't want to "interact" with you, they just want you to show up. They don't always say much at the dinner table or in the dorm at night, but they always ask me to show up and they always notice if I'm gone.

Saturday with the Angels

Saturdays always look different for me. I don't see patients so usually I spend the day tinkering around the clinic trying to make myself useful...fixing wheelchairs, running errands in town, hanging out with patients. The cast of characters in the clinic is always fluctuating depending on who is hurt or sick. I introduced Angel #1 (Akon) a few weeks ago. He's the kid who broke his jaw during my first week here when he fell off a balcony. We're hoping he's going to be cleared to eat real food on Monday. Dan and I are planning to take him out for some tacos to celebrate.

There is a second Angel who's been in the clinic this week with a sprained wrist. He's a little younger than Akon, just the right age that he thinks I'm really cool. He's like a little brother following me around, asking me what I'm doing and always offering to help. He makes my plate at lunch or if I'm carrying a box he grabs one end to help me...only using his good arm of course.

Today I had to wash the towels from the PT room, so me and the Angels formed a 3-man system. Akon washed half the towels on his side of the water tank. I took the other side with Angel #2 as my assistant. Because I am still learning the ways of hand washing, he coached me through each step: first wet the towel, then sprinkle with powdered soap, throw some more water on the towel, with your hands flat rub each section of the towel on the stone, flip and repeat, then pour water one section at a time to rinse out the soap, wring it dry. When we finished each towel Angel #2 would run up the stairs to hang it out to dry...again only using his good arm.

As a treat for their hard work I let them play Wii this afternoon. After so many weeks in the clinic, Akon has become an all star at almost every game, so today he was mentoring Angel # 2 on the tricks of each game. He's quite the protege.

PB You Complete Me

When I moved away from Camden, NJ my friends made some t-shirts in my honor. They decided there were 4 constants in my life that defined me: 1.) Biking 2.) Running 3.)Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches (I was known for making 2 every night to bring to work the next day) 4.) Quoting 90's rap songs - represented by this profound lyric by the group Kris Kross, "Some y'all try to rhyme but you can't rhyme like this.".

When I packed my bags for Mexico, I made sure I had my running shoes and my bike. As for the 90's rap lyrics, they'll always be etched in my brain. The one thing I forgot was peanut butter, which is hard to come by down here.

My Auntie Kathy emailed me a couple of weeks ago and asked if there was anything she could send in a care package. I told her peanut butter and anything else she could fit in the box. Needless to say, she came through. It was like being reunited with an old friend. Peanut butter, you complete me.

Apodos Part II

Yesterday I introduced the association between apodos and obvious physical features. Today's post is the darker side of this phenomenon. The kids are brutal when they make fun of eachother and if someone has a defect, they are quick to point it out. This often leads to nicknames, which are hard to shake once they stick.

They call this little guy Chucky (which they prounounce Chooky), because of his hair and some scars on his face from when he was attacked by a dog when he was younger. Every kid here is a big fan horror movies and for some reason Chucky movies are really popular.

This is Gordo = Fat Boy. He's actually one of the few overweight boys in the house, but he can still hold his own on the soccer field. He's embraced his nickname, in fact he introduced himself as Gordo. Being called fat in Mexico doesn't have the same connotation as the US. I wanted to include this picture because his t-shirt gives a shout out to both the town of Tinley Park and bike rodeos.

This is Chorre, a nickname they use for big ears. He's not the only one with this nickname. I asked him one night after a soccer game what chorre meant. Another kid chimed in that it was because of his ears. He all of sudden got mad at the kid, as if he had forgotten what his nickname meant, even though people were using it all night.

This is Pato, one of the encargados. Pato means duck, which they call him because his lips kind of look like a beak. I could never remember his name when I got here. Once someone explained how he got the nickname, I've remembered it ever since.

Apodos

Apodos (nicknames) have come up in previous posts. Sometimes a nickname is random and the kids don't know what it means or how they got it. Yet other times, it's completely obvious and you can't help but associate them with the nickname. It really helps with learning hundreds of names. Here are a few examples:

This is Pepino, which means cucumber. He's uniformly skinny with a nicely rounded head. I would have never thought of it, but it works.

This is Chino (Chinese), named for his asian facial features. He is one of the year of service students who works in the office. Everyone knows him because hands out the paychecks every 2 weeks. I've asked what his real name is, but no one knows.

They call this kid pecas or pecoso, which means freckles. Although the first time I met Pecas, he told me to call him David Beckham (the soccer star). He's little cocky like that.

NPH at Its Best

I spent this last weekend in Cuernavaca, doing the usual combination of partying and resting. Sunday morning I went to mass at the NPH high school house. Afterwards my friend Sophie, who volunteers in Cuerna, commented that Sunday mass is when she likes NPH the most. Tonight I decided that I like NPH the most when I'm watching pick up soccer games.

A couple nights a week different age groups of boys show up to the courts and play under the lights. They pick their teams and play round robin style. When someone scores, the loser steps off, the winner stays and another group rotates onto the court.

The communication on the court is amazing...ten times more information is communicated on the court than is ever communicated at the dinner table. Fifty percent of the words that are said are swear words, but the creativity with which they're used is admirable. Nicknames are flying like crazy as they instruct eachother when to shoot and when to pass. Not to mention the constant banter that comes from the guys who are sitting out, it's non-stop humor. Sometimes the guys who are playing have to stop because they're laughing so hard.

I especially like watching the boys who are in my English class, because I often see a completely different side. The kid who is shy about practicing his English, demonstrates total confidence when he has the ball. The kid who is always distracted in class, has complete focus. The kid who is always busting my balls in class, offers me one of his chips on the sideline. The best part is that I'm not in charge of anyone, so I can just sit back and take it all in.

Mexican Walmart

Walmart is a force to be reckoned with in the world. When a Walmart pops up, its presence is felt for miles and miles. Walmart, and other big box stores for that matter, have the ability to bring in mass quantities of low priced items. As a result, local hardware stores, grocery stores and general stores can't compete and some will eventually go out of business. Beyond it's economic impact, Walmart often becomes a geographic landmark because of its sheer size, especially in small towns. During physical therapy school I did one of my clinicals at Hastings Indian Hospital, which serves the Cherokee Nation. The local town of Tahlequah, Oklahoma had recently gotten a Walmart. Everytime I asked for directions, the response started with, "Well, you know where is Walmart is, right?" It was as if it had become the new town square. I met a local girl and one night we went on a date that consisted of walking around Walmart. The outdoor patio section was especially romantic.

My snobbiness against Walmart has waxed and waned over the years, pending its convenience and who is around to judge me. Walmart isn't an option in Chicago because the unions have kept them from invading the city (at least last time I checked). Plus, being a bike rider, shopping in bulk isn't logistically possible. When I was living in community in Camden, NJ, driving to the suburbs to hit up a big box store often required a dissertation on the necessity in order to absolve our liberal guilt. I'm exaggerating a little.

Ironically, since moving to Mexico I've become a Walmart regular. Last Saturday I came to Cuernavaca to check out some equipment needed for the physical therapy room and yesterday I got some pictures developed on my day off. I have to admit the experiences were incredibly familiar and comfortable. All the prices are set so you don't have to worry about bargaining. There are free samples of food and beverages in the aisles. You can pay with credit cards. There was even a nicely manicured lawn in front where I sat and wrote a letter to my grandmother while I was waiting for my pictures to be deveoloped. You can take the American out of America but you can't take the America out of the American.

"I Am America (And So Can You!)"...Stephen Colbert

Ayyyy No Dan!

I mentioned Dan in a previous post, he's my fellow volunteer in the clinic. I snapped this picture of him tonight before dinner...scubbing his hands like a true future doctor. He's been accepted to med school at Michigan and Duke, now he's just waiting to hear from Harvard. In the meantime he's been doing his best to keep the clinic pharmacy organized and the patients happy. His specialties include boiling eggs, teasing kids, running errands in the pueblo, Uno and dominoes...I've never seen him lose. I am very grateful to Dan because within my first 2 days here he communicated everything he had learned the hard way during his first 6 months on the job. Namely how to navigate the gossip and the jealousy of the women in the clinic. Not to mention, the particular ways of Dona Felipa.

When we're together everyone asks if we're brothers?...cousins? They can't believe that we didn't know eachother before we got here, we must be related. When I want to confuse the kids I tell them that Dan looks a lot like my actual brother, whose name is also Dan. Which is a true statement. Just to be annoying, some of the kids and encargados intentionally call me Dan and him Jeremy.

To appreciate the title of this post you have to be familiar with some of the accent of southern Mexico. The best way I can describe it is "whiney". Girls in particular are very good at it. Dan has this great dry sense of humor. When he teases them, 99% of the time, they respond with "Ayyy No Dan!" (in a whiney accent). I can't tell you how many times I've heard it. In fact, I can't hear the word "Dan" (prounounced Daan with a Spanish accent) without thinking "Ayyy No!"

Dona Felipa

Dona Felipa is the hardest worker in the clinic. She starts at 7am and doesn't leave until 7pm, the only time she rests is during her siesta between 2-3pm. Most mornings we cross paths as I'm heading out with my broom and she's emptying the garbage. She straps the garbage can to a wheelchair and wheels it down the hill. Then she'll feed the women who can't feed themselves, wash the dishes, sweep the clinic, mop all the floors, wash the linens by hand, water the plants...and then repeat in the afternoon. Sometimes if she's feeling a little energetic she'll whip an extra soup to serve with the lunch provided by the main kitchen. She also insists on serving me my food (waitress style) and will physically restrain me from doing my own dishes. She's very old school like that. I mentioned in a previous post that she has two helpers, Lilia and Yelli, who were assigned to help her with her many jobs. The problem is that she takes so much pride in her work that she'll often re-do their chores, because they're not up to her standards.

Lili and Yelli aren't the only ones affected by her perfectionism. Many times my morning schedule is determined by the stage of her mopping cycle. She will bluntly tell me to wait to start with patients until the floors are dry, so as to not make wheelchair marks or footprints on the freshly cleaned floor. It threw me off a little when I started, having come from an environment where every minute of my work day is accounted and billed for. But now I just put my feet up and wait and until she gives me the go ahead. Plus, I've learned that a strong woman like herself is someone you want on your good side at all times. The doctor might be the head of the clinic, but she rules the roost.

RAH vs. REP

R-A-H are three well known letters in the Sullivan family. They were made famous by a speech my dad gave to my brother Dan when he was in junior high and getting into a little too much trouble. "R" stands for respect. "A" stands for attitude. "H" stands for honesty. Now say it together...RAH, like a cheer. It became famous partly because we would make fun of my dad for being so cheesy and partly because it became a baseline for what our parents expected of us. RAH still gets a shout out at least once year, usually when we're all together on vacation or over the holidays. It must have been a damn good speech because Dan is one of the most respectful, well adjusted, honest guys around.

I have been teaching English 4 nights a week and I have inherited 2 of the worst behaved sections of boys. At the end of last week one of the classes was out of control. It got to the point that I literally made them sit in silence for half the class. So I decided that this week I would start class with a speech that set the baseline for what I expected. I went with a Spanish version of RAH = R-E-P, as you see above. Respeto, have some respect for me and the class. Echale ganas, show some desire to learn English. Participacion, I don't care how much English you know, but participate in the class activities. At the end I told them they were invited to stay and learn if they could comply with REP, otherwise they could go to a study hall with the director. Not one kid got up, even though some had asked to be preemptively kicked out before class. In fact, at one point in the middle of class they were getting loud and I stopped and looked at them (you know like teachers do) and one kid said, "Be quiet, 'R', respeto." Maybe REP with catch on like RAH.

I think all teachers deal with this on some level. Check out this short bit that I heard on NPR, entitled, "A Professor's Diatribe...Set to Music."

The picture above is of Donaldo, I wrote about him the first night I was here in Miacatlan. He is in my Tuesday/Thursday class. They're always so much more likeable outside of class. He reminds me a little of my brother Dan.

An Ode to Choco Krispis

Me and Choco Krispis go way back. My parents have taken a yearly trip to Mexico every winter for probably last 25 years. In fact, they'll be heading to Cozumel next week. They would always fly home late on a Saturday night after we had gone to sleep. The next morning was almost like Christmas because of the excitement of seeing them and because they would bring us souvenirs. Some of the presents were pretty standard, like a set of maracas or a t-shirt with a fish that said "Mr. Barry Cuda...Cozumel, Mexico". But they would also bring us "Mexican brand" stuff, like Mexican Coke and little boxes of Choco Krispies. It was so weird that the Coke can had the ingredients in Spanish and it tasted different...a little spicy or something. It was so funny that they called Cocoa Krispies, Choco Krispis. We would savor them, partly because they would never buy us "sugar cereal" normally and partly because it was "Mexican cereal".

Little did I know then that I would have access to a lifetime supply of Choco Krispis (see Cereal for Life post). As volunteers they allow us to take certain foods from the kitchen for the times when we are hungry after meals (for me it tends to be nighttime). One of the staples is cereal and milk. Kelloggs must have a serious excess of Choco Krispis because that's all we've been getting lately. I have to admit I don't savor it like I used to, but tonight I will in honor of this blog post.

Borderline Basketball Player

I really liked basketball growing up. Like a lot of surburban families we had a hoop in the driveway. I remember when we put it in and all of us etched our initials into the cement before it dried. I would shoot hoops year round, cold fingers and all. As junior high tryouts approached in the late Fall I would practice a little harder and my dad would have to flash the porch lights to let me know it was time to go to bed. There was something cathartic about the repetition of shooting the ball, especially when the air was crisp and you could see your breath. I didn't make the team in 7th grade. I was heart broken when my name wasn't on the list. I took it like a man until my mom asked me how it went and I busted into tears. In 8th grade I got lucky during try outs, hitting an outside jumper during the final scrimmage...I made the B team. Freshman year I made it again, but I never got to play in the B games, let alone practice. At one point the coach said, "Sullivan, this isn't cross country, you can actually come in contact with the other team." That was the end of my basketball career, but I still enjoy shooting hoops when the opportunity arises.

When I first got to Miacatlan, my buddy Matt emailed and said, "You better start working on your soccer skills, it's the only way to get any street cred down there." He's right, soccer is the love of the masses. Unfortunately, I decided that no matter how hard I practice I will never be able to hold my own in the pick up games. So I've decided that basketball (simply called "basket" here) is going to be my Mexican sport. I've retained just enough skill and the kids are just bad enough they respect me on the court. I played a lot of hoops this weekend, the 6 year olds and 14 years old had nothing on me. I've even coined some Spanish phrases while I play that are catching on, like "Alli esta!" (There it is!) and "En la cara!" (In the face!)

Chocolate For Your Sins

Throughout Lent the different sections of kids take turns going to confession. Father Phil Cleary, better known as Padre Felipe, is the house priest. He splits his time between Miacatlan and Cuervavaca each week. He's been here for over 20 years and is now the president of NPH International. He also happens to be straight out of the Rogers Park neighborhood in Chicago. Today my group was up for confession. Per Fr. Phil's request I came down from the clinic to make sure the kids were behaving while they waited to spill their guts.

I didn't confess myself but maybe I should have because I feel guilty for how much I enjoyed watching the whole process. The boys clustered in groups whispering to eachother about what they were going to say...probably testing out how much they should reveal. Then they hesitantly lined up, figeting nervously as they waited one by one to enter the confessional. The best part was watching them as they came out, almost everyone had the same embarrassed smile on their face, as if I had heard everything they said. Not only that, but they each had a full size Snickers bar in their hand (as you see Dylan above proudly showing his reward). They told me you always get chocolate when you confess...it's a house tradition. Whatever it takes to lift those burdens from their little shoulders.

Productive Work With Nacho

There are certain types of work in life that allow you to immediately see the fruits of your labor. Things like mowing the lawn, painting the walls, shoveling the driveway or washing a sink full of dishes. When you finish, you can step back and admire your work. Working with the human body isn't always this consistent or immediate. It can take time depending on where the body is in it's life span, the number of co-morbidities and the compliance of the patient. I've had my fair share of patients where I've felt like I was spinning my wheels. But on the other side of the coin, there are those easy patients where you see results with hardly trying. Nacho is one of those patients.

Nachito is no stranger to the medical clinic here at NPH. From what I understand he has a respiratory disease in which the cilia in his lungs don't work, which makes him a lot more susceptible to infection. He also has a hard time taking in enough food so comes up to the clinic to weigh in after every meal.

I see him for what they used to call chest PT. Essentially I get to play the drums on his back and chest and vibrate his ribs while he breathes in different positions. I haven't done these techniques since PT school because respiratory therapists have taken this role in most hospitals the US. In fact Nacho re-taught me everything I know, showing me exactly where to put my hands and how to position him...he's quite the little teacher. I do the techniques until he gets a good cough going, then he gives me a nod and I grab the garbage can and then spits out a bunch of phelgm. It's not the most glamorous of jobs but it's literally productive work.

As you can see from the pictures he's really a fun and playful kid, not to mention a good dancer. He insisted that I get a close up of his bicep. His first day he was jealous that some other kids were "working out". He asked for some other exercises because he was tired of being flaco (skinny). I've appeased him with some arm and core strengthening, but unfortunately the results won't be nearly as quick.

Left Overs

The summer after I graduated from PT school I worked in the kitchen at a church camp for kids in Wisconsin. It was a funny time in my life. I had a chunk of time before I moved to Camden, NJ and I needed to study for the board exam. I found it hard to study without any structure in my life. My good friend Jason Arndt, a seasoned camper, got me the last available job for the season...kitchen helper. I soon found out the kitchen is the place where they send the kids who aren't mature enough to be counselors. At 24 years old, I threw off the average age a bit. But it created a nice rhythm of life. I would sleep on a mattress on Jason's cabin floor, wake up at 6am, cut fruit and vegetables until 3pm, exercise and then study a couple hours after dinner. I actually enjoyed the work and my co-workers, but I had a hard time with how much food we threw away every day. There was always a fear of not making enough food and there was backlash from the staff if we ran out of something. As a result, if we had 400 campers, we would make enough french toast for 600...and we always threw away a third of the food. I would try to say a little prayer of repentance as I emptied the good food into a garbage bag. My man Thich Nhat Hanh says, "sometimes you have to throw things in the landfill...but at least be mindful that you're doing it."

I read a statistic that in the United States on average 27% of the food available for consumption ends up in the landfill. We live in a time where food is cheap and disposable. NPH doesn't have the same variety of food as most US homes, but they sure waste a lot less. During meals, everyone lines up and receives one serving from a big pot of food. Sometimes there is food left over and kids can take from the excess if they want (as you see these little scavengers doing above). By the time the meal ends the pot is empty as you see in the other picture. If kids can't eat everything from their plate, usually someone else will claim it...one of the benefits of having a big "family". Whatever remains ends up in a bucket for the pigs. I consider this an exercise in living well.