Some days here I get glimpses that make me realize just how little I know. I saw this little girl on the bus yesterday. We were riding back from Mitad del Mundo with our visiting friend Dan, and she got on the bus crying. The “conductor” helped carry her back to her seat right in front of us, as (whom I could only assume were) her mother and grandmother hobbled down the aisle, each carrying boxes loaded with fruit, plants, vegetables and such strapped to their backs with large pieces of fabric. As soon as they got seated, the girl jumped up on Grandma’s lap and settled down. She was wearing all of her clothes inside out, probably because that side wasn’t completely filthy yet. Everything about her was dirty. She had this unbelievable smile, and talked pretty much incessantly from the moment she stopped crying until the moment she fell asleep.

As I watched her, I slowly became aware of two things: 1.) I have never, at any point in my life, been “poor”; and 2.) I may not really have a good understanding of what the word poverty means.This little girl will likely never see another country. She may never leave the outskirts of Quito. She will work from the time she’s old enough until the time that she dies. She’ll never graduate from high school, let alone college. She’ll eat lots of yucca, potatoes, and chicken. She’ll never be completely healthy. She won’t ever remember not knowing loss, want, and fear; they will be her constant companions. She will grow accustomed to her place in the “food chain,” and won’t expect or hope to be treated as anything more than just another of the throng of those who “get by.” She will have children of her own, and they will inherit all that her grandmother and mother have passed down to her. They will know no better.I think that there’s a fable that the rich (like me) tell ourselves. We tell ourselves that there’s something “noble” about the poor. That there is something admirable in managing to survive with so much less than us. We tell ourselves, as we eat out multiple times a week, that the poor understand something that we do not. After all, look at the little girl as she laughs, chatters, and smiles her infectious smile. Isn’t she happy?We don’t look at her mother, as we sip our decaf non-fat cappuccino. We don’t see the permanently bowed shoulders, the lines already sunk deeply into her too-young face, or the resignation that keeps her from ever making eye contact with her betters. We don’t look at her grandmother, who has maybe three teeth left to shine out of a face weathered into crags and furrows not unlike the sides of the mountain she takes her meager harvest from.Even here, I live in luxury. I have almost 1000 square feet of home, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, and wide open entertaining spaces … for two people. I have a refrigerator, a washer and dryer inside my house, and a television. I don’t know what poverty means.

Our good friend Dan Audley is here from Kansas.  He got here June 17th, just in time to help me finish up the yearbook.  (Seriously, he and Rachel pretty much single-handedly assembled the index.  He spent two days in the basement of the school with us, helpin’ it all come together.)  It’s his first time out of the States, and he picked Ecuador!  He’ll be here until the 28th.  It’s great havin’ him.  Here’s some pix I’ve taken.

Here’s a pic of Rachel’s Birthday part at Mongo’s in La Mariscal. There were seven other people there who weren’t in the picture, but this is (inexplicably) the one I chose to put here.

We went up the Teleferiqo in the late evening with some friends, a new experience for us. The sunset was a little obscured by the clouds, but the view of the city was still amazing.

Dave is the guy that I’ll be replacing next year. Honestly, when I first met him I didn’t know how well we’d work together, let alone whether we’d be friends. I was wrong on all counts. Dave is, hands down, the most interesting person I’ve ever met. He headed back to the States last Saturday, and I already miss him.

This is a picture of Dàmaris Intriago delivering the salutatory address at Commencement 2008 at Alliance Academy International. I got more sniffly at Baccalaureate, I think. I was really proud of the seniors.

I know that one of the cardinal rules of working with kids is that you’re not supposed to have favorites. I do, sorry. Noah Pickens is such an amazing guy. Remarkably nuanced and sophisticated beyond his years, he never failed to make me think. He was in my Design & Digital Media and Yearbook classes. There was a lot of yearbook that I wouldn’t have gotten done without him. He even showed up to help after graduation! I already miss him, too.

That title sounds a little bit like Tarzan speak…  ‘Birthday… fun!’ Perhaps my English is suffering, or maybe I am still recovering from all the carousing over the weekend.

A heartfelt ‘Thanks’ to all of you that called or wrote or messaged me a Happy Birthday.  I felt very remembered and very loved!

On Friday night we went out with a group of friends to a restaurant called Mongos (a complete and total rip-off of BDs Mongolian BBQ in KC).  After dinner we all went back to our place for cake and ice cream.  The turn out was good, the food was amazing, and the laughter was plentiful.  (An aerial view photograph of the top of two, bald heads… one of them Rick’s…  was a good sign that the evening was descending into chaos).

Saturday we slept in a little and then spent the afternoon running around town.  We ate a a local restaurant and did some window shopping in new stores.  We knew we would need to nap at some point, because we had volunteered to help with the after-after-party for the school’s Junior/Senior Banquet (no prom…  just food).  That lasted from 2am to 6:30 am Sunday morning.  Needless to say, we slept pretty late on Sunday!

Over all, it was a wonderful Birthday and a wonderful weekend.  Thanks to all who contributed to the enjoyment!