Skip to main content

Uganda Update #5: Chilling

I haven't left the house/yard since Sunday. I don't mind this, but I think I am ready to go out tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'm also going to finish a job application. Or two, for different jobs at the same place. 

I read a book this week that was sitting around here, called The Worst Date Ever. It's half about celebrity tabloids and half about Uganda & Joseph Kony, brought together by a British writer who wants to be a Useful Person for a change. Funny, crude, and eye-opening. Now I only have one book left and I kind of want to save it for the plane rides & airport waiting on the way home. BUT I don't want to think about life either, and reading is a great way to keep the mind busy. So I don't know if I will start it or not. It's called The Tiger's Wife. 

Every day, I find myself amused and charmed by Noah and Jude. They are bundles of sweetness in little boy bodies. If I ever have children, I hope they are half as easygoing. And I hope I'm half as calm a mother as Vanessa is. (They are genetically pre-disposed to being hilarious and laid-back, given their parentage. Any biological children I have will be genetically prone to have crazy hair and likely be reading before they can walk.)
 
I emailed Egypt Air this morning to find out the status of my refund. They said I will get my money back. I'm guessing they'll take off the "no-show" fee off, but still. Better than nothing. In the end, the trip cost a grand more than planned (rhyming!) and my parents will spot me the difference for now. God bless my parents. 

Also, for the record, I'm not literally "chilling." the weather here is perfect. Honestly. My windows have been open since I arrived, I've worn socks once, I only sweat when hiking in the forest or squished into the back of a stationary bus, and at night I sleep with one blanket over my toes. Perfection. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

The ROM, The Earth & Procreation

Disclaimer: This post is intended to generate discussion and a sharing of many opinions. It is NOT intended to judge or condemn anyone's life choices. I had an unexpected moment at the ROM last month. C and I were listening to a presentation for kids on wildlife conservation (or rather, I was listening, and C was eagerly anticipating what live animal would come out next), when a statement caught my attention and still hasn't let go. For most of history, the earth could provide enough resources for the earth's human population. But today, our population is growing rapidly, increasing by 250 000 people every day... Forty years from now, it will require 2 Earths to provide sustainably for our survival as a human species. But we only have 1 Earth. 250 000 people. Every day. That is roughly twice the size of my hometown. In one day. So I did a little math. (First, I rounded down to 200 000, just in case the figures were inflated or failed to account for some sort o...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...