The Time of My Life

We're coming home tonight, singing together,
coming home by white moonlight.

These words were penned in the early 1900s by Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian intellectual who would lose his life in 1915 during the Turkish conflict. Nearly 100 years later, I have walked in his footsteps, coming home in white moonlight. Last night, as I returned to Jay's apartment for the last night of my visit, I was bathed by the full moon in a clear Armenian sky. It was appropriate that the moon should light so bright a path over such a beautiful city that has left a little more light in my heart. This country, its people, and the amazing Jay Treloar have made the last week one of great adventure and great joy. I am left a little tired from it, but I simply don't care.

Jay and I spent my last night in Armenia driving back from Gyumri after a long day with director Braden King. Braden and his wife were easy to talk to and the day was a success, even if they did have to rewind 7 reels of film by hand and nothing ran on schedule. The people of Gyumri were alive with questions for Braden and they were openly moved by an American film showcasing their beautiful country. They understand the richness of this nation, even if most of the world does not. After the screening and Q&A, we decompressed with pizza and began the long drive home. That's when the real fun started!


Jay and I came home singing and dancing (maybe safer when NOT driving, but whatever), carried our singing into the streets of Yerevan and capped off the evening at the magical fountain in Republic Square that dances to music on its own with colorful lights. It really is a show. It was a joyous night. And so is all my time with Jay. I really appreciate those people in my life with whom I can have serious conversations and still be an absolute goof. I am so glad that I came here to see my friend. Our visit alone would have been worth the journey, but Armenia offered me so much.

I have spent the last week laughing and dancing (until almost 5 in the morning), meandering through streets filled with history, standing in darkened doorways of monasteries that dot the country, and listening to a people who remember the pain of the past but are so filled with hope for the future. These are a kind people, and even though they are prone to rather uncomfortable bouts of staring, they are open and hospitable and welcoming to strangers, which is great since I couldn't communicate! I quickly became painfully aware of how bad my Russian is when I realized that I don't even remember the letters. I could have survived here with Russian, even knowing no Armenian, but alas, it was not to be. Eva Eikhorn, my college Russian professor, would be so disappointed. I was forced to get by with smiles and the kind help of people I met in the street or on my tours.

Tours are something new for me. I never do tours when I travel, as they are usually expensive and slow and crowded. None of this was true here. With Jay gone most of the time at work, I had to occupy myself. This proved a little more difficult in Armenia than in Germany, so I turned to the Hyur tour group. I purchased two 8-hour English language tours for only $18 each (WOW) and got to see beautiful Armenia outside of Yerevan. I am so glad that I did it. Not only did I see a lot of breathtaking country and explore beautiful monasteries, I also met some travel companions, particularly a husband and wife from Lebanon who danced with me by a river to live music and helped me go shoe shopping (I broke my good ones). They were long and wonderful days.

Add to that a hike to Havuts Tar Vank with Jay, the exquisite Garni Temple (and Juliete), the Symphony of Stone, a seriously crazy birthday party, a lot of music, a lot of dancing, a little U.S. Women's Soccer (hooray!), an art market, a fruit market, a visit to an Armenian home, a film festival, more apricots and cherries than any human should consume in a week, new foods, new friends, and a delicious fish named Hripsime. Yup, it was an eventful week. I leave it all with a song dancing in my head (dirty bit) and prepare myself for a few days in Prague.

More good things to come if I can survive an 11+ hour layover in Kiev, Ukraine. Here goes nothin'! Goodbye Armenia. Goodbye Jay. I will miss you both very much.

Curiosity minus the cat

Whoever first said, "Curiosity killed the cat," must have had a truly boring existence. Surely it was some adult's idiomatic way of telling a child to stop being nosy. Yes, this is what we do in America; we threaten the death of cute animals to children whose minds are full of wonderment! Now, I don't believe that anyone is really advocating felinicide, but are we still squelching the truly probing minds of children? If there is anything that I have learned since arriving in Europe, it is that curiosity and wonder are the centerpiece of a happy existence.

I realize that, to some people, wandering a city where no one speaks your language and you resort to poor renditions of charades to communicate does not sound like a good time, but for me, it represents a certain freedom. It also pushes me to be a better communicator and a more patient person. These are such good things. E.E. Cummings once said, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." I have learned, more than ever in the last two weeks, that I believe in myself and my ability to take risks that free my spirit.

Where Nicaragua taught me such love for humanity and such compassion for others, Europe has taught me a self-sufficiency that has made me stronger and more open to the world. In Nicaragua, I spoke the language and understood the culture. I felt a communal bond with the people that I don't always feel in Europe. Here, I have been challenged by different personalities and different customs. I have learned to enjoy the adventure of getting lost and rely on my own reasoning to find my way again. I guess there really isn't much choice but to become self-sufficient when you are in country after country where few people speak your language and you know nothing of theirs. Traveling alone like this has brought out the phlegmatic in me. I have always known the sanguine part of my spirit, and I think that it is also obvious to those around me, but being here, wandering, has revealed to me a level of self-content that I am not sure I knew before. Some of the most beautiful moments of this trip have been those I have spent completely alone - watching the Elbe flow beside me as I took the train to Prague, meandering slowly toward the Blue Wonder (bridge) along Dresdner StrasBe (this is my attemt to make a letter that isn't in English), and today, walking, completely lost, toward an apt I only barely remembered through alleyways and crooked streets.

I have discovered how happy I am to sit on a corner absorbing the sights and sounds of cities around me. I have found such beautiful music in the words that float effortlessly in the air above me. I have discovered that pain and anger and joy and love are not contingent upon understanding another's language. They are the expressions that transcend, and in the last few weeks, I have shared smiles and laughs and knowing glances with people who are so very different from me yet, at the core, still so infinitely human.

To be sure, I have also shared incredibly beautiful moments with friends. I have laughed at a restaurant with Kris and Conny, two beautiful Germans I met more that 3 years ago when they wandered through Gainesville. I have sat across from my arrestingly lovely friend Cindy (de Chile) at a cafe in Berlin, just enjoying the precious moment of reunion (we haven't see each other in more than 3 years). I have gone to the opera (there are no words for the beauty of Carmen) and wandered the beautiful, misty city of Dresden with Micha, my dear friend who has taken such good care of me and drugged me with love of Dresden. I met my Lithuanian Doppelganger, made a new Finnish friend, and visited the beautiful German countryside to see Mutti and the rest of Micha's lovely family. And now, just today, I am reunited with my friend Jay, one of my favorite people and the only person other than my dad who gets away with calling me Heath. I have felt welcomed and loved and warm despite the rain, and it has all deepened my understanding of how blessed I am as a human being. My life is so small but so rich with beauty and meaning.

I feel very much like Cummings must have when he wrote, "The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful!" Covered in dirt in Nicaragua, walking through rain in Berlin, breaking bread with great friends in Dresden, being barked at by an official in Prague, getting shocked (badly) in Kiev, trying to find my way through back streets in Yerevan - all of it, every tiny moment, is absolutely stealing my breath away. I hope that these blogs, in even the smallest measure, are conveying that, because I feel absolutely lost for words.

Hambre and other words painted blue

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard the Blues he played . . .

As I write these words, the clock in Nicaragua is working its way toward midnight and Thursday is fast approaching. It has been one week since my last blog and there are many words to be said. The easiest place to begin is with Friday and the first stroke of blue.

You see, until this point, I had seen the people and their poverty, but nothing pierced me except their joy and their hard work. That changed on Friday, and I ended the day grieving. A week later, there is a lingering ache each time I remember it. The day began like all the rest as we prepared to return to La Conquista for another day of games with the kids in Robin's program. It really was a glorious day of games: puzzles, hula hoop, dominoes, checkers, and jump rope (I taught the Cinderella dressed in yella song and had some very competitive boys who LOVED it, each trying to best the others in how many doctors it would take.) Dance lessons continued with the girls and I was overjoyed when Nikito's family arrived. They love seeing us and the feeling is mutual, but I am all about Emmanuel. Guillermo calls me Emmanuel's "chela" mama. (Chela is another word for gringa.) The day was fine until Emmanuel disappeared while I was playing with some other boys. Now, it is pretty common here to just let the kids walk away whenever they want, even if that means a 6-year-old wandering in the streets, but I am not Nicaraguan, so I was worried. I finally saw him when he peaked his head around the corner from outside and looked directly at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. In my general arrogance, I assumed he was upset because I was giving other boys more attention, so I went outside, held him in my lap and told him he was my favorite. It seemed to work for a minute and he returned, but this behavior continued. Each time, I convinced him to come back inside, but he never told me what the problem was. Finally, he answered me, cradling his head in the crook of my neck, he cried and said, "Yo tengo hambre." Literally, I have hunger. I wanted to cry to see that kind of sadness born of a complete lack of food. I told my Nica friends how much it hurt me and they reminded me that "hambre" was a part of every day in Nicaragua and that missing meals was commonplace for all the kids. There was a snack that day for Emmanuel, but it couldn't fill the caverns of hunger within him. Nothing that San Lucas does can stop the hunger, but they are working so hard to bring change. They are great people fighting an impossible battle against an invisible foe.

. . . In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone, I heard him sing, heard the piano moan . . .

The weekend brought rest and a little vacation, but the look in Emmanuel's eyes was not erased by the tide. The gray skies that cast an ominous shadow on the ocean all day as we relaxed at Playa Mango Rosa seemed a fitting bass line for the song that danced in my head. Don't get me wrong, there was something hypnotically beautiful about the waves that crashed ashore as the sun set behind craggy rocks that jutted into the Pacific Ocean. I enjoyed every minute of it (especially the Mahi sandwich that found its way into my belly that day), and I left our Saturday beach outing with a content heart, but there is just something beneath the surface of it all. I can't describe what I am experiencing, because it is so new to me. It is like there is music playing, notes that I don't recognize but that have always been there. It is a song that is jubilant and freeing in its expression of living, all at once beautiful and mournful. It is as if the whole world is singing the blues.

I have always loved the blues. They represent something truly beautiful to me. Singing the blues has always been about freeing your soul, unloading your suffering, and finding healing. One of my favorite short stories is called "Sonny's Blues". I think that I love this story so much because it is one of delicate hope, birthed from music. Sonny is able to escape his heroin habit through the piano. The instruments "speak" to each other without words and things are made whole when others listen to the story Sonny tells through his music. I believe that we are those who listen, and that if we will hear the world, hear its song, the way that grief bespeaks grief and love bespeaks love like so many instruments, then the world will begin to heal. I carry with me a delicate hope.

Sunday was all about rest, a true Sabbath. We relaxed and napped and relaxed and napped and then went to church with the family that night. So Sunday left little to be told, but Monday brought Ometepe. The island of Ometepe was our real vacation, two days on a gorgeous island with two ginormous volcanoes, in the middle of a lake big enough to have its own tide. This lake is the only fresh-water lake in the world with sharks and it was beautiful. My hotel room had a beach side window and I slept and woke to the gentle sounds of waves lapping against the shore. We explored a nature preserve, swam in a perfect spring and watched the sun set at the Western-most point of the island. The next morning we went to see petroglyphs and then caught the ferry back to the mainland. It was a perfect few days spent with great kids and the ever mirthful Guillermo. Oh, how we love Guillermo! A few words must now be written about this wonderful man. Guillermo has been our appointed driver for the majority of the trip. He has been our chauffeur, our GPS (in a country where no streets have names or numbers) and our friend. He makes us laugh, tries to remember our English names, calls Jon "Chino" and bats his impossible eyelashes "como un caballo" at us. There is such light in his eyes, that his "blue" word had its own luminescence. You see, Guillermo has a giant scar on his head (which is easy to see since he is bald) and the kids have wondered about it but been afraid to ask. On Monday night, as we sat down to dinner at Finca Santa Domingo with sound of waves in the background, Guillermo handed us a letter and walked away. The bluest word on the page was "tumor". Guillermo had been struggling with a tumor and ensuing radiation for years and is, even now, waiting on more results. He wrote about the hope God had given him and how the doctors had said three times that he would not live, but that he had three times defied them. He wrote about his love for his wife of 13 years and his daughters and how he wanted to continue to be with them. He wrote about his joy and his peace and the love for God that he had in his heart. In the midst of it, words like cancer and tumor began to mean little. His "blue" was like the brightness of the sky made brighter by the sun. He was saying that shadows exist, but they create no darkness of their own. Shadows are only powerful if you hide in them. Guillermo is no hider.


Thump, thump, thump went his foot on the floor. He played a few chords then he sang some more.

That brings me to today (or yesterday as the case may be). Today was a celebration of the new community center in La Conquista. It was a happy day and we saw all of the kids one last time *tear* before we left and spent time with Anke, the German implant, at the library she and her husband started. They are doing great work in literacy and education within the community of Diriamba and hoping to expand. When the library closed, Anke took us back to her house for fresh-baked German cake (AMAZING!) and Nica coffee. It was a perfectly lovely afternoon (and I would have so much more to say about Anke and her family if there were any energy left in me). Throw in a soccer game and a very late dinner and the night was complete.

This week has been so dichotomous for me. It has been restful and mind-emptying, while filled, at the same time, with questions that can never be answered. It has been bright and full of joy, and it had been peppered with blue. I know I am better for it, and I know, now, that the bluest word of them all is adios. It swirls around me in shades of navy and indigo and wraps me in its blueness. Blues singer Alberta Hunter once said, "We sing the blues because our hearts have been hurt, our souls have been disturbed." On the surface, this seems a statement of pain, but I don't see it that way. Merriam Webster says that to disturb is to alter the position or arrangement of something. Nicaragua has altered the arrangement of my soul. These people have disturbed my understanding of the world in beautiful notes saturated with color and hope and laughter and a little sadness. Tonight, I am a Picasso, and yes, Alberta, my heart does hurt a little as I prepare to leave this exquisite country.

. . . and late into the night, he crooned that tune. The stars went out and so did the moon.

Gringa! Gringa!

I am glad to report that all five of the kids are healthy now. Nick was the holdout. He stayed sick for three days. While he remained in bed waiting for the earth to end or his stomach to cooperate, we worked hard. Tuesday's work was, by far, the hardest I have ever done. We continued planting las frutas, but we also had to plant hardwood trees to reforest an area that was destroyed by fire. I am pretty sure that I single-handedly planted 100-200 cedar trees. Child's play! Oh wait, did I mention that we were planting on the side of a mountain? The Nicaraguans would have certainly laughed at the name "mountain" for this hill, but for a Florida girl, this was, in fact, a mountain. While I love mountain climbing, I have never before done it while carrying little trees. My first job was digging holes, but I broke the tool, snapped the steel in half at the welding. The Nicaraguan men all commented on my fuerza, but relegated me to tree carrying and planting all the same ;)The earth was so dry that I slid constantly, cascading dirt on anyone who had the audacity (or lack of foresight) to stand below me. I only really slid a few times. The danger was minimal . . . but then there was the cacao.

You must understand that planting cacao is a whole different ball of wax. We planted the cacao up the walls of what could have only been called a ravine with a small river running through it. The strong men and women (these abuelitas could take you any day) carried in dozens upon dozens of cacao seedlings and placed them at the river bank. Then, one sack at a time, I carried them up to the hole-making crew. I could only carry about 10 at a time and still safely climb to where they were high above me, but apparently that was impressive. It wasn't until later that I realized that there was a man there who could have carried them up for me to plant. But I like to work hard, and they liked talking about me working hard while they rested from hole digging. There were 4 men on my team, and every time I brought up a load, they gestured and commented and laughed heartily at my lack of understanding. I must defend myself here. My understanding of Spanish is quite good if you are patient enough to speak slowly. But the people in Banco, as a rule, have poor dental hygiene, so they are missing a lot of teeth. Add to that their dialect and pronunciation, and it is no wonder I was lost. In fact, I was pretty sure by the end of it that I was being offered in marriage to a man named Nikito, no front teeth. On Wednesday, I met Nikito's wife and EIGHT children and my heart was at peace. They are not big believers in polygamy here!

The day was extremely hard and extremely rewarding. When I got home, I was stricken with feverish cold and such tiredness that it consumed me. Not gonna lie, I was a little concerned. Thankfully, my hosts are doctors, and they treated me with a liter of a FOUL electrolyte solution that nearly made me gag, but left me feeling better in the morning. The diagnosis: too much sun . . kinda hard to avoid. I reapply sunscreen 4-5 times a day and I am still una gringa roja. Oh well :)

Wednesday was more planting, but back on flat land. It was actually a really easy day in comparison, especially because it started to rain and we quit a little early. Unfortunately, the rain did not last. Instead of working, we spent a few hours with some of the 14 families of Banco de Tierra who had come to have lunch with us. They had dressed in their best clothes and looked perfectly lovely. I fell in love with Nikito's family, especially his only son (out of 8), Emmanuel, age 6. Oh my goodness, I adore this kid. He spent hours on my lap imitating my every move and facial expression while "teaching" me Spanish words that I pretended not to know. When I walked, he followed me. When I sat, my lap was occupied. His whole family was loving and gentle. I developed a special tenderness for Flora, the oldest at 19, who was quiet and shy, but always wanted to know when she would see me again. Johana, 16, was pure joy, laughing and smiling at everything, eager to learn words in English. These are a simple and happy people and I am more in love with them each day. It is hard to imagine, given how much we have in America in comparison, that anyone could ever be unhappy and sour. They would say that God has given them a song. It is one I am starting to hear in my sleep, and I am happy for it.

Today was a break from planting. In fact, we are done with planting. When lunch finally arrived yesterday, it was a celebration of everything we had accomplished. They said we had planted 1000 trees in 3 days. WOW! With our work done there, we moved on to a sports program with the kids of La Conquista. It was a brilliant day of playing sports and teaching kids a few words of English. And even though I got more sunburn, it was great to work with these kids who are mostly uneducated and likely to get in trouble if left with nothing to do. Cue Robin, the German volunteering with this program for 2 years. He is a great soccer player, full of good humor, and obviously in good with these kids. After spending the morning in La Conquista, we returned (with much joy) to the home of Nikita. His kids screamed with joy, as did all the others of the community. "Gringas, gringas!" Emmanuel came springing into my arms and all the world was well. People poured from the doors of what would only be termed shacks in America, but which, here, are the homes of which they are so proud. I, too, am proud, proud that I have added even a little joy to their lives.

Reclining once again in my adopted hammock, listening to singing (mostly off key) at the church across the large field beside me, I am humbled. I am so blessed to be a part of this adventure, so blessed to have been given this opportunity, and so aware of the wealth of my own life. Tonight, I will sleep with the music of laughter and the song of the Nicaraguan people as my lullaby.

The chickens are revolting and the sky is dry

It is now Tuesday and we have had a great time so far. Saturday, we spent a lot of time just relaxing and looking at the lay of the land on the beautiful orchard that serves as our temporary home. It is a really great set-up. The five kids are in a house adjoining Francisco and Reyna's, where I am. They have just enough space to not feel me breathing down their necks, and I am oft peacefully unaware that they are here. I spend as much of my free time as possible in the hammock, which should be no surprise to anyone who knows me! The dogs have become my friends, and Tommy and Lukito often lie on the ground next to me while I hammock chill. The chickens strut around them and the mangoes continue their drum beat as the fall from the trees. It's a little piece of paradise. As for the pesky rooster, I gave him the teacher stare and he has abandoned my window. We have made peace, the chickens and I. The girls, however, are not so lucky. I believe they spoke ill of the chickens one morning and the chickens heard. It is full-scale mutiny. Every morning at 3 or 4am, the girls are awakened by the chickens holding revival services. Last night, I gave them earplugs. It is only 6am here, but when they awake, I hope for a good report.

Yesterday, we stated our work here. It was a hot day and we had a lot of planting to do, but we started with a meeting at the office for the San Lucas Foundation where we met the staff and had devotion. Devotion was led by a young German man named Robin. He seemed adorably awkward presenting his lesson to us all, but he did well and in beautiful Spanish. (I hope that I get to spend some time with him to practice my German a little.) The lesson he taught us from 2 Peter was about the importance of exemplifying concepts like "brotherly love" and "compassion" when we work with the people of Banco. Reyna reminded us that compassion and pity are not the same things and that we must not look on them with pity. This is a good lesson for me, but also for the kids. Most of them have never seen this kind of poverty and, while I have only seen it once in Peru, I feel like I am a little more prepared for what we see. Still, my heart hurts a little each time we pass a child standing shoeless in the doorway in what could only be called dilapidated shack, but here masquerades as a house.

These are a strong people. They work hard and for little to no pay. In Banco de Tierra, where we work, the people are learning to establish sustainable crops, so they help in the ground preparation and the planting. It is not a project of the Foundation, it is a project of the whole community. They take pride in their work and they do it well. I was glad to be able to work alongside them yesterday and glad to do it again today. I felt that we did so little, but such a little dent in the work yesterday. We probably only planted 100 trees of the 1100 we purchased, so there is much more work to be done.

And, truthfully, yesterday was a difficult day in a way. Two of the five kids got sick, one with nausea, and one stomach cramping and vomiting. For me, this meant a lot of concern for and taking care of the kids and less working. I wanted to be working, but so did they. It was difficult. Today, I am going to ask them for complete honesty before we leave (they didn't say yesterday because they wanted to work) and will require them to stay behind if they are still sick. It is far too difficult for them to be out in the field, isolated from medical care should they need it. I want them to be safe, and I understand the need of the people to work at a fast pace in order to complete all the work set before them. I think the kids will feel better though.

The biggest thing we need here is rain. The skies remain dry over Banco, and with all the new plants, rain is desperately needed. Without it, the people must bring in huge tanks of water, gathered at a local lake/river and pour it one liter at a time over the new plants. It is tedious work, especially considering that the transport for the water is provided by two rather stubborn bulls pulling a cart. They are comedic to watch, but surely frustrating to those trying to steer.

All in all, a great day. Pray for rain. Pray for health. And pray for the cooperation of those darn chickens!! :) More soon.

There's a rooster outside my window!

Day one in Nicaragua comes with promise and lots of noise. I am staying in a beautiful house with Francisco (who tells me that I may speak no English while here but also lies and says my Spanish is good)and Reyna. Their daughter, Davitha has given me her room and is rooming with her brother, Levi. I was awakened by the sound of a very insistent rooster perched right outside my open window, trucated by the deep thud of mangos hitting the roof as they fall from the trees all around us. Good thing I am an early riser anyway!

I took advantage of the cool morning hours to expore while the rest of the house slept. Immediately, the dogs took a liking to me, hanging at my heels and nuzzling me for attention. The mangoes are EVERYWHERE! They pepper the ground like New Year's Eve confetti in Times Square, but so much more delicious. The air is cool, but I am aware of impending heat and impending rain hanging in the atmosphere.

Our host families live in a beautiful huerta, yet I sense that, outside these gates, the world of Jinotepe is very different. It was so dark when we came in that I could see little, but the eyes are not always the keenest organ (especially mine!) and I know that I am in a different world. The policemen who were hitchhiking and the boy who climbed on a semi truck to wash his windows, unsolicited, for money tell us that we are not in Kansas anymore. But it is greater than that. Sounds and smells all converge to communicate the differnece here. The kids were stricken by that fact almost immediately, and we sat around the table eating rice pudding, surrounded by Nora's family, talking about those first impressions. I am glad that they get to have this experience, but I am more glad that they have made me a part of it. They are great kids and this is going to be a breathtaking journey for us all.

Today, we will buy seeds and other supplies for Banco de Tierra. Let the adventure begin!

This is the end, beautiful friend, the end

These words are running through my head this morning. They are from a song by The Doors that I don't actually recommend (kinda violent, although full of Freudian idealism - think Oedipus complex). The song, however, does go on to say, "And all the children are insane; all the children are insane, waiting for the summer rain, YEAH!" I totally agree with that. Some of you are just crazy right now!!! We have come to the inevitable conclusion of another year and I am glad to have shared it with you. I know that I have, for many of you, pushed the limits of what you believed you could capably do. I hope that you rose to the occasion. I hope you leave here full of knowledge. I have loved sharing that knowledge with you. (And I sincerely apologize for being a blog slacker!!!)

The last blog post that I wrote refused to post and then magically disappeared into cyberspace where some drone is probably feeding on it. This is what happens with lost digital material. I am sure of it. So, having appropriately mourned the loss of good verbiage, I feel ready to move forward and spew more glorious word content into the cyber-universe ;)

I know that most of you are little interested in what I have to ramble about and more interested in the extra credit as the year winds down, but let me remind you that extra credit does you little good if you don't turn in your assignments. You all need to make sure that you have turned in at least PART of your Their Eyes Were Watching God paragraphs/essays and your Across the Universe worksheet. These are worth a total of 280-330 (honors) points, and no 40 pt EC will make up for their absence. You will, of course earn late credit, but TUESDAY, MAY 31 is the last day that I will take ANY work from ANYONE! This includes your Lay that Trumpet in Our Hands questions and character guide, which are worth another 200 points and will be due on Tuesday.

1. Consider carefully every character we have read about this year. Choose one character with whom you most identify. Explain who the character is (making sure to include the name of the text in which he/she appears) and then, in a separate paragraph, clearly explain why you chose that character and what you think you have in common. You may receive up to 20 points of EC for this if it is well-written.
2. If you have the ability to burn a CD, make a 5-10 song CD of either Civil Rights Protest music (or music related to it but written later - think Motel in Memphis, which is about the murder of MLK, Jr.) OR Vietnam War protest music (think Woodstock - War, huh, good God, what is it good for?) Make sure that you either put it in a case and design a cover or write all of the song titles and your name on the CD itself. Please include artist names as well. You may receive up to 40 points of EC.
3. Write a biography entirely in your own words of EITHER Sheriff Willis McCall or Walter Lee Irvin. This should be a brief summary of their lives focusing on pivotal events in the 1950s and what happened in the aftermath of the "Florida Terror." (There are some great YouTube videos that might interest you. Take whatever information you would like from them as well, just put it in your own words.) One page minimum. You may receive up to 45 points of EC.
4. This essay is related to Their Eyes Were Watching God. Defend (agree with) or refute (disagree with) the following statement: Death is a positive force in Janie's life because it always results in a positive new beginning. Discuss your answer in relation to a) Nanny's death, b) Joe's death, c) Tea Cake's death. Make sure to include for each one a discussion of who the character is in Janie's life, how they died, and how it was or was not a positive event for her. This should be a five paragraph essay. I will be strict with awarding points, but you can earn up to 75 points EC.

Have fun!!!!