The Value of Theater Education

Goodness, it's been a while since I posted. But with good reason. The last two or three weeks have been dominated by Crystal Sea Drama Company's production of Seussical, which my daughter was in and with which I assisted the director. As my involvement in CSDC increases, this may become the new pattern for my blog: two or three weeks of silence toward the end of every show.

It has been a crazy couple weeks. But wonderful, also. And watching all these students -- about sixty overall between the cast and all the tech crew -- reminds me of why theater is such a valuable thing for kids to be involved with.

- They learn to be comfortable with public speaking. And to be good at it: good volume, comfortable pacing, expressive delivery. I think public speaking still ranks high on the lists of people's greatest fears -- it may even be number one. But almost everyone will have some occasion to speak to a group sometime in their lives (best man toasts? praying at church?), and you may as well feel comfortable at it.

- They interact in an intimate way with art and literature. There's much to be said about exposing your kids to art: taking them to museums and shows and concerts. But there's much MORE to be said for their being actually involved in the creation of art. To let them see the whole thing from the inside out. To engage in the act of creation, one of the ways we are made in the image of God.

I think every kid in the country reads a Shakespeare play at some point in their education, but how much more impactful would that be if they were actually performing it? It is drama, after all; it's meant to be performed, not read.

- They learn empathy. When you are in a play, you become another person. You have to think what they would think, feel what they would feel, react as they would react. No better way to step into another person's shoes and see life from their perspective. Such skills transfer into the real world. And such skills are more important than I can even express here.

- They learn to accept criticism and feedback with grace. Part of the rehearsal process is having the director give you feedback on your performance and learning to apply it. Without taking it personally. Without feeling like a failure. Without copping an attitude. Without resenting the critic. And that's something they will need to do for the rest of their lives.

- They learn teamwork. Those sixty kids I mentioned earlier? Only a handful of them were lead roles on the stage. Some of them had a multitude of little roles. Some of them ran spotlights. Some of them helped actors with quick costume changes. Some of them opened curtains at critical moments to make set changes go quickly so the pace of the play wasn't disrupted. Every single person was critical to the production. And the run of the show was a success because every single person took their part seriously and did it with excellence.

- They make great friends. When you spend this much time with people, you get close. You become a family. It's wonderful.


There's so much more. I'm so grateful for the time I spent in theater when I was young, and I'm so grateful for the opportunities my own children have had. If you're a parent, I urge you to find a play for your kiddos to get involved in. At least once.

And if you're a San Antonio parent, may I recommend you look into Crystal Sea Drama Company? They have a couple summer camps coming up. Well worth it.

On Princesses and Mustaches

I haven't blogged in over a week (if you haven't noticed this, no offense taken . . . I suppose). I've been helping direct a two-week drama camp at Crystal Sea Drama Company. A traditional melodrama, with olios, a curtain raiser, and lot of costume changes. I haven't had much else to think about for the past two weeks, so this morning you get:

THOUGHTS ON DRAMA CAMP

- I was never taught how to direct; I just figured it out as I went. This week, I got to watch two directors at work and learn from them. Mrs. Miller, the theater's artistic director, is a stickler for detail, authenticity, and consistency – three of my weak areas. And she brought in a friend one evening to help the students with their melodramatic flair – I loved watching her help the actors think through their motivations and subtext and all. I will be a better director after having observed these two ladies at work.

- For the evening's "curtain raiser", we adapted the first play I wrote for the homeschool drama group in Sioux City: "The King and His Dancing Princesses." Now, that production had twenty-four actors, almost all newbies to the stage. For this production, we had six (after one girl got sick and had to drop out). SIX. I learned flexibility and adaptation this week. You wouldn't believe what these six kiddos are pulling off.

- I have a new appreciation for "techies". I've never really had techies before – I mean, I've had people willing to create some basic sets, find props and costumes . . . but a theater "techie" is a breed to themselves. There is a lovely young lady interning at CSDC this year; Mrs. Miller and I gave her a yard-long list of things to do to prepare for this show (everything from "take the sticker off the bottom of the cracker box" to "paint thirty signs for the sign girl" to "build five portable headboards"). She showed up every day and worked all day, systematically ticking off the items on the list – and did so with a smile and great enthusiasm for her work. What a gal.

- I'm so grateful to have this place for my own daughter to nurture her passions and talents. Last year at this time, she was doing the Shakespeare drama camp, her first introduction to CSDC, and she was nervous, shy, and not quite feeling like she fit in yet. This year, she's confident, loud, and right in the center of it all. Love seeing that.

If you're in San Antonio, swing by CSDC this weekend for Drama and Dessert. Eat some triple chocolate cake, take pictures in the photo booth, throw popcorn at the villains with their handlebar mustaches, and giggle at my silly princesses. You'll be amazed at what a bunch of dedicated kids (and two frazzled directors) can pull together in two weeks.

Northern Friends, Meet the Live Oak

Texas is one weird state. The lack of winter I expected. But I didn’t expect this: fall happens in March in Texas. For real.

Nothing fell in October, but we spent the whole two weeks before Easter raking and bagging the leaves in our yard. Forty-five bags of them. The live oaks drop their leaves in the spring right before they bud new ones.

“Live oak,” by the way, doesn’t mean the opposite of a dead oak. It’s a particular type of oak tree, and they are some of the coolest trees ever. The trunks grow all haywire in fascinating swirls around the yard. Many of them have trunks growing completely to the side, almost perpendicular to the ground after a while – growing toward where they find the most sun, I assume.

And they are HUGE. They must have remarkable root systems to support so much weight all leaning to one side. I look at some of them and think I’d be afraid to hang anything on even the largest of their branches because surely any extra pounds would send that thing crashing to the ground. But no. They stand strong for years and years.

We have several of these amazing trees in our yard. And as I noted before, they dump all of their leaves just in time to celebrate the Resurrection. So weird.

They also dump their pollen right about now. If you’ve never experienced such, it’s a sight. Yellow dusty stuff that covers EVERYTHING and gets people’s allergies all cranked up. We got the pine pollen in New Jersey; here it’s the oak pollen. Craziness.

But it’s not just the yellow gunk. The “flowers” fall off as well, and if I hadn’t already swept one layer of them up once, by now they would be covering our courtyard area (patio, table, chairs, grill, fountain, plus all the actual ground) with nastiness a half inch thick. Good heavens.

See how it's all leaning to one side? Crazy!

They clog up the fountain. I can’t even clean out the fountain until they’re done, so it’s just turned off for now.

And of course, it's been raining. On the positive side, that washed away a lot of yellow nastiness. On the negative side, the dried-up flower nastiness has been too wet to blow away.

I know – I’m whining. The truth is, the trees are beautiful and worth the mess once a year. At least I think so right now. A few more years of this and I may lose some affection for them, however.

Good motivation for me to continue teaching high school students. I’m bound to have a few someday who would love to clean up my yard for “extra credit.” ;)

Fredericksburg and Shops

Last Saturday, our family drove the one-hour jaunt up to Fredericksburg, one of the many little towns around here that we keep hearing we need to visit. There happened to be a Food and Wine Festival going on -- we didn't even know until we got there, but we didn't participate in that anyway.

We took a peek in an old, old Catholic church right by where we parked (I love looking inside old churches). We spent an hour or so at the Pioneer Museum -- well-kept, but similar to other such museums we've been to. Then we walked up and down main street seeing the sights . . . which were mainly people and shops.

Lots of shops. What's the word for the kind of shops I'm talking about? Maybe it's "specialty shops". Cute little stores packed to the ceiling with cute little things. There was a dog specialty shop we stopped at to see a million and one unnecessary and costly dog accessories. There was a Christmas shop where we saw five million and one beautiful and excessive Christmas decorations. Seven blocks or so of such places, lining both sides of the street. Plus all the German biergartens and chocolate shops.

It was a cute little town. I kept thinking how twenty years ago, I would have just eaten this up. I loved "specialty shops." I could have spent all day long looking at the items in these stores. I probably wouldn't have bought much, but I would have wanted to -- or I would have come away with ideas for things I wanted to try to make myself for cheaper.

Because I used to be a crafter, or at least fancy myself as one. I still have a stash of craft supplies in storage left over from those days, just in case I need something again. I loved the idea of making some cute little item to beautify my house with my personal touches. I often said I'd rather decorate my home with something I made that is of slightly lower quality but would have meaning to me, than with something fabulous that I just plunked down some money for.

There's probably a remnant of that sentiment still in me somewhere. But not much. Somewhere along the way, I lost the urge to make little things. Even more so, I lost the urge to HAVE little things sitting around my house looking pretty. As my mother was known to say, "It's just more to dust."

So, walking through these stores made me examine myself and my new set of values. I'd like to think there's something somewhat . . . I don't know . . . philosophical about this change in me. I looked at the stuff in there for sale and thought how astonishing these seven blocks would be to someone from a third world country. Or even to someone from this country a hundred and fifty years ago. My daughter is reading a biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder, and looking through the Christmas store, I remembered the Christmases she described in her books -- getting one small toy item and a candy stick that they sucked a little bit every day for weeks to make it last. The Christmas feast that would hardly seem like a hearty meal for some of us. I don't remember her mentioning decorations at all.

Laura would have walked through this Christmas store with her jaw on her chest. The very idea that people could have as many Christmas decorations as they do and still walk through this place wanting even more.

When there are people not eating. When there are people dying of curable diseases. When there are children who can't read. I've just lost my appetite for more stuff in my life when there are so many uses for my money that could actually make an eternal difference in humanity.

But then again, maybe it's really only about not having more to dust.

A Taco By Any Other Name

The girls and I ate dinner at Taco Cabana yesterday. Taco Cabana seems to be the taco joint of choice among most San Antonians. They have a salsa bar. This is to their credit.

Aside from that, the girls and I feel that . . . well . . . Taco Cabana is . . . not Taco Bell. And most San Antonians would find that fact to be to their credit, but we don't.

Really, a taco should be a taco should be a taco, but it is SOOO not. Taco Bell has been our taco joint of choice for a good many years, and our taste buds are accustomed to its peculiarities. And it took me some time to adjust to Taco Bell -- when I grew up, we ate at Taco Tico. Taco Tico! Any other Wichita folks remember Taco Tico? I wonder if it's still around. I miss Taco Tico.

Just like I miss Sub 'n Stuff. Again, Wichita friends -- Sub 'n Stuff? When they when out of business and I had to resort to Subway for my submarine-type sandwiches, it was truly a sad day for me. There was simply no comparison. I still have moments when my mouth experiences a flashback to biting into a Sub 'n Stuff pepperoni sub and it cries a little for the treasures time takes from us. Sigh.

Didn't I just write about how the variety of food available to us has contributed to the obesity problem in America? I did. But I'm going to ignore that convicting bit of information as I return to my original subject . . .

Taco Cabana. It's not Taco Bell. Salsa bar notwithstanding, it just doesn't quite do it for us.

Furthermore, a trip to Taco Cabana never fails to stir up our linguistic pharasaic tendencies. Yesterday, my youngest ordered an item that consisted of a flour tortilla filled with beans and cheese and folded in half. It was labeled a bean and cheese taco.

No such item exists in our world.

Tortilla folded in half = taco. I get that. But once beans are included, we have left the taco family. Beans = burrito.

I understand that for many folks, tortilla wrapped around innards = burrito. And that has generally been a part of our understanding, too. But in reality, when you receive said Taco Cabana item on your tray, it has been wrapped up much like a burrito to fit into the aluminum foil wrapper they use to keep it warm. It looks like a burrito.

But the wrapping is a secondary matter. Once you add beans to a tortilla-filled item it has been born into the burrito family. And beans with no meat? = NO DOUBT ABOUT IT BURRITO.

It is probably a sad commentary on my family that the label given to our fast food entree can disturb us enough to spoil the pleasure of the dining experience. Even with a salsa bar.

The Praises of the Street People

Whenever I'm worshipping God with the homeless congregation at Church Under the Bridge downtown, I'm struck by a few things.

I'm struck by the lack of body odor. For 150-some people who live on the streets in a hot July in San Antonio, they don't smell bad.

I'm struck by the respectfulness of nearly everyone present, whether they're there to genuinely worship or just going through the motions to get a meal.

I'm struck by the flood of people who go forward to put money in the offering plate during the last song. People living on the streets, who of their own choice -- no coercion involved -- give back to God some of the limited finances He's given them because they feel so blessed by His goodness and want to thank Him. It shames me.

And I'm struck by how loud the music is. Usually, I just suspect the mics and background tape are just turned up an extra notch beyond where I would set them (plus there's a little more shouting than singing going on). But last night, it wasn't the sound system. During the bridge of "Manifesto", the mics were turned off and only the voices of the people were heard singing through the words of the Lord's Prayer.

"Singing", I should say. Chanting, really. OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN HALLOWED BE THY NAME THY KING-DOM COME THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN . . .  

No discernable pitch. Much discernable emotion. Imagine an exclamation point after each word and a fist pump after each syllable. GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAI-LY BREAD AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FOR-GIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US . . . 

And if you know the song, you know how it builds in intensity: . . . AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION BUT DELIVER US FROM EV-IL FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM POWER AND THE GLORY FOR-EEEVERRR!!!!

People with no job, no money, no place to sleep tonight, standing with their arms raised, shout-singing their prayer to God: AAAA-MEN!!!!!!!

The musicality is horrid. The spirituality is glorious. And again, I am shamed. I need my homeless friends to teach me what worship is.

Surprised in San Antonio

Our family has lived in San Antonio for a little over a year now. Last night, we were discussing some of the more interesting or surprising things we have discovered about our new hometown during that year:

- The need for layers -- in the summer. As incredibly and consistently hot as it gets here during the summer months (and lingering into the fall), if you are leaving home and going to be entering another building and spending any significant time in there, you need to take a wrap of some kind. Church, grocery store, restaurant, Target . . . it doesn't matter. They keep their indoor temperatures at refrigerator levels around here during July and August. Good heavens.

- Mediocre BBQ -- We have yet to find a BBQ place that knocks our socks off . . . or even one that just makes us really want to have BBQ for dinner tonight. They're not bad, just meh. Which is really a bummer when you're in Texas, for Pete's sake.

- The RiverWalk -- I expected it to be pretty. But seriously, every time I'm down there, I'm struck all over again by how truly lovely this stretch of land is in the middle of a major metropolitan area. SO pretty. And so well-kept by the city. It's enough to make me wish I lived downtown so I could just spend all my evenings wandering along the river path.

- The 90s are liveable -- It's not as humid in San Antonio as we expected; I guess we're far enough south and west in the state to miss the sweep of moist air that floats up from the gulf as far even as Kansas (where hubby and I grew up with hot, humid summers). And because it's relatively dry, the heat is relatively tolerable. If you're not exerting yourself too much, and if you're in the shade, and particularly if there's a breeze of any kind, you can be outside quite comfortably for any length of time. I enjoy sitting in our courtyard even in the middle of the day (well, I would if I wasn't a veritable feast for every biting insect in the county).

- Fireplaces still have value -- It actually does get cold enough in the winter to light a fireplace indoors. Once in a while.

- The taco vs. burrito thing -- This has been a controversy in my daughter's class all year. A certain taco chain in town has an item on their menu: beans and cheese wrapped in a tortilla. They call this a bean taco. And my daughter cannot bear this. That is a burrito. That is, in our experience, practically the definition of a burrito. And I've already written about the breakfast taco/burrito question. Yeesh.

- Spursmania -- Okay, admittedly, this may have only been a surprise to me because I don't follow NBA basketball. But good heavens, this place is Spurs-nutso. Especially when they are doing well at the end of the season, which they usually are. After watching some of the championship game they won this year, I understand the loyalty and excitement now; I may even get swept up in it myself pretty soon.

- Long ballots -- I think I already mentioned how I was surprised at the offices I had to vote for in the primary elections this year. Railroad commissioner? Seriously? That's an elected office? And one of the hot contests as well! And all sorts of other minor positions were on the ballot, too. I'm kind of bracing myself for the November ballot which I assume will be more thorough than the primary election ballot was.

- No basements -- Having grown up in tornado alley in Kansas, and having heard all my life about tornadoes ripping through cities in Texas (also part of tornado alley), this one threw me. Apparently, the ground is too rocky in San Antonio to dig deep enough for a basement. Nobody has them here. However, most of the houses we looked at (and the one we bought) have decent-sized "game rooms" on the upstairs floor. "Texas basements", they're called. Only they're of no use to you if a tornado comes.

- Texas pride -- Yes, we knew Texas was about being Texas. But sometimes it feels like Texas is ALL about being Texas. Lone stars everywhere, folks. If the state were to secede someday, it should surprise no one.

. . . And probably our biggest surprise . . .

- No cowboys -- Nor any southern accents. At best, I have one friend I can think of who has a bit of a drawl that she will exaggerate for effect on occasion. This is Texas, people! Where are the ten-gallon hats and big-hair ladies? Where is the country music and line dancing? Where are the cowboy boots? (Well, you do see some of those around.) Where are the "y'alls" and "ain'ts" and the "yee-haws"? I wasn't expecting to live in the midst of a hoedown, but come on, friends. We're in TEXAS!

Yes, but we're in San Antonio. Tamale country. More "holas" than "y'alls" around here. And that's fine. We like San Antonio. But I'm going to have to throw out a "y'all" once in a while.

A Tempting New Theater Situation

My youngest is in the middle of two exciting and stressful weeks. She's doing Shakespeare camp at Crystal Sea Drama Company here in town. This is a theater program aimed mostly at homeschoolers; they have classes in various theater arts all day on Thursdays and perform two or three shows a year, I understand. We found it online when we moved to town and SO wanted my girl to be involved . . . but Thursday is a school day for her. No go.

But summer camps, she can do. And she's enjoying this one, even with the stress of memorizing lines from five Shakespeare scenes in a week. And I'm fascinated by this new theater (new to us, that is).

They have their own building. A great building -- a small theater, but quite adequate, tons of backstage and storage space, "classroom" areas, box office. How awesome to have your own building! No clearing out all evidence of your presence after every rehearsal so the church can have its space back. No lugging props and set pieces back and forth. Wow.

They have a huge stash of costumes AND a woman who makes costumes for them. She's making lots of beautiful new Shakespearean costumes for this week (out of Goodwill finds, my daughter tells me). A costume genius -- wow! What a joy to have on hand!

The director makes the kids help clean up the building every night before they leave; it's just part of the routine. In fact, taking the trash to the dumpster has apparently become a social event for the regulars in the group. Love that.

The director was asking about my drama experience and how I might like to get involved here . . . if I am interested in getting involved here. I told her the stuff she probably needs (techie stuff -- that's always what every theater needs) is the stuff I stink at. I mostly write and direct. "Well, actually," she said, "I'm the only director here and I could use someone to take some of that burden . . . "

My first thought was that I simply won't have time for that with my teaching load this fall. But a summer camp . . . that's a possibility. And then I thought some more. When we did our plays in Sioux City, we practiced two hours a week for four weeks, then added another two-hour rehearsal each week for another four weeks. A total of 24 hours of rehearsal for each show. For this two-week camp, they've met from 3:30 to 9:30 for nine evenings to prepare for two dinner theater performances. That's 54 hours of rehearsal time.

54 hours. I'm not sure I would know what to do with 54 hours of rehearsal time. Holy smokes! How cool would that be to do a show with 54 hours of rehearsal time! And a costume genius! And a building! And a significant budget! Oh my goodness . . . this is sounding quite tempting.

But for now, I'm anxious to see Shakespeare Comes to Dinner this Saturday night. And pay a buck or two to have the servers deliver Shakespearean insults to my husband. Maybe I'll even have him thrown in the stockade. Sounds like fun!

Saturday Night

Christmas 2013 just ended for me last Saturday night when my husband took me to see "Wicked" at the Majestic Theater. No, I had never seen "Wicked". Yes, that's kind of weird for someone as into theater as I am.

The evening started out with dinner. Since I picked the show, I let hubby pick the place to eat, and he chose a Mexican spot in Alamo Heights. And here's where our homebody tendencies show: we didn't build into our evening's schedule a 30-40 minute wait for a dinner table. Forty minutes? And then waiting to be served? Not happening -- so Mexican was out. We had Five Guys. Which I think I probably liked better. Mmm . . . Five Guys.

And it was a good thing we didn't try to make the Mexican place work, because as it was, we barely got there in time for the curtain to rise. Downtown traffic in San Antonio on a Saturday night? Unbelievable. We spent a full twenty minutes driving one block down Houston street. Luckily, I knew where a parking garage was and we turned off Houston, praying there was still room inside. There was -- at the very top. So we parked and hustled our well-dressed booties down the elevator and down crowded Houston street to the Majestic Theater.

Ah, the Majestic Theater! Beautiful. Just beautiful. Maybe one of the most beautiful theaters I've been in. Of course, I couldn't see much from our seats: the absolute top row of the balcony (the only seats left by a few days before Christmas when I received the gift from my husband). But I took a good look around at intermission. Bee-yoo-tiful.

And even that top row was a relatively pleasant experience. We had top row balcony seats for "Les Mis" in Philly one year, and my husband had to leave at intermission. The seats were so tightly packed in and it was so hot that high up that he was absolutely miserable. We had some nice cool air blowing on us at the top of the Majestic.

The show was fabulous. The theater was packed. And of course, one of the disadvantages of being in the top row balcony of a packed theater is being behind everyone else trying to leave when the show is over. But even then, the crowd moved along pretty efficiently, spilling us all back out onto Houston street.

Which was STILL crowded. And loud. Not until we saw some folks wearing ridiculous green hats did it occur to me that this was St. Patrick's Day weekend and maybe that accounted for the huge crowds. Of course, we've never been in downtown SA this late on a Saturday night, so maybe this is typical weekend stuff.

But if so, remind us to never go downtown that late on a Saturday night. The traffic!  Holy cow!!  It took us over an hour to move the eight blocks or so to get out of downtown and onto the highway. We sat . . . and sat . . . and sat . . .

. . . and watched people going into clubs. I've never been to a "club" on a Saturday night. I'm not sure I've been to a "club" at all, actually. I looked at these people dressed to the nines, a few already stumbling a bit, heard the music blaring, saw the flashing bright lights, and I thought, "There is nothing appealing about that scene to me at all." Nothing. I have an old high school friend who has played at clubs -- I might enjoy listening to his band sometime. But other than that, clubbing looks hellish to me from the outside.

Is this because I'm an old fart? Maybe. But I think even as a young fart, I would have chosen a quiet evening at home over that.

But young fart or old, I'll fight the crowded, noisy streets for a great night of theater. At least once in a while. Definitely worth it.

Las Nuevas Tamaleras

Our family saw the most interesting play last Friday. It was called Las Nuevas Tamaleras (The New Tamale-Makers). What was so interesting about it?

1) It was bilingual. One character spoke all Spanish; another spoke a mix of Spanish and English (probably what one would call Spanglish); the other three spoke English with some Spanish words thrown in here and there. The person who invited us (my husband's assistant at work, who was one of the actresses) told us that we would be able to figure out what was being said in Spanish from the context and gestures and stuff. Not quite. We got the gist of what was going on, but we surmised from the audience's laughs that a lot of the funniest lines came from Spanish-speaking Doña Mercedes, and we missed them.

2) At first, I didn't like the delivery of the actresses. They seemed to be speaking so slowly, it all felt very over-acted. And maybe it was. But it occurred to me later: even with my very limited Spanish vocabulary, I was picking up on a lot of it, and I think that was because the Spanish-speakers were speaking slowly, not rattling it all off like so many Spanish-speakers do. (Or like it sounds to us English-speakers -- I suppose to those who don't speak English, it sounds like we're talking fast, also.) Maybe the actresses were told to speak slowly -- Spanish and English -- so the native speakers of each in the audience would more easily understand the other. So, okay. I can appreciate that.

3) It was about a Mexican tradition of making tamales for Christmas, one we are aware of but unfamiliar with. A couple of elderly Mexican ladies, who have been in heaven bemoaning the fact that they can't make tamales in heaven, get sent down to help three clueless young Latinas at their first attempt at the task. 

As I said, this was a new cultural thing for us, the tamale business, but the audience was loving it.  In fact, this is a play they perform at this theater every December, and it has apparently become a family tradition for many in San Antonio to see it every year. I can imagine why; if this is a part of your culture, there was a lot here to appreciate. We appreciated it, even from the outside.

And wouldn't you know, we seemed to be inundated with tamales for the rest of the weekend! The church we visited on Sunday had a strong bilingual ministry (in fact, the associate pastor who preached at our service was from Mexico). They had a "tamalada" scheduled for the next day -- an open cooking class for anyone wanting to learn how to make tamales. And many of the tamales made there were apparently going to be served at a Posada Dinner later in the month.

Then our youngest picked Mamacita's for lunch after church (our favorite Mexican place we've found in town so far). The furious appetite we all had for some Mexican food after we left the play may have contributed to that choice.  I decided to be adventurous and try the tamales. None of us had ever had them before (well, hubby might have tasted one). I thought they were fine. Hubby and youngest were kind of, "meh". Eldest almost gagged. I'm not sure why, although she's not a big Mexican food fan anyway. I guess it's just as well I didn't go to the tamalada and bring home more tamales -- I'd have been eating them all myself.

All in all, a fascinating cultural weekend for us. And it got me psyched to start learning my Spanish again. Still looking for a Latina friend who will talk Español with me . . .

Thoughts While Playing Bunko at the Neighbor's House Last Night

- How do you play bunko again?

- Dang, women are loud.

- The evening's theme is PJs and breakfast food. I think this is the first breakfast event I've been to in San Antonio that didn't include salsa.

- And I've never drunk wine with my breakfast, either, but that and water are the only beverages available this evening.  Oh, wait!  Someone just brought in a pitcher of orange juice.  Awesome!  I love orange juice.  Wait . . . this isn't just . . . sigh! Glad I walked here.

- I got a bunko and a boobie, both in the first round before I had any idea what I was doing and understood the significance of either.

- Our new neighborhood seems to have a nice mix of ages.  We haven't had opportunity to meet many folks yet, so this is nice to see. All lily-white, though -- which is surprising in a town where anglos are in the minority. And a little disappointing to me, because part of the appeal of coming to San Antonio was that I might hook up with someone willing to talk Spanish to me and help me learn (Panama is still in the back of our minds).

- I love breakfast food. I wish my tummy wasn't acting up so much. What did I eat for lunch that's coming back to haunt me . . . ?

- Bunko's an interesting phenomenon. A friend in Sioux City invited me to a bunko night, so this is my second go at it. The game seems to be created simply as an excuse to mingle and chit chat. Frankly, it almost feels like speed dating.

- Dang, women drinking wine are LOUD.

- And these drinking women are not fond of Obamacare. One lady just found out their insurance is being cancelled -- the suggested replacement policy will have an $8000 higher deductible and cost them $3000 more a year.  Three women in the group work in healthcare (one's an occupational therapist, don't remember about the other two, if they said). They all say they knew this was coming from the moment Obamacare started being discussed. And they all say they are losing doctors at their places of employment (I want to ask if those doctors quit or were let go, but I'm not drinking enough wine to be loud enough to get a word in).

- Finally starting to remember how this game works. Not that it matters -- there's no skill involved whatsoever. But at least I can keep up with the competitive ladies who are really into this, of which there are a couple.

- A former first grade teacher in the group (who's expecting her third son in a couple months) and a mom of a first grader are talking about money and math. The mom's daughter is anxious to learn how to count money, but the first grade teacher tells her she won't learn that until second grade. That was her biggest frustration teaching, she says; she had some kids who were ready to move on to counting money and beyond, and then other kids who couldn't even name the coins. So many levels she had to accommodate . . . and the ESL kids mixed among them.  Yep. We give public school teachers an almost impossible job.

- And the hostess decides she's done with bunko after eleven rounds; time to stop and just drink. (These women aren't drunk or anything, I should clarify; it's just clear that some of them are really only here for the wine and the talk -- maybe they had rough days.) So, I end the night with six wins, five losses, one bunko and one boobie. Which wins me nothing out of the $5-a-lady pot. Oh, well. I didn't come to win money. Or to drink wine.

I came to meet my neighbors. And that's why I'll be back in December . . . with a $15 white elephant and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Maybe I'll bring the salsa this time.

WDGT - What Does Gwen Think?

Because I feel a tremendous responsibility to my readers -- many of whom, I know, hear of a current event or a piece of news and immediately find themselves wondering, "What Does Gwen Think about this?" -- let me give you a run-down of my opinions and feelings on a few items:

- Ritchie Incognito and the Miami Dolphins.  As far as what went down with Incognito and Jonathan Martin and whether Martin's departure was justified, who really knows. But I have been shocked by what this incident has revealed about the culture of football in our country. Former players and coaches keep being interviewed on the matter, and they all seem to say the same thing: yeah, Incognito got carried away, but this type of behavior is just what happens in the NFL.

So, we pay grown men OBSCENE salaries (players and administrative types) to play a game violent enough to require so much safety equipment covering their bodies as to completely hide their natural body shapes (and they still have horrible -- even life-threatening -- injuries).  We encourage this violent attitude to the extent that behavior and conversations which the rest of society would find extremely offensive and which might land them in jail are normal among these men. And we allow our boys to idolize and try to emulate these men. 

And we allow it all to happen for the sake of being entertained by the game. Are we really that much better than the Romans with their gladiators?

- Black Friday.  I've never shopped on Black Friday because I hate getting up early on a holiday, I hate big crowds, and I don't enjoy shopping in general. But it has gotten a bit ridiculous how early stores are opening. I'm not so upset about the employees having to work on a holiday -- there are thousands of people out there who have to work on holidays. But it just cheapens Thanksgiving Day to make it about shopping now. Nothing is meaningful anymore.

The thing is, the only reason those stores open so early is because they know somebody will show up to shop -- scads of somebodies, in fact. Kind of like how the politicians only use dirty tactics because they know they work. We get what we deserve.

This is related to the football item. The Marketplace is morally neutral, but it makes our societal moral weaknesses so apparent.

- Kennedy and Lincoln. Both on my mind lately. I've read Bill O'Reilly's books about them this year (yes, Killing Jesus is on my Christmas list). Excellent, excellent books -- whatever you think about O'Reilly. The Kennedy movie being on the National Geographic channel (and all the other discussion about the anniversary of his assassination) has led to talk with my daughter about marriage fidelity, communism and the cold war, presidential safety . . . good discussions. (The book is very frank about the president's affairs, but interesting to note, it also says that the Cuban missile crisis struck such fear in him about losing his family that the other women lost much of their appeal.)

The Lincoln book I read a while ago but has been fresh in my mind because my daughter is memorizing the Gettysburg address for school, and they are going to film the class reciting it at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery for a presentation at the Christmas program. Such an amazing speech.

- The Obamacare ads.  You know, the ones with the women excited to get birth control so they can hop into bed with the guy they just met. Seriously. I mean . . . ugh. It's just . . . it's so . . . I'm sorry.  I can't even find words to communicate my contempt and disgust for this.

- Texas weather. It got down to freezing here the other night, which is apparently extremely unusual for around here this early in the season. My daughter's math teacher had frost on her windshield in the morning and had to sit and think what to do about that. It really has been quite chilly, which is refreshing. My new Texan friends tell me that we have cold spurts like this once in a while, for a few days, all winter long, but then it warms up again. I'm curious to see how we like the winter weather in Texas.  Part of me thinks I'm going to miss having at least some snow. I'll just pray for a white Christmas so I get my snow fix when we're in Kansas for that.

- The President's speech yesterday. Refreshing to hear his more humble attitude. Unfortunately, I don't think this fix is going to fix a thing. And that's all I'm going to say about that.


There you go, friends. This is what I'm thinking these days. Go forth and think likewise. ;)

Crime and Blessing

Last Friday evening, our family went to see Taming of the Shrew in a rather obscure little theater near downtown (a requirement for our eldest's AP English class). It was an excellent production.  And then when we left, we found the driver's side window of my husband's car had been broken out and his suitcase was stolen (he had driven there straight from the airport to meet us) as was his work bag containing his laptop, iPad, and various other folders and such.

Kind of put a damper on a nice evening. To say the least.

This was our first experience as victims of a real crime like this. And as such, it was interesting to see
our reactions. Keith told us we could go on home while he called the police and all, but there was simply no way I could leave him alone in that parking lot. Our eldest and I paced beside the car while he talked to the police on the phone (they never came out -- just took info over the phone).

Then he got a call from someone who found one of his work notebooks at the side of the road. She dropped it off at a police station for him, so he had to talk to the police about that, also.

Our youngest opted to sit in the van during all this, so I went to check on her once in a while and fill her in on what was going on. Her calm astounded me. She said, "You know, mom, I've been memorizing those verses we studied in BSF a while ago . . . about how God takes care of the birds and the flowers, so of course he's going to take care of us . . . we're worth much more than they are . .  . God knows what we need before we even ask . . . we don't need to worry about anything . . . this all happened for a reason . . . "

Wow. Preach to your mama, sweetheart.

As hubby and I finally crawled into bed way late, I took my turn praying aloud for the two of us. I thanked God for protecting our family that night. I asked if possible that his stuff could be returned. I asked for everything to go smoothly in the process of getting things repaired, replaced and restored. And after my "Amen", my husband piped up to add something: he asked God to bless the people who had broken into his car.

Bless them??!?  Sigh.

He's right. Yes, Lord, bless them.  We don't know why they went to this effort to take his stuff. If they are in need of money for food or shelter or basic survival, bless them and meet their needs. If they are in the throes of an addiction that drives them to desperate measures, deliver them from that bondage. If they are wrapped up in a dysfunctional community that makes this behavior seem normal and necessary, come to them and draw them away. Bring them to you, Lord. However you choose, in whatever mighty way you can, don't allow this event to go to waste -- use it somehow to bring these people to you.

Wow. I'm humbled and amazed sometimes at the work God has done in the hearts of my loved ones. And excited to see the completion of work He has in progress.

Mexican Breakfast Dishes for $400, Alex

An imaginary conversation with your standard Texan:

“What did you have for breakfast?”
“A breakfast taco.”
“Ah – I've had breakfast burritos, but breakfast tacos are new to me. What's in a breakfast taco?”
“Eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, cheese, salsa. That kind of thing.”
“Same stuff that's in a breakfast burrito, huh?”
“But it's a breakfast taco.”
“So, the tortilla is folded in half instead of wrapped around the filling.”
“No, a lot of times it's wrapped around it all.”
“Like a burrito.”
“Yep.”
“But it's a taco.”
“Yep. A breakfast taco.”
“Not a breakfast burrito.”
“Nope.”
“Why isn't it called a breakfast burrito?”
“Sweetie, you're in Texas now.”
 
The Lone Star State – where you can call a burrito a taco just 'cuz dat's whut it is, y'all. Sometimes, it seems that Texas is just all about being Texas. 
 

Living In Medias Res

Every once in a while, you hear a sermon that you suspect was written specifically with you in mind.  Like the pastor was looking into your heart and soul and saw what was there and crafted his words around that need. Like he saw your car turn into the parking lot and said to everyone, "Quick! They're here! Switch out the bulletins -- I need to preach this instead!"

Our family had that experience yesterday at Woodlands Baptist Church. The text Pastor Vickrey chose for his sermon was Jeremiah 29:4-7. Judah has been conquered by the Babylonians and the Israelites taken into exile. False prophets are popping up everywhere, telling the people, "Oh, this is just a short term thing -- two years tops. Then we'll be back home again. Don't get too comfortable."

But Jeremiah (who always seemed to have the thankless job of delivering the unpopular news) tells them otherwise:

This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” Yes, this is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says: “Do not let the prophets and diviners among you deceive you. Do not listen to the dreams you encourage them to have. They are prophesying lies to you in my name. I have not sent them,” declares the Lord.

You're going to be here a while, Jeremiah tells them, so God wants you to bloom where you're planted. Continue to live life in medias res -- in the midst of things.

My eldest is viewing this San Antonio stint as a parenthetical episode in her life. She has no intention of growing any roots, making any connections, allowing any attachments. Once she graduates in May, she wants to return to Iowa. And she may very well do so. But I had to fight the urge to sneak peaks at her during this sermon to see if she was listening closely.

God has put you here for a reason.

This place is a part of God's plan.

You are to live through life, not around it.

Even I find, as we strive to get settled and feel settled, that it's hard to shake that transient feeling. We spent the last year and a half in Sioux City knowing we were going to be leaving any time. We lived in the apartment temporarily this summer . . . even moved into a temporary hotel room for a few days . . . I wrote last fall about tent-living and how I could relate to that.

And as I wrote last fall, I'm all the more convicted that believers are always supposed to feel that transient way, in a sense. This is not our home. We are only passing through.

But in the meantime, we are to bloom where we are planted in medias res.

And More Updates

So, I think it's time for some updates on the Kandt family's progress here in San Antonio.

• As of yesterday, we are officially moved into our new house. Hallelujah! We thought we were moving in last Friday, but the movers couldn't make it by then. We had to be out of the apartment by noon Friday, so we were in a hotel room over the weekend. I have spent a lot of time the last several days carrying our family's necessaries up and down stairs, between apartment, hotel room, and house. I should have lost weight. But I bet I haven't.
• As of last Wednesday, we weren't going to have internet, cable or phone at the new house until the 13^th. That was almost worthy of a big cry. That's a week and a half in our house without things that have become much too necessary in our lives. But I've been checking with AT&T a few times a day, hoping for cancellations in their installation schedule . . . and my persistence paid off! They're coming to install this Friday! Another hallelujah!
• As the movers were unloading yesterday morning, my husband left town for a week-long business trip. That really stinks. It was sad being here in our new house last night without him. I miss him a lot.
• I already wrote about my youngest's cross country experience. But the afternoon of that first meet, she also auditioned for “A Christmas Carol” at a local youth theater. We got word Monday evening that she was cast as the Ghost of Christmas Present! A pretty significant role for her first play there – and probably as big of a role as she could get as a female in that show. Her audition there was different than we've experienced anywhere else. They took each kid into a room behind the stage where they listened to their memorized one-minute monologue (my daughter did an excerpt from the book: Scrooge's fiancée releasing him) and had them do a short reading from the play. Nobody saw anyone else's audition. Not sure what I think of that. But I'll say this: while I was waiting for her to come out, I was thinking, If I were casting this play, I'd cast her as the Ghost of Christmas Present. So, of course, I assume this director is brilliant. :)
• The oldest is plugging along in school. It is definitely more academically challenging than Sioux City East was. She was assigned a C.S. Lewis essay to read and answer questions about, and even I found it pretty difficult. Next week, they have a required overnight retreat for the juniors and seniors that she doesn't want to go to. She doesn't like being away from home anyway, and she doesn't know too many people at school very well yet. I'm hoping it ends up being a good experience for her. She also can't get over the strict uniform guidelines (only black hair ties?  No bracelets or necklaces?). But I think she looks darn cute in her uniform, actually.
• The youngest is enjoying school. She even comes home anxious to do homework. We'll see how long that lasts!
• I'm unpacking. And I'm really tired. But it's a good tired. I love my new house, and I'm enjoying making it our own. But I do wish my husband was here. And the internet was on. And the cable TV.  Okay, I'll stop whining now. 

School for the Young 'Un

I don't believe I've written yet about the school my youngest will be attending.

It's called Summit Christian Academy, and it is a University Model School.  This model is kind of a hybrid between homeschool and private school.  At the elementary level, students are at the school two days a week and home being taught by their parents the other three days.  Once middle school hits, that increases to three days a week in school.

There's a lot I like about this model.  I've talked to many parents over the years who really liked the idea of homeschooling but were terrified to actually be solely responsible for their child's education.  A lot of the parents I've spoken to from this school seemed to be in that camp.  This can give them the best of both worlds, in a way.

I also found that they use a lot of the same curriculum I did (or curriculum I would have chosen if I were going to spend the money on curriculum) and a similar approach to subjects that I have.  For example, for the last few years, I've combined history, literature, and writing into one big "subject" I've labeled Humanities.  They seemed to overlap so much, separating them out into individual subjects almost seemed artificial.  SCA does the same thing.

So, there's a lot about this school that I'm really excited about.  But I do have some concerns . . . or at least things that I'm anxious to see if they will work well for my kid.  The primary one: class size.  This is a relatively new school.  They started with early elementary grades and added on a grade level as the kids enrolled grew into them.  My youngest's class -- the eighth grade class -- is the new class this year.  And if she continues there, she will ultimately be in their first graduating class in 2018.  Kind of cool in a way, but it also means that she and her classmates are the guinea pigs that they're figuring everything out on. 

And it also means that her class is small.  In fact, with her, there are three.  The seventh grade class has three also (including the principal's daughter), and the two classes seem to do a lot together.  Considering that for the last three years, she's been a class of one at home, this is not as dramatic a change as you would think.  But if it turns out that she doesn't get along well with these other 2-5 kids, that could make for a miserable year.

It will also be interesting to see what her work load is like on her two days at home.  One eighth grade mom told me her daughter is done with her SCA work by noon and that she supplements with other work.  A seventh grade mom told me her son works until 4:30.  That's one of the advantages of homeschooling -- being able to adapt things to fit your kid.  I suspect my girl will need some supplementing . . . particularly in the literature area.  They do seem to be much lighter on literature than I have been, and it's important to me that my kids are well-read.

The other disadvantage of a small school: less "extras".  They're starting their first athletic program fall.  Cross country.  My daughter is participating, although after the first two practices this week, she's regretting that decision (she's not in great physical shape for this yet).  My oldest daughter's school offers a full music program, drama, yearbook, plus some media classes which my youngest would really get into -- and an athletic program that she would not.  I'm wondering if, by the end of the year, I will want my youngest to have access to all of that, too.

I'm also wondering how I will take to giving up so much control over my kids' education.  Yes, I still have more control than I would have if she were in a regular school.  I'm just spoiled now.  But who knows?  Maybe I'll get used to the burden being removed and end up liking it.

In any case, it will be an interesting year with SCA.  Classes start next Thursday. I'll fill you in as we go.  :)

And We Have a New House!

And it's been a long time coming.  After much difficult finagling with some interesting homeowners, we have a contract on a new home here in San Antonio!


Here's our front "yard".  This is actually a little walled in courtyard at the front of the house.  Yes, tons of plants.  And yes, we've already discussed my black thumb.  We may have to hire someone to teach me how to keep this stuff alive -- or to just keep it alive for me.  Or maybe hubby will be better at that than I am.

The master bedroom is to the right in that photo -- with a door coming out to the courtyard.  Very much looking forward to that.

The kitchen is in that lit up window just about in the center.  Family room to the left of that. The laundry room is off of the family room and goes straight into the garage if you keep moving left.  A dining room is to the right of the kitchen, as are stairs.

The upstairs patio comes from the upstairs "living area" directly behind it and there's another door to it from a bedroom to the right.  Two more bedrooms upstairs (but only one bathroom -- that's one of the minuses of the place).

No basement.  No basements anywhere that we found in San Antonio.  Apparently the ground is too rocky to make it feasible to dig basements.  That's why almost every house we looked at had the upstairs living area.



 

 



Here's that family room I said was to the left.  With the previous homeowners' furniture, of course.  All of these photos were taken on my phone, so excuse the poor quality. (And my inability to maneuver the spacing here to be more aesthetically pleasing.)
















And here's the kitchen.  Yes, those blue blocks let in sunlight.














And here's the view from the front door to that dining area I said was to the right of the kitchen (stairs to the right of this).  And again, this is still the current homeowners' furniture.



I won't bore you with more photos.  You get the idea.  :)




We're hoping to be moved in by Labor Day.  Hubby is going back to Sioux City at the end of this week to be there while the movers back up our stuff.  We are SO anxious to be back in a real house with all of our possessions available to us again.  (Although we will have to get rid of a lot of stuff -- this house is much smaller.)



And this means, by October or so, we will be ready for visitors!  Lots of stuff to do in San Antonio, friends.  SeaWorld, Six Flags, the Alamo . . .

The Mega-Church Experience

The church search -- one of my least favorite things about moving.

Yesterday, we visited Cornerstone Church, the 20,000-member mega-church here in San Antonio pastored by John Hagee.  Now, I don't know a lot about Hagee, other than he's a well-known conservative pastor with a television ministry that reaches world-wide and who stirs up a lot of controversy on occasion.  I googled him Saturday night and, of course, found a lot of criticism of his lifestyle and teaching and so forth, but I really tried to go with an open mind.  After all, my eldest daughter is going this fall to Cornerstone Christian School, founded by Hagee, so I probably should know something about the man and his church.

So, some observations:

- The music was pretty fabulous.  I mean, just look at the picture of this choir!  It was like an old-fashioned southern revival.  Not all of it was the style of music I'd prefer -- a couple numbers were like the caricature of a cheesy TV preacher's worship service.  But much of it was big and bold and great.  And the congregation sang with enthusiasm, also.

- But then, this congregation would be enthusiastic no matter what, I imagine.  It was a rather charismatic group -- lots of hands in the air, amen-ing and hallelujah-ing.  A new experience for my daughters.

- And I will say, this was perhaps the most racially integrated congregation I've ever been in.  And THAT was an awesome thing.

- I didn't notice this until Hagee started preaching, but there were two men standing on the floor on either side of him facing the congregation the whole time.  Security guards.  Wow.  So, has Hagee said stuff that makes him worry for his personal safety when he's up in public like this?  Have they just had issues with that big of a crowd and they learned they need people there prepared to handle the unexpected?  I'd love to hear the story behind that.

- I couldn't argue against much of anything Hagee said during the service (although he toed awfully close to the Prosperity Gospel line at one point).  In fact, his sermon was an amen-worthy flat-out gospel presentation, for the most part.  But his manner . . . I couldn't help but think that I should have had my two actors who played the character of Evangelist in my productions of "Pilgrim's Progress" watch videos of him for inspiration.  The epitome of over-the-top cheesy TV evangelist style.  Content: fine.  Delivery: not for me.

- He had an invitation at the end (of course) and about a hundred people came forward.  And this is where I got troubled, strangely enough.  Everyone else in the building was amen-ing and hallelujah-ing over the crowd gathered at the front.  I was praying, Lord, please let these decisions all be sincere.  I'm so conscious anymore of how people can be emotionally manipulated into saying the right words, raising their hand, getting dunked in the baptismal tank (they have a baptismal service there every Sunday night and these people were being invited to come back for that) . . . and in the end, it was all just lip-service.  These people think they just signed on for some fire insurance to save them from hell and now they can go back to their lives as usual.  I pray to God that wasn't what was happening in this crowd.  Unfortunately, I'm pessimistic about this stuff anymore.

All in all, an experience I'm glad we had.  But I don't anticipate making this my church family.

However, when their Christmas pageant rolls around in December, I am there.

Apartment Living

There are advantages and disadvantages to a family of four living in a two-bedroom furnished apartment.

ADVANTAGE:  When you misplace something, there just aren't too many places for the thing to be.

DISADVANTAGE: When you want some time alone, there just aren't too many places for you to be.

ADVANTAGE: No lawn care or yard work.

DISADVANTAGE:  No garage -- and the Texas sun can make your car darn hot.

ADVANTAGE:  The laundry room is just a few steps away from both bedrooms, both bathrooms, and the kitchen.

DISADVANTAGE: Four people sharing two double beds.  (They may be queens -- hubby and I haven't figured that out yet.  We're so spoiled with our king, anything else makes for a rough night.  Our daughters have started taking turns sleeping on the sofa.)

ADVANTAGE:  An air-conditioned workout room and two pools all just a two-minute walk away.

DISADVANTAGE: A flight of stairs to climb to get back into the apartment -- especially odious after a half-hour in the workout room.

ADVANTAGE:  The mental challenge of figuring out how to operate new appliances.  (Our toaster has a "cancel" button on it.  Hmph.)

DISADVANTAGE:  The aggravation of learning how to operate new appliances.  (It took me all day the first day of doing laundry to figure out which setting on the dryer would actually dry my clothes.)

ADVANTAGE:  Someone to call immediately when an appliance is messed up. (Like when I come home after three hours and the dishwasher is still running and the dial hasn't moved.)

DISADVANTAGE:  Missing cooking supplies.  (I bought a blueberry muffin mix at the store . . . only to remember when I got home that we don't have a muffin tin.)

ADVANTAGE:  The creative new meal options resulting from having to make do.  (Blueberry muffin-bread, anyone?)

DISADVANTAGE: Phone calls and mail for previous owners.  (We haven't given out the apartment phone number to anyone -- I don't even know what it is -- so when the phone rings, we just let it ring.  We know it's not for us.  And it rings and rings and rings.  AND apparently there have been at least two different counselor/psychologists in our apartment before us.  I'm enjoying skimming their professional journals and magazines, but I wonder if they're missing them.)

ADVANTAGE: Setting the thermostat wherever we want because we don't pay that bill.  (Although hubby likes it much colder than we do, as does everyone in San Antonio, it seems.  I take a hoodie along to wear when I go into buildings because the air conditioner is set so low.  They do love their extremes here.)

DISADVANTAGE:  The overabundance of togetherness.

ADVANTAGE:  The overabundance of togetherness.

The girls are griping now, but I expect in several years, they'll look back with some fond memories of these couple of months.  Or at least their moments of misery here will seem amusing.  :)