"The time has come,"

the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.  And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings."  —Lewis Carroll

I'm not sure whether to appreciatively credit my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Batey, for forcing us to memorize those lines or to wish she had forced us to learn something else.  In all fairness, we also memorized Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay, but it didn't stick with me quite like flying pigs and sealing wax—though I suppose it's wrong to assume that because an animal has wings that it can fly.

Anyway, speaking of flying, remember the two month two week countdown?  Go ahead and remove the two month part from your calendars.  What?  You weren't counting down our arrival back to the States on your calendars?  Well, I guess it's a little less dramatic then, but we're excited none the less.  Thanks to our savvy travel agent, Dr. Jay, we now leave Quito on February 16th and reach Whitefish on February 18th, via our saucy, did I say saucy? I meant speedy, chauffeur, Margaret Ann, who will retrieve us from the Missoula airport at midnight on February the 17th.  Don't worry, we're going to have a grand sleep-over in Missoula before tackling the wintry Montana roads the following day.

With our internal source of optimism running dry, seriously, high-sixty degree weather in February is draining, we conversed with Mom and Dad Erickson and considered our options.  Although we hopefully pursued another opportunity down here, alas it seems we would not be filling a need.  We continue to feel a little bit like we're quitting, but our realistic side insists we're being pro-active and making the best decision for our mental and physical well-being.  The week long migraines thanks to our metal-hammering neighbors are getting old, after all.  Furthermore, upon reviewing our goals for our time here, we found that every goal within our control has been met.  Thus, we announce that we will be returning to the United States in the very near future.  Despite a flight schedule that takes us from Miami to Los Angeles to an overnight and a day in Seattle until we finally head to Missoula, and then drive back to Whitefish, oh yeah, and two separated middle seats on that six hour flight from Miami to Los Angeles, we look forward to seeing the snow, doing our taxes, um, kind of, and preparing to move to Bozeman!  Watch out Cades, here we come!

Also, for any of you who read the second to last sentence of that paragraph and thought, "My goodness, she didn't mention baking, you know, that thing you need an oven for," never fear.  We fully recognize restored oven access is in our future and have ordered three new baking books—two on bread, one on pizza.  My brownie book collection is already bursting.  I know, there I go again with the unnecessary alliteration.  Blame it on the beckoning brownies. 

Oh, and because I'm a proud sister, here's one of my favorite shots of Max's latest photos.

Counting Down and Shutting Down

We are nearly two weeks and two months shy of our planned departure date.  As of late, our daily life remains calm.   Maybe it's homesickness, maybe it's excitement for our next phase of school, maybe it's the desire for quiet and grass rather than noise and concrete, and maybe it's just the desire to feel at home, at the very least at home in the United States, but we've reached a point where it feels like we need a change.  Which, if you consider the following, seems about right.

We learned a week before our flight South that the orphanage would be closing in the new year, but were assured of the continued need for extra-helpers and the existence of things to help with.  Despite the reassurance, our experience at the orphanage has been different than we imagined.  Cultural differences and the circumstances surrounding the orphanage has made a shared purpose with the tias hard to achieve.  We often feel frustrated and discouraged.  We feel we are not being utilized well and are cutting back on our involvement and are seeking out other opportunities within the country.

We do think, however, that we have grown through our experiences at the orphanage.  We spend time with individuals with all sorts of difficulties in their lives and have gained both exposure and awareness of the issues surrounding the mentally and physically handicapped and the behaviorally challenged.  Our capacity for understanding and compassion has been both tested and augmented.  In addition, our time there provides a microcosm of cultural norms representative of the country as a whole, thus allowing for greater perspective in many facets of our lives–granted, this wasn't on our list of goals for our time here.

In other news, related to the aforementioned cultural differences, when Andy and I showed up at the orphanage on Tuesday, 1/25, for the afternoon homework routine, we discovered a significantly reduced population of students.  Monday, in the wee hours of the morning, just before the tia arrived, the majority of the kids left.  Left?  What could I possibly mean by left?  Well, it appears that the kids devised some sort of plan and just before dawn, 65% of the kids climbed out of the boys' cabin's roof-top and ran-away.  The extremely handicapped and a few behaviorally challenged kids, who the tia had caught, remained. Twenty-three kids reduced to nine, literally, overnight.

The tia on duty explained the above to us, but I questioned the two kids left who had the capacity to answer.

Me: "The other kids left?"
Girl: "No, they escaped."
Me: "What are they going to do?"
Girl: "Rob."
Me: "Rob what?"
Girl, looking at me like I'm an idiot: "Money."

Second informative conversation.

Me: "What are they going to eat?"
Boy: "I don't know."
Me: "Where are they going to live?"
Boy: "I don't know."

Ironically, the individual with the most street experience, having taken-off and returned at least five times while we've been here, is the deaf-mute girl.  On Thursday, four kids had returned.  It was all just a fun adventure.  The point, which relates to the cultural differences, is that the kids escaped through the roof of the orphanage.

Wednesday brought bad news for the Budding Bread Baker.  We showed up with a loaf of bread to bake in the compound's oven, only to find it unconnected and the apartment being emptied.  By strangers.  Who looked at us for an explanation, which we did not offer.  Which got a whole lot more awkward considering the kitchen was blocked off by a bed frame that we skirted around holding a kitchen towel on the edge of cookie sheet of tin foil and a large lump of dough.  If I wrote enough words to justify a blog post on the end of our oven access the title might be one of the following:

Major Bummer
The Fun is Done
We Look Like Stupid Americans, The Never-Ending Series
An Uncooked Loaf

The worst part wasn't that we returned home with the bread in the exact same state from when we left the house, although I guess a joke about a chemical reaction might fall flat, but rather, the oven solution, albeit inconvenient, arrived in December at the height of our holiday blues.  To have it taken away made us feel disheartened all over again.  At least I have peanut butter to make no-bake cookies on the stove-top, Andy's wild yeast sits untouched in the refrigerator.

This post was a little bit all over the place so how about a quick recap?

-2 months and 2 weeks until we set down our feet in the good ole' USA.
-The orphanage is closing, the process remains unclear.
-The kids escaped from the orphanage, through the roof.  A few have returned.
-We no longer have access to an oven.  Our bread making is done.