Last Week.... In the City of Angels

Last weekend I had the opportunity to attend the Los Angeles Religious Education Congress, hosted by the Archdiocese of L.A. in sunny Anaheim California. Yes, the congress was at Disneyland. The happiest place on earth. If I'd known that my trip may have suddenly needed to be an extra day longer. Instead I walked a mile and a half during the lunch break one day and ate my meal in the air conditioned confines of the Grand Californian hotel. I needed some magic, didn't I? A little Mickey never hurt anyone, but I think my stay would have been magical even without the mouse. I had the opportunity to visit with West Coast relatives who I don't see often. Eat some delicious comida mexicana of the variety which simply does not exist in li'l old RCSD, and - very importantly - get my picture taken with the Easter Bunny..... and a 14 month old cousin.


The congress itself was magical as well. Over the course of the weekend I got to see and hear many great speakers such as Fr. Greg Boyle, Dr. Thomas Groome, and Mitch Albom. Also at the conference were individuals such as Sr. Helen Prejean and Fr. Jim Martin. Now I know that these names might be unfamiliar to those outside the Catholic education world, or who weren't schooled by the Jesuits. But I promise you every one of them is googleable. They are also memorable, inspirational, educational... and many more adjectives. Ultimately, the Congress was a great opportunity to learn, and to get rejuvenated. The PLACErs of LMU were excellent hosts. And staying with fellow UCCE teachers, was a great opportunity for fellowship with other young adults experiencing the same challenges of first (and second) year teaching as I am. I <3 LA

A New Englander in the Midwest

Growing up and throughout college, I had friends who were 100% of a particular ethnicity, or had their ethnic background neatly divided into two categories. People who spoke Spanish at home, visited relatives in Portugal, took pride in Notre Dame football because they too were "fighting Irish," enjoyed pierogi at Polish picnics, or ate a traditional fish dinner on Christmas Eve. This neat background, and grounding in a particular heritage were not true for myself however. My best attempt at an accurate count, shows at least 6-7 cultural backgrounds in my blood, though I suspect the number may be higher. I am not 100% anything. My parents are not 100% anything. Neither are my grandparents. At times I considered this the best of both worlds. I could join the DAR if I really felt the desire, can eat Linzer tarts at holidays, oplatek on Christmas Eve. I can enjoy Yorkshire Pudding, or homemade pitscelles, or lasagna. (Yes, I know - all memories seem related to food.) At other times I was jealous, felt that I was missing out on some mystical family bond which develops over shared culture and ethnic foods. It seems silly in some ways, to think that a close-knit and loving family could be enhanced over something so trivial. I know what I am. What we are. I am French like my name. Italian like my love for pasta. I am Polish, English, and German. I am things I don't even know about. I am American. I am a New Englander. A New Englander in the Midwest. I knew that our country was different. That throughout this great nation there was variety. From Redwood forests to the New York Island. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam. For the past few months, these differences have smacked me straight in the face on a daily basis. I cannot even perform a simple activity such as pumping gas, without being reminded - "Lauren you are in South Dakota." Pulling off Hwy. 16 or a similar road outside of town into a gas station, means feeling the crunch beneath your tires as asphalt becomes gravel. There is no requirement to pay before you pump, and in fact, many gas stations do not have a pre-pay option. My initial avoidance of pumping gas on the bitter cold -10 days was somewhat alleviated when I remembered that outside Massachusetts gas clips are allowed, and I could wait in the comfort of my car while filling up. I am not in Italy or Africa or Mexico, and yet simple everyday tasks, also remind me that I am no longer in Massachusetts, no longer in New England. They remind me that even when I can not connect to any particular ethnicity, I am a New Englander. The title of this blog was started as a bit of a joke. Rapid City is not even on the prairies (it's part of the Black Hills, and the largest mountain between the Rockies and the Alps is visible from town.) The culture of the area however is far more different than I expected. Shockingly different. Soccer is not a sponsored interscholastic sport. Football is intense. High school games can lead to the type of heckling I'd previously seen amongst Sox-Yankees fans. The western, prairie lifestyle I'd imagined from Laura Ingalls Wilder books still exists. I have students who live "in town," during the week to attend school, and go home on the weekends. School districts have separate categories for "rural schools," many of which service K-8 with only one teacher. In Massachusetts there is no such thing as living "out of town," we consider Palmer and it's population of 12,000+ to be a "small town," and deem anyplace more than 45 minutes from the nearest mall "rural." Moving here has made me realize, that being a New Englander really can be an identity. I am a Sox loving, Yankees hating, Dunks drinking, Friendly's eating New Englander. I love seafood. I don't consider the Atlantic too cold or too rocky. I know the difference between whole belly clams and strips, between New England Chowder and Rhode Island. I love summer days at the beach and the smell of fall air. I like visiting small cities, college towns, and used bookstores. I ski on hills. I love local, homemade, hard-serve ice cream. I can navigate highway traffic and left hand exits just as well as rural roads and snowstorms.

I am a New Englander. A New Englander in the Midwest.

The Big Drive

Unfortunately I didn't have the chance to update this blog during our (me and my dad's) road trip to the west - but our trip definitely deserves a post! The Sites: En-route between Palmer, MA and Omaha, NE we made a few stops. One great thing about being "out west" as well as my drive here was getting to see just how diverse our country is - the landscape, the people, the cultures. Even at rest stops in rural areas we would see people of several different ethnic/racial backgrounds and here lots of languages being spoken. The two big stops enroute were Niagara Falls and Chicago! It was my first time visiting both Niagara and "Chi-town," and I was really excited since both were on my list of places to see. To summarize in a few brief words... Niagara: beautiful and amazing! Do I really need any others? Some things really can't be described. That's what pictures are for (and why I'll be posting some very soon). And then, Chicago: the Lake was beautiful and even smelled a bit like our Atlantic (you can take the girl out of New England but she'll still be a beach lover). And my first experience driving in a city larger than Worcester? Let's just say my word choice might not have been quite so kosher if I wasn't driving with dad. Overall our visits to Niagara and Chicago, and our chance to see all the sites in between (including a LOT of roadkill - 5 dead deer and dozens of other animals if you're keeping count) was a really great experience, as was spending some quality time with my dad on the drive out. The Rest Stops: This might not seem like the most logical inclusion in a road trip journal, but we drove 1400+ miles and I drink a lot of water. We made lots of rest stops. Rest stops are a simple highway plaza on the edge of an interstate, a place where there are more people from out of town than locals, yet I feel as though these places, which seem so detached from their surroundings can say a lot about the culture of the state or area. For example, New York. The majority of the rest stops in NY had a rustic-like architecture reflecting the rural area and Adirondack mountains we were driving through. The NY rest stops were also very big on recycling. Once we hit the PA border I saw a giant sign reading, "Free Coffee" now anyone who knows me probably knows I couldn't pass up the offer for a free cuppa' joe, and so we stopped at the Pennsylvania Welcome Center. The thought entering my mind was "hey pretty cool PA keep your drivers awake and safe." The free coffee stand was actually operated by a Boy Scout troop from North East, PA (that's the town not just like saying we're from WMass) and also included free tea, juice, coffee and fruit. My bets on it being someone's Eagle Scout project, but it still showed the area's value of service. As the landscape changed and grew flatter on our journey past Chicago and into Nebraska, the rest stops again changed. In Ohio/Illinois the rest stops were huge but far apart, with mall-sized food courts and free wi-fi. After hitting Iowa the main option was truck stops or small, roadside rest centers with restrooms, picnic groves and vending machines. We also noticed that none of the rest-stops, gas stations etc. in Iowa sold magazines... Dad thinks its simply that they aren't high demand truck-stop items but I believe further sleuthing might be in order! Either way, my last advice on rest stops for cross country drivers? Expect people who usually prefer a passenger role to suddenly crave driving somewhere in the middle of flat Iowa turf fields (solely out of boredom), Niagara is definitely worth the couple hour detour, and plan a rest stop for the Boy Scout's freebie trailer in P-A. Hope you enjoyed "The Big Drive" an update about my Omahan life will be up in the very, very near future (most likely this weekend)!