Thanks for giving me all that FOOD!

I may have just created the single most delicious dessert in the history of eating--it's a hybrid cake-ball/mexi-brownie. Mexi-brownie-ball, if you will.

Just what I needed after a holiday weekend that left my stomach distended and my jeans seriously tight.

Thanksgiving is one of the best holidays. Without the pressures of Christmas or the scary decor of Halloween, it's a time to simply give thanks and share food with loved ones--in a sick, competitive eating sort of way. We all know it's coming. Everyone understands that we will cram turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes until it hurts, and then have seconds and just when it seems that our bellies couldn't possibly stretch another millimeter, we break out the pumpkin pie. We will be relatively miserable with our swollen bellies, but the warmth in our hearts is worth the trouble.

It would be a good idea to cut back in the days following, but the left overs are a temptation unto themselves. Stuffing with eggs for breakfast, turkey nachos, green bean casserole for a snack--in our house, anything goes. And I've been going to the fridge pretty often. Yum, but ouch.

I'm ready to reintroduce portion control and salad to my diet this week. I'm also looking forward to a few of those Mexi-brownie-balls.

Cambodian Water Festival

I wore my blue Krama all day. In case you didn't read about it in the news, a  panic-fueled stampede during Cambodia's Water Festival killed nearly 350 people.


My Khmer teacher sent me a sad email this morning, and my Facebook Newsfeed is still with condolences and people checking on one another. I'm heartbroken because Cambodia is so close to my heart. The Water Festival celebrates the end of the rainy season and the flow reversal of the Tonle Sap River. The Festival is supposed to be a celebration of life, but this year it is marked with a great loss of life.

I'm not a religious person, but I prayed today. I prayed for my former students, coworkers and CWF staff.

I'm thinking about the families of those who never came home. They must go to the hospital and check if their loved ones are injured or dead. I'm thinking about the vivid red sunsets and the view at Riverside. I'm remembering my students laughter and the way they always answered, "stay home, watch TV" to any question about the weekend or holiday. Many times, I wanted to tell them to get out of the house and do something, but this time, I hope they were at home watching TV.

There is no place like Nebraska... especially if you grew up here.

Why is it that Nebraskan Adventure Lady just doesn't sound right?

I had a mini-epiphany today. Something about how I want to leave no stone unturned--even in my backyard yada yada. Something else about how Nebraska is actually a very adventurous place to live because of pioneers and fanatical football. A third something about my unwarranted distaste for all things Midwestern--except for giant thunderclouds.

If I could just have the same observant eye that once looked upon the sunset Mekong or the dandelion meadows in the Austrian Alps, I could be the Nebraskan Adventure Lady.

To be realistic, my hometown will never inspire me in the same way as a foreign land, but that shouldn't diminish it's value. Where else can I run into ex-boyfriends' friends at the grocery store and ask where the lemon juice is? Where else can I mention my grandpa's name in a crowded room and expect at least 50% of them to know him? Where else can I come home and hear my brother belting out the latest Katy Perry tune?

I'm going to make a point of seeing this strange limbo period as the adventure it is. Sure, there's no jungle treks or exotic script, but there is soul-searching and applications and dishes to be done!

Playing to the Judge is the best way to win Apples to Apples

You'll never forget Kearney, or so the slogan goes.



My spot at the old WC

 My college town--Kearney, Nebraska--is the place where I started to become an adult. Since I've been back home, I've forgotten many of the wonders of college life: no supervision, minimal accountability, and the freedom/curse of setting your own boundaries (and bedtime!).

I went back to Kearney yesterday to speak on behalf of UNK alumni who have traveled abroad. A fitting role for me, the former Cambodian/Austrian/Thai Adventure Lady. I chatted with nervous freshmen, eager sophomores and excited juniors about studying abroad. Did I encourage them to take the plunge? Of course. Did I quell any travel anxieties? With my jittery enthusiasm, probably not.  Do your research, I said, Don't worry too much about the language barrier and pack light.

The guest speaking engagement was my excuse to come back, but I hung around the rest of the day to catch up with old friends. I'll never forget my Writing Center friends, nor our beloved Game Nights. Now that we are a year older, our conversations focus on life after UNK--the cursed GRE, the graduate school applications, and the success of long-term relationships. Add a little wine and coffee to the conversation and we were a mess of games, gossip and  giggles.

Most of my closest friends have left Kearney to be employed in other cities and states. A few remain, and I was happy to reconnect over chai tea, or better yet, cold beers and San Pedro. The best part of college is the companionship of friends with common interests; friends who know your insecurities and your mistakes, but enjoy hanging out with you regardless.

Although the trip made me long for the life I left behind, the encouragement from my old friends excited me for the new friends to come.Today, my face is sore from all the smiles and laughs--something to be thankful for.

I'll never forget Kearney because of the close friendships that continue to evolve as time demands.

...and because of Barista's--definitely won't forget that, either!

The First Snow

A while ago, I said I'd leave the bigger decisions for the first snow...

I read on Facebook that CWF is looking for more volunteers for the November-February semester. For a moment, I was ready for an encore; another round of mosquito nets and stir-fry.

Then the raindrops outside turned to snowflakes, and I remembered how much I have been looking forward to winter.

From the view hole of my figurative soul submarine, the water is clearing. Combing the depths of my desires, and my resume, I discovered that I am always teaching. Even now, I am volunteering with the Lincoln Literacy Council to tutor a South Korean woman (who happens to be a writer!). This morning, sitting cross-legged at my student's low table, I watched her grow as a writer. I saw the smile as she realized an alternate way to explain the scene. I felt the excitement in her red pen as she scribbled down the words she wanted. I got the goosebumps of destiny and I felt the intense tingle of my feet falling asleep.

As I hunker down for another Nebraskan winter, I can't help but wonder about Cambodia. In lieu of sun-drenched hours swimming at the Sport Club, this winter I'll be popping vitamin D supplements; and instead of sweating on a moto, I'll be defrosting windshields. I'm inspired to keep going where I left off in Phnom Penh: to continue teaching, and make a living doing something I'd do for free.

Chilly Weather, Chili Weather, and how's the weather in Chile?

Recently, my thoughts have been about as clear as the lyrics in a Kings of Leon song. You hear lots of garbled syllables and decide that they are indeed words, but which words?

Kings of Leon may be on my stereo, but tonight, the threat of winter has me in a quiet and reflective mood. Note: this does not mean good, or even original writing coming up.

Outside, the air has finally turned cold. My year of perpetual summer is gone. My trusty flip-flops are stowed in the closet next to the backpack I bought in Siem Riep. This morning, I clutched my Styrofoam coffee cup with leather gloves. I saw my breath huff and puff as I detoured around the block before work. I enjoyed the peppery heat of a big bowl of homemade chili for dinner. Winter is definitely coming.

It's sandal weather in Chile.

Invisa-eye and other things you tolerate abroad

"I'm glad I went to Cambodia," I told my mom today.

I explained to her that Cambodia temporarily freed me from my dependency on hair and make-up. For the first time in years, I was able to tolerate,  the so-called "invisa-eye", or blond eyelashes sans mascara. I wore my hair in variations on the ponytail, pulling my bangs back off my forehead. I didn't plug in a straightener or even a blow dryer the entire time. I left my make-up bag in the suitcase. It started out as a weather-related modification, but the change in my physical presentation was a startling revelation for me. I no longer wanted to hide behind carefully blown-out bangs and smoky eyeliner. It was my face: for better or for not-so-better.

Despite my lack of warpaint, I've never felt more comfortable in my own skin--and that's saying a lot for an insecure gal.

Since Cambodia, I've continued to embrace my hair's natural texture, though I do occasionally pull out the blow dryer to speed things up. Without the tan, and with a lot more mirror time, I have fully relapsed into my make-up bag. Just filling in the eyebrows suddenly turns into lip gloss, and pretty soon I've got stage make-up.

I'm starting to wonder how many post-Cambodia blogs I can get away with. New adventure, please!

A major turn-off (and I don't mean garlic breath)

Sensory overload.

Not since the silenced roar of Tokyo have I felt so over-stimulated. This morning I had to turn off the Law and Order mega-thon, power down my CD player and take a mind break.

While I love the escape of mindless entertainment, this dependency on technology always catches up with me. I hold my breath and overeat while parked in front of a massive flat screen. If NCIS isn't on, I settle for Jersey Shore reruns. I drink diet cola until my stomach burns and I wonder where all these headaches are coming from. I'm easily irritated by actual human interaction, but my self-esteem correlates directly to the number of people who have written on my Facebook.

This lasts as long as my body (or mother) allows. Sometimes days or even weeks.

But eventually, I can't handle anymore. The noise of TV, the unrealistic plot lines (and body lines), and the strange obsession with social media---it suddenly seems unbearable, and I find myself on a walk around the neighborhood, thankful I left my iPod at home. Passing multi-million dollar houses, I acknowledge my judgments on how many square feet are really necessary. I wave to neighbors I don't know, and I smile at the yip-yip-yippy dogs chasing me down fence lines.

Open fields in sight and wind in my ears, I can breathe easier. I stop second-guessing myself (well, almost!).

After the walk, I feel better in my room with the door closed and the lamp on. Outside my window, the rhythmic hum of Old Cheney sounds less like traffic and more like waves.

Now if I could just turn off this laptop...

Back-up Plan

I'm learning.

My drive on Old Cheney Road helped me reset my compass. My gut was telling me to rethink UNL grad school. The back-up plans (in case I don't get accepted to UNL) were sounding better than the plan. Red flag.

What began as a private back-up plan has now made the leap from my brain to my blog. Graduate school in the Southwest. I'm thinking Arizona and New Mexico. I'm thinking TESOL, Applied Linguistics, or this program called Language, Literacy and Sociocultural Studies. Even I couldn't come up with a title that sounds more Jena than that last one.

What about UNL? Well, no word on acceptance yet, but I applied and I learned. My resume and personal statement read something like, "ESL, ESL, ESL...I really want to be a teacher, but I can be a businessperson, no problem." When there are roughly one million choices, it's hard to know where to begin. I met an interesting person, applied to a program that was totally unexpected, and I learned something about what I want.

I want to go West. I want graduate school. I want adventure.

Check back next week...may have new back-up plan taking over.

Old Cheney Road

In true No Coffee, No Workee style, today was pretty desperate until I splurged on a soy latte.

Coffee in the cup holder, I decided to get over my self-pity with a little help from unpaved roads. It's something I learned in Kearney--passing city limit signs and stirring up a little dust is good for the soul. Today I saw green fields dotted with massive country homes. I noticed the old telephone poles, eerie as always.  I spotted cattle grazing, and I even saw an old corn picker. But the big sky with its wind-whipped clouds stole the show again.

Coffee, drivee, thinkee.

Something about the expanse of the prairie always clears my head. Or maybe it was the caffeine. No matter, I'll take a moment of clarity where I can get it. I've got my eye a pair of cowboy boots at The Fort (Western Outfitters), and my heart is set on a journey westward.

...or I could go to Europe.

I'm a major flight risk. Something isn't sitting right with my current plan of attack in Lincoln, Nebraska U.S.A. Jobwise, things aren't exactly falling into place, and schoolwise, well, my application has been submitted.

My boyfriend (currently pursuing a doctorate in Belgium) says, "you should come to Europe," and I think he's on to something.

I imagine cathedrals and cobblestones and little tables with foamy lattes. I smell baguettes and sausage. I eavesdrop on private conversations in languages I don't understand (yet!). Oh, the wonder of Europe, that cultural center of cool, home of the man-capri and the people who speak 4 languages.


As I think back fondly to my study abroad in Graz, Austria, I wonder why I came back. Europe is the ultimate backdrop for reading and writing. I imagine how fun it would be to find a new city to explore. I try to justify my longing for a place ticket with something totally unreasonable--getting my Master's in Europe. I have looked into this option before, but always chickened out because of the extra work involved (getting a visa from the most bureaucratic nations on Earth...). I am able to overlook that necessary evil at the moment. Taking a more practical angle, I assess my existing education, interests, and even ancestory. Only a few generations ago, my family cam from Germany and Scandinavia. I like tall people with Germanic accents. How many years have I already invested in learning German? It's ten, but who's counting...besides me?



Compared to Cambodia, this idea is pretty safe. I'm getting restless here in my castle. It's time to wander. Or, less romantic, time to plan a wander that could eventually take place.

On why I need to find another part-time job ASAP

Any NCIS fans out there?

I've just figured out why I've never seen any movies my friends ask me about. I'm too busy watching crime drama re-runs on USA. Between mega-marathons of  Law and Order, I watch NCIS, a show about military-related crime set in Washington, D.C.

My favorite character on NCIS is Ziva David, former Mossad Assassin. She's a badass Israeli who speaks a handful of useful languages and has a widow's peak hairline. Plus, she can kill someone with a well-placed strike of the hand--or gun.

While I watch the NCIS gang stick it to the bad guys, I stick it to store-bought blankets with my crochet hook. My afghan is really coming along thanks to Ziva and company.

Now that I sound like a nerdy and pathetic 23-year-old, I want to divert your attention to the people who have written a Wikipedia biography of Ziva--the fictional character. Those people really need a hobby and/or job. Maybe something not yarn-related.

From Cambodia to Cowgirl

I don't know what's gotten into me lately, but I've got a real hankerin' for a Country Western lifestyle.


The Bolo Tie makes a comeback



While I did know and lipsync the entirity of "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" at a recent wedding reception, I had to sit out the "Boot Scootin' Boogie" because I didn't know the line dance. During other country songs, I looked on as the cowboys in attendance gracefully whipped young women around the dancefloor. For years I've been running from my rodeo roots in Wyoming, but I'm starting to understand the appeal.

There's nothing like a pair of jeans that have molded to the every curve of your can of Copenhagen. Cowboy boots look pretty sharp if you've got a shining belt buckle. I'm still accepting the Bolo tie, but who doesn't like a wing collered shirt tucked into a clean pair of black Wranglers?

I think it's high time I look to the West for my next reinvention. Fire up the pick-up truck, put on some George Straight and head for the sunset.

Muse in the Mojave

Lately, I have been freaking out about everything.

Brandon Flowers's album, "Flamingo" lets listeners escape in the Mojave Desert

I mean, between the (prospect of a) job search, the university applications and the gross amount of free time, I have lots to worry about--and lots of time to do it.

In the thick of my personal discovery mission, I find an escape in music. If you thought I was obsessed with John Mayer, get ready for this.The Killers are my ultimate band: indie rock with synthesizers and a quirky-cute lead singer.

The Killers seem to know when I need a little music therapy. Their last album, "Day and Age" was released shortly after I returned from Austria. I don't think I listened to anything else that semester.

Now that I'm writing phrases like "vice of introspection" and other emo metaphors, the lead singer of the Killers has conveniently released his first solo album: "Flamingo". I may not be a music aficionado, but my weary soul is pleased by a good melody.

Brandon Flowers--the lead singer of the Killers wrote a collection of songs as a tribute to his homeland, the desert southwest. It's been said that The Killers' first album was often mistaken for a British band, and in response, the band has focused on representing Las Vegas through their music. Flowers' attempt is very literal: each song on "Flamingo" tells a story about his childhood. He was born near Las Vegas, grew up Mormon in Utah, and eventually returned to Las Vegas to begin a music career.

Behind Flowers's storytelling, the steel guitars paint the arid landscape at dawn. As the castanents ripple through the bright verses, cymbals accent the beat and maracas add a touch of Mexico. Driving beats and a voice best described as a "cannonball" fuel the tracks' emotional journey through the big three: faith, hope and love.

I'm enjoying the musical escape into Flowers's Southwest, rolling down desert highways, making lots of gambling references, and remembering the good old days (that never were).

Yep--sounds a lot better than job searching. Maybe I should road trip.

A little less talk, a lot more coffee

What is it about coffee?

It is more than a hot drink. It's a culture with an international following. It's good for breakfast and for thinking. At home, at the office, or--dare I say it--in the coffee shop, coffee is an essential part of those who drink it.

I don't think coffee's appeal comes from the taste. Certainly boiling water poured through roasted, bitter, ground up beans sounds less than delicious. The aroma of fresh coffee is much better than the taste, but we don't just smell it. We drink the stuff. For many people, the caffeine in coffee is the most important part of the morning. I admit that I'm not really myself until cup number two is halfway gone.

But it's not just a drink--it's also something to do. Going for coffee is a great excuse to meet friends, get to know a stranger, or take someone from friend (or stranger) to something more. "Let's go for coffee". It's one of those troublesome and noncommittal suggestions. It's a step up from Facebook-friending someone, but not quite an invitation for dirty martinis in a bar with mood-lighting. The trouble with going on a "coffee date"--no matter the ratio of coffee to date--is the surge of caffiene. Any existing jitters magnify into distracting twitches. It's the inverse of alcohol: instead of sleepy and relaxed, coffee makes you feel deer-in-the-headlights awake. You might just jump onto the hood of a car by accident--a real buzzkill. That's why you should stick with decaf if you haven't eaten or if you have any intention of persuing a real relationship. Until the phrase "That's the coffee talking" becomes an acceptable excuse for trash-talking or ridiculous bouts of laughter, after sunset, I'm sticking to one cup.

Ready to run and two reasons to stay

Last night I googled "Teaching English Abroad".

Feeling the return of flight risk, I browsed teaching positions in Korea, China and Croatia. I tried to remember the gut feeling I got from selecting "Cambodia" from drop-down menus, but I couldn't find it.

Unable to feel real excitement (or blind trust) this time, I shut Baby Top and turned off the light.

This morning, I was determined to see America with fresh eyes. Here are my two things I love about living in Lincoln.

1. Driving my own car. Having reliable transportation at any hour is freedom. In Nebraska, parking is rarely an issue (except Husker game day...don't get me started). My Mitsubishi is more convenient than the Strassenbahn in Austria, less crowded than the JR train in Tokyo, and infinitely safer than the motos of Phnom Penh.

2. Grocery stores. American grocery stores should be the model for the world. First, a giant cart to load with food for the next week, month or year. Second, thousands of food choices displayed on pristine shelves. Third, and most importantly, checkstands big enough to hold $500 in Doritos, and someone getting paid to put my groceries into Earth-destroying plastic bags. Austria had a good selection of goods, but the checkstands were built for a maximum of four items, and the poor guy who forgets his own shopping bag will be tarred and feathered on the spot. Obviously I have rich memories from study abroad. Japan's stores are similar to Austria, except everything is written in impossible Japanese. What am I getting here? Is this fish or chocolate? Cambodia has Lucky Supermarket, but that's so boring. Let's talk about the markets: claustrophobes, beware. No pristine shelving here--just buckets of fruit, tables of veggies, stacks of fresh meat slabs, and live eel in a tub. Although I constantly worrying about stepping on chickens or low-hanging meat shanks, I never once worried about a shopping bag.

For now, I'm living in Lincoln. I love my car and my groceries. I can't guaruntee that my wandering days are over; in fact, I think they are just beginning, but I'll enjoy home while I've got it.

Cookies, Jobs and Wisdom

My 10-year-old brother is a constant reminder that it's all relative.

"They aren't that bad," he reassured me, "I mean, I'm not gagging or anything." My oatmeal cookies had met the only basic requirement of food--not stimulating the gag reflex. Nevermind that I had him in mind when I substituted chocolate chips for raisons. And nevermind that I have told him a few times about the social convention of praising (or at least not insulting) the food that others make, even if you don't like it.

"You don't have to say that it's your favorite, and you don't have to get seconds, but it is polite to show appreciation of the effort." I said, wondering when I learned to do this.

My brother takes the same approach to my job hunt. He makes valid suggestions about finding hourly work as a cashier at a grocery store or Target. When I express my lack of interest, I am reminded of the oatmeal cookies. Cashiering isn't that bad, I mean, I'm not gagging...

But the real question is why have runny oatmeal cookies when you can have coffee and a slab of licorice?

Getting What You Really Want

In my abundant spare time, I have taken to crochet and motivational books.

Crochet I have yet to master, but reading--that I can do for sure.

The books I find at Gere Library (that's Charles H., not Richard) are usually written for women who are tired of their lackluster careers, getting run over by pushy colleagues and generally people who are ready to stick it to the man.

The women who write these books have found successful methods to getting everything they ever wanted--or so it seems. They offer suggestions for how to manipulate people courteously, how to sabotage colleagues discretely, and how to charm your way out of uncomfortable situations. Basically, how to be a backstabbing bitch and still have a great job and friends (or at least people willing to serve your personal fabulousness).

Anyway, I'm into it.

The advice in such books seems reasonable. For instance, if I don't know how I am going to get my dream job, I should imagine how someone else (a celebrity or someone you admire) might get the job. This technique is supposed to inspire creative thinking and bold action.

I ask myself: What would Lady Gaga do?

1. Crochet a glittery body suit
2. Add a face covering and a wig
3. Finish my resume with a lipstick kiss
4. Write a song demanding the job
5. Sing my song atop the manager's desk

If all this works out, I may not get the job, but I will have a Grammy Award and my picture on the worst-dressed list. I might even get arrested.

Becoming the Cambodian Adventure Lady

Everywhere you go, there you are.

Cambodian Adventure Lady in Kratie, Cambodia

It's an old adage, a cliché, and one of the most wonderful and horrible facts of life. Horrible because the only thing you can never outrun is yourself, but wonderful for exactly the same reason.

I went to Cambodia to become someone else. I was going to break out of my textbooks and apathetic college student community to do something totally different. I was going to volunteer in Cambodia. I don't really know who I wanted to become, but whoever she was didn't materialize as I stepped off the plane in Phnom Penh. It was me sitting there anxiously filling out the customs form wondering why I had signed up for this and how I was going to survive.

There I was, with my suitcase and backpack in the thick of Cambodian midnight, waiting for a sea change in myself.

I waited and waited, but it was still just me. As I began to adapt to the surroundings, or perhaps just get lazier, I stopped wearing make-up. I started taking naps and wearing my hair in tight ponytails. I wanted so badly to be an ex-pat, to find my calling in a new culture. I was embarrassed to be homesick for the Great Plains and people with blond hair.

I had wanted to be the Cambodian Adventure Lady for at least a year before I left Nebraska, but once in Cambodia, I had no idea what to do. I was finally living the dream, and it was not quite what I expected. I thought it would be grass huts, hippies and hardship; not city smog and ice cream treats. This was supposed to be my chance to transform, to find myself anew. I found myself, instead, being very much my old self, just much sweatier.

I think we all find ourselves in this position--in the vice of introspection, hoping to unlock the mystery of life's purpose. Everywhere you go, there you are. That bothersome phrase again. I go all the way to Cambodia and the same stuff still bothers me. I'm still tall and awkward; in fact, now I'm a side show among petite, dark-haired people. I'm still unsure of what I want to with my life, and I still want yogurt for breakfast. Not exactly a complete rebirth.

Same old me, different visa.

This trend of my generation to travel the world, through backpacking or as English teachers, has created a new sense of loss in all of us. Who are we? Where do we belong? What are we looking for in these faraway lands?

When I got off the plane, part of me was hoping that I would become my inner Cambodian, or at least my inner fearless world traveler. I didn't.

I remained Jena--though I prefer to think of myself as the Cambodian Adventure Lady. I may not have solved any of life's mysteries in Cambodia, but I met people who showed me how wonderful life can be even if you only have the basics. I learned that education is our most valuable resource, and that free speech is never guaranteed. I found hope for a better world and the desire to help create it. No, I didn't change into someone else or meld into a new culture. I am the same person who dreamed of giving back through volunteering, and now I have the opportunity to use what I know to continue improving the world.
Everywhere you go, there you are.

And I'd do it all over again.

I've got a pile of thank-you notes and the feeling that I did something good today.

Today I did a short presentation about Cambodia for my brother's fifth grade class. I showed them several photos from Cambodia--some photos of CWF school, some of my students, and even one of a fried tarantula being eaten.

The students were curious about this country where kids only go to school in the morning, and where Lucky Burger reigns supreme. I was delighted to recall memories from my adventure, and I was happy to share with kids who might never have thought about Cambodia before.

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, but it's also rose-colored. The discomforts of Cambodia have already faded from my stories, and I am left remembering a time when I was living the life I dreamed about. A life I still dream about, even though I understand the hardships and sacrifices.

I believe that, in some parallel universe, I am still in Cambodia. I've found a fabulous job teaching writing in a school that pays me well and supports a local cause. But that's a parallel universe. This is Nebraska.

Today is the first day that I can say "...and I'd do it all over again" without reservation. Today I realized that going to Cambodia was important. I went to Cambodia, I learned more about the world, and today, I got to stoke the imaginations of young people. Maybe one day one of Sam's friends will decide to study abroad or volunteer.