Freckled Freedom

I feel like one becomes a true island girl when she experiences her first wood slave kill... all whilst frantically swatting a broom with one foot on her tall wicker chair and the other on her bar countertop. Two nights ago, we encountered each other. Well, perhaps he didn't notice me but I sure stared him down. He had made himself cozy perched on the highest point of the kitchen ceiling. I grabbed the broom, slamming it into the wall and watched as he scurried away, taking residence upon my cabinets. I closed the lights... until we meet again little wood slave, until we meet again.  I remember the first time a wood slave scaled his way from the balcony into my apartment. Just shy of a week into my new life in Anguilla, I was confronted with the character, suctioning himself to the wall watching the silly American contemplate how she would remove his scaly body. At that moment, Janiera, board member and buddy, called to check in and see how I was settling in. I told her of th...

...Said no teacher ever. When most people think of teaching, they picture out-by-3:30 workdays, never-ending holidays, snow days, coloring, counting, playing all day long, and the oh-so-divine summer break. However, when a teacher thinks of the profession, and I'm talking a real teacher-  not the rubber-room, authoritarian, my-way-or-the-highway, paycheck collector- this teacher thinks of the profession in a completely different light. This teacher thinks of the endless TO DO list that never seems to decrease, the constant need to improve, what worked well but more often what could have been better. This teacher thinks of the mountainous stack of grading that continues to grow, the charts and bulletin boards yet to be created, the activities that were once dreamed of that require more time to prepare than available, overly-priced supplies purchased out of a petite pocket. This teacher thinks of late nights gathering ideas on Pinterest, cramming in curriculum, Sunday ...

No... I mean Anguilla.  Since beginning the Anguillian Chronicles , the latest chapter in the life of KTS, many people have asked, well how in the world did you end up there?!  Lord knows really. It never dawned on me that I would find myself here but let's recap, shall we?  On Tuesday October 22, I sat in room 216 at P.S. 33 feeling down and out about my search for life beyond my masters degree. Websites called out for teaching assistants  and volunteers  throughout the world. No need for a masters. Hell, just have a bachelors in SOMETHING and speak English and you're good to go. No experience necessary.  China. Korea. Vietnam. Japan. Kuwait. Dubai. Saudi Arabia.  ...No where that spoke to my heart.  I felt defeat.  Two and a half years of studying, and for what? No matter that I spent countless hours and dollars on exams to become a certified teacher. No matter that I took the time to study and learn to become highly q...

Here I am, just a few days shy of my two-month mark living in Anguilla. Sitting in my favorite spot on Rendezvous Bay, I stare out at turquoise water, sailboats and yachts, passerby tourists who attempt to freeze this paradise in still frame before returning to retrospective winters, villas of the rich and the plastic, and the glorious mountains of St. Maarten. Moments like this make me question reality. Rendezvous Bay, Anguilla Actually, most of the moments I spend on this 17-mile-long, 3-mile-wide island nestled between the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic Ocean, cause me to question my reality. Living in Anguilla is like living in an alternate universe. In short, this place is something special.  I often boast about my balls of steel, but that's not to say they didn't shrivel up when presented with the opportunity to move to an island I had never heard of. Being stable for so long, studying, slinging drinks, and schmoozing with the family and friends who know me inside a...

..And why shouldn't it be? - it is the same the angels breathe.  ~Mark Twai n One of my favorite feelings is the moment you feel the front wheels of an airplane lift off the runway, the nose elevating toward the sky. The rumble penetrates the seats as the wind howls, vibrating the windows. The plane tilts itself, gracefully leaning on its side displaying a show of lights, lush green squares, rows of dollhouses, pools, cars the size of ants, canopies of fog hugging hills and mountains. My heart rises in altitude, whether embarking toward unchartered territory or returning to the embrace of a familiar bed, familiar face... the homestead.  It's the feeling of leaving behind baggage to spread those aluminum wings and soar with the birds as the A.C. flows through your hair, never quite allowing for optimal body temperature. As the Earth disappears underneath blankets of clouds, life feels weightless, worry-less, and limitless. Under toes and backpacks lie places to explore and ...

“Maybe we’re just missing things we’ve lost, or hoping for what we want to come.”  This time a year ago life seemed so humdrum. I spent my time fiddling with wine corks, serving martinis to many a middle aged man in a business suit. Photos were scarce, left behind at uni and adventures abroad. My mind lingered on foreign flings and hostel romances full of accents and fleeting time. I looked ahead to the future, working the dreadful January shifts that lagged on. Work meant money, money for the next great escape. I was living for a future that seemed so much more appealing than what was right in front of me.  January 23rd, 2011, I told Dana about a project I noticed popping up on Facebook pages, photo albums labeled "365." The concept sounded great, daily life depicted through photos for an entire year. 365 to flip through, recount, pinpoint with places, outfits, people, moments, and meals. It was the perfect project, only my daily life seemed to lack the splendor, the subje...

Losing love is like mourning a death. A part of the heart is tainted, it continues to beat for that person, pulsing to appease the need to rewind time, to reclaim what was lost, to repair fragments that could never be fixed in the first place. I have been doing research on the subject matter for some time now and the conclusions I have drawn show the difference in losing a love over a life is that the pain eventually dissipates. There is a morning when the moment you wake is not clouded with what ifs, a morning when the sun greets your face and smacks you silly, a morning when your first thoughts do not relate to him but rather, are rooted in how you will conquer a piece of the world that day. The focus shifts from faintheartedness, frustration, and F-yous to remembering how intoxicating the journey of life is. The heart stops hurting and the pulsing changes its pattern and begins beating for you again. As the sorrow-stricken statuses on Facebook have revealed, two months ago, my amb...