Here's some pictures from the past few weekends...
Post running from Manta to Cuidad Alfaro


Kathe and I before our run by Cotopoxi


Lydia, Kathe, and I at a hacienda


Mama Negra in Latacunga

The tradition at this celebration is that men dress up as the black virgin (as noted in the photo).

Occasionally I really try to dress up for work. Last Thursday, one such day, I wore nice dress pants, a button up jacket, and heels. Fernando was the first one to arrive to my 9 o'clock class. The first thing he said was, "Why are you wearing that?" I, slightly caught of guard, responded with , "Uh, I don't know..." He said, "Just tell me what you were thinking when you got dressed this morning." I replied, "I thought it might be cold, so I put the jacket on." He silently nodded, saying more with his silence than words would permit. I was immediately suspicious. "Why, does it look bad?" I asked. He said, "I'm not going to say anymore." I persisted, so he said, "Yeah, bad." He proceeded to tell me that I looked like a banker. I tried to defend myself, by saying that I wanted to look professional. He said, "If you want to be professional, you have to look like it every day." "So I didn't look professional yesterday?" I questioned. "No, yesterday you looked like a hippy," he said.
Thanks, Fernando. There is some third grade honesty for you.

I went grocery shopping yesterday. This is what I bought:



This includes 6 bananas, a big bag of carrots, 1 green pepper, 1 onion, 1 cucumber, 3 pears, a bag of lettuce, a bag of blueberries, and a bag of chochos. It cost $4.23. Are you amazed?

Holiday in Ecuador. No school Monday or Tuesday, due to Dia de los Difuntos and Cuenca Day. The first is a celebration for those who have died. People go to the cemetary with food to share with their deceased loved ones. The typical food of this holiday is Guaguas de Pan (pronounced wawas de pawn), which are little bread loaves made in the shape of a baby, accompanied with Colada Morada, a hot juice-type drink made of a variety of fruits and spices, including mora. In the weeks leading up to Dia de los Difuntos, there are Guaguas de Pan and Colada Morada found in every bakery and cafe, on nearly street corner.

Due to the holiday, I went to the beach. The most notable moment of the trip was crossing the finish line of the 15K race I ran. It was my first race of that nature. We started in Manta and ran 15 kilometers to Ciudad Alfaro, which is 1 1/2K uphill from Montecristi... yes, the final kilometer and a half of the race were uphill. I don't mean a slight incline... this was a serious hill - it felt like a mini mountain that I was expected to summit after running already for longer than I ever had in my life. I cannot describe the shivers I felt as the people cheered me on as I ran past.

I went with 3 girls on the trip, two of whom are Ecuadorian, so they know more of what traveling to the coast can offer. Upon arriving the first morning, we hopped in a taxi and asked to be brought to the Mercado, a two story building with all the fresh meat, fruits, and vegetables a person could ever want. By fresh meat, I mean hanging slabs of red meat and plucked chickens, still in full chicken form, waiting for insects to land on them and for the hot coastal climate to spoil them before being purchased. Not exactly appetizing. However, upstairs were several little food booths. Here we found breakfast. Platano verde, mixed with cheese and sausage, fried into a delicious ball they call bolon.

Fresh seafood every day, playing the the waves, and batidos... oh beach, I love you.

Meet Stella.

She recently had her claws taken out... thus she looks forlorn and a bit perturbed with the world.

Today Fernando wrote me a poem...
Miss Petersen:
black= she is wering black today.
blue= she is wering bleue inside of black.
talle= she is tall like a basball man.
cute= Miss Petterson is cute.

I kept the original spelling.

This morning Fernando said, "I like your hair like that, Miss Petersen." I felt good about his compliment. He seemed sincere and what girl doesn't like to hear affirming words? However, later today in my 6th grade class, one girl interrupted me, mid sentence, to say, "Excuse me, Miss Petersen, can I ask a question?" She proceded with, "Why does your hair look like that? Like you just got out of bed?" I said, "You don't like it, huh?" She said, "No, not really". So my hair style went 1 for 1.

Emulation is perhaps the highest form of a compliment. Yesterday Ana Paula, a third grader, told me that at home she pretends she is Miss Petersen and her little sister is Ana Paula, and "Miss Petersen" teaches "Ana Paula" English, playing the games and doing the activities we do in class.

Here are the kids I work with throughout the day...

Being back in Ecuador... I am so happy to be back. Especially on days like today. The sun is setting, casting sunsetting colors over Cotopoxi and Antisana, two of the mountains visible from my window... the view is beyond words and apparently beyond my camera, because the pictures I took fell short of the reality I'm seeing. God shows His glory so vividly.
Today after church I went with 3 other women up the Teleferiqo for a view of the city. Each woman is uniquely involved in prison ministry in Latin America. I spent the entire afternoon fascinated by their stories, by God's work through them, by the wisdom that oozed from them... after the city vista, we had the opportunity to go into the woman's prison in Quito. My mind is still taking it all in. One of the woman who was with us is an ex-prisoner. I asked her if it was difficult to go back into the prison for her. She said, "No, because if I hadn't been sent to prison, I never would've become a Christian. I probably would still be doing durgs or maybe be dead." She is a testimony of God. I'm still comprehending all that I saw and heard today, but I know God was speaking to my heart in ways that challenge me beyond myself.

Writing this, I’m on the last leg of a journey back to Quito. I made a quick trip to Minnesota to be a part of a close friend’s wedding. Now I’m waiting in the Miami airport for a few hours until my flight leaves for Quito.. My eyes are burning from rubbing them, with a few remaining crumbs from the Flaming Hot Cheetos on my fingers. The same fingers are stained a fiery orangey red color from the aforementioned cheetos. Although a short visit, I was able to spend time with many of my close friends in Minnesota. It was just a dabble of what I have to look forward this summer. Yet for today, I feel so happy to be going back to Ecuador.
With little else to occupy my time, I am a people watcher right now. Every gait different. Every person with a different sense of appropriate travel wear. Some people running to catch their flight, others meandering, because they have all the time in the world to wait for their departure. Some people arriving, others leaving. Some traveling in pairs, with family or friends, others alone. Me? Seated, taking 3 seats between my backpack, myself, and a pile of trash I’ve cleaned out… wearing a sun dress and heels… plans to explore the area shortly… traveling alone. With the exception of the vendors and the ticket counter workers, we all have the same purpose of cramming into a tight space to hurl ourselves through the sky at frightening speeds. Here is an observation I made today on my flight out of Minneapolis… while flying high up in the sky, the passenger is allowed to roam the cabin at ease, conversing with fellow passengers, walking the aisles for exercise, using the bathroom as needed. But once the plane has landed and is taxing at 20 mph up to the tunnel entrance of the airport, there are repeated reminders to keep passengers buckled in their seats, strictly reinforced until the plane has come to a complete stop and the captain has turned off the fasten your seatbelt light. Why is that? Although there are a few other recommendations I could make to the airport industry to boost my personal approval of it, regarding the lack of meal service coupled with outrageous food prices in the airport and the lack of free wireless in the airport, when it is provided on nearly every other corner in the city… overall I’ve found my flight experience to be very pleasant this trip and I look forward to flying back to Minnesota mid June.

This is Fernando. He's even cuter and funnier in real life.

Wednesday turned out to be my favorite day of teacher appreciation week... chocolates and candy.

Wednesday night two friends and I boarded an airplane and flew to Guayaquil for Easter break. Our final destination was Montañita, a beautiful beach about 3 hours northwest of Guayaquil. We took the bus early Thursday morning to beat the Semana Santa rush and arrived on the beach at 9am. Then followed four perfect days of sun, sand, waves, and relaxation. I don´t realize how much I loathe living in the city until I´m out of it. Which is probably a huge blessing. I was dreading coming back to the city Monday night, but now here I feel content. But being outside in fresh, open air, with the only sound being the crashing of waves, I was able to find the self-reflection I typically don't have in the city.

Although I wasn't looking forward to returning to the city, I was ready to come back to school. I was surprised how much I found myself missing my students over the 6 days of break.

Enter April. Enter Teacher Appreciation Week. Monday brings cards and notes, Tuesday brings flowers, and Wednesday... yet to be discovered. We also have received cake and a mariachi performance. But my favorite is a card from my aforementioned new second grader... Created out of green construction paper with a brown heart drawn on the front and the words "From Fernando". The inside reads "Dear Miss Peaterson: Thenk you four loving me so much. I never had a teacher like you."

Already into March. February was such a short month, yet it was a relief to find it over and be able to take down the red hearts and put up a green calendar in my classroom. I love how colors can mark the passing of time. This month...green.
I went to the orphanage this afternoon... we've started hosting dinners at Peg's house again for the children in the toddler house, having groups of 6 kids come down with their tia.
Every group of kids that comes down has a different dynamic, but all are active and fun. In the group of today was precious Lesly, the same girl I sat by for so long at our Christmas party, feeding because she isn't able to grip well from the table to her mouth. Today after the meal we went to the living room to play. She is fascinated with Peg's dog, so we spent a lot of time on the couch by the window, gazing out hoping for a glimpse of the dog. Then she noticed the pillows, and had them laid out so we could recline on the couch side by side and "sleep". Lesly doesn't have much ability in her legs and is unable to walk, so any movement made was directed by her, but only possible by my hands. In that sense, our relationship reminds me of my own with God... He, the director, and I, simply the human hands, with the option to obey or disobey. But the greatest similarity comes in the listening part, because Lesly speaks quietly and since Spanish isn't my first language, I have to work at understanding what she wants me to do. The same with God, whose words I do not always listen closely to hear nor seek to understand what He means by them... We "slept", cuddled up together, and then "awoke" to admire the night sky, then "slept", then tried to find the dog out the window... The whole evening I was in awe of what a privilege it is to be apart of this little girl's life. I am so blessed.
I have a new student, in the second grade. Since he came in the the middle of the year and doesn't have anybody else at his same level, he is a class all in himself. He is hysterical and brilliant and I love every minute I get to spend with him. The first day I met him I told him, "I want to challenge you. I can tell you're a smart boy." To which he replied, "For that you make me strong." Second grade, ESL, Special Ed student.... and conversationally brilliant.

Yesterday, in class with Karen, my second grader, we were learning about "My Day", starting with how the day begins... waking up, getting ready, etc. We sang a song that talks about washing our faces, combing our hair, and brushing our teeth. I asked her if she does each of those things every morning. She said she always combs her hair and brushes her teeth and sometimes washes her face. Then she asked me if I do all of those things. I said I always brush my teeth and wash my face and I usually, but not always, comb my hair. "Like today?" she asked me. I self consciously touched my hair, "Does it look bad?" I asked her. "Yes," she replied. She proceeded to "style" my hair for me, as is evidenced in the picture. I'm not sure that her efforts were any better than mine.

Wednesday my friend Leslie and I decided to go to the orphanage. Usually in the past we've gotten a ride from another teacher, who lives out there, but this time we decided to venture out on our own. We walked over to the appointed bus stop and waited for our bus to come. We weren't sure which bus to take, so we waited as a few passed and then I was convinced we needed to get on one saying Carcelon. A bus came, Leslie thought she saw "Carcelon", so we hopped on and off we went. When we reached El Bosque, a mall in the opposite direction, we begin to question whether we actually were on the right bus. The bus driver told us we weren't, so we got off, uncertain of our next action. We were now a 40 minute or so walk from the original bus stop where we knew we could get on a bus that said Carcelon. We didn't know the address to take a cab to the orphanage, so we decided to check out the buses going past. After several minutes it became apparent that we don't know enough about the public transportation system to find a bus to take unless it said Carcelon and none appeared, so instead we went grocery shopping and enjoyed a leisurely walk home.
One of my third graders asked me if I have a boyfriend. I said no. She asked why not. I said "I haven't found anybody I would want to be my boyfriend." She looked at me with all the innocence in the world and offered, "My dad." (Who happens to be the pastor of my church here). I said, "What would your mother say?" Daniela looked at me and said as if speaking for her mother, "What do you think you're doing with my husband?" The whole interchange was very comical. Then I asked Daniela if she has a boyfriend. She assured me not, but said there was a favored little boy in the other third grade class. "Is so beautiful," she said.

I'm sitting in a hammock in my bedroom, writing by lamplight, both of which are new additions to my room since Christmas, that serve to make it more homey.
Although it's been awhile since I've written, life has not ceased. The first week back after Christmas I went to the orphanage with my friend Amanda. It was a busy night in the baby house, as always seems to be the case... Supper time, so I was sitting in a rocking chair in the baby-est of all the rooms (the room with the youngest babies) feeding a sweet little one. Right next to my chair was a crib with two babies in it, laying side by side, apparently for lack of crib space, because all of the cribs were full. One of the babies in the crib was an African Ecuadorian girl, with dark skin, and the other was a Latino Ecuadorian boy with lighter skin. The girl was fussing a bit, so the boy reached his hand out to her. She grabbed on and immediately calmed down. The two of them laid playing with each other's hands... they found profound comfort in each other. A significant time later, still holding on to each other's hands, the girl fell asleep and her hand went motionless and fell out of his grip. He still stared at her and kept his hand extended towards her, just waiting for her to wake up and regrasp it. It reminded me of the comfort I find in the hand of Jesus, and even when I'm doing my own thing, He is reaching His hand out towards me with the utmost patience and love, just waiting for me to reach back. Watching this was so beautiful.