Ciudad de Comida

We were so inconspicuous with our bags and intese whiteness...
Also, I got eaten by fire ants after taking this picture.

Last Sunday afternoon Brandon and I, along with several other group members who we were just getting to know, made the short trek to one of the many plazas downtown to meet up with everyone else. It was a day of great excitement. We were finally going to meet our Mexico families and find out where we were going to be living for the next six to twelve weeks (six for Brandon and me).

After gathering ourselves and figuring out where we were supposed to be going, Brandon and I split off from the group, grabbed a taxi, and head for our casa en México. The cab driver was so much nicer than the last one we had. Except.... When we got here, our host mom wasn't home and we were given the wrong house number. Luckily, it is in a gated community and the guards knew who we were looking for and allowed us to wait in the clubhouse.

This is our awesomely amazing home

When Paty, our mamá de México, got home, we went in, put away all of our stuff, and had a big lunch (which is what she was out getting). Everyone in our group seemed to have something different for lunch (comida). Some had a whole spread of truly Mexican cuisine while one of our group members reported having Chinese food. I heard from someone else that the señoras were told to feed us bland food at first to help ease our stomachs in to the Mexican flavors. We had baked chicken, soup, salad, and delicious guacamole.

Paty is super cool. She cracks jokes all the time. I don't get them, mostly. She and Brandon will often start laughing at something and I will sit there wondering if it is at my expense. I'm learning more and more, but I'm still in the dark on a lot of things.

Paty lives on her own. She has a couple of kids, but they're both grown up and moved out. Her niece, Erica, moved in shortly after we did. She's our age and is in town for her work in civil engineering.

Our daily routine is pretty much as follows:
6:15 - Get up. My alarm says, "¡¡LEVANTATE!!"

This is our homework room.

7:15 - Breakfast. Paty always has it set out for us when we get downstairs. Eggs, toast, fruit, cereal, ham and cheese sandwich, you know.. the norm.
7:55 - Leave for the bus. (more to come on that adventure)
8:30-12:30 - classes.
Go home and get in as much homework as possible before...
3:00 - Comida. Patty served me two hamburgers today. Along with soup and dessert. Just an example of how much food we have for comida. I didn't finish the second one. Brandon did. Thank you, darling!
4:00-the rest of the day - Homework and then anything extra if we have time.

Note the lack of time for dinner. That's right. Dinner is more of a snack sort of thing. Our first "dinner" with Paty was cookies, peanut butter, pear, and milk. It was pretty cool. Twice now, though, we've gone out for dinner at around 9:30 to a place down the street. They have really really good food. You order on sheets of paper like at a sushi bar. Except it's tacos, tostadas, flautas, and so on and they line up five or six different salsas on the table every time you go in.

We - or I - have been very careful about food. I've spent most of my first week here sick. Revenge hurts, my friends. Try to avoid it at all costs. I've been taking my antibiotics that I got before we left and since I've started all has been better. Brandon will eat whatever looks tasty. Or smells tasty. Or says "al pastor" on it. We have to be very careful about food on the streets and where water is coming from so as to avoid bacteria as much as possible. I am no longer going to touch street food unless it looks super legit. I'm done with sickness. It's hard because there is someone selling food literally (and I mean "literally" in the correct form. Not the exaggerated form kids use today) every block. To be more exact, there is someone selling food every few feet. Honestly. If there isn't someone making tacos, there's someone sitting at a tiny table with candy, cigarettes, gum, whatever.

Interesting happening: The other night I was asking if I could just have tortilla chips to dip in the salsa at a restaurant. Paty and Erica had no idea what I was talking about. I ended up getting tostadas and breaking them up, which worked perfectly, actually. But still, are nachos only an American thing?

Un Churro stuffed with Nutella. Best
idea ever.

My favorite meal so far has been tostadas with beans, some awesome ground beef mixture that seemed almost like shepherds pie sans bread that Paty made, avocado, and rice. Brandon loves street tacos and anything al pastor, as noted above. We're still experiencing new foods as time goes on. The other night we had churros stuffed with Nutella, which were absolutely wonderful.

When I started my antibiotics, at the height of my sickness, Paty gave me a big glass of Coke with lime sorbet in it and told me to chug it; that it would help my tummy. That was an interesting idea that I've never thought of before. It tasted nummy, so whatever works! Paty attributes my health to the Coke float and possibly a little to the medicine.

On Saturday we went to Bernal, the third biggest rock in the world. We hiked all the way up. That place is pretty awesome. I was told that the hike is similar to the hike up Spencer's Butte. I can take that. Except that it's like that last part of Spencer's Butte when it's only rocks - the whole way up. And I did it while sick. I think my body may have set aside my illness so it could focus on breathing during the hike because once we got back down I was pretty much out.

 

There were a couple of shrines up top.

Bernal - The giant rock!

This dude followed us all the way up!

The whole town is a tourist town, of course. There are stores all up and down the streets selling a whole bunch of everything. I noticed a lot of lacework as well as small rocks and rock art taken from the giant rock. I wanted to look around and pick something out, but I was just too out of it for any such activities. Interestingly, though, there are also little stands with people selling things as you go up the road to the trailhead. It's a pretty steep road. All of the tables have quite the slant. And then up the trail there are two stops where you can buy drinks, including beer. I wonder how hard it is to carry all those drinks up there and if it's really worth it. There were a lot of people climbing, so I guess so.


This weekend we are going to go see a Lucha Libre show! I'll be sure to take pictures and share them as soon as possible, so keep an eye out.

Keep track of our Twitter accounts for periodic updates or pictures. Brandon's is @the_ferg_says and mine is @JessicaPestika. I've also posted a full week's public album on Facebook. Click here to see it. A new update will be coming in just a couple days. Maybe even tomorrow. There's just so much stuff happening! So until then, my friends!

¿Estámos en Querétaro, si?

The view of Mexico City from our plane. It was immense. One of the
biggest cities in the world.

We made it! Today is our last day at the amazingly awesome Casa San Gallito in Querétaro, México. I sit here at the dining room table listening to the sounds of church bells and music, birds, and the surprisingly loud ticking of the clock and enjoying the lovely morning breeze. Brandon is still sleeping. I wanted to get up early and get this done before we go meet our señora.

Getting here was most certainly worthy of a story. None of our other group members seem to have had the trouble that we did, but I suppose we should appreciate the adventure to tell!

Randy and Cindy were so excited
to be dropping us off at the hotel.
Thanks guys!!

Our trip started with Brandon's dad, Randy, and step-mom, Cindy, picking us up around six. When we put our stuff in the trunk, I neglected to remove my water bottle from the side pocket of my backpack. Upon arrival at the hotel we discovered my mistake, the evidence being that Brandon's entire bag was wet. He was a little upset about that one. It's still a little damp, but once we get to our final destination, he can pull everything out and let it air.

Waiting for security to open in PDX

We spent a very short night at a Shilo Inn hotel (five hours, in fact) and got up at two in the morning to get to the airport at three. Our flight was at six, but the ticket told us to get there three hours early. When we went to check out, the front desk lady nicely informed us that the airport doesn't actually open until four. Cool. We were already up, so we took off anyway. Since the airport wasn't open yet we had to hang around for a while until we could finally get through security, get some breakfast, and then board our flight.

Our lovely seating
arrangement on the way
to Mexico City

We flew from Portland, Oregon, to San Francisco, California, to Mexico City, Mexico. The flight to San Francisco wasn't anything interesting. But on our flight to Mexico City, Brandon and I didn't get seats together. We were on either end of the rows with me one row ahead of him. As the plane boarded we waited for our neighbors to see if we could trade. It turned out a couple of ladies with three small children were taking up the whole row next to Brandon. They didn't want to do any trading because they needed to stay within sight of the kids. And the people next to me were together as well. It took a little bit of discussion, but, in the end, it was agreed that Brandon could switch places with the kid sitting behind me, so we were at least within talking and snack sharing range. This actually turned out for the better because we both had a kid sitting behind us kicking our seats.

There is so much desert between
the USA and Mexico. Amazing.

When we landed in Mexico City we had several steps to follow before arrival at our hostel here in Querétaro. First, we had to make it through immigration. After carefully filling out our forms, hoping we didn't make any mistakes, we stood in line. For an hour and a half. It was warm, humid, and crowded. There were two line sections; one for Mexicans, one for non-Mexicans. While we stood in line an immigration officer came through and collected people with small children so they could go through faster. I thought that was awesome. When we got close to the front, the same guy came and opened up the line behind us to go on the other side because it was empty. We didn't realize what was happening until we noticed a flood of people rushing in the opposite direction. By that time it was too late. Then a group of Arabs tried cutting in front of us. Brandon said, "Hey, uh... Is there a reason you're moving ahead of everyone?" "I don't understand," said one of the dudes. "Well," said Brandon, "this is a line.... and we're supposed to be going..in line." The guys all sort of mumbled at each other and backed off. Nice try, my friends.

Sopa Azteca at the airport. I ate the
avocados off the top already.  

Immigration and customs worked out just fine. All of my fears of being imprisoned in a foreign country for some unknown reason were vanquished. We traversed the airport via signs and asking directions and found an ATM for some money, a place to buy our bus tickets to Querétaro, and some delicious tortilla soup. The bus was "super posh," using Brandon's words. We got free snacks to take with us, watched Across the Universe, and the seats were muy comfortable. The security to get on the bus was incredible. Almost as much as, if not more than, getting on the plane. The ride itself was 3 hours. Then came the time to grab a taxi and get to the hostel. By this point it was around one or two in the morning and we were so so so tired.

Then we have our taxi driver. Again, none of the other group members had these issues. They all describe their trips as uneventful or easy. We were told that when we got to our taxi, all we had to do was tell him the address and the name of the hostel and he would know where to go. So that's what we did. However, the guy kept on asking us questions like he didn't know where to go. He already started driving and was heading in some sort of direction. He kept on asking us something but we couldn't recognize what he was saying. At one point Brandon asked, "¿Estámos en Querétaro, si?" ("We are in Querétaro, yes?") Because the driver's behavior indicated the possibility of not even being in the right place. Eventually, Brandon sacrificed airplane mode on his phone to call the hostel to ask for directions. Once he started asking, the driver told us we were already on the street and we pulled up right next to the hostel. We think that maybe he was asking us for a cross street. However, I'm pretty sure it was obvious that we're not from around here, so I don't know why the heck we would know any cross streets. The whole thing was illogical.

BUT, we finally got our room, which is so cute in a Mamma Mia! sort of style, found our bed and were able to go to sleep.

Our lovely room at Casa San Gallito

The entrance to our room.

A band playing in the common area

Tortilla with beans, chili
 sauce, and cheese

Here we are! We spent all yesterday exploring the area and waiting for more of our group to arrive. We've eaten so much delicious food and have yet to become ill. We're making sure to keep our water bottles full of good, clean water, and we're using that water for brushing our teeth. There seems to be an amazingly beautiful church on every corner here. Yesterday was confirmation day at one of them. We walked by and saw little girls in bridal-like gowns all over the place, having their pictures taken with family or on the fountains. We saw a monk. He was all dressed in the brown robes and everything.

There is a fountain series of geocaches
that we have been finding. It's great to be
able to log our visit in such a way.
We've already found two. Here is our first

We made a short visit to a pharmacy to track down some cough medicine for Brandon and a razor for me (I forgot mine). That was certainly interesting. There was an old man pharmacist standing on our side of the counter and then a couple ladies on the inside. We tried telling them that all Brandon has is a cough. He's not actually sick, he just needs something the calm his cough. After a bit of back and forth, they finally gave him some sort of syrup. The old man kept joking around about it, saying it wasn't going to kill him or anything and actually opened up the bottle and gave him some right then and there. That was a little scary since we didn't know exactly what it was. When we got back to our hostel we looked up the name of the medication and shot an email to Amber (my little sister's mom who is a pharmacist) asking what it was. It's all good, though. It just cuts through mucus. Brandon seems to be doing well, but it hasn't helped his cough.

A lovely church. One of many

So today our group is mostly here and we're going to head out to find our señoras (the ladies who will be our mothers for the duration of our stay) around noon or one. We start school tomorrow. I have to say, I'm a bit nervous. But our Spanish seems to be picking up and the people we've met so far have been really nice.

Keep track of our Twitter accounts for periodic updates or pictures. Brandon's is @the_ferg_says and mine is @JessicaPestika. A new update will be coming next week. So until then, my friends!

ThirteenDaysHolyCrap!!!!

My super stud-ular sunglasses. Oh Yeah!

13 days 'till what, you ask? Well, haven't you even been paying attention? We're leaving! Mexico awaits! Our flight takes off at 6 a.m. on the 15th of this month and the summer of all summers will have begun. I've got my passport, all of my shots (ouch. Still feels like I got punched in the arm), medications, good walking shoes, and a rockin' backpack. I just got my sunglasses yesterday and they are super stud-ular (yes, I made that word up). I got myself some fancy prescription ones so I can actually see things. The cats and the fish are all set for the entire summer (thank you, Ashlei and Cori), and we have a ride to Portland to catch our flight (thank you, Ferguson in-laws)!

I have to say, I'm getting a little nervous, but so excited at the same time. My acceptance letter for the Mexico program says that I'm accepted, **contingent on my grade point average in my Spanish courses. I have to have a B average or higher. I don't know if I'm going to be able to manage it. I'm working my tail off, but I still seem to be sitting at a C. I even got myself a tutor. How is it working out that way? I don't get it. However, I'm going to Mexico whether they kick me out of the program or not. The tickets are bought. There's no going back.

We found out about living arrangements last Wednesday. That was exciting. Our señora is Paty and she's an older woman who lives by herself. She has a daughter who is our age, but she's living in France right now. Don't know why. We'll ask. She also has a son who is, like, in his 40s I think. I don't know anything about him. I think she said something about having grandchildren. Paty is a beautician. She says she works a lot but she'll have time to spend with us when we get there and that it's going to be fun! I have to say, I was kind of looking forward to the big family experience. But that's ok. I think it'll be more relaxing with just the mom.

Most of our class will be heading down on Saturday or Sunday. Brandon and I decided to go on Friday so that we can catch our bearings, learn the city, and have some time to relax. The school term starts that Monday. Not much of a rest time, right?

A couple weeks ago we had an orientation and some students who just completed the program came and talked to us about what to expect. It's made me a little bit more nervous but then at the same time made me feel a little better. It's a strange mix of emotions. A couple of new concerns this meeting has brought up for me:

• I guess there are random downpours. It's made me rethink what shoes to bring. But then, how will any of my shoes act in downpours? What do they do to protect their shoes? We were told that none of them wore rain boots. And why would they if there are only short downpours and then it goes back to being a nice day? And I still need to go out and find a nice rain coat.

• They talked a lot about getting sick. One of the girls is a foodie like me. She said, you're going to get sick anyway, so just enjoy your experience and eat whatever you want. Another girl stressed to be really careful, though. We have to always ask about the water we're given. And the ice. Don't forget the ice. We were given medications by the health center at school for when we do get sick. I don't like getting sick, my friends. I think I'm more scared of that than anything. I want to try all of the food! But I don't want to be sick. Ahhh the dilemas of travel.

Luckily those are the only things I'm really worried about. I feel like I can handle anything else that comes my way. So that's where things stand, my friends! Couple weeks to go and we'll have 6 weeks in Mexico! Make sure to tune in because this is going to be the most rockin' travel blog ever.

Until next time!
¡Hasta la próxima!

Laughter and Love: the two best things in life

A story I did for my Reporting 1 course, spring term 2012.

The 7th floor RiverBend hospital room in Springfield, Oregon, is chaos. Nurses, doctors, and specialists constantly come and go throughout the day. The patient needs his blood tested. He needs to take his medications. He needs to be examined by the doctor. He’s pushed the help button to make his hundredth request.

“Put that pillow under my head so it looks like the feathers are on me.”

“Get me a wet washcloth. Half warm, half hot.”

“Get this pillow out from under my head.”

“Look at my ring.”

“Get me some clothes.”

“Are you coming to my birthday party?”

The list goes on.

Brad Woodruff, Glenwood resident of almost 15 years, has been in and out of the hospital for the last month fighting lymphoma. This particular visit was not only for his cancer, but also for pneumonia and a blood infection. Woodruff was constantly begging to go home, sometimes angrily. At times he would call hospital staff foul names, blaming them for imprisoning him in his room. He called friends several times saying the doctors released him; get his chair ready, he’ll be home that day; bring him his bird; bring him clothes. He even made a call to RideSource to come and pick him up and hospital staff had to intervene.

After a week, Woodruff was able to go home. But no more than three days later he was re-admitted for concern over his safety. A close friend says it’s possible he won’t be leaving this time. He has fired all of his caregivers and his friends and family members don’t have the capacity to care for him.

Woodruff hasn’t always been in the place he is now, mentally or physically. Friends suspect it’s possible the cancer has moved to his brain, or that the levels of his medications are altering his personality. Since the discovery and initial treatment of Woodruff’s cancer he has become sporadically hostile, forgetful, overly trusting, and unreasonable. “This is definitely not the Brad that I know,” says Scott Gauderman, Woodruff’s good friend of eight years. In his moments of lucidity, Woodruff is a fun-loving man who has a passion for his neighbors, family, antiques, and, above all, his community. These moments, friends say, are a short insight into who Woodruff was, and who they hope to see him become again.

Woodruff says he has always loved the life of adventure, holding to the philosophy of “working hard in the week to play harder on the weekend.” In 1999, Woodruff moved from California to Oregon, settling in Glenwood with his second wife. Ten months after his move, he says, he was diving off of some rocks under Dexter Dam with some friends and family. On his last dive he hit the water in a way that broke his neck.

Brad Woodruff in his backyard. 

The event put the once tall, strong, independent Woodruff in a wheelchair as a full quadriplegic. He spent 6 months in the hospital and says he spent that time thinking about ways he could make people laugh. “Laughter is the best medicine and I swear by that,” he says.

Since his accident, Woodruff has been divorced and his family has been dispersed. “I had a brash of bad things happen,” he says. He was in another accident that re-injured his neck, contracted an infection in his spine putting him on bed-rest for a period of time, his wheelchair accessible van was crushed by a tree branch, his wheelchair ramp was stolen, he’s been diagnosed with large T-cell lymphoma, and friends say he has been financially taken advantage of many times in the last month.

Losing his independence was the most difficult thing for Woodruff. It was hard for him to begin relying on others to do things for him. “Self reliance is key to life,” he says. “But you’ve got to make the best out of any bad situation.” Before his accident, Woodruff was a carpenter. He can no longer build anything himself, but instead he shares his knowledge with others. He’s helped neighbors build fences, window frames, and retaining walls by sitting back and giving direction.

Woodruff recognizes that his accident has changed his life in ways that would cause many to become withdrawn and depressed. But, instead, he has embraced his lot. Since he couldn’t work, Woodruff turned his focus on his neighborhood. “Brad is more plugged in to everybody around here than I ever have been,” says Gauderman. “I mean, he takes his chair down to the depths of Glenwood and knows everybody. The traffic in his house is ridiculous at times.” Seeking out adventure and community, Gauderman says Woodruff would take his wheelchair down streets he himself wouldn’t dare go down.

Neighbors say Woodruff would be out wheeling the neighborhood almost five times a week. He would stop and say hi to anybody who was outside. His passion for his neighborhood was visible to anyone who saw him. “He will always say good things about Glenwood, will stick up for Glenwood, and will stick up for the people in Glenwood,” Gauderman says.

“His heart’s bigger than he is and there isn’t nothing the man wouldn’t do for you,” says neighbor Sandra Tuttle. “Whether he’s in the wheelchair or not, if he can’t do it then he can find somebody to help you, one way or another.”

"Put my fingers this way," said Woodruff.
"Do you know what this means?
This means 'love.' I love you."

Woodruff would often hire people from the streets of Glenwood to do small tasks on his property, be it lawn care, washing windows, or cleaning out debris. “I want the whole world to be happy,” says Woodruff. Even with his illness taking over his body and confining him to his bed, Gauderman says Woodruff would instead ask his care providers to find someone who needs help so he can give them work to do.

The Glenwood community looks to Woodruff as an inspiration. Neighbor Dave Carvo speaks of Woodruff with great awe. “[I love] the joy in his voice,” he says. “You could hear him laughing all the way down the street. Just happy. He can’t move, he can’t wipe his own b***, but the guy just loves life. Doesn’t get much more inspirational than that.”

Woodruff says, even while laying in his hospital bed, “Laughter and happiness is the best thing in the world for anybody.” He may be unaware, but his own happiness has left a great impact on the area. “He shows people not to give up,” says neighbor Charles Davis. “He has a super strong character and has a super strong will.” Neighbors say that when things get hard they only need to think of Woodruff and all that he has been through.


The community has noticed Woodruff’s absence with concern. “Brad is part of the community,” says Davis. “Just him wheeling down the street is part of the community.” Currently, a piece of the community is missing. And the people wait for that piece to return so they can hear his laughter once again.

Do Not Enter

Knock-knock-knock.
"Come in!"
Knock-knock-knock.
"Come in!"
...
"mumble mumble... There's a reason I say come in."

The door opened and there in front of me was a woman in a wheelchair. I apologized and let her know that I don't generally walk into the customer's home, even when he or she asks me to. After my explanation she continued to chastise me. "You're delivering in Eugene," she ranted. "It's not like it's New York City or anything." I again apologized and said that I have a very dangerous job, no matter where I live, and I can't let my guard down. Throughout our entire transaction she yelled at me and complained at me about not wanting to enter her home. She even said it won't be a problem anymore, hinting that she wasn't going to be ordering from us again.

No tip.

Really?

Most people I talk to are completely understanding of my safety measures.  One can never be too careful. However, this isn't the first time I've encountered someone who was totally offended that I didn't want to cross the threshold.  Recently, a man accused me of excessive paranoia and pointed to his children making a sarcastic joke that they were messed up and were going to get me.

Driving jobs are one of the top ten most dangerous jobs already. Add on top of that the fact that I am alone, knocking on countless doors at all hours of the night, interacting with various types of people. My family already fears for my safety. I see news stories of delivery drivers getting robbed at gunpoint, or even killed.  I've even seen these stories in my hometown. There is no way I am entering that home.
I honestly don't understand the self-centered attitude of some people.  I understand, at first, being slightly offended at not being trusted. However, after I explain that it's for my own personal safety, that should be enough to back off.

When people start nagging at me to go into their homes after I already say no, my next reaction begins to be, "Why is it that important to you that I go in?"

Tattoo - A story written for Reporting 1

Diane Gruver has been employed by Tattoo by Design for the last 17 years and has been tattooing for the last 10½. In the world of tattoo, every artist has his or her own technique that is held close to the heart and not easily shared. It’s like a family recipe passed down from artist to artist.

Gruver’s work begins when a client contacts her for her services and provides a picture of the tattoo he wants. She runs the client’s picture through a Thermofax, an old photocopy machine, to create a stencil that can be transferred onto her client’s skin. Before she begins work on her client, Gruver cleans her station and her hands. When she is sure that everything has been thoroughly sanitized, Gruver can then take out her needles and pour her pigment and rinsing water. Once her station is prepped, she calls her client over and readies his skin.

First, Gruver preps her client’s skin with a soap spray, a shave, and some rubbing alcohol. She applies deodorant, which helps the stencil stick. After rubbing the stencil on she asks the client to check and make sure it is placed to his liking. If he wants, she can wash it off and reapply.

A professional tattoo artist generally uses a tattoo machine which the artist controls by pushing a pedal on the floor, much like a sewing machine. As Gruver pushes the pedal with her foot the current opens, turning the machine on. When turned on, the needles set in the machine vigorously move up and down, recreating the old traditional way of hand tattooing by tap-tap-tapping the needles into the skin. Each tap into the client’s flesh creates a scratch. The vibration of the needles then shakes the ink, or pigment, into the scratch, planting it between the top two layers of skin. Gruver places the needles in the machine very carefully, using a jeweler’s loupe, to make sure it scratches to the right depth.

Guver begins her work of art by carefully following the outline provided by the stencil. She starts in an area that can be easily re-done in case her client twitches at the first touch of the needles. After he proves himself motionless, she moves on.

Comparing the motion to a sewing technique, she pulls the skin taut and brushes, or more literally, scrapes the pigment across the client’s skin to create a solid line. As she runs her needles across her client’s flesh, pigment and blood pool along the lines. “You have to learn to see though the mess,” she says as she wipes away the color and blood with a paper towel. She says that each skin type has a different grain to follow and she needs to adjust how she directs her machine in order to place the pigment where she wants it. “Skin is hard to work with,” she says.

Employees prepare and sterilize tattoo needles in advance. The most common types of needles are called “liners” and “shaders,” however that doesn’t mean they are only used for their names. ”Different types of needles have different shapes, sizes, and configurations," Gruver says. "A tattoo artist picks the appropriate needles for the particular tattoo, just as a painter picks particular brushes to get different effects.”

Gruver frequently dips the needles into her pigment, then the water, wipes a little test on her paper towel to make sure she has the right mix, then goes back to her work. When she finishes her outline, she changes her needles and starts filling in different levels of black and grey. Her speed and stroke styles change depending on the effect she’s looking for. “Think of it like a vacuum cleaner,” she says: The faster she moves, the more spotty her covering will be. When she moves slower, her filling will be more dense.

After about 2½ hours, Gruver finally completes her piece. She has the client examine it to make sure he likes it. After he confirms his approval, she give him specific, stern directions on how to care for his tattoo: Don’t expose it to the sun, make sure to keep it clean, use lotion, don’t let it dry up. If the client follows Gruver’s directions, his tattoo will maintain its quality. If not, she warns, it will fade and become cloudy.

When the client leaves, Gruver turns her focus to cleaning. She stresses the importance of sanitation to avoid illness and infection. Gruver never reuses needles so as to avoid infection. She puts them in a sharps container for biohazard disposal. She throws out all of the stained paper towels, gloves, pads, and rubber bands used for tension on the tattoo machine. She then wipes down her station with what is called tuberculocidal which is a chemical strong enough to kill tuberculosis in 10 minutes. The tools she reuses are put in an autoclave, a machine that subjects the equipment to heat and extremely high pressure, killing all life left that the tuberculicidal missed, including hepatitis. Everything is stored meticulously to avoid contamination.

My Life in Passports

Before I went in for my fourth passport application I pulled my other three from the depths of the filing cabinet.  After looking at them I got to thinking.  First thought was, "Oh wow, I'm going to have four passports.  Weird!" But then I really started thinking about them.  Interestingly enough, it seems as though each passport represents a different period of my life.  I know, sounds weird.  But it's true!  Take a short trip down memory lane with me, if you will.

My very first passport was when I was only a year old.  I was born in Germany because my dad is military and that's where we were stationed.  This passport was the first time I would ever travel to the United States.  It represents the start of a new life living in the States in a now single-parent household.  I don't have any memories of this time.  I was too young.  But I wonder what kind of thoughts I had while moving from one country to another.  Did I realize the language change?  Could I even recognize German?  Did I miss my previous living situation?  I'll never know.

My second passport was acquired for my trip to Japan after I completed five years at a Japanese immersion school.  I was really such a dork at that time.  I may be still, but I think I cover it up quite well.  I mean, really, I'm wearing a turtle neck with Tweety Bird and smiley faces.  On a serious note, this passport is essentially the end of my childhood.  I may look young, but when I returned from Japan I became the adult in my household.  I love my mom so much.  She had a lot of things going on mentally and physically and I took up the slack.  I cared for her and my little sister who is 13 years younger than I am.  My older sister was and still is in adult foster care.  I'm constantly being told about how sad it was that I was put in that position at such a young age, but to tell the truth: I am so grateful for it.  My mom was an amazing woman and deserved to have someone there to take care of her.  I am so happy that I was able to do as much as I did.  Those years of caring for my little sister were wonderful.  I wouldn't trade them for anything.  Today I can't help but think about how much more I could have done or where I could have made mistakes.  But then I remind myself that the past is the past and today is today.  And I am so in love with today.

My third passport is from when I went to England with several other students from my school.  It was a programmed tour.  I think I was about 17 at the time.  Between this passport and the last I had my entire life ripped away from me with the death of my mom.  This passport represents me moving into my new life.  I've mourned my loss and I've moved on into adulthood - real adulthood, not just the responsibilities.  From the time this picture was taken to now I will graduate, get married, go to school, work full time, buy a house, get laid off, go to school again, sell a house - and it will all be in partnership with the most amazing man I have ever known.  My life between these last two passports has been quite the experience!  The beginning may have been a bit rocky, but we have learned a lot and are still learning.  That's what marriage is.  It's one big awesome learning experience.

And now I have my final (for now) passport.  I just got this one.  It's for my trip to Mexico and then to Europe that I have planned for this summer.  This passport represents the future.  I'm about to move into a new and very exciting phase of my life.  I'm going to graduate from college, track down a career and start a family.  It's amazing to think I've made it this far.  From that little baby moving to America with just her mom and her sister to who I am today.  I'm hoping that this current passport is good luck for my next chapter.  I won't need to renew it for another 12 years so we'll see what happens!  Who knows.  Maybe I'll let it expire and I'll have to get a new one in 20 or 25 years when my kids are all grown up and going to college and my husband and I decide to explore Asia.

Until next time!