I’ve come to loathe photographs (and not just when they are really bad ones of me like the one in the entry below). No, I don't like them because I know they won’t capture the grandeur of a scene, or in any way conjure for the viewer the sense of wonder, or shock, or awe or whatever emotion flooded me when I rushed to take it. The details are lost.
I hope to never, but know I will -- save for these few ramblings -- forget the feel of the red clay inches deep on my shoes and the daily regime of wiping said shoes on the grate provided. I wish I wouldn’t lose the thought but soon enough won’t be able to recall the name of the woman who cleaned the concrete floors throughout the day as we tried in vain not to track the mud. We’ve had a running battle of etiquette with her. Shel tsk-tsking our removal of shoes at the office door because we were taught not to bring the mess inside and then dutifully and against our wishes retrieving those shoes, cleaning them thoroughly and returning them to our naked feet. Our dual “polle sanas” (“I’m very sorry”) drowning out the other.
Other details sure to be lost are the sight of the other women who clean our homes sweeping the dirt on the “lawn” out front, bent backed and with straw, handle-less brooms in hand. Or the rim of brown that’s left in the pot when we boil the water for eating and drinking.
I’ll have photographs of elephants and lions but I’ll never be able to recreate the smell of the African male sans deodorant in his immaculate slacks and ironed cotton shirt. Nor will the sound of two introverted speakers become more animated by the syllable ever be shared.
Meryl Streep’s voice rang through my head the first weeks I was here. She may have had a farm but I’ve had a compound. Two houses, three bedrooms each, two bathrooms – one Western toilet and one not -- a den and a small kitchen. I’ve cooked more in the weeks here than I did all of last year.
My housemates are half my age and in some cases have twice my experience. I marvel at their adventuresome spirits and their willingness to take a crowded bus halfway across the city knowing only the words to “Does this go to the hospital?” Or their cleverness in picking up the vowel-ladened language with such ease.
“I’m already missing you,” the country director calls out each day the office manager begins the lock up for the night.
I’m feeling that now I guess.
I’m already missing the sounds of the crows cawing each morning, the tiny, silly bird that bangs at least ten times on my window as the sun comes up. I’m trying to listen really listen as a result. Today I heard flies buzzing in mass along the path I walk toward work. They were investing in yet another pile of dung.
The corn growing across the street. The cows that are penned in about 20 feet from my office window. The blue sky serving as a background to the Tanzanian flag flapping above the nearby government building. The faces of the kids as they call out “Hello” and then ask for pens. The school uniforms using various shades of blue and either orange or brown. Kongas. Lots and lots of kongas. Women walking along the streets dressed in bright patterns with sacks of rice on their heads or buckets or whatever is in need of transport that day. The heat on my neck as I walk the one paved street in the town, followed by more of those children.
The list continues but like that inadequate, imaginary photo that won’t convey what I want, neither do these words.
Yep, I’m already missing Tanzania.
But I’ve been missing home just as much. And in less than two weeks, I’m heading that way. Until then, there are more photos and word pictures to compile.
For those of you waiting for me, remember the old slide shows folks used to make you endure in years gone by? Remember? Ok, then prepare to be really bored! Because I've got photos to share and stories to tell.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Lions, No Tigers, No Bears
We saw these two at the Crater. Don't believe me? Look over my shoulder in the next one.
I know these are small but I had to make it quick and compact in order to upload it without it costing a fortune. One of my fellow vols is a great photographer and will be giving me his best so you can count on much better than these when I return to the U.S. Until then, these were actual shots taken by me with ... yes, my phone!
THe Birds Sing for Everyone Else . . .
Friday began with my discovering that I’d lost one of the few pairs of earrings I brought. Oh well, I hadn’t included anything of great value in my packing.
At work, I learned that I had mislabeled 67 slides, so I explained to my Pennsylvanian co-worker the Southerner’s meaning behind the fact that I was having a “bless my heart” moment.
Then we found that the new color printer’s driver wouldn’t load on my Mac. Neither would it load properly on my co-worker’s Dell or the office manager’s PC. Without instructions (they weren’t included), we methodically (I have mentioned that all the volunteers excluding me are science-oriented, haven’t I?) explored every rationale for why the printer wouldn’t print. By lunch time we still had no answers.
I was now in the mood for carbs. The other vols decided to reheat the tomato soup we’d had the night before but having been the creator of said soup I had smelled it for quite some time and couldn’t fathom another go at it. My California connection and I decided to head for Parrot, a cheap place for good basic rice and meat.
But first a stop at the house because dehydration (I know! I’m supposed to be drinking more water at this altitude!) had left my stomach in knots and I wanted to check in with the Western toilet for a few minutes. That’s when I learned that we still had not received our refill of the water tank. And I had to turn the vols back to the second house in our compound (where the fridge is and where the soup had been stored) because we also still didn’t have a new full gas tank for cooking. Of course, all of this was after we had finally retrieved the keys to get into these houses after the woman who cleans them had determined that our hiding place was evidently too obvious and had locked them INSIDE one of the houses.
My fellow carb hunter and I started heading toward the oasis of food that was intended to make this day brighter and that’s with IT happened.
I felt and heard it. The feeling suggested someone had thrown a rock. The direction from which it came and the subsequent oozing on my fingers when I reached for what I thought might be the wound confirmed that no one in Karatu was stoning me, but a bird had done his business in my hair.
I’m wondering, dear reader, at this point what would you have done?
I directed my friend to carry on and turned quickly around to go wash my hair in what limited water we had on the premises. With my shiny clean hair, I marched to the other house and prepared a delicious fried egg and cheese sandwich.
I then proceeded with my fellow workers to tackle that printer problem with gusto. The day had started anew. I couldn’t continue to catalog how bad it was. The negative energy had already resulted in a handful of … well crap!
Thanks to minds sharper than mine, we finally got one computer to talk to that printer, finally got one set of colored prints to come out right (we now have 79 more sets at 67 pages to go!) and the day ended with me winning one game of Scrabble and one game of Farkle and dinner at Bytes (where we get cold drinks and meat that I can not only eat but last night’s lamb was so tender I could cut it with a spoon.)
All this reminded me of my brother Bart. He used to frequently remark that “the birds sang for everyone else but shit on him.” He said it though, with great irony, because he was one of the most content men I knew or have ever known.
Shit happens, I think he knew, but your response is up to you. As for me and my house, we had a good laugh and then a very good day.
At work, I learned that I had mislabeled 67 slides, so I explained to my Pennsylvanian co-worker the Southerner’s meaning behind the fact that I was having a “bless my heart” moment.
Then we found that the new color printer’s driver wouldn’t load on my Mac. Neither would it load properly on my co-worker’s Dell or the office manager’s PC. Without instructions (they weren’t included), we methodically (I have mentioned that all the volunteers excluding me are science-oriented, haven’t I?) explored every rationale for why the printer wouldn’t print. By lunch time we still had no answers.
I was now in the mood for carbs. The other vols decided to reheat the tomato soup we’d had the night before but having been the creator of said soup I had smelled it for quite some time and couldn’t fathom another go at it. My California connection and I decided to head for Parrot, a cheap place for good basic rice and meat.
But first a stop at the house because dehydration (I know! I’m supposed to be drinking more water at this altitude!) had left my stomach in knots and I wanted to check in with the Western toilet for a few minutes. That’s when I learned that we still had not received our refill of the water tank. And I had to turn the vols back to the second house in our compound (where the fridge is and where the soup had been stored) because we also still didn’t have a new full gas tank for cooking. Of course, all of this was after we had finally retrieved the keys to get into these houses after the woman who cleans them had determined that our hiding place was evidently too obvious and had locked them INSIDE one of the houses.
My fellow carb hunter and I started heading toward the oasis of food that was intended to make this day brighter and that’s with IT happened.
I felt and heard it. The feeling suggested someone had thrown a rock. The direction from which it came and the subsequent oozing on my fingers when I reached for what I thought might be the wound confirmed that no one in Karatu was stoning me, but a bird had done his business in my hair.
I’m wondering, dear reader, at this point what would you have done?
I directed my friend to carry on and turned quickly around to go wash my hair in what limited water we had on the premises. With my shiny clean hair, I marched to the other house and prepared a delicious fried egg and cheese sandwich.
I then proceeded with my fellow workers to tackle that printer problem with gusto. The day had started anew. I couldn’t continue to catalog how bad it was. The negative energy had already resulted in a handful of … well crap!
Thanks to minds sharper than mine, we finally got one computer to talk to that printer, finally got one set of colored prints to come out right (we now have 79 more sets at 67 pages to go!) and the day ended with me winning one game of Scrabble and one game of Farkle and dinner at Bytes (where we get cold drinks and meat that I can not only eat but last night’s lamb was so tender I could cut it with a spoon.)
All this reminded me of my brother Bart. He used to frequently remark that “the birds sang for everyone else but shit on him.” He said it though, with great irony, because he was one of the most content men I knew or have ever known.
Shit happens, I think he knew, but your response is up to you. As for me and my house, we had a good laugh and then a very good day.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Different, Yet the Same
When I was traveling in Vietnam, we often heard the comment, "Same, same." Which was the equivalent of "no problem" and "yeah, yeah." Tourists were even found wearing t-shirts with the phrase on it.
I thought of that when my brother who works in the Appalachia area of the states told me of seeing “old school satellite dishes converted into the world’s largest bird baths. Or in some cases a wading pool for the little ones." He also said that he was working to secure a grant for a family in upper east Tennessee "so that a well can be purchased for their home. They did not have an indoor bathroom until this summer. They still do not have water running to the house. They have a foot path out back where they travel to the creek and draw the water needed."
Much like the house next door to where I'm staying in Tanzania.
Same, same indeed.
I thought of that when my brother who works in the Appalachia area of the states told me of seeing “old school satellite dishes converted into the world’s largest bird baths. Or in some cases a wading pool for the little ones." He also said that he was working to secure a grant for a family in upper east Tennessee "so that a well can be purchased for their home. They did not have an indoor bathroom until this summer. They still do not have water running to the house. They have a foot path out back where they travel to the creek and draw the water needed."
Much like the house next door to where I'm staying in Tanzania.
Same, same indeed.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Stuff You Might Find Interesting . . .
- We boil the sandy brown tap water and then filter it or use bottled water in cooking. Simple things like not boiling water are causing disease and death here. I try to remember that when I get frustrated that the filtered water drips out rather than flows.
- I brush my teeth with bottle water as well. We go through a lot of bottled water.
- Sleeping surrounded by a mosquito net is strangely comforting. Reminds me of camping out in my bedroom as a kid under a sheet.
- "Squatty potties" are the norm. We have them at work and they are at most businesses. The guest house where I stay has one Western toilet and one with standing room only!
- Radios and TVs are rare. Our only connect with news is the Internet and English newspapers. If you haven't read the headlines on MSN or AOL in a while, you should do it. Read with an eye toward what folks who aren't from the U.S. might think of us. One thought has to be that we are worshiping at the feet of Britney.
- Most homes and businesses have grates at the door for you to scrape the 2 or more inches of red mud that will cake on your shoes walking from home to work or the market or wherever after a rain.
- The mud is really more like clay and many, many houses are made out of mud bricks. I'm assured the rain doesn't affect the stability of these homes. Still it's an odd sight to see mud houses and folks walking everywhere with cell phones.
- The average life span in Tanzania (due to the child morbidity rate) is 47 years old. Yet some can't get their pensions until 55. (I told you that you might find this stuff interesting!)
- I learned last week that probably all the staff I work with has malaria. I was then assured without even a pause for breath that it was mostly likely in my blood by now as well. Seems the biggest killer in this country just doesn't discriminate even if you take your meds and sleep under the nets. We as the informed ones simply sleep easier knowing that those meds are available. For some ... probably too many ... they're not. So that's why I'm here ... to insure that more and more become part of the informed.
- I brush my teeth with bottle water as well. We go through a lot of bottled water.
- Sleeping surrounded by a mosquito net is strangely comforting. Reminds me of camping out in my bedroom as a kid under a sheet.
- "Squatty potties" are the norm. We have them at work and they are at most businesses. The guest house where I stay has one Western toilet and one with standing room only!
- Radios and TVs are rare. Our only connect with news is the Internet and English newspapers. If you haven't read the headlines on MSN or AOL in a while, you should do it. Read with an eye toward what folks who aren't from the U.S. might think of us. One thought has to be that we are worshiping at the feet of Britney.
- Most homes and businesses have grates at the door for you to scrape the 2 or more inches of red mud that will cake on your shoes walking from home to work or the market or wherever after a rain.
- The mud is really more like clay and many, many houses are made out of mud bricks. I'm assured the rain doesn't affect the stability of these homes. Still it's an odd sight to see mud houses and folks walking everywhere with cell phones.
- The average life span in Tanzania (due to the child morbidity rate) is 47 years old. Yet some can't get their pensions until 55. (I told you that you might find this stuff interesting!)
- I learned last week that probably all the staff I work with has malaria. I was then assured without even a pause for breath that it was mostly likely in my blood by now as well. Seems the biggest killer in this country just doesn't discriminate even if you take your meds and sleep under the nets. We as the informed ones simply sleep easier knowing that those meds are available. For some ... probably too many ... they're not. So that's why I'm here ... to insure that more and more become part of the informed.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Seems Like Good Advice to Me
We spend our down time watching DVDs (they get 30 films on one disc and they usually come themed like Angelina vs. Julia Roberts), walking (one or two are runners but not me), playing games, cooking and reading. I received Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert as a gift (thanks T) and I have captured a few thoughts from it to share with you for your reading (and maybe thought-provoking) pleasure.
The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passed from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.
Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)
The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passed from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.
Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)
Seems Like Good Advice to Me
We spend our down time watching DVDs (they get 30 films on one disc and they usually come themed like Angelina vs. Julia Roberts), walking (one or two are runners but not me), playing games, cooking and reading. I received Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert as a gift (thanks T) and I have captured a few thoughts from it to share with you for your reading (and maybe thought-provoking) pleasure.
The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passé from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.
Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)
The first I’ll share comes from the author’s experience in India. A New Zealand “plumber/poet” has listened as Gilbert claims to want true resolution to a bad relationship but hasn’t found it. He takes her to an Ashram rooftop and indicates she’s to climb to the top of the minaret. The view is of the entire river valley with mountains and farmland stretching before her and soon the stars will be out. He passes her a page with the following:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
3. The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your bein ghere is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.
5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.
6. With all your heart, forgive hi, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night. Let go.
9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
10. When the past has passé from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.
Later, Gilbert concludes, “This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn’t have the specific ritual you’re craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need God.”
(p. 184-85, 187)
Saturday, February 02, 2008
I'm Satisfied
5 rhinos, 10 or more hippos, 16 elephants, 9 lions (including a male and female who lounged, mounted, dismounted, and roamed witn 10 feet of the Landrover I was in), and too many to count of zebras, wildebeasts, buffalo, giselles, pink flamingos, warthogs and even a few baboons as we were leaving ...
We had a good day at the Crater.
The experience of being inside was almost as mystifying as the story of its creation. I learned that our Crater was once a volcano that collapsed on itself. We were completely circled by a ring of mountains. We saw at least two large lakes and green of every variety -- light, dark, luscious, and sparse.
At one point my companion from California noted that no matter how long we'd been driving it didn't appear we were any nearer to the mountain ring.
I said it was just like West Texas.
I went in with zebras being my favorite and came out that way too. Like a horse dolled up for costume party, the zebra is an animal of community. Traveling in herds, they are usually quite close to wildebeasts.
I've heard zebras usually take the lead until they're in a predatory situation. Then they allow the willing wildebeasts to forge ahead . . . and right into the mouths of the predator.
Yeah, I like zebras.
But the lions had me in their paws as well. (Breathe, people, I'm speaking figuratively.) The two we spent the most time snooping on lounged, dallied with one another, lounged some more and then took a stroll to the watering hole where an elephant was takign lunch and hippos were having drinks.
But what amused me was the mall behavior those two lions were following. I swear the male was always at least 3-6 feet behind the female, faithfully following and looking totally clueless as to where they were going.
Today is not why I came to Tanzania. I came to make a difference and I really believe this project is doing that. But today ... well today was a payoff more satisfying than any paycheck I've ever received.
We had a good day at the Crater.
The experience of being inside was almost as mystifying as the story of its creation. I learned that our Crater was once a volcano that collapsed on itself. We were completely circled by a ring of mountains. We saw at least two large lakes and green of every variety -- light, dark, luscious, and sparse.
At one point my companion from California noted that no matter how long we'd been driving it didn't appear we were any nearer to the mountain ring.
I said it was just like West Texas.
I went in with zebras being my favorite and came out that way too. Like a horse dolled up for costume party, the zebra is an animal of community. Traveling in herds, they are usually quite close to wildebeasts.
I've heard zebras usually take the lead until they're in a predatory situation. Then they allow the willing wildebeasts to forge ahead . . . and right into the mouths of the predator.
Yeah, I like zebras.
But the lions had me in their paws as well. (Breathe, people, I'm speaking figuratively.) The two we spent the most time snooping on lounged, dallied with one another, lounged some more and then took a stroll to the watering hole where an elephant was takign lunch and hippos were having drinks.
But what amused me was the mall behavior those two lions were following. I swear the male was always at least 3-6 feet behind the female, faithfully following and looking totally clueless as to where they were going.
Today is not why I came to Tanzania. I came to make a difference and I really believe this project is doing that. But today ... well today was a payoff more satisfying than any paycheck I've ever received.
The Contrasts Continue
No flies. No dust. No smells of goats and cows competing with overripe bananas and dried fish. The air was frigid and frost could be seen on boxes. But in Karatue, we don't buy frozen because we have no freezer ... no fridge for that matter.
This Dar es Salaam mall was surreal. Think Kirkland's The Limited, Target, Kroger and Ewards Theater under one roof and you've got the picture. Add in the wandering teenaged boys and overdressed young women and you've got a shot ready to print.
But ather 12 hours there and 12 hours back, I can assure you that's not the whole of Tanzania. In fact, it's merely a corner.
Sure Karatu, where I live, has grand lodges with $35 buffets but to get to any of them is a roller coaster ride down mud paths any American would consider a closed road. And even when you arrive the subdued lighting is your first hint that this is not a Hilton-neon lights-screaming for attention. Quiet welcomes. Quiet spaces with lots of dark wood and batiks on the walls. That's the high life in Karatu -- for tourists with several hundred to spend a night.
For the majority of the town, an after dinner drink is a Serengeti beer at a mostly oudoor bar and grill. Sitting in a plastic chair postioned to see the nightly entertainment happening along the darkened streets(remember no street lights) . Maybe a TV is blaring. Maybe not. The food will be simple -stew meat, rice and greens. And the Swahili will flow.
I like the night life. I love the city. But I'm glad that for a few weeks, Karatu is where I call home.
This Dar es Salaam mall was surreal. Think Kirkland's The Limited, Target, Kroger and Ewards Theater under one roof and you've got the picture. Add in the wandering teenaged boys and overdressed young women and you've got a shot ready to print.
But ather 12 hours there and 12 hours back, I can assure you that's not the whole of Tanzania. In fact, it's merely a corner.
Sure Karatu, where I live, has grand lodges with $35 buffets but to get to any of them is a roller coaster ride down mud paths any American would consider a closed road. And even when you arrive the subdued lighting is your first hint that this is not a Hilton-neon lights-screaming for attention. Quiet welcomes. Quiet spaces with lots of dark wood and batiks on the walls. That's the high life in Karatu -- for tourists with several hundred to spend a night.
For the majority of the town, an after dinner drink is a Serengeti beer at a mostly oudoor bar and grill. Sitting in a plastic chair postioned to see the nightly entertainment happening along the darkened streets(remember no street lights) . Maybe a TV is blaring. Maybe not. The food will be simple -stew meat, rice and greens. And the Swahili will flow.
I like the night life. I love the city. But I'm glad that for a few weeks, Karatu is where I call home.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
It's the little things . . .
Some things are just universal. I'm in a big African city and yet these sights are all too familiar:
- Men gathering every morning to drink coffee at a restaurant and argue over sports and politics. I've seen it happen every day that I've been here. I thought of Gene back in my hometown and figured with a few words of Swahili under his belt he'd fit right in!
- Ice cream and cold sodas on a hot day are just good things. People smile when you gift them with either. The women at the copy shop yesterday certainly did. They were grateful and asked our names and backgrounds while gushing and laughing. But I still couldn't take the bottle with me!
- Sometimes ... even if you love exotic food and drink ... eggs and toast in the morning is most satisfying.
- I stayed longer in the city than I planned and all my clothes were wrong given that it's HOT here. So I bought a konga, the material women use to wrap themselves in for informal and formal wear. However, while the sales clerk told me several times the cost was due to it being two pieces, the two pieces had to be cut apart. Note, I'm in a hotel with no scissors. So I marched down the four flights of this simple, inexpensive (read that hot water and a window unit air conditioner) EconoLodge and in my broken Swahili asked for a pair. The clerk was studying my question and his response when the man on my side of the counter directed him to get the scissors and then proceeded to hold the konga while I cut. Good people are everywhere if you just take time to learn how to ask the right questions.
- And speaking of questions, I love how gracious folks can be. I thanked the bank officer who helped exchange my dollars into tshillings with a polite thank you in Swahili. He responded in kind and then smiled and said, "Do you know Swahili?" As I stumbled over just saying the one word for a little, he smiled again and asked no more questions. Sometimes, hello, thank you, and good bye are enough.
- Men gathering every morning to drink coffee at a restaurant and argue over sports and politics. I've seen it happen every day that I've been here. I thought of Gene back in my hometown and figured with a few words of Swahili under his belt he'd fit right in!
- Ice cream and cold sodas on a hot day are just good things. People smile when you gift them with either. The women at the copy shop yesterday certainly did. They were grateful and asked our names and backgrounds while gushing and laughing. But I still couldn't take the bottle with me!
- Sometimes ... even if you love exotic food and drink ... eggs and toast in the morning is most satisfying.
- I stayed longer in the city than I planned and all my clothes were wrong given that it's HOT here. So I bought a konga, the material women use to wrap themselves in for informal and formal wear. However, while the sales clerk told me several times the cost was due to it being two pieces, the two pieces had to be cut apart. Note, I'm in a hotel with no scissors. So I marched down the four flights of this simple, inexpensive (read that hot water and a window unit air conditioner) EconoLodge and in my broken Swahili asked for a pair. The clerk was studying my question and his response when the man on my side of the counter directed him to get the scissors and then proceeded to hold the konga while I cut. Good people are everywhere if you just take time to learn how to ask the right questions.
- And speaking of questions, I love how gracious folks can be. I thanked the bank officer who helped exchange my dollars into tshillings with a polite thank you in Swahili. He responded in kind and then smiled and said, "Do you know Swahili?" As I stumbled over just saying the one word for a little, he smiled again and asked no more questions. Sometimes, hello, thank you, and good bye are enough.
Almost but not quite ...
The text read: His schedule is too tight today. So he can't meet with your group. He will try and schedule something before April.
"He" is ... get this ... THE president of Tanzania. And I am one of the "group" he couldn't squeeze in today.
Still ... pretty cool to almost be invited to meet him.
MIHV (the organization I'm working with) is hosting a first ever half marathon in Karatu. The area has produced an Olympic silver medalist but not had a running event of this magnitude. The organization wants to use the attention this thing is going to garner and promote malaria awareness. With 200 first class runners (they're working with the Tanzania Olympic Committee) and the crowds that will gather plus all the local teams, they should definitely pull in some publicity. This week in Dar es Salaam has been all about raising financial support for the race. While it would take lots more than the $43,000 they need, if we were doing it in the states, that figure is not easy to come by. We think that when we leave tomorrow that we have a good chance of at least half if not two thirds of it covered.
One bank rep we met with said, "You don't know how many marathons and events like that come through those doors asking for our support. But you are different. You don't want to raise money or sell anything. You just want to do some good. That is something I can care about."
I'm crossing my fingers he does more than care! He was a marketing guru so we sent him the logo I had worked on and asked for his input and ... if he was willing for him to send it on to an artist for some sprucing up. We'll see.
I really feel I did some good while here. I certainly learned alot. The financial capitol is definitely like many huge cities in the world. The population is a few hundred thousand more than Houston. And today I was in a mall that looked like any other major mall around the world. But one street over tonight the vendors with their small fires and roasted corn and meat on a stick will be sharing their efforts with the hundreds of folks who are walking along the dark streets sans lights except for the flames. This is Tanzania -- a land of potential, progress and yet deaths that could be prevented.
We didn't meet with the president but the race will happen. And maybe, just maybe, a few more women will learn what it means to save their child's life by using a mosquito net.
And that will make this week a very profitable one.
"He" is ... get this ... THE president of Tanzania. And I am one of the "group" he couldn't squeeze in today.
Still ... pretty cool to almost be invited to meet him.
MIHV (the organization I'm working with) is hosting a first ever half marathon in Karatu. The area has produced an Olympic silver medalist but not had a running event of this magnitude. The organization wants to use the attention this thing is going to garner and promote malaria awareness. With 200 first class runners (they're working with the Tanzania Olympic Committee) and the crowds that will gather plus all the local teams, they should definitely pull in some publicity. This week in Dar es Salaam has been all about raising financial support for the race. While it would take lots more than the $43,000 they need, if we were doing it in the states, that figure is not easy to come by. We think that when we leave tomorrow that we have a good chance of at least half if not two thirds of it covered.
One bank rep we met with said, "You don't know how many marathons and events like that come through those doors asking for our support. But you are different. You don't want to raise money or sell anything. You just want to do some good. That is something I can care about."
I'm crossing my fingers he does more than care! He was a marketing guru so we sent him the logo I had worked on and asked for his input and ... if he was willing for him to send it on to an artist for some sprucing up. We'll see.
I really feel I did some good while here. I certainly learned alot. The financial capitol is definitely like many huge cities in the world. The population is a few hundred thousand more than Houston. And today I was in a mall that looked like any other major mall around the world. But one street over tonight the vendors with their small fires and roasted corn and meat on a stick will be sharing their efforts with the hundreds of folks who are walking along the dark streets sans lights except for the flames. This is Tanzania -- a land of potential, progress and yet deaths that could be prevented.
We didn't meet with the president but the race will happen. And maybe, just maybe, a few more women will learn what it means to save their child's life by using a mosquito net.
And that will make this week a very profitable one.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Drip, Drip
Today I met an array of very important people who could help make the half marathon this organization has planned for National Malaria Day a success. Corporate types and government types and medical types and more! And I did it all while pouring sweat as though a rusty faucet had finally been turned on and no one could quite figure out how to shut it off.
I patted with a flimsy tissue. I sat in front of the car's overworked air conditioner. I shed what clothing I could and I still sweat. Think Houston in July and add 10 degrees.
But it was amazing. I am glad that I'm having the opportunity to meet some of these folks. I especially liked the marketing officer for a bank here. She declared the day a "great Monday" after hearing the presentation and noting that her own objectives for her company were aligned with this group's vision of education and awareness for mothers wanting healthy babies.
I'd sweat again if it meant we get some more supporters for this malaria awareness event.
The pleasure moment of the day (other than the ice cream) was taking a break to get a manicure and pedicure. Ahhhh . . . though embarrassed that no amount of scrubbing had removed the red mud of Karatu from my feet, I swallowed my pride and let those two incredible young people have their way with my extremeties and enjoyed every second of it. Oh! And did I mention that the salon overlooks the beach?
I may be sweating but I'm doing it in style.
I patted with a flimsy tissue. I sat in front of the car's overworked air conditioner. I shed what clothing I could and I still sweat. Think Houston in July and add 10 degrees.
But it was amazing. I am glad that I'm having the opportunity to meet some of these folks. I especially liked the marketing officer for a bank here. She declared the day a "great Monday" after hearing the presentation and noting that her own objectives for her company were aligned with this group's vision of education and awareness for mothers wanting healthy babies.
I'd sweat again if it meant we get some more supporters for this malaria awareness event.
The pleasure moment of the day (other than the ice cream) was taking a break to get a manicure and pedicure. Ahhhh . . . though embarrassed that no amount of scrubbing had removed the red mud of Karatu from my feet, I swallowed my pride and let those two incredible young people have their way with my extremeties and enjoyed every second of it. Oh! And did I mention that the salon overlooks the beach?
I may be sweating but I'm doing it in style.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Tanzania Is BIG
Big mountains. Big landscapes. Big trees. Big animals. And big busses that will take you from one side to the other and in only ... 12 hours and 15 min.
That's Tanzania. I saw every shade of green and brown today that you might imagine. I saw folks selling anything from plastic dime store dolls to cashews to foot stools and they were all ready to do business through the bus window.
I'm in what has been described as the financial capitol of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, with about 3.8 million people. The name translates to haven of peace. A coastal city, the sites I've seen on the drive in suggests that laid back vibe you get in coastal areas as well as the buzz of the city. We'll see if I'm right.
That's Tanzania. I saw every shade of green and brown today that you might imagine. I saw folks selling anything from plastic dime store dolls to cashews to foot stools and they were all ready to do business through the bus window.
I'm in what has been described as the financial capitol of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam, with about 3.8 million people. The name translates to haven of peace. A coastal city, the sites I've seen on the drive in suggests that laid back vibe you get in coastal areas as well as the buzz of the city. We'll see if I'm right.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Elephant Caves . . . Without the Elephants
We hiked a couple of miles for what seemed to be straight up to see the Elephant Caves, a gathering place for numerous animals (according to our guide). However, you couldn't prove it by our merry band. We saw no elephants, no buffalos -- though we saw plenty of dung evidence to show they'd visit recently. We did hear lots of birds though. Birds are in abundance here. I have one that keeps hitting my window every morning. Not sure its a cuckoo but it certainly plays the part.
The walk was enjoyable though taxing. (We're a slight bit higher in altitude here than Houston, you know.) And we made it to a waterfall that made the day all I had hoped it would be. Standing 50 meters above the valley below, the air was cool and the scene took me back to Ecuador and another fall, Yosemite and another several falls, Ireland and even east Tennessee. And at that moment, I felt incredible gratitude for all I've seen and will see.
I live a great life.
(And my housemates assure me I'll see plenty of wildlife at the crater next weekend. Until then, I'll keep my list of the critters that seem to enjoy my bedroom as much as I do. I removed a worm when I got home from the hike.)
The walk was enjoyable though taxing. (We're a slight bit higher in altitude here than Houston, you know.) And we made it to a waterfall that made the day all I had hoped it would be. Standing 50 meters above the valley below, the air was cool and the scene took me back to Ecuador and another fall, Yosemite and another several falls, Ireland and even east Tennessee. And at that moment, I felt incredible gratitude for all I've seen and will see.
I live a great life.
(And my housemates assure me I'll see plenty of wildlife at the crater next weekend. Until then, I'll keep my list of the critters that seem to enjoy my bedroom as much as I do. I removed a worm when I got home from the hike.)
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Meet My Other Housemate, the Pied Piper
She walks through the market and women call out her name. On the street, she's stopped several times for in depth conversations in Swahili. One woman in the market struggles to translate what she's just told Amy in Swahili and another helps by yelling out in English, "Smile ... she has a great smile."
That's my housemate. Amy is a medical student and her smile and her open spirit is a natural attraction to everyone we encountered. She was here for several months and then left for Christmas and has now returned.
Her language skills are astounding. I'd love to say that it's because she's 25, a medical student and use to absorbing lots of information at a short time. But, hey, some folks have language skills and some folks struggle.
For all the fellow strugglers out there, do you ever find that when you don't know the language you're surrounded by you just grab at any language you may have studied? I keep saying "lo siento" in the market or "si" when I need an affirmative answer.
But for all the verbal stumbling I'm doing, I'll be a better ESL teacher, right? I certainly know what it feels like to be totally befuddled!
But for now, I have great housemates who appear to have the town at their disposal.
As we say in Texas, Woohoo!
That's my housemate. Amy is a medical student and her smile and her open spirit is a natural attraction to everyone we encountered. She was here for several months and then left for Christmas and has now returned.
Her language skills are astounding. I'd love to say that it's because she's 25, a medical student and use to absorbing lots of information at a short time. But, hey, some folks have language skills and some folks struggle.
For all the fellow strugglers out there, do you ever find that when you don't know the language you're surrounded by you just grab at any language you may have studied? I keep saying "lo siento" in the market or "si" when I need an affirmative answer.
But for all the verbal stumbling I'm doing, I'll be a better ESL teacher, right? I certainly know what it feels like to be totally befuddled!
But for now, I have great housemates who appear to have the town at their disposal.
As we say in Texas, Woohoo!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I Made a Baby ... Almost
Actually my baby didn't last long. The director tried to make the needed teaching tool out of cloth and pillow stuffi first and her freehand version was ... uh ... comical. At one point we all agreed that either the baby was deformed or she had actually just cut out a couple of condoms from the peach colored material.
I tried using a pattern I had created from figures out of Powerpoint. My attempt was fatter but still had mobility problems. As his arms were much too short to box with God on anyone else! Plus the material was so weak that at one point, though we were stuffing from the head, between the poor thing's legs started oozing white gauzey mist. A sad affair really.
Finally the student who had been patiently been attending to our rquests -- stuff this, fold this, sew this -- said she would take on the project.
Today the teaching baby doll was born and even cloned by local women to such an extent that we will probably have multiple births -- we need 80 -- as soon as the cloth and stuffing can be donated. Then the students will have what they need to both learn and finally become teachers.
So ... yet again, I have confirmation that I am not cut out for baby-making, sewing or craft time.
I can, however, laugh. And did.
I tried using a pattern I had created from figures out of Powerpoint. My attempt was fatter but still had mobility problems. As his arms were much too short to box with God on anyone else! Plus the material was so weak that at one point, though we were stuffing from the head, between the poor thing's legs started oozing white gauzey mist. A sad affair really.
Finally the student who had been patiently been attending to our rquests -- stuff this, fold this, sew this -- said she would take on the project.
Today the teaching baby doll was born and even cloned by local women to such an extent that we will probably have multiple births -- we need 80 -- as soon as the cloth and stuffing can be donated. Then the students will have what they need to both learn and finally become teachers.
So ... yet again, I have confirmation that I am not cut out for baby-making, sewing or craft time.
I can, however, laugh. And did.
Monday, January 21, 2008
African Wildlife
So far the only wildlife I've seen is in my bedroom ... the lizard in my closet, the spider I had to kill, a moth I let live and fly free (as soon as I removed it from inside my mosquito net) and a tiny frog that made its way onto my bedroom wall last night and then was abruptly treated to a flight back out my window to return to his natural environment.
I'm looking forward to up-close-and-that-personal with a few more exotic examples of creation.
I'm looking forward to up-close-and-that-personal with a few more exotic examples of creation.
Week 2
Initially I wondered how I would fill my days.
Hamna shida (no worries).
I am tutoring one woman in writing, another in Powerpoint, and planning a staff workshop on planning for Friday. I hope to write an article or two and get this very deserving organization some attention. I’ll travel to three different sites to see the work in action and my weekends are now booked with a hike nearby to Elephant Caves, then the 8th wonder of the world Ngorogoror Crater, and then the Serengeti where I have learned I’ll be staying in a tent camp (the photos I’ve seen thus far will blow your mind in that the tent accommodations look better than some hotels I've seen here) and finally, I’m arranging to at least step foot on Kilimanjaro.
Since all these excursions require a vehicle, a driver, sometimes a guide, etc. I’m pumped that the organization has a few connections that are benefitting me financially.
In the meantime, I plan on earning my keep with consultations on organizational matters and any other leadership or communication tricks I can pull up on my trusty Mac (which, by the way, will need a thorough cleaning when I leave this land of the red dust).
Hamna shida (no worries).
I am tutoring one woman in writing, another in Powerpoint, and planning a staff workshop on planning for Friday. I hope to write an article or two and get this very deserving organization some attention. I’ll travel to three different sites to see the work in action and my weekends are now booked with a hike nearby to Elephant Caves, then the 8th wonder of the world Ngorogoror Crater, and then the Serengeti where I have learned I’ll be staying in a tent camp (the photos I’ve seen thus far will blow your mind in that the tent accommodations look better than some hotels I've seen here) and finally, I’m arranging to at least step foot on Kilimanjaro.
Since all these excursions require a vehicle, a driver, sometimes a guide, etc. I’m pumped that the organization has a few connections that are benefitting me financially.
In the meantime, I plan on earning my keep with consultations on organizational matters and any other leadership or communication tricks I can pull up on my trusty Mac (which, by the way, will need a thorough cleaning when I leave this land of the red dust).
First Weekend Highlights
First Weekend Highlights
Walking for exercise and exploration with my housemate
Reading, writing, and remembering what life at a slower pace feels like
The African sky . . . at night with a full moon but puffy white clouds accenting it and the stars offering their own version of bling
Walking alone
Buying a pot so that we can have two to cook in and along with our one frying pan, we’re set!
Finding a taste of heaven in a place called Bytes that caters to folks like me – non-Africans on a limited budget who enjoy prawns with chili mayo and three types of sauces in which to dip my fries. (Also went to a high end hotel to enjoy the view but the buffet there was $35 so we simply sipped and played Scrabble.)
Hosting our first dinner party with two guests, food and party games. We had a starter of cheese and crackers, traditional African stew with beef; cabbage cooked the way I do it; rice that had to be inspected, then washed, then cooked; a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinegar. The laughter intensified when I introduced them to the dice game Farkle. While Jolene lost the game on paper, we awarded her 4,000 points for being willing to drive our guest home in the darkness so that she wouldn’t have to walk. That made her the night’s champion!
Killing a from-tip-to-tip-at-least-three-inch-spider that was crawling around my bed last night . . . on my side of the mosquito net no less, so, yeah, he had to go
Walking for exercise and exploration with my housemate
Reading, writing, and remembering what life at a slower pace feels like
The African sky . . . at night with a full moon but puffy white clouds accenting it and the stars offering their own version of bling
Walking alone
Buying a pot so that we can have two to cook in and along with our one frying pan, we’re set!
Finding a taste of heaven in a place called Bytes that caters to folks like me – non-Africans on a limited budget who enjoy prawns with chili mayo and three types of sauces in which to dip my fries. (Also went to a high end hotel to enjoy the view but the buffet there was $35 so we simply sipped and played Scrabble.)
Hosting our first dinner party with two guests, food and party games. We had a starter of cheese and crackers, traditional African stew with beef; cabbage cooked the way I do it; rice that had to be inspected, then washed, then cooked; a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinegar. The laughter intensified when I introduced them to the dice game Farkle. While Jolene lost the game on paper, we awarded her 4,000 points for being willing to drive our guest home in the darkness so that she wouldn’t have to walk. That made her the night’s champion!
Killing a from-tip-to-tip-at-least-three-inch-spider that was crawling around my bed last night . . . on my side of the mosquito net no less, so, yeah, he had to go
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Mzungu . . . that would be me
"White person!" That's what the kids shout at me in swahili after they have said hello in English. My housemate assures me that when they do it, they are innocently trying to connect with me. I assured her that I was fine with the salutation given that indeed, they were right.
Today, I walked alone along the main road and through a bit of the market and I never felt so mzungu . . . to the point of even wondering if I might glow in the dark.
The people are great though. For about half my walk though surrounded by hundreds of people, I was definitely the only one worried about getting too red with the sun beating down. But several folks said hello in English or shouted "Jambo!" -- the one phrase absolutely critical for everyone to know here because it starts the beginning of a fairly lengthy ritual of saying hello and checking on everything from one's health, to family, to homelife.
I realized as I walked that I've lost the mouth-open wonder I saw on one woman's face as her tour bus drove through town. She had that glow that just emanates from folks who are mesmerized by the flood of new sights and sounds in travel. I'm not sad that's gone for me. Not sure on what continent it happened but now I just look at each day as a new adventure and that might be in the U.S. as well as from a foreign tour bus. I'm just as curious as I've always been but I in no way attribute greatness to the people I don't know in the same way that I once did.
People are people. Some stare. Some look away. Some say Jambo. Some shout Mzungu with a smile on their face and I'm sure some mutter it under their breath. People are people.
And no matter where you go, there you are.
Today, I walked alone along the main road and through a bit of the market and I never felt so mzungu . . . to the point of even wondering if I might glow in the dark.
The people are great though. For about half my walk though surrounded by hundreds of people, I was definitely the only one worried about getting too red with the sun beating down. But several folks said hello in English or shouted "Jambo!" -- the one phrase absolutely critical for everyone to know here because it starts the beginning of a fairly lengthy ritual of saying hello and checking on everything from one's health, to family, to homelife.
I realized as I walked that I've lost the mouth-open wonder I saw on one woman's face as her tour bus drove through town. She had that glow that just emanates from folks who are mesmerized by the flood of new sights and sounds in travel. I'm not sad that's gone for me. Not sure on what continent it happened but now I just look at each day as a new adventure and that might be in the U.S. as well as from a foreign tour bus. I'm just as curious as I've always been but I in no way attribute greatness to the people I don't know in the same way that I once did.
People are people. Some stare. Some look away. Some say Jambo. Some shout Mzungu with a smile on their face and I'm sure some mutter it under their breath. People are people.
And no matter where you go, there you are.
Meet My Housemate
We eat together. We walk together. We shop in the market. We cook. We watch movies and we practice each other’s language.
I have a housemate, and I’m very grateful that I do. Twenty-nine year old Veronica, was born in Tanzania and is a nurse officer and a great guide. She calmly explains the answers to all my questions and listens with a learner’s avid desire to know more as we dissect movies for points of cultural similarities and differences. So far we’ve watched films about Africa and about the South in the U.S. so we’ve each gotten to be the “expert” for the other.
Yesterday we walked for two and half hours. The only road in Karatu that is paved is the main road that takes the many tourists and their safari companies to the big attraction in these parts Ngorogoro Crater. Otherwise the roads are dust and dirt, packed and red, with holes and ridges in them that the drivers of the jeeps and SUVs just know how to navigate. Seriously, no one I know would think they could make it down these roads if they encountered one in the states. And yet, these guys do it. I’m amazed every time.
On foot, it’s like hiking a mountain path. And the “hills” that we’re climbing to get home after taking a walk to the market will definitely be my substitute for the gym! But the reward? Wow! When you see the vistas they take your breath away. Rolling hills, covered in green with the occasional tree spotting the horizon and multicolored bougainvilla everywhere. Plus plots of rich earth in neat squares and cows, goats and donkeys grazing here and there. Put some strings behind this as a score and you’ve got every movie scene of Africa you’ve ever seen. But as I stand to take my photos, I know that nothing will capture this beauty and so I take an extra moment to say a word of thanks and ask that somehow it remain in my memory.
The main road here is lined with much like what I remembered businesses in Ethiopia to be. Small shops made of mud brick or brightly painted concrete blocks with tin roofs or roadside stands of wood, planks and scrap metal selling all that is needed for city life. Each shop has its thing – beauty supplies, pots and pans, rubber boots, the butcher, the drug store, a gas station, etc. Restaurants are interesting in that “fast food” is a case like you’d see in a bakery in the U.S. with the food already prepared and which they will wrap in a newspaper for you to take out. Samosas, doughnuts, and a boiled egg covered in meat and deep fried seem to be the burgers and tacos of the people. I haven’t tried it yet but will. Having discovered that food is much like what I’ve known in the South – stews, thoroughly cooked greens and beans, and something similar to grits – I’m not in any way threatened or mesmerized by the fare.
In fact, I’ve enjoyed most my time here thus far cooking with Veronica. The kitchen is small and the kitchen tools are few – one pot (now two after our trip to the market yesterday), a sauté pan, one large spoon, one spatula, a knife and a potato peeler. But you’d be amazed at what we come up with. Ratatouille anyone? Omelets with hash browns?
Like most of the stews here, she and I are mixing together in the same house taking on a bit of each other’s flavor and the result is quite satisfying.
I have a housemate, and I’m very grateful that I do. Twenty-nine year old Veronica, was born in Tanzania and is a nurse officer and a great guide. She calmly explains the answers to all my questions and listens with a learner’s avid desire to know more as we dissect movies for points of cultural similarities and differences. So far we’ve watched films about Africa and about the South in the U.S. so we’ve each gotten to be the “expert” for the other.
Yesterday we walked for two and half hours. The only road in Karatu that is paved is the main road that takes the many tourists and their safari companies to the big attraction in these parts Ngorogoro Crater. Otherwise the roads are dust and dirt, packed and red, with holes and ridges in them that the drivers of the jeeps and SUVs just know how to navigate. Seriously, no one I know would think they could make it down these roads if they encountered one in the states. And yet, these guys do it. I’m amazed every time.
On foot, it’s like hiking a mountain path. And the “hills” that we’re climbing to get home after taking a walk to the market will definitely be my substitute for the gym! But the reward? Wow! When you see the vistas they take your breath away. Rolling hills, covered in green with the occasional tree spotting the horizon and multicolored bougainvilla everywhere. Plus plots of rich earth in neat squares and cows, goats and donkeys grazing here and there. Put some strings behind this as a score and you’ve got every movie scene of Africa you’ve ever seen. But as I stand to take my photos, I know that nothing will capture this beauty and so I take an extra moment to say a word of thanks and ask that somehow it remain in my memory.
The main road here is lined with much like what I remembered businesses in Ethiopia to be. Small shops made of mud brick or brightly painted concrete blocks with tin roofs or roadside stands of wood, planks and scrap metal selling all that is needed for city life. Each shop has its thing – beauty supplies, pots and pans, rubber boots, the butcher, the drug store, a gas station, etc. Restaurants are interesting in that “fast food” is a case like you’d see in a bakery in the U.S. with the food already prepared and which they will wrap in a newspaper for you to take out. Samosas, doughnuts, and a boiled egg covered in meat and deep fried seem to be the burgers and tacos of the people. I haven’t tried it yet but will. Having discovered that food is much like what I’ve known in the South – stews, thoroughly cooked greens and beans, and something similar to grits – I’m not in any way threatened or mesmerized by the fare.
In fact, I’ve enjoyed most my time here thus far cooking with Veronica. The kitchen is small and the kitchen tools are few – one pot (now two after our trip to the market yesterday), a sauté pan, one large spoon, one spatula, a knife and a potato peeler. But you’d be amazed at what we come up with. Ratatouille anyone? Omelets with hash browns?
Like most of the stews here, she and I are mixing together in the same house taking on a bit of each other’s flavor and the result is quite satisfying.
Practical Points Part 1
Whenever I travel, I try to keep track of things I’m glad I did to prepare and things I wished I’d done. Through the years and the miles, the lists have come in handy. I still overpack but not nearly what I used to. So for my future (and perhaps others who may feel a tug toward this work) benefit, I will add to this list as my time here passes. So far . . .
The choice of the more expensive malaria tablets that have fewer to no side effects was a good one. I have only a bit of physical trouble when traveling but it takes a few days for my system to adapt. Plus while there’s no sounds of the city to contend with, nature has its own sound effects so sleep isn’t always guaranteed. Good call making the choice that doesn't include strange dreams.
I should have gotten the yellow fever and typhoid shot earlier. I tried to schedule in December but with the holidays wound up with a first week in January date and then the vaccine didn’t come in as planned. Waiting for a month after I knew I was coming was silly.
Packing is always challenging. I like the sense that without control of much in my life when I’m in another country, surrounded by another language, without means to get from one place to the next except for my feet and limited to contact with my normal world, that I can at least wear clothes that make me feel "normal". However, hauling bags is absolutely ridiculous. So I did better but not my best. For another six week gig, I’d bring two skirts and five blouses that I can mix and match and layer. That and a pair of jeans and one pair of slacks would be plenty. The culture is too conservative so the shorts I brought will only be worn at home. And had I really thought about the heat, I’d have left heels at home and just put in my sandals and flip flops along with my hiking boots.
I do like that I brought a towel and hand cloth that I got for backpacking trips. They are light and don’t take up any space. Plus they dry easier than thick towels which when washed here would have been stiff!
On a funny note, I didn’t bring my perfume because it’s in a glass container. I figured I would just give up having a scent while in Africa. No so! I happen to pick up tropical scent bug spray and I’ve found that as I spritz that on each day, I’m kinda glad I do have my own smell! I’m thinking it’s a pina colada thing I’ve got going on!
I always carry a supply of all the different over the counter drugs I’d need for stomach problems, colds and especially aches and pains. The Tylenol P.M. has worked wonders as well.
I may have to use the ear plugs I always bring. There are a few birds who delight in banging up against my window as soon as the sun rises.
I didn’t need to bring some of the comfort foods I brought because there are several products here that are very familiar. I can get all the Pringles I want. Chocolate is big but I don’t know if it’s like ours. I’m going to check to see if hair spray is available.
Packing with the intent to give away several items that I brought with me was a good move as well. I’ve already handed over a dress and jacket that I knew was never really truly my style and I’m leaving my travel Scrabble behind since they no longer have one here. Oh! And I’m really, really glad I brought the games and the DVDs. In fact, I wish I’d brought more.
As my time here allows for a few more adventures, I’m sure I’ll add to the list but so far those are my travel observations.
The choice of the more expensive malaria tablets that have fewer to no side effects was a good one. I have only a bit of physical trouble when traveling but it takes a few days for my system to adapt. Plus while there’s no sounds of the city to contend with, nature has its own sound effects so sleep isn’t always guaranteed. Good call making the choice that doesn't include strange dreams.
I should have gotten the yellow fever and typhoid shot earlier. I tried to schedule in December but with the holidays wound up with a first week in January date and then the vaccine didn’t come in as planned. Waiting for a month after I knew I was coming was silly.
Packing is always challenging. I like the sense that without control of much in my life when I’m in another country, surrounded by another language, without means to get from one place to the next except for my feet and limited to contact with my normal world, that I can at least wear clothes that make me feel "normal". However, hauling bags is absolutely ridiculous. So I did better but not my best. For another six week gig, I’d bring two skirts and five blouses that I can mix and match and layer. That and a pair of jeans and one pair of slacks would be plenty. The culture is too conservative so the shorts I brought will only be worn at home. And had I really thought about the heat, I’d have left heels at home and just put in my sandals and flip flops along with my hiking boots.
I do like that I brought a towel and hand cloth that I got for backpacking trips. They are light and don’t take up any space. Plus they dry easier than thick towels which when washed here would have been stiff!
On a funny note, I didn’t bring my perfume because it’s in a glass container. I figured I would just give up having a scent while in Africa. No so! I happen to pick up tropical scent bug spray and I’ve found that as I spritz that on each day, I’m kinda glad I do have my own smell! I’m thinking it’s a pina colada thing I’ve got going on!
I always carry a supply of all the different over the counter drugs I’d need for stomach problems, colds and especially aches and pains. The Tylenol P.M. has worked wonders as well.
I may have to use the ear plugs I always bring. There are a few birds who delight in banging up against my window as soon as the sun rises.
I didn’t need to bring some of the comfort foods I brought because there are several products here that are very familiar. I can get all the Pringles I want. Chocolate is big but I don’t know if it’s like ours. I’m going to check to see if hair spray is available.
Packing with the intent to give away several items that I brought with me was a good move as well. I’ve already handed over a dress and jacket that I knew was never really truly my style and I’m leaving my travel Scrabble behind since they no longer have one here. Oh! And I’m really, really glad I brought the games and the DVDs. In fact, I wish I’d brought more.
As my time here allows for a few more adventures, I’m sure I’ll add to the list but so far those are my travel observations.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Moment by Moment
I’m trying to stay in the moments here. I’ve come too far and spent too much. I don’t want to miss “here” because of thoughts of home, or comparisons with other cultures, or emotional reactions. Sometimes, though, that’s not the easiest thing in the world to do.
Language is part of it. Yes, the people I’m working with speak English. But truly listening to heavily accented English is taxing. Though not nearly as tedious at it is for them to try and listen to me, I’m sure. And while their knowledge of my language is superior and their patience for my butchering their language is phenomenal, the truth is that it’s hard to connect deeply when neither party has the vocabulary to do so. But we keep trying and through the laughter we at least can acknowledge that laughing at one’s self is something we can all share.
I find myself checking out some time though. They are talking and I’m getting about every third word and I start to wonder what Robert is doing or Roger or Brittany or Traci or any number of other folks. They tell a story about their family and I hope my mother is all right and suddenly, I’m laughing because they are but I’m clueless as to what the joke was.
And we all do the comparison thing. Yes, I catch myself thinking, “Oh that’s like the market I saw in Peru . . . or the landscape here reminds me of . . .” But there are also a few folks from one tribe here who keep asking me (at different times when the other isn’t around) if they or their features remind me of my time in Ethiopia because they have connections there. At first, I wondered if these inquiries were the Tanzanian equivalent of “do these jeans make my butt look big?” and that I had no answer that was going to satisfy. But now I’m seeing it as a natural desire to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. I’ll keep answering.
I also plan on keeping myself in check with my comparison habit though, because, honestly, no two places on earth are alike and I’m thrilled to be able to say that from experience. Still the wonder of it all can make one’s mind wander.
Finally, there are the abrupt emotional reactions. I’m in a market and I’m pushed. Not because I’ve done anything wrong or because they are angry but because they wanted to walk down the narrow path and I was in the way. I’m proud to say that today, I jumped from “what the …?” to “oh, yeah, I’m in the way” fairly fast. But, not so fast, was my reaction to trying to communicate with some folks I’m not so sure wanted to communicate with me. I don’t know that they did. I don’t know that they didn’t. And I found myself wanting to shout, “It’s ok! Tell me to leave and I will. But this pulling of information and awkward silence is killing me!”
Good news is that I didn’t shout. And in all likelihood they haven’t thought one way or the other about me being here or not being here. But when everything is new and most things are slower than you are used to … well, I get whacky in my head.
I say “whacky” because, let’s see, my field is communications and I know all the stuff I’m experiencing and have taught several seminars on how to identify and deal with it. But the best therapist, the best pastor and sometimes even an above average communicator has to be reminded of the fundamentals.
The other good news is that after a day in my head and/or learning from others, I took a walk with my housemate to the market. We bought fresh tomatoes, eggplant, garlic, peppers, green beans and carrots and with the onions we had at home, some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, we whipped up a nice little feast that was topped off by exquisite fresh pineapple and tasty bananas. Since I’ve been living off of carbs and soups you add water to, I was thrilled! (Especially in light of my attempt at dinner last night that featured a can of sardines, leftover curry soup and pasta.)
My housemate provided translation in the market, made the vendors give me her price rather than the tourist’s and was a most excellent sous chef. She also cried along beside me as we watched Steel Magnolias and I introduced her to my world of incredibly strong women who face life’s challenges as the adventure they are.
So I close my day with great wisdom echoing through my brain, “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” I think when I go to the Serengeti I’ll wear my pearls.
Language is part of it. Yes, the people I’m working with speak English. But truly listening to heavily accented English is taxing. Though not nearly as tedious at it is for them to try and listen to me, I’m sure. And while their knowledge of my language is superior and their patience for my butchering their language is phenomenal, the truth is that it’s hard to connect deeply when neither party has the vocabulary to do so. But we keep trying and through the laughter we at least can acknowledge that laughing at one’s self is something we can all share.
I find myself checking out some time though. They are talking and I’m getting about every third word and I start to wonder what Robert is doing or Roger or Brittany or Traci or any number of other folks. They tell a story about their family and I hope my mother is all right and suddenly, I’m laughing because they are but I’m clueless as to what the joke was.
And we all do the comparison thing. Yes, I catch myself thinking, “Oh that’s like the market I saw in Peru . . . or the landscape here reminds me of . . .” But there are also a few folks from one tribe here who keep asking me (at different times when the other isn’t around) if they or their features remind me of my time in Ethiopia because they have connections there. At first, I wondered if these inquiries were the Tanzanian equivalent of “do these jeans make my butt look big?” and that I had no answer that was going to satisfy. But now I’m seeing it as a natural desire to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. I’ll keep answering.
I also plan on keeping myself in check with my comparison habit though, because, honestly, no two places on earth are alike and I’m thrilled to be able to say that from experience. Still the wonder of it all can make one’s mind wander.
Finally, there are the abrupt emotional reactions. I’m in a market and I’m pushed. Not because I’ve done anything wrong or because they are angry but because they wanted to walk down the narrow path and I was in the way. I’m proud to say that today, I jumped from “what the …?” to “oh, yeah, I’m in the way” fairly fast. But, not so fast, was my reaction to trying to communicate with some folks I’m not so sure wanted to communicate with me. I don’t know that they did. I don’t know that they didn’t. And I found myself wanting to shout, “It’s ok! Tell me to leave and I will. But this pulling of information and awkward silence is killing me!”
Good news is that I didn’t shout. And in all likelihood they haven’t thought one way or the other about me being here or not being here. But when everything is new and most things are slower than you are used to … well, I get whacky in my head.
I say “whacky” because, let’s see, my field is communications and I know all the stuff I’m experiencing and have taught several seminars on how to identify and deal with it. But the best therapist, the best pastor and sometimes even an above average communicator has to be reminded of the fundamentals.
The other good news is that after a day in my head and/or learning from others, I took a walk with my housemate to the market. We bought fresh tomatoes, eggplant, garlic, peppers, green beans and carrots and with the onions we had at home, some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, we whipped up a nice little feast that was topped off by exquisite fresh pineapple and tasty bananas. Since I’ve been living off of carbs and soups you add water to, I was thrilled! (Especially in light of my attempt at dinner last night that featured a can of sardines, leftover curry soup and pasta.)
My housemate provided translation in the market, made the vendors give me her price rather than the tourist’s and was a most excellent sous chef. She also cried along beside me as we watched Steel Magnolias and I introduced her to my world of incredibly strong women who face life’s challenges as the adventure they are.
So I close my day with great wisdom echoing through my brain, “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” I think when I go to the Serengeti I’ll wear my pearls.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
We Pause for this Brief Infomercial . . .
At the risk of sounding like one of those late night infomercials pleading with you to call now and for just so many cents a day you can save a child . . . well, I just found out that for less than $25 per mother or child, lives truly can be saved. Over a five-year period (with the first just concluding) the Minnesota International Health Volunteers project in Karatu, Tanzania estimates (conservatively) that it could have a positive impact on at least 87,462 women and children. And all they submit that it’s going to cost just a little over $2 million dollars to do it!
USAid lived up to its name and has provided $1.5 million, leaving MIHV to kick in $551,257. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound like a lot. And that’s why I really like this gig.
Let’s face it. None of us have ever heard of Minnesota International Health Volunteers. The name alone kinda makes you smile doesn’t it? Minnesota and International? Have you been there? Stuck in a traffic jam you’re not going to in any way think you’ve suddenly landed at the United Nations. The state is diverse, I’m sure, and I don’t want to disparage it but I (with my semi-blonde hair and freckles) definitely blend in.*
And yet, this organization is totally on top of what I think it means to partner with a country to get something done. They are working alongside and not “over” people who were born and live here. They are all about sustainable actions. They actually are measuring what they are doing and holding themselves accountable. And the “them”? Well, it’s a handful of people coordinating a gargantuan task.
Here’s the problem as they’ve identified it:
The district of Karatu has an infant mortality rate of 93/1000. Due to a lack of reporting, estimates have to put that at 8 out of 10 babies die at home and 6 had no contact from formal health services.
The three big culprits are malaria, pneumonia and respiratory problems, and diahreal diseases.
The maternal mortality rate is 247/1000. Since ¼ of the women have babies before the age of 18 and then have the next baby before two years is up, you can begin to see a problem, right?
The solutions they’ve said “Yes, we’re here to help” with are all about working with existing systems including governmental entities and traditional service providers like the drug store shopkeepers (do not read “pharmacist” here because only the owner is one of those, otherwise these are just clerks offering advice) and traditional birth attendants (and here you need not think of midwives as we’ve come to know them but village women who have “been there, done that” and are willing to stay by the mother’s side if she invites them in (and sometimes she doesn’t which adds to the mortality rate mentioned above). They also are trying to develop community with the high risk groups and even focusing on not just surviving but thriving as they seek self-sustaining avenues to help young women support themselves and their families.
Today I found out that if they could get their hands on the money for 90 bikes they would have the motivational tool needed to have hand-picked and trained workers in the villages they’ve targeted. These would be and currently are (though the numbers are small) volunteers mind you. But the bike and the status in the village would be incentive enough.
I couldn’t help think, “I know a gynecologist who would be great at training. And a pharmacist who could help with the drug stores. And a computer guy who could fix these machines that keep breaking down. And a videographer, and a marathon runner for the malaria awareness campaign they’re doing and probably at least one person who could help with every other need they have.” While I don’t expect all my friends to pack up and come here for the project’s duration. I did wonder if the chance to make a difference with what they kow would be enticing. And I know that one small vagabond group of friends and family could certainly help financially with this small group that’s making such an incredible difference! (Really, folks, they have done more in three months than I’ve seen some groups do in three years and that’s with one hand tied metaphorically behind their backs as the governmental support exists but the faces keep changing due to turnover.)
Oh! Just in case you think I’m intoxicated from all the sightings of elephants, giraffes and exotic African landscape, I want to report that thus far I’ve seen one baboon roadside, a few interesting birds and that lizard in my closet.
This project just rocks. So if you want to make that difference . . . if you have $80 for a bike . . . if you want to check out other options . . . visit www.mihv.org.
This telethon has now concluded for the day.
*Note: Before anyone gets too offended, I know Minnesota is diverse. I remember something about it having one of the largest Hmong populations in the state. I’m just saying I don’t think “international” when I first hear it.
USAid lived up to its name and has provided $1.5 million, leaving MIHV to kick in $551,257. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound like a lot. And that’s why I really like this gig.
Let’s face it. None of us have ever heard of Minnesota International Health Volunteers. The name alone kinda makes you smile doesn’t it? Minnesota and International? Have you been there? Stuck in a traffic jam you’re not going to in any way think you’ve suddenly landed at the United Nations. The state is diverse, I’m sure, and I don’t want to disparage it but I (with my semi-blonde hair and freckles) definitely blend in.*
And yet, this organization is totally on top of what I think it means to partner with a country to get something done. They are working alongside and not “over” people who were born and live here. They are all about sustainable actions. They actually are measuring what they are doing and holding themselves accountable. And the “them”? Well, it’s a handful of people coordinating a gargantuan task.
Here’s the problem as they’ve identified it:
The district of Karatu has an infant mortality rate of 93/1000. Due to a lack of reporting, estimates have to put that at 8 out of 10 babies die at home and 6 had no contact from formal health services.
The three big culprits are malaria, pneumonia and respiratory problems, and diahreal diseases.
The maternal mortality rate is 247/1000. Since ¼ of the women have babies before the age of 18 and then have the next baby before two years is up, you can begin to see a problem, right?
The solutions they’ve said “Yes, we’re here to help” with are all about working with existing systems including governmental entities and traditional service providers like the drug store shopkeepers (do not read “pharmacist” here because only the owner is one of those, otherwise these are just clerks offering advice) and traditional birth attendants (and here you need not think of midwives as we’ve come to know them but village women who have “been there, done that” and are willing to stay by the mother’s side if she invites them in (and sometimes she doesn’t which adds to the mortality rate mentioned above). They also are trying to develop community with the high risk groups and even focusing on not just surviving but thriving as they seek self-sustaining avenues to help young women support themselves and their families.
Today I found out that if they could get their hands on the money for 90 bikes they would have the motivational tool needed to have hand-picked and trained workers in the villages they’ve targeted. These would be and currently are (though the numbers are small) volunteers mind you. But the bike and the status in the village would be incentive enough.
I couldn’t help think, “I know a gynecologist who would be great at training. And a pharmacist who could help with the drug stores. And a computer guy who could fix these machines that keep breaking down. And a videographer, and a marathon runner for the malaria awareness campaign they’re doing and probably at least one person who could help with every other need they have.” While I don’t expect all my friends to pack up and come here for the project’s duration. I did wonder if the chance to make a difference with what they kow would be enticing. And I know that one small vagabond group of friends and family could certainly help financially with this small group that’s making such an incredible difference! (Really, folks, they have done more in three months than I’ve seen some groups do in three years and that’s with one hand tied metaphorically behind their backs as the governmental support exists but the faces keep changing due to turnover.)
Oh! Just in case you think I’m intoxicated from all the sightings of elephants, giraffes and exotic African landscape, I want to report that thus far I’ve seen one baboon roadside, a few interesting birds and that lizard in my closet.
This project just rocks. So if you want to make that difference . . . if you have $80 for a bike . . . if you want to check out other options . . . visit www.mihv.org.
This telethon has now concluded for the day.
*Note: Before anyone gets too offended, I know Minnesota is diverse. I remember something about it having one of the largest Hmong populations in the state. I’m just saying I don’t think “international” when I first hear it.
I Can Soooooo Do This
Today I got scratched by a dog and the cat jumped in my closet while I was watching a lizard scamper over my clothes.
Know what I did?
Shooed the dog and then the cat and closed the door on the lizard while thinking, “At least it’s not a scorpion.”
Know what I did?
Shooed the dog and then the cat and closed the door on the lizard while thinking, “At least it’s not a scorpion.”
The Prestige
No television so we watch DVDs. Tonight I took in The Prestige. The gist of the film is based on their being three parts to an illusion. The final part is called the prestige; it’s the twist, the thing that makes it all right in the end – the dove reappears, the woman really isn’t cut in two, etc.
As I laid down surrounded by my mosquito canopy, I was reminded of a line I saw in a report today. Seems that while mosquito nets are available to most people in Tanzania and even affordable, malaria is still killing something like 31% of children under five in Karatue and the reason for not using them? They make folks feel claustrophobic.
Before Westerners read that and shake their heads with incredulity, I’d like to point out that in my work with AIDS and even in my personal life I’ve been told by more than one man that he didn’t like using condoms because they lessened his pleasure.
One small mosquito, one moment of a sexual high and they risk death. Why? Because the prestige isn’t just for a stage – they really do think the twist is in their favor.
And the dirty rotten trick ends with no applause.
As I laid down surrounded by my mosquito canopy, I was reminded of a line I saw in a report today. Seems that while mosquito nets are available to most people in Tanzania and even affordable, malaria is still killing something like 31% of children under five in Karatue and the reason for not using them? They make folks feel claustrophobic.
Before Westerners read that and shake their heads with incredulity, I’d like to point out that in my work with AIDS and even in my personal life I’ve been told by more than one man that he didn’t like using condoms because they lessened his pleasure.
One small mosquito, one moment of a sexual high and they risk death. Why? Because the prestige isn’t just for a stage – they really do think the twist is in their favor.
And the dirty rotten trick ends with no applause.
I'm in Africa
May not have a farm, but I do have six weeks in a guest house in Karatu, Tanzania. This is a land of contrasts -- gray buildings in the city, pot hole ridden roads and then magnificent vistas of green that will take your breath away as they are framed by mountains, volcanoes and even one of the eight natural wonders of the world.
More later, because while I can get on the internet, I can't stay long.
More later, because while I can get on the internet, I can't stay long.
Air Travel Has It's Advantages, However . . .
This KLM plane is less than satisfying. I don't mind long flights when I have all the accoutrements that make it bearable. I can't tell you what type of plane carries my favorite item but I can tell you that if I board and see that the back of the seat in front of me includes a tv screen of my very own where I can watch any number of movies at my discretion or play games ... well then, I'm a happy flyer.
Both planes -- the one to Amsterdam and the one to Kilamanjaro -- were sans the personal screens. I got to watch one several feet above the row in front of me and was "entertained" with The Nannyt Diaries, Ratatoulle and bad TV programs (really, does anyone care that Malcolm was every in the Middle) and then a Jackie Chan romp and that fantasy thing about a star becoming human. Riveting, I tell you, just riveting.
My Mac only has backgammon and my opponent is programmed to offer up smartass comments when I lose which is often. So I took to writing instead of continuing humliation.
Writing has been on the back burner of later. I'm not uninterested in it but he temporary nature of my living arrangements may be affecting me more than I realized. Without roots, I don't feel settled enough to write. Structure, it seems, is as important to my motivation for a continuing conversation with my keyboard as it is to a good paragraph.
But speaking of burners, I have been enjoying a tad bit more cooking of late. And creating int he kitchen often gives me similar satisfaction as creating at a desk. When I pull off an interview and then piece together the best quotes with a lead that truly grabs attention and summarizes what I'm about to tell folks, it's rather lovely. As is piecing together a delicious meal with what I have on hand in the fridge. The other night I had a 20 minute feast prepared and it was a healthy presentation for me and my current host, Roger. Sauteed peppers and onions in a white wine reduction over baked fish and bismati was more than satisfying. At the risk of points off for bad puns -- our healthy meal was icing on the cake!
I like the idea of cooking with ingredients I can feel good about. I've certainly pulled my fair share of 9X13 casseroles ladened with cream of something and cheese products out of my oven but when I turn it up a notch and go fresh, I'm proud.
The plan is to take a class when I return from my travels. While I don't think the world needs another cookbook or magazine article about the joy of cooking, I do plan on capturing a few thoughts and new ideas along the way in Tanzania so who knows? Africa may hold a few culinary surprises worth writing about as well. We shall see.
What I see now is the need to close down the computer to take part in the only other distraction this plane offers -- another meal. While it's wrapped in plastic wrap and all of its various sponsors are duly noted on the packaging they haven't been too bad. At least not nearly as bad as the tv!
Both planes -- the one to Amsterdam and the one to Kilamanjaro -- were sans the personal screens. I got to watch one several feet above the row in front of me and was "entertained" with The Nannyt Diaries, Ratatoulle and bad TV programs (really, does anyone care that Malcolm was every in the Middle) and then a Jackie Chan romp and that fantasy thing about a star becoming human. Riveting, I tell you, just riveting.
My Mac only has backgammon and my opponent is programmed to offer up smartass comments when I lose which is often. So I took to writing instead of continuing humliation.
Writing has been on the back burner of later. I'm not uninterested in it but he temporary nature of my living arrangements may be affecting me more than I realized. Without roots, I don't feel settled enough to write. Structure, it seems, is as important to my motivation for a continuing conversation with my keyboard as it is to a good paragraph.
But speaking of burners, I have been enjoying a tad bit more cooking of late. And creating int he kitchen often gives me similar satisfaction as creating at a desk. When I pull off an interview and then piece together the best quotes with a lead that truly grabs attention and summarizes what I'm about to tell folks, it's rather lovely. As is piecing together a delicious meal with what I have on hand in the fridge. The other night I had a 20 minute feast prepared and it was a healthy presentation for me and my current host, Roger. Sauteed peppers and onions in a white wine reduction over baked fish and bismati was more than satisfying. At the risk of points off for bad puns -- our healthy meal was icing on the cake!
I like the idea of cooking with ingredients I can feel good about. I've certainly pulled my fair share of 9X13 casseroles ladened with cream of something and cheese products out of my oven but when I turn it up a notch and go fresh, I'm proud.
The plan is to take a class when I return from my travels. While I don't think the world needs another cookbook or magazine article about the joy of cooking, I do plan on capturing a few thoughts and new ideas along the way in Tanzania so who knows? Africa may hold a few culinary surprises worth writing about as well. We shall see.
What I see now is the need to close down the computer to take part in the only other distraction this plane offers -- another meal. While it's wrapped in plastic wrap and all of its various sponsors are duly noted on the packaging they haven't been too bad. At least not nearly as bad as the tv!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Good Things Come to Africa!
I am getting "amused credit" for bringing the rains to Karatu! Actually, the people are smiling because they've been waiting anxiously for the rainy season and in dire need of something to help with the crops and the animals. Since I happen to arrive on the same day as the rain, I'm getting a few kudos as well. Here's hoping that both the moisture and I keep up the good work!
Please note that the entries on this blog may sometimes appear out of order. Internet connections are not easy and yesterday I couldn't post the beginning entries and sent them on to a friend who may get them posted today. Rather than try and post them myself, I'm proceeding but the gist of those was that I arrived!
I just read the program description for the work I'll be doing. The problem they are addressing is the fact that the under-five mortality rate for 2000-2004 was 112 per 1000 live births and its infant morality rate was 68 per 1000. In Karatu where I am, the infant mortality rate was 93 per 1000 live births. However, since many children are born at home with traditional birth attendants or the mother actually doing the whole thing solo, the estimates are that 8 out of 10 children die at home and six of them withut any contact with formal health services.
This project is to create awareness among the birth attendants of potential problems and provide prevention education. I'm quite excited about a Survive and Thrive aspect to it as well which will help provide the mothers with a way to produce income.
The rains are nourishing the dusty fields and thirsty plants and providing a slippery approach to driving. Fortunately, I'm not the one in the drivers seat as cars are limited and the program has a couple of jeeps and drivers attached. I can't wait to see what my legs look like at then end of the day though. I am wearing skirts to fit into the conservative culture and that translates into muddy calves to be sure. I mentioned that the roads were dirt, right? Of course, now they are mud!
After trying to make the internet work last night, I sat down to a surprise meal prepared by my housemate who is a worker with the program. She is staying at the guest house until she can find more permanent residence. The potato and meat stew was tasty and we watched Out of Africa as we ate.
"I had a farm in Africa" never sounded so ironic and sweet as it did last night. She was curious about the relationships depicted in the story. And she provided commentary on the African elements. I think we both enjoyed the exchange of information.
Ok, that's enough infor for now. Let's see if I can actually post this time!
Please note that the entries on this blog may sometimes appear out of order. Internet connections are not easy and yesterday I couldn't post the beginning entries and sent them on to a friend who may get them posted today. Rather than try and post them myself, I'm proceeding but the gist of those was that I arrived!
I just read the program description for the work I'll be doing. The problem they are addressing is the fact that the under-five mortality rate for 2000-2004 was 112 per 1000 live births and its infant morality rate was 68 per 1000. In Karatu where I am, the infant mortality rate was 93 per 1000 live births. However, since many children are born at home with traditional birth attendants or the mother actually doing the whole thing solo, the estimates are that 8 out of 10 children die at home and six of them withut any contact with formal health services.
This project is to create awareness among the birth attendants of potential problems and provide prevention education. I'm quite excited about a Survive and Thrive aspect to it as well which will help provide the mothers with a way to produce income.
The rains are nourishing the dusty fields and thirsty plants and providing a slippery approach to driving. Fortunately, I'm not the one in the drivers seat as cars are limited and the program has a couple of jeeps and drivers attached. I can't wait to see what my legs look like at then end of the day though. I am wearing skirts to fit into the conservative culture and that translates into muddy calves to be sure. I mentioned that the roads were dirt, right? Of course, now they are mud!
After trying to make the internet work last night, I sat down to a surprise meal prepared by my housemate who is a worker with the program. She is staying at the guest house until she can find more permanent residence. The potato and meat stew was tasty and we watched Out of Africa as we ate.
"I had a farm in Africa" never sounded so ironic and sweet as it did last night. She was curious about the relationships depicted in the story. And she provided commentary on the African elements. I think we both enjoyed the exchange of information.
Ok, that's enough infor for now. Let's see if I can actually post this time!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Because It Would Be Way Too Easy to Sleep
I decided to continue my marathon connection by handing out water at the Houston race this morning. That meant getting up at 5 a.m. and being at my post at 5:45. It was dark. Very dark. We set up tables. Filled paper cups with water and Gatorade. Handed said beverages out to the record-breaking number of runners this year and then tore it all down, swept up all types of fluids (don't think about that too deeply if you have a weak stomach) and collected all the sweaty clothes that the runners discarded before heading to a great Mexican place for breakfast.
I just checked email and will be showering before heading to the airport (a gift to the person who will be sitting beside me to Amsterdam, don't you think?). My plane leaves at 3:50 p.m. and if I've got this figured right, 22 hours from then I'll be in Tanzania.
Wish everyone reading this could be that seatmate but since you can't I'll keep you posted.
I just checked email and will be showering before heading to the airport (a gift to the person who will be sitting beside me to Amsterdam, don't you think?). My plane leaves at 3:50 p.m. and if I've got this figured right, 22 hours from then I'll be in Tanzania.
Wish everyone reading this could be that seatmate but since you can't I'll keep you posted.
Friday, January 11, 2008
So ... It's Been a While
One of the few folks who check my blog regularly informed me that I was long overdue on a post.
Since anyone who even occasionally checks in might surmise by the distance between my last post and this that I was thrown overboard by a overly zealous party animal on the Carnival cruise, I will take this opportunity to announce that I'm alive and well and have been land-bound for over a month.
Life has just been extremely temporary and I haven't had a moment to contemplate what I might want to say in this space I've come to view as my connection with friends from one end of the U.S. to the other. I have a few folks who know me well across the big sea but I doubt seriously they check in here. And after the fourth person told me they missed whatever it was that I might be sharing, I determined it was time to say something even it lacked anything near humor, profundity or even clarity!
So here I am ... not exactly contemplative (I AM flying to Tanzania in two days so you can give me a bit of grace can't you for being surrounded by icky details like when I'm going to get my yellow fever shot?) and not exactly informative (I will save for later my observations regarding my cross country drive for the holidays, my assessment of my hometown's enthusiasm for high school basketball, my love for my convertible even if it is cold and I have a golf ball size crack in the front window, my joy over starting the year off right with friends, and my process of determining exactly what "office formal" dress looks like for my stay in Tanzania.)
Instead, I'll simply say my hope is to blog regularly while in Africa as calls are $5/min and texts are 50 cents each! Creativity (or evidence to the lack thereof) is once again spurred by a lack of finances! Other writers got their start with less of a muse, right?
So keep checking ... I leave Sunday, arrive on a new continent on Monday and will try and post by Wednesday.
Since anyone who even occasionally checks in might surmise by the distance between my last post and this that I was thrown overboard by a overly zealous party animal on the Carnival cruise, I will take this opportunity to announce that I'm alive and well and have been land-bound for over a month.
Life has just been extremely temporary and I haven't had a moment to contemplate what I might want to say in this space I've come to view as my connection with friends from one end of the U.S. to the other. I have a few folks who know me well across the big sea but I doubt seriously they check in here. And after the fourth person told me they missed whatever it was that I might be sharing, I determined it was time to say something even it lacked anything near humor, profundity or even clarity!
So here I am ... not exactly contemplative (I AM flying to Tanzania in two days so you can give me a bit of grace can't you for being surrounded by icky details like when I'm going to get my yellow fever shot?) and not exactly informative (I will save for later my observations regarding my cross country drive for the holidays, my assessment of my hometown's enthusiasm for high school basketball, my love for my convertible even if it is cold and I have a golf ball size crack in the front window, my joy over starting the year off right with friends, and my process of determining exactly what "office formal" dress looks like for my stay in Tanzania.)
Instead, I'll simply say my hope is to blog regularly while in Africa as calls are $5/min and texts are 50 cents each! Creativity (or evidence to the lack thereof) is once again spurred by a lack of finances! Other writers got their start with less of a muse, right?
So keep checking ... I leave Sunday, arrive on a new continent on Monday and will try and post by Wednesday.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday Morning Ramblings When Fog Delays Your Cruise Ship
--The Christmas season is fraught with unfulfilled expectations. You think it's ok to simply wish for everyone's cookies to be placed on an appropriate shelf with just enough stretching to making them tastier but not enough to strain themselves?
--When packing for a week away, is a bag and a backpack excessive?
--The credit card company had me prove I was me several times while I tried to regain the funds that someone decided was more theirs than mine recently. Good news was that I happened to check while the charges were still pending. "Makes me tired" news is that I had to keep an eye on whether the charges moved from pending after cancelling the card and then and only then could I make a claim. These folks are busy people. I'd be delighted if someone wanted to busy themselves with creating a phone system that allowed people in distress (that would be me when I think someone is using my identity and accessing my limited funds!) to actually forego the computerized voices and menu selections and tell their tale to a real, breathing, and hopefully caring individual from the start!
--My name and the name of my ex's new wife sounds the same but the spelling is different. Seems when that happens and the party of the first part is trying to sell a home, the party of the second part and all other parties must prove they are who they say they are. And how do the parties do this? By completing a form and signing it. So all I have to do is say I am who I say I am and they accept it.
Does anyone else feel that someone somewhere is getting paid for lots and lots of mindless paperwork?
--Lights in the Heights is a good thing. I love that people are generous enough to throw a party and invite ... let's see ... THE CITY to join them.
--My hairdresser has the coolest blue eyes and when she wears a blue dress like she did at the party her salon threw on Saturday night, she's stunning. Wait ... she's stunning no matter what!
--My friend spent much of last night burning tree limbs and claiming it was his redneck coming out. As a fellow redneck, I might have to challenge his definition slightly. I'm not that mesmerized by burning bushes. Wait ... he's a preacher. Maybe that explains it. Wonder if he heard voices?
--The fog is delaying my trip South. I'm supposed to be sailing by 4 p.m. today. Chances are . . . that's not going to happen at that time. This is me . . . crossing my fingers and waiting for the sunshine.
--When packing for a week away, is a bag and a backpack excessive?
--The credit card company had me prove I was me several times while I tried to regain the funds that someone decided was more theirs than mine recently. Good news was that I happened to check while the charges were still pending. "Makes me tired" news is that I had to keep an eye on whether the charges moved from pending after cancelling the card and then and only then could I make a claim. These folks are busy people. I'd be delighted if someone wanted to busy themselves with creating a phone system that allowed people in distress (that would be me when I think someone is using my identity and accessing my limited funds!) to actually forego the computerized voices and menu selections and tell their tale to a real, breathing, and hopefully caring individual from the start!
--My name and the name of my ex's new wife sounds the same but the spelling is different. Seems when that happens and the party of the first part is trying to sell a home, the party of the second part and all other parties must prove they are who they say they are. And how do the parties do this? By completing a form and signing it. So all I have to do is say I am who I say I am and they accept it.
Does anyone else feel that someone somewhere is getting paid for lots and lots of mindless paperwork?
--Lights in the Heights is a good thing. I love that people are generous enough to throw a party and invite ... let's see ... THE CITY to join them.
--My hairdresser has the coolest blue eyes and when she wears a blue dress like she did at the party her salon threw on Saturday night, she's stunning. Wait ... she's stunning no matter what!
--My friend spent much of last night burning tree limbs and claiming it was his redneck coming out. As a fellow redneck, I might have to challenge his definition slightly. I'm not that mesmerized by burning bushes. Wait ... he's a preacher. Maybe that explains it. Wonder if he heard voices?
--The fog is delaying my trip South. I'm supposed to be sailing by 4 p.m. today. Chances are . . . that's not going to happen at that time. This is me . . . crossing my fingers and waiting for the sunshine.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
I'm baaaaaack . . .
Class is over. I discovered a great deal but the biggest is that I love to teach.
What I'm going to do with that and still sustain the lifestyle to which I had grown accustomed is the next item on my agenda.
But until then . . .
I have a cruise to take.
I'm taking a road trip east to see friends and family.
And, I'm scheduled to be in Tanzania mid-January until the end of February.
Life is good . . .
What I'm going to do with that and still sustain the lifestyle to which I had grown accustomed is the next item on my agenda.
But until then . . .
I have a cruise to take.
I'm taking a road trip east to see friends and family.
And, I'm scheduled to be in Tanzania mid-January until the end of February.
Life is good . . .
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
November . . . Whew!
Hope you all got a chance to be part of the land of the free and the home of the brave yesterday!
I'm in class during the day, studying four hours at night and still trying to keep up with November as Novel Writing Month (an Internet encouragement to write 50,000 words in a month which they guarantee us will be crap but it will be completed crap) and I'm going to try and blog.
But not here.
The course I'm taking is called a CELTA course and if I pass I will be certified in teaching English to non-English speakers. If you want to more check out www.celtastuff.blogspot.com. That's the blog I'm doing this month. I'll link you later but if I don't stop now, I'll be late for class!
I'm in class during the day, studying four hours at night and still trying to keep up with November as Novel Writing Month (an Internet encouragement to write 50,000 words in a month which they guarantee us will be crap but it will be completed crap) and I'm going to try and blog.
But not here.
The course I'm taking is called a CELTA course and if I pass I will be certified in teaching English to non-English speakers. If you want to more check out www.celtastuff.blogspot.com. That's the blog I'm doing this month. I'll link you later but if I don't stop now, I'll be late for class!
Friday, November 02, 2007
YeeHa!
Did my first rodeo speeches this week. Seeing Houston elementary schools is an eye opener and I think I may get more out of these gigs than the kids. I was very impressed with the one I attended today because despite the community (lower income, several strikes against it with parental support of the children at a minimum) this school was bright, cheerful and clean. I remarked to my assistant for the day that i imagined that some of the children might find the school to be somewhat of a sanctuary.
"We have a hard time getting some of them to leave," she said, shaking her head sadly.
Though they may come from some tough situations (one or more parent in jail, etc.) the teachers are not giving them any slack on the discipline front. They used the "zero" to call the kids to quiet and some of those men and women could have given drill sargeants a run for their tough guy status!
Lots of the kids wanted to linger if you gave them just a smile. Kinda broke my heart a time or two.
But so far, as I've shared with the kids the vast knowledge (ahem!) I've gained on all things chuckwagon so I could mesmerize them for 20 minute stints and encourage them to "do good in school, don't do drugs and maybe you can get a scholarship from the rodeo" (and yes, I really said that because they combined the no drugs day with rodeo day and asked us to!), I've had a few chuckles I've had to squash as well as a tear or two to hold back. Here are a few highlights:
One girl asked me if I was a real cowgirl. One boy wanted to know if I had a horse.
One 5th grader was rather enthusiastic in her query as to whether I was a close friend of Hannah Montana.
On the day after Halloween a girl with what I thought was residual makeup on her face asked, "What do you do about the girl with marks on her face?" I asked her to repeat her question and she did. I said, "Marks?" She said, "I was attacked by a pit bull." I said, "I'm sorry you were hurt. I have marks on my face too!" She said, "Yep and they're called freckles." Then she smiled and walked away.
Several third and fourth graders said their favorite food was sushi. I had no clue what sushi was in the fourth grade.
I think I'm going to like this gig but as my buddy Roger says, "No good deed goes unpunished." When I drove away from the school parking lot I noticed not a chip but a gash in my windshield. Seems a baseball must have found a way to have intimate contact with the passenger side of the front window.
Oh well . . . the adventure continues. Can I get big yee ha?
"We have a hard time getting some of them to leave," she said, shaking her head sadly.
Though they may come from some tough situations (one or more parent in jail, etc.) the teachers are not giving them any slack on the discipline front. They used the "zero" to call the kids to quiet and some of those men and women could have given drill sargeants a run for their tough guy status!
Lots of the kids wanted to linger if you gave them just a smile. Kinda broke my heart a time or two.
But so far, as I've shared with the kids the vast knowledge (ahem!) I've gained on all things chuckwagon so I could mesmerize them for 20 minute stints and encourage them to "do good in school, don't do drugs and maybe you can get a scholarship from the rodeo" (and yes, I really said that because they combined the no drugs day with rodeo day and asked us to!), I've had a few chuckles I've had to squash as well as a tear or two to hold back. Here are a few highlights:
One girl asked me if I was a real cowgirl. One boy wanted to know if I had a horse.
One 5th grader was rather enthusiastic in her query as to whether I was a close friend of Hannah Montana.
On the day after Halloween a girl with what I thought was residual makeup on her face asked, "What do you do about the girl with marks on her face?" I asked her to repeat her question and she did. I said, "Marks?" She said, "I was attacked by a pit bull." I said, "I'm sorry you were hurt. I have marks on my face too!" She said, "Yep and they're called freckles." Then she smiled and walked away.
Several third and fourth graders said their favorite food was sushi. I had no clue what sushi was in the fourth grade.
I think I'm going to like this gig but as my buddy Roger says, "No good deed goes unpunished." When I drove away from the school parking lot I noticed not a chip but a gash in my windshield. Seems a baseball must have found a way to have intimate contact with the passenger side of the front window.
Oh well . . . the adventure continues. Can I get big yee ha?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Questions, Questions and More Questions
Tonight we saw the new flick "Gone Baby Gone" and if you deal with ethics in any way you need to take an afternoon and check this one out. The question is vividly played out: Is it better to do the right thing or the "white" as in black and white thing?
When faced with a dilemma, is there a right answer that doesn't fall into black and white thinking?
If you'd seen the movie, email me. We MUST talk!
When faced with a dilemma, is there a right answer that doesn't fall into black and white thinking?
If you'd seen the movie, email me. We MUST talk!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Goza Makes Me Laugh
My friend, "Chaplain Cindy Goza" as she sometimes introduces herself with mock importance, told me of a conversation she overheard recently at the hospital. (As far as I know, no HIPAA rules were broken in the telling of this story.)
Man by the elevator: "Yeah, you know she's got that post partum depression . . . that thing you get in Iraq."
Cindy tried not to guffaw as she silently considered, "Is he talking about a soldier who got pregnant? Is Iraq really a cover up for unwed mothers?"
Man by the elevator: "Yeah, you know she's got that post partum depression . . . that thing you get in Iraq."
Cindy tried not to guffaw as she silently considered, "Is he talking about a soldier who got pregnant? Is Iraq really a cover up for unwed mothers?"
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
California Road Trip -- Final Highlights
Bryn (left) takes care of Richard. Richard takes care of all of Robin's friends who crash in their uber cool basement. Life in San Francisco with the Paolis is a good thing. Much thanks must be offered for nosh foods every night before the dinner meal, great wine pairings, vegan-sensitive menus planned by a man who is definitely carnivorous but also a true host, coffee and scones for breakfast, much needed conversations about writing and possibly the best tour guide I've ever encountered. Other highlights include:
-Having the gumption to return a pair of shoes just to use the 20% off coupon I had forgotten to offer at check out . . . something I have never done before!
-Giving lots of massages but especially having Judah's help when I gave one to her mom (Judah also requested her own version of a massage and with her mother watching I followed that child's orders!)
-Watching Robin and Larry take on the cold waters of the Pacific while playing with Judah in the sand
-A trip to the wine country in the VW, wrapped in a blanket in the back seat with Larry
-Sipping whites with Robert at each winery where we stopped
-Teaching both Quiddler and Farkle to friends
-The view from above the Golden Gate bridge that Robert got on our day back from the country
-Taking the southern route through California (and yes, we missed the fires by one day) and then opting for the backroads through Arizona so that we wound our way through the mountains
-In and Out burgers while sharing the fries and a shake . . . ok that's a girlie thing to say but he's cute and at this point I'm at the stage where I'm sappy
-Sedona, AZ at sunset
-Finding a hotel with a hot tub and not being able to stay as long in the sauna as one aforementioned cute guy
-Mountain vistas, desert vistas, mountain and desert vistas . . . lots and lots of vistas
-My cute, little, red VW packed to the max
-Goza welcoming me to New Mexico
and the adventure continues . . .
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Girls Will Understand This One
Remember those girls back in high school (and I'm sure NONE of you were guilty of this) who -- once they got interested in and the attention of someone -- totally ignored you for days on end as she relished being with her new interest and just assumed you'd understand and think it was perfectly acceptable?
Well . . . high school isn't all that long ago it seems and I'm guilty!
Well . . . high school isn't all that long ago it seems and I'm guilty!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
See Larry Run a Half Marathon?
See Larry waiting for race (and the porta-potty).
See Larry getting set with other fast runners.
See Larry stretch after race.
See Larry show off his medal from race.
See Larry enjoying sweet victory!
Note what you don't see: Larry actually running the race! Why you might ask? Well . . .
I got up at 5:15 a.m. to support Larry. Rode in the dark and fog and then walked sluggishly to the race area. Finally found coffee and an English muffin and was revived enough to give the man a pep talk and assure him he could beat his personal best time of 1:50 and make his goal of a half marathon in 1:45. I even walked alongside the runners for two miles and then turned around to get back to the finish line in time to see my friend cross it.
That's when I noticed they were picking up any signs that there'd been a race. All indicators of "turn here" or "here" were gone. And I was in San Jose, CA with not a clue of how I got to the little side street with the colorful houses. In a true Southern "bless your heart" moment (or what folks in San Francisco would say was just a stupid move on my part), I wandered and finally one hour and 50 minutes after starting my trek I made it back to the race area in time to see the pace flag for 1:45 a half block away and headed for the finish. At first I thought I could catch up. Then it hit me they were running and I was walking with a back pack and far less training in speed!
By the time I met Larry at the location we'd agreed on, he was stretching.
However ....
HE EXCEEDED HIS GOAL TIME!
And even if I wasn't there to capture it, a chip on his shoe and the smile on his face was proof enough.
See Larry. See Larry run.
See Larry getting set with other fast runners.
See Larry stretch after race.
See Larry show off his medal from race.
See Larry enjoying sweet victory!
Note what you don't see: Larry actually running the race! Why you might ask? Well . . .
I got up at 5:15 a.m. to support Larry. Rode in the dark and fog and then walked sluggishly to the race area. Finally found coffee and an English muffin and was revived enough to give the man a pep talk and assure him he could beat his personal best time of 1:50 and make his goal of a half marathon in 1:45. I even walked alongside the runners for two miles and then turned around to get back to the finish line in time to see my friend cross it.
That's when I noticed they were picking up any signs that there'd been a race. All indicators of "turn here" or "here" were gone. And I was in San Jose, CA with not a clue of how I got to the little side street with the colorful houses. In a true Southern "bless your heart" moment (or what folks in San Francisco would say was just a stupid move on my part), I wandered and finally one hour and 50 minutes after starting my trek I made it back to the race area in time to see the pace flag for 1:45 a half block away and headed for the finish. At first I thought I could catch up. Then it hit me they were running and I was walking with a back pack and far less training in speed!
By the time I met Larry at the location we'd agreed on, he was stretching.
However ....
HE EXCEEDED HIS GOAL TIME!
And even if I wasn't there to capture it, a chip on his shoe and the smile on his face was proof enough.
See Larry. See Larry run.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Questions Held at Bay
“They asked themselves questions they’d long held at bay.” -- seen in Hope’s Edge by Frances Moore Lappe and Anna Lappe
A sequel to the 30-year-old bestseller Diet for a Small Planet, this book takes the reader on a journey to five continents to examine the global food and hunger challenge.
I’m not going to write about that. They did for more than 400 pages and don’t need my input.
But that sentence – read before I even got out of the Opening Note – made me pause.
What questions have I “long held at bay”?
Hmmmmm . . .
Now that I’ve spent some time around some bays, I can see a whole new aspect to the question. While to hold something at bay is to keep it away, the whole “out of sight/out of mind” kind of thing, I can also tell you that bays tend to hold their fog fairly well.
That’s more along the lines of what I’ve been doing with some of my big questions – keeping them in the bay, in the fog, with some parameters but plenty of room to disappear into the great sea of nothingness.
The whole idea of this year-of-not-a-vacation-and-not-9-to-5 is to give some time for the fog to move on and really examine the questions that maybe haunt me more than I know.
One is definitely about the whole God thing. What do I believe, hold dear, claim above all else?
Another question that slithers in on occasion is what am I to do about the plight of human kind? And which exact plight concerns me most – or at least enough to do something about?
Here are a few more … though I don’t know if they are phrased exactly right – keep in mind the fog still lingers:
Do I think love – as in what one person has for another that keeps them together for a lifetime – exists? Is being “in love” simply a Hallmark/Hollywood invention?
What wouldn’t I do for a friend?
When something exists because of “the system” (and here I mean political, familial, social, etc.) what makes me give up before trying to address it?
Last night I had dinner with a man who had come back from Iraq after three years of service there (and 20 years with the Marines before that) and the first thing he did when he landed in the Chicago airport was to get a beer. He hadn’t one in three years. His refreshment was tarnished however when a suited young man spoke loudly to the two women he was with about his views on the war, the military and specifically how Marines were nothing but “killing machines.”
Still attired in his military garb, this man knew the comments were for his benefit and – in his interpretation of the event – walked to the young man and politely asked him to refrain from including him in his earshot since he had seen good men die as the result of this conflict that he didn’t agree with either but was willing to do what he could for the country that had asked him. The young man then told him what exactly he could do to himself. At which point, my new friend suggested that if he didn’t refrain he would tear his head from his shoulders and . . . well, you get the picture.
Our government and in some ways our society is a system practicing the attributes of insanity. We keep doing what we’ve been doing expecting different results. If we didn’t learn from Vietnam that we can’t blame the soldier for the “solutions” prescribed in faraway strategy rooms, then will we ever learn?
And if I care enough, what does one person do to say “enough.” I told my friend that I often felt like a drop of water in a big sea that has little to no affect.
He said, “Take it from someone who knows. When you’re in the desert and you lift your canteen and all that falls is one drop, you’re pretty damn grateful for that drop.”
Here’s a toast to my first efforts at drops to lift the fog . . .
A sequel to the 30-year-old bestseller Diet for a Small Planet, this book takes the reader on a journey to five continents to examine the global food and hunger challenge.
I’m not going to write about that. They did for more than 400 pages and don’t need my input.
But that sentence – read before I even got out of the Opening Note – made me pause.
What questions have I “long held at bay”?
Hmmmmm . . .
Now that I’ve spent some time around some bays, I can see a whole new aspect to the question. While to hold something at bay is to keep it away, the whole “out of sight/out of mind” kind of thing, I can also tell you that bays tend to hold their fog fairly well.
That’s more along the lines of what I’ve been doing with some of my big questions – keeping them in the bay, in the fog, with some parameters but plenty of room to disappear into the great sea of nothingness.
The whole idea of this year-of-not-a-vacation-and-not-9-to-5 is to give some time for the fog to move on and really examine the questions that maybe haunt me more than I know.
One is definitely about the whole God thing. What do I believe, hold dear, claim above all else?
Another question that slithers in on occasion is what am I to do about the plight of human kind? And which exact plight concerns me most – or at least enough to do something about?
Here are a few more … though I don’t know if they are phrased exactly right – keep in mind the fog still lingers:
Do I think love – as in what one person has for another that keeps them together for a lifetime – exists? Is being “in love” simply a Hallmark/Hollywood invention?
What wouldn’t I do for a friend?
When something exists because of “the system” (and here I mean political, familial, social, etc.) what makes me give up before trying to address it?
Last night I had dinner with a man who had come back from Iraq after three years of service there (and 20 years with the Marines before that) and the first thing he did when he landed in the Chicago airport was to get a beer. He hadn’t one in three years. His refreshment was tarnished however when a suited young man spoke loudly to the two women he was with about his views on the war, the military and specifically how Marines were nothing but “killing machines.”
Still attired in his military garb, this man knew the comments were for his benefit and – in his interpretation of the event – walked to the young man and politely asked him to refrain from including him in his earshot since he had seen good men die as the result of this conflict that he didn’t agree with either but was willing to do what he could for the country that had asked him. The young man then told him what exactly he could do to himself. At which point, my new friend suggested that if he didn’t refrain he would tear his head from his shoulders and . . . well, you get the picture.
Our government and in some ways our society is a system practicing the attributes of insanity. We keep doing what we’ve been doing expecting different results. If we didn’t learn from Vietnam that we can’t blame the soldier for the “solutions” prescribed in faraway strategy rooms, then will we ever learn?
And if I care enough, what does one person do to say “enough.” I told my friend that I often felt like a drop of water in a big sea that has little to no affect.
He said, “Take it from someone who knows. When you’re in the desert and you lift your canteen and all that falls is one drop, you’re pretty damn grateful for that drop.”
Here’s a toast to my first efforts at drops to lift the fog . . .
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Life is like a portabello sandwich . . .
Larry and I have had several discussions about his veganism. I applaud his commitment to living his convictions. He understands that I don't have that same level of conviction. And we both allow ourselves the space to just be. Makes for a peaceful co-existence.
But the conversations have been lively and fun. For instance, he might mention that some vegans choose their lifestyle out of respect for creation. They don't want to kill anything -- even mosquitoes. I counter with the surprise fact that I've practiced "capture and release" form of pest control in my abodes for years. If I spot a cockroach for example and it's possible to shoo its crunchy exterior out my front door, I will. However, if a blood sucker comes my way, I'm all over survival-of-the-fittest and given that I'm a little higher on the food chain the circle of life is going to start back at ground zero as far as that critter is concerned.
Hasta la vista, baby!
(calming from my mounting aggression . . . breathing) So, yeah, I get the respect for that which has been created. But I also think in systems. And a system of predator and prey seems to have been established for balance. While hiking part of the Tahoe Rim I learned from one of the guides with me that in order to protect the lake from the possibility of being destroyed by fire, they have to thin out the trees. Now some folks don't want the thinning. And some folks don't want the potential for devastation. Leaves me wondering what the system can hold or if we don't sometimes come to a point where new systems must be established.
Pretty deep question that pretty much originates at the mosquito question. At this point, I'm still under the influence that the "way of the world" demands that things get squashed, trees get thinned, and folks with no power must rely on advocates to advance.
If someone's come up with a way that works that allows power brokers to discuss it over a steak lunch, we may have a new answer. Until then I continue to view myself as what I long ago surmised was a "pragmatic optimist". I want to believe there's a better way but until we find it, I'll do what I can to build up my muscles for the wrestling match around the corner.
By the way, Larry has chosen his lifestyle because of the corporate powers that control so much of the world's resources that their waste could feed third world countries. He's a good man with a big heart and an evolving definition of what can go on his plate.
One of my favorite choices is portabello . . . juicy, meaty tasting, and no guilt . . . the kind of food that makes you feel exotic even if all you do is put a slice of cheese on it and call it a burger. Not unlike this new life I've chosen, heh?
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Waiting for the Shower in Lake Tahoe
While I wait for the shower (five of us in a condo with only one makes for some wait time), I thought I'd share some recent sights:
-1600 year old tree
-band billed as Celtic Rock was actually a Southern Rock band with a barefoot girl lead taking on "Born on the Bayou" and I don't think she was
-older couple dancing together to above music with grace and poise and I wanted to be her
-me dancing to above music and glad I was me
-Donner Summit
-Gold Rush town with exhibit of REAL gold
-Lake Tahoe at sunrise (yep, I said "rise")
-snow on the mountains
-more ways to eat without meat than I thought and some of them are quite tasty
-1600 year old tree
-band billed as Celtic Rock was actually a Southern Rock band with a barefoot girl lead taking on "Born on the Bayou" and I don't think she was
-older couple dancing together to above music with grace and poise and I wanted to be her
-me dancing to above music and glad I was me
-Donner Summit
-Gold Rush town with exhibit of REAL gold
-Lake Tahoe at sunrise (yep, I said "rise")
-snow on the mountains
-more ways to eat without meat than I thought and some of them are quite tasty
Friday, October 05, 2007
3 Rs . . . Ok, 3 1/2
Larry and I were chatting as we made our way along the seaside of Santa Cruz.
(For all you Texans and landlocked friends reading this we will now observe a moment of silence for the appropriate degree of envy to set in.)
I was telling him of how I had begun to view the experience of packing up my belongings, setting forth on this journey, and trying to settle into the processing and preparation I wanted to achieve in order to begin to map out the next phase of my days.
Together we came up with a series of words that seems like a worthwhile reflection tool set.
Romance -- Initially I was caught up in the romantic idea of writing, traveling, and volunteering. You know what I mean . . . the tendency to focus on the sights I would see and the people I would meet rather than the fact that I had to have a new tire for the car and 12 hour days of driving meant you just want a hot bath and a bed, not fodder for a inspirational post on a blog! (You are somewhat inspired, right?)
Reality -- You may love your lover for all he/she is worth but, fact is, he/she snores, smells like a bad pair of wet sneakers after exertion of any kind or any number of fill-in-the-blank reality checks. I have posted previously about the tension I feel with living the dream and facing the reality that other folks who I love dearly are realizing their own dreams without my being in the near vacinity. For someone as connected to family and friends as I am, that's not the easiest of ideas to digest. I'm enjoying my cake and eating it with delight, but I can't help but wonder what the cookie I can't quite get to tastes like either. Don't hear this as a complaint . . . it's simply reality.
Reliving/Reinterpreting -- I've often said, "It's all about the story." Larry takes it one step further and acknowledges that for him the biggest pleasure is the retelling and reinterpreting his life by the experience. He's not as moment-focused as I am. He relishes what he's going to get out of whatever is happening now so he can be an even better in the later.
As we played with the ideas, he offered up one more for all you philosophical types to enjoy. He spoke of consolation and desolation. As he experiences life, he feels consoled by his Creator in various moments where he's absolutely sure of the conneciton. But there are times, empty spaces he calls them, where God appears to be absent. In those times of desolation, Larry is convinced that God exists as well and he's trying to lean into those times and discover new truths about himself.
Hearing him, I crossed my fingers that my friend wasn't into the whole suffering movement that many spiritual pilgrims embrace. He assured me that he enjoyed pleasure too much to take up pain as a pasttime. But what he has found in a rather catholic train of thought, he said, is that he indeed is in a place to learn more about himself when he's almost convinced he's without comfort. A runner, he compared it to having to lean into the wind and take on the resistance in order to gain strength and excel.
Just thought I'd share . . . don't know what I'm going to do with this tidbit of conversation but definitely wanted to share.
(For all you Texans and landlocked friends reading this we will now observe a moment of silence for the appropriate degree of envy to set in.)
I was telling him of how I had begun to view the experience of packing up my belongings, setting forth on this journey, and trying to settle into the processing and preparation I wanted to achieve in order to begin to map out the next phase of my days.
Together we came up with a series of words that seems like a worthwhile reflection tool set.
Romance -- Initially I was caught up in the romantic idea of writing, traveling, and volunteering. You know what I mean . . . the tendency to focus on the sights I would see and the people I would meet rather than the fact that I had to have a new tire for the car and 12 hour days of driving meant you just want a hot bath and a bed, not fodder for a inspirational post on a blog! (You are somewhat inspired, right?)
Reality -- You may love your lover for all he/she is worth but, fact is, he/she snores, smells like a bad pair of wet sneakers after exertion of any kind or any number of fill-in-the-blank reality checks. I have posted previously about the tension I feel with living the dream and facing the reality that other folks who I love dearly are realizing their own dreams without my being in the near vacinity. For someone as connected to family and friends as I am, that's not the easiest of ideas to digest. I'm enjoying my cake and eating it with delight, but I can't help but wonder what the cookie I can't quite get to tastes like either. Don't hear this as a complaint . . . it's simply reality.
Reliving/Reinterpreting -- I've often said, "It's all about the story." Larry takes it one step further and acknowledges that for him the biggest pleasure is the retelling and reinterpreting his life by the experience. He's not as moment-focused as I am. He relishes what he's going to get out of whatever is happening now so he can be an even better in the later.
As we played with the ideas, he offered up one more for all you philosophical types to enjoy. He spoke of consolation and desolation. As he experiences life, he feels consoled by his Creator in various moments where he's absolutely sure of the conneciton. But there are times, empty spaces he calls them, where God appears to be absent. In those times of desolation, Larry is convinced that God exists as well and he's trying to lean into those times and discover new truths about himself.
Hearing him, I crossed my fingers that my friend wasn't into the whole suffering movement that many spiritual pilgrims embrace. He assured me that he enjoyed pleasure too much to take up pain as a pasttime. But what he has found in a rather catholic train of thought, he said, is that he indeed is in a place to learn more about himself when he's almost convinced he's without comfort. A runner, he compared it to having to lean into the wind and take on the resistance in order to gain strength and excel.
Just thought I'd share . . . don't know what I'm going to do with this tidbit of conversation but definitely wanted to share.
I'm NOT on Vacation But . . .
Several folks I've chatted with of late have referenced my new "normal" as a vacation.
No. Nada. Nunca. X-na on the acation-va.
I'm in a new place in my life and a new kind of life. Every day is a celebration of what might be. Every day holds opportunities for relaxation, pleasure, learning, and making the space I take up more worthwhile because I've done something good with the time I've been given.
But I can't view it as a vacation because that particular word denotes that I'm taking time away from something to which I will return.
That's not going to happen.
So, yes, I'm on a break from the 9 to 5 world. But I may never return to it. I'd love to find a way to write, be creative, train and do all the things I enjoy doing while simultaneously fulfilling other folks' expectations enough to actually get paid for it. You've now heard my current dream. If I don't pull that off, then current plan #2 is to find something that will pay the bills and also allow me to pursue passions like writing and volunteering. We shall see.
I mention the v-word because while I am not on one, Stan, my traveling companion was. He left on Wednesday night and we spent Tuesday and the time until we left him to his own devices to get on the peanut-laden Southwest flight home traversing the city with the help of two most excellent tour guides.
World, meet Richard and Larry! Richard and Robin will host me the last week I'm in California. Larry has made provisions for me to stay among the Redwoods in a very comfortable room on the campgrounds where he works. Robin wasn't in town but Richard, with his vast knowledge of San Francisco architecture, real estate, history, food, wine and well . . . just about everything . . . served our cause of getting Stan a good sense that he'd "seen" the city. Of course, with the top down on the Beetle you can see plenty!
Richard was gracious beyond belief in that we stuffed his probably close to 6 ft frame in and out of that car with little room to spare and not once did he complain. Instead, he just added another story of travels on the road and challenges as well as delights he'd experienced there.
Larry sent us on our way the first day in because he had to work but told us how to get to the DeYoung museum and oh, oh, aren't we glad!?! Loved the view from the tower that is just another way San Francisco can "na na na boo boo" the rest of the country with its grandeur. Also loved that a towering docent (truly tall beefy guy) felt the need to offer us his own account of one particular fashion exhibit. When he left us, i asked Stan, "Now why do you suppose we, of all the people in this room, merited that little extra?" Stan offered, "Well he glanced at me and studied you, so I'm thinking he's leaning your way."
I do so love men talk with the men!!! I thought my breasts were being appreciated but Stan confirmed it. Ahhhh . . . not everyone here is saluting the Castro flag, now are they?
We did a lot of twisting and turning and topping of hills. We also took in some great art including murals painted on the walls of the Mission District, particularly along Balmy Alley. Stan thrilled me when he proclaimed the last several days to be the most fun he'd had in years.
Yes! Yes! Yes! I wanted to reward him wih a great time. He rewarded me with his delight. We all come out winners.
Unfortunately, he missed the biggie as far as I was concerned. When we dropped him off we came back by the AIDS memorial and then made one more stop at the remembrance of the Holocaust. As I approached the cut out on the hillside that allowed for the statues the first thing I noted was a white "wire" fence (think plaster when I say white) and a man's back. The statue was to appear to be facing out, perhaps even looking at the incredible view from his vantage point. As I came closer, the intake of breath happened almost before I truly comprehended what I was seeing. Behind the man lay numerous bodies on the concrete floor. All plaster white -- big, small, men, women, clothed and not. Stark. Just close enough to real to serve as the harsh reminder of man's inhumanity to man I'm sure it was created to be.
God, help us. Hate doesn't go away just because we create memorials.
So . . . no, I'm not on vacation. I want to see and write and wonder and maybe, just maybe, figure out my role in working away at that hate . . . one thought at a time.
God, help us indeed.
No. Nada. Nunca. X-na on the acation-va.
I'm in a new place in my life and a new kind of life. Every day is a celebration of what might be. Every day holds opportunities for relaxation, pleasure, learning, and making the space I take up more worthwhile because I've done something good with the time I've been given.
But I can't view it as a vacation because that particular word denotes that I'm taking time away from something to which I will return.
That's not going to happen.
So, yes, I'm on a break from the 9 to 5 world. But I may never return to it. I'd love to find a way to write, be creative, train and do all the things I enjoy doing while simultaneously fulfilling other folks' expectations enough to actually get paid for it. You've now heard my current dream. If I don't pull that off, then current plan #2 is to find something that will pay the bills and also allow me to pursue passions like writing and volunteering. We shall see.
I mention the v-word because while I am not on one, Stan, my traveling companion was. He left on Wednesday night and we spent Tuesday and the time until we left him to his own devices to get on the peanut-laden Southwest flight home traversing the city with the help of two most excellent tour guides.
World, meet Richard and Larry! Richard and Robin will host me the last week I'm in California. Larry has made provisions for me to stay among the Redwoods in a very comfortable room on the campgrounds where he works. Robin wasn't in town but Richard, with his vast knowledge of San Francisco architecture, real estate, history, food, wine and well . . . just about everything . . . served our cause of getting Stan a good sense that he'd "seen" the city. Of course, with the top down on the Beetle you can see plenty!
Richard was gracious beyond belief in that we stuffed his probably close to 6 ft frame in and out of that car with little room to spare and not once did he complain. Instead, he just added another story of travels on the road and challenges as well as delights he'd experienced there.
Larry sent us on our way the first day in because he had to work but told us how to get to the DeYoung museum and oh, oh, aren't we glad!?! Loved the view from the tower that is just another way San Francisco can "na na na boo boo" the rest of the country with its grandeur. Also loved that a towering docent (truly tall beefy guy) felt the need to offer us his own account of one particular fashion exhibit. When he left us, i asked Stan, "Now why do you suppose we, of all the people in this room, merited that little extra?" Stan offered, "Well he glanced at me and studied you, so I'm thinking he's leaning your way."
I do so love men talk with the men!!! I thought my breasts were being appreciated but Stan confirmed it. Ahhhh . . . not everyone here is saluting the Castro flag, now are they?
We did a lot of twisting and turning and topping of hills. We also took in some great art including murals painted on the walls of the Mission District, particularly along Balmy Alley. Stan thrilled me when he proclaimed the last several days to be the most fun he'd had in years.
Yes! Yes! Yes! I wanted to reward him wih a great time. He rewarded me with his delight. We all come out winners.
Unfortunately, he missed the biggie as far as I was concerned. When we dropped him off we came back by the AIDS memorial and then made one more stop at the remembrance of the Holocaust. As I approached the cut out on the hillside that allowed for the statues the first thing I noted was a white "wire" fence (think plaster when I say white) and a man's back. The statue was to appear to be facing out, perhaps even looking at the incredible view from his vantage point. As I came closer, the intake of breath happened almost before I truly comprehended what I was seeing. Behind the man lay numerous bodies on the concrete floor. All plaster white -- big, small, men, women, clothed and not. Stark. Just close enough to real to serve as the harsh reminder of man's inhumanity to man I'm sure it was created to be.
God, help us. Hate doesn't go away just because we create memorials.
So . . . no, I'm not on vacation. I want to see and write and wonder and maybe, just maybe, figure out my role in working away at that hate . . . one thought at a time.
God, help us indeed.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
2,377 Miles Later, We're HERE!!!
Got in at midnight. Just before we arrived at camp in the dark of night along some of the curviest roads you can imagine, I had commented on the fact that while I was more comfortable driving at night than Stan, I still was having difficulty with the halo affect my contacts created with the reflectors. Then we had to go through a plethora of the darn things because of a construction project (underway at 11 p.m.!). After that a fog set in. Then two deer decided it was playtime in the middle of the path to the camp. I'm describing the last 30 MINUTES of a four-day trip!
You can call my life any number of things but you can't call it boring!
You can call my life any number of things but you can't call it boring!
California Road Trip – Day 4, Less Sightings and More Musings
This post will be less about what I’m seeing and more about what I’m feeling. Two reasons for this turn of the blog . . . today we’re driving through the desert and after a while there’s not much more you can say except, “Yep, that’s a desert.” And, I’ve finally begun to slow down enough in the trip mode to get beyond finding radio stations to listen to, learning new things about Stan, and grasping that Dorothy and Toto aren’t in Kansas anymore to actually embrace the silence and think.
Plus I’m an extrovert who doesn’t really believe a thing has happened until I’ve had a chance to debrief with someone else. Tag, dear readers, you’re It in my “someone else” department these days. Feel free to comment or, for you shy introverted types, email me directly!
Here’s the compilation of hmmm’s I’ve come up with to date. Feel free to chime in on any point. And, just so you who don’t know me can get to know me better, this invitation is not an open door to “fixin’ me.” I just delight in perspectives!
• Being a free spirit isn’t free. The act comes with a cost ... including being intentional about connecting with old friends who were always there when I needed them but not an everyday phone call, newer friends who I was just developing patterns with, and brand new friends who don’t know me well enough to know I have patterns, rituals, and the like that keep me going. I find that I’m struggling with being present in the moment and wanting to share the significant moments in the lives of those for whom I care deeply.
• Hello, my name is Karen and I’m a news junky. (I’ll pause here and wait for your “Hello Karen” support group reply.) . . . Three days without an update on what’s happening in the world and I need a fix. Of course when I asked someone to feed my habit yesterday by reading me the headlines, the best he came up with was that the Houston Chronicle was marking the 50th year since Sputnik. Seems I was jonesing on a slow news day.
• Kinda related to my first one . . . I’m experiencing the tension of wanting to live in the moment and delighting when that moment includes planning for future moments. Here and now versus then and there is taking up some of my conversational time these days. Good news is that I’m not forfeiting much of the now in these future-based planning sessions given that “now” includes a lot of travel time and down time in just off the highway hotels. But I can’t help thinking about what’s next with so many areas of my life. I want desperately to maintain a healthy balance of enjoying what is while anticipating what will be.
• Cheesey Alert: Since we were heading to (and now in) California, Stan and I launched our journey with a bit of the Beach Boys. (Told you it was cheesey. Now comes the serious part.) He told me that he had read that Brian Wilson never completely enjoyed his success with the band because every time the Beach Boys would have a number one hit in a few weeks the Beatles would top them. As we now know, Brian suffered from several sad plights and one of them was depression. We got to talking about the fact that no matter how good a communicator someone is a “glass-is-half-full person” cannot describe the glass well enough or in enough detail to ever help the “glass is half empty person” see it. In other words, no one can make anyone BE happy. Here’s a case when knowing I’m helpless actually helps me be of more help. I spend less time these days trying to change someone’s mind and more time accepting them as they are.
• Someone who has only recently gotten to know me is embracing the fact that I’m not all that judgmental. When he commented on it, he celebrated me so I further added that I didn’t think it was my job to judge. He asked, “So if it’s not yours, whose is it?” I kinda liked my reply, “Whoever you give that power to. Could be yourself, your mother, your lover, your spouse, your friend, or whoever you deem your Creator to be. But the one thing I know is that it’s not me.”
Well, that’s about all for today. Can’t wait to see if any of you have further thoughts on these or other subjects you’re willing to share!
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