Here's A Thought

The downfall of being told you are able to be anything you want to be is the fact that you cannot be someone who you are not. I am learning acceptance the hard way in a world where freedom and opportunity have been pried open by feminists and activists before me. Where the future was full of so much possibility, but not a lot of proven track records. I have only what I have been given, and what I have made with that. May we all strive to understand each other on those terms before anything gets ugly. Dontcha.

Two Cities

If it is indeed better when you are moving, and I am always asking myself if it is, then constantly moving back and forth between two cities should be great. And it is, mostly. There are good things and bad things. Good, like getting to shop in Chicago and then relax at home in Milwaukee. Or good, like working my tuckus off all week and then enjoying time with the main squeeze on the weekend. But it is bad, like not being able to stock a fridge anywhere properly. Bad, like Sunday evening traffic and lots of time in the car or on the train. I should be really good at packing by now though. Or really good at buying two of everything... but I haven't aced either of those yet.
When in Chicago I miss Milwaukee all week. When in Milwaukee, I miss the opportunities to actually enjoy Chicago. The first time I lived there I worked so much that I never felt at home. The same thing is happening now. I work there. I home in Milwaukee. Eh. It is what it is.
Time to put things in the car and drive back to the Second City.

Do Over

By now you've all probably stopped reading. I stopped posting, so I wouldn't be surprised. I have to tell you that I moved back to Chicago this week. On Monday. I live here during the week and I work at the place that I stopped working at when I decided I needed to see the world. They called me and asked me to come back. They asked very nicely and I thought, since I'm in the habit of giving people second chances, "why not"?

The thing is, I'm pretty sure I just re-lived my 20's in the space of 15 months (most of the action happening in the last three). I left home, traveled the world, came back home, waited tables, got a career-type job and moved to Chicago. Somewhere in there I rediscovered a love I thought I'd lost. Same love that loved me when I got the same job and left Milwaukee the first time. Now, I'm thinking to myself, usually when people get a chance to start over, they usually do something completely different. Not exactly the same thing they did the first time. There is also this concept that the definition of being crazy is doing the same thing again and again but expecting different results. Smoke on your pipe and put that in. So here's the thing: I expect that I will gain satisfaction from my job, that my love will love me and not leave me, and that somehow I'm still going to be able to design furniture. I'm pretty confident that all of these things are not only possible, but are actually going to happen. No seriously, it's weird. I feel good.

 Of course, there is also the idea of the "Do Over". When you are playing the game with all of your heart but you just do it wrong, try to fix it, do it wrong again, your pals are getting annoyed and then somebody yells "DO OVER!". Nobody's mad (except the one guy who really got it right this time) because everyone involved recognizes that the game just can't be recovered from there and mostly everyone would've liked to do a little better. There's laughter and the game resets and you start over. One more time, from the top. This time with feeling. Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch... again. And that connects with... walk, walk, walk.

So have I just gotten a full life do-over? Ha HA. That's pretty funny. But it's cool. I'm game. I'll check it out and see what I can do better this time. I'm not doing anything else. But that is what I always say. So maybe this time I AM doing THIS. Eh? Maybe that's the difference. Maybe this time I can make a commitment and commitments can be made to me. This time I will take the time to get it right. Now I will understand that others are trying to do right by me and I will give them the time to do that. Perhaps I will stop running away. I was so relieved to be able to run. I've been wanting to do that since February 9th, 1998. Everyone told me "Don't run. Stay here and deal with this." But I was running all the time anyway even if I didn't go anywhere.

I think I got it out of my system. I think I am ready to be good and work hard and try hard and dedicate myself to things. I am looking at larger goals than just where I can get to quickly (as long as it is not here, dontcha). How's that for a first round of world travel processing?

God, I hope I get it.

Moving In Different Ways

I made it all the way back to Milwaukee after having started out right here. I started out here in 2006, really. I left this place to make a better life for myself, to achieve greater career goals. I didn't think I would be back here ever again. And now I have a home here. Not an apartment. Not another temporary place to store my things and collect dust bunnies under the bed.

I wasn't sure I would make it back here when I set out on the first airplane to London. I had fears inside of me that one of the planes on my journey would be the one that doesn't make it off of or back onto the runway properly. I prayed every time up and every time down. With all of those ups and downs the same spot on the planet came back to rest under my feet. I didn't come back the way that I went, just kept going all the way around the world. I didn't come back the same person that went, but a slightly reconfigured and more confident one. I suspect it is called maturity. Worldly knowledge has been gained and the process of figuring out what to do with all this growth has begun.

I fear that I have stopped moving by returning here. Have I made such great strides forward to fall back to where I began? Or is it true that you have to make the journey to find out where you were was the best place to be? Either way, being back has filled me with mixed emotions and the tremendous task of doing what I said I was going to do. What I said I was going to do is acquire the skills I need to build furniture and to support my skill building with stable work in the service industry. And then eventually build the furniture and design the interiors full time and let the Directing of Happiness and Well-being be something more than making sure everyone on both sides of that delicious plate of food are happy. The goals are quite large but I think I remember reading somewhere that if you check in to see that in every day you are doing something to further your goal then you are on track.

So what did I do today? I spent a few hours working on designing a coffee table for the house. This is something that will be a collaboration between both members of this household and a test of future collaborations. Working out wood patterns and construction details along with personal desires and aesthetic preferences, communication styles and finding limits. And then I also baked a banana bread on the Presto Pizza Pizzazz. Because ultimately It Is Better When You Are Moving and therefore banana bread is better when it is baked on a moving disc. I have also proven that I really don't need anything in my kitchen besides a Pizzazz. This means that the sky is the limit. Or rather the pie pan is the limit. I will now commence attempting all baked dishes on the Pizzazz. Anything that fits in a 12" pie pan is fair game. Quiche is next, and after that... who knows.

For You, Ma

Packing

I have just a few more days left in India before I resume my journey around the world. I am a bit concerned that the amount of treasures I plan on bringing back to the states does not fit in my luggage. Gulp. I packed up a box of gifts to have shipped home and discovered that it will cost me 7,000 rupees (about 165 USD) to have it sent home. So.... now, this is a totally ridiculous sum of money in my estimation. I can't decide if I should try to cram everything into my suitcases and lug the heavy things the rest of the way home, risking airline weight limit violations, bag searches and spinal damage or if I should suck it up and spend the cash to mail the box and flit easily through the airports in the Middle East, Asia and San Francisco. Oh man oh man, I totally just want to put it on my credit card and ship the box but I am feeling super guilty about spending that kind of cash on sentimental trinkets when that sum is a third of a year of school for one of my new best pals here in India.GUILT.

Any suggestions? I mean, one doesn't go all the way around the world and not bring back some gifts for pals, and it is a tiny box only about 6kg, less than the weight limit for a carry-bag. Maybe I should go home and try repacking and see what happens.

Final Program

For the past few weeks the LIFT students have been dancing and drama-ing their hearts out every day from 7am until 10pm. Each day ends with a dramatic program in which one of 4 groups presents a major drama of their own design (plot and directing) as well as a welcome speech, a prayer song, some dialogues, a monologue and a commercial or two. After each performance there is about a half an hour of feedback where the other students, teachers and adult mentors give the kids critical feedback about plot, staging and overall performance and how that relates to leadership skills. They are amazingly talented and there is a lot to be said, both good and constructive after each day.

At this point, I don't know how many days we have been doing this, but everyone is exhausted. Tomorrow we leave for a summer camp road tour to Coimbatore, Ooty and one other place I can't remember the name of. This tour marks the beginning of the end of my time here. I have completed the major project I set out to do, which was collect portrait photos and profiles of all the students so that the Chicago LIFT team can create individual sponsorships for each child. This will be an amazing project when it is complete and I hope with all of my heart that we will be able to secure donors for each child. The sponsorship levels to take care of one grade schooler's needs for a full year of shelter, food, health care, transportation and school fees is $500, $1200 for a college student. Not so much when you think about it, yet it means the entire world to each of these kids. Literally, their entire world. I wish I could speak Tamil and fully understand how brilliant they are. I can tell just by watching, and the little bits of English conversation we have. But I think my mind would be blown to actually listen to all they have to say.

A few days ago, one of the college girls told me her life story in broken English. I knew that she had come from a family of five sisters and as the sixth girl in the family, her parents wanted to kill her instead of pay to bring her up and pay her dowry upon marriage. She narrowly escaped being murdered by the words of her grandmother who claimed the child looked like the Virgin Mary and prayed that she be spared. All of her life she was told she should have been killed whenever some chore was not satisfactorily completed or some other such dissatisfaction occurred. Her home village has no water, no well, no nothing but huts. Walking to the next village was the only way to get water and other supplies. This was also the only way to get anyone to a medical facility for health care. The sick, the elderly, the pregnant had to ride on bicycles or walk to the next village to get aid. So during grade school, this girl worked a part time job picking jasmine flowers for 30 rupees a day. She saved this money and used it to help poor people. Ok, so are you getting this? She is coming from the most destitute of destitution and yet still gave her money to buy shoes for babies and help others. Now she is studying to be an accountant and has great plans to help her native village get roads and a hospital and water. I almost cried when she told me the story, but I didn't want to let on that I know of a world so much different than hers. I only wanted to praise her and help her get there. Which I promise I will do. 

Not everything these kids say is so noble however. Here are a few priceless gems:

"Sarah, where you eyebrows?"
"Sarah, you have red spot on face. What is?"
"Sarah, this outfit not suit you"
"Sarah, why face so dull?"

Sigh....

Ok, Fine. We Can Talk About The Weather.

So it is hot here, as you may have heard. In the 100s every day, in the shade. Sometimes there is a breeze, but not often. Sweating profusely is normal. When I decided I would come to visit the LIFT kids during their summer camps, I was optimistic. I knew it would be hot, but really, how bad could it be? I'm a girl scout. I can handle anything. Except for this heat. By 9am I have to sit down. By 11am I am fighting to not pass out from the heat. Let's not even talk about 2pm. At the beginning of camp I started learning dances right along with the kids, my enthusiasm overriding my body's sincere requests that I stop moving or else risk severe pain. After two days of dancing and then collapsing in a heap for the rest of the day, I decided it would be better just to watch. How sad. I was truly sad, but then I had the wonderful sensation that I was not, in fact, dying and that smoothed things over. It is very frustrating to not be able to use your body. Walking, eating, everything feels like trying to do areobics in a sauna after getting out of an hour soak in a hot tub. Muscle fail. I feel terrible, too, because the kids are running around like crazy without feeling it at all, and I am the hippopotamus in the corner trying not to doze off. My next visit will be in December. This is just silly.

Dance, Dance, Revolution

Three weeks and counting... On the day that I wrote my last post, I had the opportunity to talk with my Chef A and also Laura from LIFT Chicago. They allowed me to vent my frustrations and offered perspective and understanding. Overall, that whole moment was a breakthrough for me here. Since then, I have lightened up a lot. Not only have I started working on some of the projects that I am supposed to do for the LIFT Chicago crew, but I have just let go of my own notions of myself and what anything means to me. Because it is not about me. It is about these children and some young adults who are benefiting from the family, structure and opportunity that LIFT is providing for them. They are so optimistic and positive.

So I decided to relax and just be here now, so to speak. There is nothing I can possibly DO for these children. They take care of themselves for the most part and they have a good structure here. What they need is stability and continuity so they can keep on keepin' on and graduate, get that good job and have a good life for themselves and their families. I will be better equipped to help them with that when I get back to Chicago and can work in my world to help them in theirs. In the mean time, I am just here to watch, listen and learn. And what I have realized just recently, is that I also have the greatest gift to be a child again for a little while.

Two or three nights ago, myself and the college boys were on the roof of the Sweet Home having our evening discussion. I had brought a few mangoes up with us to snack on and my camp lantern to see by. They had brought a straw mat to sit on and complete innocent optimism and joy. It was their idea to go to the roof and talk under the moonlight. As the moon rose in the sky they requested that I turn off the camp lantern so that we would just be under the moon. They taught me the proper way to eat a mango, after politely watching me make a mess of myself doing it the wrong way. And there we were, just gleefully sitting under the moon, sweating profusely with mangoes in our bellies chit chatting away about school and swimming and practical exams about welding and family members and there were some songs sung after many bashful attempts to get out of the requests. I was completely happy. Not a care in the world, just this moment! I am relishing this feeling, hoping to keep it going as long as I can. I will never forget this moment for all of my life.

Today we started the summer camps. We are headquartered at the Chittikollum parish church where all of the students spend all day learning cultural activities. The hours between 8am and 10pm are spent dancing and bonding with each other. The first few days will be learning folk dances, after that there will be traditional street theater sessions that will teach the kids about creativity, self expression, teamwork, organization and leadership. At the end of each day, a group of students will put on a program (what they call a performance) for the rest of the group. It is the group's choice of what elements they will bring to their program. I can't wait to see what they come up with. As for me, I spent the cool hours of the morning learning four new dance moves with the upper level girls. It was so much fun I could hardly stand it. As a student myself, I had extensive dance training through my school programs. From grade 4 through 12, I had dance class every day instead of gym. I choreographed many many dances in my time which culminated in a major dance piece performed during my senior year of high school. So naturally, this totally rocks my world to be dancing again. I am so happy that I have almost forgotten about how many mosquito bites I have and the fact that my toilet stopped working.

Right now, I am awaiting a ride back to the church to have dinner with the children and see the first evening program. I have reapplied a layer of DEET, refreshed my camera batteries and am ready to go.

The More I Learn, The Less I Know

So it has been two and a half weeks in India, in Palayamkottai near Tirunelveli, also known as the twin cities. The towns themselves are prolly about 500 or so years old, probably older actually but I don’t think anyone has really cared to count. Things are just moving along as they always have. Ancient history touches the present moment as people are living in the same houses their ancestors built in practically the same way their ancestors lived… probably amongst the descendents of the same cows, goats and chickens. I am staying in a place not quite so old, out in the suburbs, near the expressway that is still under construction. The expressway operates exactly like the roads, full of pedestrians, bicyclists, motorcyclists (three to four passengers on each), cows, goats, dogs, auto rickshaws, huge construction trucks full of heavy dangerous things, very tiny mini vans, jeeps and cars propelling themselves forward indiscriminately on any stretch of open pavement they can find, regardless of conventional lane usage or speed limit. Only on the expressway they are travelling much faster, at least the motorized vehicles are. The expressway is not finished either so at any given moment, without warning, you could apprehend a diversion, or someone else’s diversion, marked only by a pile of rocks and find yourself out of road or suddenly facing oncoming traffic, or both. Miraculously, people survive this on a daily basis. Dogs, however, are not so lucky.


A brief note on the weather: it is still hot and humid and generally miserable. All day, every day. I feel good for about five minutes after I bathe in the morning before I put on clothes. Then, the sticky gross feeling sets in and my feet return to their dirt caked state and I let go and let God for another day. Let us never speak of the weather again.

I am here to spend time with the students of the LIFT family. These kids come from destitute situations. Families of 12 will live in two rooms barely covered by a thatch roof with open sewers to be stepped over to enter the home. The rooms themselves are barely, maybe 5’ by 8’ and serve as the sleeping quarters, dining room, kitchen, storage room for large sacks of dried grains, and everything else you do in your home. There are often no doors to the homes at all and family members, relatives, and neighbors of all ages are constantly in and out of each. There is no plumbing, no running water. Chickens, dogs, and goats are in and out of the black slimy sewers (which are basically gutters running along the edges of the homes) looking for scraps of food. These same animals are then mingling about with the babies and the children and everyone else. Some of the children have slightly larger homes, with maybe three rooms for two parents and nine kids, some have smaller. One girl lives with five family members in a room about four feet wide and maybe nine feet deep on the second floor above her grandparents and uncle. This room also contains one bed, a refrigerator, a wardrobe and a makeshift kitchen and is accessible only by ladder. These children come to LIFT because they have shown great aptitude in their studies and want to continue going to school even though their families cannot support them to do so. The alternatives for them are to go to work or to do nothing and try to consume as little as possible. LIFT operates basically like a boarding school, although at this point the children go to a variety of different schools based on where they are accepted. There are too many children and not enough schools and teachers, and definitely not enough money for all of them. LIFT pays for school fees and tuitions as necessary. The children live in one of two boarding facilities, girls and boys separate, and are driven to school each day in the LIFT van which drops off and picks up everyone at their respective school at their respective time. They take all of their meals together and divide the chores of the houses amongst themselves. They are taken care of by a staff of cooks and caretakers who make sure everyone has what they need and on time. The kids range in age from 9 to 19 and require varying degrees of supervision. They are all very keen on studying and many of the students are top in their class. It is a brilliant crew of people and they have amazing senses of humor. I’ll have more individual stories soon.

We are all getting to know each other. I am not quite sure what I am doing here, how I should interact with them, what I can give them. We have a language barrier, but it seems to be getting smaller. I am picking up on several Tamil words and I have a knack for getting the big idea from pantomimes and tone of voice and I am quick enough, some of the time, to anticipate the questions based on observation. The kids are feeling more comfortable speaking English with me and there are a few spokes persons with more English experience who translate for the rest. Usually when we chat, a committee forms to discuss what I said. There will be much discussion, some argument, a general agreement and a response delivered by the spokesperson. Sometimes the response is simply a smile of contentment that they seem to all agree that they have understood what I said and other times, after several minutes of deliberation, I am asked to repeat my statement or question. Often times during these discussions the topic changes without my knowing it and I’ll get a question or response totally out of left field, or someone will insist that a song be sung. There is little to no getting out of a request to sing, so it is good to be prepared… or to really stick to your guns and be happy suffering the looks of disappointment you have inflicted upon everyone by not singing. Shame on you.

I still feel awkward and out of place. I am not sure what it is God wanted me to do here. I keep thinking that this one experience or that one moment is surely what I was supposed to witness or endure, but I have a feeling that it is not necessarily one isolated thing. I have so much respect for these kids. They are overcoming severe odds and doing amazing things with such kindness and optimism. They are struggling with so much pain and messed up lives and probably memories of unspeakable horrors, and yet they keep going. I am horrified and sickened by the conditions in which their families live, where they lived for so long and spend time visiting when not in school, and yet they are so proud to show me their homes and have me as their guest and I am truly honored. When I see their smiles and how excited they are that I have come to visit, and that they have purchased flowers for me and bottles of soda for me to drink (knowing that the water would prolly kill me), I practically die of guilt and am equally touched by their generosity and kindness and I have no idea what to do with the primal reactions of disgust at the situation and the desire to run screaming or throw up. It is exhausting and makes me want to cry and tell these sweet kids that I am so sorry that they have to live like this and then give them all my money, but I know that charity is hard to accept. I know it has to be structured and official so that those in need and those who can provide can come to a working agreement. It blows my mind. I had no idea what I was getting into.

I am writing this late at night at the Sweet Home (the name the college girls gave to the house where I stay) on the laptop I am borrowing. I will post it tomorrow sometime, hopefully, if I have some time to use the internet. Until then, goodnight and sweet dreams!

INDIA or I totally could have swam to the Maldives from there

So, okay. Here I am at the Southern tip of the great country of India. I am in a decent sized town called Tirunelveli in the state of Tamil Nadu. Here they speak Tamil and some English. I just found out today that the word for "flower" in Tamil is "pu". Dontcha. I went to see Kannyakumari, or the rock in the sea at the very tip of India where the three oceans meet. It was very similar to going to see the Statue of Liberty, but with more sunshine.

I have been here for two weeks now. Two weeks of sweating and eating and making a fool of myself as I bungle through learning an entirely new culture. It is entirely possible that I won't be able to write about this experience with any kind of clarity until I am home again and have some perspective. However, I will try to put some things together here. Please forgive me in advance for what will surely be an exercise in randomness and probably nonsense.

Things I don't need anymore:
1) Shoes
2) Silverware
3) Showers

Everywhere we wear slippers (or flip flops) and take them off when we enter homes, temples, churches etc. We eat with our hands, not an easy task for someone who mastered the knife and fork years ago. You'd think it would be easy, but it is not. And now, I bathe with a bucket of water and a mug. Rinse, soap, rinse, done. However, 103 degree temperature notwithstanding, it is still common knowlege that if you go out with a wet head, you are going to get a cold.

I am staying in a small house near the LIFT girls' boarding facility (also known as the Women's Hostel). The college girls have named the house Sweet House. I have a bed and a dressing room and an A/C unit that daily saves my life, although I have mixed feelings about it. I have a western toilet, thank goodness, because while it is one thing to learn how to eat with your hands... it's easy to watch and learn. I really don't want to have to ask for an explanation of how to hold my dress, drop my drawers, squat above a hole in the ground, do my business and then use a mug of water and my left hand to clean up without falling in or making a mess of myself. Not to mention I am dealing with a language barrier and it takes a committee to translate and respond. Sometimes the response is minutes later with a request to repeat the question. Right.

Being amongst several new cultures at once is both mind opening and mind closing. I am tackling India, Tamil, and community living. On the one hand I am seeing things that I never thought about before, broadening my experience and expanding my knowlege. On the other hand, I am prone, perhaps due to human nature, to believe that this is the only truth. My mind is tossing out useless information regarding much of my Western culture, and in the process is narrowing my mind to focus solely at what is in front of me. Everything I see is the new way and the new truth. I am discombobulated. There are moments of great clarity and many more moments of complete misunderstanding or being lost in a cloud of confusion. And it is hot. It is hard to think straight when your brain is melty.

I helped to make chapati this morning. Indian wheat pancakes, more like tortillas... but different. They were pretty good.

Ok, I know there are more important things, stories that could be narrated well, but I just wanted to get this randomness out of the way. I needed to start somewhere.

The Story of Confirmation Part III

Inside the church everything was hustle and bustle. We had to check in downstairs in the hall, get a candle and a program, our name tag (confirmation name in red) and a boutonniere. Before I could get there I had to find a seat for Liz and locate my sister, Jessica, and her boyfriend who had both come. I finally got downstairs and got my stuff and Ingedia was there. She had been able to make it after all. The situation with her brother's wedding got resolved and she was there for the ceremony. I was ready to do it on my own, knowing you'd be rooting for me from afar, but I am glad she could make it. I am glad I could include her in the night. I think she needed it more than I did. Although, I am learning that everyone's need for a spiritual presence in his or her life is no less important than another's. Everyone's time is of equal value. For all time, each life given to mark time, is a gift and the presence of God. Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.Matthew 25:45.

We made our way to our seats at the front of the church, Mary-side, fourth pew. The place was bright! So packed were all the stairs and ledges with Easter Lilies and daffodils and tulips and hyacinths that the whole hall was thick with their perfume. The urns to either side of St. Patrick were full of fine umber branches with papery organza blossoms fluttering around every stem. The baptismal font was full again and running. Such a change came over the church after the barren hollows of Good Friday. The stations of the cross were held in such a sombre place, the mood of which was desolate and empty despite being held within the same walls as this tumescent vivacity. So quietly and in earnest did we sit, stand and kneel with every station. It only took the shame of one missed genuflection to draw me into line with the rhythm of prayer. Our hearts broke with Pergolesi's Stabat Mater sung beautifully after every invocation of the crucial moments of Christ's journey. Only the cold hard corners of the hall were present for our petition, making the absence of our signs of God's life, of The Son, more poignant. Making the notes of the Dolorosa echo in our bones. And now! Here everything was full of life. Flowers were so numerous that you could not go forward without crushing a blossom, pews so full of sweet old friends, babies and all ages between that the aisles could barely handle the overflow.

I could not sit still. We had almost an hour to wait until the ceremony began and I rushed about locating all of the people from my table and the newest friends I had made at the Mundelein retreat. I squeezed them and shook hands way too long, and smiled until my face hurt. All the chatechumens were in burgundy robes and flip flops looking like ducks out of water and I immediately felt silly for thinking my costume awkward. Everyone was beautiful and nervous. Tricia and Emily, our table leaders, were beaming like proud parents ready to leak tears of joy at the slightest provocation. They were running the same track circles as I was, making sure everyone was ready and name-tagged and suited up. Renee was in the pew in front of me chatting away with her sponsor and looking radiant. A woman kept trying to give me a camera, which was not mine, and I kept refusing it and found out much later that it belonged to Liz and she was trying to lend it to me so I could take pictures. Ingedia had crumpled her candle into a weird new sculpture she thought for sure would not drip on her. The scene was near chaos when finally the lights were dimmed down to complete darkness and with it all of the voices and movement settled as much as it could, like a small girl whose ruffled dress tempts her to dance though she's been told to sit still.

To be continued...

M'kay

So here I am, totally procrastinating from packing. I'm making bread... salt and pepper rolls which are super delicious hot out of the oven with lots of butter. I'm blogging blogs... blah blah blah. I'm contemplating if I should have my legs waxed in Phuket, and then I think F**kit and giggle silently to myself. I'm listening to Dee Lite because my squeeze is not home and am drinking the leftovers of a terrible stout I purchased for the Craft Night Retreat. Oy vey, was that an adventure. So here I am staring down a formidable pile of antiseptic wipes, linen garments, adapters and cords and other odds and ends wondering why I am bringing anything at all. How on Earth will I know what I need and what I don't? Sure, sure, sure I could have read travel blog after travel blog and researched all the ins and outs of DEET usage, but I sure didn't. Kinda like how I hate to read movie reviews before going... I like the surprise. I'm so going to get stuck in quicksand or a mud pit and no amount of tampons are going to save me.

My major prollem right now is figuring out what vessel I want to tote my totables in. I have a nifty new suitcase sized just large enough to check my mobile pharmacy, but I am at a loss for the appropriate carry-on. I have pondered duffels and satchels of every ilk and have found nothing that screams PERFECT for under 250 bones. My actual budget is 49.95. If I had an inside track on some gold bullion, I might have a little better luck. Now, I'm not saying the Army Navy Surplus doesn't have some viable bags priced around 20 bucks, but they just aren't working for me right now. I need something with a shoulder strap and handles. I need it to be rugged but not fugly and be easy to cram in every overhead I encounter and keep my gadgets safe. I also don't want to look like a dumb American tourist. Sorry fellow Americans, but a few of you with zip off short/pants and backpacks have created a stereotypical target for the rest of the world to harass. For my own safety, I would like to blend. In that case, I am considering just using my giant leopard print tote and calling it a day. I'm a girls scout. I still don't pack more than I can carry, so who cares what it looks like? 

Honestly, right now I feel like one of those special goats that falls asleep when it gets frightened. Zzzzzz. Or I feel distracted and then things get deep. I try to line up the last 10 years of my life in order according to apartments and love interests and then I get maudlin and Zzzzzz. But really I should just be packing, no?

M'kay, then.

The Story of Confirmation Part II

I woke up from my nap restless. Allowing my emotions to unfurl around me had relieved most of my anxiety and now I was ready to get going. I had decided to stop worrying about myself and get back to the real reason I started this process. At this point in the RCIA class all of the focus had been on the candidates, getting them ready for the big day. It was starting to sound like the whole reason for Easter Vigil was for us, for ME. And so I focused along with everyone, but I started to feel uncomfortable with this notion. The real impetus for my confirmation in the Catholic church is because of an undeniable feeling, maybe a knowledge, that God exists, my life and my love are gifts from God to share with others, and that God has asked me to give up everything for Him. Now, this last one still freaks me out, and I am not at all sure what it means, or if I need to honor it actively, but Catholicism is the first framework I've found to help me start to understand what it could be all about.

After a shower I sat down to the task of writing thank you notes to everyone at my RCIA table. I had purchased some blank butter-colored stationary cards a few weeks ago and I embellished each on with a gold cross with little yellow hatch marks implying a glow. Each card was addressed to an individual and I thanked him or her for being a part of the process with me, remarked on how an aspect of what he or she shared at the table over all those months inspired me, and blessed each on the beginning of a greater journey as a beloved child of God. It was time to start giving and sharing this kindness. I have been known to describe it as a Giant Ball of God's Love, imagining in my mind something akin to the sun being distributed via firehose that has been let go of. Catholicism, to me, is the method by which I can learn to hold onto the hose, get to know my gift, and find the best ways to use it wisely. BEAM BEAM BEAM!

My friend Liz came to the ceremony. She offered to drive me to the church so I didn't have to worry about parking, traffic, etc. and I could relax. It was incredibly sweet of her. I proceeded to go through about fifteen different white-ish outfits before I decided I needed to go shopping. I went to five different places, totally unsatisfied (there don't seem to be confirmation outfit retailers anywhere...) and decided on white jeans from American Apparel. OMG. About two hours later I emerged in a white skirt and sweater, black belt, shoes, tights and glasses with my hair twisted up into a poof on the top of my head. I may as well have been wearing a bunny suit for how comfortable I felt. I checked my phone to see if Renee had called with an outfit solution, and she had indeed left a message telling me I am a beloved child of God and that it didn't matter what I was wearing and that she had gone shopping too, and her dress was too tight, she couldn't breathe. Ok, good, we were in the same boat. Now the only thing left to do was pack up my cards and wait for Liz to get there. Of course her intentions were to ease my mind, and ultimately she did, but she got to my house two minutes before I was due at the church for early check in so relaxing was still not an option. Bless her soul, we got there safely, found parking right away and whisked through the gale-force freezing wind up the stairs of Old St. Pat's into the buzz of a most exciting event.

To Be Continued...

The Story of Confirmation Part I

So I wrote this last year to describe what the experience of becoming Catholic was like. I'd like to share it with you all now as we approach Easter. Thanks for reading. Love. Hugs.

I woke up on Saturday morning with a head full of anxiety and cold feet. What did I think I was doing? There was no way I was going to wear all white, get up on stage wearing all white, face the entire congregation in my white outfit and nerd glasses and my true intentions laid bare, get oil smeared on my white forehead and say "I do" to a man I have never met and a God I can not see. Right. I called Renee immediately and got voice-mail, left a message "This is insane ridiculousness and I have cold feet. What are you going to wear? Call me". I proceeded to search the webbernets for a sign of life and fortunately while I was there Judy B. was online. She has been a great friend these past months. She helped me lighten up at the beginning of Lent and has been a sport about my Catholic questions. So she dialed me up and I told her a bit about my predicament. She thought it sounded natural and gave me a good pep talk.

A few technical difficulties resolved and some breakfast made and we were chatting away. I won't elaborate on the conversation except to say that it really helped me get centered and take an objective look at my impending confirmation. It was the exact opposite of what came next.

I was already exhausted from the stress of the morning so I crawled into bed. And I sobbed. So many emotions were crowding me that I couldn't keep them in. I had done so much work to get to this day. So much opening of my brain and heart, so much having faith and praying, so much anguish and frustration and attempts at forgiveness. I spent hours and hours, months at a table with newlyweds with newborns and soon-to-be-weds with starry eyes watching them grow closer together and more in love. I listened to viewpoints and perspectives from Chicago's priests and bishop and all sorts of other people who live their lives as Catholics. I took copious notes and read my bible, um, religiously. I dove into Lent with such earnestness that I actually gave up hope, because it was the only thing that gave me great comfort, so I thought that was what I was supposed to do without. After Judy B. set me straight, I gave up cheeseburgers instead. Better to be skinny than hopeless. All of this and still to come was Reconciliation. I knew what I had to say, and I have never been more scared in my life. I clutched the paper with your penitential prayer until it was crumply and soft. And I broke myself open with tears that would not stop and reached into my heart for the the thing I had to turn over to God. It was like extracting a shard of glass that had been wedged in there for years and I gave it to Father Jack Wall because he seemed old enough and wise enough to hold it for me. All of this was coming back to me with such vehemence and yet I felt profoundly empty. And so I slept, gratuitously, in the middle of a Saturday still in my pajamas. 

To Be Continued...

Blank stare, dead air

So yesterday I had a moment of hesitation about getting the second part of my gap year moving. Not unlike the time I picked the shotgun back up and aimed with all my conviction at the clay pigeon hooked on a nail in the tree twenty paces in front of me after the firearm had kicked back into my shoulder so hard that I went into hysterics, I met my fears head on and through paroxysms of frustration and anger I coaxed the webbernets to produce confirmation numbers for a series of international flights. Not without some customer service interaction and a lot of mixed emotions.

Now here's the kicker: this is not normal. One does not just quit one's job...

Bank Teller: "Do you have a direct deposit on this account?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So is Skidmore Owings and Merrill LLP still your employer?"
Me: "No."
Bank Teller: "So you have no income on this account."
Me: "Correct"
Bank Teller: "So you are a student."
Me: "Of sorts"
Bank Teller: Blank stare
Me: Polite smile

At this time I am thinking, seriously, with the economy the way it is, is it still impolite to assume someone is unemployed? I guess it is. After this she tries to see if I will be keeping a certain balance on my account so she can upgrade me to a different plan. I tell her no, I will not be keeping this balance, and keep the part about how I'm going to spend all of it today on plane tickets to myself. Finally I can't take the puzzled looks and little grunts of the cut off beginnings of questions so I tell  her I am volunteering in Southern India and won't be working, receiving income or using my bank card for about three months.

One does not find time in her busy life...

Bank Teller: "Oh wow, I would love to go help volunteer for womens' rights in Cambodia. I want to help stop human trafficking, wow, I wish I could find the time... I'm married and have children, you know, so I'll never be able to, but I really wish I could"
Me: "That is wonderful, I hope that the opportunity comes into your life."

She proceeded to waive the service fee on my account for 4 months until I get back into the states, which was a really nice thing for her to do. I was glad that I finally told her what I was up to even though I would prefer if strangers don't inquire into my personal life.  Next I had to deal with the fallout from updating my billing address (which is what prompted the exchange above). This involved calling Expedia, to inquire why if my bank's information matched my input information what the hold up is, where...

One does not book flights without a return date...

Expedia Customer Service Agent: "We are very sorry for the inconvenience, let's see if we can go ahead and have this flight booked for you, what is the itinerary number?"
I give her the number.
ECSA: "I see and we are not showing any dates for your return on this itinerary, when will you be returning?"
Me: "I do not currently have the return flight scheduled"
ECSA: "You don't have a return flight?"
Me: "Not at this time."
ECSA: "Um, ok, Well we would like to go ahead and make a booking for your return while I have you on the phone"
Me: "Thank you, but I do not have a return date as of yet."

ECSA: "But..." Dead air.

Now I could hear the questions going through this nice woman's head through all that silence so I just proceeded to tell her that my travel plans were not yet confirmed and that I would not be booking return flights today. I'm not really returning anyway. I am just going to keep going forward until I have circled the globe and arrived in my original location. I am traveling East which means that my original location will actually be trying to catch up with me. She tried two more times to get me to book more flights but I just politely kept saying no. Besides ...

One does not spend all of their money at once...

While I am freaking out about having mistakenly shipped some very expensive electronics to the wrong address (Amazon, you make it a little TOO easy), I get a phone call from the Visa early detection program wanting to confirm some purchases that appear on my credit card. Yes, yes they are all my purchases. Apparently only criminals book international flights the same day they buy ipods. Now, I am happy that Visa is looking out for my best interests, but they called at the exact moment I was trying to dial up Amazon to change the shipping address so I didn't have to sit on the front porch of my old rental apartment in Riverwest all day waiting for a package. Fortunately the lady at Amazon was extremely helpful and changed the address before any items had been shipped. SIGH of relief. I do, however, anticipate some more customer service interactions and failed purchases as I try to book some more international flights in the next 48 hours. Lord have mercy.

So if you had the patience to get to the end of this post, you may have realized that I have booked my tickets to India and procured a music playing google machine for the road. This means I am actually going. Can you believe it? Yah, me neither.

Trigger Sad

Can someone tell me why it is so hard to buy these plane tickets? Why can I not press "purchase"? Is it the money? Is it the looming reality of actually going to the opposite side of the world now that I am terrified of it and not flying on a wicked detachment high? What if it hurts? What if something happens? What if I don't make it home? What if I don't want to come home at all? Are my feet cold? Am I chicken?

Oh come off it. Just shut up and start booking some tickets. Stop yer whining.

Rosemary Rolls

A small breakfast of two hard boiled eggs, quartered and sprinkled with salt and black pepper, apple slices and a buttered rosemary roll fresh from the oven sits deliciously in my tummy right now. Gatsby is yelling "ham!" at the top of his little kitty lungs, but alas I do not have any for him. I've created a monster by treating the ancient beast to tid bits from every people food snack I make. He got a brushing this morning with gardenia scented lotion on his brush so I suppose I could give him some ham for enduring such torture. I am sure there will be plenty of people snacks for him later as my Chef prepares tonight's repast. We spent the morning sprucing up the house (and the cats) in anticipation of a houseful of guests for a dinner party.

I am looking forward to the event because it will be delicious, a good mix of friends and family and most importantly because it will really make our home feel good. I think, from my experiences, that a house is not a home until you have entertained guests. Now I know that this particular house has hosted many a guest over many years, but never has it been home to our friends mixed together hosted by a concept called "us" in a space called "ours". This has made for some interesting negotiations and experimentation with wording, space and acceptance. I have made rosemary rolls since baking bread is one thing he doesn't do. I'm in charge of aesthetics even though we've butted heads on couch placement, dinning table angle, buffet location and glassware. Sigh... when two homebodies with strong personalities and a penchant for stubbornness try to arrange furniture there are bound to be a few minor conflicts. I'm not keeping score, ahem, but I think I am up one on interiors. I'm sure I'll get overthrown on something else before the day is out, however.

Ok, Chef A just arrived with the loot and it is time to start setting the table and laying out the glassware. Toodles.

Work work work work work

I have been working too much. Somehow, someway I got myself into a position that should for all intents and purposes be called The Director Of Happiness and Well-being... or the Host at Comet. Who on earth knew that there could be a position that combined problem solving puzzles, people, food and running around like a crazy woman? Well I'll tell you who knew, it was Captain in Charge of the Front of the House. And I'll tell you who said "I want that job!" It was me. ME. I also have the distinct quality of not being able to say no to anyone who calls  me asking for a shift to be covered. So needless to say I've been working non-stop. Now back to the host job. While it is killer on the knees and emotionally draining, there is nothing more satisfying than being able to arrange so some 400 people can drink bloody marys and eat fantastic diner food breakfast in a timely manner over a seven or eight hour period of time. My goal is to maximize the net sales for Comet by making everyone who walks in the door super happy. Therefore the employees are happy and well paid and the business can keep supporting health insurance for the employees and the customers can keep coming in for things with bacon in them. I think it is a win win situation. And now I would like to soak in a hot tub and drink another tasty adult beverage. Uff.

However, I need to take a break. I am woefully behind on the things I need to be doing for other people I have made commitments to. Namely myself and the LIFT organization. Also I am working on an architecture project for Comet that needs to be wrapped up and I am trying to get marginally settled into the apartment in Chicago. And then there is the Secret Supper Club and then the Beer Dinner and so on and so forth. Pretty much life could continue to be excessively wonderful and full of good food, friends and family for the rest of my life but I really need to get a few things done. So I need to take a mini break this week and catch up on a few things. I will start by folding the laundry. And making an appointment to meet with the director of LIFT tomorrow afternoon.

Lent

Last year at this time I was preparing to become Catholic. I had been in the RCIA program since October and was gearing up for a serious month of preparation for the sacraments. It was a private endeavor for me. Only a very, very few people knew I was going through this process and absolutely no one from my family. I decided to give up cheeseburgers for Lent last year because I was a novice, and because cheeseburgers hold a specific spiritual meaning for me. We can talk about that again some other time.

This year at this time I am not surrounded by the community of friends struggling with the desire to practice the Catholic faith, nor the well organized and welcoming congregation of Old St. Pat's in Chicago. I am on my own in a community of atheists, dearly loved friends, but nonetheless not too impressed by organized religion. I have attended holiday masses at the Basilica of St. Josephat and found not a soul to welcome me or note how I look lost and might have some questions. At OSP I wouldn't have wandered for more than two minutes before someone welcomed me and asked me if I knew so-and-so and then, since of course I didn't, proceeded to introduce me. Thank goodness I have one Catholic friend here who I can speak openly about it with. Thank you!

So this year I have decided that I will do a little more for the Lenten effort. I think it will be very beneficial for me and for others if I eliminate procrastination from my regular routine. I have been taking comfort in the security of my situation, allowing myself to relax and not worry too much as I surely will have time to get to this or that. I feel it would be appropriate to stop wasting time. So I am giving up putting things off. Which is nice because my first choice was coffee, and that isn't really practical, now is it? Secondly, I am looking for a volunteer opportunity here in Milwaukee. I would like to include almsgivng in my Lent practice this year. Last year I kept my pockets full of loose change and doled out handfuls to anyone who asked on the street. That was also Chicago and easy to do. Here I never walk or ride the train so I am insulated from the begging world by my car. So I will have to seek out the homeless who need beer money. As for the prayer part of it. If that means holding an inner dialogue with God, then I do that all the time anyway. But perhaps I can find some more sacred moments or make a little more space to meditate this year.

Dear Agt. Triple L

Ok, ok... I understand now. I understand what it is like to go back to your home and all of your old friends and all the things you know like the back of your hand. It is so easy to become the old person, to slip back into the old habits and the easy easy way you used to do it. There was a point at which I started to panic, thinking that my newly grown self was going to go away. And while I hope that it really hasn't, that if I put my mind to it I can pick back up where I left off with the Spanish and the new city exploring, that new self has gone. Much of the work I did in Chicago to get myself on a regular schedule has also subsided. I no longer work out. I no longer eat properly if I eat at all. I drink too much beer and I have stopped going to church. Yet I feel like I am in a tractor beam of the past and I can't move my legs and, gosh, it is so easy to just go along with what the crew is doing. I don't even have a 9-5 job to keep me in line.

Here's the thing, though. I love my girlfriends who I have dearly missed. They are still doing wonderful and amazing things and I am a lucky woman to be in their presence again. Also, I am very very lucky to have a place to live and some work to work. I agonize over how random it is, but I am so grateful to have the opportunity to work. I have also found a place called home. It is where my heart is. I try not to let it blow my mind when I think about it but it still blows my mind anyway. So with all of these good things, what is my problem? I should be happier and more on top of my game than I have been in years, right? This should be the easiest most fulfilling life right here and now and yet I struggle with the new emotions and the old scene. I struggle with what I should be doing and what I actually am doing.

So I will remember how you did it, how you do it. I will make a goal and write it down. I will create a list of tasks needed to accomplish what I want to accomplish and I will make it happen. Your dedication and drive has taken you very far and I admire that. I just want to let you know that I am sorry for not giving you more understanding regarding spending time at home. I hope that you find yourself where you want to be again soon.

Sincerely,
SRP

Where was I?

Oh yes, back in Milwaukee. It turns out I am not the person I was when I left here. I am new. New-ish. Or bigger, more mature and more confident. There are parts of me that don't fit here anymore. There are things I do not wish to partake in and there are skills I have that I need to use before they atrophy. But here I am, cooling my heels, not being a real part of this, not accepting my role. Here I am waiting for something else to continue, not claiming ownership, not investing, not moving forward.

My trip to India has been postponed. The delay is due in part to a fund-raising event in Chicago, difficulties in communication and the way the world just doesn't always work the way you think it is going to. In addition to these things my sister is getting married the day before Easter and so I will stay here until then. I don't want to miss out on this gathering. And so it goes that I will now be spending Easter in Pittsburgh with my family instead of on the beach in Goa. And this rite of passage, this anniversary, this turning point I had set for myself, the day I was to return... is now the day I embark. So be it. But man am I feeling lost and tired of waiting. I am not moving here. Milwaukee is stasis. Milwaukee is beautiful. The frozen landscape is so rich and poignant against harsh winter sunlit skies. It is chalky and cream colored against a navy blue sea (Lake Michigan is definitely a sea) or it is dark and smoky against a choppy pale sea. I want to take photos of this place. But it doesn't move me. Milwaukee is home. I made it thus and it has been confirmed by others. Yet I long to move away and find something else. Wait! I did that already. Why am I back here again?

Oh yes. There is a reason.

A Very Merry Unbirthday

I have been thinking about writing something here for several days now, but every time I open a blank page I remember something more important I needed to do. Like right now I am supposed to be eating a snack to tide me over until dinner and/or putting on makeup so I can leave the house. What I really want to be doing though is perfecting the chevron pattern for my crochet project so I can make that afghan I've been dreaming of for years.

(Note: I wrote this on January 22, the day before my birthday and actually got up to do those other things without finishing and posting. Sigh...)

01.10.10

The days are passing so quickly and yet the concept of dates on paper means so little to me these days. This one is interesting because it is rather binary. Dontcha.

I have been working. HA. Working. But it doesn't seem like working right now because it feels more like helping out some very loved family. And so the hours are not long, and the favors are not too big to ask and I will always say yes because I am safe here and it will always be ok. It is very different working for people who mean something to you. Ha ha! It is also full of trial and error. I am so passionate about things sometimes. They have to be PERFECT and RIGHT and I bump my head against the established business philosophy and the routine that has been in motion for much longer than I have been a part of it. I feel like I am out of line suggesting improvements to service and flow, and then at other times I am ready to fire someone for a minor infraction. I, however, have no power to hire or fire anyone so what right do I have getting indignant? None. But I shake my fists in the air nonetheless. And then I realize that it is just my job to help and that the more humble I am, the better everything will work. [Insert a little more fist shaking here] GRIN.

At home now after a brunch shift and I just fed the panthers so it smells like panther food in the house. The candles I lit are making no headway in masking the odeur. I bought a beer I don't like very much. I usually request that the bartender on duty suggest a flavorful option, but tonight I was on my own in a sea of micro-brews at the Whole Paycheck without a beer geek to help me out. It is amazing how the Craft Beer movement  has exploded in the last few years. Craft Food is gaining in popularity and force as well due to wonderful restaurants like those here in Milwaukee (Honeypie and Comet, Sala da Pranzo and Beans & Barley amongst others) who make it a point to purchase meats and produce from local farms and use high quality ingredients coupled with high class service in comfortable and affordable environments. This is one of the many reasons I love Milwaukee... and is one of the things I hope to be a part of in my life, if I am able to make a difference in  how people live. For the better.

As for India and travel plans, things are coming together slowly. I imagine that it will all happen at once. In one fell swoop I will book everything and pack my bags and be gone in a swirl of nervous energy and perfume (last chance to spritz with anything other than DEET for a while) and leave not much other than some really long blonde hairs and a sweater or two. And my heart? I am supposed to take my heart with me. It was left open and beaming almost a year ago when the object of my fire-hose style loving decided I was no longer needed and I decided that I WOULD NOT turn down the volume for anything. Enter the good children of LIFT who would infinitely benefit from it, far much more than any one man. And now here I am in Milwaukee and the quiet, uranium-like radiation by-product of my major focus has seeped into the home I am living in. For the first time in a year I am starting to feel attached, something I worked very hard not to feel for an unspecified time of transition. It makes me say "hm" and smoosh up my face into a grimace of quandry. Hm. HM.

And now I think I will do some writing with a pen instead of keys. Good night all, sweet dreams.