It's Better When You're Moving

Bread, Take Two

2011-12-18T18:20:00.000-08:00

How am I going to do this? How am I not going to do this?
Determination. And commitment. The first one is easy, the second one, well let's just say that I'm extremely loyal... to many things, intermittently in practice but eternally in theory. The biggest question that I have for myself is "can I see this one through?". I haven't subscribed to a magazine yet, but I have several books and several more I want to get. I spend hours pouring over The Fresh Loaf and pondering percentages, ratios, gluten strands and lamination, fermentation, temperatures and mineral content. If given the chance, I would consume all of my time with these thoughts.
You would not recall, because I haven't written but one post this year, but there was a time around this time last year when I was unemployed and all I did was bake bread. I was busier than I have ever been setting my whole life around the hours it would take to start my starter, build my levain, ferment my dough and prove my loaves. My best friends were a vintage Kitchenaid mixer and a metric scale. I started to get frantic about needing a proofing box, but I learned that you can have patience and that works a little better. If you have even more patience you can use your fridge. Imagine that.
And there are blogs out there. People write about this stuff. Most of them have day jobs and manage to play with bread in their free time. Me? I don't think I could just do it in my free time. This is not the kind of person I am. I think I'd like to use my free time to make drawings. Wait, no, I think that all of my time is free time if I am making bread and art. I just need to grow some plants and have standing plans for brunch with the ladies.
I miss my friends because my job has eaten my life. Would it not be better if my life was to eat my job? Imagine THAT.
I have gone on greater journeys than this one. Journeys that have led me to entire new countries from which I was not sure if I would return. I have had to change my lifestyle and pare my belongings down to nothing in order to accomplish these goals. I have done it. So I may do it again. I'm going to have to, because I haven't found a way to make bread profitable yet. It is going to require a lifestyle change and a reduction of expenses in order to begin this one. I have done it for others. I can do it for myself too. There is a yard sale in my future.
Am I serious? I've proven that I can do anything I set my mind to. So is my mind set?

Alone with Bread

2011-03-21T17:49:00.000-07:00

The weather has turned and now the streets are filled with the noise of dogs and children and sirens. Somehow it is almost colder at night because the heat has made things damp, even though the thermostat says 58. I make bread now. All the time. Pretty much every day of my life. I started making it in earnest in Mexico even though I have had a passion for it since the house on Dousman St. in Riverwest. I was reading the Tassajara Bread Book and learning to knead and make whole wheat then. In Mexico I attempted to make European breads because Mexican pan was so ephemeral and lacked substance. Now I play with rye starters and hydration percentages trying to get the right crumb and a good crust. I had the great fortune of finding a mentor willing to give me a job baking bread all day. It kicks my ass on a regular basis, trying to haul myself into the world of fast paced gourmet production kitchen land. My arms and fingers and legs and back hurt all the time, but I am getting stronger and faster. My goal is speed now and consistency. But I come home to experiment with flavor and texture and methods. Overall I am very happy. Now I am learning to put my life back in around the bread. Trying to figure out how to keep in touch with my friends and family and keep loving my lover... how to enjoy myself and the other things I like to do. I crave sameness these days. I have done so much changing and the changes are still so new that I could lose them at any moment. I pray when I remember to, and I try to be kind and thoughtful, but I sometimes open my mouth when I shouldn't.

I hope to see my new niece soon and to get a good night's sleep.

Here's A Thought

2010-11-15T19:38:00.000-08:00

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

2010-10-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-16T20:19:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-08T15:39:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

Packing

2010-06-03T00:33:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-17T21:23:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-05-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-27T22:08:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-22T22:39:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-25T17:52:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-24T19:27:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-17T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-11T12:38:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-10T15:48:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-06T10:20:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-28T15:36:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-19T09:25:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-14T18:52:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-02-08T10:49:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-25T11:06:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-10T17:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Act 2, Scene 1

2009-12-26T09:59:00.000-08:00

It is interesting to be back in the vicinity of many people who happen to read this blog. As I am visiting with friends they mention things they have read and request the follow-up story, or the behind the scenes details on the little nuggets I provide in type-form here. I hadn't realized how oblivious I am to my readership. I just write like I always have, in a rambling dialogue to myself. Credit should go to Laurie Oliver who introduced me to the concept of journal writing when I was in sixth grade. She had a marble composition book, I think... if I remember correctly, and simply opened my eyes to the fact that I could write my thoughts down on paper. Just like that. We were sitting on the hillside by the dam at Aldeen park in the sunshine, a few of us lounging about probably skipping school, and the discussion about journals came up. I recall asking some incredulous questions such as "really? you just write down whatever you are thinking? you don't need a subject?" I must have been overly influenced by my smarty pants creative english classes or somehow hemmed in by the preconcieved notion that keeping a diary was supposed to be the dutiful logging of daily events (which is why it is called a diary). How binding. Laurie unlocked the door on that one and freed me to just ramble and ramble in spectacular ink on pretty bound pages of boring office supplies. Oh gleeful JOY!

The real point here is that I found out that my mom is reading it. Hadn't thought about that, but honestly now that I know, I am surprisingly very happy about it. I mean, she sleuthed the song lyrics in a previous post and is now familiar with the political rants of Public Image Limited. Dontcha. My aunt is also reading and sends occaisional breif words of support and wisdom when it seems to her like I am struggling. And yes I did go see mom last weekend. Two of my dearest Milwaukee friends found time to read this blog together while out one evening. I love that and I am jealous of their iPhones. Another anonymous reader told Santa Claus about the fountain pen I was pining after... There are other stories of encounters like this that make me smile and think. Thank you all for checking in.

Ok, what I really wanted to talk about here is the fact that it finally feels like chapter one of this adventure is wrapped up. Perhaps the first act of my entire life has just come to a close with a beautiful scene revolving around a dinner with my mom and one of her closest friends. I imagine the thick velvety curtian closing and blowing the snow around in little swirls, leaving a silence and a cosy backstage for me to snuggle up into and change out the scenery. These days behind the curtain have been filled with the sweet luxuries of the most divine royal existence you can imagine. Delicious feasts, showerings of gifts, downy cushions, plush velvets, magical and exotic entertainment, rejuvinating baths set to dreamy music, swedish massages, luxurious pet panthers and the unshakable feeling that I may in fact be a princess. In truth I am a girlscout and am itching to get my hands dirty. Today seems like the day that the curtain rises on Act 2. Time to get a move on the first adventures in making things and going places. Hot cha.

Little Bits of Mexico

2009-12-17T15:47:00.000-08:00

I had some very sad little tacos today with a friend from the old office. They were pale replicas of their cousins in DF, but at least they had imported Mexican coke to wash them down. I know better places to get some. I have one guyaba left. I have to eat it tomorrow morning before it goes bad. I washed the last of the black pollution grime from behind my ears. Half of the billboards on the EL platforms are in Spanish. I saw some pictures in which friends were dressed like Katrinas for Halloween. Agt. 3L and I spoke over video last night. DF is starting to feel a little like a dream. Was I really there? Time has zippered itself up. I have been pinched back into Chicago like an errant piece of bread dough and while I feel more like I fit in here, I am afraid to loose my Mexicaness. I want to keep it and share it. It is sad, though, the Mexicans here don't love DF. They got out of that city and don't like to talk nostalgia about it. Maybe it is too hard to think of a place you are not going back to, or that you hate.

Chicago seems like a stage set; perfectly styled humans are sprinkled in here and there on the streets for effect.

Finally I get the Routine

2009-12-16T19:37:00.000-08:00

So after a few days of hopelessly running around after a small child, trying to get him to do the things he has to do, I finally got him into bed at a reasonable hour. Not that he has been up THAT much past his bedtime, but seriously, he has been up past MY bedtime. Cause I'm looking at 8:30pm as a pretty viable time to start sleeping. I mean, it gets dark here at 4pm. By 8 it's like way late at night already. I miss adults. Ok, ok fine. I did have lunch with Varla, which included shopping at a very strange boutique in which we were showered upon with style consulting, assistance in and out of platform boots, difficult belts and zippers galore. It was a wild and fun time of celebrity attention. Too bad we don't have celebrity money. I spent way too much on the perfect pair of pants, but I will wear them into the ground. Let's calculate the relative value when they fall apart. They are Peruvian (I don't know what that means) but it sounds good and they make my tuckus look nice. NEXT.

A good friend of mine just launched a design website and I will be giving him a critique of it tomorrow night. I am super excited to be a bit hard on him. I know he's got the talent and the drive to get it done, but he needs it to be shaped up and perfected. I can help him with that. Those who can, do; and those who can't, critique. Dontcha. Besides, we love arguing together. Hot cha.

The rest of this week is a social extravaganza. I've got lunch tomorrow, and a critique at night. The Garfield Park Conservatory on Friday and then dinner afterward. Saturday morning return of the sister and the nephew and then on to RKFD for a drive by mom sighting then up nort' to witness the xmas lounge singers at the restaurant and then more lunch with CN pals and then... oh, I have to work. Busy, busy, busy.

Storage Solutions

2009-12-15T09:25:00.000-08:00

So I have finally come to the point in which I am living out of a suitcase. So I need to organize and rock the suitcase living. I must streamline my winter wardrobe with black basics and small accessories for color, get some foldable canvas bins for rotating clean and dirty items, maybe a hard box for toiletries... and then work it out. I am sure, like everything, it will take trial and error, but I am ready.

I already have my fountain pens and my notebook. I could use a better shoulder bag with more compartments. The one I was using in DF doesn't work for Chicago. It is interesting to note how different handbags or shoulder bags do or do not work for different cities. The style, size and functionality work with the kinds of jobs, neighborhoods and transportation available to the local women. There is definitely a Chicago Bag. And there is a DF Bag. I am sure there is a style for every city. I am excited to find more.

Now to brave the cold and get reacquainted with the grid.

The Museum of Science and Industry, or the Train Place

2009-12-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

This is going to be an interesting week. I am spending it with my nephew Augie who has just today decided that pooping in the potty is better than in his pants, which he previously thought to be the correct way to eliminate wastes. Of course, he now has a constant supply of M&Ms to promote more potty pooping and a huge amount of positive reinforcement. Right now I have told him that he has to stay up all night and no matter what he can't get sleepy, well, he told me first. He's pretty susceptible to reverse psychology, but I figure if he calls my number then we both can sleep in late tomorrow. Woot! Don't tell his mom... ;)

In other news, who knew that filet mignon, acorn squash and fingerling potatoes were better with raspberry glaze? Mmm hmm. It is no guyaba, but damn was it good. Almost as good as Augie flashing the chef while dancing to Loretta Lynn and getting ready for bath time. Dontcha. Hopefully, if all goes as planned, we will go to the Museum of Science and Industry tomorrow. It is going to be fun!

Welcome home!

By-E

2009-12-10T10:41:00.000-08:00

Today is my last day in DF.

I returned after Thanksgiving to collect my leftover items and to spend the week with my dearest of pals from Portland OR who came for a visit and an art show. I have learned more in this week alone about living in Mexico City than any of the four or so months I lived here. I had to take a risk and see a part of the city that is deemed extremely dangerous and deal with my friends staying on the edge of this neighborhood. I had to feel the sickening fear of knowing that if anything happened it would probably be the last time I see them. Because now I know that there is nothing you can do if DF swallows you whole. The reality is clear. That said, the subway is awesome. It is totally clean, very fast, no bad smells and I didn't see a beggar, a busker or a drunk once. Did I mention very fast? And the flea market at Lagunillas is the best I have ever seen. Got some new glasses frames and a couple of fountain pens. GRIN.

So now, as I am on my way out the door, I finally feel free here, like I could really live here and get into it. But alas, this is not my final destination. I am on my way on a journey and I have much respect for the decisions I have made.

There are many things I need to work out and work on. There are details and decisions and deadlines all over the place. However, I am not afraid of it and I know I will need to do the very hard work incredibly soon. For now I am enjoying taking my time and keeping my eyes open. Sadness is included in this process. So many parts of this time in Mexico should have been done differently. Things were supposed to have worked out along the lines of "happily ever after" but they did not. Critical realities about ourselves and our lives were screamed about as well as talked over rationally. And in the end it is the potential that we will miss. I blame our overactive imaginations. Having the ability to imagine the future in great detail without checking to see if it is viable can lead to disastrous results. That said, there is still love, deep and powerful, but I fear unsustainable. The kind thing to do is allow the other to be free. Completely free. And we are free of many things we were not free of before we met. It was a liberating experience overall. It should be a happy one.

I am going to be in Chicago for a few days and then up to Milwaukee to work through the holidays. If any of you are around and would like to have some dinner, let me know.

Elimination Round

2009-12-02T18:32:00.000-08:00

So what can't I do? How can I eliminate some options in order to move forward? My sister says I am stupid not to get the Yale MBA because most people would kill for that degree and that the world will open up and beg me to work for it for a billion dollars if I just get that degree. But what does that mean?? What does anything mean? What is not dirty... what is not clean?What should we not hear? What shouldn't be seen?

If I am going to be the director of happiness and well-being, isn't that like feeding and sheltering people? What is it? Is it making rules and regulations so that the unfortunate don't get screwed over by the first set of rules and regulations anymore? Is it making the world a little more beautiful or useful for the people around me? Don't they say you are supposed to save the world one person at a time? Do I make a home and welcome all into it? Or do I run a fortune 500 company eliminating waste and bullshit and then donate to better causes? I could do that too.

Do I paint my life away? For certainty that is not possible. Pshaw. Some say I would be bored just making things from clay, I am meant for bigger endeavors. Others say follow your heart, but my heart has been silent for so long now I am not sure if I am making up the little noises I hear. And when I give it credence, I say "this is what my heart is telling me..." I get the smack-down. From some. But guys guys guys! I've never listened to it before. I made it this far and am still devoid of property or progeny so why can't I follow my heart?

I am going, I am not stopping, I am not slowing down or quitting. My path just looks different from yours and it involves a period of time where my work will not be compensated monetarily. It doesn't look like house and kids, although I want very dearly to have home and family. It doesn't operate on 9-5 although I am committed to endless hours of service. My path involves an examination of what is supposed to be right in a country that is succumbing to bad management and a world that keeps on keeping on with different ideas and critical masses.

Shit.

Homelessness

2009-11-27T14:31:00.000-08:00

I am sitting at my friend's house reviewing my online accounts and listening to NPR waiting to train my first shift at Comet tonight. I am in Milwaukee.

The first time in my life I was homeless and looking for work on the East Side of Milwaukee was because I had decided not to return home for Christmas break, and also to move out of the dorms at art school. I had been let go from my part time job and had absolutely nothing. My poor parents must have been so worried. One day I was riding the 32 up Oakland and had stopped at a coffee shop a block over to fill out an application. They had said they didn't have any openings but that they would keep my application on file. Across the street was a small family owned grocery store called Koppa's. I walked in and asked to fill out an application whereupon I was directed to talk to the owner. He didn't give me an application, I am not sure if I told him my story, but I must have explained that I was looking for work. He looked at me for a full minute without saying anything and then he asked me if I could start right now. Up until that point I had been riding the bus to keep warm, so I said yes. He told me to hang up my coat in the back room and I started that day.

I was with my boyfriend at the time. I have a feeling that it was his idea to quit the dorms and find our own way in the city. We managed to make friends with an alcoholic saxophone player who lived on the corner of Irving and Oakland who allowed us to stay in his spare room while we were looking for an apartment. It was a vile hole of a place and I spent my time there trying to clean what looked like 40 years of unwashed dishes. There was a layer of grime and cigarette smoke so thick on everything that it was all dingy greyish brown. At some point a child had created a crayon masterpiece on one of the walls. I wonder what happened to him or her. I made a dent in the dishes and I still have a scar on my knuckle where one of the many filthy glasses broke in the hot water and sliced through my finger. We eventually had to leave in the middle of the night after our host's drunken fits of rage began to focus on us.

In retrospect, I did everything to keep us alive then. I paid the bus fare to keep warm. I got a job. I found an apartment by convincing my boyfriend to wear a tie and I wore my best imitation of business-lady clothes in order to convince the landlord we were reliable. I put it together out of nothing, but I was blessed with the gifts of a few people who believed I could do what I said I was going to do, without any evidence. I will be forever indebted to Mr. Koppa for hiring me on the spot. My heart goes out to the landlord who trusted that the two kids with no history and one job between them could pay the rent.

So it is interesting to me, now, that the second time in my life that I am homeless and jobless that I have found employment in the first coffee shop I applied to across the street from the grocery store. I wonder if they did keep my application on file. It is no longer a coffee shop, but a restaurant owned and operated by very good friends of mine. Of course this time I am alone and I have a home and the use of a truck. I don't have to ride the bus to keep warm and I am surrounded by friends who are as good as family. Better.

God bless the corners of Irving and Farwell.

Chicago, Indian Summer

2009-11-22T17:09:00.000-08:00

24 hours in Chicago and it is so weird to be able to eaves-drop again. I am staring at people on the phone on the street waiting for them to say something that I can understand. I, on the other hand, am still saying "si" "por favor" "gracias" and "con permiso" to everyone. I pull the 100 peso bill out of my pocket when I have nothing else to say. It isn't very funny, I just forgot to exchange cash on the way back into the country. Last night was the 15th Annual Dysfunctional Family Thanksgiving Dinner. Very delicious and very good to be back in the company of some of my very favorite people.

I have seen many friends already and have started to get into the excitement of the upcoming Thanksgiving dinner to be prepared here at my sister's house. In other news, I am working out my living situation for the next two months, looking for some work and wondering what to do next. I haven't made it to the storage locker yet. I think I will do that tomorrow and swap out my clothing for items more appropriate to the weather here. I can't wait to get my boots. It is very warm right now though, very Indian Summer, and I am so grateful for that. I am not quite ready for the cold.

I am off to go have real Chicago pizza at a place called Piece. It will be delicious. Goodnight!

Last Day

2009-11-20T06:37:00.000-08:00

I am going for tacos del calle this afternoon. Soooo good. I will miss them. I hope all of my things will fit into the two suitcases I brought them in. Of course, I have picked up a few things, and dropped off a few things. We shall see. The day is beautiful and the weather is perfect. The smog layer isn't even so thick. I will miss here.

Chicago is waiting for me with a line-up of pals and a bead on an artists' loft to stay in while transitioning from DF to India. I am not looking forward to the weather. My hats and gloves are all in storage. For the first time in my life, I don't really have a plan. It is liberating and terrifying.

Vaya con Dios!

Home Again

2009-11-18T16:49:00.000-08:00

Home is where, again?

I am sitting here at the table with the requisite three beverages, my notebook, the new novels in Spanish that I purchased from El Pendulo, a handful of pens and my computer. I can hear the noises of traffic outside the windows. It is not too cold right now. There are a variety of fruits and vegetables on the kitchen counter that probably won't all get used before they go bad. The cupboards are full of cans of things and bags of others. Some pork chops sit in the fridge waiting for me; I know Agt.3L will not know what to do with them. We haven't sat on the couch in ages, probably because it is covered with my random clutter of souvenirs and books and maps, or maybe because we never watch TV and there are no lamps for reading books. My clothes hang quietly in the closet and my shoes are piled in heaps beneath. My shelves are stuffed with assorted beauty items, coins, papers and folded (or not quite folded) clothes. This has become my home. I know this place. It is dependable. I don't know when I am going to have a home again.

There is nothing but gray in my life right now. It is one big gray area. There are some bright points of light but an absence of drive and passion. Not very long ago, I knew exactly what I wanted. It was so clear and true and right... right up until it was wrong. I didn't need to know how or when, I just knew what, and that everything would be just fine. But that feeling is not here anymore. I can't figure out where it went or where any feelings went. I feel a bit like I am watching myself struggle and that I should really jump in and help, but I'm not sure where to start. Agt. 3L always says you should put intention into it. I need to put my intention into something, but me? Why me? Haven't I tried hard enough on me already? And at the same time, haven't I avoided me long enough?

Should I relax and concentrate on one thing at a time or should I get that long term what-I'm-going-to-do-with-the-rest-of-my-life thing ironed out? When I am cooking, I panic that I am not learning Spanish. When I am studying Spanish, I panic that I am not writing my essays for grad school applications. When I am researching schools, I panic that I have not been in touch with my friends and family. When I spend my time on the email, I get sucked into Facebook and blogs and shopping and then panic that I need to be cooking for Agt.3L. Repeat. Right now I am trying to read these novels, write in my journal, gchat and blog at the same time and now I am panicking that the house will not be clean in time for me to pack my bags.

They say, home is where the heart is. Has anyone seen it? My heart? I know I had it around here somewhere... I think I feel it breaking again but I can't seem to get my hands on it.

Thoughts on India

2009-11-18T09:49:00.000-08:00

My time here is winding down. I can't believe how fast it has gone by. The strangeness and difficulty of it all is thought provoking as well. Of course, now that I am facing the task of making new plans, everything here seems to be just fine. Living here is not so bad, I could find a job, look for apartments in the city, make it work. But then I remember that there are other things I want to accomplish. There is the larger plan: India, school, reinvention.

I will be in touch with the LIFT group when I am in Chicago this coming week. Hopefully we will work out the details of my travel and I can book my flights. It is very exciting. My friends asked me yesterday what I would be doing in India and what it means for me and I had an opportunity to revisit my reasons and motives. I have not thought about it in a while so it was good to talk over my ideas. I am happy to re-connect with something larger than myself as well. My time in Mexico has been all about me and my future goals in career and relationship and while some progress has been made on understanding my path, much has been murky and unsure. Perhaps that is a result of too much inward thinking and not enough outward structure. I think that in my life right now, it will take two major extremes to make a balance. I am totally macro right now.

On the micro level, I am still working on streamlining. Earlier this year I made a plan to reduce my personal belongings to a few portable items. A computer, a portable music device, a bicycle, a camera, a notebook, a pen and I suppose one good traveling bag and some decent boots. Everything else could be temporary. I find that I keep collecting items for the kitchen, though. Not sure what to do about that.

Here are some photos from the last week

Tired, but no sleep for those who drink Dr. Pepper at 6pm

2009-11-17T21:41:00.000-08:00

I am currently keeping Agt.3L awake by computing in bed at 11:34pm. Truly that is not so late, but man am I tired and wired. I just said bon voyage to my visiting pals this morning, and then spent all day in the artisans' market doing my Christmas shopping. After that I found some great deals on stuff for the kitchen down in Centro. That place is wild! I love it! The whole of downtown is basically a giant department store with each street representing a different department. It is unreal. I wish all of you could see this. I got a cookie sheet for 25 pesos so I don't have to bake bread on tinfoil anymore. Woot.

I had a bout of homesickness last night. I didn't want my friends to leave and I wanted some missing parts of my life back. I missed my cats. I can't wait to see everyone next week in Chicago. I am making some more strides toward India as well. More on that soon.

Ok, ok, one false move on the keyboard and a terrible beep has roused the sleeping beast. He's not going to be happy with me tomorrow... Nighty nite.

Acapulco and the week to come

2009-11-10T09:13:00.000-08:00

It was warm and wonderful in Acapulco. Now, I have only the space heater to keep me warm...
This week will be full of visitors and birthdays. I am looking forward to it.

Shameless Christmas List

2009-11-10T09:05:00.000-08:00

Ok so there are a few things that I really would love to have for Christmas.
Maybe not this one, but someday when I have a job again and I can afford to buy myself some nifty gadgets.

~~A Kindle from Amazon~~
A Nook from B&N
This fountain penAnd a small gold medallion for my chain

Thanks for listening.

Anticipating Acapulco

2009-11-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

I am staring down a mountain of housework, laundry, dishes, clutter that must be cleaned before we go to Acapulco tonight. We have planned a delicate lunchtime maneuver to pick up the rental car which will take two hours in lunchtime traffic. This means eating lunch in the car. Whee. Time in the car here is totally quality. It is bonding, but hard to converse due to the extreme concentration required of the driver. One false move and you're smooshed between two giant tour buses. After Agt.3L gets done at the office we will hop in the car and head SouthWest and seaward. This means we will also have dinner in the car. Sigh... I am so excited to go to the beach. It has been so long since I saw the ocean. I love how humbling a giant expanse of nature can be. The ocean is big enough to take it all in. Ha ha! Now I know why people get Lake Fever in front of Lake Michigan. Feels so good to let it all go in front of an unfathomable horizon. Also, Agt. 3L tells me there are waiters on the beach who will go fetch just about anything you desire while you bask in the sun. Imagine that.

So naturally, this is the perfect time to write and post pictures! Here is a random selection from the past few weeks.

No más Español

2009-11-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the pleasure of constructing an ofrenda for Jose Guadalupe Posada in the commons area of the continuing education building at Ibero. It included all of the usual bits and pieces from pulque to calaveras de azucar and papel picado and petalos de cempazuchil. It was interesting to put it all together, and I am very much enjoying learning about Mexcian culture... however, I haven't learned any Spanish in the past month.

Yesterday I also had the pleasure of attending a luncheon hosted by the university for international ambassadors to Mexico. There were about 20 countries represented and the food was phenomenal. I struggled to hold inteligible conversation with my tablemates, but knew the least Spanish of all of them and therefore couldn't say much... until my third glass of wine and then it seemed easy, except that it wasn't. Spanish immersion in Mexico, you'll be speaking in no time... and three months later, 2 hours a day every weekday, and I still am not speaking even the littlest bit.

So today I decided that that was the best way to end the class. I appreciated the Mexican culture lessons, but I really want to speak the language. So now I am attempting to study on my own in the mornings instead of going to a class that is not structured the way I would like. Besides, I do not have much more time to get grad school applications together. In fact, almost none at all.

Chiandoni, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love DF

2009-10-14T17:48:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we gave up. I had called it quits a little bit earlier, but Agt.3L was still holding out for a miracle until he decided health and well being was a better goal. So that was it. I started looking for flights back to the states and informing all of my pals with available couches that I'd be on my way over soon. My own body was collapsing under the stress and unhappiness of fighting against the unbeatable DF, the culture shock that I denied out of girlscout inspired sticktoitiveness, and the relative impossibility of reconciling two lives built around completely different conceptions of when the largest meal of the day should be eaten. In the midst of disbelief and a sense of utter failure, not to mention a strong desire not to appear vulnerable, I had to admit to my disillusioned paramour that I needed to see a doctor. Ok, I said I would be fine, but he insisted that we go to the doctor just to be sure. And we did, and I was fine, "healthy as a 15 year old" so said the amiable physician, but overstressed. Ah, you don't say. But something changed between Agt.3L and me that day. I really needed him for something I couldn't do for myself, and he was really sad to be letting me go.

It is an interesting experience to be in a consultation with a doctor who doesn't speak your language and needing to translate through your boyfriend. You have to trust that the BF is describing things correctly, and that the doctor is understanding them correctly. You also have the possibility that you will remember parts of the conversation later and realize that in your earnest efforts to get it right you said some embarrassing things, in front of your BF. Sigh... It is also humbling. I suggested that Agt.3L deserved a popsicle for his supreme efforts to care for me including the death defying maneuvers performed in thick (the kind where the authorized direction of travel is reversed, one-ways become two-ways and people are playing the back-up game) DF traffic on a Saturday. You may think a popsicle no reward for such feats, but I am not talking about a thin frozen sugarwater stick like you may obtain from the freezer section of your local super, but a serious frozen fruit bar, a paleta, from a niveria/heladeria. These things are big solid rectangles of fruit juice and chunks of real fruit and they come in about 100 different flavors such as piña, jamaica, guyabana, pepino con chili, mango, elote, higo, tamarindo and soooo many more. Naturally we were going to need some lunch first.

So we went to a place called Fisher's which is, of course, a seafood restaurant. Seafood here is totally different than in the States. Firstly it is considered THE penultimate hangover remedy, and secondly things are not breaded and deep fried. Ceviche is ubiquitous and super-duper delicious and this particular place serves a shot of steaming hot spiced clam juice to get you in the mood. The one we went to is located in Colonia Napoles and looks like a 1950's chromed diner crossed with a surf shop covered by a greenhouse glass roof with an open kitchen in the middle surrounded by a continuous bar. We got there at just the right moment before it got packed for the futbol game. We spoke in spanish the whole time, me mangling it, he correcting me, and the food was fantastic. Stuffed and still wanting that paleta, we decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could find a good paleteria. After about a 5 block search we were about to give up when I spied a place across the street with big letters above the windows that read "CHIANDONI". It looked a bit like a diner with a counter and low swivel stools from what I could see so we didn't think much about it at first but as we turned to go back to the car I noticed a sign in the window saying something about helado. I am not a huge fan of traditional icecream, but we crossed over to check it out anyway. There were many small tables clad in woodgrain formica with turquoise upholstered cafe chairs. On the far wall was an enormous painting of a European coastal vista and a sweet aroma of fresh espresso filled the air. The staff whisked about in turquoise uniforms with white aprons and we realized that Chiandoni only served coffee and icecream. This was a serious icecream parlor seemingly untouched by time. So we stayed. I ordered a mango sherbet and a Vienes coffee and Agt.3L had a mamey helado. We sat at the counter and as we nibbled, the evening sunshine slanted into the room across our stainless steel dishes and cream colored ceramic cups and I was filled with such a wonderful emotion that I began to cry. I had fallen in love with this one little moment of DF time and space. For the first time I found something in DF that I liked! If this place existed, then I could love it here. I could move to Col. Napoles and eat seafood and have icecream and be happy!

Agt.3L took that opportunity to point out the reality of our situation and I completely crumbled back into my typical sour mood and pouted for about five minutes until I decided to tell him that I hate Santa Fe and that I don't want to live in our neighborhood anymore. Again with the reality, he reminded me that I am not staying here anyway and that his lease in Santa Fe is not up until next May. Harumph. At that point, with complete and total apathy, I told him that my other boyfriends were crazy too and that not a one of them loved me as much as he did so hell, why not give it another try. He kissed me passionately right there at the counter, even though I tried to squirm away (as I always do 'cause where I come from you don't do that sort of thing in public) but he wouldn't take no for an answer so I relented. And smiled. So we went about our evening, walked back to the car and went home.

The next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed to get to church late after eating breakfast. Agt. 3L got persuaded to help a nun pass out donation envelopes. We decided to take off right away after the service instead of sticking around to chat with the expats. And then we looked at each other with no desire to do anything and Agt.3L said to me "Do you want to go to the zoo?" and I said "ok". So we found a parking place in Polanco and headed over on foot to the zoologico in Bosques de Chapultepec. On the way I insisted we stop and look at 1) the bookstore called El Pendulo to find a book printed in English where we discovered an amazing cafe 2) the Da Silva bakery (closed on Sundays, drat) as recommended by The Mija Chronicles and 3) the remote control pirate ships zooming about at the hands of five year olds in the reflecting ponds of Lincoln Park. The zoo was a zoo of swarming humanity. Fortunately for us we had about 6-10 inches on everybody so we could manage to still get a view of the pitiful creatures over the heads of over a thousand boisterous chilangos and their kids. Exhausted and depressed from the heat of the sun and the plight of the animals, we returned to El Pendulo to have lunch and discuss what we were going to do. At this point the mister was not 100% ready to let me stay. And I was not 100% sure I wanted to.

We had a long discussion over some seriously tasty snacks and came to the conclusion that we will just think of this adventure as temporary. It is over in December and we are free to go our own ways. This viewpoint provided so much relief for both of us that the rest of the day was spent in an elated mood. We agreed to be adults and go home and do laundry instead of going to a movie. Since then things have been much more relaxed. We have even started enjoying each other's company. The dishes are getting done again. The rest will come as it comes, I suppose.

A List

2009-10-05T12:13:00.000-07:00

1) The first club was not for dancing, but it had good music to dance to.

2) The second club was about as serious as dance clubs get (gyrating bikini-clad ladies in plexiglass boxes included) and the DJ could not keep a beat long enough to groove. The cumulative value in shoes in the place was prolly in the millions. I was dancing (trying, no help from the dj) next to a group of supermodels with a crowd of dudes hanging out waiting for a scrap. There were chandeliers and the smoke was dense enough to obscure your neighbor's features. My true RKFDian roots came out when I told Agt.3L that someone was going to get a second nose job if I got burned. I think I need a) more social grooming and b) lots more money if I am going to successfully hob-nob with the upper class.

3) Back to Spanish 2. Spanish 3 was just too much work to catch up.

4) GMAT this week Thursday. I am again procrastinating on studying. Sigh. More effort needs to be spent on letters of intent and portfolio, dontcha.

5) Need to catch up on some correspondence which I would rather do in person, but alas...

6) I think I have found a decent bakery in DF, but it was closed the day I looked for it. We shall see if they have something tasty for me. In the meantime, if you can't beat them, join them. I have been indulging in sweet rolls lately and can't wait to try pan de muerto.

7) Hopefully want to make my own tortillas and pasta this week sometime.

Obsessions

2009-10-03T18:33:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed my recent preoccupation with helicopters. I feel that my obsession is now almost put to rest having captured some lovely photos of the insect-like beasts. I still jump up to look out the window, but I am no longer crestfallen when I do not also have my camera at hand. I feel good about my progress.

This little bit of freedom has opened up some room for a new obsession: The New York Times online. In my life I have had several different affairs with the Times. Once I enjoyed a decadent home delivery... oh how I loved the crossword and spreading out the travel section to get at the good stories about food. Mmmm food. The Times has so many lovely stories and pictures to help balance the horror and depression caused by the regular world news. I began reading the Times again recently in order to catch up on current events so I can write meaningful essays on my grad school tests. The Op-Ed columns are perfect practice for getting in the mood to write an opinion essay. However, after about one or two of those, I turn immediately to the Style section or the Arts or Travel. Oh the science, oh the book reviews! Whee what fantastic stories about far away places and pictures of sumptuous things!

Speaking of far away places and sumptuous things... I went to the Mercado del Sabado today in Coyoacan. This is your typical Mexican market, but with all of the goods being prints, paintings and various crafts. It hovered somewhere between "starving artists" and "craft fair" with many wonderful old creative types mingling with art students and peddlers of chicle. I saw some amazing, simple prints of fighting cocks that looked almost Japanese in their minimalness and colors, and some very interesting surrealist pieces. I also scoped out some perfect gifts for my nephews and pals back in the States, and purchased a small ceramic flower pot for my bathroom spider plant.

The weather was lovely (the rainy season is over) and we met some friends for a very late lunch at a French place called Cluny. I have decided recently that since most ethnic foods in Mexico end up tasting curiously like Mexican food (Japanese included) that a better strategy is to order the ethnic dish with the local ingredients. Chipotle rice with avocado at the sushi place would have been a better option than what I chose. Today I went for the Xochitl crepe with elote, flor de calabaza, rajas and pollo (aka corn, zucchini flowers, poblano peppers and chicken) and I was so happy that I did. It was excellent. Much better than the mushroom bechamel crepe I had last time we dined there.

Now, I am waiting and resting and reading the Times in anticipation of going to a dance club in Condesa tonight. Agent Triple L's sister is celebrating her birthday and we are going to help. Normally I am not one to get excited about clubs like this. It always surprises me when I say this because I love dancing, but for some reason I can't work myself up enough to get glitzy and go out at 11pm. I'mma work on this. So, I am going to go super glam and hope that the right outfit will get me in the mood. For now, snuggly on the couch getting hungry for late-nite quesadillas will do just fine.

Helicopters, dontcha

2009-10-02T17:37:00.000-07:00

Strategic Procrastination

2009-09-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

I have been cramming my brains full of high school math in order to prepare for the upcoming GRE and GMAT tests necessary to accomplish my goal of going to grad school. Two days from now is the first test and one week following is the second and I will be damned if I can get myself to take one of these practice tests. I swear I am going to do it right now. Seriously. This second. Okay, here I go.

[crickets]

Sigh... the same thing happened to me with the violin. Never practiced that either and look where I am now! Not a single instrument any where near me! Oh. Wait. Okay for real this time. GRE here I come!

[I'm going, I'm going... sheesh]

Trial and Error

2009-09-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

Out of anger and defiance, or what my mother may call sheer cussedness, I decided that I am walking now, everywhere. Suck it, Santa Fe and your car dominated master planning. I WILL walk there from here even if I have to cross eight lanes of uncontrolled traffic with no sidewalks through dirt, small boulders, assorted garbage and overgrown weeds down two foot wide passages with major obstacles like trees or light poles or gaping holes where grates used to be and over and around several security barricades that only hinder cars. Don't even think I won't walk three blocks hunched over because the low hanging branches only clear three feet. I don't care how many cars honk at me nor how long I have to wait for traffic to slow down enough to attempt a crossing. I will go where I want to, when I want to, if it is actually possible which often it really isn't. So there.

I am reminded now of another phrase my mother is fond of: You can't get there from here. I am not sure where it comes from, perhaps a joke, or a movie quote... but seriously folks, it is the essence of Mexico City. It should be written on the Mexican flag. No se puede llegar allá desde aquí. Due to the fact that much of the city is nestled in the foothills of the surrounding volcanoes, the streets necessarily have been laid out on snaking ridges or valleys depending on where people were able to glue their homes to the sides of the slopes. Perhaps because folks are used to just putting the roads like this, opportunities to make some reasonable intersections are completely overlooked. OR, as I sometimes am inclined to think, it is the intention to redirect everyone in the same manner that a department store arranges it's goods to force customers to pass by the most merchandise before arriving at what they actually came for. Not quite sure, but the result is that you can't get there from here. Don't even try. Everything is indirect and vague.

Other new adventures include social events with expats from the states. In other words, lunching with the ladies. Ah ha, yes. I have mixed feelings about this. The situation of being a woman who does not work, living in DF while attached to a man who does work here, and having left the comforts of the first world for either a) love, b) excessive amounts of money, c) a really good job opportunity that will lead to lots of money or some combination of those puts us all in the same boat, but doesn't necessarily mean we have anything in common. Of course, then, it may turn out that we have a lot in common, you never know. So far, though, I have the least money of anyone in the group. I don't have a husband, a baby or a muchacha. I do not have construction workers in my home, nor a personal driver. I am not even sure if I want to stay. But we all came here, right? We are all the types who would give up everything we know for a man, right? We would all take the challenge of learning a new language and attempting a new way of life, right?

When several of my friends moved to Abu Dhabi, the world of ex-patriotism was cracked open and a little light shined upon it. What was shown was a spirit of adventure, some fearlessness and quite a few situations where people's closets were so full of skeletons they had to find new lodging on the other side of the planet. I tell you it is interesting here. Very, very interesting.

Dear Chicago

2009-09-17T17:24:00.000-07:00

Remember when I said you were ugly and dirty? I was wrong. You are beautiful and clean and relatively safe. Remember when I got upset because you rained on my gloriously free run through the park along the fantastic lakefront? So selfish of me, it rains here everyday and I have no park to run in without an hour drive in traffic first, and it will probably rain on me there anyway. And do you remember the time when I was bored with the food options downtown? How silly of me. Such variety and choice at my fingertips! I apologize for not taking better advantage of the free music at the Cultural Center. I didn't know how good it was to work RIGHT NEXT DOOR to the Symphony Center also. Remember the time when I was unhappy to have to spend 30 minutes on the EL to get to Trader Joe's? How naive was I?

So, just in case you want to write me off I will understand. But I want to apologize for being such a spoiled brat. I truly love you and I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,

2009-09-01T14:40:00.000-07:00

2009-09-01T14:36:00.000-07:00

No tengo nada

2009-08-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

It has been a minute, has it not? I was busy overhauling my daily routine to better equip myself for daily studies and student life. Ha, yeah, one class a day... right. Baby steps for the old lady.

So now I get up at 5:30am so I can shower and breakfast before arriving at Ibero for two hours of study prior to Español 1. Then I find a spot on the mezzanine in the library near the architecture section and peruse the books for an hour. After that I study either GRE practice or Spanish. Then to class for two hours followed by a return to the library with my friend Rebecca. We try to study for a few hours, but we are usually interrupted by some socializing until she catches the bus at 1pm and I then take one more hour for study before getting picked up at 2pm. Agt. 3xL and I then go home for lunch. Hopefully I was motivated enough the night before to prep some vegetables for whatever dish I am inspired to make. After lunch it is a struggle to stay awake and study more GRE. But I try and usually get some work done. This is punctuated by catching up on correspondence and other such diversions.

Last weekend we managed to get away for a day trip to Valle de Bravo which is a lake resort near some volcanoes way up in the sky much closer to the clouds than my house. We nearly ruined the car driving around on back mountain roads to find a small fish farm to practice and teach new fishers how to fish. There were no fish, but plenty of livestock to harass. And plenty of soggy volcanic soil (which stains btw) to stomp around and ruin your shoes in. We had some lunch near the plaza in a restaurant that was not so good, but I found out later that the rest of the group wanted to eat from street vendors and that they agreed to eat at the restaurant for me. Sigh... I would have said "GO! Feed yourselves! I'll find some tacos bye bye" but alas the group solidarity could not be compromised. Until... I couldn't handle all the gossip in Español and needed to break free of groupthink to wander about the shops and vendors along the tiny winding streets. It was very beautiful and we had a popsicle at magic hour.

See above for some photos.

Ondas

2009-08-13T17:22:00.001-07:00

Que ondas?

So I am told this is a way to say "what's happening?". Ondas are waves. My waves currently are as follows:

1) Spanish classes at Ibero.
2) Flamenco lessons at Ibero.
3) Modern dance techniques lessons at Ibero.
4) Trying to chat with the server, Jose, at Ibero.
5) New girlfriends from Bangalore and Oslo.
6) Montezuma's revenge (I was doing so well, and then wham...)
7) Mexican Catholic funeral for a dear friend taken too soon.
8) Pressure to really really start studying for the GRE and doing something with myself.
9) Homesickness comes in waves about once a week. I don't know how other people feel when they miss home, but how it feels to me is frustration and fatigue. I feel angry that I can't just go do something I used to do. Then I feel exhausted by trying to keep up with all of the new information and sights and smells and tastes and all the cheek kissing. I was speaking with a very dear friend of mine in Chicago about how I am not even a "hugs" kind of person until I really get to know you. I am usually very formal and polite with handshakes or nods and smiles so it is really taking a lot out of me to LEAN IN and touch cheeks and make kisses in the air with people. I am regularly discombobulated by it.

And then I think it is sweet, and I am touched by it and wonder why Estadounidenses are not in the habit...

Lots of mental and emotional energy is spent on these things. I miss Trader Joe's and thick crusty European style bread. I miss Chipotle (shut up, don't laugh). I miss going for walks outside whenever I feel like it. I miss knowing where I am. I miss corner bars and micro-brews. I miss eavesdropping! One of my favorite pastimes! Sigh...

I like the mountains and the rains. I like the friendly people. I like the ups and downs of working things out with Agt. Triple L. I like the neighborhoods. I like Spanish. I like my new sofa. I like seeing all the dogs on the street even though I know they are dirty street dogs. I like the lagartijas that do push-ups. I like discovering new things like the college radio station (yay!).

Now I will enjoy making dinner and preparing for another day at the universidad. Dulces sueños.

DF Geography... or How Do You Know Where You Are if There is No Lake Michigan?

2009-08-05T14:25:00.000-07:00

Right here, south of the 24th parallel, smack dab in the middle of the country sits a wee little state: Distrito Federal. It used to be a lake. The locals thought it was so fantastic to live on an island in the middle of a lake in a valley surrounded by volcanoes that they just kept making the island bigger until all that was left was a soggy neighborhood called Xochimilco. This is the Venice of Mexico City and one moves about the place via canal. I am told it is a great place to party but something about getting drunk on a boat on a canal in DF doesn't sound like so much fun, especially after experiencing how the dry parts of town smell... just sayin'. I expect it to be very romantic when we finally visit there. Where was I? Oh, the lake.

I am a woman who has spent my critical navigtation years in two cities perched right on the West edge of Lake Michigan. There you always know the lake is East. Even when you can't see the lake, you know which way it is by the magnetic pull of the suspiciously empty horizon just past the buildings. It is so prevalent, such a strong coast, that your sense of cardinal directions becomes completely based on the lake. Out-of-towners don't believe you when they get totally turned around and you tell them "no, because the lake it that way" which means you automatically know exactly which direction everything is.

So... if you fill in your lake, how do you know which way is East, or North or wherever? You could remember by the crest of the mountains if you could see them regularly through the pollution. You certainly can't count on a street grid, pff. There are a few tall buildings, but as single points, you find yourself on a radius which could be any direction. Hmmm. Perhaps the rain? The rain next to Lake Michigan always comes from the NorthWest. Here, the rain always comes from the SouthEast. Naturally I was totally turned around for a few days until I became determined to position myself correctly, geographically. Now I can follow the rains which I can see from my fantastic vantage point at 28 floors up. I can watch them cross the whole valley and see sunshine on either side. Also, way up in the sky here we are also right up in the clouds. Yesterday the clouds were right outside my window. Down there in Chicago the clouds are waaaaaaay up in the sky, far far away.

I'm over it

2009-07-31T16:09:00.000-07:00

After some serious internet research, I concluded that I had a mild case of altitude sickness. It's gone now. I feel almost normal physically, but there is still a lingering sense of lightness. I swear it is easier to lift water bottles here...

Also, I don't speak Spanish. Not yet, at least. I'm working on it. The first few days I was super stressed out about not knowing what people are saying; now I don't care. They are talking about food and money and politics and the weather, just like everybody else. I'll catch up eventually.

Movies here are very cheap. We saw Terminator last night and it was a new release (here at least) and only cost about $5 each. And the commercials before the show? Super hilarious! Commercials in the US are not usually so funny to me, only weird and appalling. Here I was laughing out loud.

I'd like to thank Tricky for being born on this day and making it no less than a perfect transition from summer to late summer. After a party like this, summer has to take a step down.

HUGS

Mamey

2009-07-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

I am adjusting a little bit better today. The first day was a whirlwind of flamenco performance and lunch with family and friends that lasted what seemed like a million hours to me, who did not understand a word of the conversation. Organ grinders in khaki uniforms filled the air with circus melodies, shouts of victory when a Mexico goal was gained against the Estados Unidos punctuated the lazy Sunday mood, and a troupe of young college women in very elaborate troubadour costumes serenaded us with Mariposita and other tunes in a friendly contest among music students. The air was so rich with new sounds and bad pollution that I was dizzy and disoriented. It was beautiful, indeed, but total sensory overload. We followed that up with a trip to the mall [wince] which while necessary and productive to comparison shop on furniture and appliances, was not so easy on the already maxed out sensory input portion of my brain. And then we went to the Superama, omg.

The whole adventure was filled with new relationship sensations on warp speed also. After two months of getting to know Agent Triple L via the webbernets, we were now finally face to face, hand in hand, lips to lips, eyes to eyes, right on top of each other. Naturally I freaked out. Of course I didn't know I was freaking out until the next day when I wanted to run and hide in a corner like a threatened animal. I was too busy being optimistic and positive and insisting on immediately having a perfect and wonderful home less than 24 hours after leaving the sweet cradle of the only home I have ever known, glorious Midwest USA. Cheese whiz. We have discussed these things and are working out the kinks of living together and getting to know each other at the same time. Not easy pals, but so far so good and getting better.

So, Monday was awful. I felt lost and lonely. I was horrified by the discovery that everything you need for your home is twice as expensive as in the US. I was equally horrified that a major portion of the avenue by our house collapsed into a non-reinforced construction pit mere hours after we had driven over the very spot that fell in. This being a primary route on our domestic reconnaisance missions made me a tad bit angry. Apparently, in Mexico, developers save millions by skimping on oh, you know, foundation walls and safety precautions like structural integrity. Don't even think about the fact that we are "situated atop three of the large tectonic plates that constitute the earth's surface, Mexico is one of the most seismologically active regions on earth" [if you believe Wikipedia]. My apartment is on the 28th floor on a hill so I can see quite a bit of the traffic goings on below. I have been watching the jams come and go and listening to incessant angry beeps at the barricade which is conveniently situated just below my window. Word on the street is two months before everything is fixed. Two months of angry beeps.

Today, however, I finally got to try the thing that intrigued me the most on my visit here a few months ago: a Mamey. Hoo boy is it weird. The thing is about the size of a nerf football, looks like a cross between a kiwi and a cantaloupe and is very heavy. I had seen these fruits pedled by the side of the road and they were cut open showing hot orange-red insides. I wanted one. So I got one. I cut it open and found that it was more like an avocado than anything else. The meat of the fruit has the same texture and density as avocado, but it is really red, and the flavor is like an insanely sweet yam with some kind of fake berry flavor. The pit inside was super shiny like it was laquered and smelled more aromatic than the fruit itself. Well, it was too much for me. One bite made me kind of gag a little bit. The second bite I almost enjoyed, but then I decided that the Mexicans might be on to something with all the salt and limon, so I doused the bowl of gooey fruit with some to see if that would be more palatable. Hmm, not so much. I have forced down about a quarter of the thing just because I hate to waste such wonderful fruit, but I'm struggling with it. I think it might be good in a smoothy with some tart yogurt. To the blender!!!

I also drove for the first time today, just from the apartment to the sushi place, and it was quite an experience. I just might get the hang of it eventually. You just put your whole car in, you put your whole car out, you drive around like crazy and you try not to get hit...

HUGS

Home is where...

2009-07-27T14:14:00.000-07:00

1) My apartment is filled with rose petals and candlelight, sweet music and delicious dinner prepared by Agent Triple L.
2) Household cleaner smells like fruit punch.
3) Kisses are exchanged with complete strangers (how to: touch cheek, kiss air)
4) You can not drink water from the tap.
5) It rains everyday around 4-6pm but the weather is perfect all year round.
6) The avenue by your house is closed because half of it fell into a non-reinforced construction site pit earlier this morning.
7) You might get kidnapped.
8) The fruit is so delicious and juicy that you are ashamed to say you've ever eaten an apple before, not to mention the MANGOES, the apricots, the limes, the mameys, the persimmons, etc.
9) The pollution makes you dizzy (they say I'll get used to it).
10) English won't get you very far.
11) I am loved like nobody's business.

Santa Fe is dead. Long live Santa Fe.

2009-07-16T23:29:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my last day at the office. I had to say goodbye to my boss today and was caught off guard by my own emotions. Breaking up is hard to do. There are pens to distribute, files to file, random items to throw away or bequeath to those who remain. There are things I have to communicate, people to say goodbye to. When the layoffs happened there were so many goodbye parties and send offs that seemed so necessary. Going now of my own volition seems to be kind of an insult to those hanging on for dear life. I failed at putting together a happy hour next week. Nobody told me I had to pick a place and time and I butchered the guest list trying to second guess who might actually show. After work Tuesday, at Plymouth rooftop, where it all began...?

It is strange to watch people attempt to cope with loss. I didn't know I would be a loss, but seeing a few people make rationalizations or construct elaborate reasons to dismiss me, I see now that I will be missed. I didn't know that this office would be a loss until my own tears were spilling. I have made friendships here that go beyond the task at hand. I found safety in those relationships and I know now that they only existed because we were bonded by common ground. Other friendships will continue beyond the Santa Fe building.

I spent an hour and a half online with Agent Triple L tonight. We just spent time together. Not much talking, lots of looking at each other trying to imagine what it will be like just to be in the same room. So very strange.

My eyelids are drooping now. I thought I would be up all night, but now I am crashing. C'mon take it easy, baby... make it last all night. She was an American girl...

Two Weeks

2009-07-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

Here I am at the dining room table, drinking coffee, listening to the leaves rustle on the trees... breezes blowing in the windows, a green haze of sunlight filtering through a veritable forest of foliage, steady power, knowledge that the water is clean straight out of the tap, favorite Trader Joe's snacks in the fridge, laundry in the dryer. Everything is as I know it to be even though I have only been at this house for one month and a half.

This is Illinois. I was raised here. The dirt and the grass and the flowering weeds in the empty lots have a distinct and intoxicating smell that exists nowhere else on earth. The people look how I expect them to look, talk the way I have always heard, drive in the same bad ways as all the other drivers, eat where I expect them to eat making certain restaurants instantly popular, congregate for the same reasons, in the same ways with the same target picnic blankets. We all look the same. I can spot the Chicagoans in the airports now. You can just tell by the way they dress in black tops and blue jeans and the way they stand with cocky self assurance and the particular proportions of height and girth. These are my people.

I am leaving here to invest in knowing other people. People who belong to someone else, who mean home to them. I am not going to Europe as so many assume when you try to politely skirt the issue of voluntarily not having a job by saying you'll "be traveling". I am going to Mexico, a place I barely knew existed outside of mythical Spring Break Cancun, and the somewhere that all those Mexicans came from to live in Chicago. How's that for ignorant American? Mexico is just as North American as the US and Canada, and I know so little about all three. Yet I stand up and say I'm American as though that is different. There are approximately 900 million people (if you believe wikipedia) who can rightfully call themselves American and I can't see them because they are like my own face. I need to go far away and look back in order to have proper perspective.

I will have new people. In two weeks, I will have new people. I am not going to visit, I am going to live and to love and to be of a place. I am not going to be a US citizen on vacation, or a scholar doing research, although I will do both of these things. I am freely and fully accepting that there is a world which produced a human being who is more like me than most of my people. I am beginning to trust that what is foreign is actually kin.

This kind of blows my mind.

Pancetta and Peace

2009-07-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful dinner tonight with friends who are in the middle of life. They struggle and they learn and they remember. And then we eat pasta with pancetta in it. I am not certain, but I am pretty sure pancetta is really thick chunks of Italian bacon. Pause for effect... Right?

We leave, we come back and what should be full circle is sometimes retrograde. Our lives take us places and it is just like math, you can only move forward, positive accumulation of forward trajectory. But sometimes, the pals back at the ranch expect that you are the same person you were when you left. They are suspicious, they are unsure, they just don't know what you've been up to, so they assume you've been right there with them. Or that you are pulling a fast one. It takes some bravery to say "you have changed" and not have that connote a loss. It takes more courage to admit you do not have the same experience as someone else, especially if you are from the same home town. Humans find comfort in what is familiar, yet sometimes resent familiarity's limits. Humans sometimes fear that which is foreign, yet are attracted to the difference and the potential. It is a hard task to rebuild trust when returning to one's home town from valuable life enriching adventures. Humility, forgiveness and total respect for the growth and maturity of the pals who stayed put are necessary on behalf of the traveler. And the same for the life long residents.

Earlier, before dinner, we all visited our friend who recently gave birth to a beautiful girl. She is brand new, fresh and precious. She has a condition wherein her lower intestine has a portion that does not have nerves and so therefore cannot process the elimination of waste. Now I don't know how many of y'all have been around babies, but the biggest thing they do is poop. It is like life and death for a newborn and all the adults hover around saying "did she poop yet? is she pooping? make sure she poops..." So this is a big deal. And I am so happy to know this family and to be able to help them get through this rough phase until their baby can have surgery and poop like a normal baby.

I love life. Poop and pancetta, and all. (Wait, that is gross...)

GRIN

Well That Wasn't So Hard

2009-07-06T18:52:00.000-07:00

Today's accomplishments include the following:

1) Resigning position at esteemed architecture firm
2) Receiving 3rd degree from father on actual intentions for trip to D.F.

Both tasks were so much easier than I thought they would be according to my anxiety and mole-hill-mountain-making. Those sweaty palms suggested that I might have had something to fear. I suppose it is just my respect for authority that caused me such trepidation. Speaking of big words... Little Bro, the correct usage of that word would have been: "Those screaming kids seem to be creating the prevailing background noise in this phone conversation".

It turns out that I have a pretty good plan, fairly well thought out, nicely funded, adequately supported and soon to be executed. I also have a dog on my foot. Belle the black lab likes to wedge my toes in the crook of her ear. She also likes to eat cheese and take dirty Kleenex out of the bathroom waste paper basket. I am starting to see a pattern here. It just became apparent to me recently that there are dog people and there are cat people. I don't know anything about bird, reptile, insect or amphibian people... but dogs and cats are so different. I like dogs, but I don't think I am a dog person. I used to be afraid of dogs due to a few minor maulings in my youth by the family Airedale-ish mutt, but I have had the good fortune to spend some quality time with Belle to get over all that. And, yep, turns out I dig cats as pets way better, box-o-poop included.

Where was I? Oh yes, pasta dinner... wait no, no, I was talking about accomplishments. The result of today's efforts is that I am completely free and clear to continue on my plan to see the world.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Cheeseburger Monday

2009-06-29T10:29:00.000-07:00

I highly promote starting your week with a cheeseburger for lunch. It is the perfect food. Perfect, I tell you. All of your food groups neatly packaged and ready for consumption. And you can get one fast. Very fast, depending on your standards of quality.

Just make sure it has pickles on it, okay?

Lisbon Stories

2009-06-28T20:54:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned earlier, here are some stories from Lisbon:

This weekend in Lisbon there is the festival of Sao Antonio, the patron saint of Lisboa. The streets of Alfama are all decorated with colorful streamers and little shrines to Sao Antonio depicted at the top of a set of stairs pouring out a jug of water that runs s\down to a little pile of treasure. The story is (well part of it anyway) the Sao Antonio helps women to find a husband. On Saturday the city will sponsor the marriage of twenty couples too poor to have their own wedding. The ceremony will take place on the steps of the cathedral (which is being set up with a temporary platform stage as we speak). The city will dress the brides in gowns and tux the men, perform the ceremony, drive the pals around in Rolls Royces and then give them some loot to set up their new life together like household appliances.

On Tuesday I got pooped on by an pigeon. Right in the eye, goggles notwithstanding. Antonio, our tour guide and chef, told me this was very good luck and alluded to a possible situation in which I might be lucky in love. And I am lucky. And I have love. And I hope I don't get some evil disease from Portuguese bird poo.

Ok, pals, the truth is I didn't do anything special in Lisbon. I just wandered around taking pictures the whole time and discussing the most important things in the universe with my new-found girlfriends from the hostel. It took me two days to figure out how to say "thank you". I ate at the hostel almost every night because I blew my budget on airfare. And it turned out that the home cooking there was much better than anything I had out at restaurants. And it felt like home, like going home to your parents' house and letting your sunburn set in while waiting for dinner. There were big soft rolls for breakfast and slices of cheese and tomato jam (which was awesome) and coffee that tasted funny, not ha ha but weird. There was sunshine, something I don't get much of in Chicago, and fresh air and internet access.

That was it. Every day was about the same, just new streets to wander. It was truly wonderful. I bought a few pieces of fruit and a couple of bottles of wine. I sent postcards for the first time in my life. I didn't have to do or be anything. I just existed.

It's not at the bottom, it's not at the top

2009-06-17T18:15:00.000-07:00

Today I decided that the time has come. I'd like to play with the emphasis on this sentence for a moment. Join me will you?

THE time has come.
The TIME has come.
The time HAS come.
The time has COME.

Before explaining, I would first like to point out a few small things. Sardines are better out of the can. Sorry Portugal, I prefer when you can them and ship them to me. The locals can have the fresh ones. I can survive on cheese plates forever. Yesterday it was bread with brie and apricot jam. Today it is bread with the leftover brie and sun-dried tomatoes, capers and the aforementioned sardines. Some red wine to wash it down with and presto! dinner, or breakfast, or whatever.

Ok, back to topic A. The time has come to leave. I can go now. I was free to go a few months ago, but I was like a well trained animal who doesn't realize that the cage door is open. I was patiently waiting for the day when everything had come together, when I had reached a point of closure sufficient enough to counteract my "do not run away" edict. It only took 11 years, six boyfriends, four therapists, two cities, one confession and the arms of a sweet lovin' man to open the door. Nothing can stop me from going through it. I don't have to stay. I can go.

Until then, I am not really anywhere. This is a bit like limbo, hopefully enough people will pray me out of here. May my purchase button pushing finger be true when I book the plane ticket. It's better when you are moving.

USA

2009-06-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

I am back in Chicago this evening, drinking Spanish wine and eating French cheese at the dining table of my good friends who give me shelter. Lisbon was tremendously beautiful and I have some stories to transcribe from my journal in the coming days. For now I will just say that I simply cannot be bothered to pick up the pace to Midwestern standards. I am on vacation slow, Lisbon time, and I do not care. I feel so relaxed and serene and this should not be spoiled. Pause for sip of wine... mmm, thank you.

I think I need to update my technological devices if I intend to blog on the road. I learned the term "RTW" for a type of travel taken in your life as advertised to young Brits. Never mind the "gap year"... I've decided that this is my gap year and I will be taking this time to follow some dreams and bolster my resume before I decide what I really want to do with my life. The only problem with that is I really already know what I want to do with my life, so the world travel is just reinforcement at this point. I digress. What I really need is one of those twee little laptops that slide right into your purse and are only useful for logging on and typing up some travel observations, because a blackberry is too small and slow to type on and paper is nice but it is hard to make photocopies and mail that stuff to people.

Next topic: flying vs. airplane rides. I have decided that I indeed enjoy winging about in the clouds. I like it, I really do. I do not like being on airplanes, though. Too dry, too noisy, not enough snacks, small children kicking your seat, neck pain when you fall asleep with your head tilted back, not so nice. But oh! the dreamy dreamy cloudscapes and panoramic vistas and piercing sunshine above the cloud cover. How sweet to be in the ether. I can't wait to get up there again! If only it didn't have to involve an airplane ride.

Teotihuacan, right between the Sun and the Moon, the world moves forward

2009-06-03T18:11:00.000-07:00

I spent Memorial Day weekend in Mexico City. Three days of driving around the most winding and ridiculous streets from one beautiful, breathtaking location to the next. Navigating chocolate bumps and round-abouts, no lanes and VW beetle cabs (how do you get IN one of those?), high roads, low roads and tráfico, dontcha. It was like the best roller-coaster ride ever. My pilot knows the roads, mostly (even seasoned veterans can get lost on DF roads) but never missed a traffic bump. Yes indeed the city put in speed bumps all over the place because residents completely ignore traffic lights, which is not surprising as there are often traffic lights pointing the wrong way down one-way streets or other such ridiculous locations. Nevermind the fact that there is no grid. Navigation is all by landmark. This is made much easier by the fact that there is an unprecedented amount of public art. Lost? Pull a U-turn at the white Arabesque sculpture and follow your route back to the hairpin turn, then turn Right and take the low road under the Periférico.

When you reach your destination, you will have to pay for parking in a restricted lot. This is normal, the only way to do it. While on your way, you have to be careful not to run over the kids in the streets trying to sell you flowers or watches, nor the Big Butt Clowns, but you may consider clipping the guys who squirt soapy water on your windshield and then charge you for the wash. Supposedly this is now illegal, but the guys are still there and will toss a bucket your direction with towels in it to fake you out. The trick is to leave space between you and the car in front of you so you can pull up as a gesture to let the interesting and industrious pan-handlers know you are not a sucker. Big Butt Clowns? I was entertained.

We did other things besides driving, but in DF (Distrito Federal aka Mexico City) driving is essential. On Monday, when everyone went back to work, I had several dizzy spells. I was afraid that I had contracted something viral or that I was just simply dying of a brain tumor. I couldn't stop yawning and I needed to sit down, now. What was this curious malady? Aha! Pollution! I was suffering from an altitude of 7000ft above sea level and no clean air to breathe. Not a problem on the weekend, but once rush hour traffic commenced, the carbon monoxide levels were not suitable for this flatlander.

Now to the really amazing parts: The historic district with the Cathedral and the government buildings on the Zócalo, and the Aztec ruins and the Grand Hotel. It was beautiful. We toured the Cathedral and I asked my tour guide to translate every name of every chapel and explain to me the structural implications of the sinking of the building (too much water getting sucked out of the foundations). Then he purchased two tickets for the tour of the Campanario to see the naughty bell that tossed a pal one time. We climbed the ancient stairs and I requested translations of the narration by the guide, but the answer was always "tseh, he's talking about the bells..." which invariably led to more PDA. Speaking of that, the city is full of PDAs (which is what my personal kissing assistant now calls the other pals who are standing about kissing after I introduced him to the middle school term). He then mentioned something about how I'd be called a "strawberry" and I just had to accept that at face value despite my tendency to be offended. It didn't matter at all... The whole scene was so beautiful. We dined on the roof terrace at the Grand Hotel watching the clouds change above the government buildings until the afternoon rains came. We talked of many things from our pasts which seemed just right in such an historic place. Afterward we walked along the arcaded jewelry stores and watched the punk rockers hand out flyers while a string quartet played Vivaldi. It was perfect.

Ok, there were more amazing things, the piramides were wonderful, the hacienda was magical, everything was perfect and I am too tired to write about it all now.

I am leaving for Lisbon tomorrow afternoon. I will be there for nearly a week and then to Pittsburgh for my brother's graduation. I'll have more stories when I return.

Bon voyage! Via con Dios...

moving is not better

2009-05-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

So, there should be a completely different term for the act of taking all of your personal posessions from one location to another. Perhaps "bad idea" or "fiasco" or "torture" would be better terms. Does anyone know if I plan to write my memoirs someday? Cause I'm not sure if I should keep this box of notebooks from middle school. What about art made by a dead ex? Is that a "keeper"?
I think I need help. Or maybe just a dumpster.

Gifts

2009-05-17T13:39:00.000-07:00

I have a week and a half to get rid of everything I own. Who needs winter coats? How about a gold velour couch? It is cat proof and super comfortable to sleep on. House plants? Anybody need to fill that hole with green lovin'? Who needs a set of Tea Sugar Flour canisters? I've got two very awesome art deco-ish pale wood veneer bedside tables with three drawers each for your naughty literature and your unmentionables. I have one mint green vinyl chair with a brass frame, total '70's waiting room style, one turquoise arm chair with wood legs and brass brads, also vinyl. If I had any real money these chairs would be leather, but alas, they are all vintage thrift treasures. To go with those, I have a white pleather bench with wooden legs, perfect for the front hall or the foot of the bed. I have one folding screen with beige and gold paper framed in black painted wood. It is falling apart, but a few strategically placed staples and you are good to go. I have two lamps: one is brushed stainless vintage 'inspired' and the other is black and bronze vintage for real. I also have two black 5 shelf target metro shelf units. I have two Ikea bar stools, white with silver legs, a Bulova wall clock which is super awesome but gently cracked at the edge. This has never bothered me because the clock is awesome enough to make up for it's flaws. I have a couple of wool blankets and a ton of books on all kinds of random topics. I have a small folding drafting table that is ready to go home with you. There are CDs that Reckless Records won't take, but I know you will.

These are all gifts for YOU!

Please come pick them up now, thank you.

Warm Up

2009-05-12T06:15:00.000-07:00

As if Portugal and India were not exciting enough, I'd like to warm up my International Travel Extravaganza with a quick trip to Mexico City. Why you ask? Because I was invited.

I am learning about all the things there are to see and reading my Spanish dictionary on the train in the mornings. Hot cha. I will tell you all about it when I return.

In the mean time, can someone tell me why I thought it was a good idea to sell my car BEFORE I move?

Housekeeping

2009-05-04T19:22:00.000-07:00

There are some well put together blogs out there, people. Have you been reading these? It is amazing how many people are capable of putting together their thoughts and experiences verbally, and in print, digitally (sometimes with photos) and putting it out there for the world to read and learn from. I am so impressed.

And I am daunted. I could go so many directions and do so many things now that my rubbermaid tub of composting red worms has been opened up. Well, I mean I could say so many things in so many ways. (None of these things would make up for the fact that I just confessed to a little bit of dirty hippy deep down inside of me somewhere underneath my stack of really heavy design magazines). So, with no further ado, I would like to set forth some parameters for this textual adventure.

The title of this blog is "It's Better When You're Moving" (I think I need to consult my most updated version of the MLA to know how to punctuate the title of a blog, gimme a sec...) M'kay, it looks like the rule of thumb is quotations for short works and parts of long works, and italics or underlining for long works or series of short works. Blogs seem to fit well in the category of series of short works so, since I like dynamism, italics it is!

The title of this blog is It's Better When You're Moving and my intention is to document my world travels for my friends and family. I would also like to add two more things (which may actually lead to multitudes of things, but we can cross said bridge upon arrival). One would be observations of other movers and the second would be food. Because ultimately I like to rejoice in the movements of those around me and food, or nourishment, is the fuel for motion, dontcha.

So look forward to future posts with odd observations and tasty snack descriptions and/or photos. Thank you.

P.S. Further research suggests that the MLA actually prefers quotes as the appropriate punctuation for blog titles. I think they are not only misguided, but also missing out. GRIN.

Reaching Out for the Equator -or- Can I Swim to the Maldives From Here?

2009-05-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

Finally pinpointed the area of India where the school I am volunteering with is located. They have facilities in Tenkasi, Tirunelveli, and (as pictured above) Kanyakumari, Tamil Nadu, India. Hot cha.
Please do browse the larger map and check out some of the pictures.

The Work

2009-05-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

Getting closer to India is presenting a few challenges. The easy part was waking up one morning with the revelation in my mind.

You are going to India.

Now, I don't know anything about anything, but I woke up that March 14th with the most calm and doubtless knowledge, not a hunch, not a wishful thought, not a fleeting fantasy. I didn't ask why. I had no idea where or when or how.

Hm, I am going to India. Oh, OK then.

Hours later, several events coincided to provide a little more insight on what to do with this knowledge. I went to church in a state of mind one might describe as a complete and total loss. I was on my way to support my dear sweet friend on her first attempt at overcoming stage fright at 8 o'clock in the morning. She needed the support and I wouldn't have missed it for anything. One foot after the other, just get there and be present. I found myself in the pews with several women I had never met but were obviously there for our friend's speech. They all looked as if they had just rolled out of bed, but had beaming faces and bristling energy all ready to reach out for kisses and hugs, knowing eye contact and hand squeezes. Well after all of that I was scooped and brought to brunch and introduced to everyone.
These women blew my mind. Absolutely. It was as though I were invited onto cloud #347 where several angels had gathered to answer all of my questions about life and love and what to do next, with a side of bacon.

So naturally I told them I was going to India and they were all "oh that is fantastic, when are you going, where will you be staying, how long will you be there, etc." and I was all "um, I don't know. I just found out I was going there yesterday." After about a split second of processing, one of the women told me she had someone I needed to meet who was actually only in town from India for two weeks and would be leaving in about 5 days. I said yes please, distributed my contact information and said I was totally available at anytime of day or night. Brunch wrapped up and I felt ready for anything. It's a good thing, too. Because I needed to be ready for what came next. Beware the Ides...

In a nutshell, what came next was a radical re-envisioning of my life and goals that I already knew was going to happen, but was still shocked by. It is hard to have some serious intuition powers AND a blissful child-like naivete at the same time, dontcha. The important thing to focus on here is the merciful freedom that entered my life clearing up a couple of things that were blocking my vector towards India. Now, I still have only a vague idea where my destination inside an enormous country is going to be, and the vaporous knowledge of why I am going materializes only a little more everyday, but I am so glad I had that revelation early or I might have needed a stunt double for the death defying leap from the sun roof of a speeding luxury sports car about to veer left onto the side of a high-speed train about to veer right.

That was the easy part. Now I am faced with budget, schedules, plane tickets, vaccinations, visas, selling my car, moving out of my apartment, securing a storage locker or selling everything I own (jury is still out on that one), taking the GRE, researching grad schools, working on my portfolio, eating as much Indian food as I can (mutter paneer, yum), working 9-5, vacationing in Portugal, volunteering for LIFT (more on this soon), and socializing with near and dear friends and family. Oy.

Thank God the weather is holding up. Yes, I know, it will snow tomorrow because I said that.

Dancing in Lisbon

2009-04-30T20:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon I became the proud owner of a round-trip ticket to Lisbon, Portugal. I will be there in June for the Lisbon Village Festival, I hope. They have a website which is under construction. Other organizations are talking about it. I, however, can not confirm dates or participants for this collection of events. The Lisbon Village Festival is typically a week long and focuses on music, film and art for "the digital age". So digital cinema, digital music, digital art. While I have a minor fear that I will be walking into a city-wide rave, I think it is going to be a fantastic time. It will also be more practice with interminably long plane trips. I need to train for the India marathon, don't I?

I hope to stay in the Alfama neighborhood. This is the old part of the city center and is apparently where there are many fado houses. That is really why I am going, fado. If I can sit in a cafe and eat seafood and listen to gloriously sad fado music, I might not even make it to the festival events. I bought a purple silk dress with a full skirt and ruffles just for this trip, well actually before I even booked it. What else is a lady to do with a purple dress besides go dancing in Lisbon?

Tamil Nadu or bust

2009-04-29T17:26:00.000-07:00

I am going to Tamil Nadu. It is a big state and I am not exactly sure where in it I will be, but I will pin-point it as soon as possible.

Once, very long ago late late at night (or was it early in the morning*...), it occurred to me as I sat with a glass of water in one hand and a bic lighter in the other pondering the fact that humans have harnessed two of the most dynamic forces of nature, that it is better when you are moving. No need to sit still, just get up and dance and rejoice. Well the idea stuck and I've called it my motto ever since. It works so well. I use it where some would say c'est la vie. It is an answer to so many mystical "why?"s, an excuse for so much water under bridges, a knowing affirmation when you can't sit still.

And now I will bring it into practice with surety and determination as I head to the equatorial jungle with my GBOGL** and my architecture skills to lend a hand to some friends in need.

*Dearest V, this is why you are always invoked when seismic movements occur in my life, as it was your house and your spell under which I had this revelation. Bless you.

** Giant Ball of God's Love