the stupendous outburst directed at my parents concerning my old friend abe’s disregarding to ask if his wife could join us for coffee, for his egregious assumption that she would be joining us by mere contract of marriage, wherein I flew off the handle, and at the nadir, after much pointed pointing, exclaimed that this was just one more reason why marriage is a sham, at which my mother retorted that no one would ever want me with that attitude, wherein I replied, Exactly, fine and well.
And so I made my way to coffeehouse, surfing through radio hits: Fleetwood mac, “ooh you make lovin fun’ and the mamas and the papas, ‘Monday Monday” until I could commiserate with ren (of stimpy fame) singing the blues about Christmas on the familiar old jazz station. A deep breath, and then I entered, and there they were, across from each other, smiling, 1 year married and 4 months pregnant (I dreamt of this pregnancy a month ago, and here it was before me, live and flesh and in a cable knit sweater). and for the next hours we talked of the passing of phish, and the coming of a child, of midwives and labor unions. I left feeling a bit foolish, for here was my friend and the fine woman he loved, living, together, and oh what I can learn from them, and see between them. Ah, coming home is the paradox of replacing myself into the past and acute confrontation with the change and ever-newness of the passage of time.
12.28.2004
12.05.2004
push on till the dawn
interesting thing about school is how it encapsulates time. i get 3 prescribed 10 week doses. patient waiting, weird onset and buildup, gradually growing, peaking, then coming down. funny how, when i've got this set amount, clear begining and end, i can orient my my whole movement through time. its a strange shouting way of marking progress, noting the passage.
12.02.2004
11.09.2004
more about A's: the intersection of alone and alive (or) lessons from cooking (or) my name isobel
right now she's singing:
you are going to have to find out for yourself
i've been experimenting with aloness. successfully. it is honestly unlike any endeavor i've ever set myself upon. i don't feel like going into the details of it's all encompassing-ness. but one of the effects. some days i am bursting with it: the desire and drive to put into action my big ideas. there are two big BIG projects i want to take on. i go back and forth from meetings between the 2, the buildings where the meetings are for each are right down a path from each other. one involves a huge state grant, nearly a half million, for designing and implementing a community-based urban stormwater runoff program. education, landscape design, schoolkids doing GIS, the works. this comes from my work study job. this could be my thesis. this is my re-entry into the water world. the second is developing a campus energy efficiency campaign, working with facilities management and students to reduce electricity use at dorms. this keeps my in touch with my present expertise, but expands a bit from the world of renewable energy. this is something i could really take full control of. this would put the years of sitting behind my desk at my old job into action. this is what i wanted to do at my old job. this is something i for which i would apply for a fellowship.
with the aloness taking effect more and more, suddenly i see myself throwing myself into these time consuming, energy slaking projects. and i want to. all through college, and in my fair city, i wouldn't commit to anything, not anything beyond the requirements, that would keep me from hanging out. this was, in part, a reaction to my life from k-12 grade, when i held numerous class president positions, academic challenge membership, model u.n., etc. back then i strove. then striving wasn't cool anymore for me, i guess. but it's always been in there, my ambition for being extraordinary. i think the timer wrote of this once, maybe in different terms, about 'whats so wrong with ambition?' and so now i see that in aloness, i can rekindle it, and like it. nay, i can't be alone forever, and i'm guessing (hoping) that i can strike a balance down the road. but right now it's gaining momentum, propelling me. my concern was that i could not handle 2 big projects like that at the same time, plus school, plus enjoyment. but tonight, in crisp air with clean clear darkness around me, i felt so energized with it all, catapulting forward. i don't know if i can maintain it. i put some things away to get to the aloness, but they are not gone, and i don't know how where the integration lies. but i have faith in this feeling. while preparing stir fry sizzling and popping in the background, i was chopping the beautiful yellow and green pepper, slicing through it with a very sharp knife, and i said yes, this is what i feel like right now.
you are going to have to find out for yourself
i've been experimenting with aloness. successfully. it is honestly unlike any endeavor i've ever set myself upon. i don't feel like going into the details of it's all encompassing-ness. but one of the effects. some days i am bursting with it: the desire and drive to put into action my big ideas. there are two big BIG projects i want to take on. i go back and forth from meetings between the 2, the buildings where the meetings are for each are right down a path from each other. one involves a huge state grant, nearly a half million, for designing and implementing a community-based urban stormwater runoff program. education, landscape design, schoolkids doing GIS, the works. this comes from my work study job. this could be my thesis. this is my re-entry into the water world. the second is developing a campus energy efficiency campaign, working with facilities management and students to reduce electricity use at dorms. this keeps my in touch with my present expertise, but expands a bit from the world of renewable energy. this is something i could really take full control of. this would put the years of sitting behind my desk at my old job into action. this is what i wanted to do at my old job. this is something i for which i would apply for a fellowship.
with the aloness taking effect more and more, suddenly i see myself throwing myself into these time consuming, energy slaking projects. and i want to. all through college, and in my fair city, i wouldn't commit to anything, not anything beyond the requirements, that would keep me from hanging out. this was, in part, a reaction to my life from k-12 grade, when i held numerous class president positions, academic challenge membership, model u.n., etc. back then i strove. then striving wasn't cool anymore for me, i guess. but it's always been in there, my ambition for being extraordinary. i think the timer wrote of this once, maybe in different terms, about 'whats so wrong with ambition?' and so now i see that in aloness, i can rekindle it, and like it. nay, i can't be alone forever, and i'm guessing (hoping) that i can strike a balance down the road. but right now it's gaining momentum, propelling me. my concern was that i could not handle 2 big projects like that at the same time, plus school, plus enjoyment. but tonight, in crisp air with clean clear darkness around me, i felt so energized with it all, catapulting forward. i don't know if i can maintain it. i put some things away to get to the aloness, but they are not gone, and i don't know how where the integration lies. but i have faith in this feeling. while preparing stir fry sizzling and popping in the background, i was chopping the beautiful yellow and green pepper, slicing through it with a very sharp knife, and i said yes, this is what i feel like right now.
11.02.2004
A to the muthafuckin' K
i'm in a celebratory mood tonight. listening to french hip hop. five dolla' wine. full on dinner topped with my favorite goddess dressing, the first bottle i've cracked since i had a kitchen in my fair city. and now my housie cracks a new bottle, too, of our favorite cheapster wine. the wine's name is borgia. i like to think of it as victor borgia, who is actually a woman, but also a man. like victor/victoria.
why all the pomp and circumstance? why the grand toast, bird?
tonight, i initiate myself into the halls of studentdom. yes, boosted by the receipt of good grades and pats on the back for a job well done after two monday nights in a row of up after 2 am writing, but that's only 33% of the equation. the middle third is my shift in commitment to studies - baa, i managed to stay away from my fair city on hallowed halloween weekend. it's easy now to just say no (except on tuesday nights. tuesday the closed sign is on the door). in fact, i have never ever known a better excuse for ducking out of any social engagement "oh, i can't join you tonight, i have too much work, too much reading to do." a fellow student can never argue with this. the beauty of this excuse is that it can always be said with a straight face; it's always true, even if only in the long view. perfect. the final 33% is attributed to the blossoming of my interest in classes and topics, i.e., getting into it. infact, i currently have a huge crush on landscape design and urban planning. in the course catalog, the three letter specification for the department is LDA, but i prefer to list it as LSD. indeed, maybe in fact that's the extra 10% - when becoming immersed in a subject so much that it seeps into the space behind your eyes, so that everything seen goes through it. now i walk around looking at sidewalks like never before, watching people cross the street with peaked curiousity. oh, the differences between a crush on a human and a crush on academic subject matter. much more managable, the latter. and i hearken back to a card i sent to lady v the first time 'round in college that quite rightly declared:
book lovers never go to bed alone
why all the pomp and circumstance? why the grand toast, bird?
tonight, i initiate myself into the halls of studentdom. yes, boosted by the receipt of good grades and pats on the back for a job well done after two monday nights in a row of up after 2 am writing, but that's only 33% of the equation. the middle third is my shift in commitment to studies - baa, i managed to stay away from my fair city on hallowed halloween weekend. it's easy now to just say no (except on tuesday nights. tuesday the closed sign is on the door). in fact, i have never ever known a better excuse for ducking out of any social engagement "oh, i can't join you tonight, i have too much work, too much reading to do." a fellow student can never argue with this. the beauty of this excuse is that it can always be said with a straight face; it's always true, even if only in the long view. perfect. the final 33% is attributed to the blossoming of my interest in classes and topics, i.e., getting into it. infact, i currently have a huge crush on landscape design and urban planning. in the course catalog, the three letter specification for the department is LDA, but i prefer to list it as LSD. indeed, maybe in fact that's the extra 10% - when becoming immersed in a subject so much that it seeps into the space behind your eyes, so that everything seen goes through it. now i walk around looking at sidewalks like never before, watching people cross the street with peaked curiousity. oh, the differences between a crush on a human and a crush on academic subject matter. much more managable, the latter. and i hearken back to a card i sent to lady v the first time 'round in college that quite rightly declared:
book lovers never go to bed alone
10.19.2004
of beets and rain and crushes, and most of all, pouring
i walked home in the rain today. i mean, when i set out, it was not raining. it was obvious sun behind many clouds. it was the alternative of when i am on the airplane, and the thick layer of clouds below but the sun so shining on all of us flyers, and we can't believe those below aren't just soaking it in. but then, nearly there, only 10, 15 minutes left, and it's really coming down. i love how the rain varys in intensity, but no one is skimming the dimmer switch. when it's raining, it's remininding us of another fourth demention, that the sky is 3-d, too.
all over today, it's fall. i have not experienced explicit autumn since 5 years ago. how i like it, how it makes the smells grander, and the colours richer, and the textures more canyonous. rubbing a bit of shrubbery between my two fingers all the way home, transferring hard earned chlorophyll from it to me. so fresh it smells. biking is good, very good, but in the end, walking is the better. 'walk along little children, take each other by the hand, we will all live for ever when we make it together, walking to the promise land.' today i noticed that the little berries that i'd been riding over, pondering over, are acutally olives. many of them are still connected to trees. can i harvest them (do not eat freshly harvested olives, too bitter, no no, one must marinate them first. attenzione)? i will find out from a stranger in the polmology department, which i have been itching to get into, but lamentably is closing after this quarter. the last polmology department in the country.
but when i get home, after passing also persimmon trees and pomegranates ripe, it is time for the wine. coming home to the glass(es) of wine is coming home to a lover. the lover is my academic self. it is the reflection of the hard work and the romanticism in reading. oh, we have a toast to the new words and the way our heads spin with the new ways of thinking, to drown the hard paper edges and soak in the rich thinking for thinking's sake alone.
tonight it was the beets i have been harboring for the past 2 weeks. lately too lazy to put in the beet effort. but tonight, after that walk, after the autumn aroma, it was time. everytime i eat beets it is a celebration, a religious rite. blame it on tom robbins, and on the way they stain like that. but tonight, a new fact did the beets give rise to. as i was lauding writer tom to poet megan, she informed me that salome (of other, non-beet, tom fame), daughter of some famous queen (one we've surely heard of, but don't be so quick to label her sheeba), after performing her enchanting and irresistable dance of the seven veils, was granted anything she wished by some famous king (one we've surely heard of, but don't be so quick to label him herod). and so, after consulting mommy dearest, salome requested the head of st. john the baptist. and so came the death of my old testatment/new testament crush.
but it is a different crush altogther, a biblical friend (for reasons to be discussed later. dear god, only so much bible study in one night, please) that leads me to the last topic. that of pouring. it all out, that is. oh, this is a theme that comes in and out all the time. knowing when to speak and let the floodgates open, and when to keep quiet. until i crossed paths with a certain majestic one whom i truly admired and adored, i had not known the virtue of quiet. of keeping one's own counsel. now i believe in it, like a creed, like a beatititude, blessed are those who keep their own counsel, they shall find their own reward. but perhaps it is not in my nature - i certainly have not determined this yet. but again this shabazz rears is vocal head at a time when, in other avenues, i am forcing my mouth open and words to come out. today, a triumph of speaking in class, in both classses, and reason be damned, i do not care if i sound foolish or un.phd.educated, for it is what i'm thinkin', i just let it flow - about honor and the american dream as it applies to chicano youths in chicago in the 70's, about the changing concepts of community. ah, sure, why not?
but beyond why not?, a bigger question arises for me today.
do we ever truly hear the sound of the wind, or just the sound of the wind rushing through other things?
all over today, it's fall. i have not experienced explicit autumn since 5 years ago. how i like it, how it makes the smells grander, and the colours richer, and the textures more canyonous. rubbing a bit of shrubbery between my two fingers all the way home, transferring hard earned chlorophyll from it to me. so fresh it smells. biking is good, very good, but in the end, walking is the better. 'walk along little children, take each other by the hand, we will all live for ever when we make it together, walking to the promise land.' today i noticed that the little berries that i'd been riding over, pondering over, are acutally olives. many of them are still connected to trees. can i harvest them (do not eat freshly harvested olives, too bitter, no no, one must marinate them first. attenzione)? i will find out from a stranger in the polmology department, which i have been itching to get into, but lamentably is closing after this quarter. the last polmology department in the country.
but when i get home, after passing also persimmon trees and pomegranates ripe, it is time for the wine. coming home to the glass(es) of wine is coming home to a lover. the lover is my academic self. it is the reflection of the hard work and the romanticism in reading. oh, we have a toast to the new words and the way our heads spin with the new ways of thinking, to drown the hard paper edges and soak in the rich thinking for thinking's sake alone.
tonight it was the beets i have been harboring for the past 2 weeks. lately too lazy to put in the beet effort. but tonight, after that walk, after the autumn aroma, it was time. everytime i eat beets it is a celebration, a religious rite. blame it on tom robbins, and on the way they stain like that. but tonight, a new fact did the beets give rise to. as i was lauding writer tom to poet megan, she informed me that salome (of other, non-beet, tom fame), daughter of some famous queen (one we've surely heard of, but don't be so quick to label her sheeba), after performing her enchanting and irresistable dance of the seven veils, was granted anything she wished by some famous king (one we've surely heard of, but don't be so quick to label him herod). and so, after consulting mommy dearest, salome requested the head of st. john the baptist. and so came the death of my old testatment/new testament crush.
but it is a different crush altogther, a biblical friend (for reasons to be discussed later. dear god, only so much bible study in one night, please) that leads me to the last topic. that of pouring. it all out, that is. oh, this is a theme that comes in and out all the time. knowing when to speak and let the floodgates open, and when to keep quiet. until i crossed paths with a certain majestic one whom i truly admired and adored, i had not known the virtue of quiet. of keeping one's own counsel. now i believe in it, like a creed, like a beatititude, blessed are those who keep their own counsel, they shall find their own reward. but perhaps it is not in my nature - i certainly have not determined this yet. but again this shabazz rears is vocal head at a time when, in other avenues, i am forcing my mouth open and words to come out. today, a triumph of speaking in class, in both classses, and reason be damned, i do not care if i sound foolish or un.phd.educated, for it is what i'm thinkin', i just let it flow - about honor and the american dream as it applies to chicano youths in chicago in the 70's, about the changing concepts of community. ah, sure, why not?
but beyond why not?, a bigger question arises for me today.
do we ever truly hear the sound of the wind, or just the sound of the wind rushing through other things?
10.16.2004
little rascal
does it look different? it's coming from my very own - my very own little computer. it's white. i will refrain from referring to it as cute. i feel like i've been searching through pet stores and shelters and i've finally taken home the pup i've been searching for (it's true, i've never had a real pet before save for some shortlived goldfish, so i'm still looking to place those kid - my dog is my best buddy - feelings somewhere). anyways, now i have no excuse, and together we shall enter a new era in which times ten will flourish. though, i'm sure that times ten will flourish because of excuses... not to write papers, to take a break from reading, to avoid my workstudy job...i'll excuse myself
10.08.2004
was it for this my life i sought?
during my four years studying civil engineering at the undergraduate level, i had the fantasy of being a sociologist. towards the end there, when i was really beginning to freak out about not knowing what i was gonna be when i grew up, and watching all my overachiever engineering friends head straight into grad school, there was a lot of nervous laughing for me. a lot of manical laughing, too. i used to joke that i would get a masters degree in sociology, but i never really laughed at that one.
and now, as my fellow CEs head back to bethlehem pennsylvania this month for our 5 year reunion, i find myself in a graduate sociology class. and the fates are laughing up a storm. because in that class, and the education course on experiential learning, and in the community development theory class, my head is spinning. but not with the joy of an academic world opened wide to me, that i have made my entree into a lifelong dream. no. it spins on an axis of incredulity, that we can spend an hour discussing what "learning" constitutes. and how about "experience"? that a group of highly educated phd students can sit and be perfectly serious about this winding conversation, thinking that it will actually achieve some higher purpose. i'm experience a jarring culture shock this week - it's the canary culture of practicality versus the academic social science culture of blather. it's my lists and agendas versus thier mental wanderings. the thing is, i know that i have to lose this competition. i have to put up the white flag and give in, and not only accept but participate.
in one week of classes, so many times have i wanted to bring attention to the class at the seeming unnecessariness of the conversation, but instead i am calling attention to myself. to force a redirection in approach and way of thinking. i don't know if that's really possible to the fullest extent - i'm me and i'll bend, but i won't break. i thought that moving to a new town, departing from one social scene and entering another, doing homework, that these would be the hardest. i never imagined that my biggest challenge would be stomaching my own dreams.
and now, as my fellow CEs head back to bethlehem pennsylvania this month for our 5 year reunion, i find myself in a graduate sociology class. and the fates are laughing up a storm. because in that class, and the education course on experiential learning, and in the community development theory class, my head is spinning. but not with the joy of an academic world opened wide to me, that i have made my entree into a lifelong dream. no. it spins on an axis of incredulity, that we can spend an hour discussing what "learning" constitutes. and how about "experience"? that a group of highly educated phd students can sit and be perfectly serious about this winding conversation, thinking that it will actually achieve some higher purpose. i'm experience a jarring culture shock this week - it's the canary culture of practicality versus the academic social science culture of blather. it's my lists and agendas versus thier mental wanderings. the thing is, i know that i have to lose this competition. i have to put up the white flag and give in, and not only accept but participate.
in one week of classes, so many times have i wanted to bring attention to the class at the seeming unnecessariness of the conversation, but instead i am calling attention to myself. to force a redirection in approach and way of thinking. i don't know if that's really possible to the fullest extent - i'm me and i'll bend, but i won't break. i thought that moving to a new town, departing from one social scene and entering another, doing homework, that these would be the hardest. i never imagined that my biggest challenge would be stomaching my own dreams.
8.26.2004
miles of aisles
at this very moment, i am experiencing my first visit to my new library. a university library. upon entering, my sense of smellmemory overtook me. smells just like the newer library at my undergrad alma mater (unfortunately, nothing can compare or come close to the olfactory overload one experiences in the hundred year old library at lehigh). i've yet to wander through the stacks here, but my visit with fishfry yesterday has me psyched. soon, i too will be able to check out a fat pile of books just like hers upon her return from the first day of school.
i did wander through the basement of the campus bookstore right now. many of the shelves are still empty, with only little orange placeholders to announce the impending paper chase. but by the divine/libraryine intervention, just the right ones were there. and so my recent freakout of not finding any graduate classes interesting in the course catalog is now solved - all it took was a stroll through the aisles, and some books sang out to me: Living with the Earth; City Builders: Property, Politics and Planning; Great Thirst: Californians and Water, A History. Each of these books for a different class - epidemology, sociology, and that subject i apparently cannot escape, civil engineering. so the solution arrives in book form, huzzah.
in my present location, and after reading with reckless abandon this summer, and the second to last book i finished being focused on books (the name of the rose), i am now wondering in a psuedo academic, pre-re-entry into school sort of way, about how i am bound to books. the books themselves, not just their contents. sure, there's the smells and the touch of an embossed cover and that joyous greedy hoarding feeling, but there's more. for it's not only the answer of what classes to take that they offer me. but they provide also, i am discovering, an amorous keystone. and, as i have known since childhood, a natural laxative. ahh, if u.c. were not about to overtake c.u., this would be a study for the fall semester of my own personal curriculum, indeed.
i did wander through the basement of the campus bookstore right now. many of the shelves are still empty, with only little orange placeholders to announce the impending paper chase. but by the divine/libraryine intervention, just the right ones were there. and so my recent freakout of not finding any graduate classes interesting in the course catalog is now solved - all it took was a stroll through the aisles, and some books sang out to me: Living with the Earth; City Builders: Property, Politics and Planning; Great Thirst: Californians and Water, A History. Each of these books for a different class - epidemology, sociology, and that subject i apparently cannot escape, civil engineering. so the solution arrives in book form, huzzah.
in my present location, and after reading with reckless abandon this summer, and the second to last book i finished being focused on books (the name of the rose), i am now wondering in a psuedo academic, pre-re-entry into school sort of way, about how i am bound to books. the books themselves, not just their contents. sure, there's the smells and the touch of an embossed cover and that joyous greedy hoarding feeling, but there's more. for it's not only the answer of what classes to take that they offer me. but they provide also, i am discovering, an amorous keystone. and, as i have known since childhood, a natural laxative. ahh, if u.c. were not about to overtake c.u., this would be a study for the fall semester of my own personal curriculum, indeed.
8.09.2004
not a bedtime story. well maybe.
i miss my blog. traveler companionship has whisked me away. we are at the beach. in a resort town, even though we thought that taking a ferry across the river would get us away from a resort town, we just landed in a smaller, cooler one. it is the most like my old family vacations to that grand east coast summer destination, ocean city maryland. i mean, not in location and surroundings, but in activity. lying on the beach, trying to read by holding the book above my head but always falling asleep with it on my face, vainly wondering if i am getting tan, checking out others´asses. a sunset cocktail, a drowsy walk home, an evening nap. big nighttime event to choose where to eat dinner. yesterday the friendly brazillian man, former club med employee who graciously showed us around, happening upon us on our way to the beach, boldly greeting us, ´ah, my friends, you look like tourists.´ we laughed in our straw hats, but it echoes in my head and i don´t like the way i feel like my parents.
but last night there was a shining moment of grace. the guidbook says this town attracts a ´younger´ crowd, and over dinner i was trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean. why the quotes? but afterwards, we crossed the street to see the live band and the people dancing. and there, in this little square, were a bunch of teenagers. beautiful kids, young, girls with exposed bellies and boys with requisite shaggy beach hair. but they were dancing impeccably, gorgeously. so sexy (oh, this is the area in which the lambada was born). it was like a high school dance, but what i imagined before i actually went to one. all couple dancing, really intricate steps with twirls and hips shaking and the boy spins the girl to the right and then the left with a light hand on the back of her bare waist. the boys look like stoner beach kids but they are perfect in their moves. partners are changed inbetween songs. this would never happen in the united states. never - simply not mature enough, and parents would freak at the way his leg is always in her crotch, but i can see that it is so much better and healthier than keggers at the river. the band is a bunch of teenagers too, my favorite is the one playing the huge triangle (like the size of a hanger). oh, this is the sweetest thing i have ever seen.
i can write today because it´s raining, but now i have to take leave. because a rainy day at the beach, as my parents would declare, is meant for shopping.
but last night there was a shining moment of grace. the guidbook says this town attracts a ´younger´ crowd, and over dinner i was trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean. why the quotes? but afterwards, we crossed the street to see the live band and the people dancing. and there, in this little square, were a bunch of teenagers. beautiful kids, young, girls with exposed bellies and boys with requisite shaggy beach hair. but they were dancing impeccably, gorgeously. so sexy (oh, this is the area in which the lambada was born). it was like a high school dance, but what i imagined before i actually went to one. all couple dancing, really intricate steps with twirls and hips shaking and the boy spins the girl to the right and then the left with a light hand on the back of her bare waist. the boys look like stoner beach kids but they are perfect in their moves. partners are changed inbetween songs. this would never happen in the united states. never - simply not mature enough, and parents would freak at the way his leg is always in her crotch, but i can see that it is so much better and healthier than keggers at the river. the band is a bunch of teenagers too, my favorite is the one playing the huge triangle (like the size of a hanger). oh, this is the sweetest thing i have ever seen.
i can write today because it´s raining, but now i have to take leave. because a rainy day at the beach, as my parents would declare, is meant for shopping.
8.02.2004
logunede
saturday night we went to a candomble ritual. arranged by our little hotel, we got into one of the white mercedes vans seen everywhere but whose functions elude me. picked up 10 other tourists and drove drove drove through the slick darkness, past local eateries, into the heart of the city. not the center city, not the historical part where everyone visits. the part where everyone lives, where cars are parked half on the road, half on the sidewalk, and everyone´s hanging out on the streets. we pulled into what i believe usually functions as a used car lot. but on special occasions, such as this night, the big building in the back next to the house is transformed into a candomble temple. it´s surrounded by smaller white buildings each dedicated to a god or goddess, i think where the animmal sacrifices take place. a man hops into the bus and tells us that it´s already started - tonight is very special, a woman is being initiated into the cult. she has been isolated for the past two weeks with black and white spots like a chicken painted on her body. tonight we will see her go into a trance via rythmic dancing, and her patron goddess with inhabit her.
men to the left, women to the right. there are more females than males, many more. the gringas crowding in with the women and girls of the neighborhood. call and response, the priest singing out over the drummers, the audience knows the words to countless songs. and in the middle, the women, dancing. wearing all white - cotton lacy headwraps, blouses with what seem like hoop skirts and pantaloons underneath. and a further lace wrap around the chest, like you would wear a bathtowel. the dance movements are simple and repetitive. and endless. some songs last only a few minutes. but they all sound pretty much the same to me and all blend into one long repition of noise. it is a complete circus. the two leading women, one in her 30s, one stately and old but with the most vitality, directing the dancing, talking to the priest (no, not that dance, she shakes her finger at him, we´re not doing that one tonight). women in white constantly coming and going from the temple to the house and back (do they need a rest, a pee break, a toke?), always having to press their way through the throng of onlookers blocking the doorway. and on the sidelines, the young girls, the most enthusiastic singers, passing around a baby, mouthing off to older sisters across the way. someday they will be the ones dancing.
going to a candomble ritual is one of the things to do in salvador. but it´s a sketchy undertaking because the tourist needs to discern which guide is actually going to take her to something authentic, yet having no idea what authentic looks like, and being unable to go solo. (in general i completely shy away from any guided activities, to the point of completely disregarding experiences that require guides. ahh, but i am not traveling alone anymore and my dictatorship has become a democracy). the travel book says ´ask someone local if you want to go to a ritual.´so the hotel man behind the counter helped us out. and although he has been very helpful all along, i was filled to the brim with skeptism. even once i arrived and saw that there was quite a large group of people participating, and even larger number of neighbors in the stands who obviously knew when to clap, i wondered. maybe the leaders convince everyone to participate by promising all the locals who come a big chicken dinner with the profits from the tourists (it was 15 usd a piece, and we guessed that it probably cost more for the folks from the posh hotels - that´s a lot of chicken). but during the break, when the women in white change into their elaborate costumes to reflect the gods and goddesses, i looked out into the lot where everyone was loitering, waiting i saw little kids running around and old people smoking cigarettes, men smiling and shaking hands women gossiping. remaining even when it began to rain again. no, this was the real deal. this was 10:30 on saturday night, and a whole community was gathered to sing and dance and revere the mysteries.
when things started up again, and the newly initiated woman entered in her shiny blue costume with a headress of beads covering her eyes, revealing the goddess of the sea, i could feel her triumph. and later, when my favorite, the young woman who i´d been watching all night, began her dance, now dressed all in yellow and green with a golden bow and arrow, the priests and men up front pointed at her, nodding, look out. she had not opened her eyes for the whole second half while she waited in trance to be called. on and on she went, simple steps around the room with elbows back and forth, stopping to bend her knees and scream. song after song, and the priest looked questioningly at the other men, but her spirit was still strong and she had not yet lain down her will and so they had to keep going. and when the tourists were gathered up and shuttled back into the white vans, the singing was growing louder and she continued. i did not want to leave. there was so much more, things were heating up. i was exhausted from the day and hungry, but i would have stayed all night.
men to the left, women to the right. there are more females than males, many more. the gringas crowding in with the women and girls of the neighborhood. call and response, the priest singing out over the drummers, the audience knows the words to countless songs. and in the middle, the women, dancing. wearing all white - cotton lacy headwraps, blouses with what seem like hoop skirts and pantaloons underneath. and a further lace wrap around the chest, like you would wear a bathtowel. the dance movements are simple and repetitive. and endless. some songs last only a few minutes. but they all sound pretty much the same to me and all blend into one long repition of noise. it is a complete circus. the two leading women, one in her 30s, one stately and old but with the most vitality, directing the dancing, talking to the priest (no, not that dance, she shakes her finger at him, we´re not doing that one tonight). women in white constantly coming and going from the temple to the house and back (do they need a rest, a pee break, a toke?), always having to press their way through the throng of onlookers blocking the doorway. and on the sidelines, the young girls, the most enthusiastic singers, passing around a baby, mouthing off to older sisters across the way. someday they will be the ones dancing.
going to a candomble ritual is one of the things to do in salvador. but it´s a sketchy undertaking because the tourist needs to discern which guide is actually going to take her to something authentic, yet having no idea what authentic looks like, and being unable to go solo. (in general i completely shy away from any guided activities, to the point of completely disregarding experiences that require guides. ahh, but i am not traveling alone anymore and my dictatorship has become a democracy). the travel book says ´ask someone local if you want to go to a ritual.´so the hotel man behind the counter helped us out. and although he has been very helpful all along, i was filled to the brim with skeptism. even once i arrived and saw that there was quite a large group of people participating, and even larger number of neighbors in the stands who obviously knew when to clap, i wondered. maybe the leaders convince everyone to participate by promising all the locals who come a big chicken dinner with the profits from the tourists (it was 15 usd a piece, and we guessed that it probably cost more for the folks from the posh hotels - that´s a lot of chicken). but during the break, when the women in white change into their elaborate costumes to reflect the gods and goddesses, i looked out into the lot where everyone was loitering, waiting i saw little kids running around and old people smoking cigarettes, men smiling and shaking hands women gossiping. remaining even when it began to rain again. no, this was the real deal. this was 10:30 on saturday night, and a whole community was gathered to sing and dance and revere the mysteries.
when things started up again, and the newly initiated woman entered in her shiny blue costume with a headress of beads covering her eyes, revealing the goddess of the sea, i could feel her triumph. and later, when my favorite, the young woman who i´d been watching all night, began her dance, now dressed all in yellow and green with a golden bow and arrow, the priests and men up front pointed at her, nodding, look out. she had not opened her eyes for the whole second half while she waited in trance to be called. on and on she went, simple steps around the room with elbows back and forth, stopping to bend her knees and scream. song after song, and the priest looked questioningly at the other men, but her spirit was still strong and she had not yet lain down her will and so they had to keep going. and when the tourists were gathered up and shuttled back into the white vans, the singing was growing louder and she continued. i did not want to leave. there was so much more, things were heating up. i was exhausted from the day and hungry, but i would have stayed all night.
7.31.2004
oi, oi, oi
from ecuador to brazil. from solo travel to companionship. from spanish to portugese. andean mountains to atlantic coast. a bit overwhelmed since my change in scenery. everything is exploded, bigger and louder and more. in sao paulo, a city in that in 20 years will be the largest in south america, massive amounts of people. at any time of day, sidewalks like veins, pulsing with people. the city has districts: the electronics district, the clothing district, and my favorite, the hardware store district, with tools displayed in cases like precious gems.
and now in salvador, bahia. the afro~brazillian capital. the home of capoeria and samba. a bona fide beach town, with sandals aplenty. all the women wearing tight tank tops, a profusion of cleavage and bellies, flat or round. right now the humidity is weighing down on me. i had forgotten humidity. it~s easiest just to sit in the open door cafes and drink cheap, strong caipirhnas, in all their limeliciousness, to avoid the agressive street vendors, to enjoy the coming and going rain, and to marvel at this friend beside me. for suddenly, here is someone, not a stranger. a connection with lots of others, with home. a connection with my past, but not my most recent past.
last night, in the strangest of dream experiences, i felt the hands of a man caressing my breasts. i knew this was a stranger, an old man in my hotel bed. i turned around and sat up. i looked at him in the dim light, lying beside me, , he was big with white slicked back hair, so real. confused and frightened, i cried out loud ´who are you?´and out of the dark body, a response ´carrie, it´s me, jake.´the familiarity of the voice, full of calm and concern, drew me back into reality, and in a blink the body was young and intimately recognizable.
i am still unsteady after this experience. later in the night, i woke myself up laughing in a dream (the second time this has happened on my trip). there is something unsettling about that blurring of the line between dream and awake, and i doubt that my questions can be answered with my good old reliable, science.
and now in salvador, bahia. the afro~brazillian capital. the home of capoeria and samba. a bona fide beach town, with sandals aplenty. all the women wearing tight tank tops, a profusion of cleavage and bellies, flat or round. right now the humidity is weighing down on me. i had forgotten humidity. it~s easiest just to sit in the open door cafes and drink cheap, strong caipirhnas, in all their limeliciousness, to avoid the agressive street vendors, to enjoy the coming and going rain, and to marvel at this friend beside me. for suddenly, here is someone, not a stranger. a connection with lots of others, with home. a connection with my past, but not my most recent past.
last night, in the strangest of dream experiences, i felt the hands of a man caressing my breasts. i knew this was a stranger, an old man in my hotel bed. i turned around and sat up. i looked at him in the dim light, lying beside me, , he was big with white slicked back hair, so real. confused and frightened, i cried out loud ´who are you?´and out of the dark body, a response ´carrie, it´s me, jake.´the familiarity of the voice, full of calm and concern, drew me back into reality, and in a blink the body was young and intimately recognizable.
i am still unsteady after this experience. later in the night, i woke myself up laughing in a dream (the second time this has happened on my trip). there is something unsettling about that blurring of the line between dream and awake, and i doubt that my questions can be answered with my good old reliable, science.
7.19.2004
your opinion counts
here at times ten, we value your input. when important issues arise, you have a say.
in one week, my solo travel will end. i will meet up with my international traveling companion. said companion is also he whom i lay down next to in bed most often in my real life. once again grappling with the proper moniker for this person, an older english woman at a hostel a few weeks back recommended the term, 'my bloke.' while i don't think that will fly in the states for numerous reasons, so far this title has sufficed, and it always gets a chuckle out of british travelers.
so, the issue is this - the aforementioned bloke is yet unawares of times ten. shall the song remain the same?
at present, times ten has either shyed away from or been disinterested in topics of a tender nature. future topics are, obviously, unforeseen. in past discussions with senior/mentor bloggers, this serious issue has been raised in a cocktail conversation way. but now it takes on real concrete importance. times ten is looking for your opinion here. the comment button is live, and we've got operators standing by.
while you enter your important and influential thoughts, i will be mulling it over in a cloud forest for the next few days. the best place for clarity being the mist, of course. in the meantime, let your voice be heard.
in one week, my solo travel will end. i will meet up with my international traveling companion. said companion is also he whom i lay down next to in bed most often in my real life. once again grappling with the proper moniker for this person, an older english woman at a hostel a few weeks back recommended the term, 'my bloke.' while i don't think that will fly in the states for numerous reasons, so far this title has sufficed, and it always gets a chuckle out of british travelers.
so, the issue is this - the aforementioned bloke is yet unawares of times ten. shall the song remain the same?
at present, times ten has either shyed away from or been disinterested in topics of a tender nature. future topics are, obviously, unforeseen. in past discussions with senior/mentor bloggers, this serious issue has been raised in a cocktail conversation way. but now it takes on real concrete importance. times ten is looking for your opinion here. the comment button is live, and we've got operators standing by.
while you enter your important and influential thoughts, i will be mulling it over in a cloud forest for the next few days. the best place for clarity being the mist, of course. in the meantime, let your voice be heard.
7.17.2004
ritchie ritual
in my few volunteer experiences abroad, i've found some common threads. one dreaded, one dear. the former being the washing of dishes. i've yet to come across a volunteer residence with a dishwasher. having a dishwasher would seem to indicate a lack of need for volunteers in fact. in truth, the washing of dishes is not always a drag. it just depends on the setting. in the jungle, with only a mere two meals a day, we all lingered around the table. i chose to keep my dirty empty plate planted right in front of me rather than push it away, a blantant announcement 'i'm done'. for this would mean i'm available for doing dishes. in my case jungle style dish-doing was a nasty affair: several eaters= several plates, several old, gross plastic prep bowls often with a) banana goo or b) sticky water flour mixture, and at least 2 pots/pans that were suspended over an open fire, resulting in a thick layer of black carbon. these pots are always done last, because it is impossible to keep yourself clean while washing them, and everything touched afterwards is sullied. still, i might not have tried to shrink back into the candlelight shadows as dishwashing time approacheth, but for the lack of running water. 2 plastic basins with rainwater. the first for 'cleaning' which i was loathe to plunge my hands into after the first few items emerged, and the second for 'rinsing.' yeah right. rene, the canadian in his mid 30's, the only male volunteer, was regularly the default dishwasher, with his girlfriend standing by for moral support. i think we all knew if we sat on our stumps long enough, he would save the day, he who was nicknamed 'el capitan,' he who also took responsibility for ensuring we had dry wood and he who rose first to stoke the morning fire. although i walked away many times from that table filled with relief, it was not without a sense of dishwashing guilt that grew larger as the days passed. but now i am doing my dishwashing penance, in a kitchen with very cold running water, a cd mp3 player, and a pleasant latin american hippy atmosphere complete with indigenous mandala mural on the wall. i'll wash dishes anytime i see one now - today it was a joy as with pensive strains of beethoven to accompany me and through the window rays of sun absolved me. forgive me my sins, i'm going to heaven after all.
the second activity is just as common as the first. the taking of tea. true, teatime is revered everywhere. but with the volunteer set it takes on greater importance. the making and drinking of tea, it is doing something in its own right. to put this in perspective, consider the volunteer's role as you would a temp job. in both, you have been brought in under the auspices that there is additional work to be done, and we need your able bodied help, pronto. but upon arrival, you wait for orders that may never arrive, or your critical task feels alot like sitting around doing nothing. ahh, but when you are making tea, well then you are doing something. you are warming yourself up in often draughty residences, taboot. the english, with crustless cucumber sandwiches in dainty hand, the japanese in their gardens of traquility, they have nothing on volunteers the world over.
the second activity is just as common as the first. the taking of tea. true, teatime is revered everywhere. but with the volunteer set it takes on greater importance. the making and drinking of tea, it is doing something in its own right. to put this in perspective, consider the volunteer's role as you would a temp job. in both, you have been brought in under the auspices that there is additional work to be done, and we need your able bodied help, pronto. but upon arrival, you wait for orders that may never arrive, or your critical task feels alot like sitting around doing nothing. ahh, but when you are making tea, well then you are doing something. you are warming yourself up in often draughty residences, taboot. the english, with crustless cucumber sandwiches in dainty hand, the japanese in their gardens of traquility, they have nothing on volunteers the world over.
7.16.2004
lost & found: epilogue
a while ago, i wrote of the loss of my brother's dear ironman watch. i did not find it later, though i never returned to the place where i'm sure it departed me. instead i went to a tiny watch store and bought a new, junky digital watch. i insisted to the young woman vendor that it must have an alarm - there was only one that fit the bill. i reluctantly purchased it, knowing it was a piece of crap. there were no directions to set anything, and though i figured out how to set the time, i could not get it to cooperate concerning the alarm. which means i could have bought one of the cooler, sturdier looking kid's models all along. to top it all off, the name of the watch was 'osama.' mmm, osama around my wrist, binding me with time. sure enough, not even a week later, on my long hike into the jungle to arrive at the lodge, the watch broke. just couldn't take the rainforest humidity. i've decided after 2 watches that i don't need one on this trip, and i've been free-wristing it ever since.
while retiring for the evening last night, i discovered that i could not find my black notebook which serves as a journal, a datebook, an addressbook, and repository of important numbers for credit cards, passport and airline flights. looking under the bed and the nightstand, i remembered one of my favorite passages from 100 years of solitude (the book i raced). the matriach, ursula, is blind, and the author is describing how she functions in her home without ever letting on to the family that she can't see at all. she even finds a wretched daughter in law's (or is it grand-daughter in law, or great-granddaughter in law?) precious ring. her methodology is this: she knows that people often lose things in the places that are an anomoly from their regular routine, yet they only look in the common places of their routine. so she thinks of what happened that was unusual the day the ring was lost. in the same way i considered my notebook. and so this morning, just now, i walked right into the post office, and the smiling woman kindly took it from the top of the pile where it was waiting for its owner and handed it over. thanks, ursula
while retiring for the evening last night, i discovered that i could not find my black notebook which serves as a journal, a datebook, an addressbook, and repository of important numbers for credit cards, passport and airline flights. looking under the bed and the nightstand, i remembered one of my favorite passages from 100 years of solitude (the book i raced). the matriach, ursula, is blind, and the author is describing how she functions in her home without ever letting on to the family that she can't see at all. she even finds a wretched daughter in law's (or is it grand-daughter in law, or great-granddaughter in law?) precious ring. her methodology is this: she knows that people often lose things in the places that are an anomoly from their regular routine, yet they only look in the common places of their routine. so she thinks of what happened that was unusual the day the ring was lost. in the same way i considered my notebook. and so this morning, just now, i walked right into the post office, and the smiling woman kindly took it from the top of the pile where it was waiting for its owner and handed it over. thanks, ursula
visions of grandeur
my new volunteering gig is in a town in the andes. cotacachi is a world trendsetter: the province has established an environmental charter for itself that supposedly is leading edge, to protect it's precious natural resources which include 2 of the world's 25 'biodiversity hotspots.' i came to the cotocachi ecology center to help out, but more to learn how they were going about putting the charter into action. 'cause it's this type of action that i want to study in school.
so i arrived to the centre, which is composed of a few bedrooms, an office, a kitchen, a cafe/fair trade shop, and a walled garden area which is currently in disrepair. at present there are 3 volunteers: dorit, a german woman in her early 30's (?) who is pretty in an anne of green gables way; leny, a younger woman who seems cold but i just attribute it to that matter of fact german attitude; and scott, a younger austrailian guy that is incredibly enthusiastic in general. each of them have been here, or will be here for at least 6 months. wow. when i arrived, i was filled with daydreams of coming back next summer, to do my required school intership. but after spending a long quiet day 'working' in the cafe, i wondered. what am i doing here? all the other volunteers are doing things, and i could be too- i could just say, hey, i'm going to start designing that greywater system for the garden you were wishing for. what i've learned is that all the 'sucessful' expats are creative, d-i-y weirdos. there is a long, narrow, swaying suspension bridge made of seemingly weak bamboo over a wide expanse of rushing river and through cloudforest canopy that i must cross to get there. baby steps, i tell myself. but i wonder, if i will ever get to the other side, or just come to a standstill in the middle of the bridge somewhere.
so i arrived to the centre, which is composed of a few bedrooms, an office, a kitchen, a cafe/fair trade shop, and a walled garden area which is currently in disrepair. at present there are 3 volunteers: dorit, a german woman in her early 30's (?) who is pretty in an anne of green gables way; leny, a younger woman who seems cold but i just attribute it to that matter of fact german attitude; and scott, a younger austrailian guy that is incredibly enthusiastic in general. each of them have been here, or will be here for at least 6 months. wow. when i arrived, i was filled with daydreams of coming back next summer, to do my required school intership. but after spending a long quiet day 'working' in the cafe, i wondered. what am i doing here? all the other volunteers are doing things, and i could be too- i could just say, hey, i'm going to start designing that greywater system for the garden you were wishing for. what i've learned is that all the 'sucessful' expats are creative, d-i-y weirdos. there is a long, narrow, swaying suspension bridge made of seemingly weak bamboo over a wide expanse of rushing river and through cloudforest canopy that i must cross to get there. baby steps, i tell myself. but i wonder, if i will ever get to the other side, or just come to a standstill in the middle of the bridge somewhere.
7.14.2004
machete mama
Observations after ten days in the jungle
¬ beautiful places appear even more magnificent at night
¬ even the most lax americans have a greater sense of punctuality than indigeous ecuadorians
¬ riding in the back of a cargo truck on a dirt road is an incredibly noisy and bone jarring affair to be avoided at all costs
¬ mosquito nets should be more widely used, as to increase the worldwide sense of sleeping within a chrysalis, with the result of more restful nights and vivid dreams
¬ ketchup is a positive addition to virtually any dish, and adds a welcome western edge to the monotony of dishes containing only root vegetables
¬ with great determination, one can pretend away the taste and observation of canned tuna in root-based entrees and overcome a lifelong nauseating aversion to said tuna
¬the proper treatment for a poisonous snakebite is as follows:
1. apply four tourniquets with great rapidity, begining closest to the area of the bite and ascending the affected limb until the flow of blood to the major artery closest the trunk of the body has been restricted.
2. with a sharp knife, make two incisions - one on each of the bite marks, so as to increase the expulsion of the venom tainted blood
3. inject .75mL of anti-venom serum in the affected area
4. inject an additional .75mL of anti-venom serum in the gluteus maximus
5. call an ambulance and get to a hospital as quickly as possible
- under no circumstances shall the victim run or get excited, as this increases the rate of blood circulation, quickening the transit of venom to the heart
- there are two kinds of snake venom: neuro-toxin and pulmonary-cardio-toxin, depending on the species of snake. some snakes have both - if you are bitten by this type of snake, you are most likely a goner.
¬the traditional american meal schedule has one meal too many
¬the jungle has remedies to many common ailments, including but not limited to sinusitis, headaches, and asthma
¬ an effective way to repel mosquitos is to poke a hole in a termite nest, collect some termtites on your hand, smash the termites up with both hands, and smear the resultant on exposed areas of the body.
¬rubber boots can be quite stylish
¬carrie h.´s unique laziness charateristics contribute to a very dirty lifestyle, in which she is loathe to do any hand laundering of clothing, which quickly leads to an umkept appearance and unpleasant odor.(note to keep this in mind when considering future long term expeditions in areas without running water)
¬insects do indeed rule the world
¬ beautiful places appear even more magnificent at night
¬ even the most lax americans have a greater sense of punctuality than indigeous ecuadorians
¬ riding in the back of a cargo truck on a dirt road is an incredibly noisy and bone jarring affair to be avoided at all costs
¬ mosquito nets should be more widely used, as to increase the worldwide sense of sleeping within a chrysalis, with the result of more restful nights and vivid dreams
¬ ketchup is a positive addition to virtually any dish, and adds a welcome western edge to the monotony of dishes containing only root vegetables
¬ with great determination, one can pretend away the taste and observation of canned tuna in root-based entrees and overcome a lifelong nauseating aversion to said tuna
¬the proper treatment for a poisonous snakebite is as follows:
1. apply four tourniquets with great rapidity, begining closest to the area of the bite and ascending the affected limb until the flow of blood to the major artery closest the trunk of the body has been restricted.
2. with a sharp knife, make two incisions - one on each of the bite marks, so as to increase the expulsion of the venom tainted blood
3. inject .75mL of anti-venom serum in the affected area
4. inject an additional .75mL of anti-venom serum in the gluteus maximus
5. call an ambulance and get to a hospital as quickly as possible
- under no circumstances shall the victim run or get excited, as this increases the rate of blood circulation, quickening the transit of venom to the heart
- there are two kinds of snake venom: neuro-toxin and pulmonary-cardio-toxin, depending on the species of snake. some snakes have both - if you are bitten by this type of snake, you are most likely a goner.
¬the traditional american meal schedule has one meal too many
¬the jungle has remedies to many common ailments, including but not limited to sinusitis, headaches, and asthma
¬ an effective way to repel mosquitos is to poke a hole in a termite nest, collect some termtites on your hand, smash the termites up with both hands, and smear the resultant on exposed areas of the body.
¬rubber boots can be quite stylish
¬carrie h.´s unique laziness charateristics contribute to a very dirty lifestyle, in which she is loathe to do any hand laundering of clothing, which quickly leads to an umkept appearance and unpleasant odor.(note to keep this in mind when considering future long term expeditions in areas without running water)
¬insects do indeed rule the world
7.02.2004
a photo finish
i had a mission. finish my book in 1 week. this absolute goal in place because there is a book exchange in baños. i was a great start out of the gate. monday and over 120 pages read, over a quarter of the book. mid-week, moving along steadily, a good pace. but this girl needed blinders like a racehorse, the waterfalls interrupting, the scent of the city distracting the hot baths retarding. so when the final push came today, there were at least 80 pages left, with a meeting with the jungle volunteer organizer, required parental emailing to allay jungle-offspring anxiety, and a self promised final hike between me and the 10:30 deadline. over dinner a page a minute gallop was established. words and unfortunate character names that repeated with each generation swirled and made me delirious with plot lines of fantasy parchments and bird breeding. in a last burst i rushed to the cafe, open book in hand, much to the amusement of the locals on the streetcorner (they knew not to urge me on). with relief i saw the lights still on and the be-glassesed trader at his seat - the judge had not left the podium. i glided over the finished-wood finish line to turn in my weeks´contestant and pick up my new used book.
(the crowd goes wild)
(the crowd goes wild)
7.01.2004
dear
for quite a while, some years now, at least, i have been experience things of a grand nature through the quiet act of letterheadwriting. this happens on hikes through redwoods and grand canyons, or on foriegn treks, or sometimes even in board meetings. it consists of my writing a letter of my experiences while simultaneously experiencing them. the letter may be a to friend, or to family (as was often the case when i first arrived in cali and wanted to let them know how blown away and pleased i was with it all). the actual pen to paper rarely happens, and that´s fine with me. to write a letter that has already been written is tedious, and it never has the life of the original.
separate but similar in some ways to the letterheadwriting is the pure imagination of a person being there with you. for example, just walking through the streets with your imaginary friend by your side, laughing along with you at the hijinx you and your comrade would be certain to find hilarious.
i´ve been thinking on these activities lately. wondering whether they are detrimental. it´s natural (¿) to desire to share experiences with others. and since the l.h.w. has been going on for a long time, i´ve rationalized it to be an understanding of the way i process all that i may see and do and feel. but the latter, therin lies the greater danger, methinks. solo traveling means solo. when removed, it seems like a feeling of reliance when i have a phantom lover by my side. perhaps it is just a manifestation of missing, but it doesn´t have any of the melancholy of missing. though they bring me joy when i am on my own, i would like to resolve to say hello to those imaginary friends when they cross my path, and keep on walking. hands in pockets instead of hand in hand. very tough.
while hiking today, i discovered unexpectedly a solution to the question that has plagued me since beginning a blog. as to whom, or for whom am i writing? the answer lies somewhere inbetween l.h.w. and a white screen.
separate but similar in some ways to the letterheadwriting is the pure imagination of a person being there with you. for example, just walking through the streets with your imaginary friend by your side, laughing along with you at the hijinx you and your comrade would be certain to find hilarious.
i´ve been thinking on these activities lately. wondering whether they are detrimental. it´s natural (¿) to desire to share experiences with others. and since the l.h.w. has been going on for a long time, i´ve rationalized it to be an understanding of the way i process all that i may see and do and feel. but the latter, therin lies the greater danger, methinks. solo traveling means solo. when removed, it seems like a feeling of reliance when i have a phantom lover by my side. perhaps it is just a manifestation of missing, but it doesn´t have any of the melancholy of missing. though they bring me joy when i am on my own, i would like to resolve to say hello to those imaginary friends when they cross my path, and keep on walking. hands in pockets instead of hand in hand. very tough.
while hiking today, i discovered unexpectedly a solution to the question that has plagued me since beginning a blog. as to whom, or for whom am i writing? the answer lies somewhere inbetween l.h.w. and a white screen.
6.30.2004
try it, you´ll like it
mmm, i would love to try your..what is that exactly? oh yes, thank you so much for buying me your favorite dish in the market. i have been excited about trying local foods, and none more so than the potatoes, avocado and cow liver plate. uh huh, the grey brown slop constisting of a bean which you can not remember the word for in english, in which the the wobbly, pimpled meat slices lie, looks so appetizing. i´m sure i can load my fork with ample potatoes and avocado in order to mask the flavor of the cow liver. ha ha, it is not so easy to disguse that certain meaty texture though. yes it´s true, i have not eaten beef in nearly ten years - hoo, can you believe it? it´s funny that you told me yesterday that you were mostly a vegetarian, and today you tell me this is your favorite dish. see me laugh as i maw at the liver. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
6.29.2004
lost & found
i lost my watch about an hour ago. i´m not surprised, in fact i guess it had to happen. i realized it must be approximately 45 minutes before it was lost, like writing it´s own fate in my head. i had been sitting, writing a letter at a particularly serene vista which i climbed at least two hundred stairs to reach. when i took off my bag to which the watch was bound, i noticed just how loosley it was hanging on. knowing that it was wiser to just give in and ring it around my wristy, i opted against it.
so down down down the stairs i went. when i reached the bottom, i went to convert the bag from dorky fanny pack mode to slightly cooler diagonal-across-the-shoulder mode. it was then i noticed its loss. i thought i might have flew off during the conversion from dorky to cooler, and retraced my steps. all the way back the the begining of the stairs. but no further. to where my watch most certainly lies, somewhere on that staircase.
and so passes my watch, of which i was so proud because it was my little brother´s who had passed it on to me when he became to cool for a timex ironman with indiglo, i had had it for so many years before putting it to use. so proud was i of just installing a new battery with an incredibly small screwdriver, so small it came with a magnifying lense. and did my pride inflate further when i found directions for its setting of time and alarm clock on the internet and put them to use. i am not so proud of halting at the bottom of the steps.
tomorrow, i must rely on my own internal workings to rise and get myself to my spanish teacher by nine o´clock am. i´m glad that i can usually do this sucessfully, but it ususally leads to a rather restless night. fortunately, the action on the street outside my window starts very early, the dogs and construction and schoolkids have aided me in the past two days to awake like it or not. maybe my lateness paranoia will cause me to rise incredibly early, and i will have a sunrise hike to search for the ironman. or maybe i will ask marcos, my teacher, to help me find a new watch. as if by some premonition, i stopped him today while writing on the chalkboard, to translate a word i recognized but did not recall. reloj, of course, means watch.
so down down down the stairs i went. when i reached the bottom, i went to convert the bag from dorky fanny pack mode to slightly cooler diagonal-across-the-shoulder mode. it was then i noticed its loss. i thought i might have flew off during the conversion from dorky to cooler, and retraced my steps. all the way back the the begining of the stairs. but no further. to where my watch most certainly lies, somewhere on that staircase.
and so passes my watch, of which i was so proud because it was my little brother´s who had passed it on to me when he became to cool for a timex ironman with indiglo, i had had it for so many years before putting it to use. so proud was i of just installing a new battery with an incredibly small screwdriver, so small it came with a magnifying lense. and did my pride inflate further when i found directions for its setting of time and alarm clock on the internet and put them to use. i am not so proud of halting at the bottom of the steps.
tomorrow, i must rely on my own internal workings to rise and get myself to my spanish teacher by nine o´clock am. i´m glad that i can usually do this sucessfully, but it ususally leads to a rather restless night. fortunately, the action on the street outside my window starts very early, the dogs and construction and schoolkids have aided me in the past two days to awake like it or not. maybe my lateness paranoia will cause me to rise incredibly early, and i will have a sunrise hike to search for the ironman. or maybe i will ask marcos, my teacher, to help me find a new watch. as if by some premonition, i stopped him today while writing on the chalkboard, to translate a word i recognized but did not recall. reloj, of course, means watch.
6.28.2004
one for the manual
less than 24 hours, and already the old familiar recurring dream begins. this is the travel dream, in which i am required to return to the states for some important purpose, almost everytime because of some family requirement. i don´t want to go, and explain with concern that i can´t leave foriegn country x, but there is always the gentle familial response ¨dear, you´ll be able to return just as soon as this is done´ but i doesn´t feel as so, and i´m usually left in despair. thinking, ´how did i end up in upstate new york? i´m supposed to be in foreign country x. this is all wrong.¨
not usually in to deciphering dreams, but this is an easy one, about my subconscious wishing for the easyness of home fighting with some other part of me that thinks i should be here.
only last night, a new twist, in which the reason i am called home is because my grandfather is dying. the one who has been dead since i was in 5th grade. i get there, and when my family finally returns from the hospital, all the concern has passed, and he´s going to be okay. and then he walks into the room, and he´s fine. granpa? why the hell did i come here? my dead grandfather is alive and well, wtf?
i suppose this dream will happen plenty of times in the coming weeks. but i´m going to try harder than usual to really use this time, when i´ve got the travelvivid vision turned on, to do something mas fina with my dreams. really stick it to myself. bring it, granpa.
not usually in to deciphering dreams, but this is an easy one, about my subconscious wishing for the easyness of home fighting with some other part of me that thinks i should be here.
only last night, a new twist, in which the reason i am called home is because my grandfather is dying. the one who has been dead since i was in 5th grade. i get there, and when my family finally returns from the hospital, all the concern has passed, and he´s going to be okay. and then he walks into the room, and he´s fine. granpa? why the hell did i come here? my dead grandfather is alive and well, wtf?
i suppose this dream will happen plenty of times in the coming weeks. but i´m going to try harder than usual to really use this time, when i´ve got the travelvivid vision turned on, to do something mas fina with my dreams. really stick it to myself. bring it, granpa.
6.27.2004
baños = bath
a long exhale, for i have arrived. at the destination that i have been traveling towards for bleen hours and minutes. the destination did not have an actual name until 2 days ago, when i learned that it was banos. so called for its many hot springs. i have not yet submerged myself, but already the little town shows me what it´s made of with a friendly sprinkle. a welcome shower. like the blessed sf fog that chooses to baptize me at will, in this city too, i walk through water and feel renewed.
the sprinkles have stopped but the fog rolls down the incredible green mountains, perhaps to calm the volcano just up the street. the rain seems to have refreshed banos, and as night falls people are alive, what luck i have to land in a town with nightlife. with mr. joel´s piano man playing in this internet shop i see lots of lively people walking by and wonder why they are here. for the same reasons as me? maybe some of those cats in the hostel i just checked into. but then, they were watching friends on the tube...
ahhh, i´m so happy to have made it. after a week long introduction, an easing in through the american backdoor to ecuador, after the old familiar jitters of the first solo bus ride, complete with tardy arrival, language barriers, and flying by of foreign countryside - now the water that touches volcanos reaches me >> my eyelids and earlobes and the nape of my neck, and i am electrified.
the sprinkles have stopped but the fog rolls down the incredible green mountains, perhaps to calm the volcano just up the street. the rain seems to have refreshed banos, and as night falls people are alive, what luck i have to land in a town with nightlife. with mr. joel´s piano man playing in this internet shop i see lots of lively people walking by and wonder why they are here. for the same reasons as me? maybe some of those cats in the hostel i just checked into. but then, they were watching friends on the tube...
ahhh, i´m so happy to have made it. after a week long introduction, an easing in through the american backdoor to ecuador, after the old familiar jitters of the first solo bus ride, complete with tardy arrival, language barriers, and flying by of foreign countryside - now the water that touches volcanos reaches me >> my eyelids and earlobes and the nape of my neck, and i am electrified.
6.26.2004
me llamo
i've thought about names for daughters, and less sucessfully, names for sons. names for clothing lines (there are 2, depending on whether you want feminine or coolcat). b in the d, i named three cabbage patch kids. gave myself a cb radio name before entering kindergarten. a spanish name in high school. but this one is eluding me.
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