Adventures

A rendezvous with an old Love...

2011-07-21T12:48:00.007-06:00

I just got back from France - a short visit of 7 days, with husband, mother in law and baby. The trip was inspired by my friend Beth's wedding near Dijon and we turned it into a family affair. For my three fellow travellers, it was the first time in France... but not for me.

I spent a semester of highschool there, in Strasbourg - it was my first time abroad - the experience that made me a world traveller. Being there again brought back feelings I had forgotten...

It was like a short, whirlwind encounter with an old flame. France was my First - the one that started it all - the one that made me hungry for more. Its new ways shook me, then changed me: the woman I am today is a direct evolution of that porous 17 year old who soaked in France for 4 months. I love it. I feel like I can be myself there, like I have everything I need there.

The timing of this reconnection is dangerous: tragically, I find my old love again after I am already married - to Estonia. And I have a list, necessarily short to serve the needs of my new child, of places where I can live in this life.

The timing is bad, France. But having been with you again, I don't know how I can go on living without you, knowing you exist.

Perhaps there will be a possibility of a Ménage à trois...

Our Meaning is in Being

2011-06-20T07:53:00.003-06:00

One of the most dangerous times in our lives - and perhaps the most overlooked of all dangerous times - is the mid-twenties. It is right up there with the mid-teens in terms of figuring out who you are and what you are going to be; being pulled in many directions; making choices that will impact the rest of your life. This critical period happens when you've been out of school long enough to notice that the world is not as conquerable as you thought it would be but before you have had time to earn the skills and money that you need to actually do any conquering.

I feel like we have social systems in place to take care of teenagers and midlife-crisisers, but I see nothing for the quarterlife crisis.

I was thinking today, while watching my 5 month old baby staring euphorically at a lamp, that maybe nature creates us to have these crisis points exactly when life renews itself before our eyes. We have babies in our mid-twenties: we witness what a human is like in its purest form and learn again that the meaning of life is to love, that nothing superficial matters, bright light is beautiful and curiosity is our true calling.

And then, when we've had a few more decades to toil - and we may come to a point again where we see our life's efforts haven't made the dent we thought they would, then we have grandchildren and they teach us all over again who we are.

If, in seeking the truths of the universe, we look to the other species, we see this pattern. When an animal has a short life, the pattern looks magnified to us -we imagine rows of generations of insects being born, giving birth, and dying. From the outside, it looks so fruitless and pointless - but to experience it yourself, it feels so rich. It looks so pointless, in fact, that it may be in observing the cycle in other creatures that we insist there must be more for ourselves... we try to make there be more... thinking, feeling, trying... activities that lead us to our moments of crisis. And then we feel the peace and purpose of bringing in a baby to the world and for a moment we feel saved.

First Time across the Ocean with a baby

2011-05-31T23:45:00.004-06:00

I have run through airports and flown on planes many dozens of times in my life. I started when I was 16 - before the world was afraid - before hypersecurity - and I created it in my mind to the most romantic place. It is a place - even though it is thousands of places (planes, airports, cities, countries). In this place, there are no natives and there are no foreigners - none of us belong, all of us are passing through. And I am not what anyone sees me as or knows me to be - I am stripped of all cultural and social context and therefore feel completely free to be completely me.

I made rituals for myself in this place: I always sample things in Duty Free; I always take my time in the bathrooms; I always take a journal.

A few years ago, a great thing happened to me - I found someone to be mine and he goes to this place with me. His passport is a different color but he likes most of the same things. I compromised some of my rituals but I added new ones: we sit together and speak to each other in a mix of languages (german, estonian, spanish, english, bit of arabic) that we both understand and figure no one else around us can. We get through long transoceanic flights watching movies and snuggling, sleeping on each other in uncomfortable positions.

And for the first time, we are three. I got dropped off to my special place, now with a husband and a baby. In general, I would say my place is not a good place for a 4 month old - the scale and scope of it is too big and busy; there is too much unexplained noise all around all the time; no good places to sleep; no good places to eat; external schedules dictating rather than the schedules of his body. But here are some things I learned:

1. Even tiny sounds are painfully audible in an airplane. Though my baby cries very little, he does make noises over a 9 hour period and those noises are heard by about a 20 person radius, depending on the plane. His noises made his parents stressed because we want to be polite to others. I noticed that as I walked my sweet (quiet) baby down the aisles, there were some kind smiles directed at me, all of them from older people - and I wondered if they were remembering their own experiences.

2. We nursed on the way up and on the way down (to help his ears) - calculating and manipulating sleeping and eating schedules, etc. I begin to wonder if all that was necessary...

3. Parents of an infant don't sleep. At all. We were awake 30 hours straight.

4. My son is a charmer. I watched, fascinated as my tiny baby looked at the people on the plane. He would glance at the crowd and then one face seemed good to him and he looked at that person with obvious intent of being looked at in return. If he got what he wanted, he lit up with a smile, which, of course, meant one was returned back to him. When he got that smile, he was very happy and moved on to the next person. He liked some more than others and they were always women.

This is the one thing I didn't read about plane riding with infants - whatever bothersome noises are erased by their charms. Hayden loved the end, where people had to walk close by him as they unboarded - he made at least 8 people smile back at him. The whole back of the plane was filled with a warm energy as people who hadn't wanted to smile were forced to, and the ice of awkwardness at being in such tight proximity to others yet trying to retain isolation was broken - a dozen people could no longer help but be aware that they had all just been made happy by the same thing - the tiny baby in my arms. Peep and I just watched, stunned and shy. We have discussed that we wish for our child that he be a people-person but felt concerned that we wouldn't be able to teach him. If anything, this experience taught us that Hayden is already a social genius and all we have to do is not mess him up.

Now we are all three in the little garden house Peep grew up in - finally his mother has met her newest grandson. We are where we set out to go and being here is worth the journey.

Silver Lining of the Recession

2011-05-03T17:32:00.002-06:00

I had to go to the Social Security office and the DMV both in one day. After a decade or more of going to these places, I was prepared with a folder of multiples of every possible paperwork, something to sew while I waited and a grim forbearance. I was bracing myself for the dull faces who always give me attitude because their jobs are so incredibly boring that they have to make my life difficult in order to make their own interesting.

I was shocked to find the persons behind both desks were lively and efficient and had an attitude like they wanted to help me. No this has never happened to me before - two in one day even. Where did these crummy boring offices find such gems? And why now all of a sudden? Oh, yeah...

I don't know which companies laid them off, but I am so grateful to find them in their new jobs.

Why all mothers are Crazy

2011-03-25T22:53:00.003-06:00

I understand today why all mothers are crazy. It is an observation I've made for many years, beginning as a teenager - I don't know one single mother who is totally normal. They worry way too much, have irrational fears or emotional outbursts or are controlling etc. I was really hoping to avoid being that and even thought I had a chance since being aware of a danger can usually aid in preventing it.

But Today, my baby fell onto the floor. I wasn't in the room, I wasn't even in the house. Both his parents were using his nap time to do some gardening and from outside I heard a thump. My first thought, with a primal ache inside of me in some place I didn't know I had, was "dear god, please don't let that be my baby." And as my feet were running to the door my mind was racing to find any other explanation for that sound and by the time I was helpless in that, I saw his tiny curled up body, face down on the floor and he was wailing.

I was crying, I was screaming: I picked him up and held him, shutting my eyes against what I was afraid I would see and I asked Peep, who was right behind me to look. I asked, "Is he okay? Is he okay?" through my tears. (Writing about this makes my stomach churn) Peep was shockingly calm when he answered that he was fine.

And I am afraid that little incident may have finally shattered the glass of my sanity and I am filing into the ranks of motherhood. And I understand it now.

In other things in life, when we fail, we have the option to quit. We pick up the violin and it sounds terrible - We feel bad for a minute but then we put it down and move on to something else. Or even when the stakes are higher: we crash our car and hurt someone, we can say we will never drive again, and so on. But in this task, we do not have the option to quit. I felt it today - like I have failed so badly there is no going forward, and my mind wanted to take me down that familiar route of coping - "let it go, move on" but I couldn't budge. I'm here for life. He's still my baby, he's still in my arms and he could fall again and what's to say I can do a better job then. And I'm only 2 months in.

I spent the rest of the evening traumatized, hearing him fall all over the house and jerking my head around to see him, happy and gurgling. I saw that this was 10 times harder on me than it was on him. And then I saw the future - this is only the beginning - he will fall again, harder even.

Any time people have talked to me about parenting being hard, this is what they meant. I've been saying, "No, we get plenty of sleep." "He really doesn't cry that much." "He's such an easy baby." but they weren't talking about those things. Today was my initiation. And it turns out there's no chance of dodging that bullet, even though I saw it coming a long way away and had plenty of time.

Birth and Death

2011-03-24T00:28:00.002-06:00

It occurred to me while I was pregnant that there is a profound parallel here.

While pregnant, I could feel the spirit of the one coming (every woman I know has felt this)

I began to have this eerie feeling: Here I was, walking around in the world and my baby was with me - I felt him - but he was not aware at all of where we were. Looking at the situation in terms of physics, the baby was inside of me and I was walking in the park, therefore the baby was also moving through the park.

It struck me that he was existing on a parallel plane - those parallel universes we talk about in terms of science fiction actually happen in a practical, observable way. He was here but he wasn't at the same time - and that perhaps in this experience I was so privileged to partake in, there was some enlightenment about how we travel to and from this world.

People who have near death experiences often describe travelling through a tunnel toward a bright light. That is also what birth is. The baby, all of sudden, on one fateful day feels called (or is pushed?) through a tunnel toward a very bright light.

Those who have come close to death and come back say they could feel loved ones on the other side waiting to greet them. That is birth - he came out stunned, brand new, and we who knew he was coming caught him in our lovingly awaiting arms.

Now he looks around at the world as though he's never seen it - but he was with me all along. And there were brief instances when the worlds crossed. He always kicked in response to his daddy's loud booming response and it still arrests his attention and gets him squirming. His active time in the womb is still his most restless out here. I wonder then, if that's what our miraculous moments are - when we just "know" not to go that way or when we suddenly feel the presence of a long dead loved one in the room with us - if we are also walking parallel with the spirit world but we just can't see it. And perhaps there are people who know our fate and our watching us develop, and are preparing for the moment when we, scared and unknowing, will birth ourselves back into their world.

The Birth Story

2011-03-11T13:58:00.002-06:00

My due date came and went and I was still pregnant. We went from an excited "it could be any day now" feeling to a disappointment and concern. I even started to give up - I had dreams at night that the baby left my belly and went to another person - that he'd changed his mind about being with us.

On January 28, 8 days after he was "supposed" to come, I went in for a checkup with the midwife. She said she would have to make an appointment for me to be induced in 2 days at which point my loosening mind could no longer talk itself into staying together. I nodded and accepted, then left the building and cried for 2 hours in the parking lot. It was like I had failed and that the people who had been helping me along the way expected me to fail. Then, as always happens when something is pushed too far, I snapped back. They can't induce me if I don't show up. So I called the midwife back and said I was sorry but I was not going to go to that appointment, and after much haggling, finally won. My dear husband spent the whole afternoon with me, bought me primrose oil and a wholefoods blueberry muffin that my sister swears made her go into labor.

That night, I sat and stewed and realized I had so many issues. This impending birth was swimming in my fears and past and stories... I had been preparing for a natural birth, training my mind to find it peaceful and pleasurable, though I had never done it before and didn't know how so wasn't sure if I was training right. During my own birth, labor was induced - it was long and painful and the mother went crazy afterward and I have always tried to be nothing like her. And there I was, teetering so maddeningly on the edge of making my first step into motherhood the same first step she took.

So I called my dad. I couldn't ask the question I really had in my mind, so I said something polite and appropriate like, "tell me about my birth, dad." But he must have known, so he answered my real question. He told me I was nothing like her and specifically detailed the differences between our lives and who we are. I felt peace after that, like I could move forward. I can still feel the essence of that evening, glowing with intense emotion and red light.

That night, around midnight, I felt contractions start, the same as in every night for the previous 10 days. They wouldn't let me sleep so I got up and walked. Around 1:30, I began to feel the slightest hope that these weren't Braxton Hicks, but I wasn't about to count on it. But they were intense enough that I thought this was a good opportunity to practice for the real thing so I started trying out different things. I got into a warm bath - it felt really good but restricted my movement, so I had to keep getting out. I turned on my meditation tape but it made me vomit. I tried some belly dancing. Around 3:00 am it occurred to me that this was probably labor, and at 3:30 I had no further reason to doubt that, so I called Lily and Jayme to give them a "heads up" that some time today, I would probably have a baby and to go back to sleep since this was still the beginning. (Labor lasts 18 hours, right?) I was alone in my silent dark house. As the contractions became stronger, I found the best way to get through them was by laying my head down on my arms (on the back of the couch, kitchen bar, etc) slightly bent over with my legs bouncing beneath me. In between contractions, I was doing a load of laundry - trying to clean up the vomit. Sometime after calling Jayme, maybe 3:45, I woke my sleeping husband and said, "honey, I think we're having a baby today" and continued bouncing.

I could never describe the feeling as painful. At the top of each contraction, there was a moment - I have no idea but maybe 20 seconds - where I could see why women want epidurals. But then that moment would fade and I was washed over with rushing warmth and euphoria, followed by an open sea of peace. And so I bounced and rested through these cycles.

I had been bouncing in my bathroom when I felt a subtle change, like a shift of pressure inside me and I told Peep to call the midwife. I talked with her on the phone and said I felt pressure and thought I needed to go to the hospital. She sat there through one of my moaning contractions and I said "that was a contraction". She told me to stay home and keep timing my contractions (I had not been). It felt wrong, but she was the expert. Peep started timing, though I was oblivious of him (they were in fact 2 to 3 minutes). Then I felt the urge to push and I realized with horror just how far along we were. I had been waiting for the pain to become unbearable - up to that point, it had been so nice - what I thought was the prologue had in fact been the whole play and here it was already the end and I was not at all ready!! Peep heard me say "I want to push" and flew into his own parallel panic. He readied things in the car (having only been himself awake 20 -30 minutes).

I called the midwife and said "I am coming now" (no matter what you say!) I managed to put some clothes on, while my water broke on the floor and I saw blood. The water breaking felt good - it felt like the release of pressure , satisfying like scratching an itch is satisfying. And I kept wanting to push, and I could feel the baby coming down and there I was still in my bathroom. Everything in my body and heart wanted me to stay right where I was and finish this - I couldn't go; I couldn't leave. And then my mind engaged and I took a look at my situation and laid out my choice: I could have the baby here, but did I want that? My husband would be panicked, this was not what we planned - we would be all alone. And I decided to try go to the hospital, even though I might not make it.

So I crawled/shuffled/pushed myself out of the house, with no shoes, and tumbled into the front seat of Peep's car, where I kneeled down with my back to the windshield and my arms around the headrest and he drove. I remembered that you can blow to prevent yourself from pushing, so I was blowing and blowing with every thing I had - but I felt the baby progressing anyway. After an eternity, we made it to the hospital doors and I felt so relieved. Peep drove straight to the entrance and said "Just wait here while I bring you a wheelchair" to which I replied through my breathing, "I'm not waiting" and stumbled out. Peep had my elbow and I was barely on my feet and we somehow managed to cover the hallways and finally I was where I was supposed to be. Peep went to move the car.

In seconds, I was on the bed with several nurses and my midwife, busying around me and gazing expectantly between my widespread legs. We were all ready, but now we were waiting for Peep- I was blowing and blowing - and then he came, and finally I was allowed to birth my baby. It was wonderful. It was like singing out my heart's desire to an adoring and admiring audience. I told everyone to be quiet and let me do my thing. A few pushes and he was out at 4:58 am: Perfect, plump, with big open peaceful blue eyes. The nurses told me I was on that bed less than 10 minutes.

And, all of a sudden, there were three

2011-03-06T01:56:00.003-06:00

I married my One in April 2010 and found out about 1 month later that I was pregnant even though that wasn't supposed to be possible without surgery. I remember the day the strip turned pink - I dropped everything and drove to Peep and the next hours and days were nothing but testing and testing to confirm the impossible.

When I finally believed it, I was swimming in such a cocktail of feelings. I was in shock. I felt robbed of the time I thought I had to be me, to be young, to enjoy my new marriage. I also felt giddy with joy and so special. I felt a profound relief that I could in fact have children. And I was scared because I didn't know what I was doing.

In those days, a few things established themselves. One, this is our love child and we are so honored to be chosen and even though it was not our plan, we accept it. And, I was not in control of this, so, just in this part of my life, I stepped aside and into a new paradigm - that my life is the wave I am riding, not the path I am walking.

And, as I think do most young women who just find out they are pregnant and bow down to whatever force of power they can find, I frantically prayed for guidance, and got one simple answer: "Have me and I will be easy."

And then there was 9 months of pregnancy. For the first 3 months, I did not breathe a word. I was holding my breath for the miscarriage I was statistically likely to have. I lived life as usual, even throwing ourselves another wedding and going on a honeymoon. I was sick. So sick. Two pieces of advice for pregnant women: 1. Wait till your second trimester before going on your honeymoon. 2. Wait till your second trimester to remove your wisdom teeth.

All of those difficult weeks were in Estonia, the wrong place to be for a nauseous pregnant Texan who only wanted tacos and hates pork. But we survived, and Peep was so caring and patient. At 13 weeks, we found out the baby was fine and would probably stick. We also heard he would be a boy. Then, I told my family and I believed it.

And the remaining months, he was right. He was easy. Pregnancy did some wonderful things for me.

1. No stress. Somehow, my whole being knew. It was like I grounded myself into my pregnancy so that not only did I eat the things that would be good for the baby, I thought and felt things that would be good for the baby. All of a sudden, I had an off switch for the stress and it was automatic. I didn't try or focus or commit or anything like that - just 15 seconds feeling stressed out and then the mind/body would like stop bloodflow to that bit of my brain and I would be happy again. I also never got mad at my husband. I was always nice.

2. My skin cleared up. I have since the age of 12 had a bit of a battle with my body over being a woman - like somehow not all of me was on board and we were a bit out of sync, causing me suffering in all kinds of ways. Pregnancy cured me.

3. I was forced to take care of myself. For reasons that I analyze and trace back to ancient bits of my life, I habitually prioritize myself and my well being last. I, like many, have lived under the self-imposed dictum that the more I suffer, the more virtuous I am and walk around making my life as difficult as possible and then bragging to others in complaining tones how little sleep I get and when my last meal was and what a heavy thing I carried, etc etc. So pregnancy rescued me from that. Now, to be virtuous, I HAD to take care of myself. And what a relief, to be pulled away from the selfishness of selflessness.

4. It made my take the short path. There are two kinds of people and I am the kind that does things the long, hard, complicated way. Perfectionist for its own sake and often to a fault. A few friends coming over might turn into me cooking a 5 course meal and inventing a new cocktail and buying more furniture. But pregnant, I had no extra energy to waste and my thoughts changed to take that into account: remove me from my tunnel of vision and ask the question - does the energy I put in really affect the result?

The Jewelry Business

2009-01-28T20:03:00.002-06:00

I started a jewelry business a few months ago. It is intended to be a way for me to use my particular gemstone knowledge to create a bit of cashflow.

I read a book a few months ago which seems to have possibly changed my life: Ready, Fire, Aim by Michael Masterson. I am the type who is thorough, thoughtful and 100% sure it is right before I act. In the book, this author encourages me to act first and refine later. So that is what I am doing with this business. My experiences so far are proving him right. I am a guerilla: I go to any little fair that will accept my booth: flea markets, art shows, gem and mineral shows, highschool band fundraisers, christmas fairs, mardi gras, even Harley Davidson races. I go to tiny towns and big cities. I will do jewelry parties. I have a website and an SEO guru helping me invade the internet.

I am learning a lot. I have sold over 300 peices of jewelry to that many people and I have had 5 times as many conversations with them one-on-one, spanning every demographic. This has given me insights into human beings, what they want from jewelry ranging from the emotional to fashion to mechanics. I have 3 more unique jewelry brands in the pipelines that I have created based on the information I have collected.

Here is a taste:

Death in a Flood

2008-09-19T11:28:00.007-06:00

The place in the Comarca of Panama that has been so special to me, where I volunteered and where the bags come from, has been ravaged by a flood. A big river runs through these communities, fed by mountain rain runoffs. It used to be a great source of pride. These last weeks, it brought only death and destruction.

I know and love the community generally, but in my time there I also formed a few individual friendships. One of my friends was Plinio. I read in an email a few days ago that Plinio is dead, washed away by the flood.

I am sad. I am shocked. I disbelieve. I wake up happy in the morning thinking it was a bad dream. There are a few things to say about the death of Plinio, now a part of my life.

No one knows Plinio in my community. There are a lot of people in Austin, where I am now, with whom I am as close as I was with Plinio. If I was to lose anyone of them, I would feel others around me grieving. We could talk about it, hug each other, go to the funeral. Almost no one who knows me knows that my friend has died. I want to tell them, but they would just feel sad and scared - they don't know Plinio.

My friends who also know Plinio, the Ngobe people who live in the comarca, are devasted beyond anything any of you can imagine. Medo, the organization founded by Plinio's brother, my shining leader friend Adan, of which Plinio was also a member, has worked diligently creating miracles, bringing in talent, support and money from more developed places and slowly, with great vision hope and promise, developing the poor communities of the Comarca.

We in rich cement cities can't understand what the destruction of infrustructure means to poor isolated places. All that work, all that hopeful development - so much of it washed away. Who knows how many years, or decades, it will take to get it back. Entire communities are isolated from schools and medical help by impassable rivers that used to have bridges.

The one everyone is relying on - the Ngobe, though they might not know it, and the westerners who want to help -that person is Adan Bejerano Rios, the brother of Plinio. I am always cc-d on Adan's Medo related correspondence, sometimes I translate for him, and I have to say, this is my biggest heartbreak. Someone so good, who has worked so hard with such integrity and generosity, had his BROTHER, who he loved so much, washed away in a flood, his home washed away and his life's work set back. He's still working. He's coordinating the distribution of relief money and supplies. He's getting people temporary shelter. He is asking his outsider contacts for help. He didn't deserve this. Everyone who's ever worked with Adan wants to help him -he's that kind of an inspiration. We want to lighten his load. I feel so helpless. He's been hurt so irreparably.

I don't have many people who've died. Mostly they have been elderly relatives. I can't say I was prepared but I did know they would die in my lifetime. Plinio wasn't that much older than me.

He died by being washed away in a flood? He must have been so scared... I didn't want my friend to die in a flood.

Plinio was a special character, a kind of serial entrepreneur. He started the Ngobe botanical garden and got a bunch of German and Austrian scientists supporting him. He even got to visit Austria's botanical gardens. He visited Gardens in Costa Rica and was about to study in the USA. This set him apart in his community. He and Adan are the only members of their community who've ever been to other countries. Few have even visited bigger cities in Panama.

When I last saw him, he was telling him about his men's coffee growing cooperative, brought me to a meeting, discussed marketing, and sold me two bags of his finest. He was ambitious, involved in lots of things, eager for his big break, struggling to find ways for his work and interests to earn him money. He was not married but he had a girlfriend. He just always seemed to be so eager for his great future, when he would be wealthy, well traveled, owner of a respectable botanical garden, owner of a house with a family.

He was also humble and respectful. He had a great mind, taking joy in discoveries. He had a bigger vision of plants and culture and ecosystems. Anyone who's ever been to a really poor rural place in a developing country should appreciate the kind of person who is from there and poor also, but wants to preserve and educate people about native plants, because it's right and important.

So this takes me to my next thought: I live my life on the assumption that I will live to be 80, that I am exploring now, trying to raise money, soon I will buy a house, then I will have a family, then I will be a leader in a field or in a community and change the world. But that is not something that is, in fact, necessarily the case. I can't know when the flood will wash me away. I feel like I am working towards something. Like this moment is not life - like it is preparation for what's coming. But that is not the truth. This moment is life. It is folly to lend my current happiness on credit to the "greater worthiness" of the future.

In my culture, we see people who live life for the present and we judge "irresponsible". If I rent a $1200 apartment that I think is beautiful, without saving for the future, or trying to buy a house, etc, I am judged badly. I should scrimp and save and suffer for a few years to "build my future". If I want to have a family-husband, kids- I should wait, put it off, keep wanting it but not having it, until I have enough money to be sure I can support them. These are the values of my culture.

I don't know when the flood is coming for me. I remember parts of my past, I can conjure them clearly, but there is no sense of chronology. It is just snapshots of different incarnations of me in worlds of their own unique hues and smells. And as far as my honest experience of life, there is no future. I have no EXPERIENCE of the future. So it seems to me there is no time. There are just many different tiny experiences of "now".

I don't know if this mentality will be mine to carry forever, or if it is a natural part of the sudden shocking loss of a peer, and will eventually dissolve. But these days, "Now" is the only thing that matters to me.

I wish there was some way for me to grieve for Plinio. I can see his face in my memory, but I haven't found any photos, even. I think this is one of the reasons humans live in groups - to help each other grieve. It's so disorienting, because the fact is, my daily life is not changed by the absence of Plinio. I would not even have to face the truth of it until I go back to Soloy.

Going back to Soloy... I was going to go in October. I don't know now if I am welcome. I don't know if it would be a good time, in that I could bring aid and help, or a bad time in that there would be no place to stay, no one to host me, no clean water and perhaps embarassment to show the destruction to an outsider.

Here is the project I worked on with Plinio, the website for his botanical garden. I see it now and I notice so many little flaws. But he was grateful and proud of it. soloy. pueblerino.info

Here is the blog post about my first meeting with the Ngobe, Adan and Plinio: http://sarahsight.blogspot.com/2007/10/week-in-another-world.html

EDIT: I just searched the Panamanian newspapers. I learned that Plinio was pulled away while trying to rescue an 8 year old girl. He was missing. Then they found his body. The girl died too. I could not imagine Plinio watching one of his village girls drowning and not try to help. But I just wish...

RE-EDIT: I got an email from a friend telling the story of a peace corp friend who is part of this community and is there helping to rebuild. The Panamanian newspaper got it wrong. He said that Plinio was saving children who were trapped inside a wooden house during the flood. He saved several of the older children, making trips back and fourth. He went back for the 8 month old baby, and the house collapsed on top of them. He was carried away in the flood inside the house, being trapped beneath it, and could not struggle out.

You can't win when you're the only one playing

2008-08-08T15:44:00.003-06:00

In my young life, I've watched politicians battle with words from behind podiums in their ambitions for power, like the aim of the words is not to express what's inside of them, but rather to be the strategically most advantageous thing to say. Seeing a "debate" is like watching a game of ping pong -"oooh, nice shot! I think he's winning."

So now look what's happened. Someone's standing behind the podium, seemingly speaking from the heart. Those ping pong balls whizz by his concerned, inspired face unheaded. Which leaves the rest of the world to turn and ask of the other, "WHY did you throw that ball at him?"

So please, give it your best shot. Every attack you make will just backfire, like in this:

McCain's attack on Obama using Paris Hilton: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c0vctCfhH8
And once again, young pop-culture America comes to bat for Obama:
Paris Hilton's response: http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/64ad536a6d

Any politician who wants to win against Obama will need to meet him on his own higher, more authentic, playing field.

The Coolest Online Test

2008-07-31T03:07:00.003-06:00

Have I mentioned this yet?

There is a new online test that will tell you which gemstone is perfect for you. People are generally acquainted with their birthstones, and the tendency to want to own jewelry with one's birthstone is a testament to the fact that humans are interested in gemstones that are in some way "destined" to them.

But, well, birthstone is a little simple... how much can you really have in common with the millions of other people who were born in your month.

So for finding out which gemstone is "for you", it is best to take into account all relevant factors about yourself and the gemstones.

You could do a few months of dedicated research. Or you could take this free online test. It tells you which gemstone is best for you based on birthstone, astrological sign, health conditions, personality traits, values and what you wish to attract to your life. Once you know your gemstone, show it off!

What's yours?

http://www.shopgemstones.com/gemstonetest.html

The hard choice

2008-07-10T07:19:00.002-06:00

"The life of a fetus cannot be separated from the life of the pregnant woman. This is unique in medicine and law. No one can create a set of medical principles or legal principles giving a right to life to the fetus, because by doing so, inevitably the woman's rights become limited." -http://www.fwhc.org/abortion/medical-ab.htm

The life of a young woman always contains this issue, whether she herself goes through it, the girls she knows go through it, or it's a topic of her debate class.

I am counting... I personally know 8 girls, growing up around me who've had to make the choice between raising a child against impossible odds or causing themselves the most pain they've ever felt by deliberately discarding something they love.

And I know at least 6 women who are grey haired and wrinkled from fully lived lives, and after 30 years, multiple children, houses and careers, none has ever lost consciousness of the one they gave up. There are no regrets, just a subtle pain - one of their battle scars.

Blessings to all women who have had to make that choice.

Eesti Maa

2008-06-19T09:54:00.003-06:00

"I don't think most Americans even know where Estonia is," say the two loud Americans next to me in this little cafe- very proud of themselves of being special world travelers.

I have been in this country for 2 weeks and now I find myself in what I think is my favorite place: the old town of Tallinn.

Most of my time here has been spent in Tartu in the home in which Peep grew up. His house is full of lots of love, and pets and food. His mom is very sweet. She makes us coffee and breakfast when we get up. And she has a way of not judging anything. In America, it is normal to at least make some kind of comment if someone sleeps until noon, or has really messy hair, or is wearing two different socks. When I was first dating Peep, I was suspicious of him because he never made comments about such things and I thought he was thinking it to himself and not saying anything. As time went on, I was happily mystified that he doesn't care about and doesn't even notice stuff like that. After living with his mom, I know where he got it.

And amazingly, in this context, I become the anal, uptight one. In my own cultural context, I am the laid back messy one who doesn't notice undotted i's. But I discovered it bothers me if someone has food on their lip, or if there is dog hair on the bed and I have to say something or take action. And then I notice the role that I am playing in the group and I smile to myself at the irony. It is so amusing for me to see myself reflected in this way.

And the second biggest element from my experience is the cultural immersion. I thought that, having lived around the world, that I was an experienced veteran in cultural immersion and that it has been easier to adjust to new cultures because of my experience -NOT! I am having as hard core an experience as I had in Germany at 16. The factors the two experiences have in common are:

Living in a local home with a family: there is no chance to "escape back into my bubble". There is no socializing with other travelers or expats as there was everywhere else except for Germany.
Blending in! In Dubai, Thailand and Panama, I am so obviously a foreigner that even if I speak the language and live there for a year (or 30), I will still be treated as a tourist. In Germany and in Estonia, I am assumed to be local and am treated the same as everyone else. (I prefer it that way).
Learning the language: Both in Germany and now in Estonia, I am working pretty hard to learn the language and defying the odds with my progress.

In Panama, some of our best friends were Fito (Panamanian) and Bozena (Polish). When Bozena was talking to new people, they would at first treat her as a foreigner. After they found out she was married to a Panamanian, it was like she entered a new warm arena of the person's heart: She has made a commitment to Panama, she's one of us. The other white girl standing next to her, I would watch these interactions a bit wistfully - I wished I could be a part of another country too.

So that's what it's like to be in Estonia on the arm of Peep. I get VIP access - experiences and relationships that would be outside of my possibilities if I were just visiting or living here as an expat.

Partnerships are always powerful: two minds are better than one, you get to add up all your lessons and both become twice as smart, you broaden your family (besides all the love and support and friendship). But this experience goes beyond: I get to belong to two countries!

The First Time

2008-06-07T03:47:00.002-06:00

I just gave a politician money for the first time in my life.

I don't believe in politics. Like most people from my generation, I am trying to make a difference doing other things... politics doesn't notice me, doesn't listen.

I am so excited about THIS president, though. Finally, a president is running for president. Not only am I excited about him, I am just soo excited that I'm excited. I feel hope in places inside me I didn't even know could hope.

So I gave him $20. which as a percentage of my net wealth, is quite high.

I don't really know why they need money or what they will do with it. But something I HAVE always believed in is capitalism. I have always felt that I can put my money where my mouth is and then the money makes a difference even if the mouth doesn't. So one more person gave Barack Obama money.

Here's a link if you want to do the same:
https://pol.moveon.org/give/obama2.html?id=12777-6950240-fhLmlq&t=3

Where is the Realness?

2008-05-28T13:32:00.004-06:00

I worry about us living in these fast, global, virtual, anything-you-want-tomorrow days- I feel it especially when I'm in a large group, like stuck in traffic.

I heard this song on the public radio while sitting in traffic, and I felt it was further evidence that we re losing touch and that we like it.

Runaway Train
lyrics and music Eliza Gilkyson

Everyone knew she was gonna be fast
Everyone said they could build her to last
10,000 tons of hurtlin steel
Screamin round the curves nobody at the wheel
Everyone said don’t pay it any mind
There’s a pot of gold waitin at the end of the line
Just move with the eye of the hurricane
You’ll never get off this runaway train
Nobody cared when they piled on board
and the doors snapped shut and the engines roared
They pushed to the front
Some fell to the back
Buyin and sellin every inch of the track
Deep in the engines fire in the hole
Dark skinned workers shovelin coal
all singin their sad refrain
We’ll never get off this runaway train
Up in the diner everybody decked out in their finery
Can’t see the wreck comin up ahead
with their bellies full of wine
It’s the last thing going through their minds
So proud of the engine proud of the speed
Call for the porter give them everything they need
Stare through the glass feel no pain
Don’t even know they’re on a runaway train
Long after midnight a pitiful few sound the alarm
Don’t know what else to do
Bangin on the doors of the cabin and crew
Hey we gotta slow down or we won’t make it through
Sleepy riders don’t want to wake
or suffer the shock when they put on the brake
Don’t want to question , don’t want to complain
rather keep ridin on this runaway train

I thought, why is this song so obscure, when Lil' Wayne's Lollipop is #1 on the charts.

Ow…
Uh Huh No Homo…
Young Mula Baby
I say he so sweet
Make her wanna lick the rapper
So I let her lick the rapper

She she lick me
Like a lollipop
She she lick me
Like a lollipop
She she lick
Like a lollipop
She lick
Me Like a lollipop

Shawty wanna thug
Bottles in the club
Shawty wanna hump
You know I'd like to touch
Ya lovely lady lumps

.... and it repeats.

The first song offers enlightenment. The second song offers escape. We'd rather escape. And truthfully, after listening to Eliza sing about how we'd all rather escape, I felt like escaping too.
When my country started an evil war for no reason, I studied marketing when I should have had my body in front of their planes. The world is dependent on oil and the climate is changing, and I reuse my plastic bags but I still drive my car and take airplanes. When will I stop? Even me, the save-the-world, buy organic, live with what you need person. What will it take for me to stop driving my car? I have so many ideas of how the world should be and I influence things within my small sphere. But I let politicians do what they want without even watching or researching because I don't think I can do anything. I'd rather escape. And so would you. That is why Eliza will sing the truth to an empty auditorium while the world is out bumpin' to lil' Wayne.

The Guys Behind me in the Library

2008-05-27T11:48:00.001-06:00

“How do you spell ‘squalor’?”

“‘squalor’ ? I don’t even know what that means.”

“Neither do I. But I think it’s the word I’m looking for.”

“Well, dictionary.com. “

“I’m on it. (pause)” “Sordid, dirtiness. I think that’s what I’m lookin’ for.”

The End of the Panama Experience

2008-05-06T17:11:00.002-06:00

On a stormy humid day, Peep and I balanced frantic packing with luxurious, last chance sight seeing until the sun finally set and we said goodbye from the window of a plane. As always, the feeling of packing up belongings that have stayed in one place for 8 months and leaving the cozy home an empty shell, gives me a sense of chaos like I am pulling up my own roots.

These were good roots: made from prevalent tropical rains, plentiful exotic fruits, a new kind of coffee each week, people from all over the world who lived in that small place and cared about us, and spectacular natural beauty.

It's difficult to reflect on such a grand scope experience after only a few days of distance. I will need to let it slowly unravel for about 6 months probably. What I can see now is that it was a time and place for the growth of me. It wasn't that interacting with Panama "taught me things about myself" or anything expected, things I've already experienced. This time wasn't about learning, it was about trying. It was about doing. Perhaps this is a milestone in the growth of all humans: at some point, the focus of your energy shifts from learning to doing. I may have made that shift in Panama - not because it was Panama, but because it was a place where no one was watching me. I wasn't judged because I was "outside the system." No matter what I did, I was a weird foreigner.

This gave me freedom to take unexplainable risks. I have started 3 projects and taught myself new skills in my time in Panama. My projects are still in their stages of infancy and therefore it still takes courage to explain "what I do" in my own cultural social context. But in Panama, I was extremely well educated and experienced. I realized there for the first time that people 3 decades older than me often don't know what I know, and would be lucky to get to pay for my brain.

My journey into Panama and back out again was not a hero's journey: it was not the intense experience that I went through in order to return home transformed. I did that already in high school. It is as if I've traveled too much: too many "incredible experiences" in a row, that I can never return to normal life, and I will permanently have a wider definition of home. So Panama was not an interruption that gave new life to the regular flow, rather it was part of the regular flow of an irregular path.

It is a path that will wander the world without it being "a big deal", without fear to overcome, a path that makes itself a few hours before I walk it.

I will miss looking out of car windows to see orchids and bromeliads clutching tall sprawling tree limbs. There will be weekends in Austin when I will wish I could pile some friends in a car, drive for 2 hours and get to a paradise Caribbean beach. I will miss my small privileged piece of one of the prettiest colonial mansions in Panama. I will miss casual meetings and barbecues on my terrace with a view to the Panama Canal and the causeway. When I procure my next "nest" here in Austin, I will shop for tropical plants and be aghast at their prices.

Here in Austin, I catch a glimpse of a sign in Spanish and it makes me feel so different than it did before. I just realized it today, but I used to see such signs and think "those are for 'other' people to read". Without knowing it today, I felt like they were talking to me.

I also notice here how grocery stores have free samples of food and they stay there for hours - wouldn't happen in Panama. I feel comforted by the lack of poverty. In a poor place, even if you yourself have enough, seeing the poverty of others affects you. It made me feel like we were all poor. And here I feel that we all have enough.

I bought morningstar veggie corn dogs as a first american treat. Then my brother in law explained how he'd read "Omnivore's Dilemma" and they are so bad for the environment because they are so processed and therefore energy consuming. I thought about my days in Soloy where lunch was the nearest chicken walking around, served a few hours after it's head was chopped off alongside yucca that was just pulled out of the ground. Books like that are written for spoiled Americans.

My cup is so full here from all the family. I have so much family: there are so many people, so much love, so much good food. It is so opposite to my previous quiet two person haven-from-the-world.

In fact some of those people just ordered pizza and tipped the driver and are waiting for me. I'll go to them.

Project Update

2008-04-19T12:16:00.003-06:00

A few months ago, I wrote about my experience volunteering in the jungle community of Soloy and how I wanted to start a project selling the bags they make and paying them livable prices. The project has been slowly developing and I decided it needs its own blog. See how the project develops here: www.bagsmakeadifference.com

Ouch

2008-04-19T11:02:00.004-06:00

Last night, I finally headed the nagging of a friend and watched a movie called Zeitgeist. I cried like I haven't cried in a while. I stayed up until 3 am talking with Peep about the world and what can be done.

You should watch it.

It might hurt your feelings, it will definitely disturb you, but I recommend it anyway. I began watching with skepticism, but when I heard some of the information, it was an eerie experience of just hearing someone say what I already knew way in the back of my mind. It felt good to see someone validating and connecting things.

At the very least, watch it so we can talk about it together:

www.zeitgeistmovie.com

It's free.

Cuba: The Other World

2008-03-16T09:37:00.015-06:00

Yesterday, I returned to Panama from Cuba. I've been around the world and I've seen a lot of places that shocked and moved me... but I could never have been prepared for Cuba.

When we arrived in the Havana airport, I was seriously interviewed twice. They pulled Peep and I aside, mumbling, "Quien es de los Estados?" So that's what it must be like when foreigners get hassled by US immigration. It's scary.

Into the taxi, down the road surrounded by palm trees and flowers and blue sky... ready to see historic habana, try some cigars and mojitos... and then... the Welcome to Cuba billboards:

I had never seen anything like that before. I am used to hearing how the world hates Bush, but this kind of shook me. I felt unsafe. But the taxi driver continued driving and eventually talked cheerfully about the sites we were driving by, as if unperturbed that he was harboring his worst imperialistic enemy. The hotel let me in, gave me a place to sleep. We walked around and a restaurant let me in and cheerfully gave me a meal. The first days, I felt like Hansel and Gretel in the witches house: the signs were everywhere that this place was out to get me, but they were so nice and kept taking care of me.

I was helped a lot because I was traveling with Peep. He grew up in the Soviet Union and had real experience to share with me about regime propaganda. He assured me that even though the signs are everywhere, it doesn't necessarily mean that the people feel that way. He said everyone knows they are being told lies. And even the ones that are thoroughly "brainwashed" would not hate you: they would feel sorry for you that you had to live under those oppressive terrorists (the American government).

Apparently, Venezuela is also part of the Communist Boy's Club.

So shaken, but determined, I continued to explore Havana. This is what I learned and saw:
Havana is breathtakingly, awesomely gorgeous. It compares to the grandest cities in Europe: there is nothing else like it (that I have seen) in Latin America, nor in the United States. All of this grandeur, of course, was built by the Spanish, not the communists. But as if a metaphor for the communist ideology, the carved marble mansions are now cracking slums inhabited by poor Cubans: no rich people here - everyone is equally poor as it should be.

So I continued to oscillate between two Cuban experiences: one of the old, romantic Cuba of Ernest Hemingway, wide-brimmed hats, the finest cigars and music; and the new, concrete block military communist place that said I was evil.

Tourists exist in a Parallel Universe.
There is a separate currency for tourists (CUC). Restaurants, hotels, nice stores only accept this currency. Foreigners can come eat steak and lobster (inexpertly cooked), watch CNN and use the internet (in the most expensive hotels), and pay very high prices for everything. Cubans are not allowed to use the internet, have only4 channels on their TV (as one Cuban described to us: "Fidel 1, Fidel 2, Fidel 3 and Fidel 4". Even if they save their money to stay at the $200 a night hotel just to access the world for a day, they will be asked for their passports first and then turned away.

They are not allowed to eat beef. Cuban farmers grow Cuban cows on Cuban soil and only the foreigners are allowed to eat it. Even if the Cuban can afford to buy it, if a policeman catches him, it's 5 years in prison. When I heard this, I thought, "Where is the communist sentiment? This sounds like Feudalism."

There are special airlines, bus lines and rent a car companies that are only for tourists. They are expensive and all require passports. Cubans are not allowed to leave their district without special documents. Essentially, they have to apply for a visa to go to the beach that's an hour away.

Us below the tree where the document was signed that gave Cuba to the communists. It is an old and beautiful tree.

It was weird, walking around in the happening old downtown with great music, drinks, restaurants, everything - but its not the real Cuba. The Cubans are standing around: some employed wearing black ties, some trying to sell illegal cigars, some at the doorway of the restaurants they're not allowed to enter, swaying their hips to the music. It's like if the non-resident line in the US immigration emptied out into Disneyland and said "Welcome to the United States"

Peep at the Museum of the Revolution. A museum about the glory of the revolutionaries and the martyrs who triumph in spite of the atrocities of imperialism.

Cigars are Expensive and treacherous
Of course, when in Cuba, we had to try and buy them. We took a cool tour of the Paragas Cigar factory and watched the leaves be processed and dried and then hand rolled. The most expensive cigar available is the Cohiba Esplendida. One costs around $20, which is about equal to one month's salary of the worker who makes 1200 of them a day. It seems one of the major industries in Havana in the black market cigar trade. Workers are allowed to keep 2 cigars a day (and whatever else they manage to slip into their pockets), and then they have their "brothers" and "relatives" who work as hotel security guards or waiters sell them to tourists. Most of the underground market though, are not the "back door" cigars, but rather whatever they can wrap up and package to look like cigars.

We knew to expect to be hassled to buy these, but we were surprised at their skill. "Hi, where are you from? Estonia! Nooohhh! I am going there next month to play music! Will you come see me play tonight? I have been married 11 years and today is my anniversary: I love my family!... I would like to give you free tickets. It's at the Buena Vista Social Club. Come in (to this shady non-descript bar) and I'll write you a VIP pass. 20 minutes of charming conversation, a few salsa dances, and three 5$ mojitos later, we were being offered the "best price" of $200 on a box of 25 Esplendidos because he liked us so much. When I looked over and saw another guy bringing in 2 white people and writing them a "VIP pass", I figured it was time to get out of there and hope the drink wasn't poisoned.

Apparently if you buy from someone with accountability (e.g. you know the name, where they work, where they live), you will probably buy the real thing. This is because selling fake cigars to tourists will get you 15 years in prison. So my boyfriend, the overnight cigar connoisseur, after spending some dough on the real thing, took a chance with a box of Esplendidas from a security guard at the Plaza hotel for $50. We smoked one. It was pretty good.

Cuba is a treasure beneath dust
The big Sports Center. Fidel puts his face on everything good and says it is all the fruits of revolution. There is another sign on this building that says "Beijing! We can do it!" Maybe this will encourage olympic athletes to work in place of money and individual glory.

It combines the best of the Caribbean with the best of Europe. Like in most socialist countries, the literacy rate is almost 100%. The climate is excellent; the beaches are breathtaking; the architecture is awesome; the Cuban people are proactive (for Latin America), friendly, dignified and diverse.

As soon as they kick off the dust, the foreign investment will pour in and it will be one of the most fantastic nations on the planet.

It will not be easy to be friends...
Being here really opened my eyes about US foreign policy. I've lived in the Middle East and all over Asia and Europe and what I always see is that if the US were less ignorant and disrespectful of other nations and cultures, most of our problems and enemies would subside. We are an arrogant clumsy elephant in a world of varied, ancient and precious porcelain statues. But with Cuba, it's different. It is especially important now because we are about to choose the next president and Cuba also is getting a new president. (By the way, Raul Castro will not be much of a change. He has been alongside Fidel since the very beginning, in charge of the army and receiving Communist Glory. Freedom will have to wait.)

The thing is, if the US extends friendly diplomacy of any kind to this government, they will take the right photographs and twist it around and tell their people that the Imperialism is finally backing down to the power of the Revolutionaries. And how will they know the difference? No internet, TV, satellites... Then it will be harder for change to happen.

There is a challenge for the future among Cubans and Americans of my generation. We will live to see freedom in Cuba, and when that happens, we will have to put pride down and have a dialogue with lots of international exchange (tourism, study abroad, AIESEC). Because Cubans are made to believe that the USA is as backwards and twisted and wrong as we are made to believe that Cuba is. The gap between these two nations is way way bigger than the gap between the USA and any Middle Eastern country.

Us with Our Cuban friends: two University students who showed us around and gave us insights into the Cuba beyond the tourist circuits. They said, "Take our picture that way we can finally travel the world," and then laughed.

A new Adventure...

2008-03-10T22:47:00.002-06:00

Early tomorrow morning, Peep and I are heading to the airport to fly to Cuba. We have to leave to renew our visas. We figured, man, the coolest country around here that would really expand our universe would be Cuba. I expect to smoke some good cigars, hear some good music and see how Fidel is doing.

Small World

2008-03-10T22:44:00.002-06:00

In the 5th grade, I sat next to a boy named Chris Head. When I was 10 years old at that little desk, never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that 15 years later, I'd be having beers with him in Panama. It was fun.

Sweet Nephew

2008-02-19T23:00:00.002-06:00

Me: How does it feel to be 6? Is it feel different from being 5?
Alex: Yes.
Me: How is it different?
Alex: The way I feel.
Me: The way you feel...
Alex: Yes. Every step I take forward feel a little different.

Celebrating Two Years in Paradise

2008-02-19T22:34:00.006-06:00

Our first kiss was illegal. On February 14th in a Muslim country at night after a Hindi movie and fresh juice, Peep made the bold and scary move. Two years later we celebrated that brave decision by flying to one of most beautiful and opulent islands in Panama: Isla Contadora.

I took these pictures of the archipelago from the plane. They describe it better than I can.

We stayed at the Perla Real Inn, run by a sweet Italian and frequented by some other couples, all of whom were over 50.

We heard them talking about how they never took vacations or traveled until now: stories about hard work and mortgages and kids to raise. And there we were, the young and in love 20 somethings who'd been all over the world, usually self-employed with no limits on what we can do or achieve.

We have this life because we don't imagine it any other way. We help each other and feed each other's dreams. I just felt so lucky and proud sitting at that table with all of these people decades older than me, that I am not waiting for anything to live the life of my dreams. And from that paradise island, it was so obvious that the stories of 20 years of hard work at jobs they don't believe in was a prison they built for themselves: none of it was actually necessary.

So here's to me and here's to Peep! We celebrate with the paradise that we create and the paradise in which we live.

I'm I old enough to be 25?

2008-01-31T10:43:00.000-06:00

This is my second day being 25 years old.

As I wrote 2 years ago, I have a theory about age: that at some point, its just another year tacked onto a number: it stops meaning something - stops being an indicator of increased development.

I want to really feel that I've earned my 25 years and that I've packed in enough growth and wisdom the last year to merit the addition to my age.

I don't know if I've done it. What is certain is that I don't feel 24. 24 is too young, too searching, undefined and uncertain to be what I am now. But 25? Isn't this when I'm supposed to start "settling down" or something? I guess what's most uncomfortable about this increase in age is it seems to represent closed doors - forgone opportunities. I will never be 24 again. Did I do it right? There were so many other things I could have done with this year. There are millions of 24 year olds who've put different experiences in their lives. Someone made a million dollars when they were 24. Someone won an olympic gold medal when they were 24. Someone had their second child, someone made a music album, someone won a surfing competition, someone published their first book. When I was 6 years old, all of those and a billion more possibilities were in front of me. Now they are behind me and they will never happen.

I am of course, proud of my choices. I have carefully, consciously taken the steps that have led me here. I think I'm ready to be 25. But I'm not sure that 25 is an age I've earned, more like one that I will live up to.

I had such a lovely birthday. I received so many birthday wishes through email and facebook. Peep and my mom showered me with love and generosity. I was spoiled. Maybe I'm not sure if I feel 25, but I definitely feel like a princess.

Matador de Hormigas

2008-01-26T11:14:00.000-06:00

"They're sending out a panic message, you see? You kill one, and then they all start to run around, crazily and ferociously. You see them? They're panicking. But what they don't realize is that they're running right into my hands. The matador is coming..."

-Peep Laja, 11:30 am in the kitchen on Saturday

The Fight to Learn Spanish

2008-01-15T13:40:00.000-06:00

As seems to be my tradition, I started reading one of my sister's Harry Potter books in the US and I left the country dying to know what happens in the last 300 pages. So I went to a bookstore and bought Harry Potter y la Orden del Fenix. My dictionary and I are getting through it much faster than I expected: I've learned lots of useful words such as varita magica, espada, mazmorra. I just have 20 pages left.

In addition to this, Peep has made it possible for us to take Spanish classes (one on one tutoring). We also see the occasional movie dubbed or subtitled in Spanish. Sometimes I think in Spanish. The reality is I have so many Spanish words in my head - I can understand even hours of complicated conversation. And as I slowly decipher the code, and words begin to unravel into meaning, a monster is exposed. It seems I have a prejudice against Spanish.

Anyone who is from Texas, and I would guess Southern California and Florida is exposed to Spanish regularly, mostly because of the large populations of Mexican or Central American immigrants. I learned the word "mande" as a 4 year old kid because I heard the maid say it when my grandmother called her. I saw brown Spanish speaking men come to my house to cut down Cedar trees and watched my Dad struggling to speak to them in Spanish. There are more Spanish signs and Spanish restaurants in the poorer parts of my hometown. I didn't meet a single college educated native Spanish speaker until I was in University.

Even though my knowledge and vocabulary are increasing every day, I can't seem to make much progress speaking. It's like I'm fighting against something large and heavy that's inside my own head. It has happened a few times when I'm really warmed up and the Spanish is flowing, and I hear myself using colloquialisms perfectly like "dale," "pues," "ay" and I stop. There's a feeling like panic in my chest and a thought in my head that, if it were brave enough to admit its own existence, would be something like "I sound like one of those people who speaks Spanish." And then the flow stops, and I'm sure my cheeks get red.

It's like Spanish is so useful where I come from, and its good to know it, but you don't wanna get too good. You always want to sound a little bit like a white person.

I can remember several conversations in my life where someone says something like, "look at that Mexican guy over there." and some well meaning white person nearby says "Shhhh. Don't call him that." As if his nationality is a disgrace.

Even though it burns my cheeks and churns my stomach to write this blog post and expose my horrible lurking prejudice to the world, I know I'm not alone. Now that these dormant ideas are unraveling before my eyes, I recognize that probably every one I know is prejudiced, even though they don't want to be and would hate to discover that they are.

So far, it is the greatest gift that Panama has given me. Here, Mexico is a rich older brother: it is a source of culture, maybe the way Americans think of France. When people here say, "I got it in Mexico." the response is "Oooooohhh, fancy." I'm reading books. The phrases that I thought only day laborers used are also used by Hermione and Professor McGonnal. Spanish is rich and sophisticated. It has poetic possibilities that English does not. It's still a heavy fight, but I'm gonna try with all I have to speak like a Mexican (the accent is more elegant than the Panamanian ;) and to go beyond the level of Spanish needed to give good instructions to maids and laborers.

This photo is of the main characters of my favorite Novella. It's my favorite because its my friend Fito's favorite, and he got me hooked. Mariachi is something slightly exotic and sophisticated here.

Ethical Companies

2007-10-27T23:04:00.000-06:00

Ethical companies are a main focal point of my universe and have been for my entire adult life. I owned an organic flower business, helped start a fair trade importing venture, sold renewable energy, etc. etc.

And... most of my friends and loved ones seem to be doing the same. In fact, maybe the whole world is doing the same... because when I look in portals or write "ethical companies" in search of a job, they are choosing from 300 highly qualified applicants. Even jobs in non-profits that pay low salaries or even no salaries are highly competitive.

Energetic smart people don't just want to make money, they want to make a difference. We think about huge financial firms, and oil companies and car manufacturers as places we could never work because they are "unethical." They are exploitive and unsustainable.

So we passionately throw ourselves into: consulting for non-profits, marketing fair trade handbags, making organic flaxseed crackers, promoting an ethical tv station... this is work we feel good about.

But... what do these ethical companies do for their devoted employees? It is now the second time this year and one of many times in my life when I have seen an "ethical company" sacrifice its employees for the "vision."

I was kind-of-hired by an ethical online TV station a few months ago. I loved the mission -give people alternatives to crap TV, TV with consciousness, use it to promote other ethical companies through advertising - it was so great. We skyped about goals and job roles, drafted contracts, trained me, put my bio on their website.

It went on for months without anything ever getting signed and without me ever getting paid. Answers were," Oh, yes we really need to get that going, probably next week." Well, trusting them on their word, I went to live in a foreign country, knowing that the income would be there "next week..."

After two weeks in Panama, they finally told me in response to my pressing insistence on a contract and pay, "The truth is, we just don't have the budget to hire you." Then, in the silence, the CEO added, "But if you really do want to start working on good faith, you're really welcome to. I just can't promise that you'll get paid."

...Is that "ethical"?

My boyfriend was also hired by this company, only he managed to get a contract and pay, thank goodness, since we share bills. His first salary was transferred 2 weeks late. Apologies... it will never happen again. The second month, he sent his "invoice" (he is not actually an employee, but a "contractor" so the "ethical company" won't have to pay taxes for him.). There was a follow up, "ok. We'll get it to you." A week went by. Two weeks went by. Follow up emails were unanswered. Three weeks went by.

Finally, a response to an email cc'd to everyone who had any influence in the company. A skype call with the CEO: "Yeah, we're really sorry. The truth is that we ran out of money two months ago because an investor bailed. I will pay you as soon as I can but there's a small chance I won't be able to pay you at all."

This got me reflecting... every "ethical company" I have ever known has put the "vision" before its employees. I was even guilty of it when running Sarah's Flowers. It's that the founder feels so inspired and sure of their purpose, its almost righteousness, and there's a feeling that of course everyone will want to help. The ones I choose will be lucky to be a part of this.

So maybe we are wrong... The "conscious" young talent of my generation. Maybe we underestimate those car factories and oil companies that pay regular salaries and health insurance. It's not that I am suggesting "selling out," but no idea is worth slavery. And any company who thinks its okay to skip on paying an employee in chasing Utopia, is defeating its own objective with every step it takes.

A Week in Another World...

2007-10-14T18:40:00.001-06:00

...And now I am changed forever.

I spent this last week in a village in the middle of the jungle. The town was called Soloy, in Ngobe Bugle land, where the Ngobe people live, speaking Ngobe and living in their the traditional ways as they have for thousands of years. I was volunteering there, teaching English to adults and helping to update/create websites.

I have so much to say... this is going to be long.

I did not go there through any program, and I did not go through any international organization; Everyone I worked with and met was Ngobe (they all speak Spanish as a second language), which is one of the reasons the experience was so special.

It was hard to leave Panama City: my beautiful new abode, my dear sweet boyfriend -a very comfortable life, to venture off on a night bus to an unknown corner of the jungle, not knowing anyone, not having any reason at all to do it except that it scared me ... and that meant that I could grow from it.

The bus went to David, a normal little town, and from there I took the truck to Soloy... a 4X4 with sideways benches in the back instead of seats and 18 people crammed in the back. The ride was bumpy, sometimes through mud 2 feet deep (not exaggerating... it is the rainy season here) and it last 2 hours. The pain of the bench and the bodies impossibly pressed together was mitigated by the pleasure of the view... rolling jungle hills, banana trees, orchids, green pastures and waterfalls.

I got off when other people got off and asked for Adan (emphasis on the last syllable). It was the only name I knew, and I clung to it. The spot where we were was a kind of junction of two really muddy roads with two small wooden buildings, the village stores. You don't go inside (there's no room), you walk up to the counter and ask for what you want. There were a few people around, and some chickens and some dogs but the dominating factors of the place were mud and jungle.

Adan was a young Ngobe man who met me with a pile of books I could use in my class and took me to where I would sleep and then gave me a tour of Soloy and its surroundings. And that is how my experience began. Here is how I was impacted:

Poverty: I experienced poverty like I have never experienced it before. Houses are sticks and dirt floors, children and women are sometimes without shoes, no one can afford to eat more than once a day. My first hours in Soloy, I was shocked. My first three nights, I was fighting back tears from discomfort and loneliness. By the 6th day, I felt like I was a citizen of Soloy... I could live there for years, no problem.

Riches: Some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. Elaborate, refined tribal artistry that could have its place in a museum (more on this later), papayas and bananas growing wild in the forest. Hundreds of varieties of unique orchids, trees, bromeliads, birds, insects.

Access: This is one of my biggest lessons. The difficulties of this village are not only due to a lack of money, they are due to a lack of ACCESS. There is no mail to Soloy, there are hardly roads to Soloy, there are no electric lines or plumbing (some solar panels, and piped water from the river for a few of the buildings... not houses), there are no banks nor ATM's, there is no cell phone signal.

What does this mean? The economy is trapped. Goods cannot be sold outside of the village really, so they are sold at prices that are artificially low. If there is a bad weather season that effects crops, the people can starve with money in their pockets because there is no food (the trucks can't get it there fast enough!). And on, and on.

I had no idea.

Hunger: I always had this idea that hunger is something experienced by the very poor and I associated it with ignorance, dirtiness, disgrace and a burning sensation in the stomach. That's not what hunger is. I experienced hunger myself accidentally because I ran out of money.
See, the women Artisan groups have no one to buy their crafts. They literally don't have a market (see Access) so they rely on the few volunteers (foreigners) who come visit. All women make these things as part of their traditions, so there is no internal market.

Well the things are beautiful, so I wanted to buy everything my few dollars would buy (to support them and buy Christmas gifts). I budgeted so that I would just have enough for the passage back and food. I would eat at the restaurant (think foodstand... $1.00 for beans, chicken and rice -btw, there is no refrigeration bc there is no electricity, so chicken is the main meat since it just runs around until you're ready to eat.) only once a day and for dinner, I'd fry eggs in the kitchen (eggs are 10 cents).

Well, they ran out of eggs. They ran out. I instantly thought, that's okay they'll get some in tomorrow. Ah, no they won't. No access. So I ate 1 meal a day and then nibbled on bread, crackers, etc.

This is what I learned about Hunger: it doesn't burn the stomach, because you do eat, you just don't eat enough of the right things. You are still fully functional just slow er and weaker. The key to hunger is protein. Protein is the most expensive thing to buy. You can eat enough white bread to fill your stomach, but you can feel it in your skin that you are slowly starving.

This is the other thing I learned about hunger: Almost everyone in Soloy was hungry. Adan and Plinio (Adan's brother) and I would have long intellectual meetings about the mission of the botanical garden the were building and appropriate symbols to use in a logo (all in Spanish, by the way), and then they would say they were not going to lunch today. Hunger exists among the educated and the dignified.

Promise: Soloy has a shining star and his name is Adan. Adan is in his late 20's, a Ngobe fella raised in Soloy all his life. He got ahold of a program about 10 years ago called CASS that sponsors young members of impoverished communities to study in the USA, so that they can bring their educations back to their homes and help them develop. The program is supposed to last for 4 years.

But Panama has a problem. Panama City is so rich and so developed, that it effects country averages and international perception into thinking Panama is a developed country that doesn't need that much support. In this way, impoverished, very needing regions like Ngobe Bugle don't get the international resources that, say, their Nicaraguan or Honduran counterparts do. So CASS cut its funding to Panama and Adan came home to Soloy after only two years and no Panamanian staff to help him.

But he's going ahead anyway. He's embracing the charge CASS gave him with such purpose and dedication, I am ashamed for them for abandoning him. He and his American friend started Medo, the organization I found on idealist.org, the reason I came to Soloy. Learn more about Medo: medo.awardspace.com

Slowly, Medo is attracting talented resourceful people to Soloy. Slowly and steadily, Soloy is developing. Adan is shy and humble, courteous and intelligent. He lives in the same poverty, the wooden houses, the scant food, etc. that are typical of his village. But he has a vision that is so authentic and so inspiring and so generous, you just want to help him. Medo is not some white people that came down to a jungle village and said "Oh look at the poor people, let's help them." Medo is the Ngobe themselves, taking their own community into their hands, reaching out for support and talent from the outside.

If it was a company, I'd invest.

What am I doing for Medo and the Ngobe:

I taught English for a week and I think I was a success (by the way, they need someone to stay for 2 or 3 months starting immediately, if you know anyone who might want the job).

I am redoing the website of the Jardin Botanico: Plinio has been trained in botony and is walking through the jungle (region is called the Comarca) identifying every single plant and taking samples to build a botanical garden to one day be an attraction for ecotourism. He has scientific support from Botanical societies in Austria and Germany. In a few weeks, check out: http://www.soloy.pueblerino.info/

I will be delivering a donation of medical supplies from the US to Soloy in January.

And finally, the project I am most excited about, and the one that will take the most miracles to pull off: I am going to try to start a business selling chacaras. Chacaras are one of the crafts that the Ngobe women make. They are woven bags, made entirely out of plant fibers and dyes through a process entirely by hand. It is a unique and traditional art. They are beautiful and they last through the mud and the heavy labor of Soloy for 20 years. It takes between 1 and 2 months to make one. Right now, they sell them to the one or two volunteers that come to Soloy each month (price $10 to $20) and to dealers who come from Panama City for sometimes as low as 3$, to be resold in larger tourist markets. The women know full well that they are underselling, but they do it to survive. Some more interesting info is here

I had a meeting with one of the Artisan groups to discuss marketing possibilities: how to reach a broader market. I thought Internet, but how do they ship when there's no mail? How do they receive money when there's no bank?

I had a second meeting with them to explain the concept of fair trade. We calculated how much time they spend on the process and what they would need to earn to at least survive on making chacaras. The price would need to be between $70 and $150 per bag. One lady recalled that 15 years ago, she sold a bag every month to one man for $90 and he shipped them to the USA to be resold. So its possible. If women will spend $700 on a Burberry bag made in China, there's gotta be a way for me to make them spend a few hundred dollars on an original artpiece.
So I'm going to start creating a website, with sleek photos that make these chacaras look like the the most glamorous fashion item available. I hope that by January, I have some money to go back to Soloy and buy a big order of bags at a fair price. I have a vision of the entire Ngobe Bugle region being transformed by empowered economically successful women. Currently, the chacara art is dying, younger women opting for the easier crafts, but if I can pay them $100 a bag, the chacara art will flourish again because it will be a viable source of income.

This was my week in Soloy and how it has impacted me. If you have any questions or ideas or would like to do something to help as well, you can comment, email me or email medovolunteers@gmail.com

UPDATE: Here is the blog about the project marketing the hand bags: http://www.bagsmakeadifference.com/

Settling in and Branching Out

2007-10-05T07:35:00.000-06:00

This is the third week in Panama.

Peep and I moved into our own apartment (finally!). We live in a neighborhood called Casco Viejo (old helmet). It is the colonial part of Panama city. The building we live in is older than the city I was born in. The stair case is original marble imported from Italy, the banisters are handcarved mahogany. We have a view of the ocean and of the city that is made for kings. It is a castle. I will post pictures in a few weeks.

Our landlords (who own the house and live part-time in the rest of it) are a small family who run a really cool non-profit organization here in Panama: www.earthtrain.org .

We are trying to grab hold of Panama a bit more and have been looking for things to occupy ourselves here in Panama. We are looking for things to do that will teach us Spanish and earn us money. We have sent CV's around and gotten some job interviews. I am doing work with some non-profits. CREA-Panama has "hired" me as their pro-bono marketing consultant in exchane for the experience and practicing Spanish in their office.

In a few hours, I will go on a bus to some small town in the jungle called Soloy where I will teach English for a week and learn Spanish. After one week, Peep will meet me in a town near by called David and we will go together to Costa Rica. We have to do this to change our visas (only good for 30 days).

So the next weeks should provide chaos, interesting experiences and pretty pictures.

First Week in Panama

2007-09-22T20:16:00.000-06:00

As soon as we cleared customs, a man in a uniform loaded our bags onto the cart and showed us outside where the taxis were, started talking to one and told us to get in. The whole process took only 2 minutes and ended up costing us $30 with tip for the guy we thought was an airport employee and extra large cab fare for the fresh clueless foreigners.

The first days we spent in a hostel-like hotel. The last 5 days have been in the house of an AIESEC Alum couple.

Here are the first impressions of this place which is Panama city:

1) I thought it was a "poor" country. It is not. This is a very developed, middle class kind of place. It is not necessarily cheaper to live here than in Austin. In looking for an apartment, there is a plethora of new luxurious loft style places that cost between $2000 and $5000 a month. We have had a challenge in finding a place in our price range that is not in the ghetto. (Don't worry, Mom. I am not living in the ghetto) Panama is in the middle of a real estate boom.

Of course, the other side of this development is that every comfort is available here. In the big supermarkets, 80% of the cereal brands are the same as I'd find in HEB. Any time I'm homesick, I can go buy honey bunches of oats, Oreos, JIF peanut better or thousands of other things that are just like home.

2) Panama City is dynamic. It is beautiful and ugly, modern and traditional, a place with every international chain where no one voluntarily speaks a language besides Panamanian ( a variety of Spanish ;).

3) The people. All tourist info propaganda I read before coming here said how hospitable Panamanians are. Well... I keep being surprised at how cold the clerks and salespeople are to me and to other customers. It is not universally friendly. Someone from New York city wouldn't mind... it's very down to business, every-man-for-himself. But it's not what I expected from a tropical, Caribbean country. I get the sense though, that it is only skin deep. On a few occasions, when some experience breaks the routine, I felt genuine friendliness. Like when a lady walked in on me washing my hands in the bathroom (apologized profusely) and I saw her later behind the counter making sandwiches. She caught my eye and gave me one of the most open and warm smiles I'd seen in a long time. Peep saw it too and seemed transfixed, "Wow. I think that's the first smile we've seen here."

4) The food. lots of seafood, fruit and fried things. There are 5 star restaurants and vendors with carts. We experiment with different places. It is a kind of riddle to find where are the places that are good and cheap. So far, I have not deciphered the pattern, experiencing all ranges of price and quality without an ability to predict.

5) Perhaps you would ask me about the canal, so I'll write something. Yes, the canal is cool, I've seen the end of it and I saw it snaking through the jungle from the plane. But living in Panama and focusing on the canal would be like living in San Fransisco and focusing on the harbor. The Canal is not the essence of Panama city, in fact I get the sense that it is a kind of indulged foreign body. It was built by French and Americans and owned by other countries for most of its life.

These are my favorite things so far:

1) Food! I found my two favorite fruits here that I have not really had since Thailand (rambuttan and mangosteen). I ate a cup of 2$ ceviche that was soooo delicious. We eat fried whole fish that is really fresh and costs 3$. And there are fried bananas called tarjadas that make it worth getting up in the morning. Fresh fruit juice stand and stores are prevalent (1$-2$).

2) The sea! It is cool to live by the sea. We have not yet traveled from the city nor seen any exquisite beaches (though they do exist). But it is cool to see Pelicans circling skyscrapers and to feel the salty humid wind.

3) Spanish! I am practicing a little bit with people, also watching TV and reading newspapers with dictionary in hand.

4) Friends! The couple we are staying with is really nice and taking care of us (until we can move into our own apartment). "Fito" is Panamanian, former MCP (AIESEC) and he is with us everyday, making us speak Spanish and practice, taking us places and showing us things. Bozhena is Polish, former AIESEC trainee in Mexico and speaks fluent Spanish, now working in Trinidad for 2 weeks.

5) Tropical plants! I have seen orchids that are so big in peoples yards, they function as bushes. I have seen trees that are bigger than the biggest oak trees in Texas, covered with Bromeliads, scattered around in the busy, congested city.

6) I like being here with Peep. He is my best friend. We get along really well. We can walk along getting lost on purpose, discovering things, be silent or talk for hours. I have discovered new countries many times, but never like this -with someone else. It's cool, kind of like bringing a piece of home with me. It makes the experience gentler.

So! On the horizon... Soon we are going to get out of the city and explore a bit of Panamanian nature, maybe beach, maybe jungle, maybe both. Peep will start work on Monday again with Frontier TV. He will work on London time, so that will make for an interesting schedule. We will be moving into our own apartment also sometime in the next week or so (si Dios quiere). I hope to put some structure to my Spanish immersion (don't know what form it will take: class, volunteer... Just need to be in a place with lots of people speaking Spanish to me).

Hasta pronto!

The Next Adventure Begins in 3 Days

2007-09-12T11:50:00.000-06:00

I am moving to Panama. I will meet Peep on Friday morning at the Houston airport and we will fly together to Panama city to see what life is there and to partake of it. We have gotten in touch with some very gracious AIESEC Alum who've said they'll help us get situated.

Everyone asks me, "So what's in Panama?" "Why Panama?" These questions put me on the spot and make my ears go red because I don't have any kind of answer that is conventionally a good reason to go. But this is how it came to be.

Peep and I want to be together, but both the USA and EU are difficult to work in for foreigners and they are expensive. I also feel that it would be nice to try out what life is like with each other when not influenced by either homeland (and not restricted by Islamic laws, as in Dubai). We can see what its like to just be us and be free.

I want to be fluent in Spanish. I have been speaking it since I was 2 and I've never really been able to speak it. Khalas! Time to learn!

Panama seems like a great dream to go after. I have no idea what it will be like, but maybe it will be really relaxed -have some Caribbean vibe. Maybe there will be really good cheap street food. Maybe the beaches will be gorgeous with crystal teal water. Maybe there are awesome people there waiting to be my friends. Maybe I will learn history and culture and geography about a place about which I now can only claim ignorance. Maybe we will get dressed up in glitter and feathers for Carnaval. Maybe I will become a rum connoisseur. Maybe we will live in an apartment that is in walking distance from a lot of cool places with an extra bedroom. Maybe my friends and family will visit me and share in my adventure.

Tides and Tidings of health

2007-08-18T16:36:00.000-06:00

I am having an adventure with my body. I suppose there are as many possibilities of what can go wrong with the body as there are stars in the sky. Ligaments and hormones and red blood cells and glands... millions and millions. That many of them should veer from their normal paths all at the same time could be Murphy's Law or it could be argument for the merits of holistic healing. I am not in any serious harm, but there was a cancer scare, a fertility complication scare, a thyroid imbalance and high cholesterol all within 3 weeks.

For the last several months, I have had no plans. I sometimes feel like I am waiting. It is really inconvenient to not have plans. Others would like to make plans and incorporate me, I can only smile and say I don't know, over and over again. And when I meet new people or see old friends, it is awkward to explain myself. I cannot see into my future, not even 18 hours.

My mom has very kindly given me an acupuncture "package". Nice ladies who care a lot (DeAnn Newbold) poke needles into me and chart my progress. My sister Jayme dotes over me and makes me not feel alone, gives me supplements to eat. Sometimes I shell hundreds of dollars to clinics to be subjected to harsh machines and needles.

I am young and full of vitality, just passing through the first of perhaps a few more shadows hinting that my invincibility was a glorious illusion. It is just a small temporary shadow, and I will be back having more boastful adventures soon.

An Ocean Between... Again

2007-06-22T14:09:00.000-06:00

I took Peep to the Airport two days ago, in lightening, thunder and pouring rain. We have said goodbye this way so many times: the line at security slowly moves, every now and then we wave... and then he is gone.

While he was here, we had a great time. He met every member of my family and many of my friends. I wanted him to come here, to see where I came from, and he did... I feel it has made us closer.

And we had such a great road trip! One month on the road, 24 hours together every day, and we still like each other! We saw so many magnificent things, every few days we were in another world: Huge fast cities, silent ancient forests, chilly spring mountains, vast magestic desert formations, homes of family and friends, Motel 6 with HBO, camping in dirt and leaves.

Waiting behind the sensational daily adventures, and sometimes peeking out into conversation, was the reality that we don't know where and when we will be together next. EU and USA sometimes feel like a fish and a bird...

There are so many things to achieve in this world- and we like to achieve. How do we best invest in our individual success and make sure we are together? It is really hard.

Certainly this kind of love is something I have always wanted to have, so I will keep it and hold it. We will find a way.

Northern California

2007-05-19T13:35:00.000-06:00

We are staying with Blake and Carla in Stockton, California. Blake and Carla and I are all Aunts/uncle of Jayda, so it is good to spend time together: probably we will know each other our whole lives.

Before being here, we were in San Fransisco. My dad told me when I was about 12 that I belonged in Northern California.(He had fond memories from hitchiking there with the other flower children). I could live in San Fransisco very easily: it's international, green, beautiful buildings, good food. It looked like a little toy town, modelled after a European city: the buldings were narrow and tall, all in a row, painted pink and tan and green. We stayed with an old friend of Peep's named Tony, from Indonesia. I am glad to know him because he is a very sweet fellow, and through his own sad stories of corporate imprisonment and failed international romances, he was giving us advice.

The winding ocean road that lead us to San Fransisco (Hwy 1) invited us to camp inside aredwood grove near a waterfall and showed us fat lazy seals on the cold grey sand below. It was awesome.

Today we will chat some more with the californai Bombens (we have learned so much already about wine and hospitals and the world), then we will drive our tired but loyal Sally to the Yosemite National Park, where we hope to get lost for at least a few days.

California Dreaming

2007-05-09T12:15:00.000-06:00

We drove through New Mexico. We got to see an auction presided by my Uncle Jim. Peep got a true cultural experience... Jim introduced us ("Peep from Estonia"), to which a few responded... "Is that south of Texas?" "That's past Mayfield isn't it?" It was a barn of crystal and candles and clocks for 1$ and 2$. We drove through that valley and up to the mountains again, with the aim of camping in the Gila forest, which I have heard so much about.

We got up there around dusk... it was so cold. We piled up our gear and set to walking up and on, trusting that a flat campable space would appear. As the bags got heavier and the light grew fainter, we crossed a fence guarding who know what and began to set up our camp. We dug a fire pit and lined it with rocks... we were so nervous, having just visited my uncle's volunteer fire department, we built the wall up about 2 feet. We had so much fun. We were such a good team.

At night, it got colder and colder. We had our shoes and hats and jackets on underneath two sleeping bags. We woke in the morning to find ourselves covered in snow. I wanted to crawl back under the warmth and pretend I didn't see it. Peep convinced me to evacuate. It was surreal to see snow in May.

Windy mountain roads took us to Arizona, where we wanted to see the Apache reservation. We got there around 6 pm. On the road we saw that permits were required to camp, so we set out to find a permit. The police station was empty, the permit office was closed on sunday, it was almost dark. We had to camp, so we set out to find a spot and buy the permit tomorrow. The place had a special feeling. It really was like being in another country. The lake we found was peaceful and full of life, but also lots of trash and graffiti. I wanted to see the Apaches be more proud of their land.

In the morning, the Apache Ranger found us and gave us a citation. We were not afraid because we didn't think we really had done anything wrong. Our intentions were so good... I thought it we could not be blamed if the office was closed. Wrong. We parted the Apache nation and left an investment of $160.

We drove through the desert and almost camped in Joshua Tree until we both admitted we'd rather pay the money for a shower and a bed. Yesterday, we hung out in Santa Monica. I think we are both very California souls. So far, we love it here. Here is a picture of a forest fire we drove past... the news said it was devastating.

On the Santa Monica promenade, we saw someone carrying a gap (red) bag. So we went to check it out. We had heard of this. It is part of the One campaign (go sign up at www.one.org). The one campaign is to end poverty. There is also the red campaign (www.redcampaign.org), both were started/headlined by Bono. The red campaign is to fight AIDS in Africa. It is so cool. Businesses are being asked to carry red products, from which 100% of profits go to fight AIDS in Africa. So all you have to do is go shopping and you're saving the planet.

Next, we will check out Hollywood and Beverly Hills, maybe Universal Studios, try to meet up with Lily in Santa Barbara, head north on hwy 1, and see what happens

Road Trip!!

2007-05-05T11:05:00.000-06:00

We are on the 3rd day of our Southwest adventure, in Cloudcroft New Mexico with my Uncle Jim and Aunt Bev.

We started the trip in San Antonio by watching the Spurs beat the Nuggets in the NBA playoffs. The next day, Peep got to meet my 90 year old grandfather Carl and after lots of dessert and pictures and history, we drove to San Angelo where we could go no further and stayed in a Motel 6! It's not a road trip until you spend the night in a Motel 6. The next day (yesterday) we drove 8 hours to Cloudcroft, stopping to greet the Aliens in Roswell.

Now we are surrounded by mountains and pine forest. This morning we saw 4 wild elk in the yard.

We don't have a schedule or any definite plan. Major things we want to see are: an Apache reservation, Los Angeles, HWY 1, San Fransisco, Yosemite, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon, Zion National Park. Other than that, we will stop when we see cool stuff, spend lots of time hiking and camping and getting in touch with people around the country.

We have no schedule, but we do have goals and guiding principals.

These are the goals:

Have fun

Learn about each other/ develop our relationship

See beautiful, inspiring things

Develop relationships with people we meet/ stay with

These are the principles:

Whatever happens is the best thing that could have happened (No "we should have," "if only," etc.)

If there is an issue, we talk about it

We choose delight (we do not pass up fields of wildflowers where we long to frolic in order to get there faster)

Carpe Diem (when something cool and unexpected invites us, we do it)

With these, we will track our progess.

The Estonian has arrived!

2007-04-13T16:05:00.000-06:00

I was waiting and waiting and I finally got him here! I was so worried it wouldn't happen. I was making contingency plans of a rendezvous in Mexico. I made my whole family agree to fly to Mexico to meet him if the punks didn't give him his visa. And now he is here, right next to me, at Jayme's house. He has met Lily, Jayme, Ross and Jayda. We are introducing him slowly. I am trying to avoid a big-fat-greek-wedding-style shock. Tomorrow, he will meet Shannon, Eddie, Alex and Ava. And after that, he will meet my parents!

I first picked him up in San Antonio in the freezing rain. We finagled our way into a really cheap rate at the Hyatt vacation club by agreeing to let them try to sell us a timeshare. After three days, 72 degree beautiful sunshine and blue sky accompanied us back to the ol' ATX. He has seen the green belt and bits of downtown, south suburbia and north suburbia. He is being introduced to tacos and tortillas and is making lots of cultural observations (see peeplaja.blogspot.com )Last night around the dinner table, Peep and Ross and Jayme and I were laughing hysterically trying to nod our heads the way Indians say yes. I finally got my bridge.

Relief

2007-04-04T14:46:00.000-06:00

Peep got his visa! He will be here soon!

Authenticity

2007-03-30T01:13:00.000-06:00

I just sat next to my younger sister while she spoke with a famous, rich and powerful person and told this lady what she wanted from her. Lily, out of nowhere, said something like, "I want to be involved in one of your projects, from beginning to end and partner with you creatively." They talked for an hour and a half and Lily got what she wanted. And the entire time, I was really thirsty and too shy to get up and ask the famous lady for a glass of water.

While I was absorbing my younger sister's boldness and observing its affect on the famous woman, I saw two things. I saw the lady's face become flustered and red, as if she were being pushed... where she finally hit against her own place of brutal honesty. The result of two women talking about their wants and boundaries so directly, is that in one hour, an understanding was reached that might have taken years to find through "polite," comfortable, expected, unauthentic ways. The second thing I saw was, behind the flustered blush, a growing shining-eyed respect for the tenacious young one. I saw thoughts fly across her face like, "If she asks this of me, she may ask what she needs from absolutely everyone, and that means she gets what she wants." and "If she's this powerful at 20, what is she going to be when she's my age..." Lily invited and created, out of nothing but her own personal power, a mentor relationship, powerful networking introductions and a potential job.

It made me rememeber all the times I have gone to people in powerful positions (business school faculty, potential customers of my ventures, etc.), selling something or asking for something. I have never asked for what I wanted. I have had the approach of: this is what I'm doing, this is why its working, and this is why its good for you to support it. I guess that's less personal: I'm talking to you because you are the chair of the foundation I want money from, not because you are the person you are. That's not authentic. What if I'd gone to Dr. Butler as a business school freshman and, instead of selling my idea and showing how it aligned with the mission on the plaque on his wall said, "I'm Sarah Moore. I want to start an entrepreneur society so that I can learn and grow as an entrepreneur and I want you to give me money and contacts." That was the authentic thing to say. The way I did it, I think it took me three 45 minute meetings to get my money.

Being authentic means being exposed, that's why it's so damn scary. But I want to start trying to do it. I think I'd have more time and more brain space if I stopped worrying how people would react, if I stopped trying to find the most diplomatic words and ways of twisting what I want into "how it's good for them," so that I can feel less vulnerable.

About a month ago, a guy at a gas station asked me for some money for gas --he needed to get somewhere and didn't have any money. Well, ok. I put 5 bucks in his tank. At least two others gave him 5 bucks. The man did nothing but arrive --pennyless, and ask for what he needed. He drove away with gas in his tank and got to where he wanted to go.

Powerful stuff.

The Beginning of a Blog

2007-03-20T12:29:00.000-06:00

My life is fascintaing. It needs its own blog. My life is full of heros and battles and adventures.

The characters in my adventurous life are my family: parents and sisters and neices and nephew and cousins and aunts and grandfather and uncles and I have close unique individual realtionships with each one.
(My nephew, Alex and I skiing in New Mexico)

Some of my adventures are with myself... for example, I am trying to write a novel. I am taking creative writing classes, but I find that anytime I think that I wrote something good, I clam up in cold fear. As Nelson Mandela said, "It is not our darkness, but our light that frightens us." I will keep fighting and try to overcome.

I am in search of a bit of land. I have searched far and wide and I know that somewhere, there is a small bit of land, secluded but convenient with a few beautiful trees and soil ready for gardening. I know this land is just waiting for me to find it, and when I do, I will build the most beautiful magical little cottage out of mud (cob).

And lastly, I am waiting for my love. He is so far away and has been for a long time and I am waiting for him. It is so difficult to live with a heart that is beating in two places. His visa was already rejected once. I will think it such an unfair atrocity if silly lines and silly badges will threaten to prevent him from seeing the others I love and the place that created me. If all fails, we will gather us in Mexico.

(Jayda, Jayme and I working on our new beach cabin)