All Things in Moderation

Alligator and shrimp cheesecake. Fried alligator gumbo. French fries fried in duck fat. Jambalaya. Crabs and lots of 'em. Bacon and eggs with biscuits-- two biscuits. Not just one. Cheesy mashed potatoes. Chicken and pasta. Bread pudding. Cream cheese sopapillas. Fried plantains and baked beans. Much wine and beer. No, this is not the diet of a 200-lb. stoner, it's actually mine of late. An ever-growing graduate student whose first forays into the eating culture of New Orleans has sucked her down a dark and windy path to obesity. I have gained almost five pounds since I got here, which was less than two months ago. With my newfound love of eating delicious things (and not even in small quantities, mind you-- I actually went to a party called THE MEAT PARTY-- it had five different meats to partake in), I have forgotten I actually like vegetables and salads and yogurt and fruit! I used to eat those things! Those were the days...

All things in moderation? Absolutely. I believe in this idea completely. Therefore, in order to shrink my stomach and remember to actually care about the things I am putting into my body, I will have to, as my sister and I said earlier this summer when this same problem hit me after our visit to Ohio, slightly starve myself.  Listen, it's for the sake of not buying new pants. Gaining weight is expensive!  I am also going to rededicate myself to yoga and my goal is to go 3x/week. There's some great little studios around here and yogalates at the school gym that I've already paid dues for. I will not let you turn my hour-glass figure into a blob, you delightful New Orleans cuisine! When Conan O'Brien did a spoof on the state mottos, the one for Louisiana was, "You're not fat here, friend!" ...It's been my theme ever since. So if the natives are going to pray for me since I'm a Democrat, I also want them to pray for my will power. I can help too-- it'd be something like, "God, please do not let the cornbread be shoved into my mouth by mine own hands. Amen." This weekend is the barbeque festival. I'll never survive. *sigh*

P.S. Sorry if this post just made you very hungry.

"If you need anything, let me know." My experience with Hurricane Isaac

I wrote this during the storm, on Wednesday, August 22, as I needed a way to wrap my mind around being in the midst of a natural disaster. I come from Phoenix. Arizona has fires and flash floods, but I've never encountered them personally. Now, as I have just moved to a new city in order to pursue my Master of Science in Disaster Resilience Leadership Studies, I've already experienced the overwhelming bond of community within and after a disaster, which fully assured me of my dedication to the field I'm going into. Please bear with me as my outpour of thoughts are not entirely organized or interesting, but I had to write it down. New Orleans is my new home, and I broke it in accordingly. 

If you need anything, let me know. 

This statement is powerful. It happens in response to distressing matters that may require an extra hand to help process emotionally, physically, or for simple matters-- because sometimes, two heads are better than one. Either way, in the wake of Isaac, who seems to be making his little home in the backyard of the Roy home in Jesuit Bend, Louisiana, I sit here thinking of how often I have heard those words in the past 48 hours: “If you need anything...” It’s come from the family who I just met last week, and have now taken up residence with, to their friends who may experience more dire circumstances. I've heard it from their family members to them in response to their decision to stay through it. Within community where disaster strikes, this rolls off the tongues of those affected with the utmost sincerity. No one comes out unscathed. It’s Wednesday morning during Hurricane Isaac. The fences here are piecemeal now, the water so high on the levee, you could jump in, and many homes will be inches or feet deep in water nearby. The Roy house stands on ten-foot stilts only yards from the Mississippi river, and their backyard is quite literally a levee. 

My roommate Michael gave me the option to come here or go to Texas with him while he worked on some business. Staying in New Orleans was not an option to my new best friend/veteran of Katrina: “I’ll have a hotel room, Alice can come. You can wander around town while I’m at work and there’s no hurricane.” My cat had been a source of concern. Like many of the residents who stayed in New Orleans because they worried about their pets not being able to evacuate with them, I suddenly felt a pang of upset at the question of whether I could take her with me if I had no other place to go… Thank goodness I had options. I asked what the pros of Belle Chasse were, “Resources. My family has been through Katrina, Gustav—they know who to contact and what to do if anything happens. It’s a Category 1, so they aren’t evacuating. My mom sticks to the idea that if it’s under 100 mph winds, they stay.” I nodded, “The sick fact is—I want to see it. I want to experience what it means to be in a hurricane if not only for curiosity but also to pay attention to what happens as a participator for my studies. So,” I decidedly shrugged, “Belle Chasse!” That was Monday. Sunday I had spent the day reading for class, thinking that a tropical storm was headed nearby, but not straight to us, and I had over sixty pages of readings to get through. Michael and I were dropping off his brother’s truck at the house that would soon be my temporary home, and decided to stay for pot roast dinner, courtesy of his mother, Miss Jane. She said it then, “Well, we’re staying. If anything happens or you just want to stay here, you bring the animals and come here.” We both nodded and I didn’t know what to think. Michael figured there was no way he’d have to go to Texas for business if his hometown was under hurricane threat. I figured if we did have to evacuate, it wouldn’t be until Monday night because the storm wasn’t coming until Wednesday morning—according to the Weather Channel. 

The Roy family backyard,
Sunday night before the storm

 Monday, 8:30 a.m. I walk downstairs. Michael looks at me in the kitchen, “It’s not looking good.” “What does that mean?” “It’s headed here.” “Ok…” “I have to go to Texas.” “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That’s completely unreasonable. You have a duty to your home and they can’t understand that?” He shrugs, “I can find someone else if you are scared.” I sense the uncertainty in his voice. “No, no… go. That’s very nice, but I’ll be fine.” Our conversation then proceeds as to what I “want” to do. Before I weigh my options, I tell him I need a few minutes to process. Having just moved here, absolutely green on what it means to live life in this city, yet feeling welcome all the same—I do not want to leave or stay. I don’t yearn to be home in Phoenix. I just felt completely out of my element. “Shit,” it hits me, “This is what I’m in for…”—indicating not only the current hurricane situation, but also my intended profession. Master of Science in Disaster Resilience Leadership Studies. For those who ask, “Why do you want to go into that?” “Job security,” I love to half-jokingly reply. 

“When would we leave?” I ask Michael. “By about 3 p.m. I’m going to lunch with my uncle. Wanna go?” I laugh at how cavalier this all is to him. “Sure,” I respond. We had an absolutely delicious and normal lunch, free from panic and worry in a city that has every reason to feel that way. I pretended my worst problems at the moment were choosing which hot sauce to dip my delightfully fresh Cajun chicken fingers in. We sit, eating and chatting about their family affairs when Michael asks his Uncle Mickey, “You staying?” indicating whether he would stay through the hurricane at his house in Belle Chasse, south of New Orleans. “Yeah. I’ll never leave again.” I ask, “After Katrina?” He nods, serious, “After Katrina.” 

Monday afternoon, 4 p.m. “Winds are coming in at 70 miles-per-hour and the eye looks like it will come straight over New Orleans!” The Weather Channel is on non-stop from the moment I arrived. I set up Alice in a bedroom upstairs and came down to watch with Adam, Mr. Mike and Miss Jane. Michael left for Texas already, “Call if you need anything,” of course. The speculation is constant and overwhelming. Reports asking questions about the size and shape of the tropical storm—it can’t seem to get its shit together. When will it reach landfall? How fast is it moving? The answers change on a regular basis, which frustrates me, yet we stayed glued in. There is no scientific formula to these storms. There is, of course—a very dedicated study to it, but like everything else, there is no absolution. Adam shows me pictures of damage from Katrina after they have mentioned it on television and in the news, repeatedly. I remembered seeing some of them, yet that was seven years ago, from a distance, when my only connection to New Orleans or Tulane was meeting the occasional student or professor “refugee” that took residence at ASU during the months following the horrific storm and its aftermath. I shook my head, completely unable to respond. It is a sunny day, barely a cloud in the sky and yet the texts from friends and family began to roll in, “Are you ok?” “Where are you staying?” “Keep us updated!” I vowed to do just that. I cannot process what may come or how to prepare. I keep asking questions here and there, “Is there enough water?” “Are they getting the generator?” I got up from the chair and came to the back window and stare at their beautiful yard where we had just had a crab boil last Sunday. My first weekend here seems like months ago as I realize the landscape will be forced to change in the coming hours. I know I have a look of frightened uncertainty on my face, but that comes with facing the unknown. I’d probably had this look on my face for months, really. A big move to a new city for graduate school and evacuating from my new home due to a pending disaster, all in a two-week time frame. I am on autopilot. Don’t process, just do. 

Tuesday, 5 p.m. “Do you wanna go for a ride?” says Miss Janie, just as the wind and rain are really starting to pick up. Power has been out for two hours at this point. We watched as a tree branch, swinging to-and-fro, finally came in contact with the power line and started to smoke before a loud “POP!” shook the air more than the storm, and took the power with it. The surrealism is overwhelming. I cannot wrap my mind around the concept of extreme weather and I am embarrassed at the fact that I decided to forgo staying in New Orleans, where I’d come to study disaster resilience, after all, but instead came down to my roommate’s family home in a parish that ended up being hit hard all-the-same. I stare at Jane and her son Adam with big eyes, “Wait, what? Are you serious? Is that something people do?” They laugh a bit and I suddenly wished I hadn’t said it, for fear of offending my sweet new friends. Miss Jane just nods, “Yeah, we are.” I nervously say, “Oh ok, then yeah, I’ll go,” and almost immediately mistrust my decision. We hop in Adam’s company truck and plod along slowly down the wet road. Earlier, Adam took me to see the levee and the marina so we could look at the water levels. They were rather low this season, so we figured it had a bit of room to come up and that made me feel better. Now, as the wind threatens to knock us over (or so my dramatic mind thinks), we come to the same spot not two hours ago hadn’t seemed so threatening. It seems threatening now. The water is inches from coming over the mouth, and the levee suddenly doesn’t seem high enough. “That’s enough to get my heart racing,” says Jane. I just stare and buckle my seat buckle as Adam gets back in the truck from taking some photos. We get back to the house and winds pick up, pressing trees down as if they were sprigs of grass under a shoe. 

Scenes from our drive

Wednesday, 11 a.m.: The third floor of this home is drenched due to the AC turbine flying off at 11 p.m. last night—allowing the water to start collecting inside and come through the vent system. The two youngest sons aren’t here though. It is expected they are helping someone nearby as they have been gone almost two hours. 56 parishes have declared a state of emergency. We may have to evacuate because it will be Friday before “we’re out of all this,” according to Gov. Jindal. Miss Jane says, “We’ll see if anyone comes knocking on our door. It’s affected different areas of the parish pretty harshly.” I just nod. Ok. Nothing left to say to that. If you have to move, you have to move. She keeps doing the dishes as we do what we’re forced to do since the power went out, listen to the rain and the wind. We’re still out of power due to the fact that the generator is missing a couple of pieces. Jane reassured me then, “We have food. We’ve never had power in any of the hurricanes. Not Betsy, not Gustav—we were out of power for 10 days for Gustav. We went to my sister’s house. Generators can be risky anyway, because of the fuel.” I was up late last night drinking wine and beer with the family, talking about non-hurricane-related things. We drank because the heaviest part of the hurricane was projected to come between 2-6 a.m. Thus, I wanted to sleep through it the best I could. I successfully drink three glasses of wine before I figure I’m going to pass out soon enough. I think of whether it’s better to sleep downstairs or upstairs, and decide finally that upstairs provides the most secure feeling for me and Alice. The rest of the family is downstairs on couches or in the bedroom. The rain and wind wake me up again around 2. I have turned off my phone to conserve battery since the power went out around 3 p.m. yesterday. I get up to switch out some of the towels that are picking up water leaking from the third floor. Adam’s room, where I’m sleeping, is free from leaks. I stay up for a while, listening to the sounds, as the wine, still in my system, lures me back to sleep. 

 Wednesday, 2 p.m. Brittany, Adam’s fiancé, Adam and I were sitting at the table when we heard a knock at the door. Jane opened the door to a National Guardsman politely notifying us that the levees “down the road” in the citrus fields, the roads are flooding and we need to get out or risk being stuck for days. I stand, mouth agape, “Is that really the National Guard?” Brittany laughs at me, five years my junior and an old pro at hurricane aftermath. “Yep. You ok?” I say all too quickly, “YEAH!” However, I have no panic, no worry—this is a totally different feeling. The feeling is a mix of uncertainty and frustration towards the situation, complete with a side of absolute lack of control. Jane starts talking to her sons, Taylor, Adam, and Gabe, asking what they would like to do. I even get asked my input. I say I don’t know what’s available to us, and everyone deliberates for a few minutes about where to go next, who to go to in Jane’s family. Mickey’s house is the most obvious choice, since he is further up the road and thus out of the danger. I feel less uncertain now since I did have the pleasure of doing lunch with him before all of this mess really got started, so I pack everything up, Alice included, and get in Gabe’s truck. We do a few errands, running the truck through two-feet of water to the yard to get ice, and to the canals to pick a friend up and drop him off. We get there to an uncertain Paula, Mickey’s wife, who already has a full house, including their son, two of his Tulane friends and Jane’s sister, Maggie. Under normal circumstances, I would stop to talk about school or make friends—“I go there too!” but I’m not interested in small talk or bullshitting right now. It is decided we are to go to Maggie’s house to sleep, it is empty, however, powerless, but that solves that issue. Before we leave, I chop up some avocadoes for a salad and chat with Paula and Maggie about my experience so far. They’re all such lovely and funny ladies. However, there’s a curfew tonight—7 p.m. We’re reminded when we start to get ready to eat and realize it is already that time. I didn’t know a curfew was in effect, and feel silly but realize how necessary it is. Gabe and I grab our food and leave as it’s already dark, “What happens if you’re driving home after curfew?” “They threaten to arrest you.” I laugh, but there’s no joke. The array of ambulances, police cars and Army utility vehicles in the streets are absolutely mesmerizing—as I feel I’ve been transported to a war zone or a strange dystopian society. It is a war zone. The blasts and rubble not from bombs, but from the whimsy of forces of nature that have the ability to organize and shift with frightening strength thus causing incalculable devastation.

I stopped writing about the hurricane then because there was clean-up to do and less time to think. It's a month later now and I am just taking the time to return to this to post because it's been a whirlwind of catching up, both in school and discussing the aftermath. The estimated damages are $1.5 billion. Michael returned that Friday and we came back home to power in New Orleans, yet there were many that never lost theirs-- and many others who were out for many days longer. The angry cries for power were tuned out when Michael and I went to Braithwaite-- a town absolutely devastated when the levees there breached, and some areas flooded up to 14 feet of water. We saw entire homes picked up and dropped onto the streets, dozens of yards from where they'd sat, housing families for decades. The areas devastated, the people tired, yet together they are working hard to pull through.

Braithwaite damage on the levee

                                 

Huge strides have been made since Katrina here, so fresh in the minds of those who lived through it, and yet there is no end to disasters here-- and people stay. Mother nature has no agenda nor bias. Thus, communities will still, as they always have, rely on the bonds with family, friends and neighbors for a helping hand and receive them. It's the beauty amid the broken. I was so grateful to have these people, and I will never forget the generosity shown to me and can only hope to pay it forward. Now, more than ever I know I will always say: "If you need anything, let me know."

Who's Flying This Plane? The Power of Letting Go.

I think about the control issues I've had throughout life, and how as I've matured, I let go more and more. I just went through a couple of weeks of resorting back to some bad worrying habits, and then realized it was making me absolutely miserable. I had to do some evaluating of the situation and my issues due to some confusion at work, at home, etc. Dad loved the book, The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. The agreements are ingenious and simple. It teaches as follows:

(1) Be Impeccable With Your Word. The broad scope of this concept is to avoid "sin" against yourself by what you think. Sinning against the self takes many forms: such as, putting yourself down, gossiping, or putting anybody else down because you don't agree with what they think. Actions and words need to be consistent as part of being impeccable with yourself. The other side of the coin is the smoky mirror concept. Ruiz makes the point that our perceptions of others are merely reflections of ourselves. Therefore, to put another down or project negative words or energy towards another person, is to lash out at the other person because of our own insecurities.

(2) Don't Take Anything Personally. There is an awful lot of negative energy out there and some of it is directed at us by other people. If you take it personally and take on the poison of another's words, it becomes a very negative agreement you have with yourself. What anybody thinks about you, or says about you, is really about them. Not taking it personally allows you to be in relationship with anyone and not get trapped in their stuff. This agreement can also pertain to things that we take personally that cause us to go into upset.

(3) Don't Make Assumptions. What we think we understand about what someone says, how someone looks at us, what someone means by what they do, etc, may often not reflect reality at all, and more often than not lead us to think badly of ourselves or of others, and reinforce not being impeccable with our word.

(4) Always Do Your Best. Your "best" is a variable thing from moment to moment. "When you do your best, you don't give the Judge the opportunity to find you guilty or to blame you.” You can always say, “I did my best." There are no regrets. (p.80) The other key to doing your best revolves about being in action. "Action is about living fully. Inaction is the way that we deny life. Inaction is sitting in front of the television every day for years because you are afraid to be alive and to take the risk of expressing what you are. Expressing what you are is taking action. You can have many great ideas in your head, but what makes the difference is the action. Without action upon an idea, there will be no manifestation, no results, and no reward."

These agreements are freeing. Surrender! What a concept. This is "Ancient Toltec Wisdom," but also just plain relevant. You don't have to live life as a victim to what others think of you. Now, I used to identify with being a neurotic (I know, some of you just said: "Used to?" Ha. Ha.) and by following these principles, that means that I unfortunately had to let go of part of my identity. Previously, if I wasn't worrying-- I wasn't existing. Therefore, I found myself rather miserable, worrying about family and friends and coworkers and all of their actions. The key part: They weren't affecting me! Where was I in this equation? Nowhere. Why did I feel the need to be there? Ego. To make myself feel more important and needed. Surrender. You will wake up and realize you exist, that you haven't lost your job or your friends and family, and that it doesn't mean you don't care. Breathe. Let it go.

You're Hot Then You're Cold

Having lived in Arizona my entire life, minus that six-month stint in the UK, when someone asks me: "Do you hate the cold or the heat more?" I've always said the heat. It's blistery and sweaty, and everyone wants to talk about how what they grew up in was the most miserable of weather. I felt I added credit to my answer based on those few months I spent in one of the UK's warmest winters, the cold is also something you can bundle up in. In the heat, no matter how many clothes you take off without breaking laws, you can't really fool your body temperature. Every summer I tell myself I will somehow not hate summer as much as I did the year before. Honestly, because we cruise from our air conditioned vehicles to our air conditioned jobs or errands, we don't get to really experience it. Many are affected by Arizona's brand of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I am pretty sure that my lightly-sunburned chest that is present throughout the summer months still doesn't make up for the lack of sunshine I allow myself because of fear of scorching. Many citizens are only happy when there is "cool" nearby, usually in the form of a pool. In fact, there are friends that I keep around purely because they own a pool. Despite all of this, I think I will stop arguing with those from the midwest and northeast and admit that cold really sucks. I am currently peeling from a sunburn that I managed to get while laying on the beach in California in 70-degree weather.so I can't blame the heat for sunburns either. When I think to when I've actually been MISERABLE because of weather, it's always associated with things like rain, wind and not feeling parts of my appendages or face. You win, northerners. You win. So, for no reason at all, if you ask me in the future, you will know my answer.

This leads to the fact that I change my mind a lot. You know how your mother always thinks that you like the same foods you liked when you were ten? "When did you start eating mushrooms?" she bellows at you fifteen years later... Well, it's funny how, as a culture, we are not receptive to people around us just changing their minds. Our decisions are our reference points to how we view others/are viewed by others in our social circle. That's Jill-- she's a hippie liberal arts activist. Ok, I just described myself, but the point is, we love to throw titles around. At the same time, reinvention is what keeps us alive. I mentioned this in my first post-- that we have to tear parts down in order to build new ones. I started caring for plants recently, and I have been pruning leaves, so I am starting to get this nature metaphor. We have to continue to grow. Yet it's still a shock when someone that we define as X, Y and Z, decides to try something new or even more shocking when they completely reinvent themselves. We're almost resentful of that couch potato who joins yoga and becomes a vegetarian... WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE CHANGING THEIR LIFESTYLE? She's getting all this attention for making decisions she should have years ago and I've done yoga for seven years! Unfortunately, if you're consistently mediocre or just pretty good at something, you don't really get massive popularity one day. This does not mean that you aren't fantastic and doing your best! Don't lose heart just because your story isn't being highlighted by the news. Notice that the best stories are always from one extreme to another: Rags to Riches, Obese to Thin, Cancer Survivor Wins the Tour de France Six Times! ...That's enough, Lance Armstrong...

Yet 99.9% of us work on a smaller scale. So for those non-life-changing, but perhaps slightly view-shifting ideas that just aren't working for us anymore, let's just accept them in ourselves and those surrounding us. "You don't hate Mad Men anymore?" "You hike now?" "You started eating red meat?" "You dyed your hair?" "You're a hipster?" All of these may be followed by an "...well then I don't even know you." The fact is that many of us may be afraid to change these small things that helped define us because we're scared of being judged or for others to see our convictions weakened. Changing is my favorite part of being human. I love to find something that tests my previous notions, even though I might be stubborn or judgmental at first. For example, if someone asked me to go to a Nascar race. Actually, I just laughed to myself out loud. I don't know if I can get over my preconceived notions of being engulfed by a sea of mullets... I didn't think I liked Parks and Rec because I watched two episodes. I then decided to give it a real shot when I was bored last weekend and watched all three seasons. We can now not only call me a fan, but also an expert on Ron Swanson. I also love to surprise myself. For example, I am currently taking piano lessons and I got way too excited when I played Mary Had a Little Lamb with two hands. I start improv lessons in two weeks... Let's see if I'm funny unscripted. Why not? Get out, make some change and try something new. It's scary to prove yourself and those around you that you're capable of expanding and changing, but it's also an amazing quality that I never want to lose. So yeah, I hate the freezing cold.

Where's the Grief?

If you can't tell by the title, this is going to be a rant purely about grief. Dad passed away two months ago on April 9th. Heart attack. I woke up that Saturday morning he died to a car alarm going off. Later on, my coworker Kathleen asked me if the banshee had come to tell me, and I remembered the alarm and realized it had... He's gone. I can't really wrap my head around it. The moment I start to, I just feel angry and cheated and sad, frustrated, and terrified and drained, which comes before or/and after I'm numb and tired and happy and energetic and ambitious and ...it's like I'm experiencing a wealth of these extreme, down-to-my-bones emotions that I've never experienced before. I can only compare it to having those hormones I had when I was in high school, except I handle things completely differently now and my maturity helps. Yet occasionally I find myself having emotional moments in an inappropriate setting (i.e. work, or at a happy event), and I just try not to let it get too out-of-hand (Sidenote: When I am in that moment, typically started by nothing but my own mind, I really really want to punch someone in the face a la M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias). So, it becomes obvious that I don't have the tools to cope. Yet...I don't know anyone who does. I think that must be where the extreme frustration comes in. Grasping non-stop without actually taking hold of anything. What's appropriate in this situation? I want the answer to be "everything." I want to be able to act out and have someone explain that it's OK, my dad died. But that's not going to happen. I think many people see me as someone who makes jokes through everything, and as a person with lots of gusto, so I must be handling things okay. And no, I don't want to be treated with white gloves all the time, but yeah, sometimes I do. Sometimes I need some extra love and don't know how to ask. If I see you, I might give you ten hugs for no fucking reason. Hugs are better than slugs to the face, so I hope you appreciate them for at least that much. The process of grief is not only difficult for me, but also for those friends around me who don't know what to say. Some don't say much at all, others ask all the time. There might be a happy medium, but I'm not holding it against those who don't know what that means. I don't think I knew what it meant before this either... So to those friends who have sent or will send me "I'm sorry I haven't been there" messages-- The world can't stop because one big shiny light went out, even though I wanted it to, because no matter how much I dig in my heels, it just keeps on spinning...

There's a poem in a book of 100 Great American Poets that my Granny gave my dad one year for Christmas. It's the Ella Wheeler Wilcox poem, Solitude. I used to think, "Wow, this is beautiful, and horrifyingly cynical," and now I read it and see it in a new light. You cannot take anyone with you in grief. It is something you must go through by yourself, and not because there aren't empathetic or sympathetic friends there who want to help, but because it is so personal. That's the fact of the matter. This is also a comment on an overall human reaction to devastation. Apparently she wrote it after meeting a grieving widow, and she was devastated for her, and angry that she was so HELPLESS to take away that pain.

SOLITUDE by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Fortunately, sadness doesn't have to be despair. And some people still help and brighten my day just by saying hello and being genuine. When my dad died, it created a hole in me that the wind will always blow through. It will never really close. But I am still here. I can talk about non-death-related things, and I can joke and be a shell of who you're used to me being, but also know that my mind is muggy and exhausted because that's what grief does. So, that's where I am and I am where my grief is. It's currently a large part of me and I'm embracing it. So, embrace me! Thank you all.

Finding the Day-to-Day

I write this after a long year and a half since my last post. I stopped blogging because I allowed that horrible seed of doubt called insecurity to grow inside of me and poison my blogging well with thoughts on how my day-to-day ramblings aren't as interesting as my ramblings about foreign lands. Yet I find that even that daily grind brings up these moments of irony and hilarity that allow me to remember that I don't need a foreign country to find a difference in culture and outlook. Those foreign lands also cost money--the kind that I am trying to get more of, but I missed writing, so here we are.

Since I returned, I realize that South America has become my life's biggest milestone. I feel I grew some new legs in that time that nourished my ability to continue to grow in the coming months after my return. It offered me the greatest gift of courage to seek out opportunities for things that were not easy or on a strict career path, but it's exactly what I was looking for. A fire under my ass. I was looking for a good burn to remind of me what it's like to voraciously leap out of a $1,000 ergonomically-correct-yet-ineffective office chair that otherwise sits beneath me... I'm currently collecting tinder perfect for fueling the next one.

As life would have it, I've experienced a lot of change since that milestone. Both fortunate and unfortunate, but let's start with the fortunate. I began volunteering with Free Arts of Arizona as the Volunteer and Outreach Intern for last spring semester, and now serve as an advocate and mentor. We provide therapeutic arts programs to disadvantaged youth in shelters, residential treatment centers and group home situations. In my experiences, I feel almost as if I am revisiting many of the children I grew up with, many who were never removed from their unfortunate home situations. I wish that child protective services could ensure these children that things will be better... Unfortunately, "better" does not come until it is reaction to the situation, instead of prevention. In this experience, I am taught courage through children who have faced abhorrent situations that no human should ever experience. This small action of providing an art project or positive distraction here and there is one that I believe in. In those moments, there's focus and there's creativity and thought. So, what is "better"? I don't know. I just hope we give these kids a taste of how it feels.

While rehabilitating my back after an injury, I decided I wanted to do physical labor for a conservation corps. I sought out some opportunities and applied. Why? Because I'm crazy. No back injury can phase me, SO SUCK IT! (damn foreshadowing)... I started work with the Coconino County Rural Environment Corps back in May and was chosen as a crewmember of a 10-person team in the Grand Canyon rebuilding part of the Kaibab Trail with the National Park Service. My first day of training in Flagstaff, I showed up with some light make-up on (so as to look my best on a first day, as I have done my entire life) and was immediately called out:

Instructor: "Is that...Is that glitter?"
Me: "Oh, uh, I think it's in my blush?"
Instructor: "Well...I think that's a first. Wow....*ahem* Well everyone, now I'm going to show you how to poop in a hole."

I threw them for a loop. What was I doing there? Well, I think that being able to see the fruits of your labor is important. One of the number one complaints from those in office positions is that there is no tangible evidence of all of those logged hours. The ability to work with your hands allows you such a luxury, and I was to work in the grandest canyon in the world as a job. Yes, it was for pittance, but it was an opportunity that I would have regretted seizing.
-I hiked down to the Colorado River.
-I watched the sun set and rise over cliffs and monuments.
-I woke up at 4:45 in the morning and in the largest composting toilet that you have ever seen. We nicknamed it the poopzilla. After using that, no one can ever say I'm not green.

In addition, I cried, took muscle relaxers every night, and did not take a proper shower for 8 days of the sweatiest work I have ever done, but never thought I could do. I surprised myself and realized how rewarding that feeling can be. Next week, I re-injured myself by simply picking up my niece and then laid in bed on and off for three weeks. I was heartbroken to not be able to finish my service. My disappointment was an amplified response to the one I had to the game of "Sorry" that I played as a child. I have a flare for self-pity that really is quite impressive when I turn it on...

Pity doesn't pay the bills. I sucked it up. I applied for jobs left and right and asked people to ask their friends and eventually received a call that the Tempe Center for the Arts needed a part-time office assistant to come in. I took it immediately. I started working 40 hours a week before long and helping out with events more directly, so I got some of my groove back in the work force. It felt like I had one of those career thingamabobs. Still, I had no medical insurance and had acquired a knee that clicked and stuck funny like a rusty door hinge and a back that threatened to go out on occasion. So, I needed it and the the poor little TCA just couldn't afford to offer it to me. I decided to take a chance once again, and I applied for a job with ASU. I WON the grand prize of the position of Receptionist, Sr/Office Asst.

Yes. That long dual-title just to say that I work at a front desk. Apparently someone was offended that both duties of assisting in the office AND receiving people were not identified in their title. I find that neither of those titles sounds any more interesting than the other, so it's like doubly-boring BUT I GET BENEFITS...at the cost of a pay cut :P I will say one thing, I have SIX student workers to help me answer those phones. YEP, I am a big deal here. Now my daily routine takes place here at the old ASS-U. I will have to post some of the fantastical stories from the calls and visits that take place. Some stories make me both happy and positively terrified for the future of the world...

I will also write about Dad. He passed away over two weeks ago and things feel so strangely still and yet in total upheaval. One of his favorite quotes was: "Oh how daily life is..." Indeed. Till then.


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Cusco, land of the Incans and "Massage?"

Positively every traveler who had already been had raved to us about how fantastic Cusco would be. After three weeks of traveling throughout the other hubs of Peru, Katrina and I had found some places of interest, mostly historic or geographical; a place just here or there, but not an entire city. So, I was excited to come across this place that was supposed to be amazing. I had this fantastic blue paper map that my dear friend Melodee from the farm, who had lived there previously, had written all over. She told me exactly where all of the best bars would be, the best vegetarian restaurants, clothing shops, hostels, you name it. We were set to go.

When we arrived, it was rather dark, and we’d pulled into a part of town that was less than lovely, so immediately we started to worry that our expectations had been set too high. Yet after settling into our hostel and starting to make it down to dinner, we started to see the character. There were cobblestone streets, which are quite common in different cities in Peru, and bits of architecture popped out to us. I have to say, nothing screams character like a one-way road with less than two feet of sidewalk that you HAVE to walk down to get to where you’re going. Now, this particular night, I wasn’t sure how close the cars could get, until a van’s collapsible mirror—thank God, smacked right into my right breast. It was as if life had shouted, “Welcome to Cusco! Look alive!”

Yet as we settled into dinner and I had the first fantastic burrito in weeks at a very chic tourist restaurant off of the main plaza, I was relieved to nearly be over my illness in a city that has fantastic cuisine. Now, because I am still vegetarian at this point, I couldn’t have any of the Peruvian “tipical food” that they have because this includes lomo saltado, a beef and rice dish, or the peppers that are stuffed with beef and potatoes. Now, in addition to this, they also have the fun dishes for tourists to try: alpaca, which they cook up like a steak, and guinea pig, or cuy, as they call it, which they grill up whole. You can still see this thing’s teeth apparently. I didn’t order it. It did not receive rave enough reviews from people for me to break the vegetarianism at this point. I was also still trying to get over my last bits of food poisoning. After the antibiotics had screwed my digestion up but killed the bacteria, I bought these yogurt probiotic drinks that truly seemed to help my stomach. And finally after a few days of this and two days before I had to start the Inca Trail, all had returned to normal.

Now as we made our way through the city, we would follow the magical map that led us to new exciting locations. In Cusco, the restaurants were positively posh at times, there were vegetarian options, and the people were friendly. Granted, this place is crawling with tourists. I’m talking Disneyland for Peruvian tourism. The natives literally pounce on the tourists here and will ask you at least five to ten times a day, if not more, if you would like to buy a water color postcard or painting, photos with a llama, or need a pedicure or massage. Not to mention the abundance of tours they offer there. There are about a dozen different archaeological sites to see around the area, not to mention water rafting, skydiving, bungee jumping, paragliding, blah blah blah. Apparently people who go to visit South America are considered the adventurous type. The point is that even though it’s the most annoying place in Peru for tourist bombardment, it still has really good vibes—also like Disneyland.

So finally, after our first couple of days exploring, we observed the following: Cusco was founded over and around Incan sites, which include all that incredibly close-cut stonework you’ve seen on the History channel that boggles the mind. Next, they have their own flag—it’s a rainbow, and when Katrina and I first walked into the main plaza, there was a parade going on and a rainbow flag waving in the air. I’m not going to lie, of course we got very excited and started looking for our gays and friendly neighborhood transvestites because in America—this means it’s Gay Pride! Alas, we realized that it was not gay pride when people were parading around for business or something terrible to parade around about… we never completely understood some of the parades.

Cusco really has a fantastic location that, although is cold quite often, is so beautiful and close to the clouds and you can see why the whole area was and is so sacred to the people. There’s a deep-seated culture and history in the mountains and many of the people’s ancestry comes from the indigenous peoples and the Incans, so the culture is still personal and very obvious and preserved. While in Cusco, we went exploring to the nearby ruins called Sacsayhuaman and went horseback riding in the hills and we went white water rafting in the Urubamba River which leads into the Amazon. Also, we went to a fantastic folk show called Kusikay after meeting the drunk/juggler in a vegetarian restaurant the day before. Now this show included dance and acrobatics and interaction with the audience and highlighted how Cusco and Peru had evolved over the past several hundred years with the Incans, and then the coming of the Spanish, and how this changed politics and trade and all of these topics, but all while making you laugh. I got to go on stage and be a bull that has a very sexy moo and kills the matador while he’s thinking he’s won. I was quite good.

Next, I will delve into the Inca Trail, which allowed me to connect to nature and my mind, “Why am I doing this?” body, “Ow…keep breathing, ow…” and spirit, “God help me.”