Thank goodness for Blogger! My hotmail saga continues. Today, I could only read the lovely emails you sent. I couldn't reply or compose a new email. Frustrating!
So Stacey:
Thank you for writing the check. I hope remember to withdraw the amount from my account. Did you find anything out about insurance? Do you know why muscles twitch? My quad won't stop twiching. Dan's phone is still broken and the other one is lost. Xmas when I get back sounds weird but not unthinkable. I really only miss my blanket and we can't lose that in the mail ;)
Hillary: Thank you for the lovely message. I didn't get a rabies shot either. Thank you for the package. It has not yet arrived but I have hope. If you send in the future, send it to the address on this site. I am so very excited you are on your way to Honduras!
Sarita: Thank you for the J house update and the mail update. Stupid SCCC. Go SCA! I will be sleeping on the floor for awhile in Feb, I suppose. I'll work something out;) My address is in the comments on this site or KAUFMAN, RACHEL C/O AT Amanor PO Box 0602 Osu, Accra, Ghana.
Cynthia: If you are reading, I miss you and my mom sent the check. I hope you are readjusting well.
Gramma: I have not received any packages. I am waiting with baited breath. I love you tons and tons thank you for the emails. rachels_imagine@hotmail.com is the correct one.
Chris: It took awhile for the good vibes to get here but apparantly, they travel faster then mail. Thanks
"Good afternoon. How are you?"
"Fine thank you. How are you?"
That is how I start my mornings now. My co-volunteer, Cynthia and I decided not to plant trees anymore for various reasons including my hip and the seeminly pointless nature of the daily work. I was unsure of how my remaining time would unfold but my host brother, Dan, introduced me to the headmaster at a nearby school and he said he would be happy to have me help in the class rooms. I started at the school last Friday in the Kindergarten class. They call me Auntie Ra-hell and they start at me with huge white eyes like I was a giant chocolat brownie.
The school is a slap in the face. If I thought I was fortunate to live in America before, it is now painfully clear to me that I am more than fortunate. I now realize why there are so many kids on the street selling water or gum during school hours. Many kids can't afford to pay the 20 dollar fee. Nor can they afford to pay for their uniforms or books and paper. The parents don't take an interest in their children either. As for the kids who do stay in school they face barren walls, bookless shelves and earsplitting noise from the classes in the same room. It makes me very sad that my program fee has been wasted with the Save the Earth Network instead of paying for crayons or books or paper for these school children. Despite their lack of supplies and tools and books and a teacher who spends all her time nursing her 8 month old baby, the children of the KG continue to impress me with what they know. For example, they can recite numerous bible verses and sing any number of songs. They know thier ABCs and numbers. Most can spell and do addition and recite the months and days of the week. They are also rehearsing for a fairly extensive Christmas program. They sing "the list has been done" instead of "felize navidad." The headmaster said I will be able to help in all the grades (up to 6) and I am anxious to see if their first years of school were at all affective.
On another note, the teachers swat at the kids with sticks if they are misbehaving. I was appalled. But still, the kids smile and hold my hand or stroke my straight hair. I taught them the Hokey Pokey, a hand clapping game, high fiving and a hand trick. It makes me sad that I can't take them all and give them crayons and construction paper and scissors but I hope that my presense will make them more worldly. If anything, I am learning more from them!
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Happy Thanksgiving all!
Here is my Ghanaian Thanksgiving poem:
Rememories
I hope I remember the smell of spongy
sweet coconut simmering in sugar,
crisp clean clothing drying on a line
in the dead equatorial heat and the warm
fruity breeze of over-ripe paw paw, mango and banana.
I hope I remember the easy raggae
beat behind swinging saxophone melodies,
the unpolished harmonies of morning prayer
and the rare pounding of sleeting rain
on powdery red earth.
I want to remember the feel of tightly
curled hair capping flat African heads
and the refreshingly luke-warm water
sliding down my sticky neck and arms.
I hope I remember the icy taste of grapefruit
juice; bittersweet caresse on my tongue,
candy-like pineapple, Lipton tea
that brings beads of sweat to my upper
lip and the starchy dryness of grilled
plantains and salted groundnuts.
I hope I remember bright white teeth
behind genuine smiles, the fragile balance
of people, goats, chickens and tro-tros
on the pocked roads and the topsy-turvy
moon hanging in perpetual twilight,
reflecting light from my eyes to yours,
sharing our senses and knitting us together
for a suspended universal moment.
Here is my Ghanaian Thanksgiving poem:
Rememories
I hope I remember the smell of spongy
sweet coconut simmering in sugar,
crisp clean clothing drying on a line
in the dead equatorial heat and the warm
fruity breeze of over-ripe paw paw, mango and banana.
I hope I remember the easy raggae
beat behind swinging saxophone melodies,
the unpolished harmonies of morning prayer
and the rare pounding of sleeting rain
on powdery red earth.
I want to remember the feel of tightly
curled hair capping flat African heads
and the refreshingly luke-warm water
sliding down my sticky neck and arms.
I hope I remember the icy taste of grapefruit
juice; bittersweet caresse on my tongue,
candy-like pineapple, Lipton tea
that brings beads of sweat to my upper
lip and the starchy dryness of grilled
plantains and salted groundnuts.
I hope I remember bright white teeth
behind genuine smiles, the fragile balance
of people, goats, chickens and tro-tros
on the pocked roads and the topsy-turvy
moon hanging in perpetual twilight,
reflecting light from my eyes to yours,
sharing our senses and knitting us together
for a suspended universal moment.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
So I thought I would write a bit on my daily routine, if there is such a thing.
Up with the roosters around four o'clock am and my sleep is very broken from then on. The dogs bark, people turn on radios, birds chirp, hoo ho hoo hoo hoo and my host family prays. Laud, Edgar, Cecilia and Amano and Dan are my family members, each precious in their own right. I get up and get dressed. I brush my teeth and spit in the sink in the hallway. The pipe runs straight down into a bucket beneath the sink. There is no running water. I drink water from small plastic pouches or from water bottles in the fridge. They are dodgy though as they came from a pipe. The toilet is in a small room and the tank is filled with water from the bucket under the sink. I only flush after I have pooped and toilet paper goes in the garbage can. It took me some time to figure this out and I felt horribly guilty about flushing the toilet every time I used it. The amount of water a tank holds is exhorbant. I take a bucket in the shower room. Green soap and a washcloth. I use a smaller bucket to pour water over my body and the cool water is so nice in the hot weather. My towel smells funny, but so does most things. It smells like mildew or sweat or fish or dirt or poop or burning. I hope I remember the cooking coconut smell when I return and not the other smells. I am never completely dry. My towel is never completely dry. Nothing is every completely dry. My vitamins are dissolving.
Cecilia or Dan bring me breakfast on a tray. There is a tea bay in my cup, a bowel of sugar, a thermos of hot water, a tin of milky cream, several slices of bread with ground nut paste, an omlette and a bowel of pineapple. I have no appetite and my stomach is upset anyway so I eat the pineapple and bag the bread for lunch. The lipton tea is a savoir even though it is too hot to drink such things. Sometimes Cecilia gives me cake or canned pickled macaroni stuff for breakfast. I drink a lot of water, around five to six litres a day. I feel bad about drinking so much. Water is such a hassle to haul and buy.
At six thirty Dan and I head to Madina by tro tro, not a bus and not a taxi but transportation just the same. We have never gotton to Madina the same way twice so I am still confused about how to get to this village. There are no set scheduals in Ghana and sometimes a tro tro comes and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes we get to Kingsley's house by seven and sometimes we don't arrive until eight thirty. Tro tros cost around 1000 to 2000 cedis. A man called a mate operates the door and takes money. I am an aspiring mate. A mate yells out the destination as the tro tro hurtles down the road. The mate is painfully hard to understand and Accra sounds like acracracracracra and Madina sounds like markemarkemarke.
We all meet at Kingsley's, sometimes Alex, Prince, Charlie or Eben are there. We hang around and rarely leave the house before ten. We catch a tro tro back towards Frafraha to Adomrobe. The ride is long but I savor it because the wind blows through the open window and cools me off and I am left to my thoughts. There are few stops on the way and the road is ungodly bumpy.
At the site, past volunteers have already filled lots of "rubber bags" with "sand" We are doing the same thing soon to be planted with Lycenae trees. The days are hot, the nights are hot. I am always hot. We work slowly if at all and after at least two hours we head home. The commute is long and we walk at least forty minutes both ways.
Kingsley shops at the market on the way back home and we help him prepare a three or four oclock lunch as it were. Eventually, Dan and I head home and end up walking half the way because tro tros are dodgy and taxies are too expensive. I fall into bed exhaused from heat and read or listin to music. I practice my guitar or talk with Cecilia. It is dark around six but the noise continues well into the night. On days when we don't work and I don't go to cape coast and get horribly sick, I sit at home and read or knit or play the guitar.
Up with the roosters around four o'clock am and my sleep is very broken from then on. The dogs bark, people turn on radios, birds chirp, hoo ho hoo hoo hoo and my host family prays. Laud, Edgar, Cecilia and Amano and Dan are my family members, each precious in their own right. I get up and get dressed. I brush my teeth and spit in the sink in the hallway. The pipe runs straight down into a bucket beneath the sink. There is no running water. I drink water from small plastic pouches or from water bottles in the fridge. They are dodgy though as they came from a pipe. The toilet is in a small room and the tank is filled with water from the bucket under the sink. I only flush after I have pooped and toilet paper goes in the garbage can. It took me some time to figure this out and I felt horribly guilty about flushing the toilet every time I used it. The amount of water a tank holds is exhorbant. I take a bucket in the shower room. Green soap and a washcloth. I use a smaller bucket to pour water over my body and the cool water is so nice in the hot weather. My towel smells funny, but so does most things. It smells like mildew or sweat or fish or dirt or poop or burning. I hope I remember the cooking coconut smell when I return and not the other smells. I am never completely dry. My towel is never completely dry. Nothing is every completely dry. My vitamins are dissolving.
Cecilia or Dan bring me breakfast on a tray. There is a tea bay in my cup, a bowel of sugar, a thermos of hot water, a tin of milky cream, several slices of bread with ground nut paste, an omlette and a bowel of pineapple. I have no appetite and my stomach is upset anyway so I eat the pineapple and bag the bread for lunch. The lipton tea is a savoir even though it is too hot to drink such things. Sometimes Cecilia gives me cake or canned pickled macaroni stuff for breakfast. I drink a lot of water, around five to six litres a day. I feel bad about drinking so much. Water is such a hassle to haul and buy.
At six thirty Dan and I head to Madina by tro tro, not a bus and not a taxi but transportation just the same. We have never gotton to Madina the same way twice so I am still confused about how to get to this village. There are no set scheduals in Ghana and sometimes a tro tro comes and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes we get to Kingsley's house by seven and sometimes we don't arrive until eight thirty. Tro tros cost around 1000 to 2000 cedis. A man called a mate operates the door and takes money. I am an aspiring mate. A mate yells out the destination as the tro tro hurtles down the road. The mate is painfully hard to understand and Accra sounds like acracracracracra and Madina sounds like markemarkemarke.
We all meet at Kingsley's, sometimes Alex, Prince, Charlie or Eben are there. We hang around and rarely leave the house before ten. We catch a tro tro back towards Frafraha to Adomrobe. The ride is long but I savor it because the wind blows through the open window and cools me off and I am left to my thoughts. There are few stops on the way and the road is ungodly bumpy.
At the site, past volunteers have already filled lots of "rubber bags" with "sand" We are doing the same thing soon to be planted with Lycenae trees. The days are hot, the nights are hot. I am always hot. We work slowly if at all and after at least two hours we head home. The commute is long and we walk at least forty minutes both ways.
Kingsley shops at the market on the way back home and we help him prepare a three or four oclock lunch as it were. Eventually, Dan and I head home and end up walking half the way because tro tros are dodgy and taxies are too expensive. I fall into bed exhaused from heat and read or listin to music. I practice my guitar or talk with Cecilia. It is dark around six but the noise continues well into the night. On days when we don't work and I don't go to cape coast and get horribly sick, I sit at home and read or knit or play the guitar.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Hello from oh so hot Ghana!
I made it, I made it, I made it!
Already, after two weeks, I have had an interesting if not fun time. First of all, the heat makes moving absolutely unbearable but the sun goes down at six and things start to cool off. My host family is very gracious and they still instist on filling my bucket for my showers and refilling the toilet tank after I flush, which by the way is only after pooping.
Food has been a challange, partly because I have no appetite in this heat and partly because I've seen what the meat looks like before it goes into the pot. It's been sitting out in the heat of the day rotting. I did eat a crab leg. My favorite is red red or fried plantain and beans.
I bused down to Cape Coast with my volunteer partener, Cynthia. THe bus ride was a painful 4 hours long. But the trip was worth it. Cape Coast has two forts and one castle rich with history of the Gold Coast and slave trade. We also went to Kokum national park and walked on rope bridges high above the jungle canopy.
Perhaps the most exciting thing to happen though is that I got severe dehydration from eating too little and especially not enough salt and had to be carried to a clinic not far from the American Embassy in Accra. I was very out of it and too weak to stand up but Cynthia was amazing she got me to the clinic and paid for my visit because I didn't have any more money. They gave me two bags of salene solution through and IV and antibiotics. My tongue was dark black. I thought I was going to die. I honestly did. But I'm ok and it's not malaria or cholera or anything scary. I just have to be more carefull about salt consumption. You really wouldn't believe the heat. It is unbearable.
I love you and miss you.
Peace,
Rachel
oh yes, my gmail account is not supported in Ghana so email me at rachels_imagine@hotmail.com
I made it, I made it, I made it!
Already, after two weeks, I have had an interesting if not fun time. First of all, the heat makes moving absolutely unbearable but the sun goes down at six and things start to cool off. My host family is very gracious and they still instist on filling my bucket for my showers and refilling the toilet tank after I flush, which by the way is only after pooping.
Food has been a challange, partly because I have no appetite in this heat and partly because I've seen what the meat looks like before it goes into the pot. It's been sitting out in the heat of the day rotting. I did eat a crab leg. My favorite is red red or fried plantain and beans.
I bused down to Cape Coast with my volunteer partener, Cynthia. THe bus ride was a painful 4 hours long. But the trip was worth it. Cape Coast has two forts and one castle rich with history of the Gold Coast and slave trade. We also went to Kokum national park and walked on rope bridges high above the jungle canopy.
Perhaps the most exciting thing to happen though is that I got severe dehydration from eating too little and especially not enough salt and had to be carried to a clinic not far from the American Embassy in Accra. I was very out of it and too weak to stand up but Cynthia was amazing she got me to the clinic and paid for my visit because I didn't have any more money. They gave me two bags of salene solution through and IV and antibiotics. My tongue was dark black. I thought I was going to die. I honestly did. But I'm ok and it's not malaria or cholera or anything scary. I just have to be more carefull about salt consumption. You really wouldn't believe the heat. It is unbearable.
I love you and miss you.
Peace,
Rachel
oh yes, my gmail account is not supported in Ghana so email me at rachels_imagine@hotmail.com
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
As this is my last post from the United States of America, I should say something striking, or at least intuitive. But I've got nothing folks. My brain is saturated with basic Twi (thank you Sarah), itineraries, images of who will pick me up at the airport, getting to the airport, and finalizing any number of loose ends. This fabric just keep fraying!
I have nothing brilliant to pass on except what my friend Jules told me the other day: There is nothing in this world worth getting upset over.
Think about that one for a while. I can agree with this on certain levels. I think the abbess that told Jules this meant it is not worth it to get upset over spilt milk or Washington state residency or financial aid or school or rent or money or love or lost items. It's not worth it. Let it go and get upset over murders and social injustice and politics and thieves.
Peace and love and other things sweet,
Imaginer(with tears in her eyes)
I have nothing brilliant to pass on except what my friend Jules told me the other day: There is nothing in this world worth getting upset over.
Think about that one for a while. I can agree with this on certain levels. I think the abbess that told Jules this meant it is not worth it to get upset over spilt milk or Washington state residency or financial aid or school or rent or money or love or lost items. It's not worth it. Let it go and get upset over murders and social injustice and politics and thieves.
Peace and love and other things sweet,
Imaginer(with tears in her eyes)
Monday, October 25, 2004
Is it right to know it and feel it with all your heart but not share your knowledge and feelings? Or is it right to work for their endurance in yourself and others, fight for what you know and feel? Is knowing enough? Is feeling enough? If everyone knew and felt then it would be enough...
PEACE, Rachel
PEACE, Rachel
Thursday, October 21, 2004
I'm tired and uninspired and my feet are wet. (good alliteration in that sentence. Do I hear a poem?) I did just make a great curry and got a lot of stupid errands done today. I think I'm going to go play the guitar and not pack right now. Yea, that sounds good!
I'm tired and uninspired,
with wet feet and smelly socks.
I ran beside and skipped down
the drizzling streets and sidewalks.
My hair is a stringy mess,
masking my brain's scatteredness.
Forgot my way in the rain,
lost my soul in the gutters.
Oh yea, if you want to see real live pictures of Ghana, Sarah has some pictures on her site. Click here to see them. Sarah went to Ghana with Habitat for Humanity for three weeks last December.
Other than being absolutely amazing, she has calf muscles like rocks. Check them out in picture number one. I'm writhing in jealousy. She could crush an aluminum can with those suckers : )
I'm tired and uninspired,
with wet feet and smelly socks.
I ran beside and skipped down
the drizzling streets and sidewalks.
My hair is a stringy mess,
masking my brain's scatteredness.
Forgot my way in the rain,
lost my soul in the gutters.
Oh yea, if you want to see real live pictures of Ghana, Sarah has some pictures on her site. Click here to see them. Sarah went to Ghana with Habitat for Humanity for three weeks last December.
Other than being absolutely amazing, she has calf muscles like rocks. Check them out in picture number one. I'm writhing in jealousy. She could crush an aluminum can with those suckers : )
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
A couple things first:
1. I can't see the floor of my room, and I'm ok with that.
2. I am writing on this journal and baking cookies instead of working on school applications, making hotel arrangements, sewing a sleeping bag, and shopping.
3. I have a really annoying pimple right at the corner of my mouth. Aren't I past the pimple age?
4. I just heard a rap song about Leonard Nemoy.
5. The KGBA DJ doesn't know what songs she's playing, therefore, I don't know what songs she's playing.
6. My new hair cut is cute but I have about 1/4 inch of blond hair at my roots.
Now, I am going to tell you a story, the moral of which I have not yet discerned.
One day, a capable, able, beautiful, smart, princess named Roxanne decided to make a batch of Namaste vegan fat free brownies. She delicately poured soy milk into the round metal bowl. The milk was silky white and tasted sweet and vanilly. She opened the package of brownie mix carefully in order to reduce the flying brownie dust. The mix was light brown and smelled of cinnamon and baker's chocolate. She used her mother's golden heirloom mixer encrusted with diamonds to swirl the wet and dry ingredients together. Soon the precious mixer was straining under the pressure from the thick batter and Roxanne cranked up the speed and pressed the power boost button. The dough crawled up the stem of the beater and smeared on the body of the mixer. The beaters began to grind to a stop and the smell of rubber mingled with chocolate.
Roxanne, oblivious to her mother's mixers complaints, spooned the batter into her mother's crystal brownie casserole pan. The pan had been in the family for years and it was rumored that one could see their future in it's clear crystal form. She placed the pan in the preheated oven and set the timer for 30 min. She subsequently pulled on her golden running slippers and took a 25 min run around the block. Then she did her daily push ups and sit ups in order to maintain her princessly figure.
After 30 min she pulled the brownies out of the oven and did a test cut in the center of the pan. They smelled heavenly but the knife came out hopelessly gooey. She put the pan back in the oven for 10 min and then repeated the knife test. Again, the knife came out gooey but, oh, was it good. Wanted to have light fluffy non gooey brownies, Roxanne placed the brownies back in the oven for 10 min. She repeated this procedure several times until she realized that the brownies were never going to solidify. She set them on the fridge to cool and waited for her mother, the queen to come home from work to show her the day's handy work.
Queen Ruby came home later that evening and when Roxanne eagerly showed her mother the brownies she was dismayed to find them rock hard and petrified to the pan. In desperation, she cut slices of apple and laid them on top of the wood like brownies. She sprinkled them with water and hoped with all her innocent heart that they would soften up in time to serve them to her mother's court.
Fortunately after several nights with the apples, the top layer of the brownies softened up enough to scrape it off. Roxanne used a knife to vigorously dislodge the rest of the brownie. Unfortunately she was so strong from her daily pushups that she shoved the knife right through the heirloom pan. In dismay, she picked up the broken pieces of the 9 by 13 inch masterpiece and consoled herself with the fact that her brownies were not burnt just crispy and edible. However, they were not suitable for the court so she began making the motions to make oatmeal apple cookies instead. Much to Roxanne's dismay, the mixer failed to rotate the beaters. She had tried to use it too long while mixing the brownies and striped the gears in the diamond encrusted machine. How could she forgive herself for breaking her mother's heirloom mixer and pan. And to top it all off, they couldn't really even enjoy the comforting gooeyness of her brownies.
Roxanne finished the oatmeal cookies by hand and saddled up her horse for a trip to the store to find inferior replacements for the equipment she had so carelessly broke. That evening her mother returned and found the damage done but Roxanne was prepared with cookies and an apology and new mixer and pan. The new mixer was encrusted with rubies and the pan was burn proof. The mother and daughter laughed as they munched on crispy brownies and delicious moist oatmeal cookies.
1. I can't see the floor of my room, and I'm ok with that.
2. I am writing on this journal and baking cookies instead of working on school applications, making hotel arrangements, sewing a sleeping bag, and shopping.
3. I have a really annoying pimple right at the corner of my mouth. Aren't I past the pimple age?
4. I just heard a rap song about Leonard Nemoy.
5. The KGBA DJ doesn't know what songs she's playing, therefore, I don't know what songs she's playing.
6. My new hair cut is cute but I have about 1/4 inch of blond hair at my roots.
Now, I am going to tell you a story, the moral of which I have not yet discerned.
One day, a capable, able, beautiful, smart, princess named Roxanne decided to make a batch of Namaste vegan fat free brownies. She delicately poured soy milk into the round metal bowl. The milk was silky white and tasted sweet and vanilly. She opened the package of brownie mix carefully in order to reduce the flying brownie dust. The mix was light brown and smelled of cinnamon and baker's chocolate. She used her mother's golden heirloom mixer encrusted with diamonds to swirl the wet and dry ingredients together. Soon the precious mixer was straining under the pressure from the thick batter and Roxanne cranked up the speed and pressed the power boost button. The dough crawled up the stem of the beater and smeared on the body of the mixer. The beaters began to grind to a stop and the smell of rubber mingled with chocolate.
Roxanne, oblivious to her mother's mixers complaints, spooned the batter into her mother's crystal brownie casserole pan. The pan had been in the family for years and it was rumored that one could see their future in it's clear crystal form. She placed the pan in the preheated oven and set the timer for 30 min. She subsequently pulled on her golden running slippers and took a 25 min run around the block. Then she did her daily push ups and sit ups in order to maintain her princessly figure.
After 30 min she pulled the brownies out of the oven and did a test cut in the center of the pan. They smelled heavenly but the knife came out hopelessly gooey. She put the pan back in the oven for 10 min and then repeated the knife test. Again, the knife came out gooey but, oh, was it good. Wanted to have light fluffy non gooey brownies, Roxanne placed the brownies back in the oven for 10 min. She repeated this procedure several times until she realized that the brownies were never going to solidify. She set them on the fridge to cool and waited for her mother, the queen to come home from work to show her the day's handy work.
Queen Ruby came home later that evening and when Roxanne eagerly showed her mother the brownies she was dismayed to find them rock hard and petrified to the pan. In desperation, she cut slices of apple and laid them on top of the wood like brownies. She sprinkled them with water and hoped with all her innocent heart that they would soften up in time to serve them to her mother's court.
Fortunately after several nights with the apples, the top layer of the brownies softened up enough to scrape it off. Roxanne used a knife to vigorously dislodge the rest of the brownie. Unfortunately she was so strong from her daily pushups that she shoved the knife right through the heirloom pan. In dismay, she picked up the broken pieces of the 9 by 13 inch masterpiece and consoled herself with the fact that her brownies were not burnt just crispy and edible. However, they were not suitable for the court so she began making the motions to make oatmeal apple cookies instead. Much to Roxanne's dismay, the mixer failed to rotate the beaters. She had tried to use it too long while mixing the brownies and striped the gears in the diamond encrusted machine. How could she forgive herself for breaking her mother's heirloom mixer and pan. And to top it all off, they couldn't really even enjoy the comforting gooeyness of her brownies.
Roxanne finished the oatmeal cookies by hand and saddled up her horse for a trip to the store to find inferior replacements for the equipment she had so carelessly broke. That evening her mother returned and found the damage done but Roxanne was prepared with cookies and an apology and new mixer and pan. The new mixer was encrusted with rubies and the pan was burn proof. The mother and daughter laughed as they munched on crispy brownies and delicious moist oatmeal cookies.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Hello hello,
Oh my, I'm starting to get a bit nervous for my expedition to Ghana! Truthfully, I don't really feel like I'm going away. But the reality is, I ship out of here in 12 days. It seems like I have a lot of loose ends I need to tie up before I go.
I am going to have a really hard time leaving my friends and family behind, if only for the selfish reason that I am afraid they will forget me while I'm away. Not only that, I only got to see some good Montana friends briefly and I haven't seen other friends in too long. (My fault, I didn't drag myself to their doorstep like I should have). I did get to spend a lot of time with my family including my great aunt and uncle from far away Martinsdale. I feel like my Seattle crowd is whizzing forward to new peaks of friendships without me and my family is getting more and more distant as I grow up. Soon, I will have to knock on my parents door before I come in. This being independent and homeless(or should I say, having too many homes) thing can be wearing sometimes. I mean, I don't know what direction I'm facing most of the time, and don't even ask me what I'm doing tomorrow, much less next year or where I'm from. I think there must be name for what I'm suffering from.
I'm ruining my chances at becoming a WA state resident by going to Ghana and therefore making it oh too expensive to go to UW, which wont except me anyway. My other option, flying under the residency radar at SCCC, seems ok, but a bit, oh, I don't know, deceiving. I could go to UM. No! I could do the WHICy program, which allows me to go to certain state schools in Washington for Montana tuition and a half but UW doesn't participate in that. So that leaves me with Bellingham, hmm, maybe, Ellensburg, not so hot on that part of the state, Pullman, closer to home and friends nearby, but not Seattle, and Cheney, again, why it it so flat? Sigh, I am just going to turn into a homeless, uneducated bum in Texas. Yes, I think I think I will go to Texas. The weather is mild enough that I can sleep outside year round.
I didn't mean for this to turn into a gripe fest, but sometimes, that is what the void is for. So take that void. Bad energy, begone!
Oh my, I'm starting to get a bit nervous for my expedition to Ghana! Truthfully, I don't really feel like I'm going away. But the reality is, I ship out of here in 12 days. It seems like I have a lot of loose ends I need to tie up before I go.
I am going to have a really hard time leaving my friends and family behind, if only for the selfish reason that I am afraid they will forget me while I'm away. Not only that, I only got to see some good Montana friends briefly and I haven't seen other friends in too long. (My fault, I didn't drag myself to their doorstep like I should have). I did get to spend a lot of time with my family including my great aunt and uncle from far away Martinsdale. I feel like my Seattle crowd is whizzing forward to new peaks of friendships without me and my family is getting more and more distant as I grow up. Soon, I will have to knock on my parents door before I come in. This being independent and homeless(or should I say, having too many homes) thing can be wearing sometimes. I mean, I don't know what direction I'm facing most of the time, and don't even ask me what I'm doing tomorrow, much less next year or where I'm from. I think there must be name for what I'm suffering from.
I'm ruining my chances at becoming a WA state resident by going to Ghana and therefore making it oh too expensive to go to UW, which wont except me anyway. My other option, flying under the residency radar at SCCC, seems ok, but a bit, oh, I don't know, deceiving. I could go to UM. No! I could do the WHICy program, which allows me to go to certain state schools in Washington for Montana tuition and a half but UW doesn't participate in that. So that leaves me with Bellingham, hmm, maybe, Ellensburg, not so hot on that part of the state, Pullman, closer to home and friends nearby, but not Seattle, and Cheney, again, why it it so flat? Sigh, I am just going to turn into a homeless, uneducated bum in Texas. Yes, I think I think I will go to Texas. The weather is mild enough that I can sleep outside year round.
I didn't mean for this to turn into a gripe fest, but sometimes, that is what the void is for. So take that void. Bad energy, begone!
Monday, October 11, 2004
My newest music discoveries:
1. Plant is actually saying words in his songs. The Ocean, The Battle of Evermore and Misty Mountain Hop are particularity good lyricwise. Before I started reading their lyrics I really just loved Plant's screeching and the guitar/drums breakdown. But by god if they aren't poets as well!
2. The Silos! Of course, music is always more enchanting live, but I think these guys are good.
3. I may not be as adverse to country as I originally thought. I'm not going to admit to liking it but Jaala's sound bites of Big and Rich and Cowboy Troy rapping were pretty amusing!
4. The Counting Crow have a song in the sound track of Shrek 2 and it took me forever to figure out it was Adam. I guess the whining should have tipped me off but it didn't.
5. Heart does an excellent version of Led Zeppelin's Rock and Roll.
6. This is the deal with the symbols on Led Zeppelin's fourth album. They each decided choose a metaphysical type of symbol which somehow represented each of them individually.
1. Plant is actually saying words in his songs. The Ocean, The Battle of Evermore and Misty Mountain Hop are particularity good lyricwise. Before I started reading their lyrics I really just loved Plant's screeching and the guitar/drums breakdown. But by god if they aren't poets as well!
2. The Silos! Of course, music is always more enchanting live, but I think these guys are good.
3. I may not be as adverse to country as I originally thought. I'm not going to admit to liking it but Jaala's sound bites of Big and Rich and Cowboy Troy rapping were pretty amusing!
4. The Counting Crow have a song in the sound track of Shrek 2 and it took me forever to figure out it was Adam. I guess the whining should have tipped me off but it didn't.
5. Heart does an excellent version of Led Zeppelin's Rock and Roll.
6. This is the deal with the symbols on Led Zeppelin's fourth album. They each decided choose a metaphysical type of symbol which somehow represented each of them individually.
John Paul Jones' symbol (circle over three interlocking ovals) was found in a book of runes and purportedly represents a person who is both confident and competent.
Bonham's symbol (three interlocking circles) came from the same book, and Bonham just liked it.
Plant's symbol (circle around a feather) features the feather of Ma'at, the Egyptian goddess of justice and fairness.
Page designed his own symbol (Zoso). Though it resembles the alchemical symbol for mercury, its meaning remains a mystery. The most recent fandom theory is that it symbolizes a near-death or Tantric sex experience to unify the worlds of the living and the dead, and thus to reveal the secrets of the universe.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
This is third hand knowledge so I don't know how accurate what I'm about to relate is.
There is a philosopher who believes that there are many different worlds with many different levels of goodness or holiness. Earth is fairly low on the scale. This philosopher believes that there is a world where there is no spoken language. Instead, the beings automatically know what the other being is thinking. I don't know if this telepathy is within a certain range of distance or if one can tune into a desired being, or if one hears the thoughts of every being in its vicinity and must filter undesired thoughts out of perception. However, no matter the method or limitations of their ability, it remains that if you had a secret, it wouldn't be one for long and if you had nasty thoughts, everyone would know them. The luxury of having privates thoughts is completely null. The theory is, these beings are so good and pure that they don't have nasty, bad, murderous, adulterous or mean thoughts. While I value my private thoughts, I can see how wonderful it would be to have someone who knew exactly what I was thinking. There would be fewer misunderstandings and zero deception. You just absolutely couldn't think-lie. If something was on your mind, like an annoying room mate or a crush or relationship problems, you couldn't bottle it up. Out the discussion/think would come and you would resolve your issues right then and there. Think about it, evil impossible and truth all the time
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on...nothing really matters...
There is a philosopher who believes that there are many different worlds with many different levels of goodness or holiness. Earth is fairly low on the scale. This philosopher believes that there is a world where there is no spoken language. Instead, the beings automatically know what the other being is thinking. I don't know if this telepathy is within a certain range of distance or if one can tune into a desired being, or if one hears the thoughts of every being in its vicinity and must filter undesired thoughts out of perception. However, no matter the method or limitations of their ability, it remains that if you had a secret, it wouldn't be one for long and if you had nasty thoughts, everyone would know them. The luxury of having privates thoughts is completely null. The theory is, these beings are so good and pure that they don't have nasty, bad, murderous, adulterous or mean thoughts. While I value my private thoughts, I can see how wonderful it would be to have someone who knew exactly what I was thinking. There would be fewer misunderstandings and zero deception. You just absolutely couldn't think-lie. If something was on your mind, like an annoying room mate or a crush or relationship problems, you couldn't bottle it up. Out the discussion/think would come and you would resolve your issues right then and there. Think about it, evil impossible and truth all the time
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on...nothing really matters...
Monday, October 04, 2004
I think it is very important to set goals and stick with them. The time has come to set some new goals and rediscover my old ones. Two years ago, during my Freshman year at SU, I typed up one short term and two long term goals. I posted them on my mirror, above my bed, over my desk and on my laptop. Those goals were:
1. I will act on Broadway or something similar
2. I will serve with the Peace Corps or something similar
3. I will not consume caffeine
I will soon acheive number two and number three is too absolute. In other words, I don't consume caffeine unless it's in tea or chocolat or I really want a diet coke. I consider number three checked off.
So here is my new list:
1. I will pursue a career in acting
2. I will floss and brush my teeth daily and wear my retainer three to four times a week.
3. I will become fluent in French or another language
Yep I'm super ambitious...
4. I will conquer the guitar
I don't expect to get all these in a year or even two, but if I remember that I have something I want more than anything and I remind yourself now and then, I can make them a reality, i.e. number two! I would love to hear your goals and then, someday in the distant future when we meet again, we can remind each other to pursue those things that really matter to us.
1. I will act on Broadway or something similar
2. I will serve with the Peace Corps or something similar
3. I will not consume caffeine
I will soon acheive number two and number three is too absolute. In other words, I don't consume caffeine unless it's in tea or chocolat or I really want a diet coke. I consider number three checked off.
So here is my new list:
1. I will pursue a career in acting
2. I will floss and brush my teeth daily and wear my retainer three to four times a week.
3. I will become fluent in French or another language
Yep I'm super ambitious...
4. I will conquer the guitar
I don't expect to get all these in a year or even two, but if I remember that I have something I want more than anything and I remind yourself now and then, I can make them a reality, i.e. number two! I would love to hear your goals and then, someday in the distant future when we meet again, we can remind each other to pursue those things that really matter to us.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
I was sitting at my gramma's kitchen table with a bowl of cheerios. I poured heated water over my cheerios and watched them rise up the rim of the bowl. I sat and persistently stirred them, trying to get them to soften but they remained rock hard. They wouldn't even crumble between the bowl and my spoon. In despair, I thought the water into milk and instantly, the cheerios disintegrated into a lump of grainy meal. While I was swirling the cheerio paste with my spoon, my gramma came home from church. Without even acknowledging me, she ran to the sink and looked out the window over the sink into the living room. The TV was on, Judge Lochner. I didn't turn it on. The living room was dark but the sound was so loud. My gramma frantically started to chop vegetables in the sink. The chopped pieces of vegetables clogged the drain and gramma panicked, desperately trying to chop and clear the drain at the same time. Suddenly, the dishwasher was in the middle of the kitchen and my gramma couldn't get past because my mom's shoes were in the way. Oh, the problems that life presents us. Mom, restless, sleeps and then goes to work.
I'm in a playground, dressed in a tattered prom dress. The kids scream and chase each other around me but the sound is distant. All I can see is a group of teenagers in front of me. The man doesn't have a date but he knows who he wants. So he wades through the kids to a dress sitting on the slide and declares that if he wears a dress he will get the date he wants. I follow as the group goes shopping at the mall. The decor has changed since I was there last and I felt in a daze. My head loomed above my body.
The man is swinging. I am pushing him from behind and his friends show up with a skirt and several tops. It was all they could find. The skirt is cute and he looks good in it but the tops are hideous. But I am on the swing, pulling on a purple sleepless tube top. It looks better on than off. I pull it off and put on a shirt with only a square of silver fabric on the front and plastic wires around my shoulders to hold it on. The shirt flaps in the breeze from the swing.
GS has a cigar and drinks. Another woman is trying to get the shirt off the man. I am suddenly ten years younger and get off the swings. Two girls from my past are swimming in a maze of a turtle wading pool. Beth peeks over the turtle and Jess swims in a circle. I say, "want to be friends?" We swim around the pool while the sun moves from North to South.
I'm in a playground, dressed in a tattered prom dress. The kids scream and chase each other around me but the sound is distant. All I can see is a group of teenagers in front of me. The man doesn't have a date but he knows who he wants. So he wades through the kids to a dress sitting on the slide and declares that if he wears a dress he will get the date he wants. I follow as the group goes shopping at the mall. The decor has changed since I was there last and I felt in a daze. My head loomed above my body.
The man is swinging. I am pushing him from behind and his friends show up with a skirt and several tops. It was all they could find. The skirt is cute and he looks good in it but the tops are hideous. But I am on the swing, pulling on a purple sleepless tube top. It looks better on than off. I pull it off and put on a shirt with only a square of silver fabric on the front and plastic wires around my shoulders to hold it on. The shirt flaps in the breeze from the swing.
GS has a cigar and drinks. Another woman is trying to get the shirt off the man. I am suddenly ten years younger and get off the swings. Two girls from my past are swimming in a maze of a turtle wading pool. Beth peeks over the turtle and Jess swims in a circle. I say, "want to be friends?" We swim around the pool while the sun moves from North to South.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Where Heaven Should Be
If I could unfold the harvest sky,
and peel away the stippled black
weave, stretch my fingers between
the warped steely dimensions of dark,
I would cup a torn piece of its pulsing
tapestry in my sugar-high hands.
I would walk through the fraying fabric,
each foot heavy with green Venusian
dust, turn around and slowly stare.
My eye, a web, netting in the fire
flies and cramped solar winds, would
free the Taurusian bull to stampede in
full-moon fields, fenceless.
Behind me, outside, my side…
a stair of silken rock, marked by sifted
carnes, hugs mirages of stone and lace,
cascades between molting orange larches
and liquid blue falls. Small and thin,
a line of dust through a forest of gods,
the trail erodes with only paw prints
and fallen snags for company.
A constellation, safe in the sky, I would quit
the Twins and Crab and endless rings
of ice and moonstones, wrap up the harvest
sky again, creases gently ironed flat,
and spend my days with you, a torn piece
of September’s frost-embroidered tapestry.
If I could unfold the harvest sky,
and peel away the stippled black
weave, stretch my fingers between
the warped steely dimensions of dark,
I would cup a torn piece of its pulsing
tapestry in my sugar-high hands.
I would walk through the fraying fabric,
each foot heavy with green Venusian
dust, turn around and slowly stare.
My eye, a web, netting in the fire
flies and cramped solar winds, would
free the Taurusian bull to stampede in
full-moon fields, fenceless.
Behind me, outside, my side…
a stair of silken rock, marked by sifted
carnes, hugs mirages of stone and lace,
cascades between molting orange larches
and liquid blue falls. Small and thin,
a line of dust through a forest of gods,
the trail erodes with only paw prints
and fallen snags for company.
A constellation, safe in the sky, I would quit
the Twins and Crab and endless rings
of ice and moonstones, wrap up the harvest
sky again, creases gently ironed flat,
and spend my days with you, a torn piece
of September’s frost-embroidered tapestry.
Monday, September 27, 2004
What a roller coaster past two weeks!
I have spent the majority of my days searching the internet for volunteer information, airline fares and visa forms. My head is spinning and my butt has never been so sore. My stamina to hike far outweights my internet stamina, so it would seem.
This weekend's hike started brillantly with a gradual uphill climb along a gabbling creek and across talis slopes that skyrocketed into terrace after terrace of folded rock. I cooled my feet off about 6 miles in at a trecherous ford and bushwacked to the lake. Wow, the lake was surrounded by jutting rock wall laced with water falls and iced with orange larches. The contrast of orange against the brillant blue sky was almost too much.
Dinner was reconstituted dehydrated veggies with some mystery asian stirfry mix followed by instant butterscotch pudding and hot cocoa.
I woke up around 1 am and couldn't figure out why the sun was up. I became conscience enough to realize it was the brillantly bright moon, even though I couldn't find it in the sky.
I got a horrible sugar high and than a low from the processed instant oatmeal and peaches and apparantly my body chemistry couldn't handle it. I had tunnle vision, felt dizzy and my legs and hands wouldn't stop shaking. I felt like I was vibrating. I had to stop hiking and eat some asiago bagel. Eventually,this weird sensation passed and I was able to hike the rest of the way with only a few stumbles. I did get stuck on a log for a hilariously long time and was clothes lined by a low tree branch and my backpack. Hah!
Now, I am nursing a sore hip. I'm not sure how I hiked the whole summer without so much as a blister and now my hip joint aches so much I can hardly walk. I took a pain killer, sadly, and was able to run two miles with my dogs, ah to have dogs again.
I made curry tonight with my currant ward, her parents are in Moab. Tomorrow we are going to attempt to cook samosas. I am about to dive into the complex world of West African cooking with the help of a West African cook book I checked out a recipe book from the library along with about 10 other books on Africa and Ghana and African folk tales.
I'm beat...
I have spent the majority of my days searching the internet for volunteer information, airline fares and visa forms. My head is spinning and my butt has never been so sore. My stamina to hike far outweights my internet stamina, so it would seem.
This weekend's hike started brillantly with a gradual uphill climb along a gabbling creek and across talis slopes that skyrocketed into terrace after terrace of folded rock. I cooled my feet off about 6 miles in at a trecherous ford and bushwacked to the lake. Wow, the lake was surrounded by jutting rock wall laced with water falls and iced with orange larches. The contrast of orange against the brillant blue sky was almost too much.
Dinner was reconstituted dehydrated veggies with some mystery asian stirfry mix followed by instant butterscotch pudding and hot cocoa.
I woke up around 1 am and couldn't figure out why the sun was up. I became conscience enough to realize it was the brillantly bright moon, even though I couldn't find it in the sky.
I got a horrible sugar high and than a low from the processed instant oatmeal and peaches and apparantly my body chemistry couldn't handle it. I had tunnle vision, felt dizzy and my legs and hands wouldn't stop shaking. I felt like I was vibrating. I had to stop hiking and eat some asiago bagel. Eventually,this weird sensation passed and I was able to hike the rest of the way with only a few stumbles. I did get stuck on a log for a hilariously long time and was clothes lined by a low tree branch and my backpack. Hah!
Now, I am nursing a sore hip. I'm not sure how I hiked the whole summer without so much as a blister and now my hip joint aches so much I can hardly walk. I took a pain killer, sadly, and was able to run two miles with my dogs, ah to have dogs again.
I made curry tonight with my currant ward, her parents are in Moab. Tomorrow we are going to attempt to cook samosas. I am about to dive into the complex world of West African cooking with the help of a West African cook book I checked out a recipe book from the library along with about 10 other books on Africa and Ghana and African folk tales.
I'm beat...
Friday, September 24, 2004
No creative ramblings this time around. I’m getting straight to the point. I can’t even think of a song to describe my feelings.
I’M GOING TO GHANA, AFRICA for three months beginning in November. Three months! I am going to live with a Ghanaian family and volunteer at a local nursery outside of Accra-central. The planning of this adventure has been quite a roller coaster. My original plan was to go to Morocco and volunteer but that morphed its way into India, Nepal, Ecuador, Uganda, Thailand and finally Ghana. The point isn’t where I go; the point is that I am going. If any one has any tips for traveling or volunteering in a foreign country, I’d love to hear them. Right now, I really need advice about finding cheap airfare, travel insurance and mental preparation.
I’M GOING TO GHANA, AFRICA for three months beginning in November. Three months! I am going to live with a Ghanaian family and volunteer at a local nursery outside of Accra-central. The planning of this adventure has been quite a roller coaster. My original plan was to go to Morocco and volunteer but that morphed its way into India, Nepal, Ecuador, Uganda, Thailand and finally Ghana. The point isn’t where I go; the point is that I am going. If any one has any tips for traveling or volunteering in a foreign country, I’d love to hear them. Right now, I really need advice about finding cheap airfare, travel insurance and mental preparation.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Like the pupil in the eyes
The lord resides inside
Ignorant do not know this fact
They search him outside
Kabir
I recently had an in-depth discussion with Saralita on religion, faith, god(s) and love. Our feelings on these subjects are confused and different but I think we were both coming from the same fundamental idea, god is love. This quote, perhaps, pinpoints something which I have been trying to articulate to myself and I would like to pass on. What do you think?
The lord resides inside
Ignorant do not know this fact
They search him outside
Kabir
I recently had an in-depth discussion with Saralita on religion, faith, god(s) and love. Our feelings on these subjects are confused and different but I think we were both coming from the same fundamental idea, god is love. This quote, perhaps, pinpoints something which I have been trying to articulate to myself and I would like to pass on. What do you think?
Thursday, September 16, 2004
I wrote this poem earlier in the year. I guess I'm glad I waited to post because now it carries a whole new meaning. Aren't words amazing? I could listen to songs all day and listen to poetry all night (with some exceptions, no country or incoherent rap).
Going West, Going East
The spasm of darkness, the core
of my heart, the lining of velvet
beneath my skin, yearning for the
East, the right, the opposite side,
counter the moon, sun, stars and you.
Skin crawls and throat burns with thirst
like addictions to gambling, cigarettes,
sleepless nights or Solitaire.
Like a storm cluttered with electricity,
like a balloon quivering with air,
like a kiss whose echo burns
in the flesh, the West calls you forth
to its cool salty sea, pillowy pine
forests where particles, paisleyed
and coarse, curve across the sky.
With a glance, a tear, a burden
of lust, toasting our minds with near
intimacy, we repel like a magnet,
separate like Italian dressing. Electricity
pulses in the East and positive
potential waits in the West while we pull
taunt the strings and softly sing solo
arias on the moonless path.
I just can't explain how weird this poem is for me. I wrote it for a different time and place and here it is, making sense on a different dimension.
Going West, Going East
The spasm of darkness, the core
of my heart, the lining of velvet
beneath my skin, yearning for the
East, the right, the opposite side,
counter the moon, sun, stars and you.
Skin crawls and throat burns with thirst
like addictions to gambling, cigarettes,
sleepless nights or Solitaire.
Like a storm cluttered with electricity,
like a balloon quivering with air,
like a kiss whose echo burns
in the flesh, the West calls you forth
to its cool salty sea, pillowy pine
forests where particles, paisleyed
and coarse, curve across the sky.
With a glance, a tear, a burden
of lust, toasting our minds with near
intimacy, we repel like a magnet,
separate like Italian dressing. Electricity
pulses in the East and positive
potential waits in the West while we pull
taunt the strings and softly sing solo
arias on the moonless path.
I just can't explain how weird this poem is for me. I wrote it for a different time and place and here it is, making sense on a different dimension.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
God, I wish I wasn't leaving but I know these feelings will soon pass as I endeavor towards foreign lands.
Leavin' Song Summer came
And days grew long
Lilacs bloomed 'round
Meulfront pond
First place I ever held his hand
timeless walks and breathless nights
Went rushing past like peace in flight
I was prayin' it was never gonna end
Then the autumn leaves were blazin'
Like the fireworks in July
For a fleeting moment
That flame was in his eyes
But as quickly as the colors came
They burned out of the sky Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song I'll take one last look around
Pull up roots that I put down
Drive across that Hastings County line
Trade a part of who I was
For a future I'm not certain of
But I'll keep the best of what
I leave behind
Oh I'll miss those Sunday mornings
And those Friday football games
A peace that comes from knowing
Some places never change
That's the reason that I'll miss it
And the reason
I can't stay Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go
I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song
This is my leaving song
-The Wilkinsons
Leavin' Song Summer came
And days grew long
Lilacs bloomed 'round
Meulfront pond
First place I ever held his hand
timeless walks and breathless nights
Went rushing past like peace in flight
I was prayin' it was never gonna end
Then the autumn leaves were blazin'
Like the fireworks in July
For a fleeting moment
That flame was in his eyes
But as quickly as the colors came
They burned out of the sky Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song I'll take one last look around
Pull up roots that I put down
Drive across that Hastings County line
Trade a part of who I was
For a future I'm not certain of
But I'll keep the best of what
I leave behind
Oh I'll miss those Sunday mornings
And those Friday football games
A peace that comes from knowing
Some places never change
That's the reason that I'll miss it
And the reason
I can't stay Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go
I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song
This is my leaving song
-The Wilkinsons
Thursday, September 09, 2004
I am hovering in limbo, at home in Seattle and planning to be home in Missoula. It is a weird feeling, like I am being slowly covered with cream cheese frosting. Just when Skykomish and rangering started to feel right and the routine was set and the wilderness was my oyster, the summer ended, the huckleberries fell of their branches, the leaves turned golden and snow dusted my campsite. Though the question of what next has been lingering over my head since I moved to Seattle in February, it is slamming my funny bone and knuckling my sternum now. What next? I promised myself that I would be in school in the Spring. I even pinky shook on it. But what now? What in between? I have six months to do something amazing. Once I start school again, I probably won't have six months of uncommitted time in a row for a very very long time. My intent to travel and volunteer abroad still stands ,though my summer isolation made it difficult to research or make any concrete plans. However, there is no time like the present and as soon as I go to a Mariners game with my Uncle, see the Van Gogh exhibit, dye my hair black, eat Naples food, sell my clothing and drink mango daiquiris, I will journey to Montana where I can focus soley on school applications (again, ugh) and travel plans (scary and oh so exciting). My Seattlites, I will miss you, my Missoulians, I can't wait to see you and anyone in between these two points, well, I have been missing you and will continue to do so.
