Lord make me an instrument of thy peace,
where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light,
Where there is sadness, joy.
Oh Lord, grant not that I may so much
seek to be consoled, as to console,
To be understood, as to understand,
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying of the self that we are born to eternal life.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Dreamer
I had lots of dreams featuring fuzzy little baby diapers. That is no wonder. I've dreamed of massaging backs and collapsing in ecstasy onto someone's dark smooth skin. That doesn't confuse me in the least. Last night in my dreams, there were two other pregnant women, the three of us each carried two babies in our wombs, and it was up to me to find the right place for everyone to give birth. I drove a plane, getting out of an unsafe place at the last minute, but, it was too late for the births, I had to turn around and come back to a bedroom, that was mine, but borrowed, with a second hand mattress on the floor, old blankets, and although it seemed like the perfect place, a place where they would be comfortable, now we had to wait. To wait for that comfort to incorporate itself into their bodies so labor could begin.
No news is not good news in case of visa processing, and I wonder how long this thing is going to sit around someone's office. The Embassy is only accepting calls on the matter for two hours a day. Meaning I have to set my alarm for 4am if I want to try to get through. Sounds like the type of phone call that one spends long distance rates to wait on hold. I just want to know the estimated processing time. What can I begin to work on?
My doctor's office doesn't want to treat me because ( just found out) I have an outstanding bill for part of an office visit that wasn't covered by Peace Corps. The REST of the visit was covered, but Peace Corps claims that I wasn't covered at that time. My current insurance, under the Department of Labor states that the cover anything pregnancy related. But the hospital and doctor say they don't approve any services until they are billed. The doctors say they need approval in order to treat, and then they bill.
Kind of an insurance catch-22. One that leaves me, walking into my doctors office, to be treated like a trouble maker.
Just to make things easier.
So, maybe my dream was another prophetic one for the pregnancy.
I cry and I picture where I would really be happy. In Tino's arms, in his mountain house in Moshi, with his mother and sister-in-law (also due soon) there to support me.
I don't even look pregnant with this High School Sweatshirt of mine.
Reminds me of the girls who really had it tough, like the 15 year old honor student, who no one knew was pregnant until she gave birth in the school bathroom. She is being tried for manslaughter. Abortion wasn't allowed without parental consent, and she was afraid of her parents.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Yeah Jen, why are you so bent on news, the truth and the Congo?
By Amy Goodman
January 24, 2008, TruthDig.com
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20080123_the_invisible_war/
It's the deadliest conflict since World War II. More than 5 million people
have died in the past decade, yet it goes virtually unnoticed and unreported
in the United States. The conflict is in the Democratic Republic of Congo,
in Central Africa. At its heart are the natural resources found in Congo and
multinational corporations that extract them. The prospects for peace have
slightly improved: A peace accord was just signed in Congo's eastern Kivu
provinces. But without a comprehensive truth and reconciliation process for
the entire country and a renegotiation of all mining contracts, the
suffering will undoubtedly continue.
In its latest Congo mortality report, the International
Rescue Committee found that a stunning 5.4 million 'excess deaths' have
occurred in Congo since 1998. These are deaths beyond those that would
normally occur. In other words, a loss of life on the scale of Sept. 11
occurring every two days, in a country whose population is one-sixth our
own.
Just a little history: After supporting the allies in World
War II, Congo gained independence and elected Patrice
Lumumba, a progressive Pan-Africanist, as prime minister in 1960. He was
assassinated soon after in a plot involving the CIA. The U.S. installed and
supported Mobutu Sese Seko, who ruled tyrannically for more than 30 years,
plundering the nation. Since his death, Congo has seen war, from 1996 to
2002, provoked by invasions by neighboring Rwanda and Uganda, and ongoing
conflict since then.
A particularly horrifying aspect of the conflict is the mass sexual violence
being used as a weapon of war. Congolese human-rights activist Christine
Schuler Deschryver told me about the hundreds of thousands of women and
children subjected to rape:
'We are not talking about normal rapes anymore. We are
talking about sexual terrorism, because they are destroyed-
you cannot imagine what's going on in Congo. We are talking about new
surgery to repair the women, because they're completely destroyed.' She was
describing the physical damage done to the women, and to children, one, she
said, as young as 10 months old, by acts of rape that involve insertion of
sticks, guns and molten plastic. Deschryver was in the U.S. as a guest of
V-Day, Eve Ensler's campaign to end violence against women, in an attempt to
generate public awareness of this genocide and to support the Panzi Hospital
in Deschryver's hometown of Bukavu.
Maurice Carney is executive director of Friends of the Congo, in Washington,
D.C.: 'Two types of rape, basically, are taking place in the Congo: One is
the rape of the women and children, and the other the rape of the land,
natural resources. The Congo has tremendous natural resources: 30 percent of
the world's cobalt, 10 percent of the world's copper, 80 percent of the
world's reserves of coltan. You have to look at the corporate influence on
everything that takes place in the Congo.'
Among the companies Carney blames for fueling the violence
are Cleveland-based OM Group, the world's leading producer of cobalt-based
specialty chemicals and a leading supplier of nickel-based specialty
chemicals, as well as Boston-based chemical giant Cabot Corp. Cabot produces
coltan, also known as tantalum, a hard-to-extract but critical component of
electronic circuitry, which is used in all cell phones and other consumer
electronics. The massive demand for coltan is credited with fueling the
Second Congo War of 1998-2002. A former CEO of Cabot is none other than the
Bush administration's current secretary of energy, Samuel Bodman.
Phoenix-based Freeport-McMoRan, which took over the Phelps Dodge company's
enormous mining concession in the Congo, is also in on the game.
The United Nations has issued several reports that are highly critical of
illegal corporate exploitation of the Congo's minerals. A Congolese
government review of more than 60 mining contracts call for their
renegotiation or outright cancellation. Says Carney, 'Eighty percent of the
population live on 30 cents a day or less, with billions of dollars going
out the back door and into the pockets of mining companies.' An important
question for us in the U.S. is: How could close to 6 million people die from
war and related disease in one country in less than a decade and go
virtually unnoticed?
[Amy Goodman is the host of 'Democracy Now!,' a daily international TV/radio
news hour airing on 500 stations in North America.]
Imagine having a smart and successful person, who knows the system inside and out, calling you on the phone to tell you all the ways they are working to make things happen for you. It feels pretty good, I say, and whenever I thank him, he says that his job is to serve me. That is my congressional representative, who is trying to get Tino here before the baby is born. Elias could be born any day now, but still, I have hope...
This exchange that I have built however, for the first time, with the office of MY Congressional representative, has made me realize that I do have a voice that could somehow reach Washington. Anyway, with as much anger and frustration at politics and foreign policies that I have felt, it is balm to know that there are still people working for us. I have never been a writer of letters, journals or otherwise. Blogging has stimulated a journaling habit, while email and the desire to stay in touch with loved ones all over the world has forced me to sit down and write more letters.
But sadly, I have never, outside of a classroom assignment, written a letter to a politician.
I am about to bring another human into this world, and to make an African man a US citizen.
Here, I am able to read the newspapers and magazines, listen to independent radio, watch primary debates on youtube, watch documentaries on inspiring Americans like Sergent Shriver and Martin Luther King Jr., and good films like 'God Grew Tired of Us' (2007) about the Lost Boy in Sudanese refugee camps, and many others that make the emotional connection with how human lives and culture are affected by political greed and corruption (Wind that Shakes the Barley(2007) about the Irish Republican Army, and The Constant Gardener (2005) are two others I've seen this week.)
A letter isn't much, but after reading the following report by Amy Goodman, I will do my best to be a citizen who shows appreciation for what I do have, by vocalizing my opinion to those who are paid to hear it, and by continuing to shop with canvas bags and stay healthy in body and mind.
Often, living in the United States, I am left with a despondency that there is too much to do know about; too many negative things to stand up to. I feel small and voiceless, on a bike up against this huge machine that drives genocides like the Congolese one, Polar bears to extinction, the funding of 'Vietnam the Sequel,' and a big ugly Hummer. By riding this bike, I've been trying to speak out through my actions rather than ranting in front of supermarkets and driving people in the opposite direction. What I find instead is that I have become lazier. Often, I don't know the right thing to do. But I am no longer to intimidated, or too apathetic to write a letter.
I feel that it is important to continue conversations with each other. Even when I am frustrated to tears because the conversation is nothing new (recycling, composting, conservation, diet and exercise!!).
The dialog must still happen with renewed enthusiasm every time, patience, love and ideas. It must happen with invigorated anger, every fucking time.
Bush may finally be at the end of his term, but the most powerful and greedy country is still our own, and the only way it can be affected is through its citizenry. The world knows this, but we ignore our power by ignoring our opportunities and privileges.
So read this, and have a conversation with your local congressional representative about any issue that is bothering you.
Thank you to Amy Goodman, a long time hero of mine. True reporters are the gems of our civilization.
January 24, 2008, TruthDig.com
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20080123_the_invisible_war/
It's the deadliest conflict since World War II. More than 5 million people
have died in the past decade, yet it goes virtually unnoticed and unreported
in the United States. The conflict is in the Democratic Republic of Congo,
in Central Africa. At its heart are the natural resources found in Congo and
multinational corporations that extract them. The prospects for peace have
slightly improved: A peace accord was just signed in Congo's eastern Kivu
provinces. But without a comprehensive truth and reconciliation process for
the entire country and a renegotiation of all mining contracts, the
suffering will undoubtedly continue.
In its latest Congo mortality report, the International
Rescue Committee found that a stunning 5.4 million 'excess deaths' have
occurred in Congo since 1998. These are deaths beyond those that would
normally occur. In other words, a loss of life on the scale of Sept. 11
occurring every two days, in a country whose population is one-sixth our
own.
Just a little history: After supporting the allies in World
War II, Congo gained independence and elected Patrice
Lumumba, a progressive Pan-Africanist, as prime minister in 1960. He was
assassinated soon after in a plot involving the CIA. The U.S. installed and
supported Mobutu Sese Seko, who ruled tyrannically for more than 30 years,
plundering the nation. Since his death, Congo has seen war, from 1996 to
2002, provoked by invasions by neighboring Rwanda and Uganda, and ongoing
conflict since then.
A particularly horrifying aspect of the conflict is the mass sexual violence
being used as a weapon of war. Congolese human-rights activist Christine
Schuler Deschryver told me about the hundreds of thousands of women and
children subjected to rape:
'We are not talking about normal rapes anymore. We are
talking about sexual terrorism, because they are destroyed-
you cannot imagine what's going on in Congo. We are talking about new
surgery to repair the women, because they're completely destroyed.' She was
describing the physical damage done to the women, and to children, one, she
said, as young as 10 months old, by acts of rape that involve insertion of
sticks, guns and molten plastic. Deschryver was in the U.S. as a guest of
V-Day, Eve Ensler's campaign to end violence against women, in an attempt to
generate public awareness of this genocide and to support the Panzi Hospital
in Deschryver's hometown of Bukavu.
Maurice Carney is executive director of Friends of the Congo, in Washington,
D.C.: 'Two types of rape, basically, are taking place in the Congo: One is
the rape of the women and children, and the other the rape of the land,
natural resources. The Congo has tremendous natural resources: 30 percent of
the world's cobalt, 10 percent of the world's copper, 80 percent of the
world's reserves of coltan. You have to look at the corporate influence on
everything that takes place in the Congo.'
Among the companies Carney blames for fueling the violence
are Cleveland-based OM Group, the world's leading producer of cobalt-based
specialty chemicals and a leading supplier of nickel-based specialty
chemicals, as well as Boston-based chemical giant Cabot Corp. Cabot produces
coltan, also known as tantalum, a hard-to-extract but critical component of
electronic circuitry, which is used in all cell phones and other consumer
electronics. The massive demand for coltan is credited with fueling the
Second Congo War of 1998-2002. A former CEO of Cabot is none other than the
Bush administration's current secretary of energy, Samuel Bodman.
Phoenix-based Freeport-McMoRan, which took over the Phelps Dodge company's
enormous mining concession in the Congo, is also in on the game.
The United Nations has issued several reports that are highly critical of
illegal corporate exploitation of the Congo's minerals. A Congolese
government review of more than 60 mining contracts call for their
renegotiation or outright cancellation. Says Carney, 'Eighty percent of the
population live on 30 cents a day or less, with billions of dollars going
out the back door and into the pockets of mining companies.' An important
question for us in the U.S. is: How could close to 6 million people die from
war and related disease in one country in less than a decade and go
virtually unnoticed?
[Amy Goodman is the host of 'Democracy Now!,' a daily international TV/radio
news hour airing on 500 stations in North America.]
Imagine having a smart and successful person, who knows the system inside and out, calling you on the phone to tell you all the ways they are working to make things happen for you. It feels pretty good, I say, and whenever I thank him, he says that his job is to serve me. That is my congressional representative, who is trying to get Tino here before the baby is born. Elias could be born any day now, but still, I have hope...
This exchange that I have built however, for the first time, with the office of MY Congressional representative, has made me realize that I do have a voice that could somehow reach Washington. Anyway, with as much anger and frustration at politics and foreign policies that I have felt, it is balm to know that there are still people working for us. I have never been a writer of letters, journals or otherwise. Blogging has stimulated a journaling habit, while email and the desire to stay in touch with loved ones all over the world has forced me to sit down and write more letters.
But sadly, I have never, outside of a classroom assignment, written a letter to a politician.
I am about to bring another human into this world, and to make an African man a US citizen.
Here, I am able to read the newspapers and magazines, listen to independent radio, watch primary debates on youtube, watch documentaries on inspiring Americans like Sergent Shriver and Martin Luther King Jr., and good films like 'God Grew Tired of Us' (2007) about the Lost Boy in Sudanese refugee camps, and many others that make the emotional connection with how human lives and culture are affected by political greed and corruption (Wind that Shakes the Barley(2007) about the Irish Republican Army, and The Constant Gardener (2005) are two others I've seen this week.)
A letter isn't much, but after reading the following report by Amy Goodman, I will do my best to be a citizen who shows appreciation for what I do have, by vocalizing my opinion to those who are paid to hear it, and by continuing to shop with canvas bags and stay healthy in body and mind.
Often, living in the United States, I am left with a despondency that there is too much to do know about; too many negative things to stand up to. I feel small and voiceless, on a bike up against this huge machine that drives genocides like the Congolese one, Polar bears to extinction, the funding of 'Vietnam the Sequel,' and a big ugly Hummer. By riding this bike, I've been trying to speak out through my actions rather than ranting in front of supermarkets and driving people in the opposite direction. What I find instead is that I have become lazier. Often, I don't know the right thing to do. But I am no longer to intimidated, or too apathetic to write a letter.
I feel that it is important to continue conversations with each other. Even when I am frustrated to tears because the conversation is nothing new (recycling, composting, conservation, diet and exercise!!).
The dialog must still happen with renewed enthusiasm every time, patience, love and ideas. It must happen with invigorated anger, every fucking time.
Bush may finally be at the end of his term, but the most powerful and greedy country is still our own, and the only way it can be affected is through its citizenry. The world knows this, but we ignore our power by ignoring our opportunities and privileges.
So read this, and have a conversation with your local congressional representative about any issue that is bothering you.
Thank you to Amy Goodman, a long time hero of mine. True reporters are the gems of our civilization.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Showering Baby Elias with Love
Old friends and new. (Emily, Amber and I)
Besides all the reasons listed below, a baby shower is another lovely addition to pregnancy. I guess my head has been wrapped around simplicity. (Spinning on a million things and pretending that I am trying to keep it simple. Hah! Sometimes my staunch instance on a lack of needs is really an escapist's digression from giving, I now finally begin to realize. If that makes sense. If it doesn't, I simply quote St. Francis of Assisi- "For it is in giving that we receive," and likewise, if I dare, it is in receiving that we give the opportunity for others to be Givers, and work towards a loving and interdependent community, empowering ourselves by empowering others, rather than hiding away in a supposedly self-sufficient self-reliance of modern Americanism.)
That tangent stated, I add, 'Kinatakiwa kijiji kimoja kulea mtoto.' It takes a village to raise a child. That is the quote we made into a bookmark and gave out to those who attended the shower. (Deciding not to use the swahili proverb suggested by Tino-'If a child asks for a razor blade, give it to him.')
Neighbors attended, old family friends, family friends I hadn't met yet, friends from Peace Corps, friends from high school, friends from college that I didn't meet until a couple of months ago, siblings, parents, nieces, nephews, and everyone giving lots of love, wisdom, and cute little fuzzy gifts. The biggest expense at my feet so far for the baby (if all goes well with health and insurance) is a diapering system. Instead of bringing presents, the shower invitation requested donations to my cloth diaper system. I have wanted to go cloth since always and was barely considering doing anything else... until I started all the research! There are just too many options to choose from, and too many expensive diapers. I stuck with it though and finally put together a report on what it was that I felt I needed to have a diapering system that will last about 6 months and brought it to the shower. Let me stress that no one had seen this request list and total, which came to needing $287.55 . I opened gifts and set cards aside for crying over later (I cry too easily, and I did cry all over again reading messages inside the cards, and poems written, etc.) Inside many of the cards was a generous donation to the diapers. At the end of it all, I counted up Elias's cash, and low and behold, I held $280.00!
Again, let me reiterate these thoughts that I have often, if I haven't said them before, let me say them again and again. Babies are miracles, and babies beget miracles.
Enormous thanks to everyone who was there, everyone who wanted to be there, and everyone who is reading this who is somehow or other a part of the greater village that will become a part of the child is to become a part of this world.
In the words of Walt Whitman, read to me by my brother and abbreviated here:
"There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became.
And that object became a part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, or for many years of stretching cycles of years.
(From the) early lilacs (to the) quarrelsome boys.
(From) his own parents,
he that had father'd him and she that had conceiv'ed him in her womb and birth'd him, (to the) men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes and specks what are they? ...
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes and will always go forth every day."
To my son Elias, may the planet be his classroom and the world be his village.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
TOP TEN REASONS WHY BEING PREGNANT KICKS ASS
One woman’s experience…
1.) Naps are necessary and glorified.
2.) Eating lots of food isn’t gluttony, its altruism.
3.) Bad gas can be blamed on the baby.
4.) Emotional outbursts can be blamed on the pregnancy.
5.) You’re already a mother, but with no sore nipples, no diapers, two free arms and free time!
6.) Nobody cares if you have to pee all the time.
7.) People always want to carry things for you.
8.) Sleeping is extra comfortable with all these new pillow modifications that you should have incorporated years ago.
9.) Bigger tips.
10.) If you go into a crowded bathroom, you will be shuffled to the front of the line!
1.) Naps are necessary and glorified.
2.) Eating lots of food isn’t gluttony, its altruism.
3.) Bad gas can be blamed on the baby.
4.) Emotional outbursts can be blamed on the pregnancy.
5.) You’re already a mother, but with no sore nipples, no diapers, two free arms and free time!
6.) Nobody cares if you have to pee all the time.
7.) People always want to carry things for you.
8.) Sleeping is extra comfortable with all these new pillow modifications that you should have incorporated years ago.
9.) Bigger tips.
10.) If you go into a crowded bathroom, you will be shuffled to the front of the line!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Tunamshukuru Mungu. (We thank God)
We have jumped the 9 month queue and Tino's visa is being processed RIGHT NOW!!
This what magic occurred all within the time I loaded the pictures below:
1.) I pressed "Upload"
2.) I went upstairs to get the phone number of the Congress representative who has been advocating my case. (I had asked my doctor to write another more urgent letter regarding the "High Risk" aspect of my stressful pregnancy. I wanted to call and see if we could add it to the current application they are reviewing for expediting. (I had already sent in one letter, but because it simply said that the situation stressed me out, and wasn't a matter of 'Life or Death' (isn't it tho?) I was told that the chances of my visa being processed quickly were not good. They gave me until around next September.)
3.) While upstairs, I missed a call from Tino.
4.) Called him back. It is 11.30 pm his time, and he's never sounded so down. He just called to say good night, wondering if I had any good news. I told him the baby is healthy and I am happy and missing him, and haven't given up trying to get him here.
5.) Carlos (the congress rep.) called me and told me he had good news and bad news:
They were going to expedite the visa, but had to do a background check on Tino first which could take anywhere from 2 weeks to over a month. I cried with joy and tried to ask intelligent questions.
6.) I called Tino back and told him, he may not be here for the birth, but at least when I go back to Tanzania, we all be able to come home together! He laughed and sent me kisses.
7.) Carlos calls me back (pictures are still uploading, it is like minute 4 now.)
He says that the background check was easier than they thought, and I simply need to wait for the next packet of information to arrive from the Department of Homeland Security. (This will include documents assuring financial stability, but luckily, I think they take co-sponsors, since I am obviously, not quite there as a massage therapist. I thank him.
8.) Photos uploaded and I thank god (thats right) and write to tell you all.
(This is a miracle. I hoped and tried but no one thought it would work! I just got this email:
*** DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS E-MAIL ***
The last processing action taken on your case
Application Type: I129F , PETITION FOR FIANCE(E)
Current Status: Approval notice sent.
On January 15, 2008, we mailed you a notice that we have approved this I129F PETITION FOR FIANCE(E). Please follow any instructions on the notice. If you move before you receive the notice, call customer service.
Sincerely,
The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS)
This what magic occurred all within the time I loaded the pictures below:
1.) I pressed "Upload"
2.) I went upstairs to get the phone number of the Congress representative who has been advocating my case. (I had asked my doctor to write another more urgent letter regarding the "High Risk" aspect of my stressful pregnancy. I wanted to call and see if we could add it to the current application they are reviewing for expediting. (I had already sent in one letter, but because it simply said that the situation stressed me out, and wasn't a matter of 'Life or Death' (isn't it tho?) I was told that the chances of my visa being processed quickly were not good. They gave me until around next September.)
3.) While upstairs, I missed a call from Tino.
4.) Called him back. It is 11.30 pm his time, and he's never sounded so down. He just called to say good night, wondering if I had any good news. I told him the baby is healthy and I am happy and missing him, and haven't given up trying to get him here.
5.) Carlos (the congress rep.) called me and told me he had good news and bad news:
They were going to expedite the visa, but had to do a background check on Tino first which could take anywhere from 2 weeks to over a month. I cried with joy and tried to ask intelligent questions.
6.) I called Tino back and told him, he may not be here for the birth, but at least when I go back to Tanzania, we all be able to come home together! He laughed and sent me kisses.
7.) Carlos calls me back (pictures are still uploading, it is like minute 4 now.)
He says that the background check was easier than they thought, and I simply need to wait for the next packet of information to arrive from the Department of Homeland Security. (This will include documents assuring financial stability, but luckily, I think they take co-sponsors, since I am obviously, not quite there as a massage therapist. I thank him.
8.) Photos uploaded and I thank god (thats right) and write to tell you all.
(This is a miracle. I hoped and tried but no one thought it would work! I just got this email:
*** DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS E-MAIL ***
The last processing action taken on your case
Application Type: I129F , PETITION FOR FIANCE(E)
Current Status: Approval notice sent.
On January 15, 2008, we mailed you a notice that we have approved this I129F PETITION FOR FIANCE(E). Please follow any instructions on the notice. If you move before you receive the notice, call customer service.
Sincerely,
The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS)
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Life/Love/Embrace/Deny
We always hear that it’s the little things that count~ the small moments in life.
Small moments have become monumental eternities for me in the past 6 months.
While having babies, changing jobs, moving, moving abroad, and marriage are all mutually agreed upon MONUMENTAL life transitions. These are the things that lives are defined by, years are measured by, and that can cause a panic attack in the unfortunately predisposed.
I thrive off of them. (Like any good ADD American with an adrenaline addiction.)
Like a little sailboat on the waves, the larger events are like rolling waters, that are so big, you hardly notice them, but are soothed by their presence, they remind you that you are sailing, and every once in a while, you might lose your stomach, which is a highlight. The smaller moments however, can be the choppy waves that jar your spine and make you want to get off the boat but you can’t because there is no land in site, so you just puke. Other times, I imagine you got your sailors legs on and it doesn’t matter what kind of weather you are having, but you are connected to the rhythm of the sea, and perfectly content with your sailor life. Except, perhaps for your red leathery skin.
For me, the small moments have always punctuated or defined the larger experience by crystallizing a colorful electric synapse of a memory that the mind gravitates to in reflection. As a teenager, I lived in Mexico for a year as an exchange student. The transition was no big thing. What was huge was walking the streets alone and enjoying the different smell of traffic, the glitter of broken glass bottles lining the walls, the aromas of street vendors selling elotes smothered with mayonnaise, cheese, lime and chili, and savoring a fresh tortilla with a pinch of salt. These are the colorful moments that I recognized, that made me feel at peace, no matter how lonely I really was, and are the electric memories that I go back to. Living in Sonoma Country offered a million ‘precious moments’ (after finally getting out of college and getting my head out of my butt.) My parked car on a spring day beneath a plum tree carpeted white with blossoms was perfection. College parties? Graduation ceremonies? No thank you. But waking up at 5 in the morning to put on a wetsuit, still cold from the day before, and go out into the violent violet waters of the Pacific was heaven. Moving to Africa for two years was the most natural of transitions. The big moments were walking the red dirt paths through the green mountains covered with bananas and hillsides covered with rice paddy. The view was loveliest when pink African clouds rested on the tallest peaks, but it wasn’t the same without my dog. It was better yet with the little boys who would hold my hand and tell me endless stories I half understood.
It was the best with Augustino.
The little moments, I began to feel, where not as deeply impressive when experienced alone, as they were when shared.
I became jealous, I mean achingly impressed, with the mama’s who had their babies strapped to the back at all times. And when I carried the babies, I felt beautiful. I joke that in Africa, the woman are complimented, “You look pretty with that baby!” as if a small child is the most couture of accessories. My sister Megan, the height of fashion sense, says it’s the rage of Hollywood for women to be strolling Rodeo Drive with their multi-cultural adopted babies in a designer sling, a la Angelie Jolie I suppose. Considering the costs of international adoption, and the fad of international humanitarianism, I can see how a foreign born child is taking the place of a little dog as the ultimate accessory.
Out in the village, I suppose the fashions started growing on me the same way the ridiculous hip hop and gaudy fabrics eventually did, (which I feared would happen no matter how much I tried to keep it in perspective.) Puffy sleeves and muumuus are gorgeous on African woman. They are not appropriate for me. In my roundabout way, what I am trying to say is that, although I laugh at myself, I was less sold on the idea of having a baby and starting a family because of a warped sense of style, than a sense that all beautiful things are shared.
Eventually, when the two years were up, I would be making a decision about what I am going to do next. I wanted to be close to my family, I wanted to get a Masters in International Agriculture in Germany, I wanted to train as an Ayurvedic practitioner in India, I wanted to sail the Carribean and spend time salsa dancing and surfing on the islands, I wanted to become a Nurse Practitioner in Puerto Rico, I wanted to work in Public Health in Mozambique and learn Portuguese. I wanted a family. All of my whimsical life dreams are as varied and half ripened as a produce department in an American supermarket. (It can be argued that a benefit of my veritable marketplace of dreams is that with so many, at any given time I am living one dream or another.)
So is my (ADD!) problem that I didn’t know what to do, or wanted to do several things? I had become enthusiastic for certain career paths, which inherently means to the sacrifice of others. Again, the point is, NONE of them had any meaning if I had to do it all alone.
I now have a little boy I carry with me everywhere, who scoots around in my belly and is a perfectly behaved angel. I also have a man in Africa, who envelopes me with a wonderful smelling, soft handed embrace and never wants to let me go. Or would if he could.
What really challenges me is not even the usual self-doubt about the past and future (if only I had done…!!!, etc.) but the millions of moments that pass by, unshared. To many moments that I want to experience enveloped in the soft hand of the man who loves me. It leaves me feeling that these are monumental precious moments that are passing me by unshared, and thus, life and love are being wasted. That is what makes me want to wail with the desperation of the bereaved. And I wonder, if I try to be content without relying on that space being filled, am I denying the pain that is the beauty of love? And if allow myself to feel it fully, am I ignoring the beauty in the reality that surrounds me, and thus denying life?
Small moments have become monumental eternities for me in the past 6 months.
While having babies, changing jobs, moving, moving abroad, and marriage are all mutually agreed upon MONUMENTAL life transitions. These are the things that lives are defined by, years are measured by, and that can cause a panic attack in the unfortunately predisposed.
I thrive off of them. (Like any good ADD American with an adrenaline addiction.)
Like a little sailboat on the waves, the larger events are like rolling waters, that are so big, you hardly notice them, but are soothed by their presence, they remind you that you are sailing, and every once in a while, you might lose your stomach, which is a highlight. The smaller moments however, can be the choppy waves that jar your spine and make you want to get off the boat but you can’t because there is no land in site, so you just puke. Other times, I imagine you got your sailors legs on and it doesn’t matter what kind of weather you are having, but you are connected to the rhythm of the sea, and perfectly content with your sailor life. Except, perhaps for your red leathery skin.
For me, the small moments have always punctuated or defined the larger experience by crystallizing a colorful electric synapse of a memory that the mind gravitates to in reflection. As a teenager, I lived in Mexico for a year as an exchange student. The transition was no big thing. What was huge was walking the streets alone and enjoying the different smell of traffic, the glitter of broken glass bottles lining the walls, the aromas of street vendors selling elotes smothered with mayonnaise, cheese, lime and chili, and savoring a fresh tortilla with a pinch of salt. These are the colorful moments that I recognized, that made me feel at peace, no matter how lonely I really was, and are the electric memories that I go back to. Living in Sonoma Country offered a million ‘precious moments’ (after finally getting out of college and getting my head out of my butt.) My parked car on a spring day beneath a plum tree carpeted white with blossoms was perfection. College parties? Graduation ceremonies? No thank you. But waking up at 5 in the morning to put on a wetsuit, still cold from the day before, and go out into the violent violet waters of the Pacific was heaven. Moving to Africa for two years was the most natural of transitions. The big moments were walking the red dirt paths through the green mountains covered with bananas and hillsides covered with rice paddy. The view was loveliest when pink African clouds rested on the tallest peaks, but it wasn’t the same without my dog. It was better yet with the little boys who would hold my hand and tell me endless stories I half understood.
It was the best with Augustino.
The little moments, I began to feel, where not as deeply impressive when experienced alone, as they were when shared.
I became jealous, I mean achingly impressed, with the mama’s who had their babies strapped to the back at all times. And when I carried the babies, I felt beautiful. I joke that in Africa, the woman are complimented, “You look pretty with that baby!” as if a small child is the most couture of accessories. My sister Megan, the height of fashion sense, says it’s the rage of Hollywood for women to be strolling Rodeo Drive with their multi-cultural adopted babies in a designer sling, a la Angelie Jolie I suppose. Considering the costs of international adoption, and the fad of international humanitarianism, I can see how a foreign born child is taking the place of a little dog as the ultimate accessory.
Out in the village, I suppose the fashions started growing on me the same way the ridiculous hip hop and gaudy fabrics eventually did, (which I feared would happen no matter how much I tried to keep it in perspective.) Puffy sleeves and muumuus are gorgeous on African woman. They are not appropriate for me. In my roundabout way, what I am trying to say is that, although I laugh at myself, I was less sold on the idea of having a baby and starting a family because of a warped sense of style, than a sense that all beautiful things are shared.
Eventually, when the two years were up, I would be making a decision about what I am going to do next. I wanted to be close to my family, I wanted to get a Masters in International Agriculture in Germany, I wanted to train as an Ayurvedic practitioner in India, I wanted to sail the Carribean and spend time salsa dancing and surfing on the islands, I wanted to become a Nurse Practitioner in Puerto Rico, I wanted to work in Public Health in Mozambique and learn Portuguese. I wanted a family. All of my whimsical life dreams are as varied and half ripened as a produce department in an American supermarket. (It can be argued that a benefit of my veritable marketplace of dreams is that with so many, at any given time I am living one dream or another.)
So is my (ADD!) problem that I didn’t know what to do, or wanted to do several things? I had become enthusiastic for certain career paths, which inherently means to the sacrifice of others. Again, the point is, NONE of them had any meaning if I had to do it all alone.
I now have a little boy I carry with me everywhere, who scoots around in my belly and is a perfectly behaved angel. I also have a man in Africa, who envelopes me with a wonderful smelling, soft handed embrace and never wants to let me go. Or would if he could.
What really challenges me is not even the usual self-doubt about the past and future (if only I had done…!!!, etc.) but the millions of moments that pass by, unshared. To many moments that I want to experience enveloped in the soft hand of the man who loves me. It leaves me feeling that these are monumental precious moments that are passing me by unshared, and thus, life and love are being wasted. That is what makes me want to wail with the desperation of the bereaved. And I wonder, if I try to be content without relying on that space being filled, am I denying the pain that is the beauty of love? And if allow myself to feel it fully, am I ignoring the beauty in the reality that surrounds me, and thus denying life?
Thursday, January 3, 2008
The power of touch.
Dad and Laurie's pup Rascal. We love him. Can one imagine a baby being cuter than this guy?!!
Today I met with Jaunita. She will be my doula. Whatta resource is a doula, and how lucky I am to have found HER. I went to a holistic mom's meeting and she sat next to me, a lovely Peruvian woman, who left LA to live in Marin, and came back to LA to be close to the family. Her first child was with a man from Germany. She was in her eighth month, and the visa papers had still not processed, so he came to be with her on a tourist visa. Lucky Europeans. All this and with a plastic bag over her shoulder that she crocheted.
Collecting the plastic bags that littered the roadsides and creating a co-op of women to crochet them was long one of my dreams (one of many) while I was in Matombo, TZ.
Well, considering I may soon be spending a lot of time there, hoping to make myself useful, it is a great time to learn now! So I am very much looking forward to spending more time with my new friend.
I also went to work today. What a wonderful job I have! It certainly is nice to really enjoy this work, and feel that my clients really appreciate me. My business is growing and I am convinced that I could develop a good clientele if I could continue like this. But so much of the future is unknown.
How can I nest?
The money I am making is good for survival, but it is also optimal in regards to WHO I am serving, or massaging, lets say.
I never made it happen in Sonoma County, feeling that my heart just wasn't into following what my hands loved to do. What I enjoy now is working therapeutically with people who otherwise wouldn't know about, or be able to afford massage.
Now I work on people who come in with pain and/or physical injuries that are usually directly caused or compounded by instability at home, financially, or psychologically. I feel that what I can reflect as a non-judgemental listener, who responds merely by sensitive (or elbow deep! But still SENSITIVE) touch is an under valued therapy in the medical world. Not to replace talk therapy, but even that isn't able to provide what massage offers, which helps to release old patterns of holding, memories and negative reactions that are stored on a cellular level. The caring touch of massage also releases the more pleasant neurochemicals that flood the body in a new way. All of this, and if the client is simply able to lay down in my relaxing environment for 20 minutes in the day, it is has a big impact.
So, all in all, three cheers for massage,
and as I cruise more of the web, registering for classes I will soon take, and job offers in Africa, and daydream about all the ways I COULD have done this better, DIFFERENT, CLOSER to Tino,
I will allow myself to turn it off for the night, cuddle up between all my millions of pillows for a little meditation, and then sleep, basking in a satisfying day, and that there is more to come tomorrow.
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