Losing (and Finding) My Religion

In honor of Earth Day, I post this today!

I have finally found my religion. I've been practicing it for a number of years now, but all of sudden I have a name for it. Pantheism.

I was raised Roman Catholic. And all that goes with that. I got faith and education and rules galore. I went through all the motions: weekly church, the requisite sacraments (Baptism, First Communion, Confession, Confirmation), years and years of CCD. I have been a professional wake-goer since a young age. We went to mass on important holy days (Feast of the Assumption anyone?), kept the Baby Jesus out of the manger and wished the little clay babe a happy birthday before getting our presents on Christmas morning, and told tons of non-Catholic kids that we knew we had dirt on our faces on Ash Wednesday. Right around high school, I either started listening better at mass or I started thinking better in general, because that was when I started wondering what I was doing there. I didn't like what I was hearing, all of a sudden. First year of college, I stopped going completely and when home for summer or visits, told my mother I wasn't going with the family anymore. I told her (and meant it, even if it sounds like a good way out of it) that I didn't want to go and disrespect all the people (including her) who really believed and wanted to participate by standing there hating every minute and not believing any of it. I kept going on Christmas and Easter, but that was it.

Through the years, I've considered finding some other organized religion. Episcopalian would make sense. You know, Church of England. Created by Henry VIII out of the tenants of Catholicism so he could get divorced. Basically the same deal as Catholicism, but with far fewer rules and a lot more tolerance. I tried it. Felt weird. I've never really considered anything beyond that, since I finally figured out that I really don't dig the organization of coming together in a room on a schedule to worship. I just don't get anything from that.

There's been a few times when I've felt really lonely and I've sought it out. Once, I went to an entire Catholic mass in Hanoi, in Vietnamese. I had no idea what was being said, obviously, but the cadence of the mass made sense and I knew when to kneel and what was happening during the consecration (what Catholics call turning the wine and bread into the actual body and blood of Christ). It was a cool experience. I also finally cracked and went to a mass in Ita, Paraguay, since every damn week, they played it over the loudspeaker anyway and it woke me up. All in Spanish and Guarani, so I didn't get much, but again, the cadence felt familiar.

As we all know, the sex scandals hit the church. By then, I was already disillusioned enough. I somehow had turned out pro-choice, pro-birth control and pro-tolerance for just about anyone and their lifestyle. All those things are in direct opposition to the teachings and beliefs of the church in which I was raised. And I started hearing more and more of these big-church preachers on TV and in the media promising people that as long as they were saved, all would be well. For almost all of the 2000s, we had a president who pretty much believed that God was telling him what to do, and many of those things weren't all that nice. So all the God talk added to my further disillusionment.

I just don't go in for organized religion or God in general. I have been speaking of the Universe and its plans for me for a very long time. I tried out using "The Goddess" in place of God for a while, but that just felt false to me. I went diving on Easter Sunday one year and told my mother that I felt closer to some other being or God doing that than any visit to a building would do for me. She still tells people about that as evidence that I actually have faith.

As far as I'm concerned, my faith has never been in question. I've been telling my mother that my relationship with God is between me and him and does not need an intermediary (church, mass, priest, etc.) for years. Slowly, I've figured out that my faith is less in some unknown guy in the sky and is more a core belief that everything is interconnected. My actions affect others. My actions affect the Earth. My actions and my attitude affect me and how I experience the world.

When I want to feel connected to something bigger than I, or when I want evidence that there is indeed something bigger in charge or that my faith in fate is not unfounded, I head for nature. I head for the woods. I head for the sea. I head for a mountain. Gimme a tree in bloom and my ability to sit under it any day over a hard wooden bench and speaking in monotone with 200 other people.

I have just recently learned that I am, therefore, a Pantheist. I was explaining that I don't really have a religion but believe in nature to my new supervisor, and he said, "Pantheism!" (He knows a lot of things, many obscure.) I then promptly forgot to look it up for a while until somehow it came up with my mom. And so I did a little research. And I found out I am indeed a Pantheist.

What Pantheists believe is basically summed up easily by the beginning of the Wikipedia entry for it: "Pantheism promotes the idea that God is better understood as a way of relating to nature and the Universe as a whole - all that was, is and shall be - rather than as a transcendent, mental, personal or creator entity. Pantheists thus do not believe in a personal, anthropomorphic or creator god. Although there are divergences within Pantheism, the central ideas found in almost all versions are the Cosmos as an all-encompassing unity and the "sacredness" of Nature."

Some of the Transcendentalists were Pantheists. You know, Thoreau, Emerson, Whitman. Those guys who sat in the woods and wrote stuff. Makes sense. Apparently, it was such an up and coming religion in their time, the Vatican got all threatened and issued the Syllabus of Errors to decry this and any other close iterations. (Fit throwers, those Catholics.) And so, Pantheism didn't move from a heyday into an actual day. There have been some other famous Pantheists, too: novelist D.H. Lawrence, scientist Albert Einstein, architect Frank Lloyd Wright and some other dudes I've never heard of. Apparently Avatar (a little movie recently) has been accused of being Pantheism-ish.

All I know, is that when I get off the ski lift and I start down the hill and I look around at the snow and the hills and the ice crystals, I know something's out there. And I believe in fate, and faith and the Universe's plan for me and I believe that what I do in synch with that, matters. I know that in the breath of the dogs as they race across the silent frozen lake in Maine, there is peace. I know that being a visitor under the ocean when I dive allows me to participate in the world of the fish and the animals and that seeing them interact (such as watching the shrimp and goby share a home) is because Earth says it is so and so it is. I know that in the early morning, in the silence as I canoe across the pond there is hope.

I can sit and look at a heron on the dock at my aunt & uncle's house in New Hampshire and wonder at its being and its shape and color in a way I don't wonder about much else. I believe all is linked and that we are all responsible to each other and to every being and that I am lucky the plants provide me with oxygen. I feel really light in the spring, when everything is blooming. It's all big and whole and a circle that creates energy and us and a system that sustains.

I'm pleased to have a name for this. This feeling I've had for a long while now. This motivation for asking someone to turn off the tap when they aren't using it. This desire to plant a garden and delight when it grows. This energy I have to spend time in nature. This strong belief in the Universe and it's plan for me, which I have the ability to help mold. Pantheism.

Musings Brought on by Ash Clouds

I am meant to fly to Reykjavik next Friday night.

There is a giant ash cloud from the recent eruption of Eyjafjallajökull about 75 miles outside of Reykjavik.

There's no imminent danger in Iceland, really. Assuming that Katla doesn't blow.

If I were trying to go to Europe, I'd be SOL. Since all the air space is shut. The cloud is hovering over Europe and slowly moving eastwards. It is made up of rocks and glass and shit that, if it got into a plane engine, would destroy it.

I'm not linking to any news story because every single one says something different. Nobody really knows what is going to happen with this volcano or Katla or anything really. Because it's the Earth. And nobody can ever figure out what it is going to do next.

Apparently, tourists and scientists alike are hanging out looking at the volcano.

When this volcano last blew in 1821, it kept erupting for over a year, until 1823. Woah.

In 1821, there was no air traffic to worry about. There are also only 320,000 people in Iceland right this minute, so there were probably far fewer in 1821.

I am not really worried about my trip to Iceland. Flights from the US are uninterrupted. Seems there's nothing really to worry about.

Dude, though. This is interesting.

Badass Bike Commuting

I have begun a new daily adventure which I absolutely love. (It's amazing, actually, how many things I try that I end up loving.)

I get up in the morning, and I go to fitcamp or to the gym or to the pool to swim or whatever. I bike to get there, in the dark, with my flashing red safety light on the back of my bike and my regular head-lamp wrapped around the front handlebars since I haven't invested in a front light yet. (That will be taken care of this weekend.)

After whatever workout I'm doing that morning (or, in yesterday's case, my extra hour of sleep!), I have a shower. Then I don what have become my spring biking clothes. These are the things I've discovered I like to ride my bike in - my long running/workout tights and a t-shirt with my yellow light-weight LLBean anorak that I've had for a million years, and my Keens. (A word on Keens. They are the bomb. If you don't know what I'm talking about - check them out here. I got them years ago when they first hit the scene. My mother bought them for me for my birthday, saying "You want ugly shoes for your birthday?" Yup! Yesterday afternoon, a woman who I passed caught up to me at a light. She said, "Aren't they the best shoes to bike in?" as she glanced down at her own Keens. Totally.)

Then I pack my courier bag, which I've also had for years. (I got a stupid gift once at Gettysburg from my boss and was able to return it to the bookstore on the sly and get this bag instead. I've used it intermittently over the years and am thrilled that I own it now.) In the bag goes my regular purse stuff (wallet, keys, lip stuff, phone, vitamins, planner) and whatever clothes I'm going to wear at work (this week - a dress or skirt and top). Also packed is deoderant (although I need to get one of those to just leave at work) and make up (which for me is just base, mascara and an eye pencil). All of this doesn't weigh very much. (The first day I also had shoes, but I'm pretty much going to leave those at work from now on.)

I refill my water bottle, put on my helmet, and drag the bike from the front hall of my house (where it lives now, my upstairs neighbors finally giving me enough space to store it there so it doesn't have to live in my bedroom anymore). Pick it up, walk it down the front steps, and off I go.

The route is pretty great. I follow the Jamaicaway out of my 'hood and pick up the bike path that takes me through JP and Brookline and the Fenway along the Riverway, but in the woods. It dumps out at Park Drive/Landmark Center right by the Fenway T-stop. I turn left here and get on the road. Cross Beacon Street and around the corner to get into traffic to get to the BU Bridge. I'm about 15 minutes into the trip at this point.

The major intersection at Comm Ave by the BU Bridge is pretty crazy at rush hour, but there are always cops there. And the best part is that usually, we bikers can get in the front of all the cars at red lights, so when the light turns, we are the first across the whole mess. This takes some paying attention to start moving AS SOON as the light turns and to pedal hard to get through the intersection and not annoy too many cars. The BU Bridge is under perpetual construction and there are huge signs that say BIKES MAY USE ENTIRE LANE. So, I just join the line of cars as if I was one. Stop, start, stop, start. Then hang out at the red light afterwards, trying to get across Mem Drive to head into Cambridgeport.

I follow along for a short time and then take this awesome road called Putnam which a former boyfriend showed me a long time ago. I don't really know Cambridge all that well, but I'm pretty pleased I know about this road. First of all, hardly anyone is on it (I think they are all fighting it out on Mass Ave, which runs parallel a bit north of Putnam.) Secondly, it's quiet and pretty. There are a bunch of lights, but when you are a bike, you can cross a red if the pedestrian crossing light is on in your favor while the cars just sit there. There's a school along the way, and I love watching all the kiddies arriving - some in cars, some on bikes themselves, some walking along with Mom or Dad or whoever.

Putnam dumps out on Mass Ave just shy of Harvard Square. I am LOVING biking through Harvard Square. It's busy, but not crazy busy. I love that once again, I get to go to the front of the line of cars and then book it when the light turns to get around the little fake-rotary thing and off to the right to get back on Mass Ave. And GOD BLESS Cambridge, which has the best bike lanes ever. Clearly marked, and well positioned all along Mass Ave. So GREAT!

So onwards down Mass Ave and through Porter Square and then turn right to get to Elm and into Davis Square. Around the Square and up College Ave towards Tufts. Powderhouse Rotary is another awesome bit, as again I become like a car and enter the rotary like any of them and make my way around to the other side. (I love the looks I get from some of the cars - surprise that I'm actually riding in a rotary makes some of them just stop and wait for me - others just treat me like a car, looking for my signal of where I'm going to exit.)

The last bit sucks. A long, slow hill along Broadway until I hit Packard and then a more steep hill, albeit only for about 500 yards to the house I work in. Both directions of this commute involve hills right at the end, when I'm most tired and almost there. Ah, well. I have the motivation of almost being there to get me through the hills.

The whole trip is about 8.8 miles. Has consistently taken me 50 minutes, only 10 minutes more than my car commute. So far, the mornings have been cool and I arrive at work barely sweaty. A little bit, but nothing requiring a shower. Eventually, I'll need to shower when I get to work, which is fine - since I work in a house with a full bath on the third floor. Very convenient.

There are moments in the ride where my thighs are burning because of the effort required to get up a hill. Most of the hills I encounter are long rather than steep. I have no idea, being a new biker, which is harder. And there are moments when I have to stop for something and I take one leg off the pedal and place it on the ground to balance and I realize I'm shaking with exertion. And there are moments where I am totally out of breath. But this isn't a race, so I just take it easier for a short bit until I can breathe normally again. I am consistently passed by men. Sometimes I catch back up to them at a light or intersection, but they then blow me away again. There is no way for me to keep up with any man I've encountered so far. But other women? Them I usually pass.

This morning, when I arrived at work, a bunch of dudes were doing the landscaping around the house. I greeted them with "Buen dia!" and they responded in kind. I was out of breath from that aforementioned last hill and as I carried my bike up the stairs to the front porch to lock it up, one of the guys said "Cuanta millas?' ("How many miles?") And I said "Nueve" (9) and he said, "Nueve?!" And I felt like a badass.

Because you know what? I'm a badass. Let's just call a duck a duck, shall we? I-AM-A-BADASS. That's how I feel all the time now. Fitcamp makes me feel great and I love that I consistently work out and gain strength. But it doesn't really make me feel like a badass. But biking across the city, through 8 neighborhoods and towns for 50 minutes makes me feel badass. And I look forward to the ride home all day long. I can't wait to get back on my bike for the return trip. In the afternoon my muscles are tighter, not having had some pre-workout to warm me up, so the first mile or so is tough. But once I'm all warmed up, about when I get to the far side of Davis Square and make the turn to head out to Mass Ave, I'm good to go.

The plan is to ride to work as often as humanly possible from now until it's snowing or so cold that I'm shivering on the bike. There are a lot of people in Boston who commute year round on their bikes. I'm not sure I'm one of them. I suspect I'm not. But we shall see. There are days that I won't be able to bike to work - days when I have night commitments or somewhere to be right after work that's too far to bike to. This week, today is my last day biking because I have to work until 9p on Thursday and until 10p on Friday. I suppose I could ride home that late on my bike, but those are going to be long work days and I need the car for things happening on those days. And so. But next week, it's on again.

I cannot wait.

A Lifetime of Books

I would rather read than do almost anything else. Been that way since I was small.

I learned to read before I started kindergarten. I don't know how or why. Perhaps I was just ready for what my gut knew was going to be the best part of my life.

I have absolutely no way to estimate how many books I have read in my lifetime. I could guess, but I think I'd likely be way off. When I was in elementary school, and there was the summer reading program at the library, I was one of those kids that needed something like 8 sheets to keep track of them all. When going away for a week or more on vacation, my mother would take me to the library first so I could get 15 or so books to last me.

I read in trees. I read on the lawn. I read in bed. I read under the covers. I read in the middle of rooms with chaos ensuing, completely oblivious to it all. I read in the car. I read on planes. I still do all of these things. I can read while walking if necessary. I've even been known to read at red lights while driving if I'm at a particularly compelling part of a book.

I've read everything. I read fiction and nonfiction. I read stuff that was on the 10th grade curriculum list when I was in the 7th grade. I made time to read for pleasure all through college and grad school on top of my required reading. I have a penchant for disaster stories (floods, trepidatious adventures, natural disasters, man made disasters). I love sociology and anthropology - especially when it reads easily. I am on the constant hunt for the great contemporary novel, reading new stuff that comes out. I have a queue set up in my library account similar to my Netflix account. As soon as I read a review in Entertainment Weekly, The New Yorker, Time Magazine or the newspaper, I put it in my library queue, sometimes while the book is still marked "on order" by the library. Then I wait for it to get to my branch. I called once after not getting to the library quickly enough for a pick-up after getting my email notification and the librarian said "Oh, I know you're coming. No worries."

I love to learn from reading. If I can read a story or an account and really learn something new, I'm that much more pleased. I love good character development; I can do without a lot of scenery description (this is why I never finished Wicked although I loved the stage show - I don't care for that much description of the lands around Oz - get me to the story, Greg!). I love anything that makes me cry; tell a story to tug at my heartstrings and you've got me. I love (love, love!) a good children's book or young adult novel.

I am obsessive. If a book really matters to me, I will talk incessantly about it and badger others into reading it. Sometimes people are glad I've done this, other times they sort of cock their heads afterward and try to not be too mean about the fact that I've stolen time from their lives.

I write to (and now email) authors. The first I really remember was Nathan McCall about his book Makes Me Wanna Holler. It was a letter, since it was the early to mid-90s and I didn't have email. I write them mostly to say thank you. Once I wrote to Junot Diaz to find out about a reference he made to a short story in his book The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I once got in a fight with Jody Picoult about her reason for ending Handle With Care the way she did. Most of the time, authors respond back with lightening speed. It's pretty satisfying. I've gone to lots of readings, sometimes in intimate settings where I get to say hello afterward. I have a bit of hero worship for authors in general.

To go back to that guess, I'd venture to say this: I've been reading since I was 5. So that's 32 years. I think it might be safe to say I could average - over all those years - 40 books a year. So that's 1280 books to date. Is that a lot? A tiny little internet search just now found that there was an article in the late 80s that said the average American reads 1000 books in their lifetime. Then a dude responded to that and said that he keeps track and is at just under 4000 books read and he reads 2-3 a week and he's 49. So, I will use this (very scientific) information to say that my 1280 is pretty good. (I also think it might be conservative. It might be more accurate to estimate that I've read more like 45 or 48 a year.)

People often pose that question: would you rather be deaf or blind (if you had to pick one). I've always chosen deaf. People are always amazed. I always say that with deafness, independence is not a problem, but with being blind, it seems to me that one would really need to rely on others to live. I think though, the other reason is that if I were blind, reading would change so drastically, it would be hard for me to handle. That book in my hand, the words on the page, the speed with which I can get through the pages - to lose that would be real tragedy for me.

I have no interest in a Kindle. I love the heft of a book in my hands. I love the turning of a page. I love that books are company no matter what I'm doing. There's no line too long or wait to annoying as long as I've got my book in my bag - and I always do.

Gotta go now. Some more of Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell awaits!

Date Night

I went on a date last night. It was pretty spectacular. And it was pretty fancy. Involved dinner (it's Restaurant Week in Boston!) and then the theatre (the production of Stick Fly). No expense was spared. Dinner involved a cocktail and a coffee and dessert. Theatre ticket was bought late for one of the added shows for this sold out production and was not cheap. Treating like that feels great!

Who was this date with? Myself. Me. I.

I take myself on dates fairly often. They aren't always this swank, but they usually involve something really cool I read about or heard about. Sometimes I can't find someone else to care about whatever it is, but more often, it's just because I feel like doing something cool by myself. I've been doing this for a long time now.

I tried to remember this morning as I was thinking about this post if I did this in college. I can't remember. I don't think it was deliberate if I did. It was probably sad and pathetic when I couldn't find anyone to hang out with or when I was so tired out by the maintenance of friendship that I just needed a break. I know for sure it began when I left Boston for the first time to head to graduate school. I often spent time alone - at a coffee shop, out to dinner, at a movie - because I didn't have a lot of friends. I didn't know a lot of people when I first got anywhere and I've done that A LOT! I've arrived somewhere new without knowing anyone 6 times in my adult life. That's a lot of times to move somewhere and not know anyone. Sure, I had bosses and colleagues or what have you, but that's not the same.

As I've gotten older, I've chosen to do things alone more and more. I travel alone almost exclusively. I really love it. And usually, I'm alone for all of 42 seconds before I find people to spend time with wherever I am. I'm still in touch with a number of people I've met during trips (especially now because of Facebook).

My mother has often commented on this ability I have. She thought it was pretty weird for a while. Now she admires it, I think. She's often told other women she knows about how I do this (sometimes she has to -"Who is Karen going to Peru with?" must be answered with "Alone."). She had one woman tell her that she has to get food takeout and eat it at home because she could never eat alone in a restaurant. My brother once told me he feels so sorry for people eating alone in restaurants that it makes him want to cry.

I thought up a whole curriculum once for women specifically about how to enjoy yourself in a space alone and to gather power from it. It was going to be an 8 week class and participants would each week do something by themselves and then journal about it and talk about it in class. The "big" thing at the end was going to be individual for each person. For one it might be going out and sitting in a cafe alone for an hour or for another it might be going out to a nice dinner alone or the movies by herself. I never followed through. I should.

I LOVE doing stuff alone. LOVE it. I don't have to meet anyone or wonder where they are or worry about being late. I don't have to eat faster or slower. I don't have to worry about whether what I'm eating makes me look like a pig. (Not that I really care about that, anyway.) I don't have to make conversation or be entertaining. I can read a book or a magazine or look around wondering about the other people around me. I don't have to make decisions by group consensus. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. Set out to bike through the Emerald Necklace and end up in South Boston - great! No worries that someone else agreed to this under duress and is exhausted. It's only me!

Don't get me wrong. I also LOVE doing stuff with other people. I've got plenty of friends and they are of every variety. The ones who want to go dogsledding and winter camping and the ones who wouldn't dream of any such thing. The ones who are super low maintenance and the ones who need a little more planning. The ones who are single and can do whatever and the ones with kiddies who have to arrange stuff to find 2 hours. And I love them all and love being with them all.

And I really dig me. Last night's date was really wonderful. A three course meal, a few chapters of a new book, and an amazing theatre experience. I don't need more than that.

If the universe means for me to meet someone and finally have that partner who I long for, that'd be really great. And I'd love doing things with him. I'd revel in that, I'd think. But I know, beyond any shadow of any doubt that the man who chooses me will know that occasionally, I'll need to go on a date with myself. Because although I'll love him with all my heart, I will have to keep that other relationship going - that mistress on the side who needs attention and energy - me.

And if the universe means for me to not meet someone and to not have a regular partner to walk through the world with, it will've done its part making sure that I am equipped for that life. Because I am. I enjoy my own company enough to be forced into it for a long time to come.

I often end posts with a comment about how blessed I am. Don't you see why? Because here again I am. Blessed. I'll take it.

The Mayor's Hotline

I claim to be civically engaged. I vote. I volunteer. I read the community newspaper. I attend community events. I pay attention to the crime in my neighborhood. I give money when it's needed for causes I care about. Sometimes I wonder if I do enough.

Here's a story. You tell me, civic engagement or not?

I drive the same way every morning to work. It first involves getting out of my neighborhood, which is not readily accessible to a highway. (This, as a side note, is thanks to lots of other folks' own civic engagement in the 1980s to keep the Southwest Corridor Highway from running smack through the middle of some of the poorest and already marginalized neighborhoods in Boston.) So first it takes me 12 minutes to get from my house to the entrance to 93N. This entrance is at the intersection of Mass Ave and Melnea Cass Boulevard, a huge, very busy intersection near Boston City Hospital. Everyone trying to get on 93, North or South, ends up in a giant 4-lane road. Those going South peel off to the right about half way up this feeder road. Those going North stay on the road, going up a hill and around a very small bend in order to eventually take a hard left onto another feeder road that could take you to Downtown or South Boston, but has a left exit to gain entrance to 93N. At the top of this hill is a traffic light. This is because the crazy intersection where the traffic light is happens to also be where those coming off of 93N from the south must exit to get onto Mass Ave and Melnea Cass Boulevard (where I just came from). They have to exit, go straight and then take a hard left themselves to get where they are going. Sound confusing? That's because it is!

Although confusing, most morning commuters know what they are doing here and the light is timed well, and traffic keeps moving in both directions, rarely backing up very far.

Monday, March 15, day three of the crazy Nor'easter Monsoon. I arrive at the intersection of Melnea Cass Blvd and Mass Ave and see that the traffic going up the hill to the traffic light is worse than usual. This is weird, considering that there's been hardly any other traffic on my 12 minute commute from the 'hood to this point. I think a lot of people just stayed home that day because the flooding and storm were so bad. I slowly progress up the hill and then see the light is blinking red. In both directions.

And so now, folks, I enter the biggest game of chicken ever in traffic history. Those going straight have the advantage. They are coming straight and therefore it appears they have the right of way. But us left-takers, we have got to have a turn or eventually we will be backed up onto Mass Ave, and let me tell you, that would be none-too-pretty. The people who end up as the front cars on either side after a stream of the other lane has been going for a while must seriously have balls or grow some, because the fate of the rest of us lies upon their shoulders.

On Tuesday, when I arrived and the light was still flashing red in both directions I figured it must be broken because of some complication due to the storm. Makes sense, right?

Wednesday. Same deal. Okay. That's it. Time to do something. While I'm still half-way up the hill, I start trying to remember the Mayor's Hotline number. I know that the city offices exchange is 635 because of all my work with them during my Boston Cares days. So I try round numbers after that. 635-2000. 635-4000. Nothing. They just ring and ring. I remember that the Mayor doesn't let anyone have voicemail at City Hall (folks are supposed to answer their phones) and it's before 9. I try 635-4500. I get Massport. I tell him I'm trying to get the Mayor's Hotline. He says, "Oh, it's 635-3500." (He must get that a lot.)

So I call. And I get one Ms. Terri G, whose name I learned later. Also, at this point, I've completely forgotten that it is a city holiday in Boston. It's March 17. Most of the world knows this as St. Patrick's Day and nobody gets that off from work. But, it just so happens that on March 17, 1776, the British were driven from Boston following the Siege, so-called Evacuation Day. And city offices, schools, libraries, etc. in Boston are closed that day. Super convenient for a city full of Irish peeps. But I digress.

The woman who answers the Mayor's Hotline listens to my tale as I ask her who I need to talk to. She says she's not sure, so she patches me through on a three-way call to some department (I don't remember which) and I tell that dude my story while she stays on the line. When we determine it is the wrong place, she confirms with him what the right place is and then we hang up with him. She patches me through to the next place and waits while she listens to my story for a third time. Once we determine we've got the right people, she hangs up. I am assured by these people that my concern will be registered.

I call the Mayor's Hotline back again. I must get her name and thank her. This is the best customer service I've received practically ever. I thank her. I get her name. Now realizing it's a holiday, I thank her even more as she's clearly drawn the short straw at the Mayor's Office that day. (I refrain from making an ethnic joke since she tells me her name and I realize she's Italian - that's right, Irish peeps, stick the Italian with working on Evacuation Day. It was a coincidence, really!)

I got to work and went to the Mayor's Office page online and I emailed the Mayor a commendation for this woman as well as thank him in general for the Hotline. Super great idea. (I've used it before - got patched through to animal control one night at midnight when I drove into my street in the city and had to stop because there was a lurching, frothy-mouthed raccoon in the middle of the street.)

And today, folks? Today, Thursday, the light is fixed. No more blinking red. (The timing appears to be off, in favor of those going straight, but it could be that I was later driving to work today than usual.)

And so, is this civic engagement? Is my call to the Mayor's Hotline to change a problem in which I saw potential danger, definite annoyance and delay civic engagement?

I think so.

Vermont

I just finished up my requisite three weekends in Vermont for 2010. And as always, as I drove down the windy road through the woods headed for Route 30 and ultimately Route 91 in Brattleboro, I felt sad. I always feel sad when I leave Vermont. Been feeling it for about 25 years now.

I was raised by a village. Hillary knows what she's talking about, and my parents and their village made it work long before folks knew the phrase. My dad has a group of friends he first met at the pond house where he grew up with his grandparents, and they translated into ski friends. They began renting houses at Mount Snow, Vermont together in about 1965 or so. The mountain was still relatively new, and dad was one of the ones in college at the time. They kept renting together (different houses, always for the whole season) straight through till they got girlfriends, and wives, and the first round of children. I was in that first round, along with Tracy and Kristyn.

These same folks also continued to be pond people, too, so my exposure to them was year round. I know it was a conscious decision to choose to have us kids call the adults by their first names and to eliminate the formality that a Mr. or Mrs. or Dr. creates. They also decided the "Aunt" or "Uncle" that many kids grow up using for people not actually related to them was not what they wanted. And so I have a pseudo-parent I call Barbara, and one called Eddie and one called Charlie, and one called Renee, as well as some real Aunts and Uncles in the group - the list goes on - to go with my regular Mom and Dad.

And at some point, they decided they could all speak up and discipline us all. I posited to the group this past weekend that perhaps that was because Mom/Cheryl was one of the first to have kids and she was willing to discipline just about any child within a mile radius of her, and others followed suit. Nobody argued. However this got decided, it was a pretty great way to grow up.

And while I have only 2 siblings, I actually have about 15 people I would consider almost-siblings. Some of them I really like, others I have learned to stay an arm's length from - sort of like some real sibling relationships. We fought/fight, we cry and love and we talk to, annoy, yell at and bully each other with no holds barred. Just like real siblings.

At some point in the mid-70s, people started buying houses, having more kids, and slowly figuring out that skiing was expensive, especially with small kids, some of whom wanted no part of the whole thing. So they stopped renting a ski house. The pond continued, since all those houses were owned by grandparents or parents or aunts or uncles and were sort of free for the using. So I've never spent time in my 37 years out of touch with this group of people.

And then everyone got more stable financial lives, and taught their kids how to ski at Nashoba or somewhere else close to home. And we began renting again - in 1986. At the one of houses where they had rented before - the one where I had taken my first steps, in fact.

From 1986 through 1995, I participated. Every weekend through high school graduation; less frequently once I went to college. Then I moved to Maryland and LA, but they kept renting the same house together until 2000. (I'm the oldest kid with my sister being the next by a lot of years over the other kids.) I actually don't know why they stopped in 2000. There was a break for a few years. I think a number of the "First Generation" stopped skiing, and with fewer kids around, the novelty wore off.

For those 14 years, though, on any given weekend, there was between 8-10 adults and between 10-15 kids in that house. For a while when we were younger, each family had a room and we slept 5-up in a 12x12 room complete with Dad snoring like a buzzsaw. As the years progressed, we slowly migrated from our parents' rooms into the loft, a large furniture-less room at the top of the house. There were some fun nights in that loft. I distinctly remember one night when Dad, all 6'4" and 220 lbs of him, made his way up the stairs to the loft. We all had heard him coming and had lapsed into a stunned, breath-held silence. He was Dad to three of us, but he was Fred to the other 8 or 10 kids in that loft. I'm not sure who is scarier when he's annoyed, Dad or Fred, but we all knew the jig was up. When the curtains that acted as the door to the loft parted and my hulk of a bear of a Dad stood in the light coming through the plate glass windows behind him, it only took "BE QUIET!" for us to be all done. Dad/Fred doesn't get upset or involved in disciplining us all that often, but when he does, watch out. I think we were all asleep about 10 seconds after he left.

I spent two spring breaks during college in that house with friends. We stole more signs (from the mountain, homes around the valley, stores and restaurants) than we can count. People put cars in ditches on snowy nights, got stuck in the mud and rescued by the likes of Hans Mueller, and ate a lot of hot dogs. There were many hilarious drunken moments as well. Some by parents when they were quite young - before and after they were parents. Some by the "Second Generation" as we approached and passed legal age. Mom/Cheryl was Carol Bottom of the Barrel and I once had quite the evening involving Sunny Delight and vodka. One parent who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this post would climb up on a bar stool, plop a 30 pack next to him and make his way through it in a night. That same dude fell asleep once in his steak out to dinner and was mad the next day when we kids had eaten his doggie bag.

We learned to gamble. Skat, or 31 was always one game; for quarters at first and then dollars. Kids would arrive with cups full of change and be begging Butch before he had even finished unpacking the car for a game. I am a pretty good Blackjack player in Vegas because of my Vermont-based training. To this day, Skat is one of this group's favorite ways to pass 2 hours or so. And the last one standing walks with 30 or 36 or 14 dollars in ones, depending on how many people play. Great fun!

A word on money. The family we rented from all those years gave us some sort of deal, I've never known how much. And I know that one member of the group who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this post subsidized the rent for a number of years with help from his parents so we could all enjoy the house. And, one member of the group was able to secure drastically reduced ski passes for a number of years as well, so we could all ski for only $25 a pop. This, I know, is the main reason our family was able to participate. I owe a debt of gratitude to these folks for making this possible for me and my family. And I'm really glad my parents made sure we understood that we had guardian angels in the form of people who loved us enough to help out the group when needed.

When I returned to Boston in 2004, it was winter. I had been gone since 1995 and I had largely left skiing behind during those 9 years. I longed to ski again, with the folks I know best and associate with skiing. And so, that 4th of July, at the Pond, I said to the "Second Generation", "We should rent a house." And we took a pulse on who could afford such a thing. Kathleen wound up buying a house instead, and we all kicked in toward her mortgage. She only had that house for 2 seasons, but it was great while it lasted. After that, I did a season-long share with 19 strangers, and while it was a great winter, I missed my peeps.

The next year we did Killington for a change of pace and because my brother-in-law, who grew up skiing in Colorado, has a hard time enjoying the tiny Mount Snow. We had a great year that year too, but decided no Killington after that - it was a further drive and my sister and brother-in-law moved to Texas. We wanted others to join in; those who didn't want to do a season-long rental. And so, for the 2007-08 year, we gathered the same group back again and rented a place for 3 weekends. And this appears to be our new tradition, as we just finished up the third year of this.

I have to say, I love it. I get most weekends in the city in the winter, and everyone can afford to go in for one or two or three weekends. We've kept costs very low doing it this way. And when I announced my retirement last year as the house organizer, Fran stepped right up and took over.

I love Vermont. I relish every minute I get to spend there each year. And I love to ski. And now I love to snowshoe. I love when it snows, I don't mind when it doesn't. Even when it's -23 degrees and we can't go skiing, I still love being with that group of people in a house in Vermont. Oh, we have our ups and downs. We've had our bumps in the road. We've had to navigate unpleasant moments. But that's what families do.

Amazing thanks to the "First Generation" - the ones who started it. Who taught us how to ski, play pool, steal signs, drive in blizzards, skip lunch on the mountain in favor of the shorter lines when everyone else is in eating, drive in ski boots, play cards, drink, and make community dinners. Amazing thanks to the "Second Generation" of which I am the oldest regularly participating member. We've carried it on, brought our own traditions, and made time for each other and "the mountains" even when we didn't really have the money or the means. And here's to the "Third Generation" of which there are only two born so far (my counterpart, the oldest: Mia, and my niece Sonia). I hope that you too will be able to participate in something akin to what we have had.

It's not everyone who can tell their friends they were raised by a village. I get to tell people that. And I get to add that I still live and love in it every day. What a blessing.

The New Age of My Globe

UPDATE:

Well, so there you go. Nothing lasts for long, right? One of our students was admiring my globe and took on the challenge of dating it from memory. And of course, he notices that Israel is on it. AUGH! Israel wasn't so named until 1948.

So I do what I always do, which is to email the source: the company that made the globe. I sent them this about 10 days ago:

Hello there.

I got one of your 10" globes for my birthday from a friend. I spent some time figuring out how old it is and then came across your chart to be used to age globes.

My problem is that I had determined it was made sometime in late 1945 or early 1946 and then someone else had a spin around it and said it can't be that old because Israel is on it - named Israel, which didn't happen until 1948.

Ceylon, Baluchistan, Phillipine Islands, and Trans-Jordan are all on my globe, all of which had changed by 1948. Any idea why these 4 would be on there, but so would Israel be?

Also, my globe has Lithuanian SSR, Estonian SSR, and Latvian SSR on it, all three of which should have changed by 1940.

I"m super confused now.

If you're interested, I wrote a blog post about my adventure in aging my globe. I'd love to update it with some more information now that it's all been called into question.
http://karenadventures.blogspot.com/2010/01/globes.html

Thank you very much,

A happy globe owner in Boston, Karen

No response still! And here I thought it was so nice!

Today, I found this:

http://insidepublications.org/blogs/writinglife/2010/01/25/dating-a-globe/

This dude knows his stuff. Thanks, dude.

So now I'm the happy owner of a globe from 1949 instead of 1946. That's okay. It's still over 60!

The Age of My Globe

I got a globe for my birthday from my friend Sara. She got it at a little farm/antique store. I opened it from its paper bag wrapping and instantly fell in love.

First of all, it's small, only 10 inches in diameter. Second, it's this awesome faded blue color that I remember from the globes of my childhood. None of that fancy stuff they have now. Third, it has a super metal base and arm and on the top is a metal circle that moves with timezones on it so you can line it up and see what time it would be one place if it was another time in another place.

I, being the egghead* that I am, immediately took a quick spin to the legend and found that there is no publication date. Nothing. It tells me the diameter, and all the colors and symbols and their meanings. It tells me where it was produced (USA) and what company authorized it (Replogle Globes, Inc.) and where they are (Chicago). A quick search shows this company still alive and kicking in the Windy City. They began producing globes in 1930.

But, apparently, they didn't date the publication of each globe.

And so, with 5 beers in me at midnight with Sara on the couch trying to go to sleep to face her early morning and three children, I opened up Google and tried to figure it out. First thing I noticed, of course, was Siam. Well, this'll be easy! When did Siam become Thailand? So we looked. And it said 1939. Bingo! This globe is from before 1939. Wow, cool! But then something contradicted that. I don't even remember what. So we read the Siam/Thailand Wikipedia more closely. (Note: Wikipedia is a godsend. Not for citing in your research paper, but for anecdotal info like this, surely.) Ah! How about that? Siam became Thailand in 1939 and then went BACK to being Siam from 1945 through May 1949. And then it became Thailand again. That explained the contradiction.

Well, okay then. 1945-1949. Well, on this globe, Germany is whole. And it was split after WWII, in 1949 actually. So that doesn't help narrow it down. Tibet doesn't help. It's on this globe, but it wasn't taken by China till 1950. And Indonesia doesn't help either. It's on this globe as the Netherlands Indies, and it became Indonesia in 1949 as well.

That's where we finished and went to bed last Saturday night. And just yesterday, with a free moment at work, I decided to narrow it down further. The globe is on the front corner of my desk now, looking great. And so, here we go.

Nanking is on here, and it was only in use as the name of Nanjing until 1949. Big year, that one. But no help.

Wait, Korea! Korea helps. It's whole on here. When the heck was Korea whole? Before the Korean War I would imagine, right? A quick search finds it split in 1948. Narrower: 1945-1948.

Bangladesh! I don't see Bangladesh! (The fact that I'm even aware of Bangladesh is a direct result of working here at Tufts now, as this year's theme for the IGL is South Asia and I just happen to have booked two students tickets to Dhaka, Bangladesh in December!) That gets it a bit more narrowed down. It's not here on this globe and it was created in 1947 from part of India. So now we're down to 1945-1947.

Onward to Africa. Will this help? Djbouti doesn't. It didn't come along till the 1970s. Anglo-Egyptian Sudan was so-called until 1956. No help. Northern Rhodesia became Zambia in 1964, so no help there. Chad came into being in 1960 out of French Equatorial Africa, which is on my globe. Here is Dahomey, a sub-area on my globe, part of French West Africa, independent in 1960, now Benin. No help. Morocco, on my globe a part of French West Africa as well, achieved independence in 1956. I think Africa isn't going to help, since much of the movement there happened later than this globe was produced.

Back to Asia. Outer Mongolia is on here. A referendum was passed in October 1945 to recognize Outer Mongolia's independence from Inner Mongolia (China). So that puts us back in 1945 again, although this globe has to have been produced after October 1945 and that means likely in early 1946. So let's take a point for this one and say we've narrowed it down to 1946-1947. Pleasing. But I want a year. One year.

Alaska doesn't help. It became a territory in 1912 and is marked as such on my globe. Juneau is there, with a little star, but it has been the capital of Alaska since 1906. As a side note, I wasn't even sure Juneau was on the map it's written so small. And Anchorage isn't even on this globe. Apparently, before they were a state in 1959, we didn't really care about their major cities.

I spin aimlessly for a while. I check out South America and Central America and everything looks like I know it to be. I spin some more. Greenland is there, check. Iceland, check. A little piece of cardboard is missing at the top of the UK, blocking Northern Ireland. Oh well. Spin some more.

Hold on. Go back to Asia! I got it! I found it! On my globe, the Philippines are marked as Philippine Islands. They achieved independence following WWII and became the Philippines on July 4, 1946. Finally!

So there you go. This globe was produced between October 1945 and July 1946. A 9-month window. I'll take it! Very cool. A globe that is over 60 years old for my 37th birthday from a friend I've had for 22 years. What a treat. Thank you, Sara!

END NOTE: As I was just looking for an image of a globe that looks like mine, I came across this link. Jeez. Who knew? And hello! If they just printed the year on the legend, no need for that. On second thought, though, all this fun and this post wouldn't've been necessary, so I take that back. No image is good enough, so I'll just update this later with a photo of my actual globe.

*From above, next to the word "egghead": I am currently in love with Julia Child, having just finished her memoir and she loved this word. I am bringing it back!

Another New Year

Well folks, it's almost time for another new year. I can hardly believe it.

2009 was a bit of a struggle. But it also had brilliance and happiness in it. As I think about it - and I've been sort of peripherally thinking about it for a few days now - the good far outweighed the bad this year. Or maybe I'm feeling so great this week or month that I can't be bothered to even go back and worry about the hard parts.

This decade is being touted as one of the worst ever. No wonder, with Bush as president for 8 of the years. How could it not suck? And now that we're out of the single digits, we get to say the year easier again. Twenty ten. Much easier than Two Thousand and Nine. Someone on Facebook was wondering the other day what we call these 00 years. The Aughts. That's the answer. And now we are entering what, the Teens? Or the Tens?

Tonight I will attend the second year of my 'hood peeps getting together for poker played for random things. "I see your q-tip and I raise you a contact case." It was fun last year and I think it'll be fun again this year. I have quite the little stash of curious bits to bet with.

As always at this time of year, as Christmas winds down and New Year's hits, I start to think about my birthday. I'll be 37 in a mere 4 weeks. Holy crapola. I have no idea how the hell that happened. My 15th Reunion for college is in June. How have I been away from college for 15 years? I have lived more than half my life independent from my parents. I have been driving for more than 20 years. These silly milestones sill amaze me.

Things that were great about 2009:
- Getting fit. Finally and completely.
- Launching Never Cease Photography.
- Getting to know Sonia as a real little person.
- Starting a new job!
- Dogsledding for the first time (and winter camping too)!
- Another great trip - Turkey!
- Getting to share the joy of a new Cobbett's house.
- A new camera.
- A big garden!
- Finding Jackie, my trainer.

Goals (not resolutions) for 2010:
- Keep on keepin' on the fitness wagon.
- Take even better photos.
- Visit Kate and Todd in STL.
- Go to Houston when there's no event happening.
- Grow an even bigger garden.
- Take a summer course and think about fall courses.
- Buy a bike (! - I'm not entirely sure about this one!)

I hope 2010 proves to be pretty good. I have no reason to think it won't. Here's to another new year!

An Update

I meant to post this weeks ago and got sidetracked.

I clarified with my friend in the post below about his reasons for wanting marriage to remain between men and women only. His reasons are religious.

I respect that.

I wish it could be different for us as a society, but I respect those who have beliefs in religious marriage and want the sanctity of that to remain intact.

Some Emotions about Gay Marriage

I am bothered by gay marriage.

I have been really passionate about it for a long while now. Perhaps for the past 10 years. I was aware that gay people weren't able to marry and then happily moved back to Boston just months before Massachusetts legalized it in 2004. I worked on the campaign to save it when the opportunity to overturn it was offered to the voters of Massachusetts in 2006. I celebrated when that failed. I mourned when Californians lost the right in 2008 and I cheered for Iowa. I most recently mourned again about Maine.

I am not gay. I am not married. I would like to be married someday: I believe strongly in the idea of it. I don't want children, so for me, marriage has nothing to do with procreation. I believe in the separation of church and state - more than our government does, I think. I don't understand why the word "God" is on our money or why our President has to say "So help me God" when he is sworn in. I understand why the government chose to regulate something that is actually a religious institution; economics, inheritance, decision-making rights, etc. require it.

I think we made a mistake though. By adopting the word "marriage" when enacting laws, we chose a word that has different connotations for everyone. Instead of choosing a secular word, we went with the religious one. Now we're stuck with it. I have to go get a marriage license, even if I don't intend to be "married" in the religious sense; in a religious ceremony or in the eyes of a religious being. My religion is allowed to regulate who it marries based on their own rules, even if these are in opposition to laws of the government because marriage is a religious institution first (example: I cannot marry in the Catholic Church if I don't intend to have children; I cannot marry in the Catholic Church if I am divorced - neither of these restrictions are of concern to the U.S. government and I cannot "sue" the Church to force them to marry me.)

So now, we have semantics. Some hide behind reasoning that relies only on the definition (or connotation) of a word. Marriage. Those who "believe" that marriage is between one man and one woman choose that as their reason for why gay people should be denied equal legal partnership rights. They do not see any reason to have to have a more developed reason than that. It is what they believe and it is what is true and right and then, for them, the discussion is over.

Recently, I was caught by surprise by someone who I thought was in support of gay marriage who clarified that actually he isn't. He is for "civil unions" for gay people, but not marriage. I was floored. What? I asked why. I got the above answer largely based on semantics.

But it got worse. He offered up that gay people are fighting a losing battle they will never win and they should choose some alternative to fight for. If I was floored the first time, I was astounded at this. I asked if black people should've given up the civil rights fight early on, since it was clear they couldn't win and should've come up with some alternative form of equality to try for instead. This was declared to be a completely different argument. No, it isn't. It's exactly the same.

I offered up that women should definitely just have realized that college/university is for men. Women should've asked for some other type of educational system instead. Again, this was denied as anything remotely resembling the gay marriage argument.

I think the reason this person claims those other examples aren't the same is because then he is committing an "ism" with his gay marriage stand. Because if someone was or is against the racial civil rights movement, that makes them racist. If someone was or is against women going to college/university/work they are sexist. Clearly.

But if someone is against gay people marrying, they somehow don't have to be homophobic. They can just have it "be my opinion" or they can reach into some non-secular doctrine and support it that way. It's cowardly.

Heterosexual people are not at risk of anything by gay people having equal marriage rights. The same way that by a black person having equal rights to me, I as a white person cannot lose mine. Family values are not at further risk by gay marriage. Family values are already at risk enough by the behavior of heterosexual people. There's no way it can get worse.

Before writing this post, I read a number of essays on the topic, mostly from the "no gay marriage" side of the fence. I wanted to see if there was anything I was missing. Was there a compelling argument that I might actually agree with? Unsurprisingly, no. It was all the same either religious or fear-based bullshit I've heard before. Not one compelling argument.

Someone said to me recently that conservatives argue with facts and liberals argue with emotions, and this is why conservatives are so much more successful and logical. In the moment, I retorted something along the lines of being fine with that if it meant that I exhibit care for other human beings.

Another friend clarified further, though. She said conservatives believe they have facts because they form beliefs based on faith or economics or something they care about and they stay true to those beliefs regardless of circumstance. Liberals think openly, fluidly, and are always looking for a better answer. Conservatives see that as weak and flip-floppy and as an inability to make up our minds and therefore name it as emotion. This makes SO much sense to me. I already knew why I think conservatives are idiots - who would settle on a belief and then stay there regardless of evidence? But now I know why they think I'm an idiot. Who would take so many things into consideration and change their mind or wait for more info before forming an opinion?

I am so proud of the way I develop opinions. I am so proud of my openness and my ability to always see the next thing around the corner as a potential help to fix a problem. I am proud of my desire to help whoever needs it in whatever way I can; perhaps in a way I haven't even thought of yet. I have no need or desire to develop a set of "facts" and then hide behind them. I have no need to be afraid that by others receiving a bigger piece of "the pie" (or even a first piece of "the pie") that my piece might get smaller. I'll still have a piece.

Gay people deserve the exact same civil rights for partnership as heterosexual people. The U.S. government should not choose this group to back off on simply because religion is involved - because it isn't. We shouldn't be voting on this. Seriously - if men had voted on women's right to vote? I think we all know what the outcome would've been. If we had voted on the desegregation of schools? Yeah, that too. We need a Supreme Court case or a federal statute or something that stops all this nonsense and just grants rights to Americans, the same way we've been doing for a while now. Why have we changed the game?

In our history, we have had affirmative action to ensure people of color were, in practice, afforded the rights the government gave them legally. We had to enact a law to give girls equality in sports programs and we still have athletic directors who begrudgingly create the girls rugby team under Title IX in order to get funding for the boys team (and the Winter Olympics still have one sport that does not allow women to compete and that's being fought now since it goes against Canadian law where the winter Olympics, including ski jumping, will happen in 2010). We have yet to adopt the damn ERA, which was introduced in 1923 and ran out in 1982 and failed to be ratified.

I ask for those hiding behind semantics and fear to own your cowardice and just stop. Think for a moment if you, for some reason, couldn't have all the rights you are currently allowed by our government - supposedly one of the best and the most free in the world. Think for a moment whether there really is a threat to you.

Support your neighbors, your friends, your relatives, your co-workers, your service providers and strangers. Because even if you think you don't know any gay people - you do. Perhaps they are just not telling you who they are because you've been so clear about how you think of them. As lesser than you.

The Post-Turkey Blog-Post

Turkey. What an amazing country. What an amazing trip. And how lazy I was about blogging. I journaled a fair bit though, which for my past two trips I didn't do because of the blogging. So there you go. I don't pick the method - it seems to choose me.

I won't bore you with chronological details. Rough itenerary was Istanbul, Goreme in Cappadocia, Pamukkale, Selcuk and Ephesus, Canakkale/Eceabat, and back to Istanbul. 40 hours total on buses. Three nights accommodation saved on night travel. Seven nights total in one of the coolest cities I've ever been to: Istanbul. 8 nights elsewhere.

Two visits to ancient city ruins (Heirapolis and Efes - I skipped Troy). One hike up a hill to watch 30 hotair balloons. One hike up a mountain barefoot over calcium carbonate deposits. Two plus nights spent smoking nargile (flavored water pipe). Three American travel companions. One BBQ on a rooftop terrace in Istanbul. One night of major Raki drinking (Turkish anise alcohol). Countless tuvka sis (chicken shish) eaten. One series of backgammon with a skeevy Turkish dude in Selcuk and one with a good friend in Istanbul. Visits to 4 or 5 mosques. Approximately 80 calls to prayer heard in 5 cities and towns. Two pieces of local jewelry purchased. Countless flirtatous Turkish men - one of whom got the flirting returned.

Five bodies of water (Bosphorus Strait, Sea of Mamaras, Black Sea, Golden Horn and the Dardenelles). One pair of shoes packed that I never wore! One lost article of clothing - my favorite brown sweater/jacket/duster thingy - left on the bus in Denzili when changing for Pamukkale at 5:15 in the morning. 5 books read. Many Efes (the local beer named after the most famous ancient city) drunk. About 200 YTL (Turkish Lira) (about $130) spent getting into sites, attractions and museums. One load of laundry done. Two pair of underwear bought to avoid having to do laundry again!

Countless cups of cay (tea) drunk with two sugar cubes each time (more refined sugar than I've had in probably two years!). One slightly hungover day spent sightseeing. One Turkish daylight savings time observed. 45 minutes spent humoring the carpet-salesman guy explaining the history and making of kilims to me without buying anything (I told him I wasn't going to from the start). Approximately 42,000 older Europeans and Americans paths' crossed in Topaki Palace and Ephesus combined from cruise ship trips. One motorbike ridden on while wearing my pack because I didn't understand the hotel owner and was randomly standing in the street when I really belonged 100 yards down at the bus company place! Repeatedly awakened on the trip from Istanbul to Goreme by the woman next to me trying to ask me questions in Turkish and offer me food - nice, but I'm sleeping here!

Many jetons bought (small blue plastic tokens used for the metro system). Repeated amazement of the systems in Turkey: buy your ticket at any site, stick it in the turnstile reader, an automated voice says "Please Pass" and you walk through the turnstile. This was especially interesting when the turnstile was outdoors and after walking through you're in some holy ruin. EZPass on the highways and one of the most clean, efficient city lite rail tram systems I've ever seen.

178 YTL ($120) spent on bus fare. Approximately 20 YTL spent going to the bathroom. Most places you must pay between 50 kurus and 1 YTL to use the toilet. At least there's always paper and soap! A few Turkish words learned: merhaba-hello; teshakur ederim-thank you; bay/bayan-man/woman; tavuk-chicken; tuvalet-toilet; cay (said chi)-tea; tamam-okay/no worries; checheve-cheers!

Zero times my life was at risk (this is unusual as I usually think I might die at least once while travelling, usually transport related). One fresh squeezed pomegranate juice drunk (too bitter!), a few grapefruit juices drunk (delish!). Two nights spent sleeping in a fairy chimney, which come to find out is an ancient term because people from afar saw candlelight flickering and thought that humans couldn't be living in these stone turrets so it must be fairies. One scraped elbow suffered when stumbling out of aforementioned fairy chimney to descend the 14 steps to my shared bath in the middle of the night. Approximately 580 photos taken. Doner (schwarma) sandwiches eaten for only 1.5 YTL. Delish! 15 free Turkish breakfasts eaten (all rooms/hostels come with breakfast) consisting of cukes, feta cheese, tomatoes, boiled egg, bread, jam, honey, olives with tea or coffee. Way to many clothes packed! The comfort of sneakers as travelling shoes re-realized. Buses that serve drinks and snacks like on a plane!

Totally overwhelmedness in a bazaar like I've never been before. Two hellacious days of pouring down rain. One of the best dates of my life. More Christian/Jesus/Mary depicting mosaics and frescoes than I can count. Successful and mostly hassle-free shopping. Being known by name and I them, at one little bar/restaurant in Istanbul. Free towels, soap, breakfast and internet at every hotel/hostel I stayed at. Being in Istanbul on 29 October - Republic Day - celebrating the founding of modern Turkey (and modern it is)! Turkish yogurt (better than Greek).

Tons learned about WWI and Turkey. Left with a bag that weighed 27 lbs and am returning with 33 lbs. Not bad! One city bus trip navigated in a downpour - totally sucessfully! One trip up a tower to see the city from on high - one of my favorite things to do everywhere I go. Two obscene pastries eaten (one day after the other) as a rainy-day-in-Istanbul activity. One ancient hill-carved monastary visited. Orange tights purchased for 4 YTL. One very early shuttle bus to the airport to begin the journey home. 6 hour layover in London.

SUCH A GOOD TRIP.

Other thoughts that I think are important:

When I travel, I am a different person than I am at home. I'm calmer, I worry less. I go with the flow. I'm open and friendlier. I'm less opinionated. I listen better.

I need to adopt some of these things for my regular life, which it seems to me now is a misnomer anyway. For am I not a traveller in my life? Am I not discovering and learning every day? Should I not be as open in my day to day as I am when I am a foreigner? Should I not take in stride whatever happens in the way I am so willing to when I am away? Yes. The answer is a big yes.

Living in Thailand taught me to relax. Before my years of mai pen rai (no worries!) I didn't know how. I failed at relaxing, but now I do it well. It is time to take another lesson from the world and make it mine all the time. Because why do I travel if not to learn more and then integrate the lessons? Just to say I've been places? Not I. I want more.

And so, I will try to be more open at home. To look around more, not hurry to no where so much, to smile at people and be friendlier. I will try to worry less. I will attempt to stop living so comfortably with annoyance (one of my favorite defaults) and instead will take a moment to determine if energy could be better spent another way (my guess is yes). I will attempt to be more free of myself - of my own self-constraints that keep me from feeling all the time the way I feel when I travel.

Turkey's So Great, No Tıme to Blog

Just a little post to say that İ've obvıously decıded not to post from Turkey. I'll do a bıg trıp-roundup post when İ'm back statesıde.

Update about Missing Pants

It's here! The blog about missing pants. It's called Find Your Pants and it's the brainchild of one of my illustrious Boston Cares co-workers.

She's collecting photos, so start snapping those missing pants chicks on the street and submit! Click here to check out her blog, called Find Your Pants!

You Forgot Your Pants

There is a disturbing phenomenon happening at the moment in fashion. People keep forgetting their pants.

I started noticing this last spring. Women on the streets of the city with what appeared to be shirts, with no pants or skirts. Some were button downs, like they stole them from their boyfriends or their dads, belted. Some were what looked like long t-shirts. Sometimes they were dresses that were shirt-sized. But each and every time, legs up to here and more often than not, a piece of butt now and then peeking out.

This summer, my parents and I were walking through the city and I pointed one out to my mom: "See that girl, she forgot her pants." My mother looked at the woman, looked at me and said, horrified "Oh my god, she did!" I laughed and explained the phenomenon. She was doubtful. But then the next one and the next one and the next one walked by. Each time, my mother pointed and stared. By the time she was getting on the T to go home, she was as disturbed as I was.

Let me clarify on age and size of these women. Varied. All over the map. Young and cute and small. Not-so-young, not so cute, not so small. Sometimes one would have tried to have sense by putting on tights or nylons (not leggings, mind you). This, while a valiant effort, often makes it worse. Now your ass cheek is peeking at me through purple nylon? This is supposed to be better?

Sitting down is always a challenge. On the T, crotch shots abound. What are these women thinking? Do I want to see your underwear? No, not really. And especially not at 7:30 a.m. And where are you going? To work or school? This hardly seems appropriate attire for either. If you want a bare ass at the club, fine, but I think your teachers and co-workers would appreciate a fully clothed person to show up.

Now, I'm a pretty conservative dresser, I'll admit. Not as conservative as some people (I'm considered in my family to be a little on the trendy side in comparison). But I cover up my bits. Fully. Maybe I'll show a little cleavage now and then, but boobs are not orifices. Stuff does not accidentally come out of them. (Graphic, I know, but seriously people!) I realize that I am not the best judge of what's hip or appropriate. I came of age during grunge, where we wore flannel and 4 layers and jeans with tights and big boots and long underwear under skirts. All our clothes were 2 sizes too big. I borrowed my dad's jeans in high school (he is 6'4" and weighed 215 at his skinniest) and his sweaters whenever he wasn't looking. I understand this. But this swing so far in the other direction is problematic, I think.

Boys aren't dressing like this. I don't ever see a guy out walking around with short shorts on. Or a dude with his package somehow highlighted for the world to check out. There is no equivalent to this for men. Women are expected to leave nothing to the imagination and walk around half naked (literally), but men are allowed to continue to wear cargo shorts hanging down to their mid-calves that are so baggy I can't even tell if they are fit or not. Let's not turn this into a feminism argument, but women continue to be objectified and objectify themselves through fashion. It's a problem.

My female co-workers, who are all far younger than I, agree with me. None of them would be caught in an outfit like this. They joke that they want to get stickers made up that say "This is where your pants should be" and then stick them on people's legs as a public service. I am pleased that there is this group I know who show me that it is not every woman who is willing to bear her ass in public. Because I'm certainly not going to any time soon (even though my ass is much smaller than it used to be these days).

So, women of the world. Put on some pants. Or a skirt. Anything on the bottom that covers up that half of you somewhat. Be risque if you like. I had a long, black, see-through skirt in college. I wore it with black tights. You could see my legs right through it. It was sexy and fun. But it wasn't obscene. There's a difference. The man who is checking you out on the street should be wondering what you look like under that cute dress you're wearing. He should be striving towards getting you out of it to enjoy his first look. But he doesn't have to do any of that, because he can see it all already, right there on the street. And then he goes home and masturbates to the vision. Hardly romantic.

Start a movement. Get some pants.

Homelessness Awareness Month

Feeding America is asking bloggers to post in the month of September about Homelessness Awareness Month. Since I am on the board of a soup kitchen in Boston, I thought I'd write about that.

The Friday Night Supper Program is in its 25th year of serving hungry and homeless people every Friday night in the basement of the Arlington Street Church. It was founded by the Church and Dignity Boston, a group of GLBT Catholics. It then became its own 501C3 nonprofit organization and has operated that way ever since. It has only two part-time employees and relies on volunteers to serve a nutritious meal to approximately 130 people each week. A Friday night has never been missed or cancelled, ever, in 25 years. Come rain, snow, hurricanes, holidays, power outages and more, Friday Night Supper is there.

The meal is served restaurant style. Guests begin with bread and butter and water on their tables and can go up to get coffee and juice and soup during the first hour. At 6 p.m., volunteers serve the meal to the guests at their tables, accommodating special requests for vegetarian options and other requests. As soon as the meal is served to everyone in the hall, the door is opened again to late comers, who receive a meal at the door as they come in. Dessert is also served to guests at their table at 6:30. Guests are welcome to spend time in the hall until 7 and then the hall closes so volunteers can clean up, sweep, mop, breakdown all the tables and chairs and do all the dishes. Without fail, all the volunteers leave by 7:30. It's like clockwork.

We serve guests who are homeless and those who live in subsidized housing or low-income housing. Some work, but many cannot for varied reasons. Some live only on disability or on social security. At the beginning of the month, our numbers are often lower, but come the end of the month, it can get very busy. On cold or rainy days, folks tend to stay longer in the hall, protected from the weather.

We also have a "Clothing Closet" which provides whatever we can to guests when we can. Clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, toiletries, and more are given out each week to folks with requests. Often, we cannot meet all the requests we get, and are constantly looking for donations. We always need men's things - we get about 90% male guests at the Program. If you have things to donate, let me know! Or, adopt FNSP for the holidays or for your birthday, and do a drive for us!

Homelessness is pretty horrible. Sleeping on the streets, on a bench, in an ATM vestibule are all risky, cold, and uncomfortable. People are homeless for lots of different reasons - many of them their own responsibilities, but many that are more luck of the draw than anything else. Undereducated, under resourced, under supported people struggle across the United States every day to be sure they can keep a roof over their heads.

Is running a soup kitchen solving the problem? Nope. It's not. We aren't doing any work at the root of the problem. We aren't working to change the source of the problem. But, for only $70,000 a year, we can serve about 7000 meals to people who can't wait for the system to catch up - because they are hungry right now.

Want to come volunteer with me? Let me know. You can come anytime! It's easy, fun, and rewarding.

And this month, when you walk past a homeless person, say hello. Or give the dude on the corner a dollar, even if you usually wouldn't. Or get your extras wrapped up at a meal and give it to someone who's asking on the street. Or, make a donation to a homelessness serving agency (FNSP!). Or volunteer. Before I served my first meal at FNSP in 2007, I had never worked in a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. I had no idea I would care so much. But I do. And you might too.

An Okay Spreadsheet

Life was not supposed to be this way. I'm not exactly certain what way it was supposed to be, but this isn't it.

I was looking forward to this weekend as I always look forward to a weekend during which I have nothing or almost nothing planned. My life is so busy and days or whole weekends with nothing in them are a blessing. These past few weeks have had me running, so knowing I had three whole days with nothing much to do had kept me going. And, as usual, this afternoon, seemingly from nowhere, I was hit with a bout of extreme loneliness, as I often am on three-day weekends during which I have nothing or almost nothing planned. A hideous Catch-22.

I have no idea how I have wound up in my late thirties and single. Absolutely no idea. It's as if it is calculus. That is how little idea I have about it. I don't know why this is my path, I don't know if I did something or a series of somethings to wind up here, I don't know if perhaps it is just fate.

I've learned quite a bit about Microsoft Excel over the past couple of weeks. (How did I get along this long without knowing the simplicity of formulas or that dragging a row that starts with "Monday" and "Tuesday" will autofill days of the week to infinity?) Tonight I was picturing my life like a spreadsheet with the bottom right "Total" cell being empty where "marriage" should be. All the experiences that supposedly lead to that are effected by some formula that adds up to it - in this spreadsheet. And then I am able to play around with scenarios, changing out a cell that says "Thailand" with a cell that says "staying put" or retyping a cell that says "Simmons" with a cell that says "URI" to see if the word "marriage" magically appears in that bottom right cell. But, even if I could have that grid on the screen, it's too late to change any of the cells. Time passed cannot be changed. It's wasted energy and wasted fantasy to even wonder about it.

It's been a good while since I thought about he-who-shall-not-be-named, and tonight I was besieged. A symptom of the loneliness of the three-day weekend, no doubt. I remembered, all of a sudden, that he knew he was being sent away on Army mobilization before he kissed me the first time. That he wooed me with great vigor, knowing all along that when he had me hooked he would then tell me he was leaving, pretending that he'd just learned it himself. How horrible. How really really horrible. The feeling of horror isn't as strong now as it was when I first came to know this nearly 8 months ago, but my disbelief is. It just sits on top of the pile of other disbelief I have. There are so many things I just cannot believe.

I cannot believe that I sleep alone each night. I cannot believe how long it has been since I had sex. I cannot believe that I am not allowed to care for someone as deeply as I wish to and have the capacity for. I cannot believe that nobody cares for me. (Friends and family do not enter into this equation.) I cannot believe that I wasted some number of years not caring about finding a partner. I cannot believe that still, today, I am very very shy and have a hard time engaging in conversations with men in many situations. I cannot believe that about half the time, I am rejected when I reach out to someone new and ask if they'd like to get a beer sometime. I cannot believe that more than half the time, when I do get a beer with someone, I find that I'd rather be talking to my roommate or reading a book than carrying on the conversation I am in. I cannot believe some of the people who I am connected to on FaceBook have found partners and I have not. I also cannot believe how rude that last statement is or how vehemently I feel it. I cannot believe how embarrassed I am sometimes to be like a broken record about my singleness to some of those around me. I cannot believe that both my siblings are married and both of my in-laws' siblings are either married or engaged. I just simply cannot believe any of it.

This disbelief is new. For a long while now, I've been actively engaged in looking for a partner. For him. Wherever he is. (I've always thought there are many "hims" who would be great for me, I use the singular for simplicity sake.) All these years that it hasn't worked, I've just thought I wasn't trying hard enough. Or perhaps I wasn't being forgiving enough. Or maybe I wasn't being charming enough. I always thought it was something fixable or make-able. Now I don't think that. I only know one other person who has tried this hard to find her partner, and she's now in a new relationship that I hope will work out for her. But everyone else? Not so much effort. (Don't get me wrong - the RELATIONSHIPS are effort - I know some folks with what I would consider an inordinate amount of relationship effort - but I mean the meeting part.) Why haven't I ridden up the chairlift with a guy who asks me out for a beer apres ski? Why didn't the guy in line at Chacarero that day - the one who I talked to the entire time about the Mango Mash soda I had chosen - ask me for my number? Why did the friend of a friend who I worked up the guts to email and ask out for a beer reject me so swiftly with a "no offense, but I'm not interested" response? I'm just not sure. Perhaps it IS me. Perhaps I'm like those people who audition on American Idol, whose family and friends should definitely have told them they cannot sing for shit. Maybe I am really not attractive and not good company and nobody ever tells me. It's possible. There's things I don't tell those in my life. Maybe everyone's been sparing my feelings for years.

All I know is that other people meet. And I seem not to meet anyone. I go through my days and nights, and I don't come across interesting people who are single. I am actively engaged in lots of things, and none of them bring me closer to anyone who I might end up loving. And so I go back to the disbelief.

Occasionally, I make a comment about how thankful I am to be single. Usually cheekily, in the wake of some idiocy someone's partner has done or said. And yes, it's nice to not have to ask anyone before I make plans or negotiate someone else's family on top of my own. But none of that, for me, is worth what it means I don't get. There are those who don't care about marriage; who see the single-person benefits as outweighing what one might get from a partner. I am not one of those people. I'm pretty sure all that compromise is most likely worth it in the end. Watching my parents for 36 years has led me to be this sure.

I've been very very scared for a while now that if I do end up alone for the long term, that it'll change me drastically in some way I cannot predict just yet. I cannot help but think that change will be negative. I work, though, to put support beams in place in the foundation of my life so that won't happen. I maintain friendships, I strive to be a very good aunt, I reach out to those who need help. I do all this because I care, but I also do it shore up my own dunes. To make sure that if I need the favor in reverse, it'll most likely be there. Because I might not have that person who HAS to be there for me, I need to fill up with people who would WANT to.

We singletons are not taken seriously sometimes. We don't have partners to drag us away, we don't have children to take up our time, some of us don't have houses to maintain. And so we are considered less than actually grown up. I feel this regularly. It is another thing I just cannot believe. How is it that someone who has been financially independent for 14 years, who put herself through graduate school, who travelled across the planet and back - how can this person not be fully adult? And yet, I am not. Now and then, I even treat myself that way.

As it often is when these kinds of thoughts enter my head, it is late right now. I cannot sleep. I am, 99% of the time, a very good sleeper. Yet, every six months or so the doubt-tapes begin playing and I can't make them stop. And tonight the result is this post. Perhaps before I make it go live, I should go back and re-read the few other posts about my alone-ness and make sure the broken-record tracks at least have a few different chords. I won't though. This is my story tonight, and so it shall be recorded. With a tiny bit of luck (and perhaps some more effort on my part), I'll re-read this the night before I am going to walk down the aisle and I'll laugh. Or I'll re-read it when I'm 66 and off to my brother's for Sunday dinner with his kids and his wife because I am the fun, single aunt who the kids can't wait to talk to, even though they are already graduated from college and one is engaged and I'll sigh for a moment, but of course, I'll be okay.

Because if there's one thing I always am, somehow, no matter what, it's okay. And that is what I assume is in that bottom right corner of the life spreadsheet right now, rather than it being empty - "okay".

Summer 2009

Me, Kelly, Ashley, Nikki, Becca, Allie and Youngmi during our AmeriCorps celebration trip to the Boston Harbor Islands, 2009.

Now a tradition, here is my 2009 "What I Did Over My Summer Vacation" Post.

-Went white water rafting in Maine - did my 2nd, 3rd, and 4th months of FitCamp (had to stop wearing my contacts in August because the sweat running into them was burning too much!) - trained to be a Civic Reflection Facilitator by the Project on Civic Reflection in Chicago - saw Away We Go with Maya Rudolph, John Krasinski, and Dave Eggers at the showing! - ran three 5Ks and one two-miler! - saw Kathy Griffin live - launched Never Cease Photography - met a cousin I'd never met before - was in the same room (albeit a giant conference center room) with Michelle Obama - visited San Francisco - ate lots of CSA veggies - grew zucchini, beans, radishes, cukes, basil, and lettuce - donated double red cells - spent another 4th of July at Cobbetts Pond - saw Michael Franti & Spearhead, twice - saw Goonies on the big screen at midnight - had an overnight in JP with the Clinton kids - said goodbye to 4 AmeriCorps staff members - and hello to 5 new ones - finally visited Burlington, Vermont - camped on the shore of Lake Champlain - went canoe/kayaking with mom and dad after getting rained out twice - presented a writing workshop to 6 little kids at 826Boston - went to a wedding in Kennebunkport, Maine, in which the groom promised during his vows to always love the bride, even if she was disfigured in a tragic shark attack - visited with the Dailey family - hosted my sister and niece for a sleepover at my house - went to 2 Sox games - got brand new $500 brakes - made 56 ounces of homemade pesto with the basil from my garden - was a First Thursdays artist in JP - thoroughly enjoyed myself as always!

Happy Labor Day Weekend!