Cesna 280s

i am in punta gorda, via maya island airlines, pictured here. this is the furthest southern town in all of belize.

the flight was harrowing. that's actually a lie as it was a totally calm flight without even any turbulance. we landed in three places during the flight. it's like a bus-plane. :) three take offs and three landings on airstrips that are as long as a typical american driveway and surrounded on three sides by water. i'll never be afraid to land at boston's logan aiport (surrounded by water as well) again. if i never fly in a tuna-can-airplane again it will be too soon. the older i get the more scared i am of flying. it sucks.

i am headed out tomorrow a.m. at 6am to the village of laguna. the dude here at nature's way guest house (who is older and american and has been in belize for i think 30 years plus) was one of the founder's of the ecotourism program. he recommended laguna specifically. i'll be back here on monday and then i'm headed north.

off to enjoy the sea breeze even though it's gotta be 100 degrees here and then to eat something. i haven't eaten since my scrambled eggs, tortilla and sausage breakfast on the beach this morning. life is tough.

Into the Jungle

I'm blowing this golf-cart filled, flip-flop wearing, dive-junkie town and heading south into the jungle tomorrow. Who knows what that will bring?

Hoping the rest of Belize is cheaper. Realizing I didn't bring enough cash. :)

Tan, tan, tan. I'll be brown till Thanksgiving!

Will post as soon as I'm able.

Lata.

Prices in San Pedro

This island is much more expensive than I'd planned on. The first day, I was shocked at the prices. Even though the Belize dollar is pegged to the U.S. dollar 2 to 1, prices seem to be inflated so they are roughly the same as what you'd pay in the U.S. for things.

Examples:
- t-shirt: $22 Belize dollars
- lobster: $54 Belize dollars
- coffee: $4 Belize dollars
- internet: $5 Belize dollars for 20 minutes

Thus, I've been eating very cheaply for breakfast and lunch and then eating a real dinner. Breakfast: a baked good at the bakery for $2BD and a cup of crappy coffee for $1.25BD. Lunch: rice and beans with stewed chicken (THE meal of Belize) for $7 or $8BD.

I've had some great dinners. Grouper, fish burritos, garlic shrimp potato, snapper, lobster fritters. And last night, my diving friends Susan and Brock who are from Denver and are aeronautical engineers for Lockheed Martin treated me to dinner. Very nice.

So, here's hopin' that once I hit the mainland and go into the jungle, prices drop. :) Hee hee.

Beer Prayer

Painted on the wall of Fido's (pronounced feed-doze -- get it?) in San Pedro, Ambergris Caye, Belize, Central America.

Our Lager
Who art in Barrels
Hallowed be thy Drink.

Thy will be drunk
(I will be drunk)
At home as in the Tavern.

Give us this day our foamy head
and forgive us our spillages
as we forgive those who spill
against us.

And lead us not into incarceration
but deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is the beer
the bitter and the lager
Forever and ever.
Barmen.

(read the post below this one, which is the real post for today!)

The Privelege of Diving

I was laying on a huge boat today, for 2 and a half hours, heading out to the Blue Hole, in the middle of the ocean. And I had a great day. I mean really really great. One of those days that you chalk up and say "Well, I can die happy now."

It started with dolphins entertaining the boat and a captain willing to slow down and chill so we could check them out. Tons of them.

The Blue Hole is incredible. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. First of all, you can't see it. It just looks like the rest of the ocean. Then, you drop down onto a sandy ledge at about 40 feet and then go over the edge and drop down into the abyss. At 130 feet (30m), there's still another 350 feet below you (350 feet! that is so deep) and huge, amazing stalagtites (or stalagmites, I don't know, the kind that hang DOWN, not point UP) all around. They are HUGE. The DiveMaster next to them showed us perspective. They are about 30-50 feet long. Just hanging down there underwater. The water was really clear, too.

I got bad narcosis/vertigo. I got this a few times when I lived in Thailand, and the result is, instead of the usual narcosis-euphoria, a quick on-set paranoia. I got nervous, my heart pounded out of my chest, I breathed heavy and I started having icky thoughts (panicky ones). So I ascended a few feet (literally about 4 or 5 feet) and it went away, just as it is supposed to.

The DM took us out away from the wall for a about 25 feet into the blue and there were the Caribbean Grey Reef Sharks. Tons of them. Seriously. About 10. Swimming all around us. It was super cool and sort of scary. A few were about 8 feet long and others were only about 5 feet. When we got back on the boat later, because it was low season and there weren't any other divers still in the water, the DMs fed them some fish off the side, and let me tell you, I'm glad nobody did that while we were still in the water, or I wouldn't be writing this right now.

Then we went to a World Heritage Site, the home of the Boobies (birds, all you dirty folks out there) and dropped off our snorkelers and went to the second dive. Very very cool. Amazing reef life. I've never seen anything like it. Some Muppet Show divers, but the fish knew exactly what they were doing. :)

Went back to the island, Half Moon Caye is its name, and ate a wicked lunch with coconut pie for dessert. Then we did the final dive at The Aquarium. That's the name of the site. With good reason. More fish than I've ever seen anywhere. Starfish, shrimp, conch, turtle at the end. It was absolutely glorious.

The staff were amazing. All Belizean. All really good. And so back to the privelege of diving, the title of this post.

I'm fine with the fact that diving is for the priveleged. It's expensive. Some things are. And I guess that's just a fact. Not everything is accessible to everyone. But what struck me when I got back to my room and showered and was sitting and thinking is this: all the staff of the diveshops here are Belizean. The DMs, the owners, the equipment folks, the boat captains. Everyone.

Then why did I convince myself for years that Thailand needed me to bring diving to their country and help their tourist industry? Because they did. I don't think your average (or even your relatively priveleged) Thai could afford the fees to learn to dive and learn to be a DM. So they are priced out of running their own diving industry. And PADI or NAUI certainly aren't going to drop fees to help locals, I don't think.

Belizeans, from what I can tell, can make this happen for themselves. The experience is better for the diver I think. Germans came to Thailand and learned to dive from a German. Americans could seek out another American to teach them. I learned a lot today about Belize and hurricanes and marine life and names of fish and how the barrier reef protects the islands; from someone who has lived here his entire life.

Not that heavy of a thought at the end of my amazing day. Just some awareness I've never had before. Glad it found me today.

Buceando

Diving!



By the numbers:

- 6 divers
- 2 nurse sharks
- 1 very nice Belizian Divemaster
- 1 very nice Belizian boat captain
- 80 feet deep
- 3 stingrays (2 of which were very big)
- 1 brown-spotted moray eel
- 1 baby boxfish (so cute!)
- 20+ huge-ass brown spotted grouper
- 2 fish who came along on the whole dive with us
- tons of awesome canyons and rocks covered in coral and fans
- 5 little bags of water (Crystal, the Belizian water company makes these little 10 oz bags of water. you bite the corner off and suck the water out. We decided they should make beer like that. In strips like bandaids. Then you just rip off a little bag of beer and go!)
- 10 more dives to look forward to! (Including 2 at the Blue Hole, pictured at the top of this post.) Woot!

Estoy aqui!

I'm here. Tiny little island. Looks and feels a lot like Koh Tao (where I lived in Thailand, for those of you joining the Karen Show in season 2 or 3 or whatever).

Flew on a tiny, itty-bitty little prop plane to get here. I hate flying, even in big, giant, reliable planes, so it was a test (especially after that little one recently crashed in Thailand).

The "airport" here on Ambergris Caye is an airstrip with a bunch of little huts clustered on one end. You get off the plane and walk to whatever hut belongs to the airline you flew in on. Yes, there is more than one airline...capitalism! Then, there's a little porch and a little wooden sign out in the "yard" off the porch that has"Baggage Claim" painted on it. The guys take the bags out of the plane (which I can only hope were strategic in their stowing to balance weight) and pull them over manually on a cart to the area between the sign and the porch. Then they unload the bags, handing them to you over the porch railing. This part I believe was due to the rain. I think that when it's not raining, you just go get them off the cart. They even had a tarp to cover them for the trip from the plane to the porch.

So yeah, it's raining, but the locals tell me that it just started today and it's been raining at night, but not during the day. Diving doesn't need sun, so I'm cool. Just talked to the dive school and I'm good to go for tomorrow a.m. I have to be there at 8:30. Woot!

According to the taxi driver, everyone speaks English and Spanish here. So that's good. After I asked, he said that he tries to speak English, but...and he faltered. So I finished his sentence, "Tu preferencia es espanol?" And he smiled and then the rest of our conversation was in Spanish. Very nice.

Once I actually have something interesting to report, I'll back. For now, I'm going wandering.

Besos.

Independencia

It is 9:05 p.m. The Sox are up 3 to 1 in the bottom of the 4th. I just parked my car in my new neighbor-friends' driveway two doors down. The taxi is coming at 4 a.m. I have traveller's checks, a full pack ready to go, reservations at a dive operator for a week, and no plans for my second week. I'm off!

I haven't been on a true travelling trip in a few years. Actually, I haven't just gone and figured it out when I got there since I came home from Asia in 2002. In early '04 I went on a Caribbean cruise. In Fall '04, Alaska. In Summer '05, Bolivia, and that was 2 weeks of homestay and Spanish school, totally organized. In early '06, Barcelona (didn't have solid plans for that one, but no plans to go anywhere other than that one city). Then Paraguay, which since it was Peace Corps, was obviously organized. Finally, Puerto Rico in January '06 for only 4 nights, one town, with a friend.

So the nervousness I felt this morning as I was getting all the last minute details ready to go is normal. Even though everyone thinks I'm all adventurous and risk-taking and bestows upon me all the bravery that goes with that, I'm not really.

I'm pretty psyched, though. I can't wait to dive and am holding my breath while still on land that I will get to dive! (Weather may still, in the end, work against me and everyone knows that you should never hold your breath while diving!) I am still up in the air about whether I'm going to Guatemala or not. It depends what the traveller so'o (gossip line) tells me about the election activity there. No matter what, though, I'll foray across the border to Tikal on a tour from San Ignacio in Belize. Then I can at least say I went. (BTW, San Ignacio was the name of the biggest town close to my site in Paraguay. Interesante, no?)

I also just read in my Lonely Planet and saw again in my National Geographic Traveller magazine about this cool ecotourism company in Belize where you go to a town, wait for the bus to a series of villages and then go stay in a small Mayan village for a night or two. 80% of the money goes directly to the village and only 20% to the overhead costs of the company. Very cool. I might be VERY up for that.

I will purchase the prize for the winner of the pool in my office regarding how many emails I will have on my work email when I return. After 10 work days, 6 weekend days and one holiday day away, the guesses range from 397 to 540 and one savvy person went with "1" since the rule is "closest without going over." I will take care to choose a very good prize for the winner.

I love to travel. The signature quote on my email is from Eat Pray Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. It says:

"I am loyal and constant in my love for travel, as I have not always been loyal and constant in my other loves. I feel about travel the way a happy new mother feels about her impossible, colicky, restless newborn baby - I just don't care what it puts me through. Because I adore it. Because it's mine. Because it looks exactly like me. It can barf all over me if it wants to - I just don't care."

Yup. And that's why I go. There is nothing like independent travel. Nothing.

Are you .... than a 5th Grader?

Fifth Graders in the U.S. are 10. Approximately. We have all been treated to Jeff Foxworthy on Fox since February on this show where adult contestants have to answer questions that any American 5th Grader knows. It's annoying. (And amazingly enough, has already been replicated in Australia, beginning this month.)

The question I ask myself is not if I am smarter than your average 5th Grader, but whether I can compete with them in other ways. I am inspired to write this post given what just happened to me at the Government Center Plaza farmer's market. Read on.

1. Am I a Better Flirter than a 5th Grader?
I'd venture to say "no" to this one. 10-year-olds are notoriously interested in the world around them and willing to talk to people to learn more about whatever's going on. Not only that, but they are still young enough to be cute and charming and old enough to know how to manipulate the person they are talking to into giving them what they want. Further, they are full of confidence. They haven't crossed over to the "am I good enough, cute enough, blah blah crap" that hinders our ability to organically interact with other people. Now, I realize it probably isn't all that appropriate to call this flirting, especially when the participants are one 10-year-old and one adult, but fast forward it 20 years and it's flirting. And they'd kick my ass. Boys and girls.

2. Am I in Better Control of my Body than a 5th Grader?
A dead tie. I fall down. Regularly. When I'm just walking down the street, sometimes. I trip over things that aren't there. I walk into poles, corners, and doors. I bump my head. I hit things with my bag when I'm carrying one. I drop stuff. I had this problem when I was young, as many 10-year-olds do. They aren't totally aware of their size or their surroundings, they don't pay enough attention, and they are usually growing so fast, that as soon as they get used to their body, it changes again. Most people grow out of it. I apparently haven't. I fell today on nothing on the sidewalk at the aforementioned farmer's market. I don't even really get that embarrassed anymore, I'm so used to it. So now, I can add "totally scraped up knee" to the long list of injuries and scars I've added to my body just in the past year. It's amazing.

3. Do I Need Less Sleep than a 5th Grader?
Not really. I am a bit of a disaster when I don't get my 8 hours. Most 5th graders need tons of sleep -- you know the whole growing, learning thing is tiring. I haven't really gotten the reprieve that was supposed to come with age.

4. Do I Rely Less on my Parents than a 5th Grader?
Well, obviously, yes. But not really. I think some 5th Graders, if given the choice and the ability to earn their own money to feed and house themselves, might do better than I at this one. I really dig my parents. I like spending time with them, like talking to them, and feel like it's my duty to help them out when they need it. I talk to my mother almost every day. Pretty sure most 5th graders would rather die than admit what I just wrote.

5. Can I Do my Hair and Makeup Better than a 5th Grader?
No. And this one is even more humiliating given the fact that most 5th Graders number 1, don't wear makeup (I hope.) and number 2, don't usually do their own hair. But, I'd venture to guess that if they did, they would do it better than I. My makeup is usually either gone or all over my face my noon. More than half the time, I pull my hair up because I can't deal with actually doing it. I'm too old to lose this one, but I think I would.

6. Do I Get Along with my Siblings better than a 5th Grader?
Yes. Big yes. Most 5th Graders are usually trying to kill a sibling while their parents aren't looking. This is the game show for me. I'd win this one. I love my siblings and they love me. We fight, sure, but they are adult fights (with an occasional carry-over from childhood thrown in). We don't give each other noogies or wedgies and we don't pour stuff in each others' beds. We know better than to run to a parent to rat out another. We understand how sacred our relationships are.

So there you go. I'd win one stand off against a bunch of 5th Graders, and that one is largely due to perspective. I've always harbored a secret desire to go back to being 8 or 10. Apparently, I've maintained enough characteristics of someone this age that I don't have to go back. I'll just carry on!

Summer 2007

the "Karen B", a lobster-boat at Spectacle Island in Boston Harbor









What I did this summer...

- planted a garden - had a visit from a Peace Corps friend - celebrated 5 cousins' and friends' graduations - helped save gay marriage in MA - hosted brunch for my family at my new apartment - celebrated my sister's 10 year college reunion with her and her friends - got involved with Jamaica Plain's neighborhood group, Neighbors for Neighbors - went to LA to visit - published an article on a dating blog, and got paid! - hired 5 new staff members at work - saw the author of two of my favorite non-fiction books (Shadow Divers and Crashing Through) speak - got drunk in Nashua - went canoeing with my brother, his girlfriend and her Pug - had dinner at new friends' apartment and then hosted them for dinner - did laundry in a laundromat for the first time in years - visited Martha's Vineyard overnight and stayed at the hostel - saw an amazing show at ImprovBoston - was published twice in the new BostonNOW free daily paper - saw three Sox games at Fenway - participated in the 2-mile road race before the Chelmsford 4th of July Parade - froze to death on the 4th in the wind and rain that night - saw the 16 Tiffany's windows in Arlington Street Church, which I didn't even know were there - was interviewed on Armchair Traveller, my friend's radio show in Worcester - saw the Hopper exhibit at the MFA - went to three WBOS concerts on Copley - started volunteering at the Friday Night Supper Program - went to the sand castle festival at Revere Beach - volunteered at the Nametag Project event at Fenway Park - visited NYC to visit my sister and her husband with my brother and his girlfriend and then met up with her brother who lives in the city - had an ultrasound - went on a moonlight canoe trip on the Charles - made my signature guacamole twice for parties -found a financial planner - kayaked on Squam Lake in NH - spent the day on Block Island - went to a concert in Christopher Columbus Park downtown - was one of the artists for First Thursdays art exhibits in JP - went to Atlanta for a training - went Ziplining in NH - learned how to transfer a photocopy to canvas using an acrylic medium - had dinner with a high school friend who I haven't seen since 2001 - babysat for my best friend's children - mowed my parents lawn for three weeks after goading them into firing their slacker high school mower-kid - stopped using the JP Library and moved over to the other JP branch, Connolly because the women at the JP branch are rude - went on a tour of Fenway Park - spent an entire weekend at my great-grandparents' (now my aunt and uncle's) cottage at Cobbett's Pond in NH - joined the board of directors of a small nonprofit organization - spent 8 hours out exploring the Boston Harbor Islands - participated in my street's Labor Day block party - read a lot of books - harvested more green beans than I can count, about 20 radishes, 4 cucumbers and a handful of tomatoes, all grown on my deck! - ate fried clams at Brown's in Seabrook - had a great summer!

A Letter to the T

Dear Tina,

I really want you to know what happened tonight on the 39. I was on the 39 bus and the back of the bus had number 1021 on it at 7:15 p.m. I got on at Copley Square, headed outbound for Forest Hills.

We stopped at the stop right before the Stop & Shop. The corner of Exeter Street and Huntington Ave. I was way in the back of the bus, and there was a long delay. I got up to see what was happening and saw the driver on her cell phone on the sidewalk. Outside the bus, there was a woman in a mechanical/electric wheelchair. I asked her what was going on. She told me the driver wouldn't pull the bus out a bit to lower the lift to let her on.

That corner has Huntington, and then a little side road that also cuts in there. The driver kept saying that she couldn't pull out into traffic. She told the woman she would have to go to the next stop, all the way down on the other end of the Pru where the duck boats load. The woman kept telling her that cars are always parked there and it's worse. The driver kept talking on her phone and refusing to lower the lift. The driver got back on the bus and got ready to drive away. The woman in the wheelchair began heading across the street and then came back and knocked on the door. I said to the driver "WHere do you want her to go, I'll walk with her." The driver ignored me and then left the bus again, and entered a yelling match with the woman, who was insisting that she could be picked up here and the driver telling her no.

At this point, I decided to get off and walk. I didn't want to be on a bus with a driver who didn't think it was her responsibility to pick up a disabled passenger at whatever stop they were at. A photographer came up at that point and took photos of the woman and the driver having words and then claimed he was from the Herald. When I walked away, he was kneeling down talking to the woman. God knows what'll be in the Herald.

It is bad enough that the T is so inaccessible to those who are disabled already. There are many many subway stations that are not accessible. It takes a lot longer for someone in a wheelchair to get somewhere in this city. And, fine. I know you are making improvements. But, people in wheelchairs should ALWAYS be able to enter a bus that is equipped with a lift. I don't see what anything (cut in the sidewalk, etc.) has to do with it. And they should not be asked to put themselves in harms way crossing streets or whatever to get on the bus. Bus stops should be RE-ASSESSED to ensure they are accessible.

That bus driver was ill equipped to deal with the situation. She blocked traffic, held up passengers and did not handle the situation well. She needs some sensitivity training, because not once did she apologize to the woman or try to explain the shortcomings of accessibility to her. She only said that she was trying to help her and that it wasn't going to happen, as if the woman's disability was an inconvienence to her and something to be fixed rather than her responsibility as a T employee to be accessible to all.

Thank you for listening.

Karen
Monthly pass holder

The Idiot Box

I've almost completely stopped watching TV. I never thought it possible. After years as a junkie, I've gone almost completely off the juice.

I am dedicated to only three shows, two of which won't start up again until January 2008 (Lost and The Amazing Race). The third begins in September (Grey's Anatomy). I am considering adding a fourth (Private Practice, the Grey's spin-off Kate Walsh vehicle), but we'll see how that goes.

Not having cable has partly precipitated this and it being summer and light out till 8 is responsible for the other part. I wish daylight savings would just get on the fast train outta here so we can have sun and no reason to turn on the tube.

Right now, I'm watching the end of Two and a Half Men, which is a stupid show that is actually funny. This is how they get us. Even when it's stupid, it's usually somewhat funny. This is the first time I've turned on the set in about 3 weeks or so. I'm turning it off.

Don't think I'm all high and mighty (like, you watch too much TV and I'm better because I don't engage in all that crappy stuff) since I paid $14 including parking to watch an extra-long Simpsons episode masquerading as a movie on Friday night.

So there you go.

This feeling I get....

Ever since I was small, when someone had come to visit and then left, I felt really sad (most of the time it was my Auntie Patti, since she was really the only person in my life that lived far away when I was small and would come to visit and then leave again). I remember distinctly, all through school, not being sure what the feeling was. I remember telling my mother I felt "weird" or "funny". I think it was a lack of understanding about what sadness felt like, since I lived a particularly charmed life and rarely felt sad.

This sadness has always manifested itself physically for me. It sits in my chest and rumbles in my belly. It makes my heart beat faster and it feels sort of like low-level flu. No wonder I never knew how to describe it to my mother. How does an 11-year-old describe an emotion that is rearing it's head physically?

As I got older, the feeling continued. Usually far worse when someone had been to visit me as opposed to the other way around. For whatever reason, when I visited others and then left to go back home (or visited home and left to go back to wherever I was living), the feeling was never as strong. I did that a lot in my 20s, since I lived far away from most family and friends for the better part of a decade. I think it was because I was going back, to where my life was, which I missed, and that made the sadness of leaving people I loved less pointed; less strong.

I begun have the feeling when I leave a place, too. Every weekend, when we, as a family, would travel to Vermont to ski, and then on Sundays head back home, I would have a twinge of that ever-growing-more-familiar feeling of sadness. I hated leaving Vermont and the friends and famiy who we spent time with there. Nobody lived there; everyone lived back where we did, so it wasn't the people I was mourning. I was sad about leaving Vermont and the snow and the relaxation. The sadness I feel driving home on Sundays from Vermont has strengthened as I've gotten older. My friend Kathleen understands this feeling because she gets it too. We will often say "I have that leaving-Vermont feeling" and each of us knows explicitly what that means.

I still hate this feeling - this sadness that pulls at me. My sister visited this weekend and stayed at my house in Boston. Since she lived with my parents close by Boston for 3 years leading up to getting married and has been in NJ this past year, I think this is the first time she's stayed over with me in a long long while. We've slept in the same place in that time, but not in my house. It was really nice. And when I left her off at the bus station at mid-day, the icky feeling enveloped me as I drove away. It's silly, since I will see her again next weekend when she and her husband come up for the weekend. I tried to talk myself out of it; I stopped at the SOWA Artisan fair to distract myself; but as I sit here and write this about 2 hours later, I still have the feeling in my gut.

I suppose I should be grateful. This feeling is a wonderful indicator for me of what is really important to me - of what I really love. It has given me information over time. I used to sign my emails home when I lived abroad "Love and Missing" because for me, loving someone in a closing is nice, but missing them is much more of a compliment.

I really enjoy having people come to visit. I welcome them with open arms, but I still have to prepare myself for when they leave and the bitter-sweet sadness that will come with it. When I forget to prepare, like this morning, it's harder to shake. I'm off myself today, on a trip to Atlanta for a training. Hopefully the hustle and bustle of that trip will distract me. I think it will.

Sicko

I went to see Michael Moore's latest installment, Sicko, on Friday night. True to form, at the Coolidge Corner Theatre (a non-profit theatre) at 10 p.m., the theatre was almost full.

Let me first say that I am a pretty big Moore fan. I have liked all his films, from Roger & Me to Bowling for Columbine to Farenheit 9/11. I haven't seen his two earlier films.

I understand that his "documentaries" are really commentaries. Those who say he is one-sided are, I believe, missing the point. He intends to be one-sided. He sets out to tell a story, using facts, from the side of the story he believes needs telling. On his website, he provides factual back up for the claims in his films and he has challenged others to find factual errors in his films. Occasionally, someone says they found a fact error and a whole brouhaha ensues. Whatever. We are fed misinformation every day in various forms. I think that those who complain that his films are one-sided just don't really want to see the side he is showing. They would prefer to not have to think about "it" (whatever the it is in each case).

I went to see Sicko the same way I see all Moore's films. I walk in assuming that I will agree with him and that I will cheer for his pokes at our government and that I will enjoy comradarie with those in the theatre with me (since most people who go are somewhat like-minded, even more so at the non-profit theatre in Brookline where I tend to see a lot of things). I also walked in assuming that I would be angry during the film and afterwards, as I usually am. Moore is not the only one who does this to me. Super Size Me and Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price both did it to me as well. I get all worked up over the injustice in the world and the things that our regulatory boards allow, etc. etc.

Usually I'm fine. Bowling for Columbine was hard to watch in parts, obviously, as was Farenheit 9/11. But this one made me cry. A lot. I think that my state of mind is different this time around because I feel such dispair about the war and the Bush Administration. Every time I turn around, some other atrocity is happening (Bush pardons Libby, he vetos yet another effort to end this "war", some Republican yells on the floor at all the Democrats who are "only trying to end the 'war' in an effort to make a political statement" (what?), and another teen is killed in Boston in a senseless homicide). I've been overwhelmed for a while now, counting the days until this Administration is gone (wearing my 01.20.09 button proudly on my bag), thinking that once it's out, all our troubles will be fixed. This, of course, is the delusion that we Democrats have created to help us deal with the delusions that are being baraged at us daily. We are probably in for a lot of surprise and frustration come '09 and '10 and more.

But I digress. I am someone who has stated, in public, often, that I would gladly pay much higher taxes a la Sweden or France if I knew that everyone was getting health care and everyone was getting college paid for and everyone was getting support. I am a Democratic Socialist and have been as long as I can remember. So, watching Moore talk to Canadians, and French, and British folks about their socialized medicine and education was tough. Then he talked to ex-pat Americans in France and that was even harder. It made me want to defect. To leave. To go live in one of those places where I can participate in this kind of system.

Moore, in a very Moore-like move, gathers a bunch of people who are suffering from ailments and can't get their insurance to cover what they need, and takes them on a boat from Miami to Cuba. He tries to get them into Guantanamo, where detainees get better health care than your average HMO covered American does, and when that fails, ends up in a Cuban hospital. Since three of his bretheren are 9/11 volunteers suffering from ailments caused by the smoke and rubble, the emotional capital is clear. But the care these folks received in Cuba, that's what made me cry. I don't care if the whole thing was staged for the movie. I don't care if they paid off the doctors there to see these folks to make a point. What I care about is that Cuba has fine medical equipment, fine doctors who know what they are doing, physician training programs (there were 4 young Paraguayans from my town in Py who were studying in Cuba for free and then were coming home to Py to be doctors), and one of the lowest instances of HIV infection (.1%) in the world.

Go ahead, make your points about Fidel and how Cubans' lives are run by the Government and goddamn it, I'd rather be free! Go ahead. I won't try to stop you. But I will point out that I'd take it. Who cares if the government has control over some things? They already control enough. If it meant that I knew that even if I left my job I'd still have healthcare and that the family down the street whose Dad just got laid off doesn't have to worry about losing their house because Billy just broke his arm, I'd take it.

Go ahead, talk crap about the French. Talk about how they don't like us. Got anything else? I didn't think so.

Go ahead, talk about how our privatized medicine means that we have a longer life expectancy. I'd say: France, Sweden, Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom all have higher life expectancies than we do and they all have socialized medicine.

Go ahead, say how we innovate more than other people. That we invent more. That our education system is amazing. That we can earn more money and live easier, cusher lives than anyone else on the planet. Okay. Then tell me who gets to do those things. The rich and sometimes the middle-class. Nobody else. The split between the rich and poor in this country is getting bigger and bigger each year. The cycle of poverty is reaching unbreakable proportions. Privelege is a requirement to get anywhere in this country, increasingly.

Wow. I think I'll step down off my soapbox now (even though it is a borrowed soapbox since even I, with my two degrees and middle-class upbringing, can't afford my own) and finish up.

Watch Sicko. Read A Thousand Splendid Suns (to learn about civilians in Afganistan and why bombing the hell out of a country for their government's policies isn't always a good and fair and just idea). Stop watching Fox News. Listen to the BBC on your local National Public Radio (NPR) station. Let's stop letting the government scare us. And as Moore said in the film, "Why aren't we taking care of each other?" Let's take care of each other in whatever way we can each day.

Let the Wonder Never Cease

I have been talking non-stop about my green beans. They are growing like crazy. Here are some highlights of what silliness has ensued from them. One wouldn't think green beans could illicit silliness, but then one would be wrong.

1. My parents had a discussion they then told me about about how great it is to have a daughter who is so amazed by small things. Great, I said, you had a discussion about how I'm small minded and possible mentally retarded?

2. My first harvest was 6 green beans. I told people about that. I hadn't continued to bore them with the harvest numbers for each day after that, so my brother-in-law at one point said "She's excited about 6 green beans." He thought I was an idiot for being so excited about only growing 6 green beans.

3. I brought a few in a baggie to share with family. My sister asked if they'd been washed (she's particular about these things). I lied and said yes. She found out the next day I lied. I figure nobody is spraying pesticides on my deck.

4. My dad said "I don't like raw green beans." I made him have a bite anyway. He then said "It would be great if it was cooked."

5. My brother's girlfriend took a bite and said "It tastes like dirt. Can we cook them?"

6. My mother found a sign (a gorgeous wooden, painted sign made in Minnesota) in a store in Perkins Cove, Maine that said "Let the Wonder Never Cease" and insisted on buying it for me as a housewarming gift. I moved in February and she bought me a coffee maker then. (She often makes up reasons to buy me things because she knows I can't allow her to buy me a $28 sign for no reason. She clearly needs to brush up on her bag of reasons to buy me presents if she's reaching back 5 months to my last apartment move.) I refused to let her buy it. She asked the guy who owned the store to get it down because I wouldn't help her and she is too short to have reached it. Long story long, it's hanging in my living room. It's great. I love it.

7. I had given my aunt a dinner together for Mother's Day. We were meant to do it while she was visiting over the 4th of July. Scheduling prevented the dinner. I couldn't figure out what to give her. So I gathered some beans, tied them with a ribbon, shellacked the hell out of it and told her it was a little bit of wonder. She loved it.

I hope everyone finds something as simple and beautiful as green beans to get excited about this summer.

Mantra: (Sanskrit) literally a 'sacred utterance'

Back in LA, in another life, eons ago, I and my friends developed a yearly mantra in lieu of resolutions to welcome the New Year. The one I remember best? "No Shame No Apologies" 1999's mantra. Since leaving LA, travelling the world, living in another country and recreating a life stateside, I have fallen, quite thoroughly, out of that habit. So thoroughly, in fact, that I had entirely forgotten about it until recently.

I've been thinking a lot lately about where I am in my life (as any reader of this blog knows) and have just owned the fact that I am often guilty of fighting the universe, fate, God, whatever you wish to call it. I often choose to invoke "the Universe" in these types of discussions, such as "I'm putting it out into the Universe," or in giving advice: "The Universe will help you in whatever way it can," or in my reasoning in making decisions, "The Universe will look out for me." This is simply a way of my invoking something bigger than I.

I adopted this wording back in 1997 or so when I first discovered The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. In this fantastic fable, the Brazilian author centers the boy's story around the idea that if you really want something, the Universe will conspire to help you get it in whatever way it can and that following your dreams and listening to your heart is important above all else.

I have made an effort to live a life based on this principle, and have succeeded in many ways. I have quit jobs, packed my bags, left unhappiness behind, bought plane tickets to Bolivia, pursued learning Spanish as an adult, been honest, spent time with children, emailed even when I was tired, and shared my life with many. I make good, mature decisions and I have had fantastic jobs, fulfilling experiences, and I am creative and alive.

I have also failed. I worry a lot, I don't have enough money to be truly free, I have negative message tapes that play regularly in my head telling me I am not good enough, thin enough, and my personality is too strong for anyone to truly love or tolerate me. I am careful in my interactions with other people to ensure I don't say or do anything to offend them. I hold back from acting as my real true self in front of new people in case they won't like me. I am told sometimes that I should do something different than I am doing by those who I'm sure mean well. I don't really feel like an adult some of the time because I am single and rent. I cannot maintain a romantic relationship -- or, in fact, even find one.

I recently placed myself on the DL, the disabled list, of dating. I was going to really spend the summer playing the game, walking the walk, dating anyone who wanted to go out. But when I assessed the first six or eight dates versus how I could be spending the summer playing outdoors, canoeing, travelling to NYC to visit my sister, visiting the Edward Hopper exhibit at the MFA, seeing Martha's Vineyard for the first time, Ziplining with friends and more it was a no-brainer. To say no to any of that and instead go on a date with a stranger wearing pants that are too short or who wants me to look at real estate on the first date would be stupid, I decided.

But then I beat myself up over that. How, I thought, will I find love and happiness without trying? Without controlling it? Without trolling two or three dating sites every day? How?

I took a moment to breathe and I thought of the Universe. It has gotten me everything else I've wanted. It's been there for me in Asia and seen me hired as a divemaster when they weren't really hiring. It was there to see me admitted into the best grad program in my field. It was there to find me a car in only 2 days after returning from the Peace Corps. It was there when I decided to enter the PC and when I decided to leave. It has rarely failed me. Why then, am I fighting it on this one? On the big one? On love? Perhaps there is a plan, larger than I, that I do not know about. Perhaps trusting more will serve me well.

And so, because I do not want to word a mantra negatively ("Don't fight the Universe") I have instead chosen to "Trust the Universe". Even though it isn't the New Year, it isn't the beginning of 2007, this will be my 2007 Mantra. When the negative tapes start playing, I will remind myself to Trust the Universe. When I am panicking because I haven't been on a date in a few weeks, I will remind myself to Trust the Universe. I will try not to control it so much. I will try to only look in my planner a couple times a day instead of every hour. I will not worry about who is sleeping at my house after the Red Sox game with cousins who are visiting because it just really doesn't matter. I will Trust the Universe.

This is not going to be easy. I might fail. As always, though, it's about the trying and if I really want it, I trust that the Universe will conspire to help me get it in whatever way it can.

Photo fun

Here are some photos I've taken recently. I'm having a great time playing with the camera and light and shadows and nature, especially.

I'm Published Elsewhere!

I found this great blog called The 15 Minute Dating Blog: True Dating Horror Stories and Tips from Real People. So I submitted. It went up today!

Check it out HERE.

Rolling for Autism

There are a group of Union College students (my cousin Lauren is one) who are working on fundraising for Autism. There is a group of them who, after graduation this Sunday, will embark on a rollerblading journey from Florida to Maine to raise money and awareness.

Check out their YOUTUBE video.

Log on to their WEBSITE for more information or to make a donation. They have a goal of $500,000.

Ways to know you are getting older...

1. Your knees hurt in the morning when you walk down the five flights of stairs to leave your apartment.
2. You notice more and more strands of grey/white/silver hair each week.
3. You think short skirts and short shorts are better left to the young.
4. You can't sleep past 7, even on a weekend, even if you were out drinking the night before.
5. Speaking of drinking, you just can't put them away like you used to, or if you do, you seriously pay for it the next day.
6. You cannot take a red-eye flight from the West Coast and go straight to work that morning and actually make it through the day.
7. You notice dust and dirt and grime in your kitchen, living room, bathroom like you never have before.
8. You read the real estate notices and think how nice it would be to own something.
9. You get excited because your radishes are growing.
10. You max out a ROTH IRA every year.