I remember going to the ring shop with my mom when I was little to get her wedding ring fixed. I remember realizing this was an important mission for her and I remember a quick moment of concern when she took off her wedding ring and handed it to the man at the shop and I thought something was wrong with my parent’s marriage. I remember going back to the ring shop with her to pick it up.
I remember the color emerald green.
She had it on her ring. She wore it in her clothes. She wore it in her big square earrings that went out of style way before she quit wearing them. But I never liked the color emerald green. My favorite color when I was little was white, until I was told that didn’t count. But white was clean and pretty and I thought it was the most beautiful color of all.
I saw something that was an emerald green today and I thought, ooh how pretty! And then I wondered, when did that switch occur?
I live in Color Country. That’s what they sometimes call it. Every color you can imagine can be found in the rocks or dirt or trees or wildflowers around here. When the Virgin River swells and curves, there are parts where you can’t even reach the bottom and you can tell because that part of the river turns a brilliant shade of emerald green. It sparkles like my mom’s ring. It’s beautiful.
We used to travel through Navajo nation on vacation through Arizona and we’d stop at the Navajo road-side stands and mom and I’d buy jewelry. I resented that they used so much turquoise because I didn’t like turquoise so I bought necklaces with juniper beads because they were brown instead. When my granddad died we each received something from his jewelry collection. My granddad loved turquoise. I have one of his turquoise rings from the Navajo and I turned it into a bracelet and it’s my favorite piece of jewelry. I never appreciated turquoise until then. Now it’s one of my favorite colors and there’s no better match than turquoise next to dusty brown skin.
I can’t imagine my life if I hadn’t taken the risks I’ve taken and gone the places I’ve gone. I wonder if my favorite color would still be white. It seems with each new adventure I add another color to my pallet and my world is already overwhelmingly colorful. Sometimes we can argue on whether a car is green or blue and assume the other person is color-blind. But the truth is, we’ve only seen color through our own lens and I don’t think we ever are seeing the same thing. Color is more powerful than just a label. With each passing experience, we own colors. We connect thoughts and memories and scents to them. And we’ll never see eye to eye and I think that’s beautiful.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
happiness
I made cinnamon Indian Frybread tonight and it was easier than grilled cheese.
I couldn't be more content.
I couldn't be more content.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
when Laura came to town
The past couple weeks, some strange things were happening in the park. Suddenly there were lots of local law enforcement coming in and out. And then there were these guys hanging out by park headquarters always rolling suitecases behind them, wearing bermuda shorts and hawaiian shirts, who smiled and waved as if they knew the place and knew exactly who you were. They dressed like tourists but they were so obviously not. Then we finally were told the big secret... Laura Bush was coming to the park. Secret service had been in and out, making preparations, for the past couple weeks atleast.
I so happened to be working the entrance station where she was scheduled to arrive. And she came, blew through my outbound lane in a convoy of toyota minivans. And that was it. Not too much excitement. But then, we were told to watch out for sketchy people. And I had this girl come through, with a slight tone of possible bitterness in her voice, she said, "You know why I'm here. There will probably be more like me." Totally just sounds like a groupee, or a fan, or wacky stalker type... not anything really dangerous. But I called her in anyway, mostly cause of the tone of her voice. Next thing I know, she had pulled into the private event and law enforcement quickly was on her. She played dumb tourist and asked where the shuttle was. Today I came into work and someone told me that she ended up on the news and turned out to be a Bush supporter. Why in the word the media jumped on this one, I have no clue.
Apparently Laura stuck around a couple days. Some people protested and though the thought of war makes me sick too, they make me sicker because they can't separate a good issue from a bad. She was in town to rededicate our nature center and I think it's good to just focus on that. My friend Lex says you can't be a dark cloud every day.
I liked that.
I so happened to be working the entrance station where she was scheduled to arrive. And she came, blew through my outbound lane in a convoy of toyota minivans. And that was it. Not too much excitement. But then, we were told to watch out for sketchy people. And I had this girl come through, with a slight tone of possible bitterness in her voice, she said, "You know why I'm here. There will probably be more like me." Totally just sounds like a groupee, or a fan, or wacky stalker type... not anything really dangerous. But I called her in anyway, mostly cause of the tone of her voice. Next thing I know, she had pulled into the private event and law enforcement quickly was on her. She played dumb tourist and asked where the shuttle was. Today I came into work and someone told me that she ended up on the news and turned out to be a Bush supporter. Why in the word the media jumped on this one, I have no clue.
Apparently Laura stuck around a couple days. Some people protested and though the thought of war makes me sick too, they make me sicker because they can't separate a good issue from a bad. She was in town to rededicate our nature center and I think it's good to just focus on that. My friend Lex says you can't be a dark cloud every day.
I liked that.
Friday, April 27, 2007
I amaze myself
Just when I thought that taking some extra vitamins was keeping my mind pretty straight, I do this. I was craving cinnamon...
I had an extra tube of crescent rolls in the fridge and got out my cinnamon and butter and found a random bag of white powder in the cupboard which I assumed was sugar. I spread the sugar and cinnamon all over the dough and rolled them up all cute and popped them in the oven...
I sat and salivated...
I couldn't wait for the rolls to cool off, I popped one into my mouth. Something tasted funny, but I couldn't figure it out. It kind of made me feel sick. I figured I should try another just to investigate this further. I gobbled down the second one, but really kind of hating it. Then, I couldn't believe it. I had a whole bunch of cinnamon rolls sitting there just begging to be eaten and I didn't think I could handle another one. They were making me kind of sick.
I looked over my ingredients again. I figured it was the butter I used. Must have been bad butter. For some reason, I kept overlooking the suspicious bag of white powder. Finally, after checking out the butter, my eyes fell on the white stuff. I stuck my tongue into the bag to taste it, expecting one great sugar rush.
Salt.
I had to do one of those hurry and rub your tongue to get all that crap off kind of gestures like my dad did when he accidently ate a dog breath mint.
I had an extra tube of crescent rolls in the fridge and got out my cinnamon and butter and found a random bag of white powder in the cupboard which I assumed was sugar. I spread the sugar and cinnamon all over the dough and rolled them up all cute and popped them in the oven...
I sat and salivated...
I couldn't wait for the rolls to cool off, I popped one into my mouth. Something tasted funny, but I couldn't figure it out. It kind of made me feel sick. I figured I should try another just to investigate this further. I gobbled down the second one, but really kind of hating it. Then, I couldn't believe it. I had a whole bunch of cinnamon rolls sitting there just begging to be eaten and I didn't think I could handle another one. They were making me kind of sick.
I looked over my ingredients again. I figured it was the butter I used. Must have been bad butter. For some reason, I kept overlooking the suspicious bag of white powder. Finally, after checking out the butter, my eyes fell on the white stuff. I stuck my tongue into the bag to taste it, expecting one great sugar rush.
Salt.
I had to do one of those hurry and rub your tongue to get all that crap off kind of gestures like my dad did when he accidently ate a dog breath mint.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
the greatest
I walked along surrounded by the cathedral of cliffs and suddenly the pine shot off into the sky. I looked up and asked which was greatest.
...then I knew, it was the three of us, together, in this place.
them there five-foot tumbleweeds
Today I was crossing a small creek as I was walking back from work and under the bridge was the most gigantic, mindblowing tumbleweed you could ever imagine. I mean, it was so big that it felt like a joke… like someone had hidden it here with a camara to watch how people reacted to it. It reminded me of those British comedy skits where the guy pulls out the four-foot long phone in public and tries to talk on it.
I started laughing as I lifted it up with my shoe to see how big it really was. I swear it was like five feet across. One giant tumbleweed. Well, as I lifted it to see it, the wind caught hold of it and it took off.
I heard it yell “Praise Jesus, I’m healed” as it leapt into the air and sped off ahead of me. It ran toward my home and I was trailing behind it laughing, hoping it wouldn’t hit anyone’s car or dog. And then it stopped. I was afraid we were playing some sort of game of tag and if I passed it, it would catch up with me on another gust of wind and knock me in the head, so I reached out and picked it up to move it off the road. Then I felt really silly walking down the road with a five-foot tumbleweed.
Apparently, I didn’t realize cause I’d never decided to touch one before… but tumbleweeds feel like a cactus, only maybe alittle worse. Because now my hands are full of about a hundred little yellow needles or pricker-like things. And where I dropped him off in the grass, tumbleweed immediately decided to go dance off across the road again anyway. So, all in vain. But atleast I will always be able to say, during those endless stretches of highway in Kansas and you have nothing to talk about except “Whoa, look at that tumbleweed!”… Now I’ll say, “But did you ever see one of them 5 footer ones? No? Well, I have.” And maybe I could make one out of concrete and post signs along a 70 mile stretch of highway telling people to pull off and see the “World’s Largest Tumbleweed!…and a 3-Legged Cow named Sue” (except I’ll say the cow fell and broke a hip and is in a cow treatment facility). And I’d put my attraction right next to the World’s Largest Prairie Dog and feed off it’s business, especially since he’s never open.
I started laughing as I lifted it up with my shoe to see how big it really was. I swear it was like five feet across. One giant tumbleweed. Well, as I lifted it to see it, the wind caught hold of it and it took off.
I heard it yell “Praise Jesus, I’m healed” as it leapt into the air and sped off ahead of me. It ran toward my home and I was trailing behind it laughing, hoping it wouldn’t hit anyone’s car or dog. And then it stopped. I was afraid we were playing some sort of game of tag and if I passed it, it would catch up with me on another gust of wind and knock me in the head, so I reached out and picked it up to move it off the road. Then I felt really silly walking down the road with a five-foot tumbleweed.
Apparently, I didn’t realize cause I’d never decided to touch one before… but tumbleweeds feel like a cactus, only maybe alittle worse. Because now my hands are full of about a hundred little yellow needles or pricker-like things. And where I dropped him off in the grass, tumbleweed immediately decided to go dance off across the road again anyway. So, all in vain. But atleast I will always be able to say, during those endless stretches of highway in Kansas and you have nothing to talk about except “Whoa, look at that tumbleweed!”… Now I’ll say, “But did you ever see one of them 5 footer ones? No? Well, I have.” And maybe I could make one out of concrete and post signs along a 70 mile stretch of highway telling people to pull off and see the “World’s Largest Tumbleweed!…and a 3-Legged Cow named Sue” (except I’ll say the cow fell and broke a hip and is in a cow treatment facility). And I’d put my attraction right next to the World’s Largest Prairie Dog and feed off it’s business, especially since he’s never open.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
my zion
Who knew two years later, I'd be sitting in my car back at this Best Western, stealing wireless internet, working the same job again, and most amazingly, that this computer Shawna gave me would still be alive!
A week ago, I turned a key and pushed through a heavy door and into the living room of my home for the next 7 months. Dropped my bags at my feet and finished unloading the car. It didn’t take long because I roadtripped with two other friends and their own luggage, so basically everything I own here was shoved into the hatchback trunk of my car.
I expected to be the last to arrive in this house, as work started the next day. But I soon learned from maintenance that I would be living here alone for the next month. My two housemates are seasonals for wildfire and they don’t need to arrive till May. I scouted out the bedrooms and immediately came face to face with Henry.
Henry got his name because I needed to put a friendly, happy spin on this unwelcome housemate. He’s a large spider with fangs that are visible from a few feet away, furry pale yellow legs with black feet, and when he spreads his legs out he’s the size of the palm of my hand. I remembered these guys from when I lived in Zion before. I don’t think they bite. I just think they’re kinda OCD as they scurry from room to room eating up all the spiders and gnats and ants that creep in, like little furry maids that actually love their job.
So it’s me and Henry here together. He follows me and watches me do laundry and cook my meals and at night when I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth, he is waiting at the door like Reese, my dog, always did when her eyes begged isn’t it time for bed? Except Henry has a lot of eyes and I don’t like to get close enough to see all of them.
I could kick Henry out… but I have two fears- that he’d come back all angry and use his fangs on me in my sleep, or the more likely, my house will become overrun by lots of bugs and spiders that really would bite me in my sleep.
My job is the same as I did two years ago. Lots of things have changed, but I’m remembering a lot and that is helping. I’m on a four day weekend already and I am bored out of my mind. How could I be bored in Zion? I’ve gone out walking or hiking almost everyday and honestly, I’m just tired of walking alone. If I could put a spider on a leash, well, I guess I’d take him.
People have probably given up checking up on me since I haven’t posted in ages, but if you do, you’re welcome to come visit me. I’m lonely! And I like visitors. Yes, even you.
A week ago, I turned a key and pushed through a heavy door and into the living room of my home for the next 7 months. Dropped my bags at my feet and finished unloading the car. It didn’t take long because I roadtripped with two other friends and their own luggage, so basically everything I own here was shoved into the hatchback trunk of my car.
I expected to be the last to arrive in this house, as work started the next day. But I soon learned from maintenance that I would be living here alone for the next month. My two housemates are seasonals for wildfire and they don’t need to arrive till May. I scouted out the bedrooms and immediately came face to face with Henry.
Henry got his name because I needed to put a friendly, happy spin on this unwelcome housemate. He’s a large spider with fangs that are visible from a few feet away, furry pale yellow legs with black feet, and when he spreads his legs out he’s the size of the palm of my hand. I remembered these guys from when I lived in Zion before. I don’t think they bite. I just think they’re kinda OCD as they scurry from room to room eating up all the spiders and gnats and ants that creep in, like little furry maids that actually love their job.
So it’s me and Henry here together. He follows me and watches me do laundry and cook my meals and at night when I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth, he is waiting at the door like Reese, my dog, always did when her eyes begged isn’t it time for bed? Except Henry has a lot of eyes and I don’t like to get close enough to see all of them.
I could kick Henry out… but I have two fears- that he’d come back all angry and use his fangs on me in my sleep, or the more likely, my house will become overrun by lots of bugs and spiders that really would bite me in my sleep.
My job is the same as I did two years ago. Lots of things have changed, but I’m remembering a lot and that is helping. I’m on a four day weekend already and I am bored out of my mind. How could I be bored in Zion? I’ve gone out walking or hiking almost everyday and honestly, I’m just tired of walking alone. If I could put a spider on a leash, well, I guess I’d take him.
People have probably given up checking up on me since I haven’t posted in ages, but if you do, you’re welcome to come visit me. I’m lonely! And I like visitors. Yes, even you.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
I haven't written in ages. I'm so used to writing about adventures and life right now in Ohio just isn't that exciting. I haven't applied for jobs yet because I really don't know what to do.
If anybody reads this, please send (1)money (2)job ideas
I know a lot of us say we're a part of this campaign but I guess you're not really a part until you act on it. This sounds like a good time to act...
http://action.one.org/dia/organizationsONE/one/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=1297&t=OneColumn.dwt
If anybody reads this, please send (1)money (2)job ideas
I know a lot of us say we're a part of this campaign but I guess you're not really a part until you act on it. This sounds like a good time to act...
http://action.one.org/dia/organizationsONE/one/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=1297&t=OneColumn.dwt
Friday, November 24, 2006
the acorn slippers/coming home
I couldn’t find my acorn slippers anywhere today. It drove me nuts (dum dum tah). I went around blaming everybody, even questioning if I somehow took them off while pushing through the day-after-Thanksgiving Target crowds and came home barefoot. I had to wear mom’s Crocs the rest of the day. I hate those shoes. They make my feet feel really nice but they look ridulous.
I can’t believe I actually went out today. I came home minus a pair of shoes and with a bruised ankle from some lady who decided to push me out of her way with her cart and hit me right in the achilles tendon. Her lips formed the word “sorry” but all I heard was “that’ll teach you, ya lard, for standing in the middle of the way while I’m trying to rush to that last turkey fryer on sale for $30!” But, it’s all a part of coming home to the Christmas season. This is what we do. And I like it. Mom and I find any excuse to “run errands” and drive through Wendy’s along the way to get our medium-sized Mr. Pibbs.
I’m surprised to find coming home isn’t much of a shock to me. All year I went around thinking my cat since elementary school, Miss Kitty, had died while I was in Colorado because no one had mentioned her on the phone to me. She’s not regular conversation, but no one said a word and I knew that meant she finally died and nobody wanted to tell me. I walked into the house Tuesday night and there she was, back turned to me, totally ignoring me in her cute hateful way. I reached down to pet her, exclaiming my joy that she was alive, and she growled, hissed, and launched a fist at me. I also had figured some of our stray cats would have disappeared by now, but they’re all still here, almost still in one piece. The one, who we always dubbed the “smart” one, seems to have dislodged her brain from her spinal cord or something. She doesn’t see too straight anymore and she walks around shaking her little head and it makes a loud rattling noise. She has a defense mechanism now only rattlesnakes had before, and I think that’s cute.
Ohio has surprised me with sunshine and almost tshirt weather. Three days now. Sometimes I feel like celebrating global warming. The house looks and feels mostly the same, except for the old fart bedroom my parents built on the first floor. My brothers all came home for my birthday and Thanksgiving and I’ve been farted on and burped at and it feels somewhat nostalgic. The neffew, Carter, is humongous and walks around singing and smiling. The greesedog sleeps with me every night. My first meal I requested, tuna noodle casserole. And I gulped it down with several big glasses of milk. After ten months of living on $4 a day for food I’ve realized that’s pretty much how we eat anyway, except you get to eat more yogurt and drink more milk now.
My acorn shoes are sitting under this desk I’m typing at. I think that’s kind of funny. Now I remember that’s just where I left them and I feel bad for yelling at my brothers for stealing them. I feel like this is the setting for a good tv show ending… camera zooms in on the shoes, then me smiling, then pans out the window with some slowing piano music… because I left my shoes here, then lived a full day, and came back to them, right where I left them. In January, I drove off to Colorado, lived 10 months of life, and came home and found things haven’t really changed. And I like that.
I can’t believe I actually went out today. I came home minus a pair of shoes and with a bruised ankle from some lady who decided to push me out of her way with her cart and hit me right in the achilles tendon. Her lips formed the word “sorry” but all I heard was “that’ll teach you, ya lard, for standing in the middle of the way while I’m trying to rush to that last turkey fryer on sale for $30!” But, it’s all a part of coming home to the Christmas season. This is what we do. And I like it. Mom and I find any excuse to “run errands” and drive through Wendy’s along the way to get our medium-sized Mr. Pibbs.
I’m surprised to find coming home isn’t much of a shock to me. All year I went around thinking my cat since elementary school, Miss Kitty, had died while I was in Colorado because no one had mentioned her on the phone to me. She’s not regular conversation, but no one said a word and I knew that meant she finally died and nobody wanted to tell me. I walked into the house Tuesday night and there she was, back turned to me, totally ignoring me in her cute hateful way. I reached down to pet her, exclaiming my joy that she was alive, and she growled, hissed, and launched a fist at me. I also had figured some of our stray cats would have disappeared by now, but they’re all still here, almost still in one piece. The one, who we always dubbed the “smart” one, seems to have dislodged her brain from her spinal cord or something. She doesn’t see too straight anymore and she walks around shaking her little head and it makes a loud rattling noise. She has a defense mechanism now only rattlesnakes had before, and I think that’s cute.
Ohio has surprised me with sunshine and almost tshirt weather. Three days now. Sometimes I feel like celebrating global warming. The house looks and feels mostly the same, except for the old fart bedroom my parents built on the first floor. My brothers all came home for my birthday and Thanksgiving and I’ve been farted on and burped at and it feels somewhat nostalgic. The neffew, Carter, is humongous and walks around singing and smiling. The greesedog sleeps with me every night. My first meal I requested, tuna noodle casserole. And I gulped it down with several big glasses of milk. After ten months of living on $4 a day for food I’ve realized that’s pretty much how we eat anyway, except you get to eat more yogurt and drink more milk now.
My acorn shoes are sitting under this desk I’m typing at. I think that’s kind of funny. Now I remember that’s just where I left them and I feel bad for yelling at my brothers for stealing them. I feel like this is the setting for a good tv show ending… camera zooms in on the shoes, then me smiling, then pans out the window with some slowing piano music… because I left my shoes here, then lived a full day, and came back to them, right where I left them. In January, I drove off to Colorado, lived 10 months of life, and came home and found things haven’t really changed. And I like that.
Friday, November 17, 2006
heading home!
I graduated from Americorps on Wednesday. Spending a few days with my friends Amy and Jamie before I leave... absorbing as much of Colorado as I can before heading to cold and rainy and dark Ohio.
I'll be home by Thanksgiving!!!
I'll be home by Thanksgiving!!!
Monday, October 30, 2006
leaving New Orleans
I had another dream about my sleepy grey town. Check out Oct 9, 2005 entry "fire dancers, pot smokers, and me." I wonder if every time I'm about to come home I'm going to dream about this town again.
I was walking down a sidewalk in a city full of skyscrapers. The clouds were grey, the buildings were grey, everything was grey. It was one of the only times I've been very aware that my dreams are black and white. I was walking with two of my good friends, except when I glanced at them I realized I didn't know them at all. I had no clue who these people were that I was walking with but we all pretended to be friends and walked together.
I saw a big storefront window and stopped. My friends stopped and waited for me as I peeked inside. I cupped my hands around my face and looked in. Suddenly my dream burst into color and I saw New Orleans. I saw a row of houses; red, yellow, green, blue, and purple... sweet New Orleans houses. They're so beautiful all colorful and with decorative trim. But these houses were crooked, very crooked. Some on their sides, some upside down, some sinking into water.
I tried to figure out where I had seen this scene before. The chaos of Katrina stayed for months, now a year, stillframes of destruction, because there were more important things to do. A house sitting in the middle of the street could sit in the middle of that street for a year and that's why many published photos from the storm I can recognize and know exactly where they were taken. I knew this scene, I remembered it.
But I didn't want to remember it anymore. I turned around and looked at my two friends, "I'm ready to pretend this didn't happen." And we walked on.
I woke up.
I'm more than ready to get out of here. There's still so much to be done but I have a chance to get away. I need it.
The people of New Orleans who were able to come back can't get away. Day after day they drive to work, swerving down their streets through a neighborhood of debris piles and at night they come home to the same familiar scene. They want to get away too, but their duty right now is to stay. The city needs them to stay. The city needs its life back. So many people were just put on planes and rushed out of here, sent to weird destinations like New Hampshire. And not everybody has the money to get a car or plane ticket to get back. They can't be blamed.
I want out of here so bad but there's so much more to do. I have a feeling I won't be gone long...
I was walking down a sidewalk in a city full of skyscrapers. The clouds were grey, the buildings were grey, everything was grey. It was one of the only times I've been very aware that my dreams are black and white. I was walking with two of my good friends, except when I glanced at them I realized I didn't know them at all. I had no clue who these people were that I was walking with but we all pretended to be friends and walked together.
I saw a big storefront window and stopped. My friends stopped and waited for me as I peeked inside. I cupped my hands around my face and looked in. Suddenly my dream burst into color and I saw New Orleans. I saw a row of houses; red, yellow, green, blue, and purple... sweet New Orleans houses. They're so beautiful all colorful and with decorative trim. But these houses were crooked, very crooked. Some on their sides, some upside down, some sinking into water.
I tried to figure out where I had seen this scene before. The chaos of Katrina stayed for months, now a year, stillframes of destruction, because there were more important things to do. A house sitting in the middle of the street could sit in the middle of that street for a year and that's why many published photos from the storm I can recognize and know exactly where they were taken. I knew this scene, I remembered it.
But I didn't want to remember it anymore. I turned around and looked at my two friends, "I'm ready to pretend this didn't happen." And we walked on.
I woke up.
I'm more than ready to get out of here. There's still so much to be done but I have a chance to get away. I need it.
The people of New Orleans who were able to come back can't get away. Day after day they drive to work, swerving down their streets through a neighborhood of debris piles and at night they come home to the same familiar scene. They want to get away too, but their duty right now is to stay. The city needs them to stay. The city needs its life back. So many people were just put on planes and rushed out of here, sent to weird destinations like New Hampshire. And not everybody has the money to get a car or plane ticket to get back. They can't be blamed.
I want out of here so bad but there's so much more to do. I have a feeling I won't be gone long...
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
I'm coming home!!!
It's been cold here in New Orleans... coats and pants weather... like Ohio maybe a month ago. I never thought it would get this way. People here are funny though. I saw a lady yesterday standing outside her trailer talking on the phone wearing full-out snow gear. Brrr! It's in the 60s!!!
I can't believe I've been down here since July (with a nice little roadtrip in between). It's nice being in one place for the transition of seasons.
But I can't wait to come home to Ohio! Not for the state itself, but for my family and friends. So this is my little update-
My address is now 1360 SR 314 N
Mansfield, OH 44903
Don't send anything more to the New Orleans address or Denver address because they won't be forwarding anything home to me.
See you soon...
I can't believe I've been down here since July (with a nice little roadtrip in between). It's nice being in one place for the transition of seasons.
But I can't wait to come home to Ohio! Not for the state itself, but for my family and friends. So this is my little update-
My address is now 1360 SR 314 N
Mansfield, OH 44903
Don't send anything more to the New Orleans address or Denver address because they won't be forwarding anything home to me.
See you soon...
Thursday, October 19, 2006
sitting, watching, waiting
SITTING.
Ms. Williams sat on her steps, breathing in each shovel-full of black moldy debris we carried out. Every day I wanted to tell her to move, but I don’t think she let one shovel go by without her eye on it. She watched the remains of her candy shop pile up on the side of the road, only to wait for the big truck to come carry it all on to that final resting place that has us all in denial of its existence. Yes, this trash all goes somewhere. It’s all torn apart and crushed and compacted, and then, it just sits like Ms. Williams does… for eternity it seems, with perpetual youth that outlasts her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren… mostly cause they got cancer from the trash that sits.
WATCHING.
In the church St Drexel built, we sat and watched as Ms. Pierce stood before the congregation in tears. Her name was on every free gutting service list available. Her house sat untouched, except for the broken window and keepsakes thrown around by looters who found nothing to their value. Her brother left town and vowed to never come back. Her neighborhood abandoned her too, except for the lanky man in the FEMA trailer on the corner who’d lean on his cane and watch us work, casting skinny shadows in the New Orleans sun. Maybe he had to gut his house himself. Maybe he watched us, wondering how Ms. Pierce moved up on those lists. I don’t know, but he watched. Ms. Pierce claims it was a miracle.
WAITING.
It’s raining today and I’m remembering how badly the streets flooded when it rained in St. Bernard. I sat next to a young mother and two of her sons at dinner one night. She said she’s afraid she brought them back too early. Maybe they should have stayed in Texas longer. The one boy clutched her, terrified of the rain, shaking at each pounding on the metal roof. She looked at me and told me he’s waiting for another hurricane. From the start of June till the end of November they wait, knowing any day could bring another Katrina. From December till the end of May they’re still waiting… $100 billion was promised them, and nobody has gotten a cent.
sitting.
They sit in front of their TV sets and hear all the bad news. They sit and criticize Bush and everyone else they can blaim except for their lazy selves… saying the government should go in there and fix things.
It took me nine months to realize that’s me.
watching.
I show them pictures, tell them stories, send home video just so they’ll get an idea of the chaos. They watch it and I still hear, “Aren’t things cleaned up yet?”
waiting.
Ms. Williams is waiting for the money to hang sheetrock on her bare studs.
Ms. Pierce waits to see if her home’s worth bulldozing.
The boy waits for the hurricane.
I’m waiting for a chronic disease.
We’re all waiting to finally go home.
Ms. Williams sat on her steps, breathing in each shovel-full of black moldy debris we carried out. Every day I wanted to tell her to move, but I don’t think she let one shovel go by without her eye on it. She watched the remains of her candy shop pile up on the side of the road, only to wait for the big truck to come carry it all on to that final resting place that has us all in denial of its existence. Yes, this trash all goes somewhere. It’s all torn apart and crushed and compacted, and then, it just sits like Ms. Williams does… for eternity it seems, with perpetual youth that outlasts her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren… mostly cause they got cancer from the trash that sits.
WATCHING.
In the church St Drexel built, we sat and watched as Ms. Pierce stood before the congregation in tears. Her name was on every free gutting service list available. Her house sat untouched, except for the broken window and keepsakes thrown around by looters who found nothing to their value. Her brother left town and vowed to never come back. Her neighborhood abandoned her too, except for the lanky man in the FEMA trailer on the corner who’d lean on his cane and watch us work, casting skinny shadows in the New Orleans sun. Maybe he had to gut his house himself. Maybe he watched us, wondering how Ms. Pierce moved up on those lists. I don’t know, but he watched. Ms. Pierce claims it was a miracle.
WAITING.
It’s raining today and I’m remembering how badly the streets flooded when it rained in St. Bernard. I sat next to a young mother and two of her sons at dinner one night. She said she’s afraid she brought them back too early. Maybe they should have stayed in Texas longer. The one boy clutched her, terrified of the rain, shaking at each pounding on the metal roof. She looked at me and told me he’s waiting for another hurricane. From the start of June till the end of November they wait, knowing any day could bring another Katrina. From December till the end of May they’re still waiting… $100 billion was promised them, and nobody has gotten a cent.
sitting.
They sit in front of their TV sets and hear all the bad news. They sit and criticize Bush and everyone else they can blaim except for their lazy selves… saying the government should go in there and fix things.
It took me nine months to realize that’s me.
watching.
I show them pictures, tell them stories, send home video just so they’ll get an idea of the chaos. They watch it and I still hear, “Aren’t things cleaned up yet?”
waiting.
Ms. Williams is waiting for the money to hang sheetrock on her bare studs.
Ms. Pierce waits to see if her home’s worth bulldozing.
The boy waits for the hurricane.
I’m waiting for a chronic disease.
We’re all waiting to finally go home.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
random thoughts on "stuff"
The other night I read a startling fact in my Sierra Club magazine. Even more startling was that I was actually exercising when I read it, making that 36 bucks to join the New Orleans YMCA worth it, and making the rest of those losers who work out for a living think that I actually take care of my body too… ok, not really. I admire them and wish there were some other compulsion to exercise other than I gave my credit card digits to the lady at the front desk and now I need to make sure I get my money’s worth.
But what I read was that in a 2004 survey, one-third of Americans said greed and materialism are our most urgent moral problems. Now I don’t know if there were options in this survey and the other options were people who spit incessantly because they have a phobia of saliva (I admit it… it’s me) or people who keep fingernail clippings to mail to their older brothers (also… me). But it sounds like people possibly have a clue into what I agree is a huge moral problem.
The same magazine had an article that I dog-eared earlier in the pages called “The Devil’s in the Retail; A cult of consumerism is sweeping the planet.” The author talked about a conference called “Gathering of Hearts” that he attended along with the Dalai Lama; leaders of the Sunni, Shia, and Sufi sects of Islam; the Episcopal dean of Grace Cathedral; Jewish rabbis, a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, and a Hindu. They all agreed that one moral problem is challenging all faiths… consumerism. He wrote of this new religion, “Its God is Mammon, its temples shopping malls, and its altars constructed of dollars, euros, yen, and rupees. As for its teachings, they consist of a sole commandment: Buy more.”
Back to me. Cause all my stories center around me. Yes it’s true. I got back this afternoon from a morning of gutting. Finished one home this morning and started on our next. It was once a beautiful plaster home but Katrina floodwaters swept through and chewed at the antique molding and spewed mold across the walls. The lady wants to keep all the molding and we’re trying to remove it carefully but we eventually had to call and tell her, “Hey, we’re not professionals. We can tear things apart. We’re not so good at dismanteling them.” I wanted to tell her things are moldy and rotten anyway. Start with a clean slate. I walked around the house and talked out loud… who would ever want to rebuild on this anyway? I wouldn’t put any money into reconstructing on this crap. Demo and start again.
And I hate to admit these words came out of my mouth because I like to play the part of the tree-hugger, landfill hater, reuse til it falls apart, recycle when it does kind of girl. But I’m tired. I can’t count how many homes I have dragged out to curbs. It was hard at first, but I’ve convinced myself all the debris goes somewhere and disappears. And God, it’s so much debris. I came across a news article the other day and maybe I should read it more often to get my mind back in order. It’s called, “Deconstructing for FEMA Dollars,” and it’s about how Portlanders are coming to teach New Orleaners how to recycle instead of throw everything away. I love you Portland.
http://www.wweek.com/editorial/3234/7709
I was thinking about all this today and how most of my volunteers down in St. Bernard would comment by the end of the week, “One thing I’ve learned is that I have way too much crap.” And I thought about how this winter I’m going home to Ohio and I’m getting rid of as much of my stuff as I can possibly part with. I also want to accumulate less... (check out this- http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thecompact) It took a tragedy to teach me this but after throwing away lifetimes of accumulated garbage from these peoples’ homes, it becomes just that… garbage.
I thought about how this past year I’ve lived on little and it’s shown me how little I really need. All the rest is just garbage. We travel from project to project with nothing but a government issued duffel bag and our own backpacks. I’ve learned that it’s more than I’d ever need. I hope this lesson sticks with me, this lesson about “stuff.” Because I really do feel lighter without it, closer to things more important, closer to heaven where I’m told real treasures are kept.
But what I read was that in a 2004 survey, one-third of Americans said greed and materialism are our most urgent moral problems. Now I don’t know if there were options in this survey and the other options were people who spit incessantly because they have a phobia of saliva (I admit it… it’s me) or people who keep fingernail clippings to mail to their older brothers (also… me). But it sounds like people possibly have a clue into what I agree is a huge moral problem.
The same magazine had an article that I dog-eared earlier in the pages called “The Devil’s in the Retail; A cult of consumerism is sweeping the planet.” The author talked about a conference called “Gathering of Hearts” that he attended along with the Dalai Lama; leaders of the Sunni, Shia, and Sufi sects of Islam; the Episcopal dean of Grace Cathedral; Jewish rabbis, a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, and a Hindu. They all agreed that one moral problem is challenging all faiths… consumerism. He wrote of this new religion, “Its God is Mammon, its temples shopping malls, and its altars constructed of dollars, euros, yen, and rupees. As for its teachings, they consist of a sole commandment: Buy more.”
Back to me. Cause all my stories center around me. Yes it’s true. I got back this afternoon from a morning of gutting. Finished one home this morning and started on our next. It was once a beautiful plaster home but Katrina floodwaters swept through and chewed at the antique molding and spewed mold across the walls. The lady wants to keep all the molding and we’re trying to remove it carefully but we eventually had to call and tell her, “Hey, we’re not professionals. We can tear things apart. We’re not so good at dismanteling them.” I wanted to tell her things are moldy and rotten anyway. Start with a clean slate. I walked around the house and talked out loud… who would ever want to rebuild on this anyway? I wouldn’t put any money into reconstructing on this crap. Demo and start again.
And I hate to admit these words came out of my mouth because I like to play the part of the tree-hugger, landfill hater, reuse til it falls apart, recycle when it does kind of girl. But I’m tired. I can’t count how many homes I have dragged out to curbs. It was hard at first, but I’ve convinced myself all the debris goes somewhere and disappears. And God, it’s so much debris. I came across a news article the other day and maybe I should read it more often to get my mind back in order. It’s called, “Deconstructing for FEMA Dollars,” and it’s about how Portlanders are coming to teach New Orleaners how to recycle instead of throw everything away. I love you Portland.
http://www.wweek.com/editorial/3234/7709
I was thinking about all this today and how most of my volunteers down in St. Bernard would comment by the end of the week, “One thing I’ve learned is that I have way too much crap.” And I thought about how this winter I’m going home to Ohio and I’m getting rid of as much of my stuff as I can possibly part with. I also want to accumulate less... (check out this- http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thecompact) It took a tragedy to teach me this but after throwing away lifetimes of accumulated garbage from these peoples’ homes, it becomes just that… garbage.
I thought about how this past year I’ve lived on little and it’s shown me how little I really need. All the rest is just garbage. We travel from project to project with nothing but a government issued duffel bag and our own backpacks. I’ve learned that it’s more than I’d ever need. I hope this lesson sticks with me, this lesson about “stuff.” Because I really do feel lighter without it, closer to things more important, closer to heaven where I’m told real treasures are kept.
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