Charlotte arrived yesterday in fine weather. Andy (another volunteer who’s leaving soon to go to East Timor), Dan (a volunteer), Rob, and I all picked her up in a truck that has no horn. In Haiti, that’s like walking around naked. Cars talk with their horns to let other drivers and pedestrians know when they pass, speed up, turn, etc. In fact, using a horn seems to be the only respected law of the road.
We spent our afternoon with the priests who reside in the visitors’ house in Castel-Pere. Fr. Charlie has lived in Haiti for 43 years. He now stays in the room diagonal from mine and helps our Fr. Marc, the director. Fr. Patrick, a Jesuit priest, visits Haiti often and speaks very good Creole. He has traveled the world and seen places and people that most only ever read about in National Geographic. His presence in the quad will be sorely missed when he departs on Tuesday.
At the dinner table last night, we learned about Fr. Patrick’s adventures in Chad with the Sudanese refugees in the 1960s. The priests retired early to shower and hit the hay. The volunteers and visitors decided to go into town, meet up with Eddie and Yves (two Haitian employees of Pwoje Espwa and Andy’s roommates) at the Bay Club. The Bay Club sits on the coast right across from Ilse-a-Vache. There’s always a nice breeze and rum can be ordered by the bottle for a mere $7. Conversation ranged from the quality of life in Les Cayes, which far exceeds that of other regions in terms of safety, to the truly fine character of those working here in Pwoje Espwa, to our wishes and dreams for the future.
At church today, we baptized 3 babies, sang with the choir, learned how to give the kiss of peace in Creole and sweated profusely. Then, before lunch, Andy and I went out to a field where I tried out my skills on a motorcycle. Andy’s a good teacher but 5 little kids decided to help me too – and I had an audience of 20 who were tremendously amused by my inability to kick start, my propensity to stall and my jerky gear-shifting. I shall conquer the bike, however, and after than I’ll learn how to drive these big, stickshift trucks. My freedom may be restricted because of my gender (truly, in Haiti this is the case), but I’ll do my best to expand my options while I’m here.
This afternoon, post-siesta, Fr. Patrick lived up to the reputation of his order and sat down with Charlotte, Rob and I to teach us a little Creole. His teaching, so exacting and methodical, allowed us to chat with children in their native language after just an hour. Of course, we only asked things like “koman ou ye?” (how are you) and such. He also explained the definitive reasons why Kreyol (Haitian Creole) is separate language and NOT a patois. Apparently, the language is made up of primarily three African languages spoken in the “arm pit” of Africa (Benin, Togo, Nigeria, etc.). The slaves here created a melded language in order to communicate and then added some French from what they heard their masters say. In the early 1700s Kreyol was born.
Tonight, obviously, we celebrate the New Year! Our plans are unconfirmed, as yet. The party for which Fr. Marc wanted me here (the reason I came early and not after the New Year as originally intended) will not occur. The employees of Pwoje Espwa decided that since they could not even afford presents for the kids at Christmas, they could not justify a party for themselves.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Crack Cocaine of the Caribbean
At the small airport in Port-au-Prince from which one catches an in-country flight on the Caribintair, Tortug’air, or Samaritan airlines, my friend Rob and I ran into Dr. Cool Dad (here to fore, Dr. CD). To be fair, this guy has been coming to Haiti since his father built a clinic here in the ‘70s, which is how, he says, he discovered his impetus to minister to the ailments of the poor, but he’s truly the quintessential “cool dad.” We met him when he inquired, as many are wont, about the nature of our visit to this lovely (but admittedly dangerous) isle.
Dr. CD, Rob and I stood in the bright sunshine outside the airport, sucking down a tall Pepsi Cola and cold bottles of water, respectively. He explained to us how he had been coming here since the 1970s with his dad and now, in turn, brings his own children along with him. On this trip, he explained, a vacation to Cap-Haitien, his son had brought his all-American, Colorado girlfriend who, before this, had never been out of the country. A vacation in Cap-Haitien, eh… My family thinks I’m slightly daft for wanting to volunteer here; what would they say to this tall, blond American fellow in his faded pink Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, heading off to the north for a little R&R?
If visitors in Haiti have two things in common, it’s an (slight to extreme) eccentric personality and an inability to forget the first time they ever came to the west side of Hispaniola. Dr. CD helps diagnose this phenomenon by calling Haiti the “crack cocaine of the Caribbean islands. After you see Haiti, everything else seems too sterile; Haiti’s so pure and real.” Once you experience the intense smells, clear, bright colors, vivid sunshine, warmth of the people and everything else that is Haiti Cheri, there really is no going back.
So here I am, back getting my fix of Haiti. And as a nod to Dr. CD, who is by now enjoying Cap-Haitien with his two lackadaisical children and young Haitian girlfriend (who explains away their vacation to the dry north-country), I was up at 3:45am, buzzing with thoughts and ideas. My room desperately needs organizing, another chapter of D. H. Lawrence beckons me, thoughts in my head scream to escape onto paper; so I acquiesce to the self-nagging and get out of bed. Why not? We all retired by 9:00pm.
While I have to pinch myself on this sunny, breezy, 88ยบ F, December day, the dream is
somewhat funk-i-fied (for lack of a better term) by certain realities. For one, my little room in the visitor’s quad where I will reside for the duration of my time with Pwoje Espwa desperately for attention (something it’ll get a lot of this week). The lack of hangars, shelves, and table space would drive any anal-retentive personality into a fit of madness. Fortunately, for me, in addition to being quite anal, I can be quite innovative. My suitcase, coupled with a sarong, may prove to be the ideal bedside table.
From my outpost on day one, the work ahead looms a bit daunting; there is so much that I would like to accomplish here. Still, nothing will quell a feeling that began to grow from the moment I stepped foot onto Haitian soil. Perhaps it is the feeling of my soul expanding or my spirit celebrating or my body relaxing, perhaps a combination of all these things. Whatever the cause, the sensation is at once wonderful, exciting, spiritual and addictive. Neither will it be ignored nor forgotten.
Dr. CD, Rob and I stood in the bright sunshine outside the airport, sucking down a tall Pepsi Cola and cold bottles of water, respectively. He explained to us how he had been coming here since the 1970s with his dad and now, in turn, brings his own children along with him. On this trip, he explained, a vacation to Cap-Haitien, his son had brought his all-American, Colorado girlfriend who, before this, had never been out of the country. A vacation in Cap-Haitien, eh… My family thinks I’m slightly daft for wanting to volunteer here; what would they say to this tall, blond American fellow in his faded pink Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, heading off to the north for a little R&R?
If visitors in Haiti have two things in common, it’s an (slight to extreme) eccentric personality and an inability to forget the first time they ever came to the west side of Hispaniola. Dr. CD helps diagnose this phenomenon by calling Haiti the “crack cocaine of the Caribbean islands. After you see Haiti, everything else seems too sterile; Haiti’s so pure and real.” Once you experience the intense smells, clear, bright colors, vivid sunshine, warmth of the people and everything else that is Haiti Cheri, there really is no going back.So here I am, back getting my fix of Haiti. And as a nod to Dr. CD, who is by now enjoying Cap-Haitien with his two lackadaisical children and young Haitian girlfriend (who explains away their vacation to the dry north-country), I was up at 3:45am, buzzing with thoughts and ideas. My room desperately needs organizing, another chapter of D. H. Lawrence beckons me, thoughts in my head scream to escape onto paper; so I acquiesce to the self-nagging and get out of bed. Why not? We all retired by 9:00pm.
While I have to pinch myself on this sunny, breezy, 88ยบ F, December day, the dream is
somewhat funk-i-fied (for lack of a better term) by certain realities. For one, my little room in the visitor’s quad where I will reside for the duration of my time with Pwoje Espwa desperately for attention (something it’ll get a lot of this week). The lack of hangars, shelves, and table space would drive any anal-retentive personality into a fit of madness. Fortunately, for me, in addition to being quite anal, I can be quite innovative. My suitcase, coupled with a sarong, may prove to be the ideal bedside table.From my outpost on day one, the work ahead looms a bit daunting; there is so much that I would like to accomplish here. Still, nothing will quell a feeling that began to grow from the moment I stepped foot onto Haitian soil. Perhaps it is the feeling of my soul expanding or my spirit celebrating or my body relaxing, perhaps a combination of all these things. Whatever the cause, the sensation is at once wonderful, exciting, spiritual and addictive. Neither will it be ignored nor forgotten.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Typical DC Night
The suitcases are packed. There is an incredible sense of finality that comes with closing a suitcase -- especially if it closes on about 20 of your favorite books, some cool tank tops, hundreds of dollars of medical supplies and about 6 months of your life. Now I understand why I procrastinated so long.
Since I have finished the actual act of packing my suitcases (I've been in preparatory/purchasing mode for over a month), I feel as though I can really relax and enjoy my time left in DC. Granted, I've only got about 30 hours to play now but I'm sure it'll be great. Actually, I'm off to a good start.
Tonight we went to McFaddan's. I'd never been before, but heard it's a cool place to hang. To give you an idea, it's a true DC scene: All the preppies come out to play (pink popped collars and all) while the DJ rocks some rap and hip hop. For whatever reason, perhaps because everyone's still home for Christmas holidays or perhaps because of random coincidence, I saw many friends from elementary school, middle school, high school and college. People I haven't seen in over 5 years, in some cases, were just chilling out and having $1 drafts at a Foggy Bottom bar tonight.
On a quiet evening such as this, all the reasons why I love DC and would never want to leave become apparent.
Since I have finished the actual act of packing my suitcases (I've been in preparatory/purchasing mode for over a month), I feel as though I can really relax and enjoy my time left in DC. Granted, I've only got about 30 hours to play now but I'm sure it'll be great. Actually, I'm off to a good start.
Tonight we went to McFaddan's. I'd never been before, but heard it's a cool place to hang. To give you an idea, it's a true DC scene: All the preppies come out to play (pink popped collars and all) while the DJ rocks some rap and hip hop. For whatever reason, perhaps because everyone's still home for Christmas holidays or perhaps because of random coincidence, I saw many friends from elementary school, middle school, high school and college. People I haven't seen in over 5 years, in some cases, were just chilling out and having $1 drafts at a Foggy Bottom bar tonight.
On a quiet evening such as this, all the reasons why I love DC and would never want to leave become apparent.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Random Christmas Thoughts
Merry Christmas everyone! Washington, DC has enjoyed warm days this winter. Imagine a Christmas during which flip flops make comfortable last minute shopping shoes. This isn't California!
This morning I'm reminded of bright and raucous college parties that my room mates and I threw my junior and senior year. We boogied to the sounds of Sinatra, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and the requisite James Brown. This morning I'm saddened to learn that the "Godfather of Soul" has passed at 73 of uncertain causes. Mr. Brown will be sorely missed; whenever I hear his sound I'll think of my happiest college days.
About a month ago, I made the irreversible decision to forgo the giving of gifts. In order to save a buck, I bought cards for all my family and wrote a Christmas thought in each. In return, I had hoped my family would simply give any money they normally spend on gifts to Theo's Work. While I'm ready with my cards this morning, my family seems to be ready with gifts. Eek.
Finally, as I sit blogging this Christmas morning, my family debates the good, the bad and the evil of electronic communication. I have obvious biases and happen to believe that, if used correctly, the Internet enhances certain aspects of life. The conversation now moves to how modernity has screwed everything up -- from personal communication, church, music, and so-forth. I surrounded by GRINCHES!
Merry Christmas. Enjoy the turkey and the gifting.
This morning I'm reminded of bright and raucous college parties that my room mates and I threw my junior and senior year. We boogied to the sounds of Sinatra, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and the requisite James Brown. This morning I'm saddened to learn that the "Godfather of Soul" has passed at 73 of uncertain causes. Mr. Brown will be sorely missed; whenever I hear his sound I'll think of my happiest college days.
About a month ago, I made the irreversible decision to forgo the giving of gifts. In order to save a buck, I bought cards for all my family and wrote a Christmas thought in each. In return, I had hoped my family would simply give any money they normally spend on gifts to Theo's Work. While I'm ready with my cards this morning, my family seems to be ready with gifts. Eek.
Finally, as I sit blogging this Christmas morning, my family debates the good, the bad and the evil of electronic communication. I have obvious biases and happen to believe that, if used correctly, the Internet enhances certain aspects of life. The conversation now moves to how modernity has screwed everything up -- from personal communication, church, music, and so-forth. I surrounded by GRINCHES!
Merry Christmas. Enjoy the turkey and the gifting.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
debs and what-not
"I'm going to go in and flirt with all the good looking ladies. It'll be cathartic."
"It'll be what? I'm sorry, is that the frickin' word of the day or something? Did you just complete a Wordly Wise? Who the hell says cathartic?"
"Common, cousin, don't be a dilettante."
"A WHAT?!!"
Brother walks into the building shaking his head. Cousin continues to fume about brother's vocab selection. The date is December 23, 2006. The scene takes place outside the Mayflower Hotel in downtown DC. The event discussed is Mrs. Simpson's annual Debutante Ball.
Last night my brothers, cousin, and college buddy all donned tuxes and headed to the annual debutante ball. This year I followed them dressed in a simple cocktail dress and pumps and planned to have a drink with them at the bar and depart. For the first time in seven years, I would not dance away the evening of December 23rd. My friend Will, who's deployed to Afghanistan just now, has been my escort for almost every year I attended. In a mass email, he bemoaned his general inability to participate in Christmas customs this year but the debutante got first mention. The thing is, it's a really frickin' good time.
Normally I'm shy about sharing that I embraced the old tradition of "coming out" into "society" though these days it's really just an excuse to have a big party around the holidays. Back in the day, it meant young ladies were truly eligible to begin seeing young men romantically. Some might argue that to continue this tradition shows pretension and snobbery; they could be right. But really it's hard to fault those who cling nostalgically to the gentler years of American society. As Mr. Spacetropic notes, "It's a just frightening to think 13 year old girls [today] see so few young women in the media pantheon that attained fame with a college degree, tough standards, intellect, or talent that they worked hard to develop." Pop culture really drags us all into the mud so sometimes an evening spent in silk heels, enormously full skirts, and cumberbuns feels rather refreshing.
So a former deb gets overserved, but she's got elders around to chide her inappropriate behavior. Fathers' coat tails flip in the evening breeze as they sneak out for a cigarette before the ceremonies begin but they sure look proud of the pretty daughters hanging off their arms later. My brothers ogle girls but they're using big words to describe their behavior and my cousin still acts like a cynical jerk but he looks nice doing it. There's just something about having a glass of champagne while listening to a snappy band and watching polished guests mill about a swank hotel that makes a girl feel like she's shittin' in high cotton even if such an occasion transpires once a year.
Perhaps this love for things such as balls and champagne seems incongruous with wanting to live in Haiti for a while. I'll argue that it's just part of the same romantic, idealistic nature. Think what you will but judge not lest ye be judged... and now, at least, you know one of my two secrets.
The other is that I have two ferrets named Ferret Fawcett and Buttercup (who will not join me in Haiti).
"It'll be what? I'm sorry, is that the frickin' word of the day or something? Did you just complete a Wordly Wise? Who the hell says cathartic?"
"Common, cousin, don't be a dilettante."
"A WHAT?!!"
Brother walks into the building shaking his head. Cousin continues to fume about brother's vocab selection. The date is December 23, 2006. The scene takes place outside the Mayflower Hotel in downtown DC. The event discussed is Mrs. Simpson's annual Debutante Ball.
Last night my brothers, cousin, and college buddy all donned tuxes and headed to the annual debutante ball. This year I followed them dressed in a simple cocktail dress and pumps and planned to have a drink with them at the bar and depart. For the first time in seven years, I would not dance away the evening of December 23rd. My friend Will, who's deployed to Afghanistan just now, has been my escort for almost every year I attended. In a mass email, he bemoaned his general inability to participate in Christmas customs this year but the debutante got first mention. The thing is, it's a really frickin' good time.
Normally I'm shy about sharing that I embraced the old tradition of "coming out" into "society" though these days it's really just an excuse to have a big party around the holidays. Back in the day, it meant young ladies were truly eligible to begin seeing young men romantically. Some might argue that to continue this tradition shows pretension and snobbery; they could be right. But really it's hard to fault those who cling nostalgically to the gentler years of American society. As Mr. Spacetropic notes, "It's a just frightening to think 13 year old girls [today] see so few young women in the media pantheon that attained fame with a college degree, tough standards, intellect, or talent that they worked hard to develop." Pop culture really drags us all into the mud so sometimes an evening spent in silk heels, enormously full skirts, and cumberbuns feels rather refreshing.
So a former deb gets overserved, but she's got elders around to chide her inappropriate behavior. Fathers' coat tails flip in the evening breeze as they sneak out for a cigarette before the ceremonies begin but they sure look proud of the pretty daughters hanging off their arms later. My brothers ogle girls but they're using big words to describe their behavior and my cousin still acts like a cynical jerk but he looks nice doing it. There's just something about having a glass of champagne while listening to a snappy band and watching polished guests mill about a swank hotel that makes a girl feel like she's shittin' in high cotton even if such an occasion transpires once a year.
Perhaps this love for things such as balls and champagne seems incongruous with wanting to live in Haiti for a while. I'll argue that it's just part of the same romantic, idealistic nature. Think what you will but judge not lest ye be judged... and now, at least, you know one of my two secrets.
The other is that I have two ferrets named Ferret Fawcett and Buttercup (who will not join me in Haiti).
Friday, December 22, 2006
the PASS IT ON game
Lately, more people have been noticing my blog. I'm assuming this is due to my late reconnection with that good, old online networking group, The Facebook. Obviously, I'm grateful that my friends and family take an interest in the goings on of my pre-Haiti preparation month. It would be even more wonderful, however, for you all to pass on the word about what I'm doing. Give friends, co-workers and family my website address, talk about Haiti, what you learn here, photographs that move you, etc.
In just under a week, you can read my first "in the field" post -- scripted and posted from the island of Hispaniola. At that time, the pictures and thoughts will be solely focused on life in Haiti. Now would be a great time to let more people know what I'll be doing and that I still need support (moral and monetary). So feel free to add insidetheframe.blogspot.com or portiamills.com to favorite links on your webpages and networking bios. Tell everyone, pass out fliers, WHATEVER! The more people who know what's going on, the better.
Pass it on...
In just under a week, you can read my first "in the field" post -- scripted and posted from the island of Hispaniola. At that time, the pictures and thoughts will be solely focused on life in Haiti. Now would be a great time to let more people know what I'll be doing and that I still need support (moral and monetary). So feel free to add insidetheframe.blogspot.com or portiamills.com to favorite links on your webpages and networking bios. Tell everyone, pass out fliers, WHATEVER! The more people who know what's going on, the better.
Pass it on...
Thursday, December 21, 2006
boite CHECKED!
the apple store geniuses FIXED my computer. Apparently, it had a hiccup.
thank you to my dear brother and friend who offered to help me salvage photographs. Your services are no longer required.
thank you to my dear brother and friend who offered to help me salvage photographs. Your services are no longer required.
this bumpy, rutted road I travel
The incredible thing about transplanting for 6 months to a year is that in no way can one prepare for such a move. To-do lists just get longer as days go by. Purchasing necessities and last minute doctor's appointments fill my remaining days here in our Nation's capital. Unfortunately, my new Macbook Pro died yesterday, so that'll have to be taken care of as well.
Hmmm... Let's talk about the latter for a moment, shall we?
My last laptop had died, as you may recall, under random and untimely circumstances. The hard drive was replaced so now it works as good as new. But recently, oh say, two weeks ago, I purchased a brand spanking new, 17" Macbook Pro. I got a good deal on it and thought, "why not? The next several months of my life are going to entail some serious work on the computer and I should have a good one." Right.
Over the last two weeks I've been loading software programs, new music (20 CDs in total) and uploading literally hundreds of photographs taken on my new D-SLR. Those are now all gone. Sadly, this includes pictures of taken of the Heartland and of my lovely nieces. If you were looking forward to shots of the mechanical bull at that bar in Kansas, please, stop waiting. They're lost in oblivion.
As I cry into my Wheaties, I'm reminded that everything works out for the best so I'm bucking up and trying to get on with my days. After all, I've only one week left to enjoy the city, my friends and my family. Please don't think I'm being melodramatic. I truly have no idea what will happen when I get back from Haiti -- whether I'll live here or in another place, whether I'll travel, return to school, go back to Haiti. This is, in every way, a pivotal point in my life.
I just wish my computer could accompany me at times like this.
Hmmm... Let's talk about the latter for a moment, shall we?
My last laptop had died, as you may recall, under random and untimely circumstances. The hard drive was replaced so now it works as good as new. But recently, oh say, two weeks ago, I purchased a brand spanking new, 17" Macbook Pro. I got a good deal on it and thought, "why not? The next several months of my life are going to entail some serious work on the computer and I should have a good one." Right.
Over the last two weeks I've been loading software programs, new music (20 CDs in total) and uploading literally hundreds of photographs taken on my new D-SLR. Those are now all gone. Sadly, this includes pictures of taken of the Heartland and of my lovely nieces. If you were looking forward to shots of the mechanical bull at that bar in Kansas, please, stop waiting. They're lost in oblivion.
As I cry into my Wheaties, I'm reminded that everything works out for the best so I'm bucking up and trying to get on with my days. After all, I've only one week left to enjoy the city, my friends and my family. Please don't think I'm being melodramatic. I truly have no idea what will happen when I get back from Haiti -- whether I'll live here or in another place, whether I'll travel, return to school, go back to Haiti. This is, in every way, a pivotal point in my life.
I just wish my computer could accompany me at times like this.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
The Heartland
This last week entailed travels to the Heartland, the rolling hills of southern Kansas, the strip malls and NASCAR tracks that spring up in wide open, gray fields, the IHOPs, the beer joints, the home of the Bengals and the friendly homes of the Midwest. A visit to Middle America from the East Coast is easy to arrange and inexpensive but as much an eye-opening experience as any overseas travel. A few days around here reveals how city Coasters, East and West, have a very limited idea of how their fellow Americans live.
On Friday, my former nanny, her mother and two of her best friends and I went out to a new outdoor shopping mall between her home in Olathe and Kansas City. Legends has just about every store you can imagine plus restaurants and hotels to crash in before another day of hard-core shopping. Next to Legends sits Cabela's -- the world's foremost outfitter, the Yard House where one can order hundreds of draft beers by the half yard, and other assorted delightful establishments. Since our plan was to have a martini, hit two stores, have some more martinis and appetizers, hit two more stores and so forth, we already knew we'd be
crashing at the Holiday Inn Express on site. During the course of the evening, items were purchased, mechanical bulls were ridden and fallen from, half-yards were consumed, and creamy, buttery, fattening dishes were consumed voraciously.
The next day I'd really wanted to head over to the Kansas Speedway where beer can be purchased by the 6-pack but was told I'd have to return in September for the NASCAR race. Instead we went to Cabela's. After making our way through the crowd standing around the local country station's mobile outpost and the neon orange sale items, we finally entered outfitting paradise. It was a sensory overload: a REAL fishing pond in the back, a huge aquarium, a game room filled with large stuffed game from all over the world, a shooting range and sprawling floors of hunting, hiking and outdoor gear. Awesome. Besides the Jockey outlet, it was the only place I dropped bones over the weekend.
Sunday - a family day - I hung with my former nanny's lovely and spirited children. We watched the little girl perform a Charlie Brown's Christmas. After biscuits and gravy and barbecue sandwich a little later on, I headed for the airport and jetted off to my next Midwestern stop: Cincinnati.
This three-day stay has been a little different than the Kansas visit. Sitting here in my older brother's living room, I find myself content watching TLC and playing with my 2.5 week-old niece. The surroundings are more familiar since, when my brother and sister-in-law announced they'd be buying a new home together, my parents donated some of our older furniture. It's amazing to see the transformation that maturity and family worked on the dorky, blue-velvet-shoe sporting, eye-liner applying, grumpy teen I knew growing up. His home is wonderfully homey and his family (of all girls) is beautiful.
After walking their athletic golden retriever puppy, my brother and I went out to the local dive to watch the Bengals get their butts kicked. We sat together and shared some imported British lagers and then switched to bottles of good American light beer. Surrounded by adults (of all ages) sporting bright orange and black jerseys emblazoned with their favorite players' names, we chatted about life -- a conversation that probably deteriorated over the hours but became no less enjoyable.
Tomorrow night I'm back to the East Coast to stay for just over a week. I have a lot left to accomplish in the time before I fly out and Christmas will be a (welcome) distraction. My vague efforts at fundraising continues -- check out my status on portiamills.com.
On Friday, my former nanny, her mother and two of her best friends and I went out to a new outdoor shopping mall between her home in Olathe and Kansas City. Legends has just about every store you can imagine plus restaurants and hotels to crash in before another day of hard-core shopping. Next to Legends sits Cabela's -- the world's foremost outfitter, the Yard House where one can order hundreds of draft beers by the half yard, and other assorted delightful establishments. Since our plan was to have a martini, hit two stores, have some more martinis and appetizers, hit two more stores and so forth, we already knew we'd be
crashing at the Holiday Inn Express on site. During the course of the evening, items were purchased, mechanical bulls were ridden and fallen from, half-yards were consumed, and creamy, buttery, fattening dishes were consumed voraciously.The next day I'd really wanted to head over to the Kansas Speedway where beer can be purchased by the 6-pack but was told I'd have to return in September for the NASCAR race. Instead we went to Cabela's. After making our way through the crowd standing around the local country station's mobile outpost and the neon orange sale items, we finally entered outfitting paradise. It was a sensory overload: a REAL fishing pond in the back, a huge aquarium, a game room filled with large stuffed game from all over the world, a shooting range and sprawling floors of hunting, hiking and outdoor gear. Awesome. Besides the Jockey outlet, it was the only place I dropped bones over the weekend.
Sunday - a family day - I hung with my former nanny's lovely and spirited children. We watched the little girl perform a Charlie Brown's Christmas. After biscuits and gravy and barbecue sandwich a little later on, I headed for the airport and jetted off to my next Midwestern stop: Cincinnati.
This three-day stay has been a little different than the Kansas visit. Sitting here in my older brother's living room, I find myself content watching TLC and playing with my 2.5 week-old niece. The surroundings are more familiar since, when my brother and sister-in-law announced they'd be buying a new home together, my parents donated some of our older furniture. It's amazing to see the transformation that maturity and family worked on the dorky, blue-velvet-shoe sporting, eye-liner applying, grumpy teen I knew growing up. His home is wonderfully homey and his family (of all girls) is beautiful.
After walking their athletic golden retriever puppy, my brother and I went out to the local dive to watch the Bengals get their butts kicked. We sat together and shared some imported British lagers and then switched to bottles of good American light beer. Surrounded by adults (of all ages) sporting bright orange and black jerseys emblazoned with their favorite players' names, we chatted about life -- a conversation that probably deteriorated over the hours but became no less enjoyable.
Tomorrow night I'm back to the East Coast to stay for just over a week. I have a lot left to accomplish in the time before I fly out and Christmas will be a (welcome) distraction. My vague efforts at fundraising continues -- check out my status on portiamills.com.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Historic Moment on the Senate Floor
On Friday my friend arrived from Seattle for a visit. We dropped in on another friend at the Senate. She wanted to take us on a tour but since time was tight we opted to view the Senate floor. Having been on a few Capitol tours but never having seen the floor, this was a treat.
The usual friendly guards must have been on break, because we got the third degree from every single one -- regarding our ID tags, their location on our clothes, our bags (mine had a computer in it and was unceremoniously flopped on a marble counter), what we could and couldn't bring into the viewing balcony and so forth. The searing attendants then chewed us out for sitting in the front row of the balcony -- but everyone was doing it! Finally, seated in the cramped, velvet-lined seats of the second row, we watched the Senators vote. Every man and woman that walked unto the floor voted "yay" so the vote must have been for something extremely uncontroversial, like a pay raise.
We saw the usual suspects - Kerry, Clinton, Obama, Byrd. Then we saw something profoundly historic: Senate Majority Leader Frist standing on the floor for the last time and speaking to incoming Senate Minority Leader Lott. Living in DC means you get to see stuff like this from time to time and it's cool to remark upon and remember. Living here also means that you get to see how these so-called rival party members act when they are on their home turf. Talk about good old boys -- they're all buddy-buddy, index-finger-pointing and back thumping. It's a bit ridiculous.
There is something about this city though -- I'll miss it.
The usual friendly guards must have been on break, because we got the third degree from every single one -- regarding our ID tags, their location on our clothes, our bags (mine had a computer in it and was unceremoniously flopped on a marble counter), what we could and couldn't bring into the viewing balcony and so forth. The searing attendants then chewed us out for sitting in the front row of the balcony -- but everyone was doing it! Finally, seated in the cramped, velvet-lined seats of the second row, we watched the Senators vote. Every man and woman that walked unto the floor voted "yay" so the vote must have been for something extremely uncontroversial, like a pay raise.
We saw the usual suspects - Kerry, Clinton, Obama, Byrd. Then we saw something profoundly historic: Senate Majority Leader Frist standing on the floor for the last time and speaking to incoming Senate Minority Leader Lott. Living in DC means you get to see stuff like this from time to time and it's cool to remark upon and remember. Living here also means that you get to see how these so-called rival party members act when they are on their home turf. Talk about good old boys -- they're all buddy-buddy, index-finger-pointing and back thumping. It's a bit ridiculous.
There is something about this city though -- I'll miss it.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
mia
I have been travelling... northern MD to see friends, Philly for the Army/Navy game and then cheap bars with an old high school friend, NYC to meet up with my littlest bro-ski and see some assorted Cornell and childhood friends, more NYC for lots of fun and well... that means little time for BLOGGING! Also... my computer crashed. I mean DIED - hard drive was replaced.
Countdown continues, however -- DEC 28, 2006 I'll hop on a plan and head down south. :-)
Can't wait to tell you all about it -- in the mean time, thanks for reading and supporting.
Countdown continues, however -- DEC 28, 2006 I'll hop on a plan and head down south. :-)
Can't wait to tell you all about it -- in the mean time, thanks for reading and supporting.
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