Pryveet!

Well hello there from a looooong time in coming! Sue has reminded me that my last blog was when I was in Philly, so I'm fully aware that this is pretty much long overdue. And what an adventure it has been so far!

We arrived in Ukraine somewhere around the 30th of September, had a quick, 3-day orientation and then were sent off to our training sites. For training, we were divided into clusters of 4-5 people each. My cluster consists of two other guys and another girl, and we're all the same age. We live, work and play in a city called Fastiv, which is about an hour and a half (by train, a.k.a. electritchka) south of Kiev, the capitol of Ukraine. There are actually TWO training clusters in Fastiv, though we study language and teach classes in the schools as clusters.

When we first arrived in Fastiv, we were met by our host families. I was SO nervous...I was shaking and ready to cry or run away or a combination of those. I truly will never forget that feeling. But it worked out just fine after I met my host mom, Galina. She's awesome! She's a bit older (62 by last count) and works as an English teacher in one of the schools in Fastiv. Her English is fantastic, and we've actually had some really deep conversations about all sorts of things (once it was a very existential chat about life and its purpose). She has shared a lot of Ukrainian history with me, and the more I learn, the more impressed I am about what the people have gone through and how they interact with their world now. It is a very challenging situation with all the post-communismm and truth being kind of relative since it has the capacity to change, and being able to piece some of these world views together with what I've experienced in the schools has been quite helpful. I hope I will continue to learn more about this fascinating history and the way it has shaped the culture.

Day-to-day life is challenging. My cluster studies Russian for 4 hours a day, a weekly hour of Russian tutoring, a weekly hour of Lesson Plan tutoring and we each teach about 4-5 lessons a week. We have also been working on a collaborative community project, as well as the round of tours of Fastiv, neighboring cities and Kiev, of course! We keep pretty busy, needless to say. I team teach some lessons with the other girl in my cluster, and we've been working with grades 5, 7, 8, 10 and 11. I LOVE these kids! The 7th graders totally rock my world...they are the awesome blend of being able to speak/listen/understand quite a lot of English, and they are so excited about the lessons. They participate wonderfully and I think they are quite interested. We've had very similar experiences with the other grades as well. The school system is pretty different here. It reminds me in a lot of ways of the school in Sydney, so I'm grateful to have had that experience.

Russian is very difficult for me. For the first weeks, I simply could not turn off the instant Spanish translation, either! I've been better about it recently, but I'll still unconsciously say that Spanish word when the Russian is slow in coming. Russian is so very different from English, and Spanish even, that it's really been a challenge to wrap my mind around it. I have no hopes for mastery, but I do hope I will be able to have Russian-speaking friends in my future! One of my absolute favorite things is to go to the bazaar, which is how stores function in Ukraine. It's basically a flea-market-type set up with TONS of stalls selling everything from fish that are still flopping from their recent extraction from the river to furniture to clothes to school supplies. I LOVE wandering up and down the aisles, looking at all these strange new things and trying to chat with the shopkeepers. I've had really positive experiences with them, actually, especially with the help of my handy dictionary! I've had them actaully abandon their stalls and walk me to the place that sells what I'm looking for if they don't carry it...they rock! They're so happy to be helpful...it's really encouraging. It's also a huge element of Ukrainian culture, as they are very hospitible people. They're very welcoming of us, and always busting out something tasty like borsch or blincheky. I love it!

One of my first observations that totally surprised me is how committed the Ukrainian side of the Peace Corps is to the Peace Corps' mission. I am not sure why I didn't expect it, but maybe I'd just never thought about it. The people who are in "charge" of us (language teachers, our technical teacher, the many many faces in headquarters) as so very dedicated to ensuring our safety, assimilation and effectiveness. It is amazing to see how much they believe in what we can do and will do during our two years. I find that the most encouraging part of being here. It has been difficult, and it will continue to be difficult, but I know there is a huge support system behind me in Ukraine and I get emails almost daily from my loving State-side support system. I can't even imagine this journey's end; whom I will have met and whom I will have become!

As for the next few weeks, we will be studying and teaching for the next two weeks, and then the third we will only study. On December 7th, we pack up, kiss our host families goodbye and go to our Swearing In retreat, during which we will find out our permanent sites and meet our counterparts (Ukrainian nationals, usually English teachers in the schools in which we will work). On the 9th, we swear-in and become official volunteers. Then we ship off to our permanent sites and begin the REAL DEAL. I look forward to being able to post my location when I get it!

For a few images of my life here, follow this link:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2008250&l=7037f&id=142500522


Yay!

Leavin!

Hello all!

I write to you from my warm and cozy hotel bed in Philly. It's 12:30 am on Saturday, and we leave for UKRAINE in just hours! It's amazing that this event is finally here...it's been so long in coming! I am thrilled to finally be on the "final descent" of this long application journey. Now it's time for the real thing!

So, these last two days have been "orientation." There are 72 people in my group to Ukraine; the second group of 70+ volunteers this year! Turns out, Ukraine is the largest Peace Corps program in the world nowadays, and it's got great resources for people of all abilities and passions.

And talk about great people! If i ever had the inkling that I was world-traveled, it's because I hadn't met these people. My new roommate lived in a non-English speaking Moroccan home, another guy is learning Sanskrit, two people already speak fluent Russian, a 60+ lady has run marathons and another 60+ couple is serving their SECOND term. Seriously, these people rock. I'm not sure why this surprises me, but I am making friends here! I guess I didn't expect it...perhaps it's a defense mechanism to expect the "worst," but it's great. There are so many life stories in these new friends, and I know it's only the tip of the iceberg, to use a tired expression yet again. I am amazed at the vulnerability in this group, and the willingness to stretch them/our selves.

I hope to be able to share more and more as my life progresses, and I know I will, but for the moment, I'm exhausted. We're up early tomorrow to leave for JFK in NY, en route to first Frankfurt and then Kyiv! We will have a two-day retreat somewhere near Kyiv and then our host families will come and take us away. None of us have any idea where exactly we'll be, but no one seems too bothered by it. And it's a really great observation, I think.

Sar in DC

Hello from DC!

I'm typing at my friend, Stef's, computer after a day of touring the shops in DC. Just to keep you all up to speed, here's how my last week or so has gone:

Alb to see family! I spent a LOVELY night chatting with Ingrid who very sweetly gave up her sleep for our conversation. I even got to tag along with her to work the next day and see some BBBS in action! Woo hoo!

I then spent several hours hanging out with Beth, Eric, Nolan and new baby Claire! I can't stress enough how wonderful Nolan is, or how great it was to see him again before I take off. I can't remember the last time I held a baby as small/young as Claire (she was two weeks when i was there!) and she is just beautiful. I got the bonus-round of a good chat with Eric and some stupendous directions to the airport, as well!

From Alb I went to Scottsdale for time with the folks. Sue and I got some quality time with coffee, shopping and getting our toes done. I even got the very CA-inspired flower on each of my big toes...replete with a sparkle! Very fun! My dad and I hiked on Thursday morning, which would have been even awesomer if I hadn't been to In N Out more times than I've been running in the last month or so... We had a great conversation on the way down (that's when I could keep up) and went out for breakfast after. I treasure the time I had there.

And then on to DC to hang out with Stef. I had a pit stop in Philly where I was treated to a great dinner by my aunt, and since then it's been great hanging out with Stef and seeing her wonderful grown-up life. Early Thursday morning I head back to Philly to go to Peace Corps orientation, and THAT'S when it'll really begin.

People ask if I'm excited, and I really can't say whether I am or not. It doesn't seem quite real, but I'm sure it will once I see some big sign about registration/sign-in and receive my orientation schedule. I'm hoping all my US loose ends are tied up and that I didn't over-pack or forget anything crucial. I'm also hoping I'm "ready," though I know that's a forever-elusive state of being. I once had a friend tell me how excited he was for me that I'd be heading out on this journey because I could go out as Sarah and just Sarah, without all the "trappings" of my life. I'm now trying to process what that is...how do I reconcile what is my past and who I am? I'm feeling a little anxious about answering that question with my impending deadline, truth be told. It also doesn't matter, since I am who I am and I bring what I am and I'll be who I am.

Alright, enough with the existential hoo-ha! I hope to keep up this blog while I'm overseas, and will probably try to arrange a Seth-like system in which I choose a particular day on which I will blog. We'll see about that, and I'll keep you posted!

just a moment...

to stand in the middle of the rest of my earthly possessions which happen to be scattered EVERYWHERE and i'm leaving tomorrow and i need to have a moment of freak-out because it's not even about the people i'm leaving yet to whom i have been spending the last few days saying goodbye. i just needed the world to know that i'm having a moment.

"Hey, so I've got this great..."

If you are anywhere near the top 25 people in my most recent calls, you've gotten that question at least once in the last month or so. Or, like Jill and Seth, you've grown accostomed to me showing up with Trader Joe's bags full of food or clothes or cleaning supplies or stuff you've loaned me. The stuff that doesn't fit in the bags, i.e. my bike, or the futon, or my papisan chair, well, that gets loaded into the Subaru and hauled in under the sweltering heat (seriously, why do people move in the SUMMER?!) The bags of clothes are the most fun, as it's almost a fashion party of who fits what and what will match what who already owns. Most stuff is for keeps, but there are also a few semi-loaners out there. And all of these things are really great. Just really great stuff.

It came as a complete shock the first time someone said "no" to the "do you want..." call. I even prefaced it by informing the person (it was my brother) that the object (my papisan chair) I was parting with was great. He said, "No, I don't think I want it. I mean, if you really can't get rid of it, I'll take it. But...." What?! It's great! What do you mean you don't want it, AND that I might have a hard time getting someone else to want it? Surely people are lining up outside the door just clamoring for this great thing! Right?

Turns out, I think it's great. And this opinion is not universal. In my progress toward leaving the country for 2+ years, I've had to process my attachments to stuff. Most of it, I'm finally realizing, is special to me, because I like its function or the memory of how I acquired it. I couldn't see how people might not want it, because I couldn't see that it might not even be important to me in a few years. And once I realized that, I began pitching.

With only a day to be moved out of our SECOND apartment on Argonne, I began to separate. Stuff that had value, worth, possible usefulness to other people, and that was declined by my top-25-calls, went into the garage sale pile (I think I may have doubled this pile with my additions alone!). Other stuff was rifled through, a TON of kitchen/house stuff was taken away by my friend, Michelle, and then the leftovers were put into the alley (provided they couldn't bring in a buck or two at the garage sale). Then the garbage. WHEW! I threw away BAGS of little things. Kelly always jokes that I should have been around in the Depression because I won't get rid of something that might have usefulness at some point. But in the last few hours before we had to be out of our apartment, I was on a roll. And it felt good.

I can only hope that the stuff I've passed on to other people will be helpful to them and that they will find enjoyment in using it. And the people who go to the garage sale and get a great top for $1 or a set of decorative pillows for $2 will be happy with their bargain. But what I REALLY hope is that it's not the stuff that matters about me...but rather who I am and what I do that actually contributes to humanity. I don't want to just take up space, I want to matter. And THAT'S what's great.

So, Kelly and I are out of the apartment. I've set aside what I plan to pack and sorted through the rest. I'm storing 2 boxes. Like a turtle always carries their home, I've got a big backpacker's backpack and a sleeping bag. I'm lightened and free, unsure of what this road holds, but ready to matter.

Missed plane connection

"Sit down and shut up" annoys me when dangling from a rearview mirror in air-freshener form, or on bumper stickers and keychains, or even emblazoned across seat-covers (yes, I've seen it). In fact, I cannot fathom an instance in which I would even use this expression, except when I'm on a plane. I ensure a fully charged iPod battery and fresh and engaging book for flights, ESPECIALLY the early morning ones I tend to end up on because they're cheaper.

It's not that I'm opposed to talking to strangers. I will chat with the Trader Joe's check-out person, with someone waiting to cross the street, salespeople in stores or kiosks, and little "how-ya-doin" questions to customer service people on the unending phone calls I've been making lately. I just don't like talking on PLANES. Think about it. You're stuck. Say you do strike up conversation, and then it gets boring or you run out of things to say or you really are tired since it is actually 6 AM and you've got to be nice to people later so you should probably take this time to snooze. And if you do stop talking to the person, they have to wonder which of the above is true of their conversational abilities, which can never be a good feeling. No really, take my headphones and book and sinister stare for what they are: please don't talk to me.

A couple of weekends ago on my trip to Denver, I had four flights, and four talkers. Well, I'm not sure if one was ordinarily a talker, but we'll get to that. I got to know a bit about each person, snapshots of their lives, and it was interesting, but again with the early flights and the running out of things to talk about. It's not that the people themselves are terribly uninteresting, it's just my whole thing with talking on planes. But, for the first time ever, I sat next to someone I wanted to keep talking to.

And actually, we didn't STOP talking until we parted ways; he to baggage claim and I to my connecting flight. It was the greatest non-first-date ever. He is about my age, and living near where I did my student teaching so we had geography as a starting common ground. We chatted about siblings, friends and roommates' weddings, schools, snow and water sports, traveling...and less than 20 minutes into the conversation, I'd already mentally mapped out our entire future together. But the terrible, tragic timing of it all! Drat that leaving for the Peace Corps! I kept thinking about the situation with frustration and a sinking feeling of uncertainty the whole rest of the day. I felt like I had met someone I could really be interested in, but the timing was way off. What was the point? I could have napped. I even had a few mad moments of plotting out ways to contact him, such as posting in the Craig's List "MIssed Connections" section (secret single behavior revelation...I read those!), or I could get in contact with him at school, or something. I mean, every bit of Hollywood screams "Go for it!" timing or no timing, right?

I didn't try to contact him. Besides it being a bit stalker-ish, I've just got my heart so set on Ukraine, that I wouldn't even want to try to see what happened. But it was still disappointing.

Driving in Orange tonight, past familiar places where I graded papers or did my lesson planning, I got to thinking about it again. Maybe the point of a "missed connection" because of bad timing is simply to remind us that the possibility is out there. Almost a one-in-four chance, especially if you rate my last string of dates! It's frustrating to not have what we want when we want it, especially when it's right there in the aisle seat, but though we can't have it, it's strangely comforting to know it's there. And one day, the timing will be right and the one-in-four will pop up again like those Bingo balls in the spinner. In the meantime, there are dreams to pursue, life to live and people to love. And planes to catch.

Adventures in kid-speak

School starts in a week and a half, which means crazy crunch time for teachers. If I'm not helping Jill reorganize the chaos that is her new classroom, I'm at her house watching her girls. But more than watching them, I really like LISTENING to them! Seriously, the way their minds work cracks me up. Here are a few treasured moments:

To start, a dialogue at lunch the other day beginning with: "When I get big...

I'm going to go to Disneyland by myself"
I'm going to cross the street without a grown-up"
I'm going to drive the car"
I'm going to go to K-Mark (yes, with a K) by myself"
I'm going to talk in Spanish"
I'm going to be 40 pounds!"

They're obsessed with being 40 pounds, because when they are, they can ride in the booster seats instead of the car seats. So another funny dialogue was

"I'm going to be 40 pounds and then that's it."
Me: "Aren't you going to grow more?"
"No, just 40 pounds and then I'm going to be done."
Me: "Do you think grown-ups weigh more than 40 pounds?"
"YOU do! You're really big. But I'm not going to be that big I'm just going to be 40 pounds."


"Sarah, you were born in a sleeping bag!"

And my all-time fav kid-speak comment:
"We're getting Barbie boobies for Christmas!" (She meant "movies," of course, but darn that alliteration!)

wake up call the day

It is now 7:45 am and I've been awake for a little over an hour. Kelly's taking her MCAT this morning, and since we both have this spectacular propensity to oversleep, I decided to be her back-up alarm just in case. She didn't need me after all, but I couldn't get back to sleep, which is almost more uncommon than how often I OVERsleep. My thoughts were overpoweringly busy; I must have received some of Kelly's test-day jitters by osmosis. So I decided to take a walk.

Now, the last time I was awake before 7 am was probably to mentally shout obscenities at the never-ending re-model project next door. Getting myself out the door by 7 am usually means it probably took a good 20 minutes too long to get out of bed and that I mechanically performed the bare minimum of tasks to look presentable. Then I look at the time, realize I'm going to be late, and the race begins. I dump some coffee into a travel mug, leave, realize I forgot something important (like my keys), go back in, find the forgotten item, and then really leave. The ride to wherever I'm going is usually focused, but only because my mind isn't working well enough for me to think about much else.

I've always marveled at that species of people called "morning people," who will deliberately get up earlier than they have to enjoy the morning's cool, its quiet, and their optional solitude. I am not a morning person.

Except that today, I AM one of those people. I got up, changed clothes, and headed out to see who and what the morning in Belmont Shore looked like. Can I just say, "beautiful." People were doing their thing...walking dogs, walking themselves, buying lattes. Few were dressed for work, but most people were in athletic gear. Women were in pairs or small groups, turned to each other and focusing on their friends' hearts. Men were reading papers or chatting with passersby. As a member of this club, I played the part and got in line for my own latte in my semi-athletic wear. I chatted with the baristas who were discussing marathons (glad I know something about those!) and stepped back out into the morning. This is when it gets good.

I live by the beach. Wait, let me rephrase that. I live at the beach. There is the "big" beach, the one that faces open ocean, and there is the "pretty" beach, which is more of an inlet. I walked down the "pretty" beach, latte in hand, breathing the morning. And the sea. The sea was still and reflective, and it would have looked like glass except the faintest heartbeat just stirring the surface made it alive. A mirror can only show what it sees, but the water was its own entity; part of what surrounded it and mostly all itself. And below the cool salt-taste, a world.

Kind of like people, except the salt part. We can be still and reflect what's around us, but there is always that heartbeat of individuality and depths no one can see, but can only learn over time. And part of what we reflect is what made us into what we are. If the sea did not have boundaries, its comparison would be useless because there would only be sea and no land. If we were not shaped by countless tiny experiences, we wouldn't be our own entities, mingling with each other as we walk our dogs and sip our lattes. I think that's worth waking up for. And it's beautiful.

Dates! But not the kind with flowers...well, not overtly anyway...

After FINALLY submitting my last few things for the Peace Corps, I received what seems like pretty concrete info about dates and stuff. Also, these dates somewhat change my I'm-leaving-in-two-months crisis, as it's even less than that now. Anyway, In case you're interested....

25th Sept: Orientation in Philly
27th Sept: Depart for Ukraine with the 70 other members in my group
1st Oct: Find my way to my 3-month home to begin PST (Pre-Service Training)
21st Dec: Start my job in my permanent location (not necessarily the same as PST)

I'm probably going to head out a week early to visit Stef in DC before orientation, which puts my final day in CA somewhere around the 20th Sept. The Peace Corps will help me book my tickets and stuff at the end of August, so that's when I'll have a SOLID date of my departure. I'm going on a few trips here and there before I go...I'm looking forward to Denver and my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary celebration next weekend and I'll try to hit up Tucson to see my mom's side in early Sept.

So, day trips to Disneyland and Catalina, living it up with the fam here and there, and I'm off! It's going to be a great end to my summer, and I think I'll really be ready to go when the time comes. I've been unexpectedly and backwardsly blessed with a pretty light schedule this summer, which will definitely help in allowing me to leave with my goals accomplished. There will probably be quite a few In 'N Out runs and Schooner days...so you locals feel free to hit me up and enjoy So Cal life with me! :)

Two months, a little math and a lot of reality

All day today I had this niggling feeling that there was something significant about today's date: the 28th. July 28th...28th 28th...hm... Then Kelly and I were discussing how quickly the summer's gone, and it dawned. Two months until my departure date. In late May (when I got my placement) I still had allllllll summer, and now I have two months. Two months including a week at my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary, another week at my other grandparents' in Tuscon, a weekend in San Diego with beautiful friends and a week in DC with the BFF...two months gets whittled down pretty quickly. There's stuff to do still! Kelly and I have Catalina tickets, and we're waiting on Disneyland tickets (as well as her completion of the MCAT so she can do something other than study). I still have So Cal things to do like ride a bus and DO Hollywood/LA (whatever that means). This is my chance; who knows when I'll be back here again? And none of that even includes the shopping still to be done (the list includes long johns, a sleeping bag, boots, and of course, more socks), the packing to figure out, the memberships and subscriptions to cancel...oi! It's going to be a busy two months.

I realised a few weeks ago (and it's probably pretty obvious by now) that my enthusiasm for leaving had begun to wane. I am no longer poring over books about Ukraine, studying my phrases relentlessly, or checking the current weather/temperatures in Europe. And maybe it's not that my passion has deflated so much as it has given way to reality. In these short two months, my life will gradually be divided up into little parts that will remain here or there or somewhere else, and I have to decide that now. There are necklaces and earrings and tops to bequeath to my lovely sisters, but which ones will "translate" into Ukrainian fashion? The few sicks of furniture and appliances I own must be farmed out, and which are on "loan" and which are to be given? How much exactly IS 50 pounds per suitcase? Should I bring texts/books/other resources? I want to bring my laptop, but how do I insure it? Which pieces of my current life will be able to go with me, and what will I actually want when I'm there?

But dividing my life isn't about stuff, really. Those things I can figure out. It's the realizing that I'm subtracting myself from my people that has sunk reality into my imminent departure. I can bring a favorite t-shirt and pair of earrings to remind me of me, but I cannot uproot and transport my people. I won't be able to just call up friends to shoot the breeze any old time. I won't be able to crash friends' houses/apartments for dinner and a little hang out time. I won't have a roommate who's also a best friend and I won't attend themed birthday parties for my growing nieces and nephews. I can only imagine how many weddings I'll miss. Births, deaths. Life will go on, and I will of course have my own adventure as well, and I will establish my own community, but it's hard not to feel loss at the life I leave behind. And perhaps this is where starry-eyed enthusiasm gets real.

It's really not about what's being removed, subtracted. I'm not actually losing anything, because my people will still be here. They will be changed, and so will I. But they're always my people. I signed up for this adventure, and I'm still thrilled to take it on. But in less than two months, I will have to say good bye to a lot of who I am now and the life that makes up "me." And I think it will be hard.

So, the reality is that I have two months. I have tickets to Disneyland and a cell phone and an awesome station wagon to take me wherever I will go. To whomever I will go, even. And when two months are over, I will say goodbye to stuff, to people, and, in a sense, to part of me. I will have divided up my life to the point that it really will only be me leaving, and I'll find out exactly who that person is. And I think I will like her. I cherish those who have brought me here and loved me, and I am stoked to be able to take this person to another corner of the world and to share what's been lavished, and to have the favor added right back. My people will still and always be my people, different, but my people. And that's the beauty of multiplying.

Narrating flowers

I sat outside on my building's "balcony" tonight because it was beautiful. A warm night, a glass of wine in hand, and a heart full. And I kept thinking about two things: the opening speech in the movie, Shop Girl, and a passage from Gertrude Stein's The Making of Americans. Now, the movie isn't much to speak of...Jill and I sat there watching it with semi-horrified faces at how tedious and self-gratifying it was...but the narrator, Steve Martin, begins the film with this speech:

"What Mirabelle needs is an omniscient voice to illuminate and spotlight her and to inform everyone that this one has value, this one standing behind the counter in the glove department and to find her counterpart and bring him to her."

And I got to thinking. There's the idea that an ordinary life becomes fantastic when there is a voice to narrate--to choose. That life. Chosen. Picked out as something in the ordinary but not of the ordinary. A marvelous concept, really, and one that countless love stories have played off of since before the screen ever conceived silver. It is love, in a sense. Someone to say you're special, and then to DO...to make it so. Beautiful. Perfect. There is even a white blossom, a flower even, that makes that statement a truth...a flower in front of me to be narrated.

And to this we progress to the repeating of the self, courtesy of our dear friend Gertrude. Every person is the repeating of themselfves, and it is the job of the lover to see and love that repeating. The repeating. Ordinary, until someone gives it narration, and then it is beautiful, perfect. How is any of us beautiful, perfect? Maybe not until someone sees the repeating and calls it so--beautiful perfect expression of the self, for it is only in the repeating of the self that we are lovable--for that is the true essence of the repeating.

But what of the danger in waiting to be seen to be repeating? What if no one narrates my, or your, life? What then? Are you, or am I, valid or common, inconsequential? Special, picked out or ordinary? Does a white flower, beautiful and perfect, communicate this? Yes and no. The white flower is, " I see you, and you are beautiful." But the day-to-day repeating--those are the hundreds of choices we must make every single day to act on our own self-definition. We must first choose the big choice--to be beautiful and perfect, and then we can make those infinite tiny choices to live that, that beautiful perfection. A flower lives a short while, and it grows a limited number of petals, but each must live up to its special beauty to make its perfection. So do we. And that, dear friends, is worth narrating.

They took my three!

Life was as usual until I tried to send a text. Typing the word "weekend" became a battle of will, as my "e"s quickly ate each other and the preceding letters. "D" was, of course, impossible, so I ended up with "wkn." I'm mostly a fan of the T9 texting system, but it was FAILING me today. After spending maybe, oh, 8 minutest or so struggling to produce "wkn," I finally realized that I also couldn't use the "space" button and that pressing "next" (which usually changes either the word or the punctuation) was actually sending me to a menu to change my phone's settings. An agonizingly laborious 20 minutes later, I sent off a text that read, "This wkn isn't going to work, but how about coff somtim? My phon is jack up..can't push th thr button...grr."

Thinking that my little Samsung just needed a coma, I did all the standard, I-don't-know-how-to-work-technology failsafes, like turning it off and on, taking the battery out, blowing on it, but to no avail. I started mentally running through all my options...I didn't want to buy a NEW phone to use for three months, my old phone isn't compatible with Bluetooth (which you Californians know is necessary in a mere four days for driving), I can't get a pre-paid phone and switch numbers, etc. I signed onto my Sprint account as a last act of desperation, to which I was greeted with the following message: "Restrictions have been placed on your account due to an unpaid balance."

Now, I really like Sprint about as often as I like T9. Without exaggeration I tell you that I have logged onto my Sprint account to pay my bill three times in the last month, but have never been able to because either the system is "performing routine maintenance" or I'm temporarily logged out or whatever. Without thinking much about it, I paid off the balance, left my phone in "coma" mode, and went off to tutoring. A few hours later, and to my deep and abiding joy, I turn my phone on to discover that life has indeed righted itself, that my three has resumed its regular activities, as have my T9, "space" and "next" functions.

And then it dawns on me.

"Restrictions"?!?! They took my three!!! Who does that?!

Borsch, vodka and English!

My Peace Corps placement is in, folks! I'm off to Ukraine! I found out last Friday and after the initial 35 seconds of pure joy and excitement, the tears took over. Once those settled, I called my dad first and my placement officer second, the first to share the news and the second to say "YES!!! I'll go!" (the letter I got was really just an invitation; volunteers have to respond to it within 10 days). After that, I called pretty much everyone else I know. And they would all ask the same thing: "Are you happy it's Ukraine?" I had no real other answer than "Yes....?" Flipping through the info book was the first time I'd ever really thought about Ukraine as a country, and so I really didn't know if I should be excited. I really didn't have any expectations or hopes, so I don't feel disappointed. I knew wherever I ended up, it'd be where I'm supposed to be.

It's taken me exactly one week to finally put this blog together. I guess it's more the words and thoughts that needed to be processed and formed. But in that week I've learned the Ukrainian alphabet, the "food" and "transportation" words in my Ukrainian lesson book, begun shopping around for REALLY REALLY COLD WEATHER gear and even imagined myself giving my "first day of school" speech (I plan to rely heavily on hand gestures). I have 3 books about Ukraine's history being transfered to my library so I can pick them up. I even started to post something on Craig's List about finding a Ukrainian conversation partner before I thought better of it and decided I don't know if I can be that naieve and trusting.

The point is, Ukraine is already in my heart. I can't wait to discover life's lessons taught there. I hope that I will be able to offer them as much of myself as they will certainly give to me. What a thrill!




Ah, and the specs.
Departure date: 28th Sept.
Duration: 27 months
EXACT location in Ukraine: TBD
Job title: Teaching English as a foreign language
Weather: REALLY FREAKING COLD
Quantities of vodka to be served to me: TBD
Time frame to start eating meat again: Soon
Internet availability: TBD
Pounds of "insulation" I plan to gain: Undetermined

Check out the Peace Corps website for more info about its role and Ukraine's history!

http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=learn.wherepc
(sorry it's not a click-able link...I can't figure out how to get Blogger to cooperate!)

Moving on...

From a 2004 to a 1991. Tinted windows to scaly paint job. Power everything to most power things work. CD player and AM/FM Radio to tape deck that won't eject the iPod converter. Owned (well, sort of almost) by Sarah Berson to owned by dear friends Jill and Seth. Pleasant blueberry smell upon entry (really don't know where that one came from) to bag of cat litter in the back. All this to say: I've sold my car.

Now, there are a couple of significant things about that statement. First, USE AUTOTRADER.COM. I had my Civic on there for four days before I had a buyer. Let me be some testimonial or something of some sort...it works!!!

Second, the car itself. After my rather unpleasant driving experience in which I walked away with a few bruises and a totaled '93 Accord, my dad, rockstar that he is, drove out to California that following weekend to help me buy a new car. After a day of haggling and hemming, I drove home in my new Civic, who was shortly thereafter named Penelope. This was the first day that I had driven since my accident, and an incredibly loving gesture from my dad. We got in some quality time, and he was able to assist me in the car-buying process like nobody's business. Plus, this car was my first real, big-girl thing...my first car payment, my first car less than a decade old (it was preceded by my '87 Dodge Colt and a '93 Honda Accord). And I named her Penelope, the strong and faithful wife of Odysseus who overcame obstacles in his absence and celebrated his triumphant return. So you see, there is some emotional attachment to this car.

And finally, selling my car marks a huge step in my imminent commitment to my 27 months abroad in the Peace Corps. I still don't know exactly where yet, but rest assured, it will be shouted from the rooftops in due time.

As the Indian guy drove away in my baby, I was overcome with unexpected tears. It was what I wanted, selling my car, but I couldn't help but feel such tremendous loss when she was finally gone. The whole process couldn't have been smoother...I very much trusted the guy, he took care of everything as far as having checks ready, he had purchased financed cars many times, etc. But still, in all the commotion of getting her ready to send off, I pushed off the enormity. And when she was gone, it came. A good friend said, "and can you imagine what it's going to be like when you finally get overseas, and all the excitement of travel and settling and all is gone, and then you'll BE there." I can't. I ask myself questions like that ALL THE TIME...if I feel lonely here what's going to happen when I'm there? If I feel disconnected here what's going to happen there?

I honestly have NO idea what's going to happen over there. But I do know it will be enormous. And I know there will be joy and there will tears. It will always be more than "just a car," it will always have greater significance.


So, in the grand scheme of Penelope to Crap Wagon, I'm from car payment to none. From "on my own" to gettin a little help from my friends. I went from one loving act of generosity to another loving act of generosity. It might be a little ugly on the outside from time to time, but I LOVE it. And I can't wait to see where it takes me....

From stalking to monitoring to good ol' fashioned critical thinking!

So a few months ago, there were flyers EVERYWHERE for a missing cat named Dusty, replete with description and color photo. Kelly and I put ourselves on a relentless quest, interrogating various stray cats and checking under cars at the flick of a fluffy tail. At first, the reward was a measly $100, but it grew to $500, and then $1000. In our semi-unemployed state, we thought it might be a good idea to take up professional "lost pet" hunting. Alas, weeks passed, it rained a couple of times, the wind blew, leaves turned, children grew up and moved away, something about a cat (not Dusty!!!) in the cradle and a silver spoon, and the "Lost Cat" posters disappeared.

Well, I was traipsing down Argonne the other day, and saw the tell-tale flick of the grey fluffy tail under a red Jeep. For kicks, and mostly out of habit, I crossed over and peeked under the Jeep. Sure enough, a rather sickly-looking semblance of Dusty appeared and implored me to help it find its rightful home. It was clearly sick...some sort of goo was oozing from one eye, his back left paw was broken, and he was just generally quite mangy. What to do!!! I happen to have a cat-bag in my car, and I thought about going to get it, but then I'd be stuck with this dilapidated cat for who knows how long. He was so pitiful I wanted to drive him to a vet right away and get his various injuries tended to, and I don't even like cats!

Instead, I set out on a quest to find his owner's posters. These posters proved quite elusive; as mentioned before, the passage of time had borne nakedness to the telephone and light posts. I did, finally, about 8 blocks later, find one tape-strip that had the bottom half of the phone number on it. SCORE! I rushed home to find my math-oriented roomie who could help me decipher its meaning...after all, $1000 was hanging in the balance!!!

Every possible combination for the number was written out, and I started calling. Mostly I got voicemails.

"Hi, my name is Sarah, and I might have the wrong number, but I was wondering if you are missing a cat named Dusty? If this is the correct number, and you're STILL missing your cat, please call me back at 555-5555, as I think I just saw him on Argonne and First. Thanks! Bye!"

A few people answered, and one lady even went next door to her neighbor's house because her neighbor was missing a cat (alas, that cat's name was "Miko," and there was no mention of a reward...).

With determination, I persevered. About 17 calls later, VICTORY!!!

Me: "Hi, my name is Sarah, and I might have the wrong number, but are you missing a cat named Dusty?"
Lady who answered: "Why, I'm Dusty's owner! You've got the right number! But he's not missing any more."
Me: "Are you sure he's not missing? I think I saw him..."
Lady: "I'm really sure he's not missing; he's sitting on my lap!"
Me: "Oh, well, I'm glad he made it back."
Lady: "Thank you! And I do so dearly appreciate all the concern and help from people like you...it means a lot to me."
Me: "Yeah yeah. I was really just after the cash...." (I didn't really say that. I said something else that was a lot nicer. But I was THINKING it...)

Well, it's over. My career as a professional pet-finder has ended. Owners will continue to wonder and worry, various pets will wander and frolic. I will keep my day job.

Except, walking up for a coffee yesterday, I saw a flyer for a mini-pincher named "Bubba....."

"We're all of us alone anyway"

There are few concepts I have encountered in various ways that I have rebelled at ferociously. For one, I still can't get this pre-destination/omniscience of God. Or why people still prefer Myspace over Facebook. Or why almonds and chocolate are a very special gift from God. Or how anything past algebra works and who the heck invented all that crap anyway?!?! When a very dear friend told me I was in control of all my emotions, I fought him so passionately, until I realized he's right. I'm ok with everything else being a mystery, though. Except one other concept: "We're all of us alone."

As many of you are probably at least semi-aware, I loooooove P.S. I Love You. I think that by the time it left the dollar theatre, I had spent a whopping $8 on that movie (and probably triple that in gas!)...you can only do the math to figure out just how much I love it. But towards the end, Holly (Hillary Swank's character) finally realizes that her husband is really dead and really gone forever. She freaks out about it a little, and cries to her mom who replies, "Well, we're all of us alone."

Ever since, I've been milling the concept around in my mind. Is it true? If it is, it's terribly depressing. What a worthless existence if we're all just all alone all the time, no matter what or who. But it must be true to a certain extent, because I'm the only one to experience what I've experienced, just as you are the only one to have your experiences by nature of existence itself, so of course we're all alone in our own experiences.

But still, why is this quote still so depressing? I sit here on my futon in my apartment, having been "alone" since about 4:15 this afternoon when I left work. My apartment building has 10 total units, and all but two (mine and Kelly's) are single-tenant only. And from my excellent "monitoring" skills, I know that many of my neighbors spend their evenings inside their apartments, alone. Alone in their experiences and alone in the more pragmatic sense. The thing is, I would love to get to know them. I'd love to have them over for a beer, for a piece of this tasty Cinnamon Butter Bread I just made. Across history and culture, humans are inherently social creatures. We need contact with other people...hence the reason solitary confinement causes insanity and that the family-unit structure has remained intact.

You see, there is something in me that tells me I'm not quite as alive if I'm by myself for long periods of time. It becomes depressing...like I'm only living to work. I go to school, am surrounded by hundreds of people I don't know and who don't know me, and then I leave and do my "thing," until I wake up again and do it all over. It's funny, because I actually saw plenty of people on my post-work run and have been chatting on IM and leaving Facebook messages. I'm listening to Third Eye Blind, and was recently watching a new facet of my family/friends base, Beverly Hills 90210. So why do I still feel alone?

It's thoughts like these that have finally helped me "label" myself. All through college, waaaaay back when I was still a DCE major, it was all about the What Color Are You? and the Myers-Briggs and the What Animal Are You? and the Introvert or Extrovert? tests. And as in our last presidential election, just over half the opinion swayed red and the rest blue...leaving one very confused and unhappy nation of me. One particular bone of contention was intro- or extro- vert? Finally realizing that I really do need to be around people has helped, but also completely freaked me out, because of how often I feel alone. What am I ever going to do in the Peace Corps where not only do I not know anyone or speak the language, but I won't even understand the process of buying a bus pass? Aside from having to take cold/lukewarm/low/no-pressure showers, loneliness is my biggest fear about taking off for two years. If I feel lonely here where I DO speak the language and I have all my people at least within a phone's reach, how will I combat that loneliness?

In order to reconcile this terrible concept, this isolation intrinsic in being alone all the time despite being surrounded by people and their lives, I'm realizing that though I'm alone in experiences and that pragmatically I even feel lonely, I'm never actually alone. I'm built by all the interactions I've had. I'm shaped by my experience with humanity, both good and bad. There is always something new someone will teach me based on their own alone-ness of experiences. And we will all continue to build each other always.

After Holly's mom makes the comment that we're always alone, she adds that "even if we're all alone, then we're together in that, too." It's because of each other that we're not alone and it's because of each other that we're who we are. Loneliness will come and go, but the experience of being me will always be flavored with you, my dearest friends and family, and that's something I can take with me anywhere.

Courtesy of the Best of Craig's List

This has to be one of my all-time faves...


"To the guy sailing across Mission Bay with a porch umbrella


I suppose you were windsurfing. I've never seen anyone windsurf with a porch umbrella for a sail, boldly charging across the bay like a cross between Admiral Nelson and Mary Poppins. I was amazed -- you didn't just sail downwind, I swear I saw you tacking. You, sir, are my hero. I wanted to tell you so, but alas, I was on the shore. I had so many questions. No, I really only had one question (why?) but it seemed like a really, really good question. Every time I went back, I hoped to see you again, Umbrella Man, but alas, I have not seen you since. Should you happen to read this, could I trouble you for the story behind your brave voyage?"

(http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sdo/590709564.html)


and this is why i love america.

I just remembered something....I'm a Jr. High teacher

I'm sitting here on my futon on a Saturday night working on a project for my student teaching/credential that I didn't know was actually due over a month ago and I now need to submit on Monday, and I'm writing about all this teaching I did over the last months, and a thought hit me:

I am a Junior High School teacher.

When people ask me what I do (and now that I'm all grown up and stuff and get to answer that question with something REAL) they tend to sort of cringe and turn inward to their happy place as soon as I say, "I teach Jr. High." I can't imagine why. After all, what's so horrible about having to endure 7 hours surrounded by 25-ish 12 and 13-year-olds who haven't yet realized that deodorant could potentially be the solution to the monkey-house smell in the room after lunch? What's wrong with having to confiscate notes of "I dnt no y ur mad at me. I luv u n dnt say nething 2 him bout ur crush. Ask ________ cuz she said he dnt no y ur not talkng 2 him nemore. K? Les b frends n not mad, k? Luv u 4eva!" multiple times throughout the day and having to decipher their code to ensure that it truly is just a great work of genius and that there isn't anything of serious consequence happening amongst the students? Who wouldn't want to have to constantly remind recently-gangly-limbed boys that they can't sit on a desk like that? Or remind them that it is actually inappropriate to discuss bathroom-related functions in anticipation of one day hoping to have a girlfriend? And speaking of those girlfriends, who wouldn't want to have that heart-to-heart about what clothes communicate and why it's really not a good idea to wear that top with those pants? And after the forty-fifth reminder in one 50-minute period to stop talking and listen while I explain this, why would a person feel compelled to throw a shoe or coffee mug or any other easily-accessible object at the primary instigator of said annoyance?

But then, without those 5 days a week, 7 hours a day exposure sessions, I wouldn't know quite as much about the nature of humanity. I wouldn't have as many good stories, either. I get to see students react to each other and situations with grace and maturity. I learn what interests them, and discover just how different each worldview can be. I get to marvel at the fact that they're really just people, but not as big and not as jaded, and very lacking in impulse control. They still think the world revolves around them and are stunned to realize not every experience is the same as theirs. They have personalities and strengths, and they are struggling to figure out who they are, and as scary and impossible as that definition of self is, they pursue it. These chatty, absent-minded smelly little people remind me of where I once was, where I am now, what I wanted then, what I want now, what I knew then, what I know now.

They remind me that I am, from time-to-time, in need of a command to stop talking to learn something new. They remind me to evaluate my presentation of self to ensure I communicate what I mean to. They remind me to keep drama to a minimum and to avoid making enemies. They remind me to use furniture correctly and try to not annoy people in charge of me for fear of flying objects. And the most important lesson I've learned thus far: they remind me to take showers on a regular basis.

It's not STALKING, it's Monitoring

I feel the need to set the record straight. Kelly and I do not stalk, we monitor. Just because we happen to be home a lot due to hit-or-miss employment, and just because we happen to like to look outside a lot when we're perched at the internet-stealing window and just because we happen to have theories about the goings-on of our across-the-street neighbors who might be drug dealers we've decided because of all the random visits they receive from a lot of different people at all times of the day and just because we happen to jump up and look out the peep hole in the front door to catch a glimpse of the new neighbor upstairs or the other neighbor who is apparently a cop (and apparently cute!)and just because we happen to think setting up a survelliance camera near the trash bins (becuase everyone HAS to throw their trash away sometime) to see said neighbors does not make us stalkers. We are simply interested citizens who spend any given amount of time monitoring the activity within our area. Let the record be straightened.

Keeping it Human

The human body has long been likened to a machine. A brilliant, self-sustaining machine in which each part contributes to the functioning of another part, and so on. Just the other day, I used the image of a engine to create an analogy for the seventh graders to help them understand calories as fuel and the car’s output. Biology was my second favorite subject in high school, because I LOVED learning about cells and body systems. I was enamored with the complexity of these miniscule microcosms and the way in which they worked together and relied on each other.

Unlike a machine, however, the body can “fix” itself. We fall down and get a cut, and clotting cells rush to the area, as well as red blood cells to fill the clot and white blood cells to kill the intruding bacteria. The mouth comes equipped with two sets of teeth to better suit our growing and hygiene. The heart reacts within milliseconds to danger as a result of a rush of adrenaline causing us to run fast or duck low, all senses on high-alert, blood pumping furiously.

Like a machine, the body can break down beyond its own self-repair. It cannot maintain its own homeostasis when disease takes over. When injuries are so great that a system cannot function, which causes trauma to the other systems. At these times, we rely on actual machines, to breathe for us, to reroute and clean our blood, to provide the correct hormones or neurotransmitters or to provide those electrical signals to get our hearts going again.

The concept of medicine has become a very sterile force over the decades of research and developing methodologies. We have the newest sonograms to see the very deepest of our inside parts to the 4th dimension (apparently, the 3rd just wasn’t enough). We can have open-heart surgery without even opening the chest. We can correct an abnormality in the heart of an unborn baby. We put blood into a microscope and it tells us things about that blood. It’s easy to lose the human aspect of this human “machine.”

I gave blood today. The American Red Cross’ promotional posters inform me that with my measly one-pint donation, I can save up to seven lives. There is something about blood, actual human blood that cannot be replicated by a machine, and medicine must rely on it. My offering of humanity is a force that will preserve another’s experience of their own humanity.

Yes, the body is a machine. My system will have replaced all the platelets, plasma and red blood cells in about two weeks. My nervous system registered pain when I got suck by that huge, scary needle, and my adrenaline got my heart going just a wee bit more which increased the pressure on my arm cuff so that my hand got a little tingly. I will have a tiny scab where the clotting factors rushed to the rescue, and I will have a bruise from the moments before those factors could fill the hole in my vein.

But beyond the discomfort, beyond the fear and pain, I have contributed my humanity to preserve seven others’ beautifully intricate machines.

"She had lost the great arrogant years in the life of a pretty girl"

Here we go again...another Valentine's day, another decision to make. In my typical tendency to defy the "norm," I wasn't going to comment on Valentine's Day. I wasn't even going to be even the slightest bit bitter about being single and all. For whatever reason, last year I LOVED Valentine's Day...I felt so optimistic and even excited for the day, though I had no romantic prospects whatsoever. This year I find myself ambivalent. But I'm commenting, contrary to my normal behavior.

The quote, "She had lost the great arrogant years in the life of a pretty girl" came from F.Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night, and it has really stuck with me. I was journalling some thoughts that have been circulating my mind for several weeks now, and thought they'd make a satisfactorily non-traditional Valentine's rant. This will sound very arrogant. You've been warned.

It is an enormous disappointment to the Pretty Girl to learn that there is someone for everyone. Every person is beautiful to someone and we're not just talking about a mother's love here. Because everyone can be beautiful, there is nothing special in being beautiful. Nothing unique. Nothing that will cause the uncomfortably gorgeous, green-eyed Irishman to put down his guitar and take the Pretty Girl into his arms for a lifetime.

So what is the Pretty Girl to do? Develop character. After all, it's always the quirky-best-friend girl who puts on an incredible dress and wins her best friend's heart. But again, anyone can do that. Nothing particularly unique there.

So what is the Pretty, Quirky and Fun Girl to do? Well, she's to go on with her life, making choices on how she will live. She will enter a new job, she will travel to another country and fall helplessly in love with a local, learn his language and live a culturally shared bliss, peppered with the humorous side stories of miscommunications and cultural faux pas. But how likely is that to actually happen? I mean, it does, every day, but the Pretty, Quirky and Fun girl can't go overseas with that possibility as an eventuality.

So what is the Pretty, Quirky and Fun, Culturally Interested Girl to do? She could become bitter. She could resign herself to a life of Sisterhood, feeding the orphans and denying her own hunger for love and relationship. She could learn the hard walk of self-reliance, learning to lean only on herself and to become emotionally detached and distrusting of love and armorous intent. That is, until the patient, blue-eyed 6'2" heart of gold breaks her from her tough outer shell and releases her into a world of comfort and happiness and trust. But when the Girl only has one life...a numbered number of days, why spend those miserable?

So what is the Pretty, Quirky and Fun, Culturally Interested, Emotionally Unfulfilled Girl to do?

Turn off the tv. Stop frequenting the dollar theatre for Irish brogue. Live. Because it's likely to be better than what Hollywood produces. Love. And continue to dream.

Always, continue to dream.

Music is my life

I've always thought it'd make me a bit of a poser to make the aforementioned statement. I have NO rhythm. Seriously. I've gone to some steps/weights classes at my gym and I'm convinced I'm there for comic effect as I flail my arms a half second after my instructor and have to skip steps to get caught up. And during my beloved spinning classes, a new song will come on and the instructor will tell us to match our pace to the beat of the song...I get there and can hold it for about ten seconds, then it's gone again. Oh, and clapping along during a song in contemporary worship. Nope. I can either sing, OR clap. My concentration is fully occupied by sticking to the rhythm, and I prefer to sing, not that my voice is much of an improvement over my rhythm, of course. For instance, my tonality is questionable, and I can't hear parts.

Thus, to say that "music is my life," doesn't seem to quite fit. But I assure you, it's true. Ever since I was a kid, and we'd play those "Which would you rather" games, and when the question was "Be blind or deaf?" I always picked blind because I couldn't imagine not being able to listen to music. If there is nothing else I can take with me, electronics-wise, into the Peace Corps, it will be my iPod.

Taking into account my complete inability to be a creator of said music, or to improve others' experience of music, I've always been completely AMAZED by those who can, in face, produce or enhance musical experiences. Those people get major gold stars in my book. Lyricists, especially, rock my small world with their ability to take my heart and mind to places my heart and mind didn't know before. And the sound of it...the rise that makes me happy, the lethargy that makes me contemplative, the thump-thump beat that makes me dance like white girl skinny...did I mention that I can't dance, either?

Music, is, my life. Kelly laughed at me last night when, after getting home from seeing "P.S. I Love You" at the dollar theatre for the second night in a row, I immediately logged into iTunes and bought the album. I think her exact words were, "You're unemployed and you won't even buy groceries, but you'll buy music."

I've been playing the album all day. :)

It's how us unemployed roll

So, Kell and I are unemployed. Still. There are only so many hours in a day a girl can walk up and down the street with her ideals and a resume and get rejected time after time...so, said girl must find other things to occupy all the other hours.

Firstly, sleep in. A lot. Maybe til 10 one day, 11 the next. BUT, make sure to MOVE YOUR CAR ON STREETSWEEPING DAYS. That's from 9:00-11:00. You CAN go back to sleep, though.

Secondly, you're poor, so figure out some free things to do. Walking is free. One day, I said to Kelly, "Kelly, what should we do today?" "Not sure. What do you want to do?" "Let's go for a walk." "Ok." So, we went for a walk. We walked to the Queen Mary. We browsed a Borders and read the books for free, then left. Three hours later, we got home. Then we took naps because we were tired. ;)

Another free thing to do is go to museums on their "Free" days. The Long Beach Museum of Contemporary Art has "Free Fridays," so guess what Kelly and I are doing later? We're walking to the museum. We will browse said art pieces, then walk home.

Thirdly, FIND INTERNET. We've discovered that at the public library down the road, there are computers hooked up to the internet. So, we walk. Panera is also AMAZING and offers free internet...I buy a cup of coffee for $1.80 and sit for three hours and have 4-5 refills. Yep. Now, chat to everyone who is at work and trying to be productive. Distract them. Annoy them. Discuss truly significant things like whether a truck's emergency brake will light up all the tail lights or not.

Fourthly, this will not last forever. Try to enjoy it. Rock bottom is VERY far away, and there are a lot of people who would catch you before that ever really became an issue anyway.

A few words of caution:
Beware of watching too many seasons in a row of a particular show that you happen to love. You will cry when bad stuff happens to these people who have magically become your family and you will forget that they are not real.

Ice cream will begin to sound like a good idea for lunch. Remember, you will eat a lot, being near the kitchen and all and not having anything else to do. Counter this by running, walking, biking, etc-ing. Plus, those are FREE activities! :)



Any other ideas of what the unemployed might try? Hopefully, we're running out of time as said "schedule-ey free" girls!

"I am" who I want to be

Lately I've been thinking about the definition of self. Perhaps the fact that we seek the conclusion to the ethereal "I am" statement is one of the things that makes us most human. And truly, this concept is everywhere...movies, tv, music...we are all seeking its end.

I have turned in a LOT of resumes and applications in the last few weeks, and have been on several interviews. Interviews are a lot like first dates, I'm thinking, because both require you to define yourself. "See, this is who I am here, here and here, and this is what I do to shape the world around me." During dates, we are trying to see if who we are aligns closely enough to our date's taste and personality, and during interviews, we are trying to convince our potential employer that who we are will benefit his or her company.

High school brings the greatest conflict in self-definition for many, and then college, and then it keeps going. And re-definition should always continue, I assert, because we're always changing. The guy, Peck, who wrote a book called The Road Less Traveled, offers us the image of our personalized "maps." Maps of who we think we are, how we see our world, how we interact with our world, how we see others in our world, and where we are going based on the terrain as we see it. As each new experience happens, we re-shape our maps. Maps have keys, indicate mountains, capitals and other landmarks, and offer a traveler a perspective of where they've been and how they might proceed. So, what does your "map" look like? Who are you?

In my "I am" existentiality, I realised I don't know. I really identified with Kristin Armstrong's final line in her recent blog, "you are still, and always, a runner." This lady who has no idea who I am boosted my confidence in my flagging fitness routine. I just watched the movie, "The Holiday," and the old movie writer tells Kate Winslet's character that she should be the leading lady in her life, not the best friend. And Carrie's character in "Sex and the City" has in several instances said, "That's just me."

These things I identify with because they offer hope that there is a place, an actual finality in self-discovery...but I'm beginning to think that it's a false hope. Well, a mis-directed hope. Because we don't ever stop filling in the "I am" blank. And for me, I feel like I don't know who I am. I am a runner, yes. I am a friend, sister, daughter, granddaughter. I am a traveler. I am a renter. I am someone who dances her hip hop in the car. I am a reader. I am a cheese-lover. I am both leading lady AND best friend.

But on deeper levels, I am unsure. Couldn't the definition of self include, or perhaps, be superseded by who we desire to be? I WANT to be a writer. I WANT deeper faith. I WANT deeper relationships. I want someone to tell me that if he wrote my theme song, he'd use all the best notes (also from "The Holiday"). I want to understand God and his role in my life and my role in his world better. I want to be a treasured friend, sister, daughter, granddaughter, woman. I want to be an excellent teacher. I want to love. Perhaps if we stop with "I am," we lose the significance of our maps. How can we continue to change them if we already are? Can we start off a date with, "Well, here's who I hope to be..." Can we connect with each other in that way, or is it more of a "map" thing? And what if we never become those things we want to be? Do we never achieve the "I am?" Is that perhaps the point? Many of the things I want to be and I'm sure many others also seek do not have finish lines. It isn't possible, I think, to have "enough" faith. To be an excellent teacher. To laugh off the insignificant things and focus on the all-important LOVING.

So IS there hope? Absolutely. Do I know who I am? Nope. I know where I've been, though, and I'm adjusting the key in the "Legend" box at the bottom of my map...adding a new road here, a different tint to the hill there. The legends to our lives. The unattainable outcome, the perpetual search. The life, boots on, and the end, love had, and done.

peanut butter and bananas

so here i sit, pilfering internet from some unsuspecting neighbor, and having just finished a banana with peanut butter, i feel the need to blog, as i do. after an awesomely long conversation with stef in which we talked about little or nothing at all, i've rekindled my love of peanut butter. we discussed its various uses: peanut butter and hot chocolate mix, peanut butter and chocolate chips, peanut butter and bananas, peanut butter on a spoon, peanut butter in ice cream, peanut butter on apples...you get the idea. peanut butter is the magical food!

now, speaking of foods, i enjoyed a lovely hour or so this afternoon flipping through one of my grandma's cookbooks. i sat at my kitchen table, drank a cup of coffee and watched the rain fall against the window as i flipped through looking for recipes i'd like to try. now, the remarkable thing about the cook book is what a time capsule it is! these recipes were all contributed and compiled into a book by church members over 40 years ago. there are several observations i would like to share:

first, probably 90% of the dessert recipes included either jello or pineapple. a "treasured treat" included BOTH jello and pineapple, as well as CELERY and ICE CREAM. WTF?!?!?!?

second, all brand name things were written like they were actual products. for instance, "jello." today, we'd have to write "Jell-o" to be a little more on the politically correct side, whereas back in the day, people just wrote "jello," "tang," "nestle," "koolaid," etc. and here's with the time capsule: there were ONLY these brands to represent these products! they weren't brands back then, they were actually products!

thirdly, "vegetable" doesn't mean "vegetarian." i was stoked to discover three vegetable soup recipes until i looked at the first ingredient: "SOUP BONE." when i hear "vegetable," i translate "vegetarian." not so back in the day. there wasn't vegetarian back then...only things that were primarily vegetable, and with no meat chunks.

fourthly, translations! "oleo" is margarine. "bubble up"....i have no idea what that is. cans of turkey meat...what? frozen lemon juice instead of frozen lemonade...also in 6 oz cans! how different to our over-sized world!

fifthly, GROUND BEEF. HAMBURGER. as i flipped through the casseroles section, hamburger or ground beef were in nearly EVERY RECIPE. haha...and speaking of horrid meats, the recipe for pigs in a blanket: slice 2/3 of the way through weiners, stuff with cheese, wrap with bacon, then bake for 10 minutes. place on buttered and toasted buns. and another HORRID heart attack waiting to happen: spamwitches: spam, cream of mushroom soup, velveeta and onion ground together and fried in fat. serve patties on buttered hamburger buns. EWEWEWEWEWEW!!!!

i love looking through these recipes and thinking about what my grandma's life was like 50 years ago. wow, 50 years ago, she was 34! what will be outdated when i'm 34? nowadays, we're all about our wheat flour and edamame beans...what will be what's up in 50 years? we'll have lasers to clean our bathtubs, stef and i decided.

Grandma!

Ing's got pics of Grandma on her blog, so check 'em out! Here's one I stole:

5 Days

Five days later, and the word I have to capture them is: Overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed. I actually feel pretty ok, but I sort of just want to sit down and let everything fall apart if that's what it's going to do anyway, and since that seems to be what it wants to do, I might just sit back and enjoy the ride! I'm blogging with the hopes of de-overwhelming myself...maybe that would be unwhelming? Well, let's see how it goes!

Firstly, I finished student teaching on Friday. YAY! I was less emotional about it than I was at El Mo, for whatever reasons. Perhaps it was because I was so entirely "over it" or maybe because they weren't my "first class," but I just didn't feel like it was difficult to separate myself from them. It's nice to be done with student teaching, too. All I have left is some paperwork hoops to jump through, then I'm scot-free! I'm in the process of applying with the Long Beach school district to start subbing, so hopefully that will happen SOON. My master teacher and a couple of the other teachers took me out for a couple of celebratory beers, which was nice. But the party ended by the time I got home, with a couple of missed calls from Sue.

Turns out, my grandma died. My grandma Prellwitz, whom I had just written a note to but not yet put into the mail. She was old, but not sick, so it came as a bit of a shock. She apparently had a heart-attack after shoveling the snow off the driveway and was found a day later, still wearing her snow boots. She was in my Grandpa's part of the house, which was odd since she didn't normally go there. He died a little over 2 years ago, and she's been very lonely ever since, so it was good for her to go see him again. But it's hard, because I never get to talk to her again. I'll never see her, never get to laugh at the things she says, which are VERY funny, I can assure you. There was an opportunity to tell funny stories about her at the funeral, but I couldn't because my very favorite story involves the f-bomb and Grandma giving us all the bird. She was truly a treasure-able lady, and treasured by many people. Her funeral was just beautiful, since everyone had such incredible stories to tell about her. There was no doubt or exaggeration when people said she was "awesome," since she truly was. When people said they were going to miss her, I had no doubt whatsoever that they were being completely honest. I will miss her. When the proverbial fan was hit with the proverbial refuse, she was a rock to me. She's actually my step-grandma, but she never ever let me feel like I wasn't a full-blooded granddaughter. I remember staying with her early early on...I think it was the summer of '93. I couldn't sleep and she made me warm milk. I think that's the only time I've ever had warm milk, and I really didn't like it, but I loved that she was taking care of me and loving me. We all had a lovely time with her at Thanksgiving, which is the last time I saw her. I was talking to my roommate earlier today, and she mentioned how Grandma kept saying, "this is my last year." And it was, physically. I treasure my memories of her, and will not let my lessons learned from her life go. She is my inspiration for her vitality and optimism despite her loneliness and age. I only hope that the same things will be said of me at my own funeral.

But before I got to actually go to Nebraska, a few other things happened. I moved into my new apartment on Saturday! I had an incredible support team who came in and dominated moving and arranging and loving, which is without words. I have pics of the new look, but I'll have to upload them later, since I haven't yet transferred them to my computer. It feels great to be in my new place. It's so bright and calming...I just need a few more elements, like my ROOMMATE (and more furniture!) to make it complete.

Saturday night, however, my wallet was stolen. I was at a friend's house and left my purse in the living room, and sure enough, my wallet was taken. At first I figured I had just misplaced it, but when my bank called me early the next morning to check on a few suspicious charges, I knew it was gone. And what a HASSLE. I'm still dealing with the repercussions. I need to go to the DMV to PAY for a replacement license, I'm forced to wait to pay my phone bill until I get a new credit card since they won't take a personal check without a driver's license, I lost at least $250 dollars in unused gift cards, and my beautiful watch that I had stuck in there to avoid losing it in the moving fiasco. I am having difficulty getting a job, since they also want a copy of my driver's license. I haven't been able to just BUY something, since pretty much no one takes personal checks anymore. I've never been truly poor, to where I can't figure out how to pay for something and had to go hungry, so this is the closest to actual poverty I've experienced. My flight to Nebraska were on Monday, and as I had no food in my apartment, I had no food to take with me, and was forced to rely on the airplane peanuts and soft drinks for my sole sustenance. But that was Monday.

Sunday I felt kind of paralysed. My grandma was gone, my wallet was gone, my apartment was still a mess, I had no food, my friends were gone...it was all me. I didn't get much done on Sunday except feel depressed. Of course, I'm not alone, and I have my So Cal family, but I just couldn't DO anything. Plus, I had a flight out of LAX at 6:30 the next morning.

Speaking of Monday and flying, it SUCKED. Drew arrived at my apartment at 4:30 and we drove to LAX, parked my car, checked in and boarded our 6:30 flight to Phoenix successfully. It was in Phx that the real trouble started up. Our 10:00 flight to Omaha was WAAAAAY overbooked, so we got bumped. Rather than take a gamble on the later, also overbooked, flights to Omaha, we opted to go with Plan C, which involved a 2-hour wait for a 37-minute flight to Tucson, then another 2-hour wait for an 1:30-min flight to Denver, then a 5-hour wait for a 1-hour flight to Omaha. We arrived at the Omaha airport (seven degrees celsius) a little after midnight. Our step-cousin was there to pick us up and drive us the 2-hour drive to Lincoln, where I proceeded to fall into a coma, awaking at noon from a tap on my door.

Tuesday was the funeral, which was, as mentioned, just wonderful. The kids (all 9 or so of us) were pall bearers, which was the hardest part of my Grandpa's funeral two years previous and remained so this time around. It was so hard...loading Grandma up into a car that would take her away forever. Even knowing she'd been gone for days didn't help...she was really gone with the slam of that black hearse door. I wanted to break down then, but I knew she was so happy. Plus, I had my comic relief: Drew and Eric. What a treat to spend so much time with those two! I can't imagine how much more like Hell Monday would have been without Drew. It was like we were kids...we goofed off, people-watched, analysed truths, discussed Grandma...in short, we had the best time possible of those wretched 22 hours. And Eric was en fuego...as he usually is when he's not grumpy. So the 5 of us (my dad, Sue, Eric, Drew and I) had a lovely time that evening once all the craziness of guests and whatnot was over. We sat around Grandma's kitchen table and shared beers and stories until it was late and the old "gotta get up in 6 hours" started to kick in. My dad drove Drew and me back to Omaha around 4:30 for our 7:10 flight, which went off without a hitch. We made it back to CA on time, drove my car back to his place, and made banana bread muffins since he had two really old bananas hanging on his banana tree.

Last night was interesting: I'd been so inundated with 24/7 company and family that it felt strange to be alone in my semi-empty apartment. I cooked myself my first real meal, which was interesting. My good friend, Seth, has used his blog to post recipes, and I'd like to follow suit. Here's what I had:

Sarah's What-the-heck Soup
1 can chicken stock
1 can water
1 kinda old potato
1 handful of shelled edamame
1 handful tortellini

Boil the water and chicken stock. Cut the potato into little squares. Don't bother peeling off the skin, since you don't have a potato peeler. When the potato is getting soft, add the tortellini and edamame. Cook for another 5 minutes, or until you decide it's done since you're hungry. Salt and pepper. Oh yeah, and after I had a couple of bites, I decided it needed a pat of butter, so I added that too, and it was a lot better.

There's half a pot of it in my fridge (I just stuck the lid on it since I don't have any tupperware!), and it will serve as my next meal, I'm thinking.

So now i'm processed a bit, and feeling better, actually. I was getting so stressed out about money and figuring out things these last few days, I actually had to sit down and write a list of all the things that were plaguing me. I also wrote a list of the worst thing that would happen with each thing, and I guess it's not so bad. I've struggled a lot with the aspect of having to "go it alone." It's hard to have to be so completely self-dependent. There's no one to pick up my slack when I really feel like I can't get up and do it myself, and there's no one's ATM card with the same last name that I can use to buy a cup of coffee. No one else is helping me decide where to put the plates and whether or not to get internet. It leaves me wondering, "when did life become so hard?" Has it always been hard and it's just that as I grow more and more independent, I have fewer people to share the tiresome burdens with? In the naivety of youth, we have people (usually parents) who do all this stuff for us. I learned pretty early on that I was going to have to take care of myself in this world, and seem to be continuing to learn that lesson. But when is it going to get easier? A guy by the last name of Peck wrote a book in which the first line is, "Life is difficult." Is it unreasonable to hope that things will get easier? Am I barking up the unsympathetic tree? Should I ignore this desire for relief, simply in case it doesn't ever happen that I have someone to share life with? Or, do I simply need to look outside my self, cancel the pity party and realize how much it doesn't matter? My grandma lived in cheer and joy amongst her sorrows, so I can, too. She taught me resolve, life taught me struggle. And living in joy is better than turmoil, no matter what. So, to my dear Grandma, no more saying "I hate my life," no more life-sucks-and-then-you-die attitude...time to embrace these days, and to live til death with my boots on.

Funniest durned video EVER

PUNERGY! That's me!!!!

More on "Free Stuff" from Craig's List

I have a new hobby. Well, perhaps it's more accurately an addition to a habit I've always had: people-watching. No matter where I am or what I'm doing or where I'm going, I people watch. I wonder where that lady with the giant grin just came from. I wonder if that guy knows I can see him picking his nose. I look at clothes...what does that teenager really mean by all the skulls and crossbones and hearts on her sweatshirt? And that guy's suit...has no one shared with him that the 80s are over? I wonder, too, what people think of me. Do my clothes represent my personality? Do I have a scowl on, or do I look like a pleasant person? How do I speak to my companions? Am I a loud cellphone talker? Am I nice to people, or do I just annoy them? Do people watch me? I can only assume that they do, since I watch them.

But back to the addition to my observational prowess. "Free Stuff" on Craig's list. It's one of my new favorite I'm-bored-and-need-to-kill-5-minutes activities. I just LOVE the way people present what they're selling. And the stuff they're giving away! Some of it is legitimately crap. I can't understand who would have a use for it, or how someone would think that another person could have a use for it. But other stuff...it's their explanations that I'm just enamored with. It's people-watching on a whole new level! I imagine what they look like, where they live, how they live. I get this little insight into their lives by what they had, why they're getting rid of it, and that they think it could be useful to another person! I love it!

Here are a few of the more entertaining postings:

Free stroller
"Given to me by a co-worker, but I have no children therefore no use for it."
~HAHAHAHAHA--that was a confused co-worker!

40-year-old pepper tree
"Roots about to crack the water main beneath it...will help pay for its removal and re-planting!"
~Someone really hearts their pepper tree.

Gas lawnmower
"Works when it wants to."
~This person gets right to the point! Short and sweet!

Free box of unused condoms.
"Left over from a relationship gone bad. This isn't a scam, I just don't need the constant reminder and they're still good...hate to throw them away when someone else could use them."
~Yikes! I debated putting this one in here...but again, with the insights into people's lives and their sorrows and joys...it's an irresistible force to me.

Two free cribs
"Our twins have outgrown their cribs and they're ready to go to a new home (the cribs, not the twins! Heh heh!)."
~A mom with a sense of humor! Glad those kids are growing up in that house!

Free baubles and trinkets and shiny things
"I have a bunch of trims and rhinestone embellishments including a diamond snake trinket. If you're interested let me know, and I will give you clues to the treasure."
~Clever and having fun with it...just great!

Huge Piece of glass
8 feet by 4 feet and 3/4 inch thick. Will require many strong men to move it. 3-4 at least.
~This one just baffles me...what could this giant piece of glass have been used for? I don't even know...


Alright, I'm done for now. Enjoy!

Learning to depend on the kindness of strangers

As the internet was no where near even being a twinkle in the eye of its creator (who IS that AMAZING person, anyway?!?!) when Tennessee Williams wrote the line, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers," he could not have known that this God-sent communication tool would be making my world better in hundreds of little ways. I name specifically the greatness that is the Craig's List "FREE STUFF" posting site. People can post ads for anything they are selling (I have an ad up for my car right now!) or giving away. In light of my wonderful new (but empty!) apartment, I have been perusing this list for the last week or so, and am just stunned by some of the stuff that's being given away for FREE! Granted a lot of it is, for me, pretty useless. There is free dirt, free broken concrete, old magazines, packets of soy sauce (I laughed about that one for quite some time) free tantric massages (no joke!), and lots of broken stuff. But there are some real gems. I've seen TVs, microwaves, couches, tables, bookshelves, computers, haircuts, coupons to various restaurants, and even a jacuzzi! As I am in the market for a couch and a couple of kitchen chairs and a microwave, I've been in contact with the various "sellers," but have only just missed the items.

The thing that is truly remarkable to me about this link is the way in which people are truly generous...willing to give something away when they could easily ask $50 for it. It reminds me of an "old world" communal society mentality, in which no one really "owns" anything, and we're all part of a balance of helping each other out.

As I look at the piles of things I'm sorting through and planning to get rid of, I wonder what stranger could depend on this measure of kindness. And from far more than strangers...from those I consider family, I have been freely and lovingly given so much. A home, nieces and a nephew, laughter, laundry, house keys to places I don't even live in, the constant knowledge that even if I have no where to go, I still have somewhere, numbers of people to call any time of day and a comforting presence in the midst of turmoil, advice and, the greatest of these: love. Can we be "old world" with our hearts? I'd like to think so, and as I look around at what I've been given, I think of what I have to return. Sometimes (in fact, most of the time), it feels like I don't actually have that much to give, and I think that I'll be as freely, lovingly generous when my "time" comes. And then I realize, my time is now! I can only hope that I give now with what I have as freely as I can, not counting the dollars or minutes invested, but rather giving of myself...of what I have.

Consider this a new "Free Stuff" Craig's list posting: my life.



Oh, and if you're wanting some free broken concrete or cardboard, click here:
http://orangecounty.craigslist.org/zip/