more South Africa

We have been very busy these couple of days, visiting the Cape of Good Hope and Robben Island. It is hot here, and I have the flaming red nose to prove it. Must remember to re-apply my sunscreen!

Yesterday, we paid a visit to one of the largest colonies of African penguins in Africa at Boulders Beach. These little, lively creatures hang out on the sand with beachgoers, barely blinking an eye at the children building sand castles nearby. I saw hundreds of penguins—hundreds! With the exception of an egg-stealing seagull, my visit with the penguins was peaceful and uplifting.

Following Boulders Beach, we drove to the meeting of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. The sights were magnificent, the wind strong and the sun bright. I could definitely understand why it is a perilous place for boats. It is certainly an awesome place, in the original sense of the word.

While hiking around the cape, we were accompanied by tons of baboons. They just hang out along the roads and trails, sometimes moving for the cars, other times making the cars move for them—a fair trade. All the signs say,” Baboons are dangerous and attracted by food.” Of course, most of the tourists still eat their chips and sandwiches out in the open anyway. One family experienced the baboon in a very direct way when the baboon stole chips right out of the hand of a two-year-old boy. Wide blue eyes followed the baboon’s fur-less butt as he ran to enjoy his booty. I learned a helpful German phrase which I repeated over and over as baboons passed me by,” Langsam weglaufen”—slowly walk away.

That evening, we saw a stunning sunset from Signal Hill, overlooking all of Cape Town and beyond, and enjoyed an ice cream cone. The sunset inspired a fun evening of wine, champagne and conversation.

Today, we visited Robben Island, the island prison of South Africa’s black, colored, and Asian political prisoners—including Nelson Mandela. The island is full of contradictions and dichotomies. Gorgeous scenery and active wildlife give the island a serene feeling, which is immediately displaced when the barbed wire and small jail cells come into view.

Our tour guides today were passionate teachers and informed us of the many injustices the prisoners endured. One of the guides is a former prisoner of 18 years who chooses to teach foreigners like us about this aspect of South African history. He believes that by teaching others about Robben Island, he is preventing the possibility of such things occurring in the future.

In the one week I have been in South Africa, I have been on two tours of tough places—places whose people have endured great hardships and challenges. The three men whose job it is to lead these tours have a deep, infectious passion for their country. South Africa, to them, is a work in progress with possibilities of greatness. While leading us on these tours and teaching their people’s tragedy, these men speak with ardor, wit and humor—making me both laugh and cry. So far, I think that most clearly expresses my feelings about South Africa—it makes me laugh and cry, and sometimes, it renders me speechless.

South Africa: Part 3

For some reason, my computer or Blogger does not feel like uploading photos. I will try later today.

Yesterday, I finally met Alex's family. The big moment finally happened--and it went just fine. They are lovely, friendly and excited to practice their English. So far, most of our conversations involve German, broken English and broken German, but it seems to work out for all of us.

Because of wind, we could not go up Table Mountain yesterday so Alex and I showed his family around Cape Town instead. Later on in the day, Alex, his sister, her husband, and I climbed the Lion's Head. The climb was awesome, but similar to New Zealander, the South Africans perception of "easy" is quite different from us Americans. Still, the climb was a bit of a challenge and great workout. When I can post my pcitures, I will--they are worth seeing.

That evening, we all went out for seafood. They don't get much of that in Germany so it was a great treat for them. The prawns here are to die for! Then, for Alex's mom's birthday, we drank champagne and red wine, continuing our dual-language chat.

All in all, a good day. Today, we are heading to the Cape of Good Hope. Hopefully, penguins and dolphins are in the near future!

Cape Town is fascinating. I am still gathering my thoughts about it so I am not going to share too much now, but this place is really amazing. Yesterday, Alex and I walked all over the city, taking in gardens, museums and people. Cape Town is full of people, full of life, full of variety. There are 11 national languages--all of which you can choose from when at the ATM! Walking around, I have seen people of all shapes, sizes and colors. It is a lovely thing to see but sadly, so very foreign to me.
Today, we visited a couple of townships outside of Cape Town. There is a tour company in Cape Town that offer tours to the townships, using its profits to give back to those communities. I have never, ever seen anything like it. Some of you have traveled around the world and have seen what I saw today, but this was my first time. I was moved--still processing it all, so for now, here are my photos from the day.

These tenement type buildings are refered to as hostels. The above hostels are brand new and much more spacious for the families. One family per unit where they actually have a bathroom, and multiple rooms. The below hostels are really stunning. Each unit houses up to SIX famillies. The unit has six rooms (one for each family), a common space used for cooking, sleeping and eating and a washroom. The unit we visited held an unknown number of people, but we do know that one family had ELEVEN members living in ONE room!
The "informal" township is a shanty town. Oddly enough, the shanties are more spacious for the families. There is a large building project happening in the townships where they are razing the shanties to be replaced with small huts, very similar to those built by Habitat for Humanity.


This kindergarten was formed by the funds provided by Grassroutes Tour Company, our guide for the day. These little people were brimming with life and just a joy to be with.



This is Tavern Alley in Langa Township. Our tour guide brought us to a local pub owned by three lovely women. We sat in a circle and tried the local beer made from corn, milk, wheat...or some combination similar.



Sheep heads are serious business in Langa and other townships. Women who own these shops rise early to purchase the heads of sheep. They then spend the day cooking the skulls and selling the meat from the heads.

Okay, so these images are out of order but I just can't stomach fixing them AGAIN. So, I am swallowing my perfectionist tendencies for now.

Anyway, our travels to South Africa were long...let's just put it this way, they fed us four meals while on the plane--dinner, breakfast, lunch and dinner again. Alex slept the whole way, me, not so much. Yesterday was rough, but today is much better. Especially when I can eat breakfast on this cute little terrace each morning. This is the patio of our hotel.


This is the view from our balcony. We can also see Table Mountain from our room. I am sure I will get some good photos of Table Mountain tomorrow when I hike it!










To celebrate our vacation, surviving the flights and Alex's promotion, we ate cheese and crackers and sipped champagne on our balcony last night. Needless to say, I was sound asleep shortly thereafter. Champagne and jet lag are not a good pair...but it was fun nonetheless.













Alex and I visited the South African National Library to see a little exhibit there. While inside, I saw a large card catalog and could not pass it by without taking a photo. The library is stunning! Lots of natural light!









Table Mountain and the the National Gallery of South Africa. Lovely.














Alex decided it would be a good idea to take a photo while sitting in JFK waiting for our flight. Here it is. If only we knew what we were in for!









One would think that this sweet mask is the secret to sleeping on the plane. For my little sleeping beauty, apparently it did the trick. For me, not so much, though the toothbrush and toothpaste they gave us sure came in handy.















Embarking on our final plane. Only two more hours to go and of course, on this plane I fell asleep. Yay two hours of sleep!










Our room at the Fritz Hotel in Cape Town. It is a breezy, bright room. Very Euro, so Alex is right at home and so am I. I think I like this Euro thing.











Alex enjoying our balcony pre-champagne.

Knowledge is power and poverty-inducing

When the new year began, I had every intention of writing on a daily or at least every other day basis--and then life revealed alternative plans. Planning for Africa, starting my Library Science program, continuing at my job, mourning the loss of a friend and thinking about the future of my relationship all at the same time makes a girl just a bit crazy. Sometimes writing helps me deal with the stresses and thoughts that crowd my mind and other times those same stresses and thoughts create a log jam. The thing that jams me up most is money....the saddest but truest thing I have admitted of late.

Starting school on January 29th was a wonderful and horrible thing. I love it! I love the subject of my courses, the professors are cool and my classmates seem lovely. The downside is watching my debt grow by a large amount. When will the bleeding stop? People keep saying I should put it out of my mind and just focus on getting through the program. While I admire, and somewhat worry about, people who can just go into denial about the massive amounts they will owe six months post graduation, I am not one of those people. The weight of it almost drowns me and I feel totally overwhelmed by the fact that I may struggle to make ends meet when I graduate. Shadows of debt will follow me for many, many years because I am not going into a field that pays lots but I am at a school that takes lots. It is so very frustrating to work hard, to be frugal and to still feel behind the eight ball. Will I ever be able to pay my bills without concern? Will I be able to own a house, buy a car or go on vacation (without freaking out)?

I feel whiny because I have so many gifts like shelter, clothing, loved ones, and so many more, but this money thing plagues me. It sits in the back of my mind and in the pit of my stomach weighing me down. Is there a better way? If I go part-time and perhaps got a job at the school for full reimbursement, then I will not graduate for about 4 to 5 years. That would be 4 or 5 years doing work that is not the work I want to do. If I go full-time, I accrue a greater amount of debt but will finish in 2 years allowing me to begin my career much, much sooner. It's a conundrum and I am not the only one trying to figure it out.

So many in my generation struggle financially because these days it takes a graduate degree to get a "good" job, but the cost of education has skyrocketed and the "good" jobs don't really pay well enough to counteract that debt. To some, it may seem that my generation is obsessed with money and, in a way, we are, but not for the reasons it may seem. Many of us are constantly doing math, checking and double checking that if we take job x, we can afford to pay our debts and afford the necessities. Parents of my generation who choose to assist the children are also experiencing a financial drain. They are still financially supporting their 28 year old children, who are working hard but cannot seem to make ends meet, sometimes instead of saving for retirement. Struggle is not a new phenomena, and I don't mean to suggest it is, but this particular struggle between education and cost of living seems more pronounced in the 21st century. Hopefully, Congress will address this issue for future generations, but for mine, I think we are on our own.

Women and wine...

According to The Today Show and NBC, women having ONE glass of wine with their girlfriends in front of their children makes them lushes AND bad mothers. Hmmmm.....What about dad's drinking beer with each other while watching a football game while their kids watch, too? Does that make them bad fathers? And, is it okay for mothers to have a glass of wine at a barbecue when men are around to patrol their consumption?

(For a frame of reference, view this clip: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16818362/. Then read: http://www.suburbanbliss.net/. This is the woman they invited on the show to "interview." She gives her side of the story on her blog.)

Why am I writing about this when I, myself, am not a mother? Because this stuff affects future mothers as much as it does current. It makes future mothers question if motherhood is the right choice for them and not just because we may like to have a drink or two every now and then. By the major news media telling women that we need to be chaste, devoid of pleasure and devoted only to mommy-hood to be a good "woman" (which really means good mother, in their language), it makes women who are spunky, mouthy, feisty and fun loving feel that perhaps they are not cut-out for this role of mother. This NBC article suggests that women who enjoy their other roles in life--such as as wife, lover, friend and socialite which may involve a single, responsible drink--are somehow lesser mothers. I think that is downright scary.

In this country, we seem to enjoy turning healthy drinking or healthy sexuality into something bad. If mothers have a glass of wine or a beer in front of their children, they are showing their children that drinking an alcoholic beverage can be done in moderation with pleasure. I feel the same way about sexuality. We rate movies with passionate love scenes between two people who are "in-love" R and rate movies where people blow each other's heads off with little consequence PG-13. Nice example to set! Kids watch porn--that is just the reality of our times-- and by eliminating any visual examples of healthy sexuality while refusing to talk about healthy sexuality, our kids are left with one example, porn. If we keep telling ourselves that being honest with our kids about our smart drinking habits and healthy sex lives is a bad thing, then where do these kids turn to get their answers? Frankly, I find the answer to that question a lot scarier than having watched my mom have a beer while I played in the sandbox.

I only have a few moments before I catch my bus, train, bus and plane to Pittsburgh for Mike's memorial service. Today has been a flurry of activity, getting things in order before leaving town for the weekend. While I was in the shower after going to the gym, the fire alarm went off...luckily it was just a drill because I was covered in soap and shampoo and it's pretty chilly here. That certainly created a flurry!

Anyway, I think this should be a sad but lovely weekend celebrating the life of a friend. More upon my return.

South Africa....in 6 weeks, 2 days and counting

So in six weeks, two days and a few hours, I will be on a plane to South Africa with my lovely German boyfriend for three whole weeks. Once in Cape Town, we will have three days together before his family arrives--and by his family I mean, his mother, father, sister and brother-in-law. This three week jaunt to Africa will be our first meeting as they live in Deutschland and, well, I live stateside. They speak German, and I try and rarely succeed at speaking German.

Okay, so just to state the situation clearly: I am going on my first trip to Africa (one which I can't really afford)-- and my first vacation with my boyfriend--to meet his parents, who speak German, for the first time on a three week vacation. Don't get me wrong, if you heard a little fear or dread in that statement you are hearing correctly, but I am also really excited. Really, I am...it just hasn't hit me yet. Finagling finances, re-learning German (yeah, re-learning--I used to be fluent, and of course, now that I date a German, I am not--go figure), meeting the parents, traveling for three weeks--it feels like a lot.

But then, then I look at the images of Cape Town and Kruger National Park. I look at the penguins, hippopotomi, rhinoceroses, elephants and gazelles and I feel so lucky to have this opportunity. Now is the time to turn off the uber-practical part of my brain and allow myself to daydream about what a great experience this will be, how his parents will love me, the penguins will want to have their photos taken and the beaches will be warm and sunny.

Oh, by the way, did you know that hippopotomi make their own sunscreen? It's true! They just excrete it through their skin and they are good to go. Now if only they could teach this redhead how to do that!

Presidential Race....

Obama has thrown his hat in the ring, heating up the presidential race of 2008. Issues of race, experience, gender and Iraq are already flying through the media. While I am certainly excited to think about a White House without Bush, I find it really hard to think beyond the present. We have issues, big issues, right here, right now. Should we send more troops to Irag, cut funding to troops in Iraq, pull out of Iraq? How are we going to bring health care to the millions without? So many more questions crowd my brain, and each of them affects the present, the here and now, not able to wait for 2008. My bright thought this morning was to set an embargo on the Bush and Cheney family. Why cut funding to the troops, who are performing the duties they were ordered to do, when we could cut funding to the President and his cronies? I think we could save a lot of money if we, say, grounded Air Force One, brought in line cooks from McDonalds to replace the four-star chefs, made them pay out of pocket medical expenses and limited the families to clothing from JC Penneys instead of Armani. Perhaps then, these people would feel the stress and strain of the American public, inciting some urgency within. Perhaps then, the media would cover the issues instead of the intrigue.

Really?

Perhaps I have been hormonal, or maybe I am suffering from a tough case of ennui, but recently I have found myself progressively more abhorred by modern day decorum, or lack there of.

Since when did it become cool, or at least acceptable, to spit huge, phlegm filled lugies on sidewalk? People just sniff, hock and spit on the ground on which I am about to step. Quickly, I side step the oozing, white puddle and ask, "Really?"

I get on the train, settle in with my book and sigh, ready to start another day. After the first stop, a nicely dressed man sits diagonally across from me and opens his bag. Does he pull out a book, the newspaper, some headphones? No, he pulls out his floss, unravels a nice long string and goes at it. Slide, slide, pick. Slide, slide, pick--sending tiny bits of foodstuffs, plaque and whatever else settles between his teeth onto the seat in front of him, beside him and who knows where. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that day was an exception. I was wrong. The following day, he did the same thing. Really? Really....

Book Reviews

After some encouragement from my few readers, I have decided to add a movie and book review component to my blog. Admittedly, I don't see a ton of current flicks, but I do tend to stumble across some wonderful classics that everyone should see. Reading, however, is something I do with great frequency and passion. I should have started this much sooner because I have read some AMAZING stuff in the past eight months or so. For now, I will just write up a little list with brief commentaries for the must reads--too many to catch up on....

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck: If you have not read this, or read this when you were a disgruntled adolescent then it is time to read it (again). Sparce, beautiful, and human.

Brave New World by Aldus Huxley: Scary how relevant this book is! It is a gripping read.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas: Dumas really likes to verbiage, but if you are patient, an epic, vivid unfolds.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen: Fun and witty.

Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer: Both books have a similar style and cause sudden eruptions of laughter. Everything is the cause of my laughing in public blog--really funny and surprisingly touching. Extremely is more intense but still filled with humor.

All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy: Wow, beautiful, sigh. McCarthy knows how to bring the reader with him to the setting of the action without being overly descriptive. Somehow, some way, I smelled the smells of the characters, saw the sites, felt the dust without ever feeling overwhelmed by verbiage. Gorgeous writer, and one I hope to read a great deal more.

Zorro: A Novel by Isabel Allende: As always, Allende sweeps the reader into the life of a passionate, energetic character as a friend, a confidante. When you turn last page, it feels just like hanging up the phone after catching up with an old friend, smiling.

The Secret Life of Oscar Wilde by Neal McKenna: An interesting journalistic review of Wilde's love life. The book is an arduous read, but certainly provides some insights into the obsessions, sexuality and demise of Oscar Wilde.

The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo: The author of Because of Winn Dixie does it again with Despereaux. A lovely children's story about a determined mouse, an envious rat, an aspiring princess and an actual princess, DiCamillo invites the reader in and holds your hand through the ride.

Yesterday, I learned that my friend, Mike, the star of the last post, had died. After two months of fighting, Mike's body realized this was a battle it could not win and joined his already departed spirit. When I heard yesterday, I felt numb and somewhat relieved. Today, I read the memoriam written by his father and did what any philsophical, distressed Western woman would do--cried, ate and cleaned.

As I read Dr. Franz's eulogy, I was overwhelmed with empathy for Mike's parents, brother and fiancee. At that moment, my heart ached for those Mike left behind and for all the things Mike would never do. Dr. Franz chose a lovely Neruda poem to close his eulogy which brought me both comfort and anguish. I could not believe that such a mighty presence had been extinguished, even though I have had two months to prepare. At the same time, I felt comfort in knowing that Mike lived everyday with passion and gusto--he missed little.

Quietly I sat, trying to absorb the enormity of losing Mike and I felt compelled to buy myself something sinful and delicious. Appalled that such a thought would enter my mind while mourning for Mike and his family, I had no choice but to walk to my favorite bakery. Somehow, in my grief, I had determined that I deserved to bend the rules a little and spend money on myself. I comtemplated getting a hot chocolate and large chocolate chip cookie but that felt too extravagent for this somber occasion. Instead, I decided on a small latte and a cherry almond muffin--a choice of only moderate sinfulness. In those moments, my latte and cherry almond muffin soothed my soul, or at least my aching tummy, tasting more wonderful with each bite. But, before I could finish my snacks, I was struck with another compulsion--the need to clean.

Leaving the last quarter of my delicious muffin behind, I began to clean with gusto, with abandon even. I live with four medical students and, in general, we keep our large, old apartment pretty clean. Never have I felt frightened to use the toilet, shower or kitchen counter, but, we are not so good at keeping the dust bunnies at bay. All of my energy went into vaccuuming and mopping the floors. This was not just the cursory vaccuum and mop, where I go around the furnture. Oh no, this involved moving couches, tables, chairs, desks and more. This involved looking under and behind things. Seeing all that dirt both disgusted and thrilled me. This was being totally fascinated and horrified by the sheer disgustingness that accrues while we go about our daily lives. We, who pride ourselves on our cleanliness, who look down on those who don't shower every day or so, or who wear the same clothes a couple days in a row, let dust clumps the size of small rodents build up behind our couches and under our cubbards. We are thrillingly disgusting! All I could do was marvel, and put a little more oomph behind the mop.

Two hours, millions of dust bunnies and an aching back later, I finish my cleaning frenzy. The house smells clean, like Murphy's Oil, and the floors shine. My job is done, but the grieving is only just beginning. Now it is about breathing in, breathing out, putting one foot in front of the other and living in this moment.

Today I have a heavy heart. The air is damp, the ground saturated and the sky is cloudy causing the grass and evergreens to appear in varying shades of bright greens. The grayness of the day is fitting, though, because fate, chance, and a small physical weakness has caused a great light in the world to be extinguished. I don't want to be overdramatic and sensationalize this event, but at the same time, this person deserves, well, really requires a moment or two of my thoughts.

My friend, and the friend to so many others, Mike Franz, had a brain aneurysm on November 2nd while working out at the gym. He is 26. To give you some perspective, this man stands at six foot five, at least, and though trim, definitely takes up a lot of space. His booming voice can be heard from fields away--and despite wearing large, brightly colored mouth guards, his voice and words came across loud and clear. When I had the pleasure of unexpectedly running into him at some tournament or around town, I could expect a massive, all-encompassing bear hug, maybe even a little 360 degree twirl. Once my feet were gently placed back on the ground, I would look up to see a wide, open grin shining down on me. That is Mike.

For now, that is all I can muster. A moment of magical thinking--Mike, please, mend your brain and come back. Your spirit is missed.

Today I went to hear a speaker discuss the relief efforts in Indonesia from the December 26, 2004 tsunami. All I knew ahead of time was that this woman is a fellow alum of Wheaton College in Massachusetts and that she works for the Red Cross. What I expected and what I experienced varied greatly.

As people from campus trickled into the room, people were talking, laughing and eating the provided lunch. In front of a large projection screen hunched a blonde woman wearing all black. Long legs crossed in front of her, hands tucked tightly beneath her thighs, spine rounded so her chest nearly touched her knee, and hair neatly combed into a ponytail--this woman swathed in black all but disappeared behind her lap top screen. For me, her nervous energy was palpable. Later on, I would realize the nervous energy was not related to speaking in front of a group, but instead to all that she has seen, heard, touched, tasted, done and will never do.

Ellen got up to speak in front of the group, but quickly decided to sit, again crossing her legs and tucking her hands beneath her thighs. Speaking quietly and disjointedly, her talk began. She introduced herself as a former executive for large advertising agencies, though her presentation style made me wonder if she had ever given a presentation before. Still hunched, nervously glancing around the room, Ellen's shaky hands tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. When I stopped watching her body language and listened to her story of transition from advertising executive to humanitarian, I understood.

After working in a number of Eastern European nations and the Gaza Strip, Ellen took on the challenge of Banda Aceh. Stepping willingly into the dessimated landscape of Banda Aceh, Ellen took on the task of creating a line of communication between the Red Cross and the local people. She sees great deal everyday and works with local people who still shudder and shake from their experience with the tsunami. Tirelessly, Ellen works 18 hour days in spite of, or to spite, the feeling that the challenge may be insurmountable. She oscillates between the hope of progress and the reality of impossibility. The Western world wants pretty pictures of newly built homes and smiling children at play, but Ellen sees both the good and the bad. There is still so much to be done, but I perceived that she thinks it never will be done. The more she spoke, the closer her chest dropped to her knee.

Fellow attendees asked Ellen some wonderful questions and she gave candid answers. The Red Cross and other organizations are doing amazing things to support the people of Banda Aceh, but I wondered how they support the delegates who witness death, destruction, and disease. I wondered how these aid organizations support the delegates who put their heart and soul into projects that may never be finished--where their efforts may be a mere drop in the proverbial bucket. I asked. Ellen asnwered.

There is no mental health support for these delegates. No counseling or psychiatric care. Just like our soldiers, we send these workers overseas into deplorable conditions with the mission of making things better, but we do so without providing the support they need upon their return. Instead, they are left to carry this burden--the burden that we only want to hear in minimal soundbites and see in a few heartwrenching photos. We don't want to hear it from the mouths of loved ones or see it through their eyes. We can't relate to their experiences nor do we want to acknowledge that someone we love has been permanently altered because of their service. Left to decompress, to find a comfortable place for the horror in the insulated environment of their own mind, some of these workers and soldiers begin to collapse inward. The burden is too heavy to bear, not because they are weak, but because they are brave enough to actually take action, to feel, to see, to touch, to hear, to experience that from which most Westerners are protected.

As I watched Ellen squirm, shift and struggle through this session, I realized how hard it must be to share her stories. Not just to share her stories, but to edit the stories knowing that we didn't really want to know the full extent of the damage. Though her candor was striking, it was clear that she was protecting us, but I still wondered, who would protect and take care of her.

Twenty-seven is an interesting age. People make so many different choices and end up in so many different places. Many times I have a met fellow 27 year old (or there abouts) and wondered how we could possibly be in the same age group. Some are now married with children, stay-at-home moms participating in weekly play groups. Some are high powered executive types who wear really nice suits, eat at really nice restaurants and drive really nice cars. Others like to date 20 year olds, attend college parties, boot and rally every Saturday night and are lucky if they hold down a "real" job. Some are graduate, medical or law students, poor but working toward something. Then there is me, and I don't think I am that unusual, who worked a couple of years after college, went grad school, graduated with a Master's instead of the projected PhD due to a change of heart, struggles to make ends meet with an unfulfilling job while trying to figure out what to do next and pay off education debt. Naturally, I do have a bit of a complex about where I am currently because this is not exactly where I thought I would be at 27. Don't worry, I am coming to terms with, or going through the phase of acceptance, my current station in life and I have hope that soon enough, my path will be clear. Or, so I thought.

One of the perks of my current job is EAP, Employee Assistance Program. This program provides me with 6 free counseling visits, 1 free half hour session with a CPA and 1 free legal consultation. (Of course, the legal consultation would have been helpgful to know about last year follwing my car accidnet and rodent incident, but as usual, I missed the boat.) Yesterday, I decided that EAP should offer these services in a specific order, especially for poor 27 year olds like myself. Here's why.

I took advantage of the half hour with the accountant, and I am glad I did because I found out that not making enough money is really my problem. Phew! So glad to know that I am doing everything right, I just need to make more money. The next logical step was to then book an appointment with the free counseling service to talk through the stress of the knowledge that I just need to earn more money but can't. When the counselor causes my psychological breakdown, at least I know I can turn to free legal services to sue for pain and suffering--the pain of talking through the stresses that show no signs of dissipating and the suffering of knowing the free counselor can do nothing to help. Thank goodness for EAP!

Routines can make life feel repetitive and boring sometimes, but they can also make life more comfortbale, and sometimes, sometimes, a little more enjoyable. For instance, I ride one or two buses and the train everyday from my small-ish city to the smaller suburb that houses my small college--which is also my employer. Somedays I certainly resent that a normally 25 minute commute by car takes an hour and a half--adding a solid three hours on to my work day. Other days, I feel so glad to hear the rumbling welcome of the train that will take me, stress free, to the smaller suburb in exactly 28 minutes.

As I walk down the stairs of the station, the deep bass of the engine vibrates through the air. Through the doors, I walk to the first entrance on to the train and turn right. I then take the two-seater directly behind the four-seater with the table. If I am on the early train, I also nod and smile to the guy who always sits in the fourth seat on my left. Usually there are only 3 or 4 others in the car with me. I place my backpack on my right and hug it to my side. Then my headphones cover my ears (I don't have ear buds because my ear holes are too small), and I press play on my IPod Mini. Sometimes it is on a quiet mix or Garden State, but usually my morning ears prefer the Magnetic Fields, Coldplay or Damien Rice, if I am feeling a little depressed. Once that is sorted, I do one of three things--lean back and stare out the window, read a news source, or read my novel du jour. Sometimes this is my entire trip, other times a rowdy group of three men and one woman sit at the four-seater to my forward right and I eavesdrop. I still cannot figure out their dynamics--friends, co-workers, husband and wife with friends--am working on that.

After disembarking, usually the only one getting off among hundreds embarking, I gently push through the throng, walk into the little station and sit on the bench in the far left corner. This gives me the best view of the whole station and the bus stop. Usually, I wait approximately 22 minutes for the bus. In this time, I read the Metro or subtely watch the interesting lady who sells coffee at the station. She is a chain smoker who likes clicky-clacky shoes, dark make-up and taking smoke breaks between trains. I also know she doesn't always wash her hands after using the toilet. I think I watch her in the hopes that I will see her wash her hands or at least use hand sanitizer behind the counter. No positive sitings yet.

At 8:30, my bus arrives. Sometimes I chat with the bus driver--I am usually the only passenger. She has two granddaughters she worries about (they've had a rough time of late), loves to sail and to travel around the U.S. She drops me off near my office building even though it is not the real bus stop.

After work, the afternoon routine begins. I catch one of two buses- late or later. I am usually the only passenger, though students occasionally ride and mostly on Fridays. I look forward to seeing my afernoon driver--he is smart, funny and hopeful. At first we didn't talk on the ride, now we always talk and I am glad. We talk about politics, censorship, movies, music and more. He wants to go back to school but he's scared--though he claims he is too old--just like he is scared to date again after his divorce. He is smart though--and he thinks a lot. Not much else to do working this job, he says, but read during the breaks and think during the drives. I talk with him until the automated signs announce,"Train Appraoching."

As I walk down the platform, I look over my right shoulder to check the distance of the train's single headlight. I bounce down the two sets of steps, turn right, walk under the overpass and bop up the two sets of steps to the south-bound platform. Quickly, I move toward my usual waiting point on the north side of the pay phone. As the train approaches, its bell rings -ding, ding, ding- getting louder with each foot of progress. Within a moment, I feel the rush of air from the passing locomotive and smell the burning rubber as the brakes engage. I move forward and stand in the yellow Do Not Stand area as hundreds of commuters disembark. They hit the ground running and hurry to toward their cars to be the first out of the lot.

The bearded, bespectacled conductor stands between the two cars and shifts from foot to foot like a bored, depressed zoo animal. Right, left, Watch Your Step. Right, left, Watch Your Step. Right, left, Watch Your Step. Each word said in a monotone barely audible above the din of descending passengers. Everyday we meet, everyday amidst the hubbub, he says,"Tickets, please." I show him my pink pass, he squints at it, says thanks and goes back to his routine. Right, left, Watch Your Step. I always think he could teach Eeyore a lesson or two. As more and more people get off the train, I stare unabashedly at the conductor--right, left, Watch Your Step. I take in the neat,black beard, conductor uniform (hat included), steel-toed biker boots and the gold band adorning his left ring finger. Each day, I wonder if he is happy, if he likes his job, wife, life. Maybe he just gets through the day and saves his personality for when the bell tolls at the end of the work day.

I climb up the right side stairs once the flow of people stops. Taking the first open two seater--I don't like seat mates--I sit down, put my bag by my side and pull it close. Taking my headphones out of my bag, I place them on my head and choose my music--more flexible in the afternoons with my music selection. Sometimes I proceed to scribble furiously in my journal. Other times I read my novel du jour (see former blog from October). I never read the news in the afternoon--this is my time to decompreess. "Providence, last stop. Providence, last (mumble)..." The conductor shuffles through the car, enthusiastically and clearly announcing that Providence will be the last stop. I smile.

The train pulls into the station 28 minutes later and I patiently wait to get up the stairs. This station rarely has working escalators so departing and arriving passengers maneuveur and push past each other-all eager to reach their destination, each insensitive to the other's eagerness. When I emerge from the platform, I either turn right toward downtown and the bus depot or I turn left toward my wonderful boyfriend waiting in front of the State House. This is where my routine ends and spontaneity is rediscovered--at least until the next morning.

Sometimes I wonder why I feel totally overwhelmed by life. Well, that may be a little overdramatic, but sometimes the slightest change in routine, or that one extra chore makes me feel just a little crazy. Then, Melanie asked me to write about what I read everyday... take a peek...now I know why. Perhaps I should cut back a little... actually, now that I think about it, I realize I even forgot some! I need to go find my paper bag...more soon.

Have you ever laughed in a public place? I mean, have you ever thrown your head back, let the glee bubble up from your gut and explode out of your mouth in a public place? Have you ever gotten the giggles so badly that your eyes water, your stomach aches and your knees weaken--in a public place?

Recently, I had the pleasure of both reading a wonderful novel and experiencing uncontrollable laughter while riding a very busy commuter train home from work. While reading Everything is Illuminated (a fantastic book by Jonathan Safran Foer, worth its own posting) I have smirked, giggled, grinned and grimaced many times, but this day was different. This day, Foer strung together one of the most hilarious string of events I have read in ages, if ever, and of course I read it while squished on a rush hour train.

As I began the new chapter, my lips quirked upwards and quickly spread to a full-faced, goofy smile. The situation rapidly escalated to fits of giggles, usually smothered by my free hand. At some points, I had to balance my book on my lap to utilize both hands to smother. Soon after the dual hand technique, Foer dielivered his most powerful and masterful blow and I was lost.

My tummy began rumbling and shaking, my chest contracted, my Adam's apple bobbed, my head tilted back and my mouth flew open to emit a roar of laughter. All of my cells vibrated with joy. I laughed until my eyes watered. Until my stomach muscles complained. Until my lungs wheezed. Until I collapsed forward to rest my head on my back pack. Until I couldn't laugh anymore because implosion was a giggle away. In this moment, I gently closed my book and put it on the seat beside me, hoping this physical separation would help me regain control.

From the beginning of my giggles, I was aware of my fellow passengers sending inquiring, curious looks my way. Some smiled with me, some squirmed uncomfortably in their seats--but most stared wonderingly at the girl crowing with glee on the commuter rail because of a book. Yes, because of a book. It is unclear if they thought I was crazy for laughing with such gusto on the train, crazy for laughing that hard because of a book, or just plain old, straight up crazy. Nonetheless, people were sadly disconcerted by this break in the norm of public transport. All I have to say is--wait until I read a sad novel. Watch out!

If it's possible to be bouncily groggy, I was this morning. With sleepers still embedded in the corners of my eye, I stumbled to the bus stop. Crisp morning air massaged my bedwarm face as I took a deep breath. Another day, another dollar, I think. Then I take another deep breath and smell fall. Chimney smoke, earth and chill mingle in my nose and I know my favorite season is tryly here. I feel happy. As my IPod fills my ears with music, my mind clears and I relax into my day. I get off the bus to walk to the train station. The cool air and the song in my ear makes me bouncy despite my still blurry state. Luckily, I do this walk so frequently, I don't need to think about where I am going.

As I meander down the sidewalk in my sleepy little world, I encounter a really large, rather disoriented, hairless tailed, football sized, beady eyed....guess?!?! Guess what I saw? Yup! A HUGE rat! He was scurrying furiously about the sidewalk. Unlike the insolent Rat BAstard, this poor rat looked freaked out and confused. He ran toward me, got within three feet and then ran away as fast as his little legs would carry him. The fact that I was screaming like a banshee may or may not have caused this flurry of activity--but I'm not sure. Rat then ran out into the road and head first into (not under) the bus' tire. He backed up, shook his head and scampered between cars and buses. I couldn't tell if he made it not--but this rat was easily the size of a squirrel, so I do know that any driver would have seen him coming! While Rat ran for his life, I continued screaming and doing that special gross out dance--the one where you run in place doing something akin to jazz hands. Whether or not people withnessed this act of courage and bravery I am not sure becasue I didn't dare look around me.

After smoothing my coat, I continued walking to the train station with only periodic returns to the gross out dance. While walking, I find myself worrying that my serious over raction may have caused Rat to sprint to his death. Unlike Rat Bastard, Rat had every right to be on the sidewalk doing his buseiness. He had not violated my personal space or pooped on my books. I won't ever know Rat's fate, but at least he will have this blog by which to be remembered.

Whether or not you are a fan of the Dixie Chicks, I strongly recommend listening to their performance on David Letterman. You can find it at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBz994YWUV0&search=dixie%20chicks. On this website you can also view the video of this song. Once you have done this, continue reading below.

In case you have forgotten, the Dixie Chicks were tarred and feathered about 3 years ago for Natalie Maines' comment about being ashamed that George Bush is a fellow Texan. The response to this comment led to the burning of DC cds, loss of radio play, stores refusing to sell their albums, shows pulling interview slots and death threats. They were booed and protested whenever they did make public appearances. While the Dixie Chicks did not back down, they did take a brief hiatus from the recording/concert world to raise their families and collect themselves. This year, they came screaming back with "Taking the Long Way."

On David Letterman, the Chicks sang a song from their new album entitled, "Not Ready To Make Nice" and they blew me away. Not only did they confront the criticism of three years ago head on, but they transcended the drama to impart a beautiful message of strength, resilience and the right to free speech. Maines' powerful presence and emotion-filled voice is inspiring. She is "mad as hell" and not willing to squelch that emotion to make others happy. In a time where dissenters are urged and in some cases, forced to seethe silently, Maines' stands up, yet again, to make a call to arms.

It is time to stand up, to protest, to write letters. No longer can we go round and round with semantics and morality--it is time to speak out. The Dixie Chicks have withstood death threats, booes and boycotts. They have paid the price for speaking their minds. They are not flip-floppers and equivocators, but instead have come back with the same message in plain English. It is out there, no mincing of words. It is time for all of us, those who agree with Maines', to stand tall and get active. For three years we have been quiet, but now, Maines' has bravely sent out the call:

I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell
And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should

Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I'm still waiting

It is our job to answer Maines' call--to be mad and loud as hell.