Wide Blue World

Detroit or Buffalo

2012-01-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

When one spends good money to go see a show at the Fort Collins Lincoln Center and the acts are The Jayhawks and Justin Townes Earle, is it really right to spend the whole show obsessing whether or not the quickly introduced, cowgirl-boot-stompin', cute little girl fiddler is THAT Amanda Shires? Turns out it was. She's an accomplished fiddler out of Texas now touring with Earle. But recently I heard her singing her own songs on the satellite radio--on my drive back from Wyoming after Christmas. Caught part of a repeat to reinforce her name and her awesomeness. So while I enjoyed the show tonight, particularly the quirky and impressive talent of Earle, Shires is the one to watch. I say to thee, remember that name.

Amanda Shires - Detroit or Buffalo from Timoteo Harman on Vimeo.

A Few Good Things About the Week

2012-01-20T18:46:00.000-08:00

Let's start the week at Sunday, the middle of a much-appreciated three-day weekend. I made use of some free time and our mild winter to drive myself east to the Pawnee Grasslands, a marginally protected area of Colorado short-grass prairie. Marginally=gas and oil development here and there. Protected area=pronghorn herd, prairie dog village, some birds of prey, and a developed hiking trail around a butte. This was my first actual hiking trip of any note following my ankle injury a couple of months ago and we did fine. More about that further on in another good thing. Back to the butte, the prairie will serve nicely as a substitute for my beloved desert--just as wide open, just as minimally chromatic this time of year, just as enriching to the soul. The small hike took me around some badland-type area with gullies and spires and washed cavities perfect for the burrowing owls who live here. In the distance, wind turbines disclose the nature of the prairie. Closer, the old fashioned kind pumps water for the cattle I did not see.

Prairie, grasslands, the Great Plains. If you are not trying to eke out a living from this barren landscape or keep the aerial prairie (hence the windmills) out of every cranny of your existence, the beauty is easy to see. It stretches out in every direction in a giant bowl of sky. Even the clouds which seemed ominous back in town are revealed as having edges, endings, out there somewhere between the hawk above and the horizon. And oh how good to walk again on this earth, the dust settling fine over me and mine.

Thich Nhat Hanh says that the real miracle is not walking on water or on hot coals; the real miracle is walking on this earth and knowing that we are walking on this earth.

Monday we commemorated Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Fort Collins hosts a walk/parade. We met in Old Town, hundreds of us on the square. Then we walked through town and over to campus where a program was held in the student center. Primarily the program consisted of young people who had won writing contests. We heard winning poetry and essays from 4th grade to college level. We were also treated to an African drumming group and a man singing a medley of songs from the civil rights era. A really wonderful event.

Wednesday I went back to physical therapy for my ankle and she told me it was less squishy following my week of icing and exercises. Progress. The dentist appointment following wasn't quite as easy peasy, but nothing unexpected...although I don't relish revisiting the gum surgery for the third time. I count it as progress, and therefore a good thing.

A good week at work as I geared up for today's deadline; material was due today for our annual report of which I am the editor and designer. Many people have submitted early and it's looking quite nice. And best of all, one of my plaid-wearers (complete with fleece vest) invited me into his office to help him select a photo to go with his story. This turned into a 20+ minute tutorial on hydrology, hydrogeology, and well drilling technology. I LOVED IT! It was supremely geeky, and it signified that this man (pretty representative of our plaid-wearing species in this way) gets that I'm very intelligent, very interested, and simply lacking slightly in hydrologic education. He described core samples (swoon).

Meanwhile, I replaced the oxygen sensor in the Jeep on Monday (after King). She's running great. I've been driving her around a lot the past few days. Turning her off, starting her up. No problems at all. She's back to her old self, let's hope.

And in a sure sign that I've boarded the crazy train, I've found myself a real estate agent and a mortgage broker. I am, I guess it's official, house hunting. Ack! Now, that's a daunting prospect. We'll see where it leads. One thing is for sure, it signifies how much I like this little scrap of earth that I'm walking on and want to make it my home. The sign is made, the house will come.

Free Tata

2012-01-11T18:04:00.000-08:00

Or if you prefer, frittata--one of my longest-standing go-to comfort foods. All you need are eggs, cheese, and vegetables (a good way to use up the aging, wilting ones in the bottom of the refrigerator). For implements, a bowl, a whisk, and a deepish pan that can go from stovetop to oven (like Grandma's cast iron). Cook some vegetables, whisk together 8 eggs, a half cup of milk if you have it (not necessary), some cheese (you know how much you like; romano is traditional, cheddar is lovely, feta is adventurous), salt, pepper, and herbs if you have them. Add the cooked vegetables. Today I've got broccoli, red chard, and onion. Mix it up good and pour it into a slightly oiled pan. Cook slowly on the stovetop until the eggs are set on the lower two-thirds. When bubbles start to come up to the surface, it's time for the oven. Place the pan in a hottish oven (I use 350, but it's an inexact science). Cook until the top is brown and bubbly. Frittata is good hot, but traditionally it is served room temperature. You can also wrap a slice in a cloth, put it in your pocket, and take it out to the hills to enjoy for lunch while you are tending your sheep.

Blooming

2012-01-11T05:25:00.000-08:00

Out of three amaryllis bulbs I bought before Christmas, this is the one that hit the jackpot. A lovely companion for January.

On a Lighter Note

2012-01-07T11:58:00.000-08:00

To complete my living room decor, and therefore pretty much my whole nesting/settling-in process, last weekend I went out and bought the largest coffee table in Fort Collins for the smallest apartment in Fort Collins. It works great (and the thrift store price didn't hurt)!

It houses my little tray of meditation implements...

...provides a good place to eat my meals and a good place to work on my computer if I need to spread out a little, hides blankets underneath in baskets, and at the end there provides a location for my office plant hospice care (all right--still holding out hope that I can save that Christmas cactus.)

It even has lovely drawers, one of which has all of my songbooks since this is now the place to sit and play/sing.

In the future this will be a nice place to play scrabble too.

Other features of the room that you may notice include Creepy Sheep...

...also known as Sheepy Roundbottom...

...from the talented hands of my friend Holly. I somehow managed to acquire Sheepy during my Christmas visit (wasn't aware Sheepy was acquirable), and she goes very nicely in the living room with Bunny...

...who came into our lives more than 20 years ago.

On the wall I feature two Manzanar photographs by long-time volunteer and friend of Manzanar, Tom Clayton. He gifted me these beautiful pictures as I was ending my service there.

And finally, while I normally enjoy my little living room with a cup of tea and one of the extremely nice books I received for Christmas, today...

Yes, it may be the table that ate Fort Collins, but I beat it to the chocolate.

Happy January everybody. The guestquarters are open for business.

Fleeting

2012-01-02T14:17:00.000-08:00

In the midst of quietly celebrating the beginning of a new year, new plans, new opportunities, I read the horrible news of the killing of ranger Margaret Anderson at Mount Rainier National Park. Margaret was a seasonal ranger at Bryce Canyon the summer I was there. She was quiet, warm, and conscientious.

All the time we learn that people whose paths we’ve crossed have died. That is the nature of our existence: we live, we die. Sometimes it comes too young, and alas sometimes it comes violently and seems beyond comprehension. We usually don’t have much choice in the death part—although perhaps the shooter made that choice for himself (but maybe he didn’t recognize the choice and my heart aches for his family as well). In the vacuum, we cry out for grace.

Generally, though, we have quite a lot to say about the way in which we live. Tragedies such as this are reminders, the beginning of a new year is also a reminder; this life we have is singular and precious. Problem is, it all goes by so quickly. And despite all the self-help books, it's hard to find ways to overcome the inertia, the habits, the fears (especially the fears: "It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch."). A friend on facebook recently posted a list of 30 things to stop doing to yourself. Two of them seemed particularly relevant: “Stop thinking you’re not ready – Nobody ever feels 100% ready when an opportunity arises;” and "Stop being scared to make a mistake – Doing something and getting it wrong is at least ten times more productive than doing nothing." A small reminder that much worse things than failure exist in this world. A reminder that the only thing that matters is to follow the heart and to respect and encourage others on their journeys.

Every day that we are alive is another opportunity to live it right—to be present to the people in our lives, the love in our hearts, and the beat of our drum. I hope you will join me in making that your wish for 2012.

Rest in peace, dear Margaret, much too soon.

Christmas in Wyoming

2011-12-29T18:09:00.000-08:00

"It is all very beautiful and magical here--a quality which cannot be described. You have to live it and breathe it, let the sun bake it into you. The skies and land are so enormous, and the detail so precise and exquisite that wherever you are you are isolated in a growing world between the macro and the micro, where everything is sideways under you and over you, and the clocks stopped long ago."
--Ansel Adams

Eden, Wyoming

The Ansel Adams quote that graces the opening page of my new 2012 datebook says a lot about the feel of my Teton Christmas. But it also says a lot about my life right now--a quality that cannot be described. So lately as you've noticed, the blog has been thin.

But I did, in fact, drive the trusty Kingfisher across Wyoming to spend the holiday with my friend Holly at Grand Teton National Park. Because her days off were before Christmas, and a storm was coming in, I drove early and had perfect weather on my way up. Alas, in the end, I didn't get as much pure Holly time as I'd hoped--but for good reason. Much of the time I was there her delightful boyfriend Dan was also around, as well as his very enjoyable children and friends. I cooked and cooked and cooked, which made me happy too. I stuffed the turkey with chicken sausage. I imagine that just like only an Easterner would think to put a cow skull on the front of her car, only a vegetarian would think to stuff meat with meat (oh wait, Romania). Anyway, it worked.

Those on my facebook have heard the snowplow story, but it's worth repeating. Our Christmas morning (Thursday), after we devoured a pound of premium bacon, Dan's son Garrett made us delicious waffles from a gluten-free mix I'd taken. We dressed them with butter, cherries, maple syrup, and whipped cream. Just sitting down to enjoy them, we noticed the snow plow coming around the road through park housing where Holly lives. Oh good, the snow plow (massive snow-blower type that shot the snow 50 feet into the air). But then they noticed that he was blowing out driveways and immediately we dropped our waffles, ran outside, and moved our cars out of the driveway so he could do ours. The kids stayed inside and made sure the dogs didn't eat our waffles.

Above, Holly's little house. Below, the view out the window.

Holly and Popcorn.

We experienced two exquisite nature moments during my stay. Christmas Eve day Holly and I went to the post office to retrieve the box from her Mother. Driving home we saw a bald eagle circling in the sky. I labeled her (or him) our Christmas Eagle. Then later that night, very late, I walked outside and looked at the stars. I said I would stay out until I saw a meteorite or I got cold. Being Wyoming, I got cold pretty fast (-12). But yes, Ansel Adams, the clocks stopped long ago.

Too soon I had to pack the car and head home. Rode a tail wind home across Wyoming on Monday. I'd been warned about strong winds and drifting snow on 80, but Wyoming has so little snow that it was not a problem. Arrived home to yet more thoughtful and generous gifts--received so many nice things I'm a bit overwhelmed--all my favorites: books, coffee, tea, chocolate, snuggly knit things, music, dishes...As I get lamer about gift giving, my loved ones just get lovelier. (there's always next year).

And now New Years. No resolutions, just plans. And they will wait a few more days. In the meantime, I am nestled into a bed of stars out on a cold high plain. In my vision, it is a combination of stepping out of Holly's door on Christmas Eve and of lazing in a tub of hot water in the Saline Valley in the California Desert. Deep night, endless stars, warm hearts. Once again the incredible gift of spending time with a dear friend, living it and breathing it while we can.

I Like My Life

2011-12-10T17:23:00.000-08:00

I like my life. I like my job. I like my boss. I like the man I’ve pegged to be my next boss (returned Peace Corps Volunteer). I like the woman who sits over the cubicle wall. I like it when she plays Christmas jazz. I like my desk and my workspace. I like my Christmas decorations and sharing clementines with the staff. I like the way my fake cinnamon-scented pine cones smell.

I like making tea for co-workers who drop by. I like my tasks, especially the big annual report I’m responsible for. I like the way everybody else is grateful that they don’t have to do the annual report. I like having NPS friends who are more talented and experienced than I am who will help me. I like doing the plaid report during our Monday meetings, the percentage of people in the room wearing plaid—usually over 50% for the men, under 50% when the women are factored in. I like that I get to go to the meetings but it generally doesn’t matter if I drift off and do a plaid report in my head. I like when difficult questions arise, such as: does argyle count as plaid? I like being appreciated for my skills and work ethic (plaid report aside). I like getting paid.

I like my apartment. I like that heat is included in the price, so I can keep it as toasty as I like and not worry. I like my new bed. I like that I have a real bed again. I really really like my new bed.

I like my clothes. I like to wear skirts these days. I like to wear brown tights every day—I have six pair, some with feet and some without that I wear with the cowboy-style boots I like. I like my big kitchen and my big cooking pot. I like to make soup or lentils or a mushroom quinoa. I really like to make and drink my delicious Chiapas cooperative coffee. I like not eating gluten. I like washing my dishes in hot water.

I like having free time to do the things I enjoy. I like to sit on my little sofa and play my guitar (which I think I more than like). I’m really liking singing Iris DeMent and Kate Wolf this week. I like reading books. I like watching my Netflix movies. I like receiving High Country News again.

I like Fort Collins. I like doing my laundry on Saturday morning and going to the Whole Foods for the yogurt I like during the wash cycle. I like listening to Wait Wait on the satellite radio in my car during the dry cycle. I like the Saturday Winter Farmers Market in Old Town where I can get squash, chard, beets, leeks, and purple kohlrabi…and a yummy local camembert. I like that last week I had two evening outings with coworkers. I like that next week I can go to the library for a lecture about the altiplano.

I like that with all the deliveries I’ve had lately—Fedex, UPS, USPS—I never worry that they are left on my doorstep all day and might get stolen. I like that we have a community college where I think I can take continuing ed Spanish next semester. I like that when I am settled (January, I like to think), I will have no problem finding interesting volunteer opportunities.

I like art. I liked today’s local performance of the Nutcracker quite a lot,

especially since it included performances by one of my plaid-wearers and his entire talented family. I liked something I read in the NYTimes yesterday about movies that most people don’t get. I like that they addressed the ongoing debate about art-movies-as-vegetables (ie, you need to eat them to be healthy, but…), but then decided that movies that are hard to understand, such as Tree of Life and Meek’s Cutoff, are in the end not vegetables, maybe not even movies, but simply art. I liked both Tree of Life and Meek’s Cutoff. I like art. I like that Christo’s next project is on a river here in Colorado in 2014.

I like my Sunday afternoon Buddhist group. I like that they always serve tea and cookies after we meditate together. I like sitting and holding and smelling my tea surrounded by a nice group of people all on the same path. I like that I’ve put my little mindfulness reminders up around the house. I like that I attempt to meditate every morning, even if my mind goes to the moon.

I like getting up and going to work. I like coming home and going to bed. I like starting the work week. I like having a weekend.

I like my life.

These Riches Bless

2011-11-24T11:17:00.000-08:00

We all appreciate a little Thanksgiving to remind us of our blessings. But in some cases, the event of Thanksgiving is the source of our blessings. This year, for me, the holiday is cause for time spent with family and friends, including an out-of-the-blue surprise.

I'm spending the holiday in San Antonio with my sister. My dad and step-mom arrive Saturday. Tomorrow we are visiting with my dear Mary from my Romanian life (now retired in Texas). And today we had a lovely visit from Susie and Pan, in town as well to see family. Very last minute (and joyous) discovery of our proximity.

So while I have an ocean of blessings for which to be thankful today (and every day), the opportunity to spend time with loved ones just can't be beat. I wish you all a wonderful day and someone(s) to spend it with.

Mastered

2011-11-20T07:25:00.000-08:00

If I weren't so exhausted by it, I'd be doing a happy dance right now. Turned in the final version of my Masters capstone project a few days ago. Got the grade this morning: A. For the project and for the class. Relief. Pride--not so much at this accomplishment, but that I've stuck with it. I started the program five years ago.

So now it's all over but the celebrating. I should receive my diploma in February, which you bet I will frame and hang on my wall. And I will attend graduation in June.

But the very first thing I will do is follow up on an action taken last January. I will fill in the eye of my daruma doll. Goal Achieved.

Humankind

2011-11-17T18:13:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite radio shows is Humankind on public radio. David Freudberg spends an hour each week reporting on people doing good in the world. His topics are wide and varied, but always on the them of hope and humanity. Alas, for me, he is broadcast in the middle of the night on my satellite radio, and the website never offers free downloads. Until today.

This week's episode on nonviolent communication is a freebie. I encourage you all to take 30 minutes and listen to a simple way we can all make the world a better place. Really. Click the link above and get on your way. Then find his show on your own local public radio station and get a feel-good dose every weekend.

(the linked page takes a long time to load, be patient)

Lasagna

2011-11-13T12:38:00.000-08:00

Have I written about my lasagna before? If so, forgive me. It's what's making me happy on this gray Sunday. Today's version is gluten-free, using rice noodles. I've heard the rice noodles don't hold up so well and that I should seek out quinoa noodles. For the lasagna, though, their durability isn't really an issue.

I've always included a variety of vegetables, and I believe the secret of my success is plenty of sauce and plenty of cheese. So in a very non-recipe kind of way, here's my recipe:

1. Instead of ricotta, I make Isa Moskowitz's tofu ricotta, which is a surprisingly easy blend of tofu, herbs, lemon juice, and nutritional yeast (which I didn't think to buy--and it was pretty good without it).
2. Saute onions and green peppers and zucchini, put in a bowl to wait.
3. Saute red chard in oil and vinegar until wilted.
4. Empty and wash your soup pot from two days ago and boil some water. Follow directions for the pasta.
5. Open your jars of Newman's Own sauce (it's for a good cause, people).
6. Open your bags of pre-shredded cheese (don't judge--I get to be lazy sometimes). I used some mozzerella and some 6-cheese blend.
7. Let the layering begin. First, be sure to lay a little sauce in the bottom of the pan--prevents sticking disorder. Then:

noodles
ricotta
onion/pepper/zucchini
sauce
cheese
noodles
ricotta
chard
sauce
cheese
noodles
sauce
cheese

Be sure, as you get to the top, to fill in gaps around the edges with sauce. Make sure all noodle surfaces are covered with sauce. Noodles left sticking out and naked will get burned and crusty. I say to thee--don't skimp on the sauce. Or the cheese. If you have a big, fancy pan like mine you will need about 1.5 jars of sauce.

Bake in a 350/375 oven for about 45 minutes. Put a cookie sheet over it for the first 20 minutes (you can use foil). Then remove and let that cheese bubble and brown. Eat as soon as it is cool, but like many things better the next day.

And here is the fruit of my labor, with my new digs in the background. Enjoy.

35 Years Later

2011-11-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

The ladies in the coffee shop asked me this morning what my plans for the day were. A little road trip up to Rocky Mountain National Park for fee-free day. Oh, have you been there before? Yeah, in 1976.

The hour drive up to Estes Park took me through the deep, dark Big Thompson River gorge, then a sign for bighorn sheep. Back in '76, when I learned about bighorn, I decided that was the animal I wanted to be. Good thinking for an 8-year-old. I learned more about sheep at Zion when I did a talk there about the extirpation and subsequent reintroduction of desert bighorn into the park. But I never saw them. Finally I saw them up close at the Grand Canyon and far away in Death Valley. And as you may remember, this summer Dad and I saw lots up close in Badlands. My luck is evidently changing because today I saw six sheep, including two full-curl rams, right along the road.

The morning weather was lovely, warm and sunny. Once in the park, I only drove the open roads. My ankle is still not up to hiking (although really much better). Saw lots of magpies, a couple of buck mule deer (one so huge I thought he was an elk), and an Aberts squirrel with tufted ears. And stunning Rocky Mountain scenery. I did scout some possible snowshoeing areas if my winter permits, and I bought a backcountry topo map to start planning my summer weekends. Really incredibly beautiful, and to know its just in my back yard. Yay!

An added benefit was making the trip with Meg Griffin, my favorite DJ on the radio. She played me some Lyle, Warren Zevon, and my trip concluded with a live version of Leonard Cohen singing Hallelujah.

Came home and put together book shelves and made soup. I bought a butternut squash last weekend at the store, and got a free acorn squash from a coworker yesterday. When the world hands you squash, make squash soup. Last weekend I also bought cardamom to put on fruit salad for a work event. Now I have a lifetime supply of cardamom, so I found this recipe. I left out the cream, added carrots and celery to the onions, and roasted the squash in halves, in the skin. So easy and the results are excellent.

Such a happy day--old memories and new, surrounded by my books and trinkets on shelves, tummy full of soup, sheep in a canyon, and I still have a weekend in front of me!

OK, not full curl, but still impressive.

Bed

2011-11-09T19:17:00.001-08:00

I put together my new bed tonight. Can that count as a blog post?

(now just imagine 14 boxes and a bicycle stashed under it)

Remembering Leonard Bird

2011-11-08T08:18:00.000-08:00

A handful of years ago I found a poignant little book called Folding Paper Cranes, by Leonard Bird. As you can imagine I snapped it right up on title alone. Bird was a soldier in Korea, then came home and as a Marine was subject to radiation exposure in the Nevada desert. And I do mean subject. In 1957 he and his fellow Marines were placed in trenches close to the detonation zone of the largest above-ground nuclear detonation in history in order to determine effects on the human body.

In the years following, Bird made pilgrimages to Japan, to the peace park in Hiroshima. He also became a professor and a writer. He called Folding Paper Cranes his "small witness." And of course Bird developed many kinds of cancers, which ultimately took his life. He died about a year ago at the age of 74.

Toward the end of his life, Bird kept a blog. His final entry included these words, which I think are worth repeating: “My goal is to live free – as long as possible. With as much relish, awe and gratitude as possible. Whether for a week, a month, or one or two last gorgeous seasons, my goal is to inhale this wondrous world, reach out to those whose hunger touches mine, and sing my songs. That, Brothers and Sisters, is freedom. That’s heart dancing delight. NOW, today, this soul sings.”

Mastering the Art of French Pressing

2011-11-07T16:29:00.000-08:00

In my limited free time I have found a few moments to distract myself with a new book. Chiemi gave me for Christmas last year a book of letters between Julia Child and Avis DeVoto (wife of Bernard) during the time of the development of Julia's cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Recently unearthed from the boxes, the book is a delight to read and actually covers more than cooking--American life in the 50s, McCarthyism, living abroad, and a pretty funny comment about Brigham Young's birthplace. And a sneak peak into the life of Bernard DeVoto, whom I've never read, only know about from Stegner but will now pursue. The book I'm reading is titled, As Always, Julia.

At the same time, I'm beginning my life with a French Press coffee pot. People I've known have always sworn by these, but I've had bad luck getting grounds in my coffee. Before my Romanian life, I found this unacceptable. But Romanian coffee is full of grounds, and in spite of this (or because) the coffee is delicious. And I adapted. So I'm giving the French Press another try. So far, so good. Scrumptious, in fact. And yes, a tinge of sludge at the bottom (this may be from using the wrong grind of coffee) but absolutely worth it. Probably my biggest complaint is that the coffee is not kept hot, so the second and particularly third cup are cool. I could get out my thermos. We'll see.

Another thing that makes the Press pot easy is my purchase of a European style electric water pot. So easy and quick to make boiling water.

So this is me joining NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). Not terribly exciting, but I'll try and keep up. On the other hand, some mornings it's only the thought of coffee that gets me out of bed, so not inconsiderable.

The Weekend

2011-11-06T15:11:00.000-08:00

As you've noticed, I completely and utterly have failed at NaBloPoMo this year. Perhaps I'll pick it up this week, the daily blogging. We'll see. Til then, a few notes on my relearning of the term weekend.

Last weekend was spent moving in to the new place. This weekend has been more relaxed, although still productive. Yesterday I took a stack of well worn boxes to the recycling center at our landfill. Then laundry, which I must go out to do--not really an onerous chore since I beat the crowd on a Saturday morning and can sit in my car listening to weekend NPR with my coffee. Following the laundry I posted some correspondence and came home. I spent the afternoon reviewing other student's papers for my class. The night ended with some Netflix (oh the joy of being reunited with my Wusthof knives, satellite radio, and Netflix).

This morning, I don't need to tell you, was heaven--just to stay in bed another hour. Until I realized it was Sunday and I could stay in bed anyway. After enjoying my Sunday omelet (the ultimate comfort food) I had a lazy morning of more catching up with correspondence. Then took give-away books to the library, clothes to the Goodwill, and cleaned the car--washed and vacuumed. Had french fries for lunch as my reward for getting her back ship-shape. A lovely day to be out at the carwash. We still have patches of snow on the ground from Wednesday's storm, but it's melting. Now as the afternoon is slipping away, I'm preparing lunches for the week. I've cut up cabbage, carrots, red peppers, and scallions for a salad. I'll top it with rice I'm steaming and tofu I'm baking and of course, the Fort Collins version of my peanut sauce/dressing, which includes New Mexico chilis (not so available in Romania, and Eros Pista not so available in Colorado--the tradeoffs).

Listening to a little Jay Unger and Molly Mason, my tiny (but cozy and sunny) apartment easily filled with yummy smells of garlic and ginger. I've had good chats with Melody and Dad this weekend, and Mom later this evening. And the Masters project is nearing a successful completion. We're just going to ignore that nasty ankle twist earlier in the week and say that the tide is turning. The long road back to normal American life is reaching its destination. Seems like it all fell into place on this quiet November weekend.

Not Really Snowbound

2011-10-29T14:06:00.000-07:00

What a week! Started work Monday (wonderful, more soon), move into my apartment tomorrow, shelled out for a new laptop after the inglorious demise of my motherboard, and broke in the Kingfisher in our first Colorado snowstorm. I wish I had pictures or witty observations but when you combine all of that with the final few weeks of capstone craziness, this is all I've got for today.

The snow is melting. I'm saying goodbye to the Motel 6 by the highway. I'm writing my change-of-address cards. And looking forward to some small nugget of stability. Already my poor body is shedding some of the stress-based malfunctions. The road from Romania has been long and challenging (and expensive), but infinitely rich.

Ferris: "Nothing - wha - what do you mean nothing good? We've seen everything good. We've seen the whole city! We went to a museum, we saw priceless works of art! We ate pancreas!"

The Playlist

2011-10-19T17:07:00.000-07:00

Made the last leg of my extended road trip over the weekend, driving the Kingfisher from Cali to the Fort. Took a slightly less-than-direct route to avoid I-70 over the mountains and in the meantime picked up some spectacular autumn New Mexico-ness. Stopped in Old Town Albuquerque for some green chile tamale lunch with a sopapilla for dessert. Then a quick stop in Taos for a red chile wreath for my door, and a winding color-filled sunset drive east to Raton with crepuscular ungulates roadside at twilight (just pronghorns, but ungulate is such a great word) as Vin Scelsa played George Harrison's Beware of Darkness.

A while back I made a mixed CD of music for a friend on the road. Turns out, coming full circle, it was the perfect blend for this trip of mine--heavy on the I-40 and with an emphasis on New Mexico. So today we're going to take a lesson from the Pioneer Woman and have a contest. I don't know what the prize will be, maybe some dried red chiles?

Here's the playlist. Following are thematically appropriate lyrics from the songs. Match the songs with the lyrics. Write your answers in the comments. The first best guesser wins something fabulous.

Playlist: I-40 Blues

1. White Freightliner by Townes Van Zandt
2. Don't Talk Back by Kasey Chambers
3. Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show
4. Joy by Lucinda Williams
5. Revelator by Gillian Welch
6. Waltz Across Texas Tonight by Emmylou Harris
7. East in a Westbound Lane by Brian Graham
8. Last Train Home by Nanci Griffith
9. Hymn 101 by Joe Pug
10. I've Been Everywhere by Johnny Cash
11. California Stars by Wilco/Billy Bragg/Woody Guthrie
12. Mad Mission by Patty Griffin
13. New Life in Old Mexico by Robert Earl Keen
14. Navajo Rug by Jerry Jeff Walker (originally by Tom Russell)
15. Snowin' on Raton by Townes Van Zandt
16. Light Enough to Travel by The Be Good Tanyas

a. "I'm gonna go to West Memphis...
I'm gonna go to Slidell..."

b. "Well, New Mexico ain't bad, Lord,
people here they treat you fine."

c. "Well it's two eggs up on whiskey toast,
home fries on the side.
You wash it down with the roadhouse coffee
that burns at your insides."

d. "West Texas dust beneath your nails.
You're headed down that heartbreak trail."

e. "I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes I'd give my life to lay my head tonight on a bed..."

f. "If you're goin' to Winnemucca, Mac, with me you can ride
and so I climbed into the cab and then I settled down inside.
He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand
And I said, listen I've traveled every road in this here land."

g. "Me and this road, you know we've got an understanding
It won't leave me at home and I am
Too tired to do just what I choose."

h. "Up in the morning, up and on the ride.
I drive into Corning and all the spindles whine.
And every day is gettin' straighter."

i. "Living in the shadows, running from my fate,
Goin' where the wind blows and no one knows my name."

j. "Push the pedal to the floor, let that little engine roar.
Pushed it like I knew she could, 1000 mules below the hood."

k. "Walkin' to the south out of Roanoke,
I caught a trucker out of Phillie, had a nice long toke.
But he's a-headed west from the Cumberland Gap
A-Johnson City, Tennessee."

l. "Oh Mother thinks the road is long and lonely,
Little brother thinks the road is straight and fine.
Little darlin' thinks the road is soft and lovely,
And I'm thankful that old road's a friend of mine."

m. "I've come to be the manger that you sleep in,
I've come to be the stranger that you keep,
I've come from down the road
And my footsteps never slowed
Before we met, I knew we'd meet."

n. "Been on a road that just don't seem to end.
Well, that broken old heart of yours won't ever mend.
You crossed over bridges and bridges and bridges they burn.
So many rivers and so much to learn,
So many bridges and so much to learn.

o. "I broke the windows at the logging company
Just to get a little release.
I had to throw down my accordian
To get away from the police."

p. "Sometimes you find yourself flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for any sign of light.
You're cold and scared and all alone,
You'd do anything just to make it home."

Here's a freebie from the Late Great Townes Van Zandt. You cannot count the miles until you feel them, and you cannot hold a lover who is gone.

~~I would share some pictures with you, but when I made the left at Albuquerque my hard drive apparently went south. Techno-challenged at the moment.~~

Above, still looking for elk. The signs are everywhere...

This last shot of Pike's Peak brings to mind my second grade teacher, Mrs. Sexton. As we were headed out on our Colorado family road trip at the end of class in June, 1976, Mrs. Sexton asked me to think of her when I saw Pike's Peak. We didn't make it there on that trip, so this was my first viewing. Here's to you, Mrs. Sexton. I remember you fondly.

Time Spent Outside

2011-10-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

Time spent outside will not be deducted from your allotted days. So say I. Instead of spending yesterday inside working on my wilderness paper, I followed Ed Abbey's first rule of wilderness preservation and actually found some wilderness to go play in. In reality, I've been on a pursuit of aspens.

Tuesday, I flew from Denver to Reno to recover my remaining things in the Owens Valley. I took the shuttle bus down 395 to Independence. Maybe I've never traveled that road without being the driver. It's gorgeous. And I spotted a few patches of turning aspens. Truth to tell, it's still a bit early here.

But yesterday, I left the paper behind and the NPS paperwork behind, and the move details behind, and the apartment-hunt nonsense behind...and we had a small adventure. Brian and I started at Silver Lake, on the June Lake loop of 395, which has the finest stand of aspens maybe anywhere, but certainly accessible on a road. Still a bit green, but we waded into the lake and enjoyed the smells of fall.

Then we continued up the road to the turn-off to Parker Lake. Never been there, but friends Misty and Scott used to spend their October holiday up there. It's a small hike (very small to Brian who is a backcountry ranger, more of a deal to out-of-shape-sea-level me) up some hills to a beautiful little lake rimmed in cliffs and trees. Lots of aspens and stately pine trees along the creek on the way up. Then a nice half-submerged log to sit on in the lake. Brian decided to go swimming...well, he jumped in and jumped out. I goaded him on with promises of sushi. Upon which I delivered at Yamatani in Bishop on the way home.

A small adventure. But so heavenly. A trip to wilderness. As Wallace Stegner called these wild lands, the geography of hope. And a nod to my Taoseño, John Nichols, for introducing me to the glories of the Last Beautiful Days of Autumn in the land of aspens. Let winter come. I'm not ready, but I'm willing.

Above, aspens in Vail, Colorado, about ten days ago.

Silver Lake. The skinny dipping came later.

Parker Lake

An added bonus, this view of Mono Lake from our trail.

It Never Gets Old

2011-10-02T20:01:00.000-07:00

Spent a afternoon and overnight with a park friend at Desert View on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. At sunset, we visited the rim. Forgive me Glacier, forgive me Tetons, forgive me Zion and Yosemite and Yellowstone. But the Grand Canyon is to my way of thinking the most spectacular scene I know--the immensity of it all. And down there is the river, the object of our affection. We hike down to it, we run it in rafts, we mythologize it and celebrate its heroes. I say we...I've hiked and mythologized it, but have yet to run it in a raft. Someday. And alas, I recently was on a short list for a job there that I gave up to take the sure thing in Fort Collins. I don't regret my decision, bird in hand and all, but...but...

Sitting with our feet dangling over the edge last night, we had a conversation about one aspect of the experience of visiting the canyon. Mandy relayed a story from her brother who visited and was afraid of standing by the edge for fear that he could not contain his urge to fly. She did not share this sentiment, but I immediately identified. That is the fear I too have. It's not that I will fall, but rather that the desire to fly out into the beautiful empty space will overcome me and I will have to take wing. Only to discover rather abruptly the gross miscalculation of my inherent flying abilities. We worship the condors with their advantageous wingspans because they evolved the secret. Better yet, the ravens not only soar over the canyon spires and buttes, but make a game--child's play--of their talent for flight.

Today I left the canyon and continued north through the Navajo reservation and Monument Valley, home to relict sandstone outcroppings made famous in magazines and John Ford movies. The red stone that one's memory cannot believe, but has to be reminded anew that this color exists in the fabric of our continent. Red rock, green sage, yellow rabbitbrush, a black and white horse.

This landscape is part home--the smell of the ponderosa pine, the rivers in the desert, the immense sky--part unknowable labyrinth. I have not even scratched the surface with my small, contained passage. But it is a wonderful place to find myself alive, still after all these years alive and whole and open.

As Mary Oliver writes,
Dirt, mud, stars, water.
I know you as I know myself.
How could I be afraid?

The Crossroads of my Known World

2011-09-30T11:20:00.000-07:00

There are cities I have visited more than Flagstaff, Arizona, but I’m hard pressed to think of a city I’ve traversed as much without having it be the destination. Today marks my 15th time through Flagstaff: east/west trips on I-40 to parks or home to New York State (always I-40 and often fighting the weather); the first great adult-aged road trip with Dad and Melody on the way to Bryce Canyon; NPS training at the Grand Canyon; a cat intervention staged by Holly and me from Zion to Bisbee. I used to be in love with an itinerant poet who liked Flagstaff for the close proximity of a blues club and a pizza joint with roof access for safe sleeping. I ended up coming through Flagstaff once in a holy-hell-downpour on the way to Albuquerque to see said poet and his woman with a friend of his from Missoula riding shotgun in my pick-up. (...my life as a country/western song.)

Last night as the trains kept me up in Kingman (Flagstaff is crossroads for trains, too, and a stop on the old Route 66), I tried to count my trips through other cities. Albuquerque is second at 10. Sacramento has five. Salt Lake City, five. I decided Vegas doesn’t count because that was a frequent shopping destination when I lived in Death Valley, and also an airport—more destination than crossroads. Same with Reno and Cedar City.

Now I’m back in Flagstaff for a short visit with friends, old and new. In addition to a great city, it marks my return, briefly, to the Colorado Plateau—pinon-juniper forest, history told in layers of rock, legends of a one-armed man, and maybe a Stellar’s jay or two.

Here’s a view from the road. The skull is back where it belongs.

Macy’s doesn’t quite say Flagstaff to the road weary traveler like the Purina factory, but it’s the shot I’ve got today. I made it to this legendary coffee shop for lunch and an afternoon of internet.

Updates from a Charmed Life

2011-09-27T07:06:00.000-07:00

This morning I accepted a job with the National Park Service in Fort Collins, Colorado. Nothing glamorous, something administrative. But a promotion and what sounds like a delightful office, full of scientists--specifically, I'm with the division of water resources. I begin in about four weeks. I'm very happy and relieved.

The Jeep is running well. Later this week, I'll drive her over to Colorado to begin my housing hunt. I'll come back for the Subaru in a couple of weeks. I hope to see a few more people on my way east.

For one glorious night, I was able to play music with Kirk, Brad, and Amy. We dusted off old favorites and tried out a few new ones. I brought with me my recently acquired banjo mandolin that my grandfather presumably bought in the 1920s when they were in fashion, or soon after. I can play it some; Brad, our musical guru, picked it up and made it sing. Oh, Fort Collins, are you harboring my next group of musical friends?

Among other things I'm looking forward to in the big city are book stores, libraries, outlets for art and theater, art house movie theaters, ethnic restaurants, community gardens, a Buddhist group that follows my Vietnamese guy's practice, yoga classes, dog-friendly housing, health food stores, and perhaps even interesting men.

The adventure continues, this time with pay!

Takin' it With Me

2011-09-19T11:46:00.001-07:00

Achieved a small goal today when I planted a bumpersticker on the Kingfisher. She was looking a little naked, a waste of good advertising space. Here's what I had made special--taking a little Romania pride with me down the road.

Want one?

My Own 12-Step Program

2011-09-13T17:40:00.000-07:00

For re-entry into American life, here’s what I’m finding works well:

1. Hugs from Mom (really, the prescription for just about anything).

2. An official occasion to celebrate your time in the Peace Corps. I’m tellin’ ya—throw yourself a party!

3. Making a tangible connection between your old life and your new, like asking friends at home to financially support someone in need in your Peace Corps country.

4. Finding an old Peace Corps friend (or two) who has successfully re-entered, and basking in their peace-itude.

5. Some open road across this magnificent country, in all its grandeur and diversity (Woody Guthrie, I am SO right there with you).

6. Having the honor of helping your dad reach a worthy goal.

7. Catching up on the lives of dear friends and family and listening to their stories—the good, the bad, and the ugly (the stories, not the friends).

8. Seeing the Atlantic Ocean, the Great Lakes, and the Pacific Ocean.

9. Seeing tangible evidence that life has gone on without you—specifically, the wonderful new developments at Manzanar, the new four-lane on 395, and bestest, a little girl named Kalia who was born while I was gone.

10. Knowing that some things never change—the vast empty beauty of Death Valley, park service politics, the art of friendliness.

11. Having the Buddha on your side (again, good for whatever ails you). A little breathing goes a long way.

12. Fusion cuisine. I’m not talking Tex-Mex, or Cal-Asian, or New York Jewish deli. I’m talkin’ Trader J’Romanian. You know I can wax poetic about my beloved Trader Joe’s until the cows come home (an actual nightly event in Romania). But turns out it’s better when done with a Romanian flair. Yes, I’m off the pork products and back to vegetarianism. So that translates today into a nice cabbage salad with my guacamole and taquitoes. Zacusca on my grilled TJ’s sharp cheddar sandwich. Tomato and cucumber salad with pretty much anything.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

Subarus and Ginger Chews, continued

2011-09-11T17:02:00.000-07:00

Where were we? Oh yes, Montana. The road trip continued from Glacier on down through Yellowstone to the Grand Tetons. We had ourselves some pretty good Montana with lunch in Missoula and overnight in Livingston. Livingston was the setting of a favorite 70s movie of mine, Rancho Deluxe—starring a very young Jeff Bridges and a very young Sam Waterston as hapless cattle rustlers. Turns out Livingston still looks largely the same. Great neon signs and the fly shop across from the train station.

Above, the Missoula courthouse. Below, Livingston.

Had lunch as planned in Yellowstone with Diane and Harvey, in the midst of checking out the bison, pronghorn, and steam pots of this glorious national park. Then moseyed on down the road to the Tetons where we spent a couple of days with Holly. To our chagrin, we saw no moose, no elk, and no bear in the Tetons. We did see and hear two sandhill cranes from Holly’s porch. And south of Jackson, along the Snake River, we saw many osprey in platform nests.

Above, Dad at Yellowstone. Below, Holly and me at the Tetons...including proof that if you stand right next to the tower, you can get cell signal. And I do think that's the only way.

We chose a couple of heretofore unvisited sites in Utah to spend time on. The first is the world’s largest open-pit mine, not far out of Salt Lake City. It was a Kennecott operation and is still active today. They have a visitor center and charge a fee. Then on to Delta and the nearby Topaz Internment Camp from WWII. Not so much to see there (more pronghorn on the road) but we took a picture of the plaque.

Then across Nevada (so beautiful and so hard on the cars) with a stop at Great Basin National Park and lunch in Ely. While in Ely, I remarked about a previous trip through and Dad had us drive by the train museum there, which he had visited in the past. Really!? Why on earth have both of us already been to Ely, Nevada? Well, he’s now been to all 50 states and I’m at 49. Gotta go somewhere, I suppose.

Arrived in Bishop and easily decided to eat at the Japanese restaurant (and the next night too). After successfully stalking my friend Mary at the coffee shop, spent a day showing Dad the bristlecone pines up in the White Mountains and Lake Sabrina in the Sierras. The next day I drove him over to Sacramento to catch his train and for me to continue on with my visiting/reintegration tour. Visited Tom and his family in the east bay, Loretta outside of Sacramento, friends in the Owens Valley, down into Death Valley (temperature 109), and on to Pasadena (temperature 104 the first day).

Above, Dad with a bristlecone. Below, WTF?! Enjoying my manual shifting capability over Sonora Pass.

Above, the next time you think you're being robbed...Oh, Death Valley.

Now, I’ve begun my class—the last class to finally finish up my Masters degree. Taking a little down time here at my brother’s house while I can. So you see, still jobless and homeless—but having a great time. We saw oodles of bison and pronghorn—and a dearth of other desired ungulates. And shopping at Trader Joe’s for ginger chews in my new Subaru.

Yes, introducing The Kingfisher. She’s my new ride.

In case there was any doubt to my blessed status on this planet, she was a gift from my father who felt it was the right price to pay for an adventure to Glacier National Park. I hope you agree, Dad, that it was worth it. We’re both still worn out from the trip, but with a suitcase full of memories.

Subarus and Ginger Chews

2011-09-10T14:16:00.000-07:00

Bison and Pronghorn.

Jobless and Homeless.

All will be revealed after I catch my breath. Landed for the moment (a week) at a climate controlled palace in Pasadena. Ice cubes come tumbling out of a hollow in the freezer. John Prine lives in the television. Jeans go in the dryer. The ocean is just over a few hills. And lordy, Trader Joe was born here.

I promise, there will be pictures.

My Life as a German Tourist

2011-08-23T14:37:00.001-07:00

In a couple of days we hope to meet up with my old parkie friends Diane and Harvey for lunch in Yellowstone, as they head west to east toward Gillette and we head north to south from Glacier to the Tetons. Diane joked with me that I have spent so much time in Europe that my travel habits now resemble that of a German tourist, hopping from park to park, snapping pictures along the way. I have a few things to say about that.

First of all, if she thinks we’re bad with the parks, she should have seen us zigzagging around the Midwest picking up my missing states!

Second of all, I met two Europeans—a Romanian and a Dutch—who have the dream of coming to the States and retracing Route 66. There is something to what Diane said. And it brings to mind my favorite road-myth-deconstructor and all-around explorer and exposer of the post-modern American psyche, filmmaker Wim Wenders. Ie, he has a lot of interesting things to say about the stories we tell ourselves. He made a great movie back in the 70s called Alice in the Cities. It’s about a German man, a journalist I think, who travels all over America trying to find America. He then, inadvertently, ends up going home and driving all over Germany and does, in the end, find something valuable in that. What are we looking for? What do we find?

Americans love the open road, and Europeans are curious, confounded, jealous, and awed at our pursuit, if I may paint such generic broad strokes. I know that in my time as a European, I have craved the road trip. And now, almost with relief, I find myself on a full-blown 3000-miles-in-a-week road trip. I have a trusty vehicle (who still needs a name), a most worthy traveling companion in my dad, and a great unknown future, as wide and open as the Dakota sky.

And yes, we have our checklists. In no particular order:

Wildlife seen: bald eagles, bighorn sheep, bison, pronghorn, prairie dogs, pheasant, mountain goats, black bear, grizzly, turtle, Clark's nutcracker, roadkill porcupine and fox, coyote, herons, ducks of all kinds, mule deer, possibly a peregrine falcon.

National Parks visited: Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Theodore Roosevelt, Glacier—still to come: Yellowstone, Grand Tetons, Great Basin.

New states for my list: Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota—bringing me to 49 (Oh, Oregon, how elusive you have been).

New states for Dad’s list: South Dakota—bringing him to 49 (look out Wyoming, you’ll make 50!)

Susie and Pan, Peace Corps friends, hosted us in Mackinaw City.

Stopped in for lunch in Wynot, Nebraska—the town that answers its own question. We’d seen a field of milo missing its heads on the way into town. Turns out they’d had a destructive hailstorm the day before. We’ve lucked out and had fantastic weather the whole way out.

Sheep in the Badlands. We started out by seeing one curled up like a dog, sleeping on a rocky pinnacle. After we pulled off the road, another ten or so appeared over a ridge and came down by the road.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota preserves prairie land and more badland-type landscape. The wildlife viewing was rich—bison, pronghorn, and multiple prairie dog villages.

We thoroughly enjoyed South Dakota, assisted by a bit of extra time we’d picked up. We hit it all—the Corn Palace, Wall Drugs, the Badlands, the Black Hills, large-scale rock art, lunch in Deadwood, and a full appreciation of the stunning landscape of the Great Plains.

We took the Red Jammer tour in Glacier and it was worth every penny. Stunning trip up over the Going to the Sun Road, which I would not have enjoyed driving. Our tour guide Norm was extremely professional and offered multiple perspectives on park history and issues and a good background on fire ecology.

On we go, heading south for an oil change and some much anticipated catching up with dear friends. Yes, Diane, it may be a bit of a rushed trip. But it's my rushed trip and I'm going to enjoy every moment of it.

Celebrating. And Moving On.

2011-08-15T17:38:00.000-07:00

I've been in the States a bit over a week and have enjoyed immensely catching up with old friends and spending time with my dear family. The most formal event was our Romania party on Saturday. My mother hosted and my sister helped cook. We served mici, stuffed peppers, and other traditional Romanian dishes. And we had a rousing round of Romanian Jeopardy.

Importantly, too, we raised hundreds of dollars for my friend Olga in Tulcea to take Matei to Italy for his leg surgery in September. Much thanks to my very generous friends and family. It's not too late get involved. If you would like, you may send a check made out to NOROC to

NOROC
Attn: Carolyn White
200 Hedges Road
Abilene, TX 79605

In the memo line write, "This is a donation to go into the NOROC special account for Matei Pricop."

Time has moved very quickly since I left the retreat in France. Between greeting America, acquiring a new vehicle, and planning the upcoming road trip, I've tried to stay mindful of the precious moments I'm having with my family. So much of my future is unknown, as I still haven't landed a job. But the trade-off is this time, now.

Tomorrow morning Dad and I light out for parts west. First stop Mackinaw City to see Peace Corps Susie. Then destination Montana. In the end I'll find my way to California. And as exciting as it is to simply be on American soil, I know I will breathe a big sigh of dry air beyond the hundredth meridian and truly be home--Powell, Stegner, millions of others, and me.

I don't know what the future holds, but I'm not worrying too much. I have a date with the Corn Palace, and today that is enough.

Paris

2011-08-05T05:07:00.002-07:00

Not everyone would think to recover from the crush of communal humanity by hanging out in a city of twelve million people. But here I am. I find a wonderful anonymity in a city like this, especially when I can barely speak the language. Yes, I love Paris. It is many years, even decades, since I was here. I'm glad to be back.

I was going to try and write a long blog post today about suffering, and the work we did at the retreat to deal with our own suffering and the suffering of the world. But I find that when one is in Paris, one should just be in Paris. I'm exhausted, so my agenda is very light today. I arrived by train yesterday, and I fly out tomorrow. But since this is indeed Paris, I can't swing the proverbial dead cat without hitting a museum or a cafe, so I have enjoyed both. I chose the cheapest hotel I found on the internet in my desired neighborhood and I have a delightful little room--quiet, clean, and JUST ME!!

I'm now in my room enjoying the wifi and ignoring for the day the emails, both wonderful and tedious. I will have a nap in my little room, overlooking other back windows. Later I'll go out for dinner, up the hill by Sacre Coeur. I wanted to get my hair cut but didn't have luck. Maybe tomorrow in Reykjavik. Yes, tomorrow I will have my breakfast in Paris, my lunch in Reykjavik, and my dinner in New York.

If you think I am lucky, you are right. If you think I am blessed, you are right.

I am moved to recall Hemingway's quote for Paris, which for me is a description of New York, but here it is: "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

What I'm Missing Today

2011-07-18T03:00:00.003-07:00

Warm wishes from my incredible meditation retreat. I'm on lazy day, having walked the hour and a little into the lovely hilltop town for coffee and internet. Also having an omelet.

Generally, we are learning to live more mindful lives. And in the meantime, I thought I would try and process my Romania experience and fit it neatly into a box. The folly!! As it turns out, I haven't thought an awful lot about Romania. I've tried to not talk about it, knowing that I don't have the words now to express what's inside. And I don't think that it will ever fit in a box.

As far as missing things, I miss things that I expected I would miss. And I don't miss things that I didn't expect to miss. Mostly, this is predictable. But there is one thing that I miss terribly that I did not expect: I miss speaking Romanian. My language shortcomings were not really in the speaking. Sure, I could use more vocabulary and practice with the pesky genitive case, but I love the feel of it coming out of my mouth, of the rolling R, and the way my tongue and lips work to make those sounds. Perhaps this feels especially acute here in France where I only speak enough French for wait staff to take pity on me. (Although the really important phrases come back: I would like a chocolate croissant please.) And I really don't need French, our retreat is conducted in both languages.

I think it's just that the Romanian language was so hard-won. It feels a shame not to have a use for it. And I know that it will fade with disuse. A few of my new friends have asked to hear the language and I prattle on about my day in Romanian. It may seem silly, but for now it makes me so very happy.

The Final Hours

2011-07-01T02:23:00.002-07:00

I’m now in the final countdown to the completion of my service as a Peace Corps volunteer. I’m sitting at a café just down the street from my house, enjoying an omelet and hoping that nobody notices I smell of bleach. The apartment is cleaned, I’m packed (although still possessing too much), items have been distributed, and after my social day I will board a bus to Bucuresti at 3 in the morning to arrive in time for a GAD session with the new volunteers. In other words, it’s all over but the paperwork.

And so I guess it’s as good a time as any to think about summarizing the experience. I’ll admit that I lack perspective at this point, and that’s OK. How do I feel today? Shaneka was asking me last week what I will miss about Romania. I have a list. But I don’t really have mixed emotions about leaving. Forgive me again as I quote my favorite artists. The song in my head this week has been Guy Clark’s “LA Freeway” which is about his decision to leave Los Angeles. The refrain sings, “If I can just get off of this LA Freeway without getting killed or caught.” In some ways, I’m relieved to be leaving Romania without getting kicked out, moved, or being discovered as a fraud. By fraud, I mean that I still don’t understand a lot when people talk to me. When I leave, I can stop pretending that I speak Romanian. And also, I don’t actually do nearly as much as I had hoped to do. I think that’s a common fate of many volunteers. So yes, I’m relieved, among other emotions, to be leaving.

But another reason that I don’t have mixed emotions is that I feel like I have fully lived this experience and have worked very hard to be present in the experience. This is where the meditation pays off; it really works. And, too, I’ve chosen a life of constant change—I like it. For either reason, I feel as though I have maximized opportunities with friends, and I will keep in touch. As Mary Oliver writes, “I know what to hoard in my heart more than the value of pearls, of seeds.” I have appreciated each good thing that has happened to me here and every person who has touched my heart and allowed their heart to be touched by me. As a Buddhist monk famously wrote, when the water glass breaks we do not lament the loss of the water glass because it is in the nature of the glass to break. We are grateful that we had the glass and were able to enjoy its usefulness and simple beauty. And we learn to not take the next one for granted. More than pearls, more than seeds.

Know that on the top of my list are the friends I have made. I do not take them for granted and I thank my lucky stars each day for them.

In the end, the things of value that I did here are intangible. I did not dig a well, or build a school, or even plant a tree. But I made children laugh. And I supported Mary who really did make things happen. I helped volunteers participate in building a house using my well-honed organizational skills. That’s something. The Habitat build was a great success and I helped make that happen. I also feel good about my participation in the GAD committee. We had a very successful 16 Days campaign and exhibit. This will grow in the next year along with other projects we’ve help set in place. I also shouldn’t underestimate the effects of this blog. A big goal of Peace Corps is to increase understanding of our countries on the part of the American people. If you know more about Romania than you did two years ago, I have done my job.

And then there is the list of things we do that aren’t counted—some are the things that we laugh about. Yes, I read War and Peace and The Brothers Karamazov in the Peace Corps. I’ve watched every episode of Mad Men, Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, and more. I’ve watched probably a hundred movies on my computer. And I’ve become an expert at spider solitaire, tetris, and super text twist, and spent too much time on Facebook. Of this I’m not proud, but it beats smoking cigarettes to kill the time. More admirable is the traveling I’ve been able to do. I have seen more of Romania than most Romanians I know. As volunteers we have a wonderful network of friends to visit, and I’ve taken full advantage to visit nearly every corner of this scenic country. I’ve also had the pleasure of hosting volunteers in Tulcea and sharing the wonders of the delta. Oh the delta, truly heaven.

My service really began for me in November of 2009 when I received a desperate email from Olga about her son Matei. She was given my name by an acquaintance because I was the rich American. Although my first reaction was a combination of offense and crippling helplessness, I rallied and did my best to find resources for this sweet boy and his family. Through this search, I found Mary, and I also gave hope to Olga that someone would care. Together we raised a little money and got some medicine and got back on track. My support of the family continues, with the great assistance of friends and family at home and Mary’s agency here in Tulcea. Life is still hard for them and will continue to be. But I truly believe we’ve made it a little easier and a little better. I have said it before, but truly if this is all I did in Romania, it is enough.

In the end, it is me that has changed. My stated goal when I entered the Peace Corps was to learn to live a life of service. Yes, I wanted to participate in environmental protection, but thankfully that wasn’t my first goal or I would have been sorely disappointed. I think I have achieved my service goal. And curiously, I don’t think I could have gone somewhere more appropriate than Romania. The reason for this is related to civic engagement. Because the National Park Service has been pushing this concept recently, it has been on my mind and I’ve done some previous research—the idea that power exist in people working together and that communities are improved by even simple acts of participation. In Romania, we Americans see every day the weaknesses in our communities because people are not civically active. Decades of communism beat that out of people, and today communities are hampered by mistrust and isolationism. People generally do not participate in civic life (at least not much, not often, and not how we recognize it). The benefit for me is that I am now extremely motivated to come home and be a much more active participant in any community in which I find myself. This is where service begins. It really is as easy as having friends over for dinner, attending school plays, joining a club, supporting a library, voting, and shopping at the farmers’ market. I knew this before, but now I feel it in every cell in my body.

And so I go. Just because I’m ready to go and I want to go does not mean I take it lightly. This is a big chapter and it will take a long time to know where it fits in my life. Americans, be patient with me as I say “well, in Romania…” over and over.

And now a caveat: I will not be posting for the next month or so as I attend a meditation retreat in France. I will be quiet and sit and find a place to put this experience. I will detox from pork and other meat. And I will land in the states in early August. Thanks to everyone who has so generously supported me in my time here. Every note, every package, every good wish has meant the world. Happy summer to you all.

Our First Clue...

2011-06-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

Our first clue should have been the horses running from the beach. My last trip to the delta was a winner by any count--perfect weather, good friends, a wonderful boat tour, and a last meal of grilled herring. But I confess we were more than a bit put off by the nasty, swarming horse flies on the beach. We were told it's the season now for them, followed by mosquito season in July. Fortunately for me, I was trained on Assateague to not let a few (dozen) bites get in the way of a good time.

Oh, Sfantu Gheorghe, you are so wonderful. I will miss your sleepy, sandy streets, your lovely and swimmable Black Sea, your wealth of water birds, your lack of easy access which keeps it all so natural, your wandering cows, your end-of-the-world charm. Thank you for taking us in this one last time.

Wild horses covered with flies, running away from where we were going. Hmm.

Above, me with Kate, mother of my friend Aurelia; below, walking home from the beach our first evening out.

On our boat tour with Dimitru, our very safe and professional tour guide: with David, Veronica, and Shaneka. Below, one last pelican.

Cutest.Train.Ever.

2011-06-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we had my last meeting with our Peace Corps Gender and Development Committee. Lots of great projects coming up this year and I wish them well. We met in a small town out in the country near this week's GLOW camp. Coming home, I learned I could take the train a bit closer to home than I thought, and we do like trains. I didn't know, however, until I got to Marasesti that this was my chariot to Galati. Just two cars.

I'm done here in Romania in just about a week. Before I go I will post a couple of pictures of last week's sublime delta trip with some of my favorite people and, with luck and insight, a preliminary summary of this whole experience. Although I may just lose my mind instead, if my discovery last night of the milk carton in the cupboard with the coffee is any indication.

River Towns

2011-06-23T20:55:00.001-07:00

I have lived on the Susquehanna.
I have lived on the Charles.
I have lived on the Hudson.
I have lived on the Virgin.
I have lived on the Owens.
I have lived on the Danube.

In case you had any doubts, this last one is not wasted on me. I have lived on the Danube.

Remembering Elena Bonner

2011-06-19T00:19:00.002-07:00

The world has lost a great fighter for human rights. Yelena Bonner has died at the age of 88. You can read about her life and struggles in a good NYTimes obit. I saw Bonner speak at the opening of our National Park Service GULAG exhibit in Boston a few years ago. Not as celebrated as her Nobel-winning husband Andrei Sakharov, Bonner nonetheless left a legacy of standing up to injustice in her Russian homeland. I wish her daughter Tatiana and other family members peace as they put to rest this giant of humanity.

Sweet Summer Rain

2011-06-16T02:57:00.001-07:00

With the weather heating up and kids finishing school this week, summer is upon us. Other local indications include the pretty girls in their summer fashions, the return of the man-capris, and the re-opening of the ice cream stands. Romanians too like their strolling ice cream--just not in the cooler months.

My new favorite harbinger of summer is tarator, a Bulgarian yogurt soup. It's quick, easy, cheap, and nutritious--so you can see why it's become a favorite. Serve it with something bready and cheesy if you like. Or be continental and whip up an easy omelet with some green onion and Bulgarian feta cheese. I might get sick of eating this every day until I leave, but I haven't yet.

Gather your ingredients: 400 grams or 16 ounces of plain yogurt, skim or low-fat milk, 2-3 garlic cloves, 4-5 small cucumbers, dill, salt, walnuts.

Begin by mixing in a bowl your yogurt and about a cup of milk. Recipes on the internet call for water to thin the yogurt, but I've found the low-fat milk makes a nice consistency that doesn't separate in the refrigerator.

Add your minced garlic cloves, peeled and diced cucumbers, and chopped dill. I use this much dill.

Stir it all up and check the consistency. Add milk if needed. Add salt to taste. I don't know if this is traditional, but I like some salt.

Let it rest to incorporate the garlic. Either overnight in the refrigerator or on the counter for an hour.

Serve as is in all its summer goodness, or if you have some walnuts you can chop them and sprinkle on top. Enjoy!

If I were the Pioneer Woman, I would take a picture of the soup in a dark red fiestaware bowl that would show off the white and green soupy goodness. Asa...

Practicing Not-Looking-Away

2011-06-11T22:07:00.005-07:00

In the town of Sighet, up north, I visited both the childhood home of Elie Wiesel (before he, his family, and the entire Jewish community were deported to Auschwitz) and the Prison Museum (in the early days of Communism, a notorious prison for political prisoners). Crimes of the Holocaust and post-war Communist oppression are intertwined here in Romania; no one was spared.

I won’t go into the details of what I saw at the museum. It tells a sadly familiar tale of man’s inhumanity to man. But I was struck by a particular thought of why I feel it necessary to keep going to these places. Partly it is to bear witness. As I looked at the pictures of faces lining a long hallway, I was compelled to look deeply and say to these murdered masses that for today, for this one moment, they were not forgotten. I do believe that this has value.

But more I feel that it is necessary for each of us in this world to stand up, when and if we can, to injustice. How do we do this? How do we teach our children to do this? I was struck that the first step we must each take is to practice not looking away. It’s a small thing, you know, to go to a museum and read about some atrocities. But by looking into the faces, I felt a responsibility. By facing the unspeakable truth about who we are as a species, we perhaps pull aside the veil and see what is this complex human life. And then I hope we are better prepared to fight the demons.

I don’t know if I’ve explained it well. But it struck me that I don’t want to be a person that hides myself away from the troubles in the world. At the very least, as Wiesel exhorts, bear witness. And more, seek to understand. So, I practice.

And of course I fold a paper crane.

“As long as one dissident is in prison, our freedom will not be true. As long as one child is hungry, our life will be filled with anguish and shame. What these victims need above all is to know that they are not alone; that we are not forgetting them, that when their voices are stifled we shall lend them ours, that while their freedom depends on ours, the quality of our freedom depends on theirs.”
Elie Wiesel (From his Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech, 1986)

Touring Maramureş

2011-06-10T02:20:00.000-07:00

In the far northern corner of Romania is the county of Maramureş, famous in Romania for its deeply held traditions and exquisite artistic expressions. Specifically, this zone of rich wooded mountains and small scale farming is known for its wooden churches and one spectacular cemetery.

I paid a small fortune for the benefit of my guide, Dan--rather an institution among Peace Corps volunteers. We pass his name around and save our pennies for his inimitable services. He is a professional tour guide from the area with a car and perfect english. For twelve hours he drives, guides, wanders one around fields, and basically extols the virtues of his native land. Those virtues are many. Simply driving through the countryside one is awed by the landscape and the lives of its inhabitants.

So here, in a very small dose, is the tour.

Our first stop was the wooden church of Budesti. We went on Sunday purposefully to experience a service in progress. Visitors don't seem to bother the parishioners, in fact the opposite; women encouraged me to come in and take pictures.

Above, our last stop--another wooden church, this one in Sapanta. Below, a typical wooden gate with intricate carvings.

We stopped along the way to look at a working mill. It is attached to a 100-year-old thresher that still operates, and a grinding wheel. Water also runs from the mill to cool a palinka still. Palinka is a double distilled liquor made from plums and/or apples. I've tried it--it burns the mouth, perhaps an acquired taste. I prefer the single distilled plum tuica that we have down south.

Some beautiful Maramures scenery.

Haying is its own art, as it is in much of the rural parts of Romania. Above, a typical rack for hay. Below, a covered hay storage unit unlike anything I've seen elsewhere in the country. My guide Dan waxed poetic about the loveliness of a night spent sleeping on the hay pile, able to look out at the stars. One can assume this experience is improved by a pretty girl and a bottle of wine, although that was left unspoken.

Above, the road home over the mountains. Below, welcome to the Merry Cemetery.

The Merry Cemetery in Sapanta is famous country-wide. In general, Maramuresans love color. Back 80 or 90 years ago, a young artist got the idea to sell individualized grave markers to villagers. Today his work is continued by two apprentices. Each painting depicts the deceased engaged in his or her livelihood, or perhaps tells the story of their manner of death. Although it may be easy to view the cemetery as an overhyped tourist attraction (many tour buses there), I found it to be an inspiring and truly unique expression of folk art.

We also fit in a visit to the Prison Museum in Sighetu Marmatiei, commemorating the victims of Communism, and a stop at Elie Wiesel's house in the same town. But I will post separately about that. Maramures is a celebration of vibrant culture and living traditions. No need to bring it down today.

How to Make Romanian Lemonade

2011-06-09T01:42:00.000-07:00

We like our lemonade here in Romania and I thought I had a couple of good recipes to share. Then I went on a rambling country tour with a local guide and now I have a third. So in reverse order, here is how we make lemonade in Romania.

Number One, the elderberry version.
This is the recipe of our grandmothers, the country ladies who may still go out and gather the flower heads from the elderberry bushes. I don't have an exact recipe, although you can find them on the internet. I hope to play with the recipe a bit when I have ready access to elderberry flowers. Also, my tour guide told me to dry the flower heads, but my friend Jenny says she's used them fresh and the recipes online seem to use fresh.

10-12 elderberry flower heads
8-10 liters of water
1-2 pounds of sugar
3-4 lemons
yeast, Brewers is best but baking yeast works too (use less)

Boil your water and add it to the macerated lemons, sugar, and flowers. When it cools a little, add the yeast. Ferment up to 5 days, then strain, refrigerate, and enjoy.

Number Two, the Aurelia Version...variations on a theme
Elsewhere in Romania, outside of grandma's kitchen, it's common to find fresh-made lemonade with the additions of lime, ginger, and mint. This is an approximation of Aurelia's homemade lemonade. I'll be making this a lot in the future.

1 liter of boiling water
3-4 lemons, chopped up
A good chunk of ginger root, chopped
A handful of mint, chopped

Steep the ingredients for a good long time, mashing the lemons to extract the flavor. Sweeten with sugar or honey while it's still warm. To serve, dilute with flat or bubbly water over ice.

Number Three, Personal Lemonade
With the abundance of lemons in this life, it's handy to develop one's own recipe for making lemonade. Here's what works for me:

10 liters of staying present in the moment
3 parts patience and flexibility, available at the Peace Corps store
4 parts love and laughter, reflected every day in the children's faces
Handful of compassion, oh go ahead and throw in another handful
Mix it all up in the loving embrace of family and friends, sweeten to taste
**Importantly, let go of needing ingredients you don't have. This is enough!
Shake on a liberal topping of forgiveness, include enough for yourself.

Serve regularly at dance parties and scrabble games.

We Built a House

2011-06-06T01:04:00.001-07:00

In the end, our efforts paid off and we built a house for the Petrus family of Beius, Romania. I say we. This was a wonderful collaboration of Peace Corps volunteers and their friends and family from the states, PC staff, HFH affiliates in the states, Romanian volunteers, and our incredibly professional and motivated Habitat affiliate in Beius. And of course, the Petrus family themselves who worked hard by our sides all week.

The reason we did this project was to celebrate 20 years of Peace Corps in Romania and 50 years of Peace Corps worldwide. But even more, personally, it was an opportunity for each volunteer to commemorate his or her own experience as a Peace Corps volunteer. So much of what we do is abstract; we don't see the results of our work. To build a house, a tangible result, was extremely satisfying. And we had a great time working together, side by side with old friends and new. For those of us completing our service in the next month or two, this build was a particularly sweet closure on our service.

As promised, here are a few more of the pictures from Day 2, plus a few from the last couple of days. The local Habitat crew will finish up with the windows and doors, the wiring, plumbing, and trim. In the next couple of months, they will connect the house (and a few others being similarly built this month) with the city services. And the family should be in later this summer.

I leave this project behind with such gratitude for all our participants, whether they helped out with time and sweat, money, or simply with warm wishes and prayers. Thank you all.

The outside of the house was lined with styrofoam and then stuccoed.

The styrofoam is held on by tacking it to the plywood. The "tacks" were nails put through bottle caps.

Below, PCV Amanda stuccoing her styrofoam.

After the stucco was done, we tiled the roof. The Habitat staffers did the high elevation work and we moved the tiles.

Above, Holly displays a tile with the name of a donor painted on the underside (in this case, herself!). Below, one of the donations I secured was from the Habitat affiliate in Chemung County, New York--where my Dad volunteers. Big thanks too from me to cousin Becky and my Mom! Your tiles are somewhere on that roof too.

Oh, hey. There's Becky's.

Above, Justin and his paintbrush. Below, Melody and Mary Ann being their wonderful selves. So great to see you ladies!

Marta sands the ceiling and walls after the spackling dried.

We also made signs for our hometowns and to thank our hometown affiliates. Kind of a fun side project.

And of course in the end the house was dedicated.

Me with Alina Petrus and her nice sons, Claudiu and Alin. Below, the night's entertainment at the super dinner celebration thrown for us by our Country Director, Sheila.

The Beius Bubons

2011-06-04T08:24:00.004-07:00

We interrupt the regularly scheduled delivery of house-build posts (what? not so regular?) to discuss bodily functions. Leave now if you didn't sign up for bodily functions, but honesty, I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer. Anyway, in the last post I wrote that I was exhausted. But actually, I was one short hour away from chills, vomiting, and Mississippi-River-style diarrhea.

The illness began on Tuesday when fellow volunteer Sara developed diarrhea. I brought her some crackers and bananas that afternoon. Later that night I began my own reign of intestinal terror. Since I was vomiting too I don't think we had the same thing. We never determined the cause, but we both spent Wednesday and Thursday pretty much confined to our beds. By Friday we were well enough to get out of bed and walk to a nearby restaurant where I had some omelet and toast with jam. Sara ate dry toast. We made it back out to the work site to see the progress and paint our signs (more about that later). And we worked up the energy to attend the special last-night dinner put on by our Peace Corps country director.

Today I stuffed myself with Pepto and got on a bus to Jenny's site after all. The build wrapped up today and we are all on to our next adventure. I will have more stories and pictures of the build in the days to come, including a wrap-up of the project.

But for now, alas, this is where I spent most of my week--Casa Grava, the home of the delightful Doamna Florica who made us tea when we needed it and left us alone when that was appropriate, and probably most importantly kept bringing us toilet paper.

Above, our very comfortable accommodations. Fortunately I had the room with the balcony. Below, my bed in the corner.

My sick-bed buddy Sara and our collection of Dr. Dan-approved foods.

In the category of too much information, this is the perfect bathroom for sickies. You can sit on the toilet and lean your little chin over the sink and puke at the same time.

Day 2

2011-05-31T11:56:00.001-07:00

And just like that, all energy to blog has flown out the window (in a word, exhausted). Another extremely successful day at the build and I only have one photo to share. More to come soon, I promise, at the end of the week. But for now, this is what the house looks like after day 2.

Peace Corps Romania/Habitat Build, Day 1

2011-05-30T08:24:00.001-07:00

Today we kicked off our Peace Corps Romania/Habitat for Humanity partnership house build in honor of 20 years of Peace Corps Romania and 50 years of Peace Corps worldwide. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, weatherwise, with sunny skies and an occasional cool breeze. And we couldn’t ask for nicer group of people to be working with.

After preparing financially and logistically, a little spiritual inspiration was called for.

Below, Tara, Jenny, and Chris demonstrate a little Peace Corps pride on the job site.

Below, the folks from the Habitat affiliate had prepped the foundation ahead of time. This first day was largely about nailing. We all took advantage of the opportunity to work out a little aggression.

Above, off to a great start!

Above, Connie giving it her all. Below, yours truly helping Adi cut lumber.

Above, Nelu, the father of the Petrus family who is receiving the house, and PC volunteer Jenny. Below, Claudiu and his mom Alina Petrus (photo by Alin, the older son)

Above, approaching the end of Day 1. Below, PC volunteer Ben getting in the last few nails of the day.

The end of the day, the hardhats have come off and we are ready for a jump in the creek, a shower, and a cold Timisoreana to quench our thirst. Great day everybody!

Unencumbered by the Environmental Assessment Process

2011-05-29T08:12:00.000-07:00

Arrived in Beius today where we begin tomorrow our Peace Corps/Habitat for Humanity Partnership house build. Yay! We've arrived and we're ready to go. In the meantime today, we enjoyed a big event in town with 4-wheel-drivers from around Europe (maybe the world) who drove up the river through town, building ramps along the way. I have to say, I got a special thrill as a Jeep driver. Maybe guilty pleasure is the correct term. Anyway, here it is. More this week from the build.

Photos with Andrei

2011-05-19T07:00:00.005-07:00

I might have mentioned a time or two that I don’t love taking pictures. And fans of photography are surely disappointed with my artistic eye. I much prefer a thousand words to one of my pictures. Which is not to say that I don’t enjoy and appreciate photography. On the contrary, I quite enjoy, even crave maybe, the work of others.

And so let me share with you a small bit of the work of my friend Andrei Nichita, a young man assisted by my agency here. It helps that he has been mentored by Petru Solca, the Romanian director of NOROC and an amazing photographer. Andrei comes to many of our kids activities and takes wonderful pictures. He also took photos at the recent wedding I attended (Petru’s daughter). Even more, Andrei takes really lovely nature photos and recently had his first show at the university in Galaţi.

So let me share a few of his photos with you here, and then you can visit his website to see more. He’s also more than a photographer. He is also a very friendly and thoughtful young man. I’m glad to know him.

This is Radu and Oana, the happy couple. Isn't her outfit just perfect?

Below, this is the Easter Pageant. On the left is Vasile, the one I'd like to sneak into my suitcase. Alas...

Above, the older kids from our Thursday night group, including Iuliana and Dolar, the readers for the program. Below, the younger group that with whom we meet on Fridays. Everyone sang, and some acted too.

Above, Florin as Jesus, praying in the garden. Below, the younger kids. The two on the right with the green striped headwear (Lulu and Iulian) played moneychangers that Jesus threw out of the temple.

Below, more pictures from our horse party, and me in my easter bunny ears. Yes, we have our fun.

Cristina with Sergiu. This little guy was fearless in being the first one to ride Norocel, the pretty paint horse.

Why We Build: Remembering Millard Fuller

2011-05-19T01:51:00.002-07:00

I remember being a teenager and listening to a sermon by our Episcopal priest, Loren Gough. She talked about saying goodbye to friends as she was leaving a Latin American country (which one I don’t remember) and having a poor neighborhood woman press coins into her hand for those less fortunate. Loren shared that she doubted there was anyone less fortunate than this woman, but it pointed out the fundamental human need to give.

Those of us in the Peace Corps are fortunate that we found a way to exercise our service muscles. Particularly as I near the end of my service, I can see how I have grown immensely in my ability to locate and take advantage of opportunities for service. Peace Corps has that in common with Habitat for Humanity—a pre-existing structure for those of us not-quite-Mother-Teresa-types to get involved in a meaningful way in the lives of others. The Habitat formula lets everyday people use their compassion, together with others, in a deeply satisfying and enriching way.

Habitat for Humanity was started by Millard Fuller in the mid-1970s after rejecting a life of material wealth. With support from his family and following his Christian faith, Fuller realized his dream of service. In an interview on David Freudberg’s Humankind radio show, Fuller explained, “I want to be a loving person. I want my life to be characterized as a person who spreads love abroad. I do it imperfectly, of course. But that’s my heart’s desire.” Not only did Fuller realize his dream, but today thousands of people around the world participate in this twofold dream: building affordable housing for those in need and providing a tangible outlet for our need to give.

Fuller goes on to explain the connection with giving and building houses—in reality, explaining what it means to make a community. “What does it mean to love your neighbor as yourself? Practically every person in this country knows that expression—love your neighbor as you love yourself. And nobody would take exception to that kind of statement. But when you build a house for a family, you know the name of a neighbor that you didn’t know before, and you understand their situation. And you realize at the end of the day, or the end of the week, that this neighbor—because of your activity—has life a little better. And you feel, I have made a difference.”

Fuller won many awards and honorary degrees for his work with Habitat, but continued to live a modest life in rural Georgia with his wife Linda. In 1996, President Clinton awarded Fuller the Presidential Medal of Freedom, saying that Fuller “has literally revolutionized the concept of philanthropy.” Fuller did more than give money and build houses, he found a way to touch people’s hearts—both the recipients and the donors. He died in 2009 at the age of 74.

Now as we count down the final days before our Habitat build here in Beius, Romania, and finalize last minute logistics of directions and lodging, we take satisfaction in joining the growing ranks of Habitat volunteers all around the world. We join with friends and family who have built houses in communities at home. And we offer up our sweat as a testament to the need in our hearts to give. We do it imperfectly, as Fuller confessed, but we do it with love.

Linda and Millard Fuller on a build in Abilene, Texas, in 2008.

Working Down the To-Do List

2011-05-17T07:27:00.000-07:00

The week is young and already I’m making funny and strange additions to my Romania memory bank. This episode begins last night when Aurelia gave me a call to invite me out. Oh, I have a skype meeting coming up, but really…I can ditch that. I wasn’t quite sure what I was in for, especially when they said they were picking me up in the car. But I’m game, much gamer in fact than when I arrived two years ago. So it turns out the purpose of our evening was to finally feed me some ciorba de burta (tripe soup). I’ve been afraid of this traditional and beloved Romanian delicacy, but recently announced to Aurelia that I really should try it once before leaving. They drove, thinking we would go to a restaurant in town, but in the end we went to the place across the street from their apartment, run by a neighbor.

I found the ciorba to be satisfactory. The broth was good, but nothing to write home about. And the stomach itself was chewy, a bit like octopus in texture. I understand why I don’t need to be afraid of it, but honestly I don’t know why it’s on anyone’s list of favorites. Aurelia promises that she can make it better, with carrots, onions, and herbs. Oh good, I get to try it again! Anyway, I like to say that I was kidnapped and taken to eat ciorba de burta. Aurelia and Gabi had a delightful friend visiting and after ciorba we went home and played scrabble.

Above, adding some garlic sauce, a welcome addition that makes anything better. Below, before and after pictures. No, I didn't eat all my stomach.

And then Galina and Aurelia noticed the wall decoration and couldn't resist being delightfully silly. Yay, laughter!

Today I made a long-awaited trek out to Manasteria Saon, a gem of local architecture and history. Turns out it was a short trek, only 3 kilometers off the main road where the bus dropped me. Although perhaps a longer 3 km than expected. I had expected a pleasant and quiet stroll through the countryside. But the county, according to the signs, got an EU grant to fix the road for the purposes of rural tourism. So there was a lot of road work going on, specifically today digging the drainage ditch. The road has been graded and graveled. I had to contend with a couple of backhoes and a gravel truck, plus some cars, and cattle dogs barking at me.

The monastery proved lovely, maybe my favorite of the local ones. Smaller, but beautifully painted inside. And it smelled really good inside—like incense, but just lightly. Then I popped in the little shop to look at trinkets. I said hello, but the woman really didn’t respond. After I selected a couple of items and said something like “OK, that’s all” in Romanian, she perked right up and was amazed I spoke Romanian. She said, “I thought you were a tourist!” Well, I am, but a tourist that speaks some Romanian. She invited me to stay til noon and have lunch with them. Stroll around, look at the peacocks and pheasants in cages, and listen for the bells. Then have my lunch with the nuns of Saon. Sounded good.

There wasn’t much strolling to do around the small compound, but I found a shady place to sit next to a field where I could watch magpies, hoopoes, and even a vibrant oriole. I could also see some women working a vegetable garden. I was joined by a family of Roma women who wanted money. I told them no and they left me be.

When the bells rang, I hopped up and began my search for the lunch table. The Roma women saw me and told me to come with them as they led the way. Out in back of a large house, on a long porch near the turkey pens, the nuns had lunch set up evidently for anyone interested. We were the first ones there and the nuns asked the Roma women to sit at the far table. I sat with them, not knowing protocol. But then the nun asked me if I wanted to move to the other table. I answered that it didn’t matter to me, I was happy to stay where I was. She then brought us bowls and spoons followed by a large bowl of soup with chunks of grisly meat in it. One of the Roma women served me soup. I told her not too much, partially because I knew they were all very hungry and partially (mostly) because I didn’t want to have to choke down too many pieces of grisly meat. Because there are times when you know that you must eat everything put in front of you. And I did. Then we had grilled fish and mamaliga (thick corn mash with cheese). Again, with the fish, I was grateful that somewhere along the way I became adept at eating a fish. Sylvester the cat would be proud of my little pile of bones. They I busted out my chocolate bar and shared with the family.

As I was leaving I chatted more with the women. I gave them the bread and cheese I had brought for my lunch. The woman that apparently was the mother of the child grabbed her breast and told me she had no milk and she needed money for powdered milk. I again told them that I only had money for the bus home to Tulcea. I stopped and petted their horse, waiting patiently for their return. As they climbed into their caruta to return home to the nearby village of Niculitel, I explained how nice it was for me to walk on a day like this. I did not want an invitation to ride in their caruta out to the main road. Yes, I would love to ride in a caruta, but this was not the one: the horse was small and scrawny (although very friendly), the caruta itself seemed ready to fall apart, and it was already to carry three substantial women and a small child. I smiled, wished them a good trip home, and said goodbye.

My walk back to the main road was more in line with my ideal. It was the lunch hour and the workmen were variously asleep under a tree or in their trucks. Indeed I had a quiet walk with the birds and the cowbell in the distance.

And amusingly, I amazed more Romanians with my smokin’ language skills. I laugh at this because generally, in my everyday life now, no one comments on my language. It is what it is at this late date. But I think today people had very low expectations for the obvious foreigner. And in that situation, I’m a winner!

Middle Spring

2011-05-15T04:22:00.003-07:00

If early spring in Romania is marked by snowdrops being sold on every corner and the storks arriving back from Africa, this time of middle spring can be marked by its own set of rites: warm Saturdays of honking wedding processions, lily-of-the-valley ever-so-briefly at the florist, fields of rapeseed in bloom, and the first few vibrant red poppies seen from the train.

This week's treat was a handful of lily-of-the-valley, lacrimioara in Romanian (literally, tears). Exquisitely fragranced and cheap. I returned on Friday to see if I could buy some for Aurelia, but they were out. I asked the woman if they expected more. She said she didn't know; it depended on what they found in the forest. Hence the cheap, hence the fleeting.

In other news, the progression of spring means, too, the general progression of our time in Romania. Not having a job lined up at home yet, the passing of time is beginning to feel uncomfortable. I tell myself not to worry, and largely I'm not. And, too, I'm ready to move on to the next chapter.

Oooh, and is that cottonwood fluff I see in the air?

This week I will get out into the countryside to the third and final of our renowned Tulcea County monasteries. A few things like this still on my to-do list. And with our warm May weather and a break in my schedule, time for now is on my side.

Out the train window at the rapeseed in bloom.

Liquid Courage

2011-05-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

Late Tuesday night a small group of us got in the company van driven by our patient, wonderful, and safe driver, Mr. Barbu, and we took Mary to the airport for her early morning flight to Texas. After ten years of service in Romania, she is hanging up her hat—well, this particular hat anyway. I look forward to seeing where the next chapter takes her.

Meanwhile, the past weeks have been largely devoted to helping her achieve a good closure. We had one last outstanding pageant at Easter, one last big party with the kids at the horse club, last lunches, last dinners, last bible studies, packing and organizing sessions, hauling sessions—all cementing lasting memories of our time here together.

Along the way, I recently discovered that Mary is greatly revived by an afternoon Co’cola. So the day that Cristina and I met at Mary’s to pack some suitcases, I arrived with some bottles of Coke. Liquid Courage, I announced. And not of the ţuica variety. We made a good joke of that. And it was not the last time I arrived so armed. Probably not the healthiest thing, but Mary was recently tentatively diagnosed with a serious blood problem related to a lack of absorption of B12. Should be pretty easy to fix now that she’s home in the States, but it explains her extreme exhaustion the past few months. So probably a little afternoon caffeine pick-me-up is not the worst thing either.

Although it is hard for me to say goodbye to Mary who is single-handedly responsible for giving me a purpose in Romania, it’s even harder to watch and understand the reaction of others. As one of her friends told me at the airport, tears in her eyes, Mary cared about people that no one else cared about—orphaned children, people with disabilities, Roma. She is a Presbyterian missionary who encouraged children to celebrate and embrace their Orthodox tradition. She built a network of angels who shared her love of children and empowered them to make a difference. She fought with the system, when necessary, on behalf of the children and dispossessed. And most of all, she made it abundantly clear to the children, through her words and actions, that they were loved and valued. She courageously changed lives.

We sometimes say, don’t we, that we wish we could bottle that feeling or that quality that someone has. If I could put Mary in a bottle, we would have our own liquid courage. Better than any soda pop. Thank you, Mary, for making a difference. Adevarat, te iubim.

Casa de Piatra

2011-05-03T23:58:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I had the good fortune to attend my first (and alas, my only) Romanian wedding. Romanians love a good celebration and the wedding is the ultimate party: piles of flowers, innumerable photographs of happy guests in fancy clothes, course after course of delicious time-honored food, local wine and ţuica (distilled plum home-brew), and hours of dancing. For a Peace Corps volunteer, a wedding is an opportunity to display all the traditional dance steps so carefully cultivated during training. For a Romanian family, a wedding is the event of a lifetime.

In toasting the bride and the groom, guests wish them “Casa de Piatra.” This translates to “house of stone”, a wish to build a solid life together as a couple and a family. It should come as no surprise that here in Romania, like in America, the house is a symbol of stability, of family, of a solid future. Wishing a new couple a house of stone is a wish for a solid foundation and a structure able to weather any storm.

Despite the centuries-old society in Romania, there are some serious housing issues. In the waning years of Communism, in the 1970s and 1980s, the Ceauşescu regime implemented a policy that forcibly removed whole communities from their homes, moving them into city apartments and converting the villages to farmland. Today’s economic crisis has hit Romania particularly hard as well. Many adults leave Romania to find work in other European countries with better opportunities. Corruption still defines a government inching slowly toward full inclusion in the European Union.

In this climate, Romanians struggle to maintain hope for a good life for their children and grandchildren. But to look at the faces of a beautiful bride and groom on a sunny Saturday in April with flower petals falling down like rain from the ubiquitous plum trees, we do in fact have hope. And our wishes are sincere and deep.

And we Peace Corps volunteers will do the small thing—the one thing—that we can do. We will build a house with our own hands. A house with a solid foundation that will be able to weather the storms. A house big enough to contain the hopes and dreams of one family. A house of stone.

Romanian Birthday

2011-04-29T06:10:00.003-07:00

Birthdays are best when shared with friends. And yesterday I was very lucky to spend mine with Mary, Cristina, Adriana, Ionela, Petru, and about 20 of our high school kids. After all, it was regular Thursday night bible study. Instead of a lesson, we saw a photo presentation of some of our activities over the past couple of weeks--the Easter pageant, the Easter party at the horse club, and more. Wonderful. Then Mary served us a wonderful spaghetti supper. I did my part as the birthday girl by bringing eclairs for dessert. It is customary here in Romania for the person with the birthday to bring the treat. It's great, actually, because you're guaranteed to get something you like. They all sang happy birthday to me and I got lots of flowers and some nice presents. Lovely.

Today the celebrating (at least the pastries) continues. This morning I visited Adela and baby Sofia with more treats. We had a nice time catching up (and watching royal wedding preparations on tv). Tonight I will go to Aurelia's with some savarine I just bought. These are drippy sweet cakes stuffed with whipped cream. Yum.

Tomorrow we have a wedding of our own to celebrate as Petru's daughter gets married. Inspired by the fashions at Westminster Abbey, I ran out and bought a big, floppy 10-lei hat that matches my strappy sandals.

Part of my birthday gift was a very nice certificat that Cristina made me, complete with a stampila. It's official--I did something in the Peace Corps. That, folks, is gift enough.

Packing up the Funny Yellow Vest

2011-04-26T02:06:00.001-07:00

I know it seems a bit early to be packing and sorting. I still have, after all, 71 days until I leave Romania. But I have a pile to take to the Bucuresti office, a pile that goes to the girls' apartment here, a few things for Aurelia, Adela's iron, a suitcase that goes to Texas with Mary in May, and a few small boxes to ship. And of course the lists. Kind of amazing on one hand to look at what I've accumulated in two years. But on the other hand, I have needed to live a normal life...as best as that is possible.

So once again, weighing what I need and what can go. I've gotten pretty good at this, and I'll forgive myself when I get home and find I've kept too much. Keep: that picture on the wall painted by a friend, the book of poems about staying easy with the world, a prism glass, this pair of boots, maybe, and that funny yellow vest and a hat hanging on the wall--my treasures you might say. Ok, so I got metaphorical there with Lyle Lovett and Guy Clark. It's always a challenge...but not in a bad way. Souvenirs of adventures out in the wide blue world. And memories of our fellow travelers.

And because we are enjoying some Texas twang today: The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold, so the story ends we're told. Pancho needs your prayers, it's true, but save a few for Lefty too. He just did what he had to do. Now he's growing old.

Well, aren't we all? And that's not a bad thing either.

La Paştele Cailor

2011-04-20T08:21:00.006-07:00

Learning idioms in a foreign language can be confusing but also a lot of fun. A favorite of mine from early on is "La Paştele Cailor" which translates directly as, "at the horses' Easter." In usage it means something like "when pigs fly." That is to say, something will occur at the time when something impossible happens, ie, never.

Well, today we made the impossible happen. It was really just a party. But it was an Easter party with the horses. I'm counting it. Today, in fact, was anything can happen day. Who wouldn't celebrate that? Kids rode the horses. We looked for eggs, played Iepuras Spune (Bunny Says), had egg races, and ate chocolate.

The wonderful Cristina who works so hard to make the horse program a reality.

Dreamy Stefan got in the group picture with his arms around me and Cristina, below in the back row.

Below, Norocel, the horse that NOROC sponsors for the children, and Mary. And check out my party-at-the-stable fashion. Foarte misto!

This last picture is of a young man named Dolar. He's a good guy. I have a good feeling that he's going to be OK. I hope so. Hey, anything can happen.

The Herring are Running, The Herring are Running

2011-04-19T09:17:00.006-07:00

Today is Patriots' Day (to a purist).

And today I made a visit with Mary, Cristina, and some of the boys down to Dunavutu de Sus and to Mr. Dinu and his camp. We went this time last year as well to help Mr. Dinu get the boats and the camp ready for summer. Today the boys painted and cleaned boats and I cleaned up garbage. Not the most glamorous task, but useful. Then we made a lovely gratar of mici, sausage, and herring. Yes, herring.

This started last week when Aurelia fed me pickled herring she had made. She uses a bit of sugar in her recipe, so a nice blend of flavors. Quite delicious, really. She explained (and has explained before) that it is herring season. So today, when Mr. and Mrs. Dinu put the herring on the grill, I asked for more information. Turns out, the herring (Which were 10-12" long, trout sized but narrower) normally live in the Black Sea. This time of year--and it's a short season--they migrate up into the delta and up the Danube to spawn. And then we Tulceans have a herring feast. We pickle it, we smoke it, and we put it over a fire. And of course we forget to take pictures of it. But my belly loves me some herring season.

After we worked hard and ate well, we took a small trip out on a boat into the delta. Unlike other trips I've taken, we earned this one; we rowed ourselves around. No pelicans or swans, but we had three kingfisher sightings, some ducks, a cormorant, an egret, a couple of gray herons, and I saw a night heron standing in a tree. Oh, and I saw a hoopoe which is a uniquely European bird that lives around the delta.

And we wore out teenage boys; they all slept on the way home. Hah! Put that in your VRF*

Me and Mr. Dinu. He is definitely one of the angels.

*Volunteer Reporting Form, the way we justify our little existences to the bean-counters in Washington

Your New Earworm...(you're welcome)

2011-04-11T23:12:00.002-07:00

Followed a twisted trail today to find this Zimbabwean music from the 70's. I dare you not to feel better after taking a listen. And they called themselves the Hallelujah Chicken Run Band. You feel better already.

Busted Flat in Bucuresti

2011-04-08T03:58:00.001-07:00

Well, not really...but I was waiting for a train. And feeling near as faded as my jeans.

The train on the track next to mine was the daily train to Vienna. I was dreaming of going to Vienna instead of Tulcea. And so I took some pictures. This is Gara de Nord, the main train station in Bucuresti. When I first came through the gara (station) nearly two years ago, it was completely overwhelming. It soon became old hat, and now I really like the station. It's actually not so big, but full of life--sounds, smells, lights, action. In fact, I kind of love it. The metro stop is at one side of the station, and out front I can catch a bus that takes me close to the Peace Corps office. The metro goes there too, but I prefer the bus for the view of city life.

My bus to Tulcea leaves from a one-horse station near the gara, a short walk. Sometimes I take the bus into town, sometimes I take the train. The bus costs 70 lei and takes 4.5 hours; the train costs 50 lei and takes 6.5 hours. Usually the deciding factor is my schedule since the bus runs many times a day and the train only twice (and one of them arrives in the middle of the night). I prefer the train. It's more spacious, has a toilet, and unlike the bus we're not running people off the road with our crazy passing. Since I was feeling faded yesterday, I opted to take the train home.

Anyway, this is Gara de Nord:

This last picture is out the window at Medgidia, a stopping point partway home. It's a little store with a nice man who makes me a mediocre cappuccino out of one of those machines. It's a nice ritual.

An Exceptionally Good Shopping Trip

2011-04-04T04:16:00.001-07:00

This morning's assignment was to take Calin shopping for a gift. Last week his friend Mariana lost her brother to cancer. So he asked Mary if together we couldn't get her a nice gift. At friday's club, Mary brought some very pretty paper flowers and a blank card. Calin wrote a very nice card. And Mary agreed to take Calin shopping today for a gift. She allowed him to pick two younger kids to come as well.

As things go, unfortunately/fortunately, both Mary and Cristina are having very busy days today and asked me to take Calin shopping. I went to Speranta around 10 and found Calin. He then got Elena and Marian together and out we went. Mary had generously given us 50 lei to spend. We started out a clothing store and found a very fashionable black shirt. Because Mariana is in mourning, she is expected to wear black for an undefined-to-me period of time. Then we went to another store and found a black headband and a bracelet. We saved enough money to get her some chocolate and a pretty gift bag. Then we went back to the home and gave her a very nice surprise.

Above left, Marian, and right, Elena. Elena gives great hugs and has two younger sisters also in the home. Below, Calin is in back and Mariana is in the middle.

More Turda

2011-03-30T07:35:00.001-07:00

Photos courtesy of the lovely and talented Courtney Brown.

Really? Wouldn't you?

Salina Turda

2011-03-29T06:56:00.002-07:00

Two weeks ago I spent a very enjoyable weekend in Cluj, my favorite city in Romania. We had a variety of Peace Corps committee meetings which were also very successful and pleasant. I went a little early so that I could seek out the museum of speleology. Alas, it was closed for renovation...my second attempt, my second failure. I am not meant to see the speleology. But I bought a good supply of tea and a cute hat, ate Japanese twice, Indian once, and spent time with good friends.

Then I went to Turda (you love the name Turda...we do too), a smaller city south of Cluj and home of our volunteer Amanda. Courtney and I went down and had a meeting with an NGO there about human trafficking--seeing if our GAD group could partner with them on a project. We'll see. And we had a very nice visit to Salina Turda, the local salt mine now open for tourism. You walk into the side of a mountain through a long, narrow tunnel. Eventually we came to a dark chamber advertised as the Echo Room. Sure enough, we got silly and meowed and clucked like chickens to make fun echoes. Then we continued on to the main chamber which we hear will become the bat cave in the latest Batman movie, scheduled to shoot at least partially here in Romania. It would make a cool bat cave. The main chamber is well lit and huge, I mean deep. We took an elevator down down down to the main level where there are many amusements for young and old, including a mini-putt, a couple of bowling lanes, and a ferris wheel. And a lake with boats. Evidently the air is a good cure for what ails you.

In addition to the cool cave, the productive meeting, and the incredibly picturesque town, we also got to eat Yumm sauce. Amanda is from Oregon and told us about this great restaurant and their Yumm sauce. She sauced up some rice and lentils for us. Pretty delish.

And then home on the night train. Bought ridiculous strappy spring sandals at the Carrefour mall waiting for my bus to leave. Great trip.

Findings from the COS

2011-03-27T10:35:00.001-07:00

I've just returned from my Close of Service conference. Oh yes, the end of my time in Romania is near. Let's forget about the roller coaster of emotions for a moment and make a list. Some of this, alas, is related to inside jokes which I can never explain. Just know it was fun, and...
*wherever you go, there's a chicken
*if you dance with Courtney, she wants to be the man
*I'm not the only fan of Ted's hair in a Mr. T mohawk
*and we have 265 lei to prove it
*Romania has nice castles too
*I'm pretty sure Dr. Dan mis-spoke when he offered to father my Romanian love child
*I don't have tuberculosis
*Sinaia is a papanasi town
*a beer and some old Bonnie Tyler is a great way to prepare for a language exam
*meat wrapped in meat would really be improved by some meat sauce
*I'm the Most Genuine volunteer in Group 26
*the storks said it was OK to wear my strappy sandals in a mountain town in March
*the pretty girls ran around the hotel in their bathing suits this time instead of their underwear
*Brosex4eva
*I think I need to get a train out at the end
*and then we eat IIIICCEEEE CRRREEEEAAAAMMMMMMMM

Peles Castle

We did some work too.

Cum Se Spune?

2011-03-20T03:24:00.001-07:00

In Romanian, "cum se spune" translates to "how does one say..." It's a handy phrase, especially if you are talking to someone who knows english and can answer the question. Although, I use it also talking to non-english speakers to indicate that I don't know the word I want, but here...I'll explain it. As you can imagine, it's a handy phrase because I often don't know how to say exactly what I mean to say.

And sometimes that happens in english too. Like now. It's March, and not even early March. I have slightly less than 16 weeks left here. And my friend Mary, who has been here 10 years, flies in less than two months. I'm also helping her land her plane gracefully. Part of me feels relieved that, compared to Mary, my absence won't be felt as acutely. I really don't know what these kids will do without her. But we hope for a replacement, and we wonder where we will go and who is now waiting for our help in our future lives. If I think about it too much, I will cry. And in part it is with joy and gratitude that I found something, even a little thing, of value to do. Not that the thing is little, but my contribution feels so small.

Let me explain that I spent a large part of my life not enjoying children at all. That had changed before I arrived in Romania. But certainly I had no experience with children. And there were still demographics that I didn't enjoy, namely teenage boys. Now even that has evolved. I love them all. Part of that is direct experience. Part of it was an unforgettable Peace Corps session where volunteer Melody explained that for all the chaos that a troubled kid can cause, it is worse within his or her head/soul. I look at some of our kids and don't know how they have the courage to get out of bed each day. But they do. We do.

A veil has been lifted, to quote my friend Jenn with a luminous son with special needs. I know more than I ever wanted to know about the darker aspects of human nature. And yet I know so little. I don't know how to talk about it, and I don't really know what to do about it. But I know this: it all comes down to the children. I selfishly am ready to come home and get back to work in my chosen career. But I will never take for granted the importance of finding a way to be a teacher, wherever I am. And a mentor. And a friend.

Which reminds me: Dear Wisconsin Governor, SHAME SHAME SHAME on you. And your ilk. And everyone who doesn't think that teachers are worth everything we can give them. I suspect my first purchase when I get home should be a good pair of marching shoes. It might be time to take to the streets.

Yes, Amy Goodman, go to where the silence is and say something. Even if it's never enough.

Cum se spune goodbye?

Landing the Airplane

2011-03-05T05:13:00.005-08:00

It occurs to me that I am entering the phase in my Peace Corps service that could be called the home stretch. With about four months to go, I’m starting to make the packing list, the take-it-to-the-office list, the give-to-my-friends-and-neighbors list, the places-I-still-have-to-go list, the oh-I-have-to-find-a-job list, and so on. And so the metaphor has come to me that this is the landing-the-airplane phase of my service.

This was brought home to me clearly just this past week when I went to Bucuresti to help prepare for our 16 Days exhibit. I took with me Ionela, a young woman who lives in the group home for children without parents. She turned 21 on Tuesday and Mary paid for her trip as a birthday present. She had a great time and was a big help. But still, by the end, I was very exhausted and was selfishly losing patience. I had to stop and remind myself that I could not get cranky simply because we were on our way home. The trip wasn’t over until it was over and I must not ruin it. In other words, regardless of how we see the end of something, it can often be the most important part.

Just like a flight in an airplane has its phases—excitement at lift-off, getting adjusted, the long middle part of accomplishment, and then the landing—so too our adventures and experiences follow a similar track. And now in Peace Corps, I must summon all of my strength to finish appropriately. This means that I must remember my audience. My joy at going home must not be translated as joy at leaving. That would not be true and it would not be sensitive, but it could come out that way. And I must always be mindful that although my life is changing, the friends that I leave behind will only know this change as the loss of me. It is about grace, I think, as I navigate the excitement of what is to come, and the bittersweet feeling of leaving behind my beautiful city, my dear friends, and the children.

Grace. To live in the moment, filled with gratitude, honoring the preciousness of this experience, yet in some ways exhausted by the enormity of it. I fly in four months. Wish me luck.

I found this on the internet. Pretty much sums it up.

The Official Report of March 1st

2011-03-03T00:22:00.001-08:00

Peace Corps Romania celebrated the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps on March 1, 2011, with an opening reception for an exhibit of art and writing by Romanian youth. The exhibit was on the theme “School: Violence-Free Zone” and was the culmination of a national contest commemorating the international campaign 16 Days Against Gender Violence. Thirty-five people attended the reception to view the exhibit and help Peace Corps celebrate this special anniversary.

The exhibit and opening were sponsored by the Gender and Development Committee of Peace Corps Romania (GAD) in partnership with Fundatia Sensiblu, a Romanian NGO involved with supporting women and children survivors of domestic violence with their Casa Blu program, as well as being the only NGO in Bucharest working in the domain of domestic violence prevention with annual informational and public awareness campaigns. GAD is a Peace Corps committee made up of Peace Corps Volunteers and Host Country Nationals that promotes gender equality in the social and economic development processes of Romania in partnership with Romanian NGOs and governmental organizations through national and local campaigns, outreach, resource development, and financial support of small relevant projects.

The competition was open to all general schools and high schools in Romania with interested students and took place between November 25, 2010 and January 14, 2011. The time period for submissions included the internationally recognized 16 Days Against Gender Violence in November and December that coincides with important international dates for women’s and human rights issues. GAD solicited creative interpretations of the theme “School: Violence Free Zone” from middle school and high school students across Romania in the form of a piece of writing, a photograph, or work of art using our network of volunteers and teacher counterparts. Schools were asked to hold local competitions and send their top five writing and top five art and photo entries at the high school and middle school levels. Forty-eight art and photo entries and 29 writing entries were received from 15 different high schools and middle schools across Romania. Representatives from Fundatia Sensiblu and GAD judged the submissions. Winners were recognized at the national level in four categories: High School Art and Photography, High School Writing, General School Art and Photography, and General School Writing. Each participant received a diploma, and the winners in each category received a gift certificate to a local art store or bookstore.

The reception was held at UN House in Bucharest where the exhibit will be on display throughout March. The UN House is open to the public and offers answers to public questions related to the UN mandate and activities in Romania and in the world, as well as organizes special events to mark international days. Mr. DI Edmond McLoughney, UNICEF Representative, spoke to those in attendance, focusing on the exhibit’s power to bring UN issues down to the level of individual students. He noted that even with important policy work, violence will never be eradicated unless young people take ownership of the issue, as is reflected in the thoughtful work of the submitting students. Mrs. Libby Gitenstein, wife of the American Ambassador to Romania, spoke about the need to bring peace to the world one step at a time through projects that empower children to create a better future. And Cristina Horia from Fundatia Sensiblu spoke about the international 16 Days campaign and how the student participants were sharing their voice and bringing public awareness to the issue of domestic violence. Peace Corps Romania Country Director Sheila Crowley and Peace Corps Volunteer and GAD co-president Courtney Brown also spoke, talking about the significance of volunteerism and the Peace Corps anniversary and the goals and projects of the GAD committee respectively. To conclude the program, Malina Serban, an eighth grade student from the community of Teliu, read aloud her award-winning poem, “Violenta,” and UNICEF presented the students participants in attendance with gifts.

Because March 1st is also Martisor, a holiday celebrating the arrival of spring, GAD provided martisoare to all guests. Martisoare are small tokens of spring given to women on the first of March. The token can be a pin or a bracelet with symbols of luck, happiness, or spring, and most significantly including a symbol-filled red and white ribbon. GAD handed out martisoare flower pins made by youth with disabilities at Fundatia de Dezvoltare Locala “Speranta”, the host organization of PCV GAD member Veronica Barker.

The exhibit contains approximately fifty works of art, including photographs, drawings, and paintings, as well as two binders of written submissions including letters, poems, and essays. UN House is located at Bulevardul Primaverii, nr. 48A and is open to the public Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The exhibit is free to visit. To learn more about GAD Romania, please visit our website at www.pcrogad.wordpress.com.

Winning entries in the high school and middle school art competitions

A bucket full of martisoare

Prepping the art, left to right: Ionela Toma, HCN volunteer, Gretel Enck and Shaneka Davis, PCVs and GAD members.

Installing the art, Shaneka Davis

GAD co-president Courtney Brown (in yellow) with her students and counterparts who participated in the competition, and Mrs. Gitenstein (center).

Left to right: Manuela Lapadat, PCRO Training Coordinator and GAD liaison; Sheila Crowley, PCRO Country Director; Libby Gitenstein, wife of the American Ambassador to Romania.

Mr. DI Edmond McLoughney, UNICEF Representative, and his colleague who translated.

The Unofficial Report of Martisor

2011-03-02T04:58:00.001-08:00

Hey, everybody. I'm back, the random blogger writing random notes about this funny little life. Today I'm exhausted, but in a very good way. I spent the past three days in Bucuresti helping to mount an exhibit and having an opening. Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of Peace Corps around the world. And it was Martisor, my favorite Romanian holiday. It celebrates spring, which is still looking very far away. Asta e. And we opened our exhibit. I will have a more formal post soon about the exhibit. But for now, it was art and writing from students around Romania on the theme of School, A Violence-Free Zone. This was our 16 Days campaign. It was undertaken by the Gender and Development Committee that I'm a part of. We are a group of volunteers and Romanians who work on gender issues. The 16 Days campaign is just one of our projects.

Anyway, you'll hear about the exhibit soon, but for now, I just want to proclaim my great love, admiration, and gratitude for my fellow GAD gals. We make one hell of a team.

Shaneka

Courtney

Veronica

So What?

2011-02-28T11:48:00.001-08:00

We have reached the end of the series on African Americans who have made a difference. I have tried to focus on lesser known individuals (which may simply demonstrate my ignorance). I started out just wanting to share the beautiful and inspiring poetry of Maya Angelou and Langston Hughes. But it seemed to me that I could use a history lesson myself. The people that I featured used the talents that they had to make a better America, not just for people of color but for all Americans. Racial equality is human equality. The civil rights movement of African Americans spread to women’s rights, inspired the Japanese American community to seek redress for internment camps, and continues today as people of the gay/lesbian/transgender community seek to live with full rights. Even the people who didn’t start out to be role models of civil rights ended up as such solely by struggling against a system that didn’t value their contributions based on their race.

It’s interesting to look at the various choices people made to work within the system and to work outside of the system to effect change. Norman Mineta, former Heart Mountain internee, Congressman, and Secretary of Transportation, tells a story about being a teenager after the war in his hometown of San Jose. There was a Japanese American businessman who would take promising young men with him to community meetings. This man impressed on Mineta the importance of getting into the system because that is where real change could be wrought. Mineta took this to heart and made a career of making a difference from within the system. John Lewis has done this. Shirley Chisholm did this. Others have worked hard to effect change pushing from the outside. In my opinion, both approaches have merit and in fact are needed. And when we look at an issue such as desegregating the military, it’s obvious that it happened because enough people were in enough places at the right time. Mary McCloud Bethune promoted CPTP at Tuskeegee so that trained pilots existed when the NAACP, A. Philip Randolph, and others convinced Congress to create a segregated aviation unit. And how many people that I’ve featured had a hand in the 1963 March in Washington?

As we leave February behind, we know that I have only scratched the surface. There are more noteworthy and fascinating people that I could profile in a year or ten. But since I’ve spent a lot of time on the people who brought us the 1963 march, I would be remiss if I didn’t close with what we remember the most from that day, the immortal words of Dr. King. I hope you will join with me in continuing his work toward the dream. Its fulfillment requires the work of all of us, in our everyday lives.

Let us ask ourselves what Dr. King’s dream means in our lives and the lives of our children.

What can we do today?

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.
And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

Hair

2011-02-26T20:00:00.001-08:00

As promised, as we are getting near the end of the WideBlueWorld ode to the African part of our American-ness, I can’t resist a post on hair. I’m not sure why I’m so fascinated by hair except that I think I have the world’s most boring hair. Yes, I know, I’m lucky I have some. Anyway, I think this is another one of those things that I don’t know enough about, only enough to know that I don’t know. So let’s talk about black hair.

At some point I formed the opinion that black women struggled with the onus of difficult hair. I was properly put in my place by my colleague Tivona who went on a bit of a (beautiful) rant in our training program about the great diversity of options to people with said hair. Tivona is highly qualified to speak on this subject as she has some of the most beautiful dreadlocks I’ve ever seen and she does all kinds of fun things with them. She rattled off a long list of all the different styles and treatment methods available to her as a woman of African descent. I was duly impressed. Further conversations with fellow volunteer Shaneka have instructed me further on the difference between natural hair and hair that is chemically straightened. I’ve also learned a little bit about ‘fro maintenance and braiding.

But I’m not here to give you a lesson because there are a million websites that could do a better job. Instead, today, on our penultimate day of African American History Month, let’s simply enjoy a short sampling of Tivona’s list of hair styles. Yes, it’s heavy on the dreadlocks. Can’t help myself—they look so smart.

Lauren Hill and her pile of Grammy awards

Lenny Kravitz

My favorite hair, Malcolm Gladwell

The Pinkett-Smiths

Remember Don King and his hair?

Oooh, and Patty Labelle, 80s style

Actor Vondie Curtis-Hall

Whoopi Goldberg

Alice Walker

Two great women who need no introduction and no advice on how to do their hair: beautiful, talented, smart, honorable women...exceptional role models.

And finally because this is so fun, Bobby McFerrin is looking great in his locks.
Bobby McFerrin hacks your brain with music | Video on TED.com

A. Philip Randolph

2011-02-25T22:06:00.001-08:00

A. Philip Randolph was a prominent civil rights and labor leader, best known for founding the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, a groundbreaking union for African Americans. The Pullman Company, to its credit, hired blacks at a time when many others wouldn’t. The treatment, however, was far from fair. With the union, the porters gained a pay raise, a shorter work-week, and overtime pay.

Randolph was born in 1889 in Florida. Coming from a family that valued education highly, he attended the Cookman Institute (which later merged with Bethune’s school) and graduated valedictorian. He had an interest in acting but gave that up and became a union organizer. His approach to civil rights was to demand fairness in employment. In addition to the porters, he helped organize elevator operators and shipyard and dock workers.

During World War II, Randolph campaigned to get the military desegregated. Finally, in 1947, he and his colleagues succeeded. Then in the 50s, he helped found the Leadership Conference on Civil Rights, a coalition that coordinated campaigns for civil rights legislation (and still does today). And Randolph was a contributor to the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. (I have to say, if I could pick one day and place to go back and visit, this would be a good one.)

A. Philip Randolph always saw jobs and money as being the passports to human rights. He knew that a good weekly paycheck had to be won first. Then, after the children were fed, a better fight could be waged for dignity and self-pride. On September 14, 1964, Lyndon B. Johnson presented Randolph with the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Randolph with Eleanor Roosevelt, just another example of this amazing woman being on the right side of history.

Toni Morrison

2011-02-24T22:57:00.002-08:00

Toni Morrison won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1993.

Morrison was born in Georgia in 1931 and grew up listening to African American folktales, while also reading classic literature. Later, with a Masters in English, she taught, became an editor, and started writing. While teaching at Howard University, Morrison developed a story about a little black girl who longed to have blue eyes. This became her first novel The Blues Eye.

The stories of Toni Morrison's novels are the stories of what it means to a person of African descent in America. She weaves together history, family, a deep well of imagination, and the infinite shades of gray between black and white. It is worth listing all of here work: The Bluest Eye, Sula, Song of Solomon, Tar Baby, Beloved, Jazz, Paradise, Love, and A Mercy. I have not read them all, but I haven't read one that hasn't moved me. Part of her citation for the Nobel read, (Morrison) "who in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality."

Morrison retired from teaching a few years ago, but continues to write and be involved in art and literature projects. And I should have posted this a week ago, as she turned 80 last Friday. Happy Birthday to a national treasure.

The Black Panthers

2011-02-24T01:18:00.002-08:00

I don't really know a lot about the Black Panther Party. But I think I know enough to know that I don't know much. And I'll tell you why. The Black Panthers was a group that came out of civil rights movement. It was made up by people who believed the tactics of nonviolence had been exhausted and were not working. Stokely Carmichael, then with SNCC, was one of the critics of Dr. King and his movement of nonviolence and used liberally the term "Black Power." Many agree that the Panthers started in Oakland with Huey Newton and Bobby Seale, but others claim it started in the south. It does seem that the Panther movement was more urban whereas the nonviolent movement of Dr. King is thought of as being southern.

The Black Panthers were militant in their manner, but also sought civic equality. They created a ten point program that called for freedom for blacks, employment, decent housing and education, free healthcare, an end to police brutality and imprisonment, an end to wars of aggression (specifically the war on the oppressed people of Vietnam), and an end to the robbery of black people by the government and capitalists. They were influenced by communism and socialism. They were reacting to the very real oppression that African Americans faced in the 1960s, and some would argue still face today. In many ways, I admire the sentiment of the Black Panthers, while deploring the violence that they sometimes espoused and while facing the reality that when Barack Obama was sworn in as President, it was John Lewis, the Tuskeegee Airmen, and other leaders of peace who sat with the President that day. I would suggest that it's not about being right, it's about being effective.

But the reason that I say I don't know much, really, about the Black Panthers is that they were the target of J. Edgar Hoover's COINTELPRO, a program of counterintelligence using covert and often illegal tactics against the Black Panthers, the American Indian Movement, and other groups. Under the guise of national security, the FBI tactics included discrediting Panther members through planting false reports in the media, smearing through forged letters, harassment, wrongful imprisonment, extralegal violence and assassination. Yes, assassinations.

Fred Hampton was the chair of the Chicaco Panther Party. He had studied law and he recruited young people for the NAACP. He also brokered a landmark non-aggression pact among street gangs in Chicago. As the local leader of the Panthers, he organized rallies, worked with the party's People's Clinic, taught classes, and was instrumental in the party's Free Breakfast Program. As his leadership role increased, he was increasingly targeted by COINTELPRO. His family's phones were tapped. He was harassed with arrests for petty crimes he did not commit. The FBI planted a man with a long criminal record in the Panther Party. False reports from this man led to an FBI raid of Hampton's apartment. The informant drugged the dinner he made that night, and as Hampton, family, and friends were passed out, the FBI raided the apartment and shot Hampton.

It was 1969. Urban America was burning. How much were the Panthers to blame, how much was the FBI to blame? I can't say because I have been much more exposed to the FBI propaganda campaign than to reliable information about the Black Panthers. I've actually done a lot more research about COINTELPRO and the American Indian Movement. I did just watch a very thoughtful movie on the subject, Night Catches Us. At one point in the movie, a character is looking at a comic book about the Black Panthers. Another character says, "You know that's FBI propaganda. No Panther made that book." I've also read of cartoons in newspapers that the FBI created to bias whites against Panthers.

So what I know is that it is a very complicated issue and I did not live in a world where I was constantly subjected to police brutality, vicious discrimination, and an utter lack of opportunity. It is easy to sit here, 40 years later, and see the more effective course of action. It's a little harder to cast judgment on people who stood up to injustice and fought back the best way they knew how.

And it's impossible to deny that this is part of our history, black and white.

Julie Dash and the Gullah

2011-02-23T00:44:00.002-08:00

Julie Dash is a filmmaker and story teller. She started out her film career in the 1970s making documentaries. But she says she stopped making documentaries after discovering the literature of Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and others. She realized she wanted to see powerful stories of African American women on the screen, so she turned to dramatic work.

In 1991, Dash released her film Daughters of the Dust. In itself this was a small miracle, with all the rejection she received in Hollywood. The film received rave reviews, and was in fact the first nationally distributed film by an African American woman. The movie is about a family of Gullah on the day they move from their island home off the coast of Georgia to the mainland. One viewer said, "It's hard to explain. It makes you feel connected to all those before you that you never knew, to parents and grandparents and great-grandparents. I'm a different person now from seeing this movie. It's a rejuvenation, a catharsis. Whatever color you are, people want to feel that sense of belonging." I remember hearing an interview with Dash at the time and she laughed and said the movie was about hair*. And that's partly true, because hair like so much is about tradition and family.

Dash's story is a lyrical and hypnotic look at one family's experience. But more, it opens the door to further exploration about Gullah culture. The Gullah people live in the lowland coastal areas of South Carolina and Georgia, and the nearby islands. As Americans of European descent settled these areas, they found the best, sometimes only, crop that would grow was rice. But they didn't have expertise in growing rice. Enslaved people from Sierra Leone in Africa did have this experience. A market for such people developed and the lowlands became populated nearly exclusively with people from this region of Africa. Because malarial mosquitoes kept most whites out of the lowlands, this concentration of people was able to maintain many of the religious and cultural traditions of its homeland. It is evident in arts and crafts, food, music, clothing, and most certainly in the language.

Although Dash's story takes place a century ago, Gullah tradition lives on and can be found on proud display in the Charleston, South Carolina, area. As the movie shows, at times these seem to be people at odds with America, walking a line between two cultures, never quite belonging in either. But this is also the story of every group in America, walking the line between assimilation in order to be accepted and retaining a unique culture. In the end, there are no easy answers. A talented artist like Dash doesn't pretend to offer answers. Instead she shines light on the issues. One journalist wrote of her work, "In all of Dash's films, black women belie the Hollywood stereotypes. Dash's black woman is a complex bundle of hope and regret, joy and pain, tenderness and fury, vulnerability and strength." In other words, Dash's characters are us. And we are rich with history.

*Don't worry--I won't end this series without a discussion about hair.

Granville Woods

2011-02-22T07:43:00.001-08:00

Granville Woods was a successful inventor known for his work with trains and streetcars. He was born in 1856 in Ohio. After attending school to the age of ten, he found apprentice work learning machining and blacksmithing. He got a job on a railroad in Nebraska at the age of 16, first as a fireman (the person who fed coal to the fire and water to the boiler), then as an engineer (the driver of a steam engine—managed the boiler and controlled the speed). Later he worked in a rolling mill and on a steamship. All the while, he studied electronics and other subjects in his free time. He finally settled in Cincinnati took up his work of improving the railroads.

Woods invented a telegraph device that sent messages between moving trains and train stations. He created an apparatus which allowed a telegraph station to send voice and telegraph messages over a single wire. He patented an improvement to the steam-boiler furnace. He made important progress on overhead electrical conducting lines for railroads. And he created an automatic air brake for trains. For a list of his patents, click here.

Woods was often called the Black Thomas Edison. But perhaps we could say that Edison was the white Granville Woods. Twice Edison made a claim to one of Woods’s devices. And twice Woods successfully defended his inventions as his own. After the second defeat, Edison invited Woods to work for him at the Edison Company. Woods said no. He had plenty of business, selling is inventions to General Electric, Westinghouse, and Bell Telephone. Sadly, despite his success, false claims by Edison and others nearly bankrupted Woods. He died broke in 1910, but with a legacy of greatly helping to move this country into the 20th century.

Mary and Marian

2011-02-21T00:03:00.001-08:00

The Educators

Mary McCloud Bethune was born in 1875, the fifteenth of seventeen children in a family former slaves in South Carolina. From an early age, working in the fields, she knew that education was her ticket up. She had a good teacher early on who helped her find scholarships and gain entry to a seminary. She wanted to be a missionary in Africa. She was denied this dream, and instead entered into education work here in the states.

She started a school for girls in Dayton, Florida, scrapping together money in all sorts of creative ways. She was influenced by Booker T. Washington to expand her appeal to wealthy white benefactors. She created a curriculum and disciplined schedule that fostered self-sufficiency as well as meeting state standards. She built her school into one of the best schools in Florida, rivaling segregated white schools.

Bethune’s passion, talent, and connections led her to create the National Council of Negro Women in 1935. She said, “It is our pledge to make a lasting contribution to all that is finest and best in America, to cherish and enrich her heritage of freedom and progress by working for the integration of all her people regardless of race, creed, or national origin, into her spiritual, social, cultural, civic, and economic life, and thus aid her to achieve the glorious destiny of a true and unfettered democracy.” Because of her activism on behalf of African Americans, the Roosevelt Administration appointed her Director of the Division of Negro Affairs. One early victory was making sure black colleges received and used funds for the Civilian Pilot Training Program. Hence those pilots from Tuskeegee were ready to go when they got the call.

Bethune became indispensable in the Roosevelt household, both as an advisor and a close personal friend of Eleanor’s. Bethune put together an informal group of African American advisors for the president, made up of the most influential leaders of the day. She continued her connection with education, overseeing the merger of her school with a local men’s school. And she instituted integrated open houses at her school to promote the accomplishments of her students and integration itself. When Thurgood Marshall and his associates successfully argued the overturn of Plessy v. Furgeson (separate but equal), Bethune wrote, “There can be no divided democracy, no class government, no half-free county, under the constitution. Therefore, there can be no discrimination, no segregation, no separation of some citizens from the rights which belong to all... We are on our way. But these are frontiers which we must conquer... We must gain full equality in education ...in the franchise... in economic opportunity, and full equality in the abundance of life.” She died the following year. One newspaper wrote of Bethune, “"In any race or nation she would have been an outstanding personality and made a noteworthy contribution because her chief attribute was her indomitable soul."

Marian Wright Edelman is a teacher, lawyer, and children’s rights advocate. Born also in South Carolina (but with fewer siblings), Edelman’s father instilled in her the value of getting an education. She attended Spelman College, received a scholarship to travel abroad, and got a law degree from Yale. She then went to Mississippi in the mid 1960s with the NAACP legal fund to register voters and work on civil rights issues. She was the first African American woman admitted to the Mississippi Bar.

It was in Mississippi that she met her husband who was an assistant to Robert Kennedy, then touring poverty-stricken regions of the delta. Edelman moved to Washington, DC, and continued her work, especially with children’s issues. In 1973, she founded the Children’s Defense Fund which advocates for poor, minority, and disabled children. It also serves as a research center.

Edelman has also published many books on the topic of children, family, education, and human rights. She received many honorary degrees, and was the recipient of a MacArthur genius grant. She continues today to advocate for the neediest children, in that place of darkness. In a commencement address, Edelman offered six lessons for life. The final one: “Never think life is not worth living or that you can't make a difference. Never give up. I don't care how hard it gets, and it will get very hard sometimes. An old proverb says, ‘When you get to your wit's end, that's where God lives.’”

Ralph Bunche

2011-02-20T01:11:00.001-08:00

Ralph Bunche won the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1950. Although in his later years, Bunche was involved in the civil rights movement in America, believing that segregation and democracy are incompatible, his recognition came from his work with the United Nations.

Bunche was born in Detroit in 1904, but moved to Albuquerque with his family when he was ten so that his parents' ill health could benefit from the climate. Alas, they died when Bunche was still young and he moved with his grandmother to Los Angeles. There, he excelled in school and sports. He was valedictorian of his high school and his class at UCLA. He went on to earn a Masters and PhD in political science at Harvard. While studying, he also taught classes and wrote about race and class.

During WWII, Bunche worked with the Office of Strategic Services and then the State Department. He was part of a group that did preliminary planning for the United Nations. He played a large role in drafting the United Nations charter. He firmly believed in the essential goodness of all people, and that no problem in human relations was insoluble. He was uniquely qualified to fight for the principle of equal rights for everyone, regardless of race or religion.

From 1947 to 1949, Bunche was appointed to the UN Special Committee on Palestine. The fighting between Arabs and Israelis became severe and the first UN appointed mediator was assassinated. Bunche took over and led eleven months of negotiations which led to a groundbreaking armistice agreement. Bunche returned home to a heroes welcome. He received many awards and honorary degrees, including the Nobel--becoming the first person of color to receive a Nobel.

Bunche continued to work for the United Nations until 1970 and died the following year. He worked tirelessly for peace at home and abroad, but a peace that gave its full expression to all people. "May there be, in our time, at long last, a world at peace in which we, the people, may for once begin to make full use of the great good that is in us."

Billie Holiday

2011-02-19T05:45:00.004-08:00

Billie Holliday was a jazz singer. I don't know if she was the first or the best in any category, but I'm a fan. Without much in the way of formal training, Holiday developed a distinctive vocal style, unique to this day (if you except the transcendent David Sedaris impression).

But what I and many others find distinctive in that voice was the unmasked pain. It came from a difficult beginning. Holiday was born in 1915 to unwed teen parents. She was raised mostly by relatives. She was in trouble early on. She was raped at age 11 and put in reform school. A few years later she entered prostitution with her mother. Fortunately, too, Holiday started singing. She was offered her first recording contract at the age of 18.

It wasn't long before Holiday was recording with Benny Goodman and touring with Count Basie and Artie Shaw. Her recordings became standards that other singers wanted to imitate. Throughout the 30s and 40s, Holiday hit big with songs like What a Little Moonlight Can Do, My Man, God Bless the Child, and Lover Man. But despite career success, Holiday's personal life was plagued with substance abuse and depression. She used different drugs and became addicted to heroin. She went to prison at one point. But following her release, she played a legendary show at Carnegie Hall. Her career was marked by the roller coaster ride of someone so talented and so self-destructive. An official fan site says that Billie Holiday died an untimely death at age 44. She died of cirrhosis of the liver.

In addition to the jazz and pop standards on which Holiday put her unique stamp, one song stands alone in the Holiday songbook as a reason to remember her life and work today. She didn't write Strange Fruit, but she made it her own. This is a song about lynching, that dirty little secret of American life in the early part of the 20th century. Lynching is a public killing. It often involved hanging, but not necessarily. It usually involved the killing of African Americans, but not necessarily. It was usually outside the law, but sometimes it was the law. Strange Fruit was Holiday's response to many forms of racism that she found in her everyday life. She took a risk early in her career to make this her signature song. For that alone, she is worth remembering.

The Tuskeegee Airmen

2011-02-18T06:50:00.004-08:00

This is a World War II story too good to pass up. Before and during WWII, the armed forces of the United States were segregated. But even more, before 1939 there were no African Americans allowed to be military pilots. This changed when a group of civil rights leaders convinced Congress in 1939 to create a segregated unit of African American aviators. The group became known as the Tuskeegee Airmen, training and flying out of Tuskeegee Army Air Field and originally associated with the Tuskeegee Institute in Alabama.

Because of a Civilian Pilot Training Program at the Tuskeegee Institute, many qualified pilots existed for the new program. It was controversial all the same, and the unit was overseen by white officers. The unit got a real boost in early 1941 when Eleanor Roosevelt (bless this lady again and again) visited for an inspection. She got a ride in a Waco biplane by the chief flight instructor, an African American called Chief Anderson. She was so impressed she arranged for a loan to purchase land for expanded training operations. And all of America got to see for themselves the talent of these pilots. (as a side note: soon after, women were successfully ferrying military aircraft of all kinds in the WAFS and WASPS)

The intricacies and strategies of war are beyond the scope of this posting, and the story of the Tuskeegee Airmen is thoroughly woven throughout the campaigns of North Africa and the Mediterranean. They were bomber escorts, flying fighters such as the P-40 and P-47. A bomber group trained in the United States but the war ended before they saw combat. Hundreds of men participated, many as pilots and others as supporting ground crews.

Throughout all of the discriminatory policies, including black officers barred from officers clubs, the Airmen endured. Their record spoke for itself. They had performed with great valor and heroism. The unit was highly decorated and had an esteemed reputation. And like the men at Port Chicago and the segregated Japanese Americans of the 442nd, the Tuskeegee Airmen provided a compelling argument for desegregating the military, which happened soon after WWII.

But the story of the Tuskeegee Airmen doesn’t end with the war. Many Airmen went on to become civilian flight instructors. Others founded professional associations. And many spoke publicly about their experiences, influencing young generations of African Americans and would-be pilots. I know this because I happen to know a drill sergeant (ret.) with a heart of gold who attended such an event as a young man and got to meet some of the Tuskeegee Airmen. He spent 21 years in the Air Force as a result.

My friend Larry Crenshaw. In real life, he's a total sweetie. Honest!

A few years ago, 300 Airmen or their widows received the Congressional Gold Medal for their service. And in 2009, 180 surviving Airmen attended the inauguration of President Obama. One of the Airmen in attendance said, “The culmination of our efforts and others' was this great prize we were given on Nov. 4 (2008). Now we feel like we've completed our mission.”

I'm sure I speak for many when I say thank you to the Tuskeegee Airmen, the women pilots, the segregated Asian American units and others who fought here at home for the right to serve.

Fannie Lou Hamer

2011-02-17T01:35:00.003-08:00

Fannie Lou Hamer grew up poor in Mississippi, the youngest of 20 children in a sharecropper’s family. Take a moment to contemplate those two facts: 20 children, and the inherent, backbreaking inequities of sharecropping. Hamer attended six years of school before needing to drop out in order to work. She married a sharecropper as well, and spent her youthful years scratching out a living with hard, menial work.

In 1962, at the age of 44, Hamer attended a meeting put on by John Lewis’s organization, the Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Hamer was born during the era of lynchings, and in 1962, the KKK still held great power in Mississippi. But curiosity led her to that meeting, and what she learned astonished her: she had the right to vote. Not long after, Hamer and a busload of neighbors tried unsuccessfully to register. She and her husband were immediately kicked off the plantation where she had lived and worked for 18 years.

Hamer was not discouraged. She became a field organizer for SNCC. She suffered arrests and horrible beatings. But she kept telling her story and raising money for the movement. In 1964, Hamer ran for Congress. She wanted to show people that a person of color could run for office. She was issuing a plea, one reporter noted, for a change in the system that exploits African Americans in the Delta. “All my life I’ve been sick and tired, “ Hamer said. “Now I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

Hamer’s group, the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party challenged the legitimacy of Mississippi’s all-white Democratic Party at the 1964 convention. Hamer told her story about trying to register in Mississippi. Her story was broadcast on television all across the nation. Her attempt to have MFDP delegates seated failed, but in 1968, the MFDP succeeded and she became the first African American since Reconstruction* to serve as an official delegate at a national-party convention.

Hamer campaigned against the war in Vietnam. She worked to promote Head Start and Dr. King’s Poor People Campaign. Hamer died in 1977 at the age of 59.

I am including the full text of Hamer’s speech to the Credentials Committee at the 1964 convention. Although we have all heard these stories before, it is worth revisiting this not-so-distant past, when our fellow citizens were treated so abhorrently. And it is worth noting how one person used the only resource she had, her own voice, to make a difference.

"Mr. Chairman, and to the Credentials Committee, my name is Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer, and I live at 626 East Lafayette Street, Ruleville, Mississippi, Sunflower County, the home of Senator James O. Eastland, and Senator Stennis.

"It was the 31st of August in 1962 that eighteen of us traveled twenty-six miles to the county courthouse in Indianola to try to register to become first-class citizens.

"We was met in Indianola by policemen, Highway Patrolmen, and they only allowed two of us in to take the literacy test at the time. After we had taken this test and started back to Ruleville, we was held up by the City Police and the State Highway Patrolmen and carried back to Indianola where the bus driver was charged that day with driving a bus the wrong color.

"After we paid the fine among us, we continued on to Ruleville, and Reverend Jeff Sunny carried me four miles in the rural area where I had worked as a timekeeper and sharecropper for eighteen years. I was met there by my children, who told me that the plantation owner was angry because I had gone down to try to register.

"After they told me, my husband came, and said the plantation owner was raising Cain because I had tried to register. Before he quit talking the plantation owner came and said, 'Fannie Lou, do you know - did Pap tell you what I said?'

"And I said, 'Yes, sir.'

"He said, 'Well I mean that.' He said, 'If you don't go down and withdraw your registration, you will have to leave.' Said, 'Then if you go down and withdraw,' said, 'you still might have to go because we are not ready for that in Mississippi.'

"And I addressed him and told him and said, 'I didn't try to register for you. I tried to register for myself.'

"I had to leave that same night.

"On the 10th of September 1962, sixteen bullets was fired into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Tucker for me. That same night two girls were shot in Ruleville, Mississippi. Also Mr. Joe McDonald's house was shot in.

"And June the 9th, 1963, I had attended a voter registration workshop; was returning back to Mississippi. Ten of us was traveling by the Continental Trailway bus. When we got to Winona, Mississippi, which is Montgomery County, four of the people got off to use the washroom, and two of the people - to use the restaurant - two of the people wanted to use the washroom.The four people that had gone in to use the restaurant was ordered out. During this time I was on the bus. But when I looked through the window and saw they had rushed out I got off of the bus to see what had happened. And one of the ladies said, 'It was a State Highway Patrolman and a Chief of Police ordered us out.'

"I got back on the bus and one of the persons had used the washroom got back on the bus, too. As soon as I was seated on the bus, I saw when they began to get the five people in a highway patrolman's car. I stepped off of the bus to see what was happening and somebody screamed from the car that the five workers was in and said, 'Get that one there.' When I went to get in the car, when the man told me I was under arrest, he kicked me. I was carried to the county jail and put in the booking room. They left some of the people in the booking room and began to place us in cells. I was placed in a cell with a young woman called Miss Ivesta Simpson. After I was placed in the cell I began to hear sounds of licks and screams, I could hear the sounds of licks and horrible screams. And I could hear somebody say, 'Can you say, 'yes, sir,' nigger? Can you say 'yes, sir'?'

"And they would say other horrible names.

"She would say, 'Yes, I can say 'yes, sir.''

"'So, well, say it.'

"She said, 'I don't know you well enough.'

"They beat her, I don't know how long. And after a while she began to pray, and asked God to have mercy on those people. And it wasn't too long before three white men came to my cell. One of these men was a State Highway Patrolman and he asked me where I was from. I told him Ruleville and he said, 'We are going to check this.'

"They left my cell and it wasn't too long before they came back. He said, 'You are from Ruleville all right,' and he used a curse word. And he said, 'We are going to make you wish you was dead.' I was carried out of that cell into another cell where they had two Negro prisoners. The State Highway Patrolmen ordered the first Negro to take the blackjack. The first Negro prisoner ordered me, by orders from the State Highway Patrolman, for me to lay down on a bunk bed on my face. I laid on my face and the first Negro began to beat. I was beat by the first Negro until he was exhausted. I was holding my hands behind me at that time on my left side, because I suffered from polio when I was six years old. After the first Negro had beat until he was exhausted, the State Highway Patrolman ordered the second Negro to take the blackjack. The second Negro began to beat and I began to work my feet, and the State Highway Patrolman ordered the first Negro who had beat me to sit on my feet - to keep me from working my feet. I began to scream and one white man got up and began to beat me in my head and tell me to hush. One white man - my dress had worked up high - he walked over and pulled my dress - I pulled my dress down and he pulled my dress back up.

"I was in jail when Medgar Evers was murdered.

"All of this is on account of we want to register, to become first-class citizens. And if the Freedom Democratic Party is not seated now, I question America. Is this America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, where we have to sleep with our telephones off the hooks because our lives be threatened daily, because we want to live as decent human beings, in America?

"Thank you"

*"After the Civil War, with the protection of the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments to the Constitution and the Civil Rights Act of 1866, African Americans enjoyed a period when they were allowed to vote, actively participate in the political process, acquire the land of former owners, seek their own employment, and use public accommodations. Opponents of this progress, however, soon rallied against the former slaves' freedom and began to find means for eroding the gains for which many had shed their blood."

Thurgood Marshall

2011-02-16T02:21:00.001-08:00

I have long known Thurgood Marshall as the first African American to serve on the Supreme Court. He was nominated for the Court by President Johnson in 1967 and served until his retirement at age 83 in 1991. But of course, Marshall was more than can be summarized by the job at the top of his resume. He came to the Supreme Court well versed in equal rights.

Marshall was born and raised in Baltimore. But when he applied to the University of Maryland for law school, he was rejected for not being white. Instead Marshall attended Howard University and graduated first in his class. In his early years of private practice, Marshall successfully sued the University of Maryland for denying an African American applicant admission to its law school simply on the basis of race. As a young lawyer, Marshall became involved with the NAACP, first as a staff lawyer and later as head of their legal office.

Throughout the 40s and 50s, Marshall distinguished himself in case after case that he successfully argued in front of the Supreme Court. He won victories for African Americans in voting, housing, and education. And his biggest victory came in 1954 when he successfully argued Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas which overturned “separate but equal” under the law. Marshall argued that segregation in public education produced unequal schools for African Americans and whites. He was able to demonstrate to the court the harmful effects of segregation on the self-image, social worth, and social progress of black children. This case changed the nation and established Marshall as a powerful advocate of social change.

During Marshall’s tenure on the court, he continued to advocate for civil rights. He was a staunch opponent of the death penalty, arguing the death penalty was unconstitutional in all cases. On the occasion of the 200th anniversary of the Constitution in 1987, Marshall said, “Some may more quietly commemorate the suffering, struggle, and sacrifice that has triumphed over much of what was wrong with the original document, and observe the anniversary with hopes not realized and promises not fulfilled. I plan to celebrate the bicentennial of the Constitution as a living document, including the Bill of Rights and the other amendments protecting individual freedoms and human rights.” Marshall took seriously the role that he played in interpreting the Constitution, always with an eye on fairness for all Americans. Because in the end, separate is not equal.

Matthew Henson

2011-02-15T04:24:00.001-08:00

Matthew Henson may have been the first American to reach the north pole. Robert Peary, the white expedition leader, originally got credit. "The Commander gave the word, 'We will plant the stars and stripes-- at the North Pole!' and it was done.... Another world's accomplishment was done and finished, and as in the past, from the beginning of history, wherever the world's work was done by a white man, he had been accompanied by a colored man," wrote Matthew Henson in his autobiography, A Black Explorer at the North Pole, originally published in 1912. And we should add, the work was also done by the four Inuit men who accompanied the Americans across the ice.

Henson was born in 1866 and orphaned young. He went to work and before long took work as a sailor. During his teenage years, Henson traveled the world. In addition to learning the ropes, as it were, he received an education from the Captain in mathematics, reading, and other subjects. When Henson returned to Washington, DC, he found work in a store.

One of the store's clients was Robert Peary who happened to be looking for a valet for an upcoming expedition to Nicaragua. Henson hired on and quickly became indispensable. Seven trips to the arctic followed for Peary and Henson. Henson stood out among members of the expeditions for his integration into Inuit society. He learned the language and how to hunt and work with dogs. He wrote later that he had become "to all intents an Esquimo, with Esquimos for companions, speaking their language, dressing in the same kind of clothes, living in the same kind of dens, eating the same food, enjoying their pleasures, and frequently sharing their griefs. I have come to love these people." In fact, he took a mistress and fathered a child (as did Perry).

Peary, Henson, and four Inuit men reached the north pole on April 6, 1909. There was controversy that day regarding where, exactly, the pole was and who reached it first. And that controversy continues today with historians and others. But regardless, Peary came home to lucrative awards and offers, and Henson came home to a struggle just to find work and survive. Toward the end of his life, Henson did receive recognition. In 1937 we was admitted as the first African American into the Explorers' Club. The Club lobbied to get Henson the recognition he deserved. Before he died, Henson was given a Presidential Citation by President Eisenhower. In 2000, The National Geographic Society posthumously awarded Henson its highest honor, the Hubbard Medal.

Alas, I find very little else to report on African American explorers. I find mention of an enslaved man who accompanied Lewis and Clark across the Louisiana Purchase. Probably other similar expeditions were similarly staffed. But I did find a story about a more current adventurer. Meet Sophia Danenberg. In 2006, she became the first African American and the first black woman to summit Mount Everest. In between climbs, she's getting a Masters in Economics, volunteering with Special Olympics, and being a delegate to the most recent Democratic National Convention.

We've come a long way, baby!

Sojourner Truth

2011-02-13T23:30:00.001-08:00

Sojourner Truth was alive during much of the 19th century. Born a slave in New York and freed under changing state law in 1827, she dedicated her life to the abolition of slavery and the promotion of gender equality. She endured the heartbreak of parenthood under a slave system when her young son was sold illegally to someone in Alabama. Against all odds, she went to court, won her case, and got her son back. She later became a devout Christian and changed her name from Isabella Baumfree to Sojourner Truth. She joined a group in Massachusetts that supported abolition, religious tolerance, and pacifism.

In 1851, Truth attended a Women's Rights Convention in Ohio. She rose and spoke to the crowd herself, in what became her most famous speech. There is controversy as to what she actually said, as no one reported on the speech immediately. The commonly accepted version was published twelve years later and claims that Truth's rallying cry was, "Ain't I a woman?" It's a great sounding speech and you can read that version here in its entirety. However, many scholars today agree that southern-flavored diction in this version could never have come out of the mouth of a woman who spent her entire life in the north, and in fact spoke Dutch the first nine years of her life. More likely, the version that follows is more accurate, and it was published just a month after she spoke.

Regardless of the words that Truth spoke that day, her passion was infectious. She traveled and spoke tirelessly throughout her life for the cause of freedom. She had many friends among the influential people of her time, and she was in fact an extremely influential person herself.

Here is the likely text from the Ohio speech that electrified the convention and established Sojourner Truth as a leader in the movement toward freedom and equality.

"May I say a few words? I want to say a few words about this matter. I am a woman. I have as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man. I have plowed and reaped and husked and chopped and mowed, and can any man do more than that? I have heard much about the sexes being equal; I can carry as much as any man, and can eat as much too, if I can get it. I am strong as any man that is now.

"As for intellect, all I can say is, if woman have a pint and man a quart, why can’t she have her little pint full? You need not be afraid to give us our rights for fear we will take too much, for we won’t take more than our pint’ll hold.

"The poor men seem to be all in confusion and don’t know what to do. Why children, if you have woman’s rights give it to her and you will feel better. You will have your own rights, and they won’t be so much trouble.

"I can’t read, but I can hear. I have heard the Bible and have learned that Eve caused man to sin. Well if woman upset the world, do give her a chance to set it right side up again. The lady has spoken about Jesus, how he never spurned woman from him, and she was right. When Lazarus died, Mary and Martha came to him with faith and love and besought him to raise their brother. And Jesus wept—and Lazarus came forth. And how came Jesus into the world? Through God who created him and woman who bore him. Man, where is your part?

"But the women are coming up blessed be God and a few of the men are coming up with them. But man is in a tight place, the poor slave is on him, woman is coming on him, and he is surely between a hawk and a buzzard."

Shelton Johnson and the Buffalo Soldiers

2011-02-12T23:01:00.004-08:00

Shelton Johnson is a storyteller. As a park ranger at Yosemite National Park, he is also my professional colleague so I confess up front my bias in favor of his work. He is well known in NPS ranks for his work with the story of Buffalo Soldiers, particularly the group that served as the first park rangers at Yosemite. I read that he even may be something like famous due to his role in the Ken Burns/Dayton Duncan series on our national parks.

Johnson first developed a love of nature in the Bavarian Alps and Black Forest of southern Germany when his father was stationed there in the Army. Later, growing up in Detriot, Johnson dreamed of visiting the mountains again. After getting a degree in English Literature, Johnson served with the Peace Corps in Liberia as an English teacher (by the way, I know a number of former Peace Corps Volunteers in the NPS—it’s a good fit). He returned to the states to graduate studies in poetry and his first job with the NPS.

Johnson’s first park job was as a seasonal worker at Yellowstone. He thought the quiet of the wilds would be good for writing. He was awestruck by the solitude, the majesty, and the wildlife, especially the bison. It was during his early years as a ranger, including a tour at Fort Dupont Park in Washington, DC, that Johnson became passionate about connecting people with nature, particularly inner-city kids like he had been who may not be exposed otherwise.

When Johnson arrived for duty at Yosemite, he found the connector, the story that could lead young people of color to the landscape he loved—Buffalo Soldiers. The Buffalo Soldiers were an army unit put together following the Civil War, made up of men of African descent, most of them former slaves. They served primarily in the southwest and plains area, fighting wars and building roads. Curiously they also served as some of the first park rangers, working in Yosemite National Park and Sequoia National Park in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. Johnson discovered that in 1903 Buffalo Soldiers built the first trail to the top of Mount Whitney.

Among his other duties and programs at Yosemite, Johnson developed a living history program where he dons a uniform and impersonates a character he created based on information available about the Buffalo Soldiers at Yosemite. I’ve seen him perform this award-winning program. It is compelling and relevant. The program made Johnson something of a star in the NPS world. It’s fantastic that the Burns/Duncan documentary has gotten Johnson more recognition—not for himself, but for the Buffalo Soldiers, the powerful achievements of African Americans, and too, for the power of stories. “The act of remembering assigns importance to a story, and the act of forgetting diminishes its importance,” Johnson says.

Above, Johnson in his Buffalo Soldier uniform. Below, a picture of Buffalo Soldiers at Yosemite that Johnson found in the park archive.

Johnson also represents a new and important direction for the National Park Service. Our visitors do not represent accurately the American public. Visitors are largely white, older, and of middle income or higher. If the agency is going to survive, we need to do a much better job reaching out to the rest of America. Johnson has known this from the beginning. And he sets an example for the rest of us to follow, to always keep in mind the need to create that spark. Johnson explains: "I can't forget that little black kid in Detroit," he says. "And I can't not think of the other kids, just like me – in Detroit, Oakland, Watts, Anacostia – today. How do I get them here? How do I let them know about the buffalo soldier history, to let them know that we, too, have a place here? How do I make that bridge, and make it shorter and stronger? Every time I go to work and put the uniform on, I think about them."

For two minutes of perfect Shelton Johnson-ness, click here then go to the video on the right that reads Shelton Johnson on a Transcendent Moment in Yellowstone.

John Lewis

2011-02-11T21:44:00.000-08:00

John Lewis is a United States Congressman who has been called “one of the most courageous persons the Civil Rights Movement ever produced.” During college in the very early 60s, Lewis started organizing sit-in demonstrations. In 1961, he participated in the Freedom Rides and endured physical beatings. From 1963 to 1966, Lewis was Chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee which he helped form, an organization synonymous with student activism, sit-ins, and other activities designed to break down racial boundaries. He was an architect of and a speaker at the March on Washington in 1963 (at which Ruby and Ossie emceed and Marian sang, if we recall). And he coordinated voter registration drives and community action programs during the Mississippi Freedom Summer of 1964.

In 1965, Lewis led the Selma-to-Montgomery march to petition for voting rights. This turned into one of the most decisive moments of the Civil Rights Movement. The march began at the Brown Chapel AME Church in Selma on March 7. As the nonviolent marchers crossed the Edmond Pettus Bridge, they were tear-gassed and beaten, and the march was stopped by police. Media images of the display of violence against nonviolent demonstrators were broadcast worldwide. Eight days later President Johnson addressed a joint session of Congress, condemning the violence in Selma. Two weeks after the first attempt, Lewis and other march organizers regrouped and began the march again, this time with law enforcement protection. Twenty-five thousand marchers ended in Montgomery on March 25. Dr. King delivered a powerful speech at the concluding rally. This historic event and the widespread media coverage helped ensure the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Lewis remained active in civil rights work after leaving the SNCC. He worked with a voter education project, adding millions of minorities to voter rolls. During the Carter administration, Lewis ran the federal volunteer agency in charge of VISTA and other programs. He also served on the Atlanta City Council.

Lewis was elected to the US House of Representatives in 1986, a seat he continues to hold. Nancy Pelosi has called Lewis "the conscience of the U.S. Congress." Certainly Lewis has been a force for change from within the government, fighting tirelessly for progressive causes of education and nuclear nonproliferation and against the Iraq war. In 2009, Lewis was arrested during a protest against the genocide in Darfur.

Although Lewis is highly decorated with honorary degrees, impressive national and international awards, a scholarship fund, and even the Wallenberg Medal from the University of Michigan in recognition of his courageous life-long commitment to the defense of civil and human rights, the greatest testament to his life’s work, I believe, is our current President. After Obama won the Democratic nomination, Lewis said, “If someone had told me this would be happening now, I would have told them they were crazy, out of their mind, they didn’t know what they were talking about ... I just wish the others were around to see this day. ... To the people who were beaten, put in jail, were asked questions they could never answer to register to vote, it’s amazing.” This day did not arrive out of the blue; it arrived because people like John Lewis made it happen.

Marian Anderson

2011-02-10T22:41:00.000-08:00

Marian Anderson was a world-renowned opera singer, although she didn’t perform in operas because she never saw herself as an actress. But, oh, could she sing. Like so many of us (at every end of the singing spectrum) she got her start singing in church. As young as 6, she was singing with the choir. After that, a combination of her own personal courage and strategic assistance from her community led her to teachers and opportunities. In 1928, then in her late 20s, she had advanced her career sufficiently to sing a solo recital at Carnegie Hall to good reviews. But Anderson was disappointed because she was still performing to mainly black audiences.

She took a scholarship and studied in Britain, along the way improving her Italian and German language skills. She subsequently had greater success performing in Europe. Finnish composer Jean Sibelius told her, “The roof of my house is too low for your voice.” And conductor Arturo Toscanini told her ,“Yours is a voice such as one hears once in a hundred years.” Anderson returned to America in the mid-30s, now a great success. She toured the States and continued to perform in Europe.

Anderson was enjoying a blossoming career, but racism was never far away. In 1939 her manager tried to rent Constitution Hall in Washington, DC, but was told no dates were available. Actually, the Hall had a new policy of only booking whites as performers. Public outrage ensued, following denial of her performance. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt resigned from the Daughters of the American Revolution who owned the hall (and frankly, the DAR has a lot more to atone for). And so Roosevelt and others encouraged government officials to arrange a free concert at the Lincoln Memorial. On Easter Sunday, Anderson sang to an audience of 75,000 people and millions more listening on the radio. And with this performance, Anderson cemented her place in American history.

Later, Anderson insisted that blacks in her audience had access to orchestra seats. By 1950, she refused to sing to segregated audiences. She performed benefits throughout her career. And she entertained troops with her beautiful voice in World War II and the Korean War. She achieved many firsts and was highly decorated as a performer and a goodwill ambassador. She sang at the inaugurations of Presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy. And in 1963, she sang at the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.

Anderson’s memory lives on in any number of honors, awards, programs, and places bearing her name. Take a look at this video of the 1939 concert, and you too will be captivated by the great Marian Anderson.

Tracy Chapman

2011-02-09T23:02:00.003-08:00

Tracy Chapman is a singer/songwriter best known for her songs from her self-titled debut album in 1988. These songs include Fast Car and Talkin’ ‘bout a Revolution. Although Chapman may not end up on the lists of top 100 African Americans in American History, she makes my list for what she meant to me during that time.

I was 20 in 1988, in the middle of college, in the middle of figuring out who I wanted to be in this world. Chapman attended Tufts University and played on the street in Harvard Square and the coffeehouses of Cambridge. I never saw her perform, but I must have retraced her steps many times. She was, in a way, our local girl made good. Even in a big city, we felt that way. But it was more than proximity. And more than her very cool hair, an ideal I carried around from the time I saw her picture until I made my own dreadlocks. No, it was the hope, longing, and ultimate desperation of Fast Car that really got me. The story in that song was so familiar and felt so painfully real.

Every generation has its poet. I like Dylan, lots, but much of his music feels like someone else’s. And even many of the poets of the 80s didn’t connect the same. Bruce Cockburn put it exquisitely on the line, but that line was Nicaragua. Aimee Mann broke my heart. But Tracy Chapman showed me the world outside my door. She dangled us on a pendulum between hope and hard times, and eloquent response to the Reagan 80s. She gave voice to people in the shadows, but also the times in all our lives when we are in the shadows, when we are the shadows.

Chapman continues to make records and tour, though none have matched that first success. She performs for charity events for AIDS, poverty and other issues she cares about. In 2004, Tufts awarded her an honorary Doctorate of Arts for her artistic accomplishments and social conscience.

Sports Heroes

2011-02-09T00:18:00.003-08:00

The list is long of African Americans who have excelled in sports in America. I’ve hesitated to wade into these waters, though, for two reasons. The first is that I’m not really such a sports fan. The second is that I want to get beyond traditional stereotypes of blacks in sports and paint a more diverse picture. Having said that, who can deny the powerful legacy of Jackie Robinson, Larry Doby, and my friend Tivona’s dad, Tom Revell, who pioneered integration in baseball? Or the greats of boxing—Joe Louis, Sonny Liston, and truly legendary Muhammed Ali? Or the stunning Joyner women of track and field? Or, of course, the leading sports luminaries of our day—Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and the powerful Williams sisters?

But today I want to speak of two men who not only excelled in their given sport, but were forced into a greater role due to the circumstances of the day. And in the end, they became more than sport heroes, they became portraits of grace.

Jesse Owens

Jesse Owens broke world records in track and field in the 1930s and won an unprecedented four gold medals at the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. But as you remember, this was not just any Olympics and Jesse Owens was not just any competitor. He was a black man in Aryan territory on the eve of World War II. The games were presided over by Adolf Hitler. Experience, poise, and some helpful advice from a friendly German competitor gave Owens the edge needed to succeed. And in the end he turned Hitler’s thinking around from “they are inferior” to “they have an unfair advantage and should be excluded”—neither opinion accurate or enlightened, but Owens had an effect.

The true test of progress, alas, came at home in the United States. Owens was given a ticker-tape parade in Manhattan, but had to take the freight elevator to his reception at the Waldorf Astoria. He is reported to have said, "Hitler didn't snub me—it was FDR who snubbed me. The president didn't even send me a telegram." Later, President Eisenhower recognized Owens as an Ambassador of Sports.

Owens struggled for years to earn a living, saying that he couldn’t eat gold medals. Along with numerous business ventures, he became a public speaker, talking about how athletics could improve racial problems and bring people together. He also served for a time as national director of physical education for African-Americans with the Office of Civilian Defense which he called "the most gratifying work I've ever done."

Although the track and field records of Jesse Owens have fallen and other have gone on to win more medals, he has a place in our hearts because in a world about to turn mad, in 1936, he calmly and masterfully proved the devil wrong.

Arthur Ashe

Arthur Ashe picked up a tennis racket at the age of seven, a year after his mother died. Driven to excel and with good coaching, Ashe started winning youth titles around the country. He attended UCLA on a tennis scholarship, and in 1968 the still-amateur Ashe defied expectation and won the US Open. Over the next ten years, Ashe was a major figure in men’s tennis. He also reached out to a broader community and used his power to start inner city tennis programs for youth, to help found a professional association for men’s tennis, and to speak out against apartheid in South Africa.

But then in 1979, Ashe, still in his 30s, suffered a heart attack. He underwent two bypass surgeries and later brain surgery. From one of his surgeries, he contracted HIV from a blood transfusion. Although he tried to keep this condition a secret, he eventually admitted publicly in 1992 that he had AIDS. And then he really got to work. He spoke publicly about the disease. He gave a speech at the UN. And he created foundations, one dedicated to the defeat of AIDS and another to improve urban health.

Arthur Ashe helped put a face on AIDS in a time when AIDS was still a mystery for much of America. A man of grace and largesse already (read the testimonials on his webpage), he used his platform of fame to humanize this disease. And in typical Ashe fashion, when asked, “Why did God have to select you for such a bad disease?” Ashe replied, "Listen. 50 million children around the world start playing tennis. 5 million learn to play tennis. 500,000 learn professional tennis. 50,000 come to the circuit. 5000 reach The Grand Slam. 50 reach Wimbledon. 8 reach the Quarterfinals. 4 to the Semifinals. 2 to the Finals. When I was holding the Cup I never asked God, 'Why me?' So why now in pain should I be asking Him 'Why Me?'"

Shirley Chisholm

2011-02-07T22:57:00.003-08:00

Shirley Chisholm represented the 12th district of New York (my old district in Brooklyn) between 1969 and 1982, the first African American woman to serve in the United States House of Representatives. In 1972, she became the first major-party black candidate for President when she sought the nomination of the Democratic Party. She used the slogan “unbought and unbossed” to describe her independence as a candidate.

In the House, Chisholm supported traditional Democratic causes of education, labor, and civil rights. She helped found the Congressional Black Caucus and she opposed the draft. And in her office, she employed only women—half of them black. She commented that she had faced more discrimination because she was a woman than because she was black. She was also a co-founder of the National Organization of Women and said "Women in this country must become revolutionaries. We must refuse to accept the old, the traditional roles and stereotypes."

After retiring from the Congress, she taught politics and women’s studies at the university level as well as collecting many honors and awards. She also supported other Democratic leaders, including campaigning for Jesse Jackson. In the end, Chisholm reflected: "When I die, I want to be remembered as a woman who lived in the twentieth century and who dared to be a catalyst for change. I don't want be remembered as the first black woman who went to Congress, and I don't even want to be remembered as the first woman who happen to be black to make a bid for the presidency. I want to be remembered as a woman who fought for change in the twentieth century."

This last image is from an extremetly cool series of paintings by Robert Shetterly called Americans Who Tell the Truth.

Gordon Parks

2011-02-06T23:39:00.002-08:00

Like so many people featured in my month of African American history, Gordon Parks came from humble beginnings, in his case from Fort Smith, Arkansas. Inspired by Depression era photographs of migrants that he saw in a magazine, Parks bought his first camera. His talent was recognized quickly and Parks proceeded to build a body of work that featured both life on the street and the world of society and fashion. He became the first black photographer for Life magazine, where his photos appeared for decades. In the forties, he published a book outlining techniques and principles of documentary portraiture.

In the 50s Parks began making film documentaries. In the 60s he wrote memoirs and poems. He also broke more boundaries when he became the first African American to direct a major Hollywood movie when he made a film adaptation of one of his books. Two years later, he directed the movie Shaft. He directed many more movies in his career, including a well-received bio-pic of Lead Belly. He also composed music and played the piano.

I was lucky enough to catch an exhibit of Parks’s photography at the Musuem of the African Diaspora in San Francisco a few years ago. Like other photographers of the Depression (think Dorothea Lange, Walker Evans) Parks embodied the values of documentary portraiture. He captured a simple dignity of people in their everyday lives.

Endlessly curious, prodigiously talented in many ways, and determined to not let race stand in his way of following his artistic path, Parks left a great legacy of 20th century life in America. He died in 2006 at the age of 93 having done so much to show us who we are.

Ruby and Ossie

2011-02-06T01:28:00.001-08:00

Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis are surely an institution in 20th century performing arts in America. They achieved fame, along with a long list of awards, together and individually as actors, writers, and filmmakers. And they had a marriage that endured 56 years until Ossie's death in 2005. Along the way, they knew everybody who was anybody in the Civil Rights movement because they too were deeply involved. In fact, that might be the word that describes them most--involved. Together they emceed the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963. Ossie delivered the eulogy at the funeral of Malcolm X. In the end, President Clinton awarded them both the Presidential Medal of Art. This is especially appropriate in that not only did they bless this country with their creative arts, but they lived (and Ruby continues to live and work, nominated for her first Oscar in 2008) truly artistic lives, deeply connected to community and dedicated to building a better future.

Port Chicago

2011-02-05T09:55:00.005-08:00

(oh World War II, what will it take for me to quit you?)

Port Chicago Naval Magazine near Martinez, California, was the sight of a deadly munitions disaster during World War II. On July 17, 1944, residents of the east bay area of San Francisco were awakened by a huge explosion that lit up the sky. 320 sailors and civilians were killed as the cargo ship they were loading exploded. 390 others were injured. Most of the dead were African Americans, members of a segregated naval unit.

Following the disaster, many of the surviving sailors refused to return to work, citing unsafe working conditions. The refusal to work by hundreds of servicemen was known as the Port Chicago Mutiny and led to the prosecution and conviction of 50 men. Publicity grew over the event and the deplorable working conditions for the segregated crew, and it became a celebrated cause among people of color and others in America. Port Chicago was a powerful influence in the Navy’s post-war decision to desegregate its forces.

Today I’m pleased to say that Port Chicago is in the hands of the National Park Service. The land is still part of a semi-active naval base, and visitors must be escorted to the site. But the story is being preserved and shared by the NPS. Congressman George Miller of Martinez, in dedicating the site last summer, said, “Port Chicago is not just a place—it is a powerful story. It is a story about courage, conflict, racial discrimination and the struggle to overturn it. It is the story of African American contributions to the homefront effort during WWII. It is a story that is important for generations of Americans to understand.”

Click here to read about Freddie Meeks, one of the Port Chicago 50.

Mae Jemison

2011-02-03T19:08:00.001-08:00

Before I tell you a little bit about Dr. Jemison, let me explain that her mother was a teacher. That said, none of the rest of this should surprise you.

She grew up fascinated by science, determined to be a scientist. She entered Stanford at age 16 and got a degree in chemical engineering. She went to Cornell for med school and became a doctor. During med school, she traveled abroad to provide medical care in developing countries. She then became a staff member of Peace Corps and served as a medical officer in Liberia and Sierra Leone. She joined NASA in 1987 as a mission specialist. When she flew in 1992, she became the first black woman in space. And she fulfilled a lifelong…not dream, exactly…more an assumption that she would go into space.

When Jemison made her flight, she took with her some personal objects. One of these was a poster from the Alvin Ailey Dance Company, where Jemison had taken lessons during med school. Jemison described the connection between science and dance: “I consider them both to be expressions of the boundless creativity that people have to share with one another.” She also took a picture of Bessie Coleman, the first African American woman to fly an airplane.

"I felt like I belonged right there in space," Jemison remembered of her time in space. "I realized I would feel comfortable anywhere in the universe — because I belonged to and was a part of it, as much as any star, planet, asteroid, comet, or nebula."

George Washington Carver

2011-02-03T05:03:00.000-08:00

While it's tempting to label this post "Mr. Peanut," and goodness knows to this peanut butter devotee that would be enough, Dr. Carver was a man of more than peanuts.

He did get his start in agriculture in the south, promoting peanuts (and sweet potatoes) as an alternative crop to cotton which depleted the soil and was prone to boll weevil attacks. But turns out, Carver was something of a Renaissance man. Born during the Civil War, he took advantage of educational opportunities presented by kind foster families. He became an educator and researcher for many decades at the Tuskeegee Institute, finding great satisfaction in teaching. He firmly believed in the power of education to transform a generation of young African Americans into self sufficient participants in society. In his free time he made hand-crafted textiles, creating his own fibers and dyes and finding commercial outlets for these designs. He also experimented with synthetic substitutes for petroleum. And if that weren't enough, he wrote poems too.

This is a painting by Carver which is now part of a National Park Service collection. Click here to see more items in the collection.

Joy, Like a Pearl

2011-02-02T08:09:00.000-08:00

I DREAM A WORLD

I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind-
Of such I dream, my world!

Langston Hughes

STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

Today's Horoscope

2011-02-02T05:01:00.005-08:00

Slow, cold week in Tulcea. Had a good English class this morning with Calin and Daniel. We made sentences using "to be" verbs. I am a rich photographer.

And baby, you can drive my car...been listening to the Beatles. "I got no car and it's breakin' my heart, but I found a driver, and that's a start."

And then there's today's horoscope from Rob Brezsny:

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): I've found that even when people are successful in dealing with a long-term, intractable problem, they rarely zap it out of existence in one epic swoop. Generally they chip away at it, dismantling it little by little; they gradually break its hold with incremental bursts of unspectacular heroism. Judging from the astrological omens, though, I'd say that you Tauruses are ripe for a large surge of dismantling. An obstacle you've been hammering away at for months or even years may be primed to crumble dramatically.

From your lips to the Goddess's ear, Rob. (beep beep-m beep beep yeah)

A Big Year

2011-01-26T01:31:00.003-08:00

Yes, Peace Corps Romania just turned 20 years old on Monday. And Peace Corps itself turns 50 in March. Please visit our Celebrate Peace Corps Romania website to keep up to date on our anniversary activities.

Rich Brown

2011-01-23T03:05:00.002-08:00

...and his friend Sassy Red.

Snow day/sick day here in Tulcea. So that also means soup day...in this case, red lentil dahl. With my two best friends.

Addendum:
Better 'n Boullion also makes mushroom paste. Necessary for The Mushroom Thing: put your cooked Lundberg rice mix in the casserole pan, lay some slices of vegan protein on top, such as tofu, tofu steaks, sliced tempeh, or sliced tofurkey (oh yeah baby), then pour on the fabulous mushroom gravy you just made. Bake til bubbly and well integrated (maybe half an hour), take to Thanksgiving dinner and watch the carnivores weep with joy. Mushroom gravy is one of God's many gifts to vegans. Enjoy.