Blog Posts 2004-2020

My first post was on Blogger in 2004. Then I didn’t post again until 2010. Then I switched to Wordpress in 2015. Then I got on Substack in 2022 but never posted. Now I’m using Squarespace in 2025.

Who knows where I’ll go next!

Friday, January 23, 2004

weird. posting. out there in cyberspace.
jay bird.
yesterday, left work early, picked jay up right after school. he wanted to stay and show me his drawings, make a sword. we left and went to crissy field center to look at the river of words exhibits. he enjoyed quite a few of the drawings and paintings - and was floored that children had made them. it was so painful to look at the ones done by children in pakistan, afghan refugees, iraq who drew swarms of birds attacking them, or the pain of hard labor as a child...compared to the ones by a child in georgia who drew a young blond girl swimming under the water, and the poem by a child in maine about the joy of picking blueberries. who are these people?
we then walked through crissy field to the beach where jay proceeded to strip down to his underwear and play in the water. he took a break to build a big hole and dig a path to the water. I helped and the sun was warm and I kept looking around at the golden gate bridge and the birds sinking their heads below the water and thinking, how blessed, how lucky. how much fucking fun!

Friday, January 8, 2010

Winning the lottery. Or not.

I have this friend in Denmark. OK, really, he was a lover, but that's beside the point. He is someone who has always stood by the motto 'If not you, then who? If not now, then when?' Now, I have often seen this as a bunch of feel good, get-off-your-ass-and-do-something BS, but lately, I have been thinking - why can't I win the lottery? I'm just like everyone else. I am a person who is equally as deserving (or not, either way, I'm not attached.) That being said... I have this fear that if I win the lottery, I'll never be able to put myself on a plane again, because the chances are pretty slim that I'll win and if I do... all other statistics go out the window which of course means I'll go down in a fiery jet. So, instead of the lottery (which, sure, I'll play for kicks occasionally,) I am going to enter contests and sweepstakes. At least once or twice a week. And only the kind where I don't have to purchase anything or go anywhere to enter. Just online, random, by entering my email address.
I think it sounds like a smashing plan. Will keep you posted.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Family matters

I was sitting on the front porch tonight, alone. So balmy outside. And staring up in to the sky, the stars. I was still feeling sorry for myself and my family. My sister. Who lives through their worst nightmare... twice? Anyhow, I was crying out there and thinking how alone we are. This is not rocket science, especially to me - I get it. I am down with my mortality. I have a general acceptance and understanding. I am OK for the most part and frankly, look forward to the lack of suffering we all, as humans, will enjoy. Still, I'm thinking - I'm all alone. I can't call anyone back east because it's too late, 3 hours ahead, plus I'm a total coward today and can't take hearing their voices and heartache. How can I feel connected to someone right now? Most people are afraid. That's how they deal with someone else's grief. They are afraid you are like a hand blown vase with an unsteady base. If I hold you gently and then place you precariously back on that shelf, I can tip toe backwards out of the room and escape before you tip over and shatter.  

For someone who is not terribly close to his family, a nephew is someone you've seen maybe a handful of times in the kids' life, whereas for my family... well, like I told J the other night, our family is everything, period. You DO for family. You show up. You support. You love. You don't wait to be asked. You sit quietly. You let someone sob in your arms. You listen. You share a smoke on the dock. You ride in the convertible when its snowing out. You make extra fried dough. You leave the light on. You watch the Honeymooners at midnight. You crack jokes in the car at the funeral. You pick on Mom together. You forgive. And then you forgive again. Or maybe you hold a big fat grudge and it comes out in a flood over a couple of beers. But you still laugh about it. Because you know the alternative is unthinkable. 

Monday, March 7, 2011

Brazil before 41.

On Friday, I leave for Salvador, Brazil.
I'm a little nervous. And excited. But today... mostly nervous.
It could be the travel, in general. Getting in a tin box and catapulting 30K feet in the air for a plethora of hours, hoping to land safe and sound. And then doing it all over again 4 more times. Or it could be the jetlag. I am a hideous mess going east. Ask my family. Or anyone in France. Grumpy, ugly traveler = me.
It could also be the fact that I am going to a 2nd/3rd world country, where theft is commonplace, as are kidnappings of Americans. Or the fact that I don't speak a lick of Portuguese. Except something I learned when I was 21 from an exchange student friend 'Si eu bebe muito, eu vou vomitar,' which means 'If I drink too much, I'll vomit.' For real.
Or maybe its that I will be spending my weeks working with children who have not developed basic skills because of their lack of access to early education of any kind, not to mention health care, and in many cases... family. I am developing some activity plans, and look forward to teaching a little yoga every day.
Maybe I'm nervous that it will be life changing, and I won't ever be able to go back to the way it was... the way I was. Ah, the luxury of ignorance.
So, I'll continue to breathe, and turn my nervousness back into excitement. Plus, hello, have you seen the beaches in Brazil? That's not going to suck. I am so grateful for the freedom to take this trip, and the friends who have helped me get here!
I'll do my best to share my adventure by way of blog posts and photos.
Beijos!

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Barata is the word of the day

Barata means cockroach. And they are here aplenty here in our apartment in Salvador. I've come to accept that I'll be ingesting a few in my sleep before my trip is over.
It is crazy hot and humid here, as to be expected for summer in Brazil. The beaches are packed, literally packed, with scantily clad, bikini wearing ladies. Even the ones who should be in a mu-mu. Even the 80 year old grandmothers with saggy flesh. All in bikinis or some equally revealing article of clothing.
We walked by a group of teenage girls on our way to the lighthouse this afternoon. They couldn't have been more than 14 years old, and one of them was about 6 months pregnant. Or 9, I couldn't tell on her slender young body how far along she was, only that her linea negra was showing, along with a slightly protrubing belly button. I'm told this sight will become familiar, but no less disturbing.
I'm ready to hit the sack at 8:30pm, after being awake for 36 hours. Tomorrow we are off to an 'two island tour' from 9-5, then dinner and orientation about our placements and what to expect the next two weeks.
Boa noite!

Monday, March 14, 2011

Lifejacket Dance

Yesterday was a very quick bonding experience with my fellow volunteers. There are 9 of us and we went to Ilha do Frade and then Ilha de Itaparica off the tip of Salvador. To get to the 2nd island, we had to get off the big boat and take a mini-motor boat to the dock. After lunch and a swim with our new friends from Benin and Madagascar, we headed back to the boat to discover a sudden storm coming in. We spent the next hour in the bay, being soaked by cold, sideways rain. Even though you couldn't see five feet in front of you, the boat started heading back to Salvador, an hour and a half ride away. We were instructed to put on lifejackets and the mood went from slightly frenzied cheerfulness to quiet worry. But then the samba band came out and started to play againand everyone started dancing and singing. If we were going down, it was going to be with music playing and caiprainha in hand. And then... the storm passed, the clouds broke, the sun set, and we had smooth sailing back to the harbor. My fellow volunteers and I became quickly bonded, as a mini-crisis will do for anyone.

Today was our first day at Fruito de Mais, one of the CCS placements, in the Algados district. I think we got the luckiest. There is an organized staff and the building was recently renovated. My kids are 5-6 years old and today was their first day back at school after summer break (Jan/Feb.) A typical day goes like this: morning lessons - drawing pictures of what they did during Carnival, then playtime with clay. After that, we all go out to 'recess' - a 20x30 dirt and concrete patch outside, barefoot and shirts off. Then comes showers, and lunch. We leave at naptime.

Back to the home base and then off to the air-conditioned mall, hooray! We had gelato, mmm, and got some cash money. And tonight... we had capoiera! It is already 80 something degrees at night, and after an hour of cartwheels and jinga'ing. Dinner and now prepping for class tomorrow. The kids are learning about the environment, should be fun! More soon, bed now.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

A typical day with CCS

We are getting into a rhythm here. We wake at 6:30am and shower, then breakfast, and then everyone piles in the van to start the placement drop off. We arrive at Frutos de Mais around 8:30am, in time to help them brush their teeth and clean up after breakfast. Then the teacher gives a lesson - this week we are studying the environment and how important it is to treat it with respect, which is fun. There are also practical lessons, like... what is the difference between a number and a letter. In many ways they are right on par with other 5 year olds, like learning how to brush their teeth properly, but this one seemed sad to me. 99% of them could not tell you if A was a number or 4 was a letter. They are so wonderful, though. They are completely affectionate and funny and loud and silly and fearless. I love them. Even the 'shy' ones... culturally, they are the same. They all hug me and kiss me and want to play with my hair. They tell me entire stories in Portuguese, even though I tell them repeatedly that I can't understand most of what they are saying. They can not stand next to me without holding my hand or hug my leg. They do this with the teacher, as well. I don't want to pick favorites, but Jainana and Jacqueline are some of my favorite girls and omg, Kaiky Matthius is the most adorable boy. They are just so vibrant and loving, mmm.

Right, after lesson, we do songs and each student gets to lead. The teacher is awesome. She has a great sense of humor but is appropriately strict. They kids respect her, not fear her. After lots of singing, that somehow always ends up with us on the floor or dancing around like a chicken, they take off their shoes and shirts, and get in line for recess. The recess area is a concrete area that is about 120 degrees to walk on, but they are used to it, even in their bare feet. The rest of the area is rocky and weedy, but covered in shade by a big tree of some sort. After they play (vamos brincar!), they get back in a line, and head for the showers. I'm usually on drying-off patrol. Theoretically, they all have their own towels, but no one seems to remember whose is whose. And many of these kids have or have had scabies, so its pretty gross. But the fact that they are showering daily is a plus. When we get back to the classroom, everyone is given a cup of filtered water. There are 6 cups for 22 kids, so they have to take turns. And then there is lunch.

There are plenty of things about this school that I'm impressed by, and an equal number of things I wish I could *fix*. However, as we continue to learn by being here, giving donations isn't sustainable to the children or the schools. If I want to buy colored pencils, great, but who will buy them when they have run out? If I want to give money for a project, great, but who will give money for the next project - and what happens to the kids who develop an expectation of these projects and services. I am frustrated by this and yet, now that I'm here, I completely understand. I have found out that I can donate to CCS (Cross Cultural Solutions) main office in NY, and they can distribute where there is the most need. Its tough to be here, though, and think - I could run to the store and buy you all new toothbrushes - when I can't.

On the 'cultural exchange' side - we had a great tour of Pelourinho yesterday, and a great bonding dinner with caiparhinas. Today after school placements, we had a meeting, then a history lesson from Professor Fred who teaches at the public university here, and then a Portuguese lesson from Tatiana. 

Its all been amazing, including the food and fresh juices and free museums and gorgeous ocean - but mostly, its the conversations we are having internally about what it means to be able to give like this, and how fortunate we are. 

Be calm, be strong, be grateful. Christine

Friday, March 18, 2011

Coco vs. coco

There are many things I've learned this week. One of them is the difference between coco and coco. Coco is coconut in Portuguese. It is also poop. Or shit, as I like to call it. I had to learn this yesterday when shower time came and one pair of underpants was hosting a fresh deposit, and then one of the kids came OUT of the shower with poop running down his leg. It has been a long time since I've had to deal with poop (coco,) so it was not much fun. I figured out the towel situation - they don't get washed during the week at the school but go home in their backpacks on Friday. We have to hope they get washed at home. Especially since there is poop on two of them.

I have so many questions about cleanliness but I don't want to offend in my asking. Plus, I can't speak the language properly, so I want to wait. There doesn't seem to be soap anywhere except they add some to the bucket of water for showers. They don't use it to wash their hands, though, and there is none in the bathrooms. Thank god for anti-bacterial liquid and sanitary wipes - we volunteers are going through those quickly. I'm curious how they prevent spreading infection. All of the kids have scabies scars, and they share bathrooms with the little kids who still get scabies, so... how? And I remind myself that my school is one of the better ones. They have a fairly new building, chairs and tables, are fed twice a day, take showers and brush their teeth... and still - I want so much more for them. I want them to have their own pencils, their own water cups, their own towels, and so on.

Today I was with the assistant as the teacher had a family emergency and she couldn't be there. It was actually a bit more fun for me because I got to have more 'control' of the class. It also meant I had more responsibility, but I had to say Paro! (stop) and nao bata (no hitting) a lot more often. They are like little animals sometimes, all piling on top of each other, hitting and pulling, climbing all over me. The lesson today was again about the difference between letters and numbers. Color in the letters, cross out the numbers. I can not tell you how many children I had to help and still, either they didn't understand the lesson, or didn't understand the difference between them. They also had to stay inside today because brrrr, it was a whole 5 degrees cooler outside... maybe its only 85 degrees. To be fair, it sprinkled this morning. The kids played with legos instead, in the hallway. The assistant put a few chairs down for us to sit but I sat down with the kids. I understand the structure and am so appreciative of it, however, I am here to be with the children - and that means playing legos or helping with conflict or teaching them songs. The assistant is not a teacher, and the teacher has done a certificate program - you can tell the difference. The assistant is crankier (although younger,) and less enthusiastic. Yesterday we spoke all about what is happening in Japan. It was amazing to hear how the kids respond to that type of crisis. They have such concern for everyone without homes, cars, phones, and family. We finished with a prayer for all of the people in Japan.

I feel like I am just getting the hang of things in the classroom, and am happy for the kids that they have a teacher who truly cares and provides structure for them. The discipline would never fly in the states - there is a lot of yelling, grabbing arms and putting bodies in chairs by the teacher - but for these kids, it is the best they will get. There are also a few kids with obvious behavioral issues, but its difficult to address any of this. Its not really my place, and my Portuguese is still pretty shitty.

On that note, we are off. Back to Pelhourino tonight for the Folklorico dance show. Tomorrow, 4 of our volunteers leave, and the rest of us are heading to Morro de Sao Paolo. Pray for sun.
Christina

Monday, March 21, 2011

Bumpy boats, beaches, and babes

Where to begin? Being?

Last Friday night, my fellow volunteers and I went back to Pelourinho to see the Folclorico da Bahia dance show. We decided to grab dinner first and stumbled upon this amazing place called Pelo Bistro in the Casa do Amarelindo hotel. We had to hike up 4 flights of stairs, which turned out to be muito worthwhile. We had our own little oasis rooftop bar overlooking the harbor. The best thing, on top of the yummy food, was the flavored caipirinhas - freshly muddled mango and pineapple. Mmmm. Then on to the show. I can't quite explain it, because my Portuguese still sucks, however I'll try. There were four acts and each told a story of the Bahians through Candomble, Samba, and Capoiera. The dancers were all passionate, talented, and difficult to take your eyes off of. Especially the men, dancing capoiera. Here is a bit of the Candomble from the beginning: http://www.youtube.com/user/ElizabethWilliams413?feature=mhum

The next morning, we were all woken by house shaking thunder and lightening. We postponed our trip to Morro de Sao Paolo until that afternoon, so we all had time to say our goodbyes to the Insight Abroad group, who were with us for a week. Janis, Farrah, Meaghan, and Katerina. It was difficult to see them go so soon, as we were all just getting to know each other. I hope that we stay in touch (right, Katerina?!)

Saturday afternoon, we took off for our girls getaway to Morro. We'd heard of a 2 hour boatride, and after our crazy ferry with lifejackets the week before, we thought we were well prepared for anything the sea had to offer. We were wrong. The catamaran (aka boat-from-hell) was more like a rollercoaster, but only the parts where you are right about to go down, right after coming up really fast, complete with plastic bags tied to the backs of all seats. You know, for vomit. I'm happy to say we survived, however, I spent most of the last hour in a pseudo-fetal position in the back of the boat trying to focus on the horizon, praying I wasn't going to hurl.

It was all worth it, though. Morro, although not as remote as Boipepa next door, is a sweet little tropical island getaway. There are no cars, or bicycles anywhere on the island. If you absolutely need wheels, there are guys with wheelbarrows. Usually used for transporting luggage, but I've heard that they've taken a body or two in them, as well.

We got a little lost on the way to our posada (hotel) and ended up walking in the moonlight for a while. This picture doesn't do it justice, it was lovely. 

We encountered hundreds of crabs the size of my feet, scuttling in all directions. We also saw bats aplenty, and I could have done without that added bonus. When we finally did reach our place, we found a lovely room of 4 beds with air conditioning (woohoo!) for about $50 pp, right on the beach, complete with hammocks. Sunday, we spent a leisurely morning at breakfast, which was included - and those Brazilians love their baked goods. Almost as much as the French, but I fear they use margarine and not butter. Still - sweet bread, mmm.

And then off to the beach! The ocean was clean and clear, blue and warm. It was like a bath - which is probably why I spent too much time in it, acquiring a smashing sunburn. Oh, and the little fishes everywhere. It was simply paradise. After getting too much sun and buying a too-small Brazilian bikini, we packed our bags, and got ready for another bumpy ride home. It was like the gods were listening, though. When checking in for the catamaran, we were informed that it was *too* choppy out there on the open sea, and we'd be taking a detour through the islands to return to Salvador. 20 minutes to the small fishing village of Valenca, then a 2 hour (air-conditioned) bus ride to the port on Itaparica, and another 45 minute catamaran ride back to Salvador. It was all so easy! And we finally got to see the sunset.

Today, we headed back to school, only to find that half of the school was missing. In my class, out of 22 students, only 7 were there. When I asked what was going on, I was informed that 1. Its Monday. Everyone knows that Monday is the day after the weekend, and some Mammies were drinking too much, so they need to recuperate. And 2. It had rained the night before, and for the many who walk their kids to school, they chose to keep them at home, rather than bear the rain. (It was more like spitting, not raining.) It was a little disheartening, because I don't believe the parents may feel as strongly about the kid's consistent education as the teachers and school do. Or maybe its just me that feels that strongly. Anyhow, of the kids that were left, we had a pretty simple day, discussing numbers again, and deciphering which fruits are which. I'm still floored how some of them can't count to 5, or know the difference between 3 and 4, while looking at the number of fingers they are holding up. They are so sharp in other ways, though. Each one of them could talk your ear off. Full length stories for 5 minutes, longer if you let them, complete with hand gestures, raised voices, and big personalities.

I've been feeling a little low about leaving them. How many people come in and out of their lives at the school? What do they remember? Why am I attached to them remembering me? CCS? And how do I continue to help after I go back to the states? I can't donate directly to the school, it doesn't work that way. It has me thinking deeply about international development, education, infrastructure... and our own dysfunctional system in the states. More on that later, I am sure.

Tonight we had another capoiera class with Bento. He is awesome, and patient, and funny, which we need, since we're all pretty white. I'd like to think I musha bom boms better than the rest (that means shake your ass.) It leaves us sweaty and tired, and with a new song in our heads.

Tomorrow afternoon we have another tour of Pelhourinho with Bruno, this time we're headed to a church, lower Pelo, and San Antonio, then sticking around for weekly music fest. Really looking forward to Thursday when we see Professor Fred again and get to go to a Candomble church. He's so inspiring to be around, and I feel as though I've been given a great introduction to the history of Salvador.

Its almost 10 now, must get to bed soon.

I haven't said it lately, so thanks again to everyone who helped make this trip possible. Even Jackson's Dad, who has been taking great care of him while I'm here having this amazing experience.

Beijos!

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Sponsors and bake sales

(These are ribbons tied for good wishes outside of Bon Fim church. Those are a lot of wishes.)
I got to thinking today that for those who helped me get here, it might be nice to get an idea of how the program works. So, for those of you who helped sponsor this trip - either by donation, or buying one of the baked goods I was selling - here's a bit of how each day goes...

We wake up at 6:30-6:45am, and are served a delicious breakfast downstairs in the home base. There is a full time cook, housekeeper, and 24 hour security guards who alternate shifts. After breakfast, we all pile into the CCS van, which is a VW bus, and Ivan - our superstar driver, takes us to our placements. After school, Ivan picks us up, then we pick up the other volunteers, and head home for another amazing home cooked meal for lunch until 1:30pm. On Mondays, we have Capoeira and Samba class with Beito before dinner at 6:30pm, Tuesdays after lunch, we have a city tour with Bruno (last week upper Pelhourino, this week further afield.) Wednesdays, we have a feedback meeting after lunch with the program director to hear how our placement experience is going. They offer advice and support, and help us with any issues. They communicate regularly with each placement to determine where help is needed most. Wednesday night before dinner, we have a Portuguese lesson with Tatiana, who is beautiful and very patient. Thursday after lunch, we hear from Professor Fred. Last week we learned about Salvador's political and economic history, and tomorrow he is taking us to a Candomble church (Afro-Brazilian religion.) Thursday nights are more Portuguese lessons with Tatiana. And Fridays/weekends are free.

The food has been amazing. Every day, we must go through a ton of garlic, because every other day, we see Maria, the cook, sitting with her basket, pulling the peels off a dozen heads. Beans are soaked each day, and we always have rice and a meat dish. There are also vegetables, but they are usually steamed beans and carrots, as well as raw lettuce and tomatoes. (What I would give for a stalk of broccoli and a bunch of kale right now!!) After every meal, we are responsible for hand washing each of our dishes and utensils and putting them back. There is a resource room here that houses all kinds of crayons, paper, games, paint, etc. They are running low on supplies right now, and some of the money goes to replenishing. The donation situation makes it very difficult to give, but we can create things like posters, toys, pictures, puppets, and then bring those to school with us. I had a miscommunication with my teacher when I brought in the colored pencils to work on a project that I'd done. I meant to explain that the pencils were for this particular project, but she took it as I was giving them to the classroom. She was excited, but that isn't allowed. The expectation will be set up that they will receive their colored pencils from CCS and when they can't provide, they'll be SOL, as they will have taken the $ they would have spent on pencils and spent it on something else. Its complicated, however I'm starting to understand why it works this way. So, the money from the program goes toward all of these things above.
The people here have been truly wonderful, to say the least.

Today was a bit different. There were torrential downpours this morning, and when we got to Frutos, no one was there. No children, no teachers. So, Ivan took us back over to Mother Teresa, where two other volunteers have been spending their days. I have to admit that when I got to Frutos, I was equally pleased that there was so much structure, and passion for teaching - and disappointed that I wasn't going to work in an orphanage. I told myself early on that I wanted to work with older kids because being with babies might make me depressed. I was right. At Mother Theresa, there are up to 25 children between the ages of 1-3 years old. There are about 8 of them who spend their nights there, Monday-Friday, as their parents simply can not take care of them. The other children are there based on need. The sisters go out into the community on home visits and determine which other children should come there. There are also about 6 elderly women there, most of whom are disabled either physically or mentally. Going there this morning... I kept telling myself it was a happy accident that it rained, that I was getting another wonderful experience... but by the time I got into the van with my fellow volunteers, I was crying. There is a sadness in some of their eyes that can't be explained and shouldn't exist in the first place. There are two sisters, both named Jasmine. The older one is expressionless except for this sadness. She cares for her little sister, holding her by the hand, leading her to the bathroom, holding her hand while she naps... the both of them were killing me today. The others, too... at Frutos, the children are bright and happy and want to be near you because it is fun and they are full of life. At Mother Theresa, they simply wanted to be held. We were told that most of them do not have fathers, so when one of our volunteers, Ronny, walked in, they ran to him, one after the other, hugging his legs. Some of them are so smart, and rascally, and full of love. It was simply heartbreaking, though, that they all have parents who can't provide for them. Some of them have jobs here and there, but nothing consistent. And although the nuns do their best to keep the place clean and organized, none of this would pass the standards of the states.

There is an incentive program in Brazil now, through the new President. If you send your child to public school, and don't miss any days (unless sick with a doctor's note,) the family is paid 180R (equivalent of $108) per month. If they miss even one day, they aren't paid that month. The challenge, though, is for the teachers. They are responsible for keeping track of the student's attendance. If they see, though, that a child has missed classes, and know that this means that child will not eat, or be clothed, they feel so badly, that they give the school the wrong information. It helps the child, in that moment, but not the system for the long term. The children I work with are in a community pre-school. In theory, they could all go to public school next year, if their parents apply. But many of them simply don't, and they end up on the street, begging and doing odd jobs - their education ending in that instant.

We had a wonderful afternoon and evening yesterday, including a visit to a tile artist, the Bon Fim church, and dinner at a fabulous Italian restaurant, however, I'm feeling a little down today after the Mother Theresa visit. Tomorrow is my last day, so I'm off to a museum next door to feel some art, and hopefully feel some hope.

Grateful, Christine

Sunday, June 5, 2011

These little town blues...

About 6 weeks ago, I got a call from an old colleague wanting to introduce me to someone in NY looking for a Director of Communications. I said sure, thinking, eh, what can it hurt? I had a phone call the next week with the President of the company. She and I were definitely speaking the same language, and she invited me to come out to NY and meet the rest of their executive team. A week later, Jackson and I were in Kauai for his spring break, enjoying our time off, when I got a call from our housemate that our landlords were moving back from Italy and we were being evicted. 60 days notice meant moving out of our home of 10 years by June 30th. About two weeks later, I was flying to NY to meet the folks at LBi, a digital marketing agency, based in Europe. By the end of last week, they'd offered me a job, and I accepted on Friday. Timing is everything! Jackson will stay here in SF with Richard to finish middle school, and we'll decide in the spring if he'll come out to NY to try high school there.

To say that life has been happening fast would be an understatement. In addition to embarking on a new professional chapter, I am moving out of a home that my son grew up in, back to the east coast where I, myself, grew up. For those of you who know Jackson, and understand our relationship, you can imagine how difficult this decision has been. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and we have always been very close. He communicates better than most adults I know - including myself. But he's just turned 13, and is embarking on his own journey - of manhood, something that only his father can fully understand. I have to believe that for them to spend more time together will be a blessing. Fortunately, Richard also has a wonderful girlfriend who loves them both and I am grateful for her willingness to participate in our family's adventure.

Jackson and I are going to spend every month taking turns visiting each coast, and will be using Skype/Facetime all the time. Miraculously, he seems to be more even keeled about this than Richard or I have been. It will be difficult, but as he reminds me, 'Mom. It's NEW YORK. You'd be crazy not to try.'

So. We're off to NH to visit my family on July 2nd, and I head to Brooklyn on the 9th, ready to start my new job in midtown Manhattan on the 11th. Onwards and upwards!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Week One in NYC

I realize that it is normal for me to be wondering what the hell I am doing... moving my life across the country, leaving my son and my everything. He doesn't seem to feel the weight of what is happening yet and I need to be grateful for that. We missed our 'weekly' Skype chat tonight because he had to go to Costco with his dad and then he lost track of time and got distracted and started scootering down the street. All the while, I am counting the minutes until I can see his shaggy bangs framing his pixelated face. I want to be able to squeeze him and kiss him on the forehead while he squirms away from my grasp. I want to smell his dirty hair and remind him to actually use shampoo when he showers. Mostly, I want to see him laugh out loud at something funny he's done. I love that he can laugh at himself. And then I remind myself that I did this to us. And he may be perfectly fine, and one day I may be perfectly fine, but this is my responsibility so I better suck it up and not express my grief to him. Not now anyway. Maybe in 20 years. After he's had some good therapy.

Today I am wondering why, though. Great adventure? Money? Freedom? I thought that I'd be making him proud, excited even. Instead, he asked me why I would want to work at a job that I didn't have 100% passion for - that felt like work? He was disappointed that I didn't move out here to write a book or sing. He's 13, and I know he understands that we have to pay the bills, but he doesn't understand about planning for the future. He is asking me philosophically, what am I doing? Here I am, always telling him to follow his dreams, to pursue his passions, to not let anyone tell you that you suck at something you love because it doesn't really matter. Of course, if you need to make a living at that thing you suck at... you may need a part time job on the side. He's idealistic. And he gets it from me. Damn.

NYC is a throbbing mess of energy, always making you feel like you should be doing something because there is so much to do! Already, I feel this, and am making conscious efforts to have down time. To read a book, not eat out as much, and pace myself. I'm lucky to be staying with friends in Brooklyn, settling in around people I know. And there are visitors galore through mid-August. Oh, and my body is totally rejecting this city. I've had horrible congestion/allergies and, for the first time ever, actual asthma shit all week. It. Is. Awesome.

I found a lovely apartment in a good neighborhood, though. Except for the fact that its two blocks from an EPA Superfund site, the Gowanus Canal. That's toxic, for those who don't know. Its being 'cleaned up', and as long as I don't touch the water, I should be good. The 'hood is on the cusp of being gentrified and is mostly just hip, but still rough around the edges, which I like. Pretty working class around the block I live on. Many great restaurants and shops just 4-5 blocks north. Its a good sized 1BR, on the 3rd/top floor of a brick building on 9th/Court in Brooklyn. Wood floors, skylights, 2 working fireplaces, a roof deck, lots of closet space, washer/dryer, and a built in hammock for $1800/month. It still seems preposterously expensive compared to what I was paying with housemates, but now that I've seen and heard what others are paying, even in that 'hood, I feel lucky. And the family who is moving out of it has been incredibly helpful and neighborly to me in every way. I'm slightly terrified to live on my own. I know I want to experience it, though, and I'm hoping my friends will come visit. (Yes?!)

So, this is week one. Still feeling like an exchange student, barely scratching the surface of what my new job will be like, trying to understand the metro system - and failing, and being terribly grateful for technology and friendships. 
Oh, and its around 90+ degrees every day. So, that's awesome.
Fingers crossed for week 2.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Yellowstone '93

I became part of a group on Facebook today - 'You know you're from OLD Nashua if...' and it sites all sorts of places that used to exist in the town, now city, that I grew up in. At first, it was full of sweet memories and 'omg, can you believe they tore down x, y, z?,' and then someone went and posted a request for names of people who died too young in Nashua. There are literally hundreds of postings. I posted myself, a couple of girls I knew who passed away from Leukemia when I was only 21. And then I got fucking depressed. Not because I am sitting here, in NYC, all by my lonesome, but because I realized that I am getting so old myself. I don't feel old. I don't feel a day over 29, really. My skin feels differently, as do my muscles, my digestion, my liver, and my poor memory. Otherwise, I feel young. But my body has 41 years on it. Not too much, not too little.

It got me thinking about how I spent my youth and how I developed my closest friendships. I left home when I was 20. I went off to the land of milk and honey, spent my days in the sun, my nights at a bar shooting pool or dancing to reggae, followed the Dead, when to a co-op before anyone heard of one, drove cross country, started my yoga practice - along with waxing poetic and existential questioning, attended college part-time and then full-time, learned how (not) to surf, took weekend adventures to Mexico and Idaho and Oregon, smoked - too much, and generally involved myself in every opportunity and adventure that came into my life. (Except hard drugs or hallucinogens, I was always a wuss about that stuff.) When I was 23, I had a couple of really great girlfriends who I lived with. One of them was about to move to Guatemala, one of them was about to move to Oregon, and I decided to spend a summer in Yellowstone before moving to San Francisco. While living together, we slept in the same beds, peed with the door open, supported each other in our endeavors, and danced our asses off in our living room overlooking the Pacific. We were tight and we swore we'd always be friends.

I went off to work in Yellowstone, where I met some incredibly fun people. We worked all day at the park's hotels and restaurants, lived in a dorm, and spent our nights and weekends singing, playing music, drinking, hiking, camping, staying away from bears, spotting moose, and stargazing by the lake. I'm not proud to admit that although I was in an off again, on again relationship with my now baby Daddy, I found myself involved with a lovely southern boy that summer. He was kind, open, simple. Easy, which was what I needed then. It occurred to me yesterday, where is that southern boy now? Why isn't there a Yellowstone alumni group where my dorm-mates could reconnect? Where is the girl who helped me out of the backcountry when I was dehydrated and had to be carried out on the park ranger's horseback? I did a quick bit of research online, only to realize that I may be the only one of us anxious to get back those connections. I see now, from Facebook, that as much fun as it may have sounded at the time, to friend everyone you ever knew, the reality is - there's probably a reason you didn't stay friends over the past 20 years - and it wasn't because the internet didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, its nice to hear that people I spent my high school years with are doing well, are happy. And the people that I once worked with in my college years, or even in the past 5-10, or took a class with, or who once lived with me for 3 months... its all nice. But how long can we continue to invest our fragmented energy in staying connected? Does it distract us from spending quality time with the people currently in our lives, right in front of us? Or does it inspire us to find more creative ways to be part of a community?

I find myself spending more time online because I'm alone now but I know I won't always be. If nothing else, I'll start volunteering, get a second job, and spend more time with my family when I'm not visiting J. I've also got friends and acquaintances here. So, who knows, maybe I'll be so busy, I won't be online at all, reminded of those people I hardly know. My point is that I need to find a balance of both, and most importantly, carve out time away from the computer and not get so busy with a social life that I forget about why I'm here.

And the girls in CA? I am still very tight with one of them. The other decided to de-friend us both about 5 years ago. It seemed we could never give her what she needed. I admire her now for taking care of herself, and only wish she'd communicated her issues long before we all fell apart. Maybe Facebook would have saved us.

Who knows?

Friday, March 2, 2012

Morning pages

The Artist's Way is this book that I never actually read except for the part about doing your 'morning pages.' Write for 10 minutes every day, stream of consciousness. I tried this years ago and filled up a couple of notebooks over the course of a few months. And then... I got kind of bored. I had set my clock for ten minutes earlier than I'd normally wake up, and sit down to write. And then my little boy would wake up and I'd start the day. One would think that since my boy spent half of his time at his Dad's, that I would have all of this other free time to write. And yet - I didn't. You never stop the business of being a parent, even when your child isn't with you.

So, here I am living in NY, while my boy lives in SF, and I do, genuinely, have more free time to write - but I don't. I'm lazy. I'm scared. I'm bored. I'm uninspired. Or something happens during the day and I think, that I want to write about, that I have an opinion about. And then its gone. I haven't written it down, and even if I had, I lost the momentum, the emotion attached to it. I lack the discipline.

When I was in the midst of leaving my ex, and my family members dying, it was a hell of a lot easier to write. And not just about the drama in my life. Also anything - stories, observations, etc. I won't say I'm uninspired here because that would be unkind to NYC. I am untethered, though. Some days it feels as if I've lived here forever and would be happy to stay, other days I wake up and think, seriously, what the fuck am I doing here? I see something inspiring here, something that makes me have an original thought, and my mind races. I don't write it down, though.

March is my birthday month, and I decided to write every day for 10 minutes as an experiment. Perhaps the problem is that its not a habit. Its something I know I need to do but struggle to make happen - like working out and eating right. It feels that essential, to write, to live.