Monday, December 22, 2008

Music P.S.

I saw two good shows this weekend: Oasis and Ryan Adams at the Patriot Center Saturday night and Last Train Home yesterday at Iota. Ryan Adams was quirky and funny (and good), and Oasis was LOUD.

I was thinking -- from my excellent seats in the third row on the right (thanks, D.O.!) -- that that volume of noise can not be good for your ears. So I made some tissue-paper ear plugs and then enjoyed the show. The lead singer is really full of himself but the music was fun, especially the only two songs of theirs I actually know: Wonderwall and Champagne Supernova.

Last Train Home was awesome, as usual, and their Sunday afternoon gig at Iota was a nice way to kick off this last crazy week before the holiday. I also hope to hear them out at the Flathead Lake Brewing Company in Big Fork, Montana in 2009. They've played there before and say they're planning to again -- that would be a blast.

And finally, my all time favorite band this year, Old Crow Medicine Show, will be on the Conan O'Brien show Tuesday, Dec. 23rd, at 12:35 a.m. They're also doing two shows at the John Paul Jones Arena at UVA on April 17th and 18th -- they're opening for the Dave Matthews Band. If you can see them, do it -- they are the shit, as Nickie would say.

Solstice Optimism

OK so it may be only 17 degrees outside, and with the whipping wind it feels like 3, but yesterday was the winter solstice. That means each day from now on it gets lighter just a little bit earlier, and although it may indeed be freaking freezing out there, we are on the upswing to summer.

I'm about to head out for a run. This will be the coldest day so far for me, Evelyn, Lynn and Nellie. Ann already left for a two-week holiday trip to Utah and Hawaii, so she'll miss today's fun. We'll be well armed thanks to the nifty face masks Evelyn gave us for presents. We'll all look like outlaws -- or Hannibal Lector -- covered below the eyes in black foam with breathing holes over the nose and mouth area.

This is the third winter solstice since I started this blog. Three times I've noted that the shortest day of the year has passed, and we're on the upswing to lighter, warmer mornings. Lots of changes around here as three solstices have come and gone. Lots of howling at the moon and then just getting on with things.

As one more year winds down, I'm trying not to think about the novel that still sits unfinished, the bills that have to be paid, the hard work required to make my business a success, and other challenges I can't avoid in the new year.

For now I'm gonna put on my running shoes and my Jesse James mask and head out into the frigid pitch dark morning. I'm gonna hit the trail and log my four miles, because I know it always makes me feel better, calmer and ready for anything. Just gotta keep moving, and the rest will take care of itself. At least that's the mantra I use to quell the worried voices in my head.

I usually write these posts after my run, when the endorphins are flowing and my natural optimism is riding high. I should be there in about an hour -- and hopefully by the next solstice I can report that the novel IS finished, the business IS making it and all the other stuff has also taken care of itself. Inshallah.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Change We CanNOT Believe In!

Tom Vilsack for Secretary of Agriculture in the new Obama administration? Talk about the fox guarding the hen house! Vilsack has been a huge supporter of industrial agriculture, CAFO's (factory farms) and genetically engineered crops, and was voted "Governor of the Year" by the Biotechnology Industry Organization.

To protest this outrageous sign of business as usual from our new 'agent of change,' who took money hand over fist from these guys on his way to the White House, sign this petition by the Organic Consumers Association.

They are mobilizing hundreds of thousands of people to say NO to Vilsack. Their website links to several alternative choices who would move us forward toward safer, sustainable agriculture -- in other words, real change.

Monday, December 08, 2008

The Beautiful Truth


Check out the trailer for the new movie The Beautiful Truth, about the Gerson Institute and its organic, plant-based approach to healing cancer and other diseases. I was psyched to attend the opening in L.A. in November (thanks to my fabulous San Diego Thanksgiving with Lynne and co.), and hope to do some work for the organization and its warm and inspiring executive director, Anita Wilson, in the new year.

Max Gerson came up with his novel, nutritional approach in Germany in the 1920's. The mainstream, allopathic medical industry in the U.S. has been trying to discredit it every since. Why? Because there's no money to be made encouraging people to eat more fruits and vegetables! The "war on cancer" -- and heart disease, etc. -- is a multi-billion dollar industry in this country. Big pharma and big agriculture are big business.

If everyone quit eating chemical-covered food and feedlot meat, ate a natural plant-based diet the way Americans did 100 years ago, and quit taking all the drugs and vaccines our doctors/drug pushers are so quick to recommend (because they've been brainwashed by the pharmaceutical industry, which provides huge amounts of funding -- and control -- for their education and research), we'd be a lot healthier and see far fewer of the chronic illnesses that plague our population: obesity, diabetes, MS, CF, autism, Parkinsons, and of course CANCER.

That's the beautiful truth, as discovered by a 15-year-old boy who travels around the country exploring the connection between nutrition and health for a school (or homeschool) project. It's an eye opener.

Other good movies on this subject that challenge the way things are: Healing Cancer From the Inside Out; Eating: The RAVE Diet; and Food Matters. I like this quote in Food Matters: "One quarter of what you eats keeps you alive, and the other three quarters keeps your doctor alive."

Despite our quick and easy diets of cheap, abundant and convenient processed food, and despite the FDA's and USDA's shameful dereliction of duty as they feed at the industry trough, everyone knows the old adage -- and we also know in our hearts it's true: We ARE what we eat.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

A New Day?

Watching the returns with a boisterous bunch of Obama supporters last night, including my very engaged daughter Maddie (and with regular calls from her older sister, who giddily stood in the rain for hours to vote for president for the first time yesterday), even a diehard cynic like me couldn't help but get swept up in all the excitement. Especially -- after years of grief from all my yankee family and friends for even living in the Old Dominion -- when VA did us proud and turned blue!

Seeing those crowds of ecstatic people dancing in the streets and parks and squares all over America, you couldn't escape the sense that this really WAS a huge deal, that electing a black man represented something that transcended all of the serious problems in the system and in our country. I am still skeptical that Obama can enact real change in some of the major trouble spots: the wars, the financial mess, and much-needed health care reform.

Still, knowing he took too much money from Fannie Mae, Wall Street, big pharma and AIPAC (to name just a few from my bad-guys list), and knowing that within his first 100 days we might see far less substance than promised, for just a few hours last night -- and really, for the next four years -- the significance of his spectacular achievement eclipses those concerns. This morning I think everyone woke up with a sense of wonder that truly ANY child in this country can grow up to be president.

Granted, you have to sell your soul to get there, and who in their right mind would want it? But Obama smashed through the ultimate glass ceiling and all the ramifications of that are just starting to sink in. Pretty cool.

Does repeating Yes We Can make it so? In the case of a black man becoming president, we now have our answer. In the case of pushing congress to do the right thing -- conduct critical investigations, be responsive to contituents and stand up to the groups that line their pockets -- for now we'll have to rely on the other word Obama likes to throw around: hope. That and the inspiration hangover he got us all drunk on last night.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

A Mile High on Life





Achewa -- Sitting here at my laptop, at the big, smooth wood-slat table that Michael made by hand, on Buffalo Trail way high up on the ridge in Somers, Montana, gazing out across Flathead Lake to the Swann and Mission mountains, and life is good. I hate to brag (yeah, right! I hear a chorus shouting), and I'm sorry if this makes anyone else feel bad about themselves and wish they were here too (laughing heartlessly), but I simply can't contain my joy and just plain happiness every time I look out the window onto this amazing vista.

I dont know why it is, I honestly don't have a clue where this came from, but I feel so peaceful and calm and RIGHT when I am here -- I feel creative and energized and every moment, no matter what I am doing, I actually live in the now, which is normally very hard for me. This place is totally Power of Now!

I just got back from running, and it was a little scary because I saw a big horned animal of some sort dash up a hillside in the woods as I approached. Was it running from me? or from the mountain lions Jane saw in her yard twice last week? I had a can of bear spray with me, but everyone knows mountain lions stalk their prey -- from behind -- and they enjoy it! At that point I decided to turn around and go back the way I came, where other houses were, and hopefully people. I'd forgotten my cell phone and had visions of being found by someone in a pickup truck hours from now, a bloody carcass by the side of the rutted dirt road. Yes, roll your eyes and call me a drama queen if you must, but mountain lions are no joke!

The photos are of the Going to the Sun Road, an incredible ride that snakes up 35 miles to Logan Pass at the top of Glacier, and is only open in the summer because of high winds, falling boulders and avalanches. Lucky for me -- lots of lucky things seem to happen here -- they opened it up last Saturday because the weather was so beautiful. It has been sunny, clear and warm all week -- really unusual and everyone here is thrilled about it.

I now have to finish a couple of scenes in the novel before my workshop starts tomorrow. Liza is scheming her next rendezvous with Henry, and Brian is preparing for a difficult meeting with the lawyers who are handling his case against the priest who abused him. They're all rattling around noisily in my head. Henry is actually starting to stamp his feet -- he can't wait to get his hands on Liza again. Brian is so nervous he's making me sick to my stomach, so I'm gonna do exactly what Hannah R. Goodman says: just vomit it up, get it all out, and worry about the mess on the page later. (See Hannah, I do listen!)

Then I'm headed to the last farmers market of the season in Whitefish, which has live music and is more like a street festival. Joanie, Jane, Alice and I are getting things for a dinner Jane and Alice are throwing here tomorrow night for various friends, environmentalists, conservationists and a few musicians, including Jack Gladstone -- check him out at http://www.jackgladstone.com/. He's Blackfeet Indian and I watched him record his new CD yesterday, The Heart of Montana -- at a studio here in Somers, which was really fun. The national Christmas tree is from Montana this year, and Jack is performing at the lighting in DC in early December. Of course we're gonna have a party for him, so stay tuned!

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Nine Miles and OCMS


Just finished our last training run for the Army 10-Miler -- Ginny, Andrew, Elizabeth and I -- nine miles on a crisp, cool, perfect fall morning. And we all felt great! Finished in about 1:40, or 11-minute miles, which is ok because you're supposed to do the training runs up to two minutes slower than your race pace. I'd like to do the race in under 1:40, since my best previous time is 1:41:something, but you never know. Last week I felt lousy during the entire run, today was a piece o' cake. It's always a crapshoot. Last year it was unseasonably HOT the day of the race.

If we have good weather and if I feel good that day, I just might meet my goal. But the big news today is we're DONE -- one more track day left but all the long runs finished. And tonight we're going to see Old Crow Medicine Show at the 9:30 Club: rock me mama like a wagon wheel -- yeehah! I'm not driving, and I'm not getting up early in the morning for any damn long run. No sir, we are done!

And -- as the icing on the cake -- I leave at dawn on Friday for the last best place again. Gonna learn about screenwriting at my workshop; run alongside the rushing river in Big Fork; listen to Jane's friend play guitar at the Whitefish Boat Club; ride at the Bar W; and dance with the wranglers at the Blue Moon -- someone pinch me, I must be dreaming! :)

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Not a Bad Way to Go


My across-the-street neighbor Duncan MacLeod died last Sunday. He was 83, a quirky, funny, friendly and sometimes grumpy old Scotsman, a former CIA covert agent and WWII veteran who earned a purple heart and a bronze star at a battle on the Anzio beachhead in Italy.

He'd had a debilitating illness a few years ago and worked really hard to come back from being almost bedridden. He faithfully did his physical therapy, walked and puttered around in his yard -- which he was passionately devoted to -- and eventually worked his way up to riding a bike down on the W & OD Trail at the foot of our street. I used to get a kick out of seeing him go off each morning. He seemed much older and more frail but just as happy as could be, riding along on his big, blue old-fashioned bike. It was one of those ones with the thick tires and wide brown leather seat. He sat completely upright, which I'm sure was easier on his back, and wore his helmet -- most of the time.

But he never carried any ID or a cell phone, and last Friday he apparently had a massive heart attack while riding. It was a beautiful day, cool and clear with perfect blue skies. Our friend Tom Carter was riding his bike to work and saw the police gathered near Bluemont Park, and more officers searching further along on the side of the trail. Even though he'd be late for a meeting, he turned around to see what had happened. I'd seen Tom earlier that morning when we were all out doing our usual Friday run. After a while you get to know many of the people who use the trail on a regular basis, so he stopped to see if anyone he knew was hurt.

The police couldn't identify Duncan, so Tom called me. I went across the street and asked his wife of 58 years, Marcy, if he was home. She cheerfully reported that he was still out on his daily ride. The police came to talk to her, and took her to the hospital where Duncan had unfortunately been put on a ventilator because they didn't know he had a "do not rescuscitate" order. The only good thing about that was it gave his three daughters time to get here from Boston, Connecticut and London. They gathered at the hospital with all their kids and quietly let him go.

Duncan's daughter Wendy MacLeod is a well-known playwright, and playwright-in-residence at Kenyon College in Ohio. She wrote The House of Yes, which was made into a great movie starring Parker Posy that won an award at Sundance. She is an amazing writer, and gave the most wonderful eulogy at Duncan's service. She said that during the past several years, he would occasionally report on an old friend who had died and would say, "He dropped dead of a heart attack -- lucky bastard!"

As our good Samaritan Tom commented later, "Duncan had a great life, and he died at 83 doing something he loved on a beautiful fall morning. There are a lot worse ways to go."

Completely unrelated sidenote: During his last week of life, Duncan had the pleasure of seeing our big silver maple tree covered in a festive display of toilet paper each day as he went about his business. The deed was done over Labor Day weekend while we were out of town. The culprits: young boys on bikes who also drew giant whimsical pictures of penises in the street and on my driveway with shaving cream. According to my next-door neighbor Steve, they set off firecrackers and shouted "I love you!" at the house as they rode off into the night, full of piss and vinegar no doubt, as we used to say in Rhode Island.

One can only assume these sweet declarations were directed at our darling Maddie. Eric, my other across-the-street neighbor who lives next to Duncan, kindly sent me the photo for posterity, and we all had a good laugh about the curious thinking processes of 15-year-old boys -- truly a wonder and a mystery.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Evelyn's ATV Adventure


So yesterday, as I was trying to decide on a theme for my usual melancholy Summer's End post, I got this great email from Evelyn, A-#1 designer, running partner and partner in several misdemeanor capers as well over the years.

I saw the bruises myself this morning, and that girl is lucky she lived to tell the tale, and to run again! We both agreed that getting injured and not being able to run or exercise any more would be a fate almost worse than anything in terms of the quality -- and energy -- of our lives...Here's her story...

Evelyn: I'm doing well, although a little banged up. My fun-loving wacky brother invited us up to his in-law's cabin this past weekend right outside of Berkeley Springs. He was excited to introduce us to the wonderful world of ATV's-having just bought two himself. Since we all went dune buggy riding out in Oregon and thought it was a total blast, I figured this could be cool. And it was, to a certain extent, except for the fact that it is totally FÖÖKIN INSANE! The course was more suited towards say a professional motor cross'r than little 'ol minivan drivin' 'round Arlington Ev and was only one way - no turning back: this should have been a warning sign.

Anywho I'm driving along pretty well, anxiously anticipating the end of this thoroughly enjoyable, bone-jarring, back twisting funfest, when I came upon a deep gully that boggles my novice ATV navigational skills. Going right could potentially mean driving myself right off the side of the mountain ala Thelma and Louise. But remember how the ending didn't show the final hideous conclusion that would have rendered our two heroines into an unrecognizable blend of human and t-bird parts? Instead it conveniently ended freeze frame, car at its apex, occupants off into the great blue, unscathed, free of torment and indecision. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky...my ending would include those missing ingredients...gravity and impact. So I prudently choose the left –

Wrong.

I wind up driving into the chasm, coming to an abrupt stop, falling off...slowly… as the ATV falls with me, resting on my left knee that couldn't move out of the way because my goddamn foot was pinned under the tire tread -- budding triathlon career flashing quickly before my eyes! Luckily, said wacky brother (and this is the sane one) was right behind and quickly removed the offending vehicle. Afterwards he was like "Hey you want to go again?"

NOT!

I went back to the cabin, opened the appropriate alcoholic beverage(s), got on my bathing suit and went tubing down the creek for the rest of the afternoon, happy in the knowledge that once again I've emerged intact from yet another familial bonding adventure.

Karen: Thanks, Ev -- great tale, well told! And most importantly, a happy and injury-free ending. I would be SO bummed if you weren't there on the trail this morning at 5:30 a.m., and all other future mornings as we head toward the dark, cold days of winter, to help me discuss and deliberate and make sense of another season, another election, another job, another year...so let's stick to run/bike/swim Evil Knieval stunts from now on, OK?!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Extra Heads



The thing about people who live in rural Maine is, they hunt. And as a result, they sometimes have extra heads hanging around, like these here. My brother plans to take them to his fishing camp out on Big Beaver Pond -- 200-acres way off the beaten track (far from the maddened crowds of Rangeley, pop. 1000, that is) with just two cabins on it, Mark's and one other guy's. He fly fishes there, and the sound of the loons across the water is haunting and beautiful. But for now, they're just hanging around the office, and are the first thing you see as you enter. A funny little reminder that we weren't in Arlington any more...

The other head is a moose my nephew Byron got when he was 14. He won a prize for biggest antlers in the state that year. I've never been a big hunting enthusiast, but that's gotta be a pretty cool experience for a teenaged boy.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Wide Open Spaces










This country has many incredibly beautiful places, and I've been lucky enough to visit two of them in the last few months. After a week in Montana in late April (and another trip planned for a writers conference in Kalispell in early October), I just spent two weeks driving up through New England again, like last summer. But this time I went to Rhode Island, Cape Cod (Osterville, Craigville Beach, Hiannis), Boston (Newbury Street, the North End, Freedom Trail and Quincy Market), and finally three blissful days in the lakes region of Maine. And surprisingly, two weeks in the car with 15-year-old Maddie and her pal Kelsey was just about the most fun I've had all year.

My brother Mark has carved out a remarkable life for himself in Rangeley, Maine, population 1000. During the summer that number swells with vacationers drawn to the region and all the cool stuff it offers: fishing, boating, swimming, hiking, fresh lobster that melts in your mouth; fields of wild purple lupine and Indian Paintbrush everywhere; sunny, breezy days and cold, crisp nights; small town life with a 10-minute July 4th parade of kids' bikes and carriages decorated like floats; church suppers and fireworks on the lake; and so many stars it's unbelievable -- like a giant twinkling blanket that looks like it's laying right there on top of you, close enough to reach out and grab.

We stayed in an old farmhouse (circa 1865) Mark owns and rents out, which sits on 100 acres next door to Pleasant Acres, his home, forestry business and Christmas tree farm that sits on another 100 acres. Our house had its own beautiful pond, a view of Saddleback Mountain to the left (see the "saddle" in the photo?), and an overgrown road/trail through the fields and woods where I went running. Marie and I drove through a few times to tamp it down a bit; it was teeming with wildlife but otherwise so quiet and still, so private and beautiful and removed from everything. My heart sang as i chugged along, just elated to be there alone in such an amazing place. I know this is so corny, but I couldn't help thinking of that Dixie Chicks song I love, Wide Open Spaces, and how that is exactly how I felt, exactly what I needed this year, and what I seem to be craving on a regular basis lately, as I negotiate through the changes I'm making and into the future.

She needs wide open spaces
Room to make a big mistake
She needs new faces
She knows the higher stakes
She knows the higher stakes.

Well ain't that the truth?!

Maddie and Kelsey were great travel companions, if a bit obsessed with capturing all the fun they were having in pictures. Kelsey was the best car-trip kid i've ever met -- whenever Maddie was being a pill Kelsey would agree with me, which drove Maddie nuts but restored harmony every time. She also made two great "Rhode Trip" CDs that we're still enjoying. Our number one best road trip song recommendation? Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show, the hands down winner and favorite new song:

Rock me mama like a wagon wheel,
Rock me mama, any way you feel, hey, mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a southbound train
Hey mama rock me.

How in the world did it happen that I love country music now?! -- crazy! Enjoy the photos.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Sharon and the Solstice




It's the summer solstice again, the longest, brightest day of the year. We celebrated this morning by holding a memorial exercise class in honor of Sharon.

It's impossible to believe it was a full year ago that we attended her funeral, a full year that she's been gone. It still often doesn't seem real. It's easy to sometimes get caught up in our busy lives and forget for awhile, although I'm certain that isn't true for Jeff, Laura, Tom and the rest of her family, who no doubt confront the loss anew every single morning the moment they wake.

Our team of 40 to 50 fellow exercisers is running the Army 10-Miler this year to raise money for pancreatic cancer research, in memory of Sharon, as well as my dad (pictured above) and grandfather and many others who've been touched by the disease. The training kickoff was also today, designed and led by Ginny.

Pancreatic cancer is the LEAST funded yet the fourth greatest killer. Virtually everyone who is diagnosed dies, most within just a few months. Symptoms are vague, and diagnosis almost always comes too late for treatment to be effective. Pancreatica.org, the group we're raising money for, supports efforts to find better early detection methods so people can actually have a fighting chance.

Meanwhile, I'm losing another friend this week too, to geography, not illness. Lynne, who I met at the Mad Manor playground when Cassie was two and I was pregnant with Nickie -- almost 19 years ago -- is moving to San Diego with her family. We've been best friends and kindred spirits since day one, raised our kids together, talked literally every day, homeschooled together, shared books and our education, political and religious passions -- when most people thought we were completely crazy and obsessed.

Lynne (above, with me and Ginny the other night) is the friend I could always call and rant to about whatever new outrage had gotten my blood boiling. She is one of the smartest (but also funniest, bawdiest and most self-deprecating) people I've ever known -- reads several books a week and is a virtual library of information on countless topics. We explored many interests together, and most recently she's led the way down a whole new -- and totally eye-opening path -- with her 9-11 truth activities.

Yup, down the rabbit hole we've gone, all right. It's been fascinating to first resist, then read and watch and learn, and now see other people resist when I challenge prevailing views and raise troubling questions about that huge event and what it means for us today. And right or wrong, the journey has been incredibly stimulating, scary and fantastic.

Lynne and Faton and their kids, Ally and Will (who are still great friends with Cassie), and Paulie, our quirky, wonderful godchild (I watched him being born, one of the coolest things ever), moved to DC 10 years ago and over time (mostly because of Paul's particular challenges) our contact became less frequent, but never less important. We'll still have cell phones and email (thank god!) and I now have a great reason to visit San Diego -- their new place is four blocks from the beach in La Jolla. But of course it won't be the same -- no more meeting for a drink at the Four P's or Nanny's (and staying up way too late) on a week night, no more fly-by's or coffee dates, no more book and DVD swaps. No more knowing that even though we were talking on the phone, she's always been just 20 minutes away.

The summer solstice here again, a whole year passed, and more changes -- and loss -- than I can ever remember. This has been a year of incredible challenges, some painful, some scary, some exciting and new. My business continues to grow, my novel is slowly, slowly coming along, and life keeps moving forward, with or without our permission.

I guess it's a good time once again -- as the school year ends and the lazy days of summer lay wide open before us -- to remember Sharon, to hang onto her beautiful spirit, and to do the best we can with the gifts of life and health and love that we are still so lucky to have. Anything less than total gratitude would be a crime, wouldn't it?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Ya Gotta Love Montana








Where else would the daily special be Tuna Melt with tater tots? At Scotties, a cowboy bar and attached casino (all the bars come with a casino) in downtown Kalispell.

Spent a week out there late last month with Jane, worked on my novel and again just fell in love with the place. (The second photo is my workspace at Jane's neighbor Joanie's, where I did my writing every day. Also the Mission Mountains, the saloon Michael built at Angeda and Jane's beautiful Achewa.) There's something about that area -- the scenery and wide open spaces (like my favorite Dixie Chicks song) -- that I'm really drawn too. Already trying to figure out how to get back again -- maybe a writers conference in the fall. Did I mention people consider Kalispell a vortex, like Sedona, Arizona? It seems to draw creative types and people starting over, and everyone you meet is like a long lost friend.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Color Green


Green's been my favorite color my entire adult life, having supplanted the pink of my tomboy/girly-princess childhood, which remains firmly in second place. My last two cars have been green, my kitchen walls and counters are green, many of my clothes are green. This "Daily Om" message makes me even more happy with my choice. (Photo by Gigi Bate)

Unifier Of Opposites

Green is a combination of the colors yellow and blue, each of which brings its own unique energy to the overall feeling of the color green. Blue exudes calm and peace, while yellow radiates liveliness and high levels of energy. As a marriage between these two very different colors, green is a unifier of opposites, offering both the excitement of yellow and the tranquility of blue. It energizes blue’s passivity and soothes yellow’s intensity, inspiring us to be both active and peaceful at the same time. It is a mainstay of the seasons of spring and summer, thus symbolizing birth and growth.

Green is one of the reasons that spring instigates so much excitement and activity. As a visual harbinger of the end of winter, green stems and leaves shoot up and out from the dark branches of trees and the muddy ground, letting us know that it’s safe for us to come out, too. In this way, green invites us to shed our layers and open ourselves to the outside world, not in a frantic way, but with an easygoing excitement that draws us outside just to sniff the spring air. Unlike almost any other color, green seems to have its own smell, an intoxicating combination of sun and sky—earthy, bright, and clean. In the best-case scenario, it stops us in our tracks and reminds us to appreciate the great experience of simply being alive.

Green balances our energy so that, in looking at it, we feel confident that growth is inevitable. It also gives us the energy to contribute to the process of growth, to nurture ourselves appropriately, without becoming overly attached to our part in the process. Green reminds us to let go and let nature do her work, while at the same time giving us the energy to do our own.


Isn't that cool? I love the Daily Om. http://www.dailyom.com/

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Spiders and Sick Kids











I got back from Haiti a week ago and once again it was a grueling trip with lots of rewards and intense experiences. But before I get into all that -- the desperate needs of that poor messed up country, etc. -- can I get a little shock and awe for waking up to find this freaking monster crawling across my bed last Thursday morning?! I had gotten up before dawn to take a (cold) shower and wash my hair for the first time since we got there. When my flashlight caught that thing, I literally almost passed out. Had it been there while I was sleeping? Did it crawl across me and inspect me during the night? The thought still makes me nauseous.

Evelyn looked it up this week and said it's a Chilean tarantula, and Haiti is about as far north as they roam. I have to honestly admit that the instant I saw that creature a very firm resolution formed in the core of my being. Someone else on our committee can have a turn next year. I am no Paul Farmer. I'll continue working and writing grants for our clean water projects, which I've come to believe are the very most important thing we can do for the village and people of Medor, from right here stateside for the next while. I had to get back in that bed and sleep one more night there -- after inspecting every inch of my room with my flashlight first, of course -- and I barely slept a wink before hiking 2 1/2 hours back down the mountain and driving the rest of the day back to Port au Prince on Friday.

Now a few people have asked me how I had the presence of mind to take these photos anyway. Well I didn't at first. I fled the room like any sensible person, and since everyone was still asleep I went and took my shower. When I came out the spider was gone, which as you can imagine was even worse than if it had still been there. I had to go to an early mass that Pere Leroy had organized as a special treat for us, because getting up at dawn and working all day until dark wasn't fun enough, I guess. When we got back from mass, where I obsessed about how to find and get rid of the monster, it was back hanging out on the side of the bed. I took the photos because for some crazy reason my closest friends and loved ones think I'm prone to exaggeration. I prefer to think I just expereince life a bit more vividly than some people. I knew they would never believe how big this sucker was if I didn't have proof. So I took the pics and then Lori, who grew up on a farm in Iowa and thus is completely impervious to fear of animals of any kind, grabbed it in a plastic trash bag and took it outside. Unfortunatley, the wiley bugger escaped and was NOT in the bag, so we screamed, ran back inside, found it again, Lori grabbed it again, this time really showing it who was boss, and we brought it outside.

Heidi, a yoga and peace-loving Filipino who meditates every morning and has her favorite chants on her I-Pod, but who nonetheless has happily eaten cat, dog, crickets, cockroaches and other bugs, brains, stomach, intestines, frogs, snakes and just about anything in the world that lives, was compassionately saying "Don't kill it!" She also rescued a moth that landed in Mark's soup at dinner one night, dried off its little wings, took it outside and set it free. Did I mention this woman eats anything that crawls, walks, swims or flies?? And I mean anything. Too funny.

OK, so aside from mutant spiders, we also saw 825 sick children in four days at our makeshift clinic, which we set up on the ground floor of the rectory. The second day we woke up to 200 people below our windows at 5 a.m., lining up to get in. Heidi, who aside from her unashamed relish for kittens and puppies au jus, is an incredibly smart, hardworking, calm and most important, funny, pediatrician, organized everything and had me triage all the kids: name, age and complaint. Mark, who works in computers at USA Today, was the mad scientist pharmacist, and did an amazing job. Lori, a nurse who hasn't practiced in 15 years while raising her kids, got a crash refresher course and could probably head up an E.R. now. Bill manned the door with help from Sister Elita, who whipped the storming hordes into shape with numbered cards and a switch in her hand, bless her heart! It truly would have been chaos without her. We left her all the leftover donated meds we brought for her school kids -- ten 50-pound suitcases that a bunch of helpers carried three hours up the mountain on their heads, many of them barefoot. They hiked way faster than we did, and hauled those huge bags like they were full of cotton balls, it was unbelievable.

I now know many Creole terms for cold, cough, fever, earache, headache, stomach ache, diarreah, chest pain, skin rash, worms and poor appetite, otherwise known as malnutrition. We saw adorable 17-day old twin babies, and a 7-day-old newborn who was perfectly healthy and had no business being around all those sick kids. We saw some very serious cases too, such as a girl with a large lump of what was probably bone cancer growing out of her spine; a boy with stick thin legs bowed by polio; a boy who was blind in one eye and didn't even know it; several cases of pneumonia (including one dehydrated boy with a 105 fever who threw up all over Lori); and a girl (about 10) whose kidneys were failing. We had to tell her poor, bone thin and exhausted father, as he held her in his arms, that he had to carry her to the nearest hospital right away, a seven hour walk. He broke down and sobbed.

The vast majority of the illnesses, however, were caused by dirty water (and not enough food). The colds, coughs and fevers, the skin rashes and infections, the chronic diarreah, the failure of babies to thrive and learn and grow, would all clear up if they only had clean water to drink, cook with and bathe in. Watching the hundreds and hundreds of people wait all day long, just for the opportunity to be seen and touched by a real doctor, I often felt as though we were spitting into the wind. We were helping relieve symptoms, but once their vitamins, skin creams and antibiotics ran out, they would be sick again with the very same problems. Until we get all the water sources in all the farflung chapels cleaned up, these will be chronic problems.

Our driver/translator Monty was great -- a fun, cheerful reggae lover with dreads who laughed his head off as he careered over the bumps and rocks on the crazy Haitian roads while I hung on with white knuckles and slammed on my imaginary passenger-side brakes again and again, blurting out 'Oh no!" and "oh my god!" and "watch out!" over and over very helpfully. Check out his website at http://www.thespiritofhaiti.com.

We parted on a very awkward note, however, after Monty insisted that our rental car -- a brand new SUV with the plastic still on the visors -- took diesel fuel. Mark and I both were sure it took regular gas, as did the Haitian gas station attendants when we stopped to fill up on our way back to the airport Saturday morning. Monty insisted, saying he had driven this car before. So we filled it up with diesel and the car died half a mile later by the side of the road. Pepe, our second driver, dropped off the rest of our group and came back to get us. It was 7 a.m., Avis didn't open until 8, and we had to get through the long security lines and onto our 9 o'clock flight.

I had rented the car with my credit card. Monty was horrified by his mistake and shut down completely. He couldn't apologize and barely said goodbye. I told him I was counting on him to straighten it out, that I didn't want to be charged for the repairs. He was noncommital. So far there's been no charge at all to my Visa card, and Avis is trying to track down what happened. Hopefully it will all be OK. It was sad to end things on such a weird note after the great week we all had together.

The internet was down in Medor so it was fun to return to all the news we'd missed: Elliot Spitzer, Cuban soccer players defecting, Obama and Hillary, etc. Like last time, stepping into Miami airport, so clean and bright, with hot water and good food and news and magazines, was heaven. I admit it, I am so tremendously grateful that through a simple accident of fate, I was born at the top of the heap in the developed world. Besides offering the chance to help people who really need it and experiencing something so different from our own lives, Haiti very quickly puts your own cares and troubles right into perspective. That is its greatest gift of all.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Doubting Liza and Back to Haiti

My writers group critiqued my next 50 (or actually 60) pages last night and guess what -- they did not hate it! I'm so excited! Last time, during my baptism in this particular brand of self-inflicted torture, they ripped my precious baby apart, couldn't stand Liza and found Henry insufferable. When I told them the book was also about the pedophilia scandal in the catholic church, they all burst out laughing -- that's how NOT likely it seemed from the first four chapters.

Last night it was just the six guys in the group and me; our two other women members, Jackie and Juhi, couldn't make it. I’d sent my pages in earliest and so was up first on the docket. And at the risk of sounding as goofy as Sally Fields, they liked it! They thought it was well written and really started cooking with the story line about Brian being abused. A couple of the guys actually liked the early scenes, in which Liza has lunch with Henry, the best, which is a real surprise and gives me hope that it isn't just Chick Lit after all, although the other guys definitely preferred the scenes about Brian.

One of the guys thought I revealed Brian's past too quickly, and suggested I drag it out more to maintain the tension as Brian falls off the wagon and makes a general mess of things. I think that's a good idea -- I do tend to rush all the good parts when I'm really getting into my writing. Very reflective of my own nature, but not so good for a novel. I totally rushed the steamy sex scene Hannah had me write last month, and my assignment now is to slow it down and savor the details. Waaaah -- that's so hard for me, especially for this scene!

Of course, Hannah must be thinking I fell off the earth lately, since a month has passed since she gave me that assignment. I have been hugely distracted by other things in my life, but it’s coming, Hannah – I’m getting back in the saddle and need another 50 pages for my next turn with the group at the end of April. It’s amazing how a little praise can go straight to my head – sad, really, but I’ll take the motivation anywhere I can get it.

Off to Haiti again on March 8th for a pediatric health clinic in the village of Medor. We’re (Heidi, the actual pediatrician and four willing assistants) going to see as many as 700 kids in 4 days – should be a blast.

I’ll also be looking for more inspiration and information for my next novel, about a seriously doubting catholic priest, a 40-something woman searching for meaning in her life (ha ha!) and the virtual enslavement of poor Haitians and other nasty doings on a sugar plantation in the Dominican Republic.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Rhode Island Retreat



I just got back from a week in Rhode Island, where I went to meet with my writing coach and kickstart my novel again. I stayed (blissfully alone) at my mom's condo, which sits right on Narragansett Bay next to historic Pawtuxet Village, site of the "first blow for freedom" in the Revolutionary War.

Pawtuxet Village, in Warwick, was the site of the burning of the Gaspee, a British revenue ship that ran aground while chasing a packet boat, the Hannah. Locals, fed up with the Brits' heavyhanded tactics and unfair levies, attacked the boat and burned it to the water line in 1772. The incident led to the forming of Committees of Correspondence in Boston and Virginia, and eventually to the Battle of Lexington and Concord.

Makes my little Rhody heart proud -- ironic, I know, coming from an avowed pacifist. Ah well, it's hard not to be inspired by that kind of historic event, even if the reality was probably far less heroic. Those actions (as described in many a book on war) often involve more happenstance, dumb luck and selfish motives -- usually about money -- than far-sighted visions of a new republic. But it's still a great story. The village stages a reenactment each year where they burn a boat in effegy, along with a festive parade and arts fair celebrating the town's early role in the revolution.

Anyway, it was wonderful to spend an entire week quietly working away on my book. I don't think I've spent that much time alone in 20 years. I wasn't a total hermit, enjoyed several dinners with family and friends too. But first I had a great meeting with Hannah, where she basically told me she couldn't stand my main character, Liza. Too perfect, not enough flaws, not enough struggle, and therefore not at all likable. I needed to make her more real, have her make mistakes and get messy. So that's what I spent most of the week working on, and it was a blast.

I also researched locations in the story: the Cathedral and chancery, where the Bishop's office is, as well as the town of Portsmouth, where Liza's husband Brian confronts the former priest who abused him when he was a young teen. My last afternoon, Denise chauffered me around the neighborhoods and along the beach roads as I took notes and searched for the right streets, right houses, right dive bar, right beach.

I had no internet access at my mom's, so I went to a cafe in the village each day to check my email and check in with my clients. It was a small, cozy place where everyone was very friendly and nice. It snowed on Monday, closing schools and covering everything with about three inches -- just enough to be beautiful without making running, walking or driving difficult. I discovered, again, that I could easily get used to small town life, at least for periods of time. As long as it's a real town, with shops and news and good coffee and a couple of pubs within walking distance. All of which Pawtuxet Village has. Despite being situated along the waterfront, with streets leading up to the main road lined with houses dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries, it still has a low-key, working class feel, really charming.

Now that I'm back the trick will be to keep the momentum going, to continue working and writing every day. Seeing the locations with my own eyes, and inspired by Hannah -- who has agreed to work with me one on one from here on out -- I'm excited to get back to the story. I'm also sharing the next 50 pages with my writers group in early February, and unlike last time, I'm not terrified to hear what they think. Like Hannah's, their feedback last time -- as painful as it was -- has been amazingly helpful. I had to mull it and wrestle with it for awhile, but have realized that most of their advice was right on the money. Liza was a bit of a twit, and I wasn't giving the reader much reason to like her.

Now I've got her messing up royally. Hannah even had me write a steamy sex scene -- that was a first and SO hard to do. But tons of fun, and definitely sending Liza down the wrong road just when Brian needs her most. Hmmm, let's see where that leads, shall we? Haha!