How did Coffee News know? They seem to offer decent espresso and telepathy. The first of which I can’t enjoy a cup of given the potential hole in my stomach. Sitting here in the air-conditioning, at my laptop with my ears plugged with Glen Hansard, the placard I was given for my food order was “Funsies”. The defining caption exemplifies the term “Let’s pull funsies on those boys”.
I need some funsies. I would love to pull funsies on some boys. From the moment I woke up yesterday, that was the exact term I was looking for.
This place always delivers. Good coffee. Cute waitstaff. Good food. Good people watching. The only time it didn’t deliver was the first date I had here. They really failed me on that one. This spot offers plenty for the average conversation. A huge sampling of artwork decorates the wall. I even know one of the artists, so I have that going for openers. The crowd is always mixed and interesting. If the people indoors are all Macalester-ites and huddled on their computers (oh man, I hope I don’t look like one right now), the people outside are at least worth commentary. But that day, the first of the online dating e-mails that resulted in an actual date day, there was no conversation to be found. It was hiding under the table.
Back to the funsies. I need a night on the town with the people that make me the silliest. Don’t get me wrong, the trips outdoors have been great fun. A different kind of fun. An enjoyable fun, a satisfactory fun but not a doubled-over, giggle crazy fun time. I need the later. Hard to put yourself into stitches. I need a night of laughter and ridiculousness. In all honesty, I don’t know how my stomach would react to that kind of laughter. Last time it sent me spiraling down the pain cyclone. I’d rather risk it. I need a night to forget about the dumbness of these last few weeks. The dumbness of my doctor’s visits. The dumbness of my new diet. The dumbness that I just wrote “my diet” in all seriousness. The dumbness of my job at the moment. The dumbness of my continued selflessness. I feel a little tapped out of favors. I feel a little exhausted from being so damn nice. I feel a little unlike myself, out of my routine and away from the things I want to be doing.
Screw this melancholy shit … ITunes>Search>Dead Weather.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Belize - Day the Rest
All of the entries prior to this one were written longhand during my trip in April. It took me all these months to transfer the scribbles into typeface. I stopped writing on that 6th day. The island was the island and I must have been all tapped out on new material. Months and months later, when I write today, I can hardly offer you the riveting observations you have gotten used to in my writing. Ha. What I can tell you today about my trip is a little summary of my last days there and offer you the answers to the practical questions I was asked on my return. Questions I never thought to include in my journal. 
The last night on the island was a fun one. After dinner we had a huge bonfire and learned some Belizean folklore and a few smooth moves. A group of men that were working on the nearby resort joined us for the dancing. Only they didn’t dance. They stood in a circle around us and watched a bunch of white Americans & Canadians butcher their culture’s traditional dances. Mostly, they laughed at us. And we laughed at us. A few of us took turns on the handmade drums and set the beat for the rest of the travelers who were light on their feet.
The ride back to Dangriga had one unfortunate passenger, me. The water was choppier on the way back to the mainland. I had the frightful seat where the boat broke the waves. My right side was drenched; my left side remained reasonably dry. I was a sight to be seen. When I was seen, I usually got that half smile, slightly amused, pity face from people. Our luggage was getting thrown about from boat to van and it wasn’t really possible to find some dry clothes. A few of us scrounged for wet-naps to at least rid the salt from our skin for the rest of our travel. We were running to catch a tiny charter to fly us back to Belize City where we’d spend our last night close to the airport. The country of Belize is tiny, but the highways are structured (mostly pointed inland, nothing running north/south along the water) in a way that people will opt to hop on these charter flights to skip north or south.
People always ask about the toilets on the island. For some reason this is what people always want to know. There was a two stall structure that leaned left from a previous hurricane. There was a whole bathroom process that happened in that little room. Basically, it was an outhouse complete with composting toilets. The idea was every time you added your own waste, you would put a cup of cedar chips down the well too. Honestly, I wish all campgrounds used this method, rather than chemically treated. It smelled a lot better and was reusable for fertilizer. The trick was remembering to throw the paper goods in the trash, rather than down the hole. Then we all sterilized the seat after each sitting. It was a lot to think about , waking in the middle of the night with a sudden urge to pee.
Midnight runs to the bathroom followed this logic:
Crap I have to pee.
Find my shoes (our feet didn’t have the Belizean soles, we had to wear sandals at all times because of the coral mixed in with the sand, not to mention the hermit crabs).
Find my headlight (no electricity, remember?)
Relief.
Throw the paper in the TRASH.
Scoop a coconut cup worth of cedar chips in.
Sterilize the seat.
Lower the seat (this is an important one for the sake of bugs, I was on my way down one night and had a HUGE cockroach crawl out from under the seat, I had no choice I was on my way down and had to keep going, giant roach or no).
Lock the door from the outside.
Head to the wash bins. There was one bin full of clean water and one wash bin for the discarded soapy water, and one small bowl for the rinse process. So … Take the small bowl and fill it from the clean water bin, hit the soap, then move over to the discard bin. Pour the water from the bowl over your hands to rid them of the bubbles and let it fall into the soapy bin. That’s how we tried to be hygienic. I doubt this process.
The other question I got a lot was about the drinking water. Most places throughout our stay had filtered water. The island was also filtered, sort of. On a salt water island, if you dig a well a certain yardage from the waterfront you will have a self-filtered water reserve. There is a science to this; it has to be a certain distance from shore and a measured depth. A shallow well, the first few feet will be ‘fresh’ water, filtered from the surrounding sediment. Those few feet of water would be scooped out every few days and aged into our drinking water. It remained a little salty to the taste. Not a thirst quenching water, to be sure, but it kept us hydrated.
My it’s a small world story … One of the vacationers, Jen, was from Seattle, my sister’s city. The whole time we were on the island she kept talking about this fitness boot camp she was going to before we arrived in the Caribbean. When I got home, catching up with family, my sister started in on the same conversation. Turns out they were both in the same class. They later connected. Jen was surviving class with her sister. Since then, I’ve heard Jen has stopped going and now her sister and my sister have talked on occasion. Weird.
Lastly, people always ask if I’d do another REI adventure. My answer to that is yes but under specific circumstances. I would love to do it at the serious, crazy adventure level-scaling mountains and shit. My brain keeps circling the idea of backpacking the Grand Canyon. For something like that, I think it’s a great way to experience the outdoors. You have experienced guides, who are knowledgeable about the land, the gear is all there and waiting for your use, you don’t have to worry about food. For an adventure trip that is pushing your skill level, I think it’s a great way to do it. For leisure travel, I would say… not a chance. I would hate following a group through a city. All in all, this was a great way for someone who was traveling alone and for the first time beyond our borders (somehow Canada and Jamaica don’t count as international travel). At times I felt like I was giving up my own voice in my own vacation, but it was a compromise I was willing to make with my travel ignorance. I’m building my smarts. Really, now I just want to go everywhere and am learning more and more than I can do it - mentally, physically, and financially.
End of story.
The last night on the island was a fun one. After dinner we had a huge bonfire and learned some Belizean folklore and a few smooth moves. A group of men that were working on the nearby resort joined us for the dancing. Only they didn’t dance. They stood in a circle around us and watched a bunch of white Americans & Canadians butcher their culture’s traditional dances. Mostly, they laughed at us. And we laughed at us. A few of us took turns on the handmade drums and set the beat for the rest of the travelers who were light on their feet.
The ride back to Dangriga had one unfortunate passenger, me. The water was choppier on the way back to the mainland. I had the frightful seat where the boat broke the waves. My right side was drenched; my left side remained reasonably dry. I was a sight to be seen. When I was seen, I usually got that half smile, slightly amused, pity face from people. Our luggage was getting thrown about from boat to van and it wasn’t really possible to find some dry clothes. A few of us scrounged for wet-naps to at least rid the salt from our skin for the rest of our travel. We were running to catch a tiny charter to fly us back to Belize City where we’d spend our last night close to the airport. The country of Belize is tiny, but the highways are structured (mostly pointed inland, nothing running north/south along the water) in a way that people will opt to hop on these charter flights to skip north or south.
People always ask about the toilets on the island. For some reason this is what people always want to know. There was a two stall structure that leaned left from a previous hurricane. There was a whole bathroom process that happened in that little room. Basically, it was an outhouse complete with composting toilets. The idea was every time you added your own waste, you would put a cup of cedar chips down the well too. Honestly, I wish all campgrounds used this method, rather than chemically treated. It smelled a lot better and was reusable for fertilizer. The trick was remembering to throw the paper goods in the trash, rather than down the hole. Then we all sterilized the seat after each sitting. It was a lot to think about , waking in the middle of the night with a sudden urge to pee.
Midnight runs to the bathroom followed this logic:
Crap I have to pee.
Find my shoes (our feet didn’t have the Belizean soles, we had to wear sandals at all times because of the coral mixed in with the sand, not to mention the hermit crabs).
Find my headlight (no electricity, remember?)
Relief.
Throw the paper in the TRASH.
Scoop a coconut cup worth of cedar chips in.
Sterilize the seat.
Lower the seat (this is an important one for the sake of bugs, I was on my way down one night and had a HUGE cockroach crawl out from under the seat, I had no choice I was on my way down and had to keep going, giant roach or no).
Lock the door from the outside.
Head to the wash bins. There was one bin full of clean water and one wash bin for the discarded soapy water, and one small bowl for the rinse process. So … Take the small bowl and fill it from the clean water bin, hit the soap, then move over to the discard bin. Pour the water from the bowl over your hands to rid them of the bubbles and let it fall into the soapy bin. That’s how we tried to be hygienic. I doubt this process.
The other question I got a lot was about the drinking water. Most places throughout our stay had filtered water. The island was also filtered, sort of. On a salt water island, if you dig a well a certain yardage from the waterfront you will have a self-filtered water reserve. There is a science to this; it has to be a certain distance from shore and a measured depth. A shallow well, the first few feet will be ‘fresh’ water, filtered from the surrounding sediment. Those few feet of water would be scooped out every few days and aged into our drinking water. It remained a little salty to the taste. Not a thirst quenching water, to be sure, but it kept us hydrated.
My it’s a small world story … One of the vacationers, Jen, was from Seattle, my sister’s city. The whole time we were on the island she kept talking about this fitness boot camp she was going to before we arrived in the Caribbean. When I got home, catching up with family, my sister started in on the same conversation. Turns out they were both in the same class. They later connected. Jen was surviving class with her sister. Since then, I’ve heard Jen has stopped going and now her sister and my sister have talked on occasion. Weird.
Lastly, people always ask if I’d do another REI adventure. My answer to that is yes but under specific circumstances. I would love to do it at the serious, crazy adventure level-scaling mountains and shit. My brain keeps circling the idea of backpacking the Grand Canyon. For something like that, I think it’s a great way to experience the outdoors. You have experienced guides, who are knowledgeable about the land, the gear is all there and waiting for your use, you don’t have to worry about food. For an adventure trip that is pushing your skill level, I think it’s a great way to do it. For leisure travel, I would say… not a chance. I would hate following a group through a city. All in all, this was a great way for someone who was traveling alone and for the first time beyond our borders (somehow Canada and Jamaica don’t count as international travel). At times I felt like I was giving up my own voice in my own vacation, but it was a compromise I was willing to make with my travel ignorance. I’m building my smarts. Really, now I just want to go everywhere and am learning more and more than I can do it - mentally, physically, and financially.
End of story.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Belize - Day 5 & 6
I realized I didn’t write about yesterday at all. We took a two hour kayak out to Middle Cay. The island is largely a research base and houses cute Brit’s that are studying the rays and sharks. I got a chance to snorkel with Karm. Karm is one of three guides; he’s amazing to watch under the water. He has a head full of the longest, neatest dreadlocks I have ever seen. Under the water, skinny in his wetsuit, his dreads float around majestically. Like Ursula underwater. I swam alongside a few barracuda. We spotted a nurse shark tucked under a rock. The shark stayed in hiding and that was quite alright with me. I saw a lobster that was my same size. We kayak sailed back to base over shallow water that housed sting rays few feet. Beautiful. Then a few of us sat around playing cards after dinner, the likely reason I didn’t feel like writing.
I got to taste coconut water and munched on raw coconut. After a hard battle, Ed and Mike cracked the nut open and we all got to see the monkey face under the husk.
It’s hard to keep writing when the time is standing still and blazing past. There aren’t defining events to our days on the island. One day rolls into the next … I feel like I am lacking in observation. I’ve got a sufficient amount of hammock time logged. But I have to say I am disappointed with the hammocks here. Instead of giving way and hugging your butt, the middle remains tight and the leisure activity becomes a balancing act.
Everyone else is burned and I feel like I am losing the race somehow. I need to crisp up tomorrow. Need some battle wounds to show off when I finally make it home. So far my limbs are toasted, not fried and my center is still white girl white. Maybe tomorrow I’ll dive without the rash guard. Why am I wishing for skin cancer?? I’m dumb.
This morning a group of us went fishing. I think it was my favorite thing on the trip so far. Weird, right, for a vegetarian? I caught a lot of large snapper, grouper and grunts. The whole boat was pulling them in minute after minute. It was beautiful to be further out on the water and luckily I brought my camera on board. Two of us even managed to pull in two huge barracudas. Using another fish we pulled on board, our driver filleted the meat into little tendrils for bait. Dragged behind a slow moving boat, the fillets look like jellyfish skimming along the water. Perfect for a barracuda dinner. I’m glad I saw those teeth up close the day AFTER I was swimming with them. I loved the opportunity to be out with just a couple of my travel mates. It’s a different dynamic than the full group. For that reason, I hung back again today in the afternoon.
I still haven’t made up my mind about this kind of travel … I think for the most part I don’t like playing by someone else’s rules. Still this place is amazing. The accommodations are unreal, the food outstanding, and the company is pleasant enough. I would still stay another week if I could. Being here alone (ok, with people but not with my people) does make me a little homesick for the laughter of my friends. It makes me ache to be sharing this with someone. I wish I had another person that could brew up this beautiful place again in rendezvous. I yearn for normal conversation, conversations about nothing instead of getting to know you conversations that say nothing about people. It’s funny that the real world doesn’t exist for us. Time is only told by the meal setting and the sun’s arch. Movies, politics, and work don’t get talked about here. Maybe for the better. We don’t have a clue to what is happening in the US right now. The island has a radio to the mainland that they use twice a day for weather reports, or in the off chance of an emergency. Who knows what’s going on out there?
The wind is ripping through my tent … I feel like I may take flight.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Everybody Poops
If you view me as a “girl”, the kind of girl that doesn’t have basic bodily functions… Stop! Look away! Alt + Back Arrow! ALT + BACK ARROW!!!
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Cause what I have to say isn’t dainty or pretty. Or any other adorable feminine adjective.
I feel weird about splicing this in with my travel writings, but today is today and I feel like writing about now.
The online world has made our medical records immediately accessible. Getting blood work on Friday filled my inbox with results on Saturday and left me wondering ‘what the heck do these mean’ until today, when I heard from my doctor. Reading my own charts … I could tell a few things. Simple math showed me that the test on my liver fell within the standard range. Same for the gallbladder. It was the third test that was most important in this ‘threat of an ulcer’ business. The third test for the H. Pylori bacteria (common cause of Peptic Ulcers) result said … Inconclusive.
I understand the human language pretty well. I can confidently say I have a decent knack for words - can offer spellings, definitions and synonyms to people in need. But… what the hell does Inconclusive mean?
I learned today what Inconclusive meant. Inconclusive means more tests. The subtext on the test results said another specimen was needed. "Bummer," I thought to myself, "I have to go back into the clinic to give more blood”. I couldn’t have been more wrong. My doctor told me the bacteria reading in my blood was right on the border and that the specimen they needed was of the fecal variety.
I can’t poop in a jar! I can’t do it. This is when I become completely immature about my ailments. I don’t even know how to poop in jar. Seriously, how does one poop in a jar? They probably don’t need the whole shooting match, right? Just a sample? A sample seems worse! Does that mean I’m going to have to cut up a piece of my own poop? Like a sausage? Oh god, I don’t do sausage!
The lunch table got a little poop talk. I gave warning and it was addressed pre-consumption. Appropriate microwave talk, no? Hypothetical talk of the most comfortable way to contain your own poop came up. I realized there is only one way that would distract me from my own reality. That way is to take a mental camping vacation - go out into nature, dig a hole, place the container in the hole, etcetera. I can do that. I’ve done that. Hmmm … the square of grass behind my building isn’t really a viable option with apartment complexes towering on both sides of my squat. The house I am sitting for on the other hand…
The thing is - this isn’t going to be a hypothetical situation for very long.
Talking over my poop complex over a sociable G-Chat, a friend put things into perspective for me. “Aren’t you glad they are letting you surrender your own poop? I mean, at least they aren’t coming into claim it themselves.” That was actually a pretty comforting thought. Well, as comforting as poop talk can get.
Ha, I was so excited to write about my poop.
Don’t worry. This is something I will figure out on my own and won’t report back with details (unless there is comic value, anything for that).
Monday, August 10, 2009
Belize - Day 4 I think...
The overcast skies are getting a little old. Yes, it’s beautiful to see a sudden downpour roll in over the Caribbean, but I think we are all ready to roast in the sun.
The Schedule (I think I have a hard time playing by someone else’s schedule):
I tend to wake up with the sun each day around 5:30.
7:30 is breakfast.
First activity of the day by 9:30.
Back to the island by noon.
Lunch.
Second activity of the day.
Back to the island by 5:30.
Dinner promptly at 6:30.
By then it’s dark and we sit around talking for a bit.
Most people head towards by 8pm.
As tired as I am, I can’t do the eight o’clock bed time. I refuse to fall asleep any earlier than 10:30. If I can’t convince someone to stay up and play spoons with me, I usually retire to my bed to write or read. The on/off rain has left us all in constant tent-window madness. Up and down and up. As I write this, it is rather stuffy in my tent, but I chose the murky air over the midnight rise to rain and the need to go out of the tent to let secure the window flaps.
This morning we kayaked to a nearby shallow bay for some snorkeling. I wish I would have practiced at home. Me fighting my bathtub with my mask on seemed ridiculous at the time. Now I wish I would have committed to the self-embarrassment. It’s going to take some time to get used to that feeling. But hell, I’ve got nothing but time on this island a handful more opportunities to figure it out. I’m going to do it. Get over the anxiety of distorted breathing. I took my time heading out but made it out to the seahorse eventually. The second half of the day, I hung back to do my own thing. I don’t think I like traveling with the pack 24 hours a day. It was nice to explore the island and get my camera out for what felt like the first time.
I keep being bothered by the lack of music here. I haven’t heard music since the airport in Atlanta. My ipod is still fully charged ... I just haven’t gotten it out. Even though I completely miss my music … I would hate to plug my ears, since I will undoubtedly miss the sound of the tide as soon as I leave this place.
I can’t say that I’ve learned anything fascinating today. Maybe how to calculate a nautical mile.
Even with all these clouds, the group came back before dinner with a reddish hue. Burns through the stormiest of rain clouds. I’m starting to wonder how toxic my skin has become. The slathering process is outrageous. Sun block in the morning and throughout the day. Come 3pm it’s a good time to add a layer or bug spray to deter the sand fleas. Night time I try to wipe down with a cleansing cloth and then add a layer of lotion to get some moisture back into my salt-ridden skin. My toxic derma has stripped the painted labels off my camera. I’ve hardly even used my camera. One day with my fingers of toxic death and suddenly I just have to remember what all the buttons do. Remember?
I haven’t showered since Banana Bank. My hair is a new kind of crazy. I should have taken pictures and made a hair log. I had no idea my hair could do the things it’s doing.
That’s all I’ve got. Everyone is getting more social by the day. AND my swimsuit strap broke … again! These giant jugs just can't be contained, I guess. Glad I brought two suits.
The Schedule (I think I have a hard time playing by someone else’s schedule):
I tend to wake up with the sun each day around 5:30.
7:30 is breakfast.
First activity of the day by 9:30.
Back to the island by noon.
Lunch.
Second activity of the day.
Back to the island by 5:30.
Dinner promptly at 6:30.
By then it’s dark and we sit around talking for a bit.
Most people head towards by 8pm.
As tired as I am, I can’t do the eight o’clock bed time. I refuse to fall asleep any earlier than 10:30. If I can’t convince someone to stay up and play spoons with me, I usually retire to my bed to write or read. The on/off rain has left us all in constant tent-window madness. Up and down and up. As I write this, it is rather stuffy in my tent, but I chose the murky air over the midnight rise to rain and the need to go out of the tent to let secure the window flaps.
This morning we kayaked to a nearby shallow bay for some snorkeling. I wish I would have practiced at home. Me fighting my bathtub with my mask on seemed ridiculous at the time. Now I wish I would have committed to the self-embarrassment. It’s going to take some time to get used to that feeling. But hell, I’ve got nothing but time on this island a handful more opportunities to figure it out. I’m going to do it. Get over the anxiety of distorted breathing. I took my time heading out but made it out to the seahorse eventually. The second half of the day, I hung back to do my own thing. I don’t think I like traveling with the pack 24 hours a day. It was nice to explore the island and get my camera out for what felt like the first time.
I keep being bothered by the lack of music here. I haven’t heard music since the airport in Atlanta. My ipod is still fully charged ... I just haven’t gotten it out. Even though I completely miss my music … I would hate to plug my ears, since I will undoubtedly miss the sound of the tide as soon as I leave this place.
I can’t say that I’ve learned anything fascinating today. Maybe how to calculate a nautical mile.
Even with all these clouds, the group came back before dinner with a reddish hue. Burns through the stormiest of rain clouds. I’m starting to wonder how toxic my skin has become. The slathering process is outrageous. Sun block in the morning and throughout the day. Come 3pm it’s a good time to add a layer or bug spray to deter the sand fleas. Night time I try to wipe down with a cleansing cloth and then add a layer of lotion to get some moisture back into my salt-ridden skin. My toxic derma has stripped the painted labels off my camera. I’ve hardly even used my camera. One day with my fingers of toxic death and suddenly I just have to remember what all the buttons do. Remember?
I haven’t showered since Banana Bank. My hair is a new kind of crazy. I should have taken pictures and made a hair log. I had no idea my hair could do the things it’s doing.
That’s all I’ve got. Everyone is getting more social by the day. AND my swimsuit strap broke … again! These giant jugs just can't be contained, I guess. Glad I brought two suits.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Belize - Day 3
I can hardly remember this morning. It seems like a lifetime ago. How have we possibly done so much in three days? How have we been through six towns and slept in three different locations. I am looking forward to hunkering down here for the next five nights. Tomorrow we won’t lose part of the day to travel. We are here. On a remote island... doing island-y things.
I was right about the caged macaws and toucans. I didn’t expect the puppy and mangy mutt to wrestle at 5am as well. Stupid of me not to expect that, really.
Most of the day was just spent getting here. An hour car ride south to Dangriga along the Hummingbird Highway. Hummingbird because of all the twists, turns and dips. Like the flight of the bird itself. Somewhere along the rainforest walls there is a spot after an uphill climb where just as we are about to descend, our guide Anatashio throws the car into neutral. Somehow we start rolling backwards uphill. It was a slow pull, but our driver insists that at times it can bring a car back up the hill pretty quickly. A little mystery of Belize. The cause is speculated to be a magnetic shift. That day the magnets of the world must not have been properly aligned.
That drive also gave me a chance to try my first cocoa plant. The insides of the bumpy yellow gourd were not what I was expecting. Fleshy, round seed clusters made up the guts of the plant. It looked like pieces of raw fish, lumped together. I was told to suck on one. Obediently, I did as I was told. The ‘flesh’ was the cocoa plants fruit. Locals suck the pulp off the actual seeds; the seed itself never gets eaten. Standing alone the cocoa seed has very little taste, but that is the part that gets groun
d down and sweetened into my weakness. The fleshy part is actually ve
ry sour.
Who knew?
The drive got some heavy rain and made us all nervous for our destination …. a boat. The downpour politely kept to the mountains. We lucked out with smooth sailing and a few showers for the last ten minutes of the hour long rider. Glovers Reef is 36 miles off the coast. I can see how that boat ride, in the wrong conditions, could easily become a two hour journey.
After lunch, our new hosts stuck us in kayaks regardless of the overcast skies and strong winds. We paddled out a bit and got our first lesson – tipping the kayak. We worked it like pros. You would have never seen such a graceful dump or such a swift remount. Pros except pros that didn’t properly check their gear before setting out on the water. Neither seat had bailing buckets or sponges, so we had to borrow for our boat to float again.
This camp is amazing. The island is shared with a few other businesses but this week it is totally deserted. Our group is the only one on the island. I am in love with our Belizean guides. They ask me to marry them and it seems tempting. The locals are all warm people that are just looking for laughter and lightheartedness.
It is a long way from the hot shower and air conditioning I woke up to, and yet it is still comfortable. I am writing this by kerosene lamp. No electricity. No running water. Compost toilets. There’s a little well water for rinsing off but I am considering avoiding the showers all together for the five days here. We’ll see how crazy my hair gets. My locks are already on their way to wild. It’s funny to think that none of us have any idea what we look like in the real world, day to day. We recognize each other in our rawest states. They will forever remember me with island hair. I have island hair! Awesome.
This place in surreal in beauty and I feel like the group is warming up a bit more.
I have to remember to tell Alicia I ate twelve Johnny Cakes. Pastries here tend to have a man’s name within. Mmmm… what I wouldn’t give for a Fry Jack right now.
I was right about the caged macaws and toucans. I didn’t expect the puppy and mangy mutt to wrestle at 5am as well. Stupid of me not to expect that, really.
Most of the day was just spent getting here. An hour car ride south to Dangriga along the Hummingbird Highway. Hummingbird because of all the twists, turns and dips. Like the flight of the bird itself. Somewhere along the rainforest walls there is a spot after an uphill climb where just as we are about to descend, our guide Anatashio throws the car into neutral. Somehow we start rolling backwards uphill. It was a slow pull, but our driver insists that at times it can bring a car back up the hill pretty quickly. A little mystery of Belize. The cause is speculated to be a magnetic shift. That day the magnets of the world must not have been properly aligned.
That drive also gave me a chance to try my first cocoa plant. The insides of the bumpy yellow gourd were not what I was expecting. Fleshy, round seed clusters made up the guts of the plant. It looked like pieces of raw fish, lumped together. I was told to suck on one. Obediently, I did as I was told. The ‘flesh’ was the cocoa plants fruit. Locals suck the pulp off the actual seeds; the seed itself never gets eaten. Standing alone the cocoa seed has very little taste, but that is the part that gets groun
d down and sweetened into my weakness. The fleshy part is actually ve
ry sour.Who knew?
The drive got some heavy rain and made us all nervous for our destination …. a boat. The downpour politely kept to the mountains. We lucked out with smooth sailing and a few showers for the last ten minutes of the hour long rider. Glovers Reef is 36 miles off the coast. I can see how that boat ride, in the wrong conditions, could easily become a two hour journey.
After lunch, our new hosts stuck us in kayaks regardless of the overcast skies and strong winds. We paddled out a bit and got our first lesson – tipping the kayak. We worked it like pros. You would have never seen such a graceful dump or such a swift remount. Pros except pros that didn’t properly check their gear before setting out on the water. Neither seat had bailing buckets or sponges, so we had to borrow for our boat to float again.
This camp is amazing. The island is shared with a few other businesses but this week it is totally deserted. Our group is the only one on the island. I am in love with our Belizean guides. They ask me to marry them and it seems tempting. The locals are all warm people that are just looking for laughter and lightheartedness.
It is a long way from the hot shower and air conditioning I woke up to, and yet it is still comfortable. I am writing this by kerosene lamp. No electricity. No running water. Compost toilets. There’s a little well water for rinsing off but I am considering avoiding the showers all together for the five days here. We’ll see how crazy my hair gets. My locks are already on their way to wild. It’s funny to think that none of us have any idea what we look like in the real world, day to day. We recognize each other in our rawest states. They will forever remember me with island hair. I have island hair! Awesome.
This place in surreal in beauty and I feel like the group is warming up a bit more.
I have to remember to tell Alicia I ate twelve Johnny Cakes. Pastries here tend to have a man’s name within. Mmmm… what I wouldn’t give for a Fry Jack right now.
Friday, August 7, 2009
The Threat of an Ulcer
I really wanted to post my Belize series in a row. What enjoyable vacation reading. Educational even. Who knew what cashews look like in the growing stage? You do!
But I cannot avoid my ultimate reality this week. And after the phone conversation I just had with my dad, I had to pause my Belize memories, hit New Document and start anew on my current discomfort.
My phone conversation with my dad:
“Yellow?”
“Dad, what the hell are you doing up it's nine o'clock?”
“We’re watching the last 8 minutes of Monk. Can she call you back?”
“Sure, but aren’t you going to wish me luck with my ulcer?”
“You don’t have an ulcer. It’s call nervous stomach. You don’t want to have an ulcer.”
“Dad! I’ve had nervous stomach. Nervous stomach has never laid me out on the floor, immobile.”
“Oh dear. Maybe it’s an ulcer”
“Thanks Dad.”
There are things in that conversation that could get me talking forever. The fact that my dad never answers the phone, is never normally awake at 9pm and how if he is up, he and my mom are undoubtedly watching TV and would never pause it (they can do that, they are like God with a remote) to talk to their daughter. I could talk about his use of the word “she” and how he assumes I only want to talk to my mother. But the point of me writing is not to embarrass my mother publically (I love you Mom, you are my favorite reader).
It sucks to have your insides and your outsides hurt simultaneously. Last week I played too hard and this week I worked too hard, leaving my muscles in constant tension and complete soreness. It was Tuesday that the abdominal pain set in. A pain that wasn’t helped by my chiseled abs pressing so tightly against my internal organ. I spent the week lifting heavy objects, laid out on the couch, leaving work early in pain and learning what foods do the most damage. The four “L”s, that wasn’t intentional but I like the lifting, laid, leaving, learning alliteration.
I don’t think I have an ulcer. I think my stomach lining is inflamed, but I really don’t want to have an ulcer. So I went to the Doctor. She told me I probably have an ulcer. They took a blood sample. I don’t think I’ve ever had my blood drawn as an adult. I don’t have any memory of it. I don’t even know my blood type. Anyway, I’ll get the results tomorrow. This is boring reading, I just know that when I start talking about it people get all concerned and want the information I just gave.
What bums me out the most is not the pain. I mean, the pain sucks, but what sucks more is the bland diet. I don’t know if this vegetarian can live without spices, caffeine, alcohol, cigarettes … Being someone who never restricts what she eats (ok ok I’m a vegetarian, restricted diet exemplified, but as long as it doesn’t poop, I’ll eat any and everything, I have my gluttonous moments, there’s a reason my family calls me a bottomless pit [that was a very long parenthetical statement]), I never gave a second thought to whether I should or shouldn’t be eating something. Selectivity and food do not mix well for me. How many bananas and waffles can I eat? This is terrible!
The other things that has been on my mind this week is people who live with pain everyday and how miserable that must be. To arrange your life according to your pains. That thought is beyond words for me. I should shut my fucking complaining yap!
Lastly, went to Cirque Du Soleil with Alicia. The juggling act had us both in stitches – Sparkle Ham-berg and Wavey-Arms McGee. We laughed so hard, we were both wiping tears from our cheeks. I laughed so hard my insides hurt, but my insides already hurt, which made it hurt more and then I just wanted to cry from the pain but the thought of sobbing seemed too painful. So I won’t cry. But I’ll take that pain any day for a laugh like that. Ohhh Sparkle Ham-berg, I love your jumpsuit. I want to be in it.
But I cannot avoid my ultimate reality this week. And after the phone conversation I just had with my dad, I had to pause my Belize memories, hit New Document and start anew on my current discomfort.
My phone conversation with my dad:
“Yellow?”
“Dad, what the hell are you doing up it's nine o'clock?”
“We’re watching the last 8 minutes of Monk. Can she call you back?”
“Sure, but aren’t you going to wish me luck with my ulcer?”
“You don’t have an ulcer. It’s call nervous stomach. You don’t want to have an ulcer.”
“Dad! I’ve had nervous stomach. Nervous stomach has never laid me out on the floor, immobile.”
“Oh dear. Maybe it’s an ulcer”
“Thanks Dad.”
There are things in that conversation that could get me talking forever. The fact that my dad never answers the phone, is never normally awake at 9pm and how if he is up, he and my mom are undoubtedly watching TV and would never pause it (they can do that, they are like God with a remote) to talk to their daughter. I could talk about his use of the word “she” and how he assumes I only want to talk to my mother. But the point of me writing is not to embarrass my mother publically (I love you Mom, you are my favorite reader).
It sucks to have your insides and your outsides hurt simultaneously. Last week I played too hard and this week I worked too hard, leaving my muscles in constant tension and complete soreness. It was Tuesday that the abdominal pain set in. A pain that wasn’t helped by my chiseled abs pressing so tightly against my internal organ. I spent the week lifting heavy objects, laid out on the couch, leaving work early in pain and learning what foods do the most damage. The four “L”s, that wasn’t intentional but I like the lifting, laid, leaving, learning alliteration.
I don’t think I have an ulcer. I think my stomach lining is inflamed, but I really don’t want to have an ulcer. So I went to the Doctor. She told me I probably have an ulcer. They took a blood sample. I don’t think I’ve ever had my blood drawn as an adult. I don’t have any memory of it. I don’t even know my blood type. Anyway, I’ll get the results tomorrow. This is boring reading, I just know that when I start talking about it people get all concerned and want the information I just gave.
What bums me out the most is not the pain. I mean, the pain sucks, but what sucks more is the bland diet. I don’t know if this vegetarian can live without spices, caffeine, alcohol, cigarettes … Being someone who never restricts what she eats (ok ok I’m a vegetarian, restricted diet exemplified, but as long as it doesn’t poop, I’ll eat any and everything, I have my gluttonous moments, there’s a reason my family calls me a bottomless pit [that was a very long parenthetical statement]), I never gave a second thought to whether I should or shouldn’t be eating something. Selectivity and food do not mix well for me. How many bananas and waffles can I eat? This is terrible!
The other things that has been on my mind this week is people who live with pain everyday and how miserable that must be. To arrange your life according to your pains. That thought is beyond words for me. I should shut my fucking complaining yap!
Lastly, went to Cirque Du Soleil with Alicia. The juggling act had us both in stitches – Sparkle Ham-berg and Wavey-Arms McGee. We laughed so hard, we were both wiping tears from our cheeks. I laughed so hard my insides hurt, but my insides already hurt, which made it hurt more and then I just wanted to cry from the pain but the thought of sobbing seemed too painful. So I won’t cry. But I’ll take that pain any day for a laugh like that. Ohhh Sparkle Ham-berg, I love your jumpsuit. I want to be in it.
Belize - Day 2
Day 2
The birds at the Tropical Education Center have a pleasant morning alarm. I was lucky enough not to have the one obnoxious bird gurgling outside my window. The twittering was soft, musical and unobtrusive. Those sounds got my feet to swing over the edge of the bed at 5am. We were out of there by 9am and onto our next stop – the river float through Mayan caves.
I wish I had a waterproof camera. Instead my memory maker was sitting in a dry bag on Anatashio’s lap. The over-use of camera’s around me left my normally click-happy fingers to do other things. Somehow this ‘touristy’ photo madness turned me off to my own hobby. The only times I played behind the lens was in the moments I found to myself. The river float was amazing. That’s all I can really say about it. Each cave opened to another cavern that opened to an opening with waterfalls pouring from the sky and streaking the eroded stone. Anatashio had taken a group through the day prior and one of the tubers bumped along the wall, put his hand out to push off … only that wasn’t wall. That surface he pushed against with all his might was one of the most poisonous snakes on earth. Luckily, the snake was sleeping and didn’t ruin the traveler’s vacation with a bite. Anatashio lingered behind the rest of the group to kill the poor snake with his bare hands. A pissed off, poisonous snake has no place in a tourist attraction. Sad.
We restacked the inner-tubes and crammed in the van once again to travel to Banana Bank Lodge. My single room is more than comfortable with A/C and mosaic stained glass bathroom. It was a relaxed day at the lodge. We took a boat ride up the Belize River for more birding and ecological banter. By the end of which I had a crick in my neck because I was forever on the wrong side of the boat for the good viewing. I am a terrible birder. I can’t initially spot them, then I can’t find them in the binoculars and don’t even ask about species identification. I never seem to listen to the final verdict on the species. So what it comes down to is this … I can tell you when it’s a Social Flea Catcher (only because I made a joke about Anti-Social Flea Catchers, yes, my memories mostly consist of times I tell a joke and actually get a laugh). And I’m good at pointing out vultures (turkey neck and black vultures alike). That’s all I got. The boat also offered up some good sitings of howler monkeys in their natural environment, iguanas that weigh more than me, and two people whose plan to skinny dip was ruined by our binoculars.
I have never eaten so much rice and beans. Every meal.
Banana Bank is over 4,000 acres. They have a spider-monkey chained to the trees. Very sad, but it was kind of funny to see it play with farm dogs. Everyone in Belize seems to have a jaguar, Banana Bank is no different. Tika-Two. My lodge is a bit detached from everything else. The stone path brings me right alongside the jaguar cage. Cool to say hi to the cat throughout the day, but approaching the chain-link in the dark rattled my nerves a bit. It’s the type of dark that only real wilderness brings. So when the basic silhouette my eyes made out was the shape of a jaguar, this time directly in my path, my heart jumped. The dark made me momentarily forget about the strategically placed feline statute just outside Tika-Two’s den.
I am not looking forward the the 5am bird calls tomorrow morning. Toucans and Cockatoos are caged outside my room. I’m sure I’ll wake to “Hello, Hello”.
Tomorrow we hit a long car ride and an even longer boat ride out to Glover’s Reef Atoll. I can’t wait to hit the water.
The birds at the Tropical Education Center have a pleasant morning alarm. I was lucky enough not to have the one obnoxious bird gurgling outside my window. The twittering was soft, musical and unobtrusive. Those sounds got my feet to swing over the edge of the bed at 5am. We were out of there by 9am and onto our next stop – the river float through Mayan caves.
I wish I had a waterproof camera. Instead my memory maker was sitting in a dry bag on Anatashio’s lap. The over-use of camera’s around me left my normally click-happy fingers to do other things. Somehow this ‘touristy’ photo madness turned me off to my own hobby. The only times I played behind the lens was in the moments I found to myself. The river float was amazing. That’s all I can really say about it. Each cave opened to another cavern that opened to an opening with waterfalls pouring from the sky and streaking the eroded stone. Anatashio had taken a group through the day prior and one of the tubers bumped along the wall, put his hand out to push off … only that wasn’t wall. That surface he pushed against with all his might was one of the most poisonous snakes on earth. Luckily, the snake was sleeping and didn’t ruin the traveler’s vacation with a bite. Anatashio lingered behind the rest of the group to kill the poor snake with his bare hands. A pissed off, poisonous snake has no place in a tourist attraction. Sad.We restacked the inner-tubes and crammed in the van once again to travel to Banana Bank Lodge. My single room is more than comfortable with A/C and mosaic stained glass bathroom. It was a relaxed day at the lodge. We took a boat ride up the Belize River for more birding and ecological banter. By the end of which I had a crick in my neck because I was forever on the wrong side of the boat for the good viewing. I am a terrible birder. I can’t initially spot them, then I can’t find them in the binoculars and don’t even ask about species identification. I never seem to listen to the final verdict on the species. So what it comes down to is this … I can tell you when it’s a Social Flea Catcher (only because I made a joke about Anti-Social Flea Catchers, yes, my memories mostly consist of times I tell a joke and actually get a laugh). And I’m good at pointing out vultures (turkey neck and black vultures alike). That’s all I got. The boat also offered up some good sitings of howler monkeys in their natural environment, iguanas that weigh more than me, and two people whose plan to skinny dip was ruined by our binoculars.
I have never eaten so much rice and beans. Every meal.
Banana Bank is over 4,000 acres. They have a spider-monkey chained to the trees. Very sad, but it was kind of funny to see it play with farm dogs. Everyone in Belize seems to have a jaguar, Banana Bank is no different. Tika-Two. My lodge is a bit detached from everything else. The stone path brings me right alongside the jaguar cage. Cool to say hi to the cat throughout the day, but approaching the chain-link in the dark rattled my nerves a bit. It’s the type of dark that only real wilderness brings. So when the basic silhouette my eyes made out was the shape of a jaguar, this time directly in my path, my heart jumped. The dark made me momentarily forget about the strategically placed feline statute just outside Tika-Two’s den.
I am not looking forward the the 5am bird calls tomorrow morning. Toucans and Cockatoos are caged outside my room. I’m sure I’ll wake to “Hello, Hello”.
Tomorrow we hit a long car ride and an even longer boat ride out to Glover’s Reef Atoll. I can’t wait to hit the water.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Belize - Day 1
Crossing the border alone and boy am I an idiot. I’m pretty sure I filled out the customs paper work wrong. They probably think I am exporting native vegetation and importing American made methamphetamine. I’m not even sure what to write on the entrance paperwork under the line ‘intended address of visitation’ … Um… Something about Glover’s Reef, some other cities along the way? All I want to say is “I have no idea” but I don’t think that would go over well. The downfall of someone else planning your vacation… I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing or where I am going. I fear these first hours render me a failed traveler. I don’t even have the slightest idea how to make an international call home to tell people I am not dead. Ah well, leave my family in suspense for a week.
Day 1
Best airport experience of my life. Enter MSP International. Not a sole at the counters. Not an employee at the security gate. EMPTY. The place is deserted aside from a single file line taking shape in the middle of the spanning hallway. I trust the herd mentality and hope this is going to take me where I need to be. My plane is one of the first to leave the tarmac on this day. Both of my flights were empty. I got a stretching 3 seats to sprawl out on, I got two blankets to snuggle up with, and two bags of peanuts to thoroughly parch my mouth. Hardly a half an hour between flights. Best flight ever! Thanks Delta.
The airport arrival was something else entirely. The travel itinerary was very vague about pick-up. I head outside and hope to see someone standing there with my name in front of their chest. I don’t see it. I don’t see it for a while. In fact, I never see it. For a split second, I almost believed the cabbies that would tell me Island Expedition (yeah, it was a good 20 minutes before I realized it wasn’t an REI company leading the travel) would never pick me up on a Sunday. I thought better of it and stuck it out. Plus, I had no idea where I would even have a cab bring me. I knew the first night was supposed to be by some zoo, or something??
After a bit of waiting, I was found by Anatashio and was whisked away in a sort of official looking van. I was happy not to be the vacations getting piled into the dented caddy with company names spray painted on the side. I spent a few hours waiting at a hotel near the airport until the other travelers arrived. Then it was off to the Tropical Education Center, owned by the Belize Zoo, the sleeping quarters were built by Island Expedition and regularly house researchers, students, and eco-interested travelers.
Rattling of role call and assigning bunk mates. I was paired with twenty-something Heather in cabin 7, but Heather has already formed an earlier alliance and opted to continue th
eir budding relationship. So I became the 13th of 12. The odd man out and the single living lady. Was I sad to miss out on pillow talk? Maybe. I enter my forest cabana complete with tiny porch to find a double bed. I thought, was this the cabin I was supposed to be sharing? I would have had to sleep in the same bed with the people whose names I can’t remember? I find out later that there were double occupancy cabins with two single beds. Here I get to sleep like a queen with two pillows, drape myself in two towels and make myself squeaky clean with two tiny soaps.
Dinner was meager for a vegetarian. I already ate potato salad just for the helping of veggies and egg within. I hate potato salad. Off to a nocturnal visit of the Belize Zoo. I didn’t take a single picture because I was overwhelmed by every other flash and the flood of Petzl headlamps at their highest setting. May as well have been set to strobe.
The zookeeper brings us up some stairs to a wooden deck nestled between two banks of trees. He tells us to look up and then performed his best impression of the Howler Monkey call. As the branches all around us started to shake, I was sure something prehistoric was about to emerge from the canopy. That sound made me bet that T-Rex was about to show and I was the unlucky one who’d get eaten off the toilet. The sound of Howler Monkeys is like freight train meets lion meets the torture device in the Princess Bride. All this sound coming from your average sized, unassuming monkey. Had I heard that sound alone in the woods I would have shit my pants and run the other way. I wish I had someone with me to hear that noise. I would be talking about it for the rest of my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REPoVfN-Ij4
I like this moment to myself in my forest cabana. I’ve stumbled through the day not knowing what to think. Too much to take in. Too touristy? Too peopley? Too planned? Too unreal? Too early to tell. For now, sleep. Can’t wait for the 5:30am bird awakening.
PS Now I know why cashews are so expensive. I have seen a cashew fruit. Yes, fruit! It’s one of the few fruits that the seed grows outside of its body. It has a bright, acidic plum-like fruit and a single nut sits atop. I can imagine the harvesting process. To pick each handful and remove the nut from its body. The fruit itself is rarely used … Cashew wine, not so good.
Speed bumps are sleeping policemen.
Day 1
Best airport experience of my life. Enter MSP International. Not a sole at the counters. Not an employee at the security gate. EMPTY. The place is deserted aside from a single file line taking shape in the middle of the spanning hallway. I trust the herd mentality and hope this is going to take me where I need to be. My plane is one of the first to leave the tarmac on this day. Both of my flights were empty. I got a stretching 3 seats to sprawl out on, I got two blankets to snuggle up with, and two bags of peanuts to thoroughly parch my mouth. Hardly a half an hour between flights. Best flight ever! Thanks Delta.
The airport arrival was something else entirely. The travel itinerary was very vague about pick-up. I head outside and hope to see someone standing there with my name in front of their chest. I don’t see it. I don’t see it for a while. In fact, I never see it. For a split second, I almost believed the cabbies that would tell me Island Expedition (yeah, it was a good 20 minutes before I realized it wasn’t an REI company leading the travel) would never pick me up on a Sunday. I thought better of it and stuck it out. Plus, I had no idea where I would even have a cab bring me. I knew the first night was supposed to be by some zoo, or something??
After a bit of waiting, I was found by Anatashio and was whisked away in a sort of official looking van. I was happy not to be the vacations getting piled into the dented caddy with company names spray painted on the side. I spent a few hours waiting at a hotel near the airport until the other travelers arrived. Then it was off to the Tropical Education Center, owned by the Belize Zoo, the sleeping quarters were built by Island Expedition and regularly house researchers, students, and eco-interested travelers.
Rattling of role call and assigning bunk mates. I was paired with twenty-something Heather in cabin 7, but Heather has already formed an earlier alliance and opted to continue th
eir budding relationship. So I became the 13th of 12. The odd man out and the single living lady. Was I sad to miss out on pillow talk? Maybe. I enter my forest cabana complete with tiny porch to find a double bed. I thought, was this the cabin I was supposed to be sharing? I would have had to sleep in the same bed with the people whose names I can’t remember? I find out later that there were double occupancy cabins with two single beds. Here I get to sleep like a queen with two pillows, drape myself in two towels and make myself squeaky clean with two tiny soaps.Dinner was meager for a vegetarian. I already ate potato salad just for the helping of veggies and egg within. I hate potato salad. Off to a nocturnal visit of the Belize Zoo. I didn’t take a single picture because I was overwhelmed by every other flash and the flood of Petzl headlamps at their highest setting. May as well have been set to strobe.
The zookeeper brings us up some stairs to a wooden deck nestled between two banks of trees. He tells us to look up and then performed his best impression of the Howler Monkey call. As the branches all around us started to shake, I was sure something prehistoric was about to emerge from the canopy. That sound made me bet that T-Rex was about to show and I was the unlucky one who’d get eaten off the toilet. The sound of Howler Monkeys is like freight train meets lion meets the torture device in the Princess Bride. All this sound coming from your average sized, unassuming monkey. Had I heard that sound alone in the woods I would have shit my pants and run the other way. I wish I had someone with me to hear that noise. I would be talking about it for the rest of my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REPoVfN-Ij4
I like this moment to myself in my forest cabana. I’ve stumbled through the day not knowing what to think. Too much to take in. Too touristy? Too peopley? Too planned? Too unreal? Too early to tell. For now, sleep. Can’t wait for the 5:30am bird awakening.
PS Now I know why cashews are so expensive. I have seen a cashew fruit. Yes, fruit! It’s one of the few fruits that the seed grows outside of its body. It has a bright, acidic plum-like fruit and a single nut sits atop. I can imagine the harvesting process. To pick each handful and remove the nut from its body. The fruit itself is rarely used … Cashew wine, not so good.
Speed bumps are sleeping policemen.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
An Elementary Reflection
Housesitting without internet has made me use my computer in a new, old way. I was going through the various pathways that all these writings are saved in and during my consolidation or re-organization I came to a few old writings. That made me laugh. I loved reading them again. So I will post a few of those. Sans internet I have also started getting my pen and paper writings onto the QWERTY. Those should be soon. I'm going to try to post something every day. Some new, some old, some bad, some not bad. Anyway, this one makes me happy.
An Elementary Reflection
The other day I saw a sign posted that read “Lost Dinosaur” – the writing, so fresh and new to the world, detailed a lost friend. A penny reward was offered for rescue and recovery. At the time, I smiled and thought how great my life would be if my adult worries only entailed lost dinosaurs.
Fast forward a week until today – an 80 degree afternoon that I fortunately had free from the grips of employment. I take my 10 speed out for a spin around the lake. While flicking my bell as I pass a rollerblader on the left … the sound of nostalgia sets in. I am reminded of my pink childhood bike adorned with streamers and, of course, a bell.
How far is my life from adolescence… really? I refuse to accept that the only similarity is my child-like figure.
Last night, like most nights, I got to be a part of an eccentric production – bright lights, music, ball gowns and a captivated audience … a scene that originally materialized on my parent’s front porch. Maybe those hours of home video footage are more than an embarrassing glimpse of my past ... instead the endless film reel serves as a humiliating prelude to my future.
On this near perfect day, the place I choose to etch my thoughts is not a café to brew up sophisticated reflection with the help of a tall vanilla latte. Instead, I sit, where most early memories start … in the grass, under a maple, watching nature and human nature alike. Although, in youth I would probably be bossing around my friends (not unlike the kid screaming behind me today) to play the games that I wanted to play and, of course, initializing the “NOT IT” vote.
Staring at this notepad (very diary-like in size) I realize that the poster’s script is not unlike my own. His hand shows he’s unused to the circles and lines that draw our language. My chicken scratch, however, is from knowing these shapes so well that I no longer dwell on their appearance, my attention focused on their content. My sister would tell you my writing is actually due to the thumb wrap I never unlearned. None the less, the surfaces (of poster and pad) share an uncanny resemblance.
I could go on to say that the message on the flyer is simply a cry to find a lost companion and that this cry never refrains as life persists … but I’d rather keep this 80 degree day sweet, not sad.
My 8 year old brain and my 24 year old brain still thinks that marriage, family, careers, and the rest of adulthood are eons away. I wonder how long that ignorance with hold true …
An Elementary Reflection
The other day I saw a sign posted that read “Lost Dinosaur” – the writing, so fresh and new to the world, detailed a lost friend. A penny reward was offered for rescue and recovery. At the time, I smiled and thought how great my life would be if my adult worries only entailed lost dinosaurs.
Fast forward a week until today – an 80 degree afternoon that I fortunately had free from the grips of employment. I take my 10 speed out for a spin around the lake. While flicking my bell as I pass a rollerblader on the left … the sound of nostalgia sets in. I am reminded of my pink childhood bike adorned with streamers and, of course, a bell.
How far is my life from adolescence… really? I refuse to accept that the only similarity is my child-like figure.
Last night, like most nights, I got to be a part of an eccentric production – bright lights, music, ball gowns and a captivated audience … a scene that originally materialized on my parent’s front porch. Maybe those hours of home video footage are more than an embarrassing glimpse of my past ... instead the endless film reel serves as a humiliating prelude to my future.
On this near perfect day, the place I choose to etch my thoughts is not a café to brew up sophisticated reflection with the help of a tall vanilla latte. Instead, I sit, where most early memories start … in the grass, under a maple, watching nature and human nature alike. Although, in youth I would probably be bossing around my friends (not unlike the kid screaming behind me today) to play the games that I wanted to play and, of course, initializing the “NOT IT” vote.
Staring at this notepad (very diary-like in size) I realize that the poster’s script is not unlike my own. His hand shows he’s unused to the circles and lines that draw our language. My chicken scratch, however, is from knowing these shapes so well that I no longer dwell on their appearance, my attention focused on their content. My sister would tell you my writing is actually due to the thumb wrap I never unlearned. None the less, the surfaces (of poster and pad) share an uncanny resemblance.
I could go on to say that the message on the flyer is simply a cry to find a lost companion and that this cry never refrains as life persists … but I’d rather keep this 80 degree day sweet, not sad.
My 8 year old brain and my 24 year old brain still thinks that marriage, family, careers, and the rest of adulthood are eons away. I wonder how long that ignorance with hold true …
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