tales of a hopping grasser

2012-02-04T06:12:00.000-08:00

dear recent college graduates,

i am well aware that you are on the hunt for your "dream job."

may i say something? it bothers me that you use the term "dream" so indiscriminately.

i'd like to take this moment to kindly remind you that dreams are often not filled with rainbows and unicorns. in fact, if you are anything like me, your dreams are probably at times scary, bizarre, frustrating, exhausting and sometimes downright boring and/or nonsensical.

and if you want to talk about 'awake dreams' i will ask you to remember that the dreams of those we respect and admire were not easy. they were not synonymous with happiness or pleasantries. they were messy and contentious. they were wrought with heartache and disappointment and they usually pissed a lot of people off. because those are the dreams worth having.

if you are looking for a job where you will at every. single. second. feel all at once challenged, energized, peaceful, celebrated, fulfilled, purposeful and downright by golly jolly, i regret to inform you that it doesn't exist. you could try going on a cruise, but after a few days i think you'll realize even all you can eat buffets and yoga lessons have happiness ceilings. and you probably will have a difficult time getting someone to pay for you to be a professional cruise-goer.

why?

because a job is when you get paid to work. someone wants to pay you for your talents. your contribution. your unique ideas and your determination. no one wants to pay you to "find yourself." no one is chomping at the bit to foot the bill that will fund your all-inclusive journey to find fulfillment.

especially if they have discovered this truth:

your job will not fix you. it will not give you purpose. it will not make you happy. it will not answer all of your burning questions about who you are and why you are here.

those things come from within yourself. and if you're lucky, over the course of your life you find them. and as you discover those things, you will find places where you can use the fruits of your passion, contentedness, joy, determination and creativity to make a dent in the universe in this one precious and wild life that we have to live. places where the overflow of these things that are within you will be used towards a greater life and mission and adventure than you could have ever dreamed up for yourself.

but even then, i implore you to remember: a job is still a job.

which basically means, sometimes it will suck.

get over it. move on.

and happy job hunting.

love,
life

(ok. actually just a recovering believer in the dream job.)

2011-10-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

most mornings i wake up, roll over and before the mist of unconsciousness wears off, i tell ben about the adventures of my night in dreamland.

this morning it went something like this:

"i was sitting in the theatre. just a few rows from the orchestra pit. it was the most wonderful show. the lights and costumes and acting. everything was magical and i was absolutely enchanted by the story.

during intermission, i stepped outside the theatre to take a phone call.

on my way back into the show, i reached into the pocket of my coat, and horrifyingly realized (à la Polar Express) that my ticket stub was gone.

i walked up to the attendent at the door and explained the situation. but he shook his head at me, explaining that without a ticket stub, i could not enter. no way. no how.

i was devastated.

and then. i had the most brilliant idea.

i started walking up and down the streets of (was it New York City? Paris?) asking strangers if anyone happend to have a pair of deer antlers.

no such luck. (strange, right?)

then! at last!

i petitioned a rather stylish women in a long rain jacket. not only did she have a pair of antlers, she also had a fuzzy hat that looked rather like deer fur that she graciously loaned to me.

brilliant! the stars have aligned!

i placed the fuzzy hat on my head, situated my antlers, got down on all fours and rambled back into the theatre.

crisis averted. problem solved. the show must go on!!

the end."

at this moment in my story, ben chimed in with a bout of confusion: "wait. i don't understand. why does wearing deer antlers solve the problem of losing your ticket stub?"

sigh.

does this really need an explanation? (at this point in the morning, all my dreams still have infallible logic.)

"well, if you saw a deer walking into a Broadway show, would YOU ask it for their ticket stub?

i didn't think so."

2011-08-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

last night as i feel asleep, i slipped away from my last moments of consciousness that tend to be a concoction of praying, bumbling and dreaming.

and in my state of half dream and half awake, i found myself asking the lord to make my heart pure. to redeem the ugly and do away with the darkness. to make my heart more like his.

and then.

like the great prophets and saints of our past, i had a vision.

clear as any painting i'd ever seen.

not of majestic white stallions surrounded by triumphant angels. nor of stripes of scarlet being made white like snow or the sky rolling up as a scroll.

instead, in my vision...

(behold! the poetry! the mystery!)

a giant Biore strip ascended from heaven onto my heart and, in an instant, like a dirty band-aid, ripped out the dark spots and left a thousand little metaphorical black-heads, sitting exposed in all their shame on that magical white strip of sticky paper (aka well-packaged and overpriced masking tape.)

wait.

seriously?

so much for my vision.

just powerful consumer product marketing from 2004 colliding with half-consciousness and questionable theology.

sigh.

2011-06-02T21:34:00.000-07:00

One hole in the knee of your jeans is hipster.

Two holes is well-worn.

Two holes in the knee and one hole in the crotch is Seattle in the 90's.

Two holes in the knee and two in the crotch is just plain trashy. You know when your husband rates your favorite pair of jeans with the same "easy access" score as some of your saucier little numbers designed for such occasions, it is time to get a new pair of pants.

I hate shopping for a number of reasons. (But that is another topic for another boring blog.) I was in the god-awful dressing room trying on pants. Florescent lights, coupled with a fun-house mirror that I swear takes away the last few of the five foot three inches I have to my name.

Now, I haven't stood in front of a full-length mirror in a long, long time.

And being out of practice, I did something I had a suspicion I would regret.

I turned around and took a gander at the full on, rear-end, panoramic view.

And because that wasn't enough (and because I constantly battle the instinct of morbid curiosity) I did something that no woman shopping should ever do.

I looked over my shoulder in the mirror...

And I clenched my butt muscles hard as I possibly could.

And Lawd Have Mercy. This experience has forever burned a new mental image into my consciousness that is triggered by the word dimples. (But, I guess it was high time that I put an end to the dimples/ Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World connotation.)

But my instinct to the phenomenon of this little experiment was much different than it would have been even just five short years ago. Because instead of being deeply disturbed...

or running through a mental catalog of people who have better butts than me...

or having a montage scene flash through my brain of all the Photoshopped asses that I see every day in the grocery store checkout line and on billboards and in commercials...

I had a simple and shocking moment of gratitude.

I genuinely laughed out loud and then quietly whispered to myself: "WOW. I am SO happy that doesn't happen to my face when I smile."

Then with deep appreciation for the social normalcy of butt-covering pants, I put mine on and walked out of the store wearing a smile that I can proudly say does not induce facial cellulite (or in my case, dimples of any nature.)

And that, my friends, is enough for me.

2011-05-30T23:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Husband,

Two years ago today I scored big time by marrying you. How I made that little (read: huge) magic trick happen, I still don't really know.

We've basically been celebrating our anniversary for the last ~~two~~ three weeks. And for the record, I am totally OK with that. But today was the actual two year commemoration of when we promised to love each other with everything we've got.

We went to a party tonight. It was for some other people. But we pretended it was in honor of us and our lively and longevous two years of marriage. We drank wine, ate food and toasted ourselves while no one was looking.

Then we came home home and laid on the couch together. We proceeded to have the most bizarre (but par for the course) conversation. There was no shortage of weird noises, new voices and maybe an idea for a Made for TV product only someone who was really deranged would buy.

Sometimes I think if there was a fly on our wall, he'd almost always be blushing. Or banging his tiny little fly head up against the wall, wishing he was creeping out in a more normal abode. I guess it largely depends on his temperament.

I looked up at you and said, "I don't think we realize how BIZARRE we are becoming. Mostly because I think we are going in the same weird direction at a similar pace. It makes it harder to recognize. Like two friends getting fat together."

You said "Yep. But it's fun. It is also great protection for our marriage. We'll get so weird together that no one else would ever want us. Baby, Imagonnamake you a FREAK."

I don't doubt that. Not for a second. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love you so much it makes my eyes cross involuntarily and often.

Love always and forever,

e. lizabeth

2011-05-11T21:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Seeeester,

Today you turn twenty freaking two years old.

How did this happen?

When you were little, you cried

all. the. time.

I used to make you close your eyes and spin you around in the grocery store and then run and hide behind the cereal boxes and watch you freak out. You'd realize I was gone and

You would cry.

When mom would take us shopping with her, I would find the most GIGANTIC granny panties and HUMONGOUS bras and try to hook as many as I could onto your back without you knowing. (On my best days, you were wearing a hoodie. Score!)

Eventually, you'd figure out you'd been walking around the store covered in underthings...

And you would cry.

You were the quintessential baby of a rowdy crew and I should offer to pay any therapy you may need because of me. And yet, I look at you now, the baby, and I see one of the most courageous, strong and fiercely loyal people I've ever known.

I am so challenged by the way you fight for the ones you love. And the way you love, with recklessness, those that others find it impossible to see beauty and light in. You manifest Jesus in that way, Alex. More than almost anyone I know.

When you speak hard truths, they are soaked in a grace in humility. And when you hear hard truths, you receive it with a peace and strength that is at once mesmerizing and alarming.

You have an ease and spirit that draws people to you.

And on top a heaping pile of beauty and honesty, you are hilarious. Sometimes on accident. Sometimes on purpose. Always belly laugh inducing.

You are my baby sister.

But when I grow up, I want to be like you.

Happy Birthday to my oldest and dearest friend.

Now get your arse out to Portland and live next door to me.

Please and thanks.

Love,
Yogi

PS. As part of your birthday present, I resisted the temptation to put some pictures of you from middle school in this tribute.

2011-05-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

The Northwest has this retro-log-cabin-aesthetic haze that seems to hover around the city. And I would be a dirty little liar if I told you I hated it.

Exhibit A: The Doug Fir.

Potentially one of my new favorite venues in all the land.

Giant glass moose head? Yes, please.

And get this! I met this chump in Uganda. My very first trip. Fresh off the boat with my wide eyes, my long skirts and bug spray. The only thing I didn't have in my Mountain Smith pack was a clue about what in the hell I was doing in Uganda.

Mr. Chris was there in the weeeeee stages of Sseko. He'd try to coax me to come hang out with our friends while I was holed up in a basement, furiously trying to figure out how to make sandals. With glue in my hair and fire in my eyes, I resisted. And even in my Crazy, he was still my friend and brought me back a milkshake from the land of Normal.

I said goodbye to Mr. Chris and mostly assumed that our paths would never cross again.

And lookey here. We found him in Portland! He loves the things we do, like Uganda, good music and movies and finding fun places to play outside.

So now he is one of our three friends in Portland. A place of honor, to be sure.

The Doug Fir also makes my most favorite adult beverage. If you've never had a Moscow Mule, I most highly suggest it. So fresh. It tastes like you just took a cool shower in mountain spring and then spritzed your delicate face with cucumber water. Sometimes when I don't feel like investing in personal hygiene, I just drink this drink instead. Vodka kills most germs and the lime makes me feel all spruced up. Then you feel all warm inside and forget that you needed a shower in the first place.

Done and done.

Oh! Another bonus. You can find some eye candy at the Doug Fir. This boy totally hit on me. He bought me a few aforementioned favorite drinks and asked me to come home with him. I was feeling crazy. So I did. But that is the end of that story for you, Internet. After all, I am a lady.

And last but not least, some incredible music. We saw Joe Purdy with the Milk Carton Kids. And it was as pleasing as punch. You should check these dudes out and download their album for free here.

***For full disclosure purposes, this review was not sponsored by the Doug Fir who did not pay me in Moscow Mules to say good things about them to the 13 people who read this blog. Although, I believe it would have been well worth their marketing dollars***

2011-05-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

You gave me your genes that include an insatiable appetite for ice cream, late-night OCD tendencies and a flare for the dramatic. (Remember when I burst into tears and threw myself down the stairs because you read that page in my diary about Jim and Abby making out in the dressing room at Gadzooks?)

But if I made it out of your womb with 1/100th of your compassion, selflessness, creativity and crazy freaky ability to love with everything, then I'd be quite satisfied.

Love,

Your daughter

2011-05-07T08:33:00.000-07:00

You'd think, two years into this gig where I try to get people to buy sandals, I'd think more than once a year about the condition of my feet.

You'd think (wouldn't you?) that before going to a trunk show for the sole purpose of showcasing these toe-bearing kicks that along with putting on a snazzy new pair of straps, I'd at least think to paint/cut/file my freaking toenails. (Um, like last night. #FAIL.)

But you want to know an indisputable fact about our universe?

There are two types of girls in this world.

Type I: Girls that get pedicures and think thoughts like "If people are going to be staring at my feet, I should make them look nice." These are also typically the types of girls that brush their hair and make to-do lists on stationary. And they usually have good handwriting.

Type II: Then there are girls that forget they even have toe-nails that might need tending to until the following interaction happens:

------------

Scene:

(Husband and wife laying in bed. Wife snuggles up to husband.)

Husband: Ouch! You just stabbed me with your toe nail.

Type II Wife: In dramatic Shakespearian voice. Hush, my darling! Quit thy prattle! Tis' merely a flesh wound!'

Husband: Cut your toe nails.

end scene

-----------

Type II for life, yo.

Sigh.

2011-05-06T10:49:00.000-07:00

There was a trail near the house where I grew up. Pan and I would prepare for our adventure by packing a lunch, my light blue tent and a can of Spaghettios for the long night ahead. My mom drove us to the gas station so we could buy some Jiffy-Pop in the event that we actually, somehow miraculously managed to make a camp-fire.

Although I lived in the middle of the suburbs and the trail twisted through the woods of my West County neighborhood (never more than a 1/2 mile away from the nearest house) we made a comprehensive First Aid kit from an old baby-wipe container. We stuffed it full with band-aids, an ACE wrap, a yellow whistle and an expired inhaler. I think secretly, we both hoped our epic adventure would call for all of these in time of desperation and life-threatening danger.

We discovered a patch of quicksand at the bottom of the waist-high creek (I believe we lost a shoe to the treacherous sink hole). And one time, we saw a snake. Poisonous, do doubt. Neither ACE bandage nor inhaler came in handy, but our hearts pounded in our chests as we narrowly escaped the peril. And there was just enough adrenaline and truth (one only needs a kernel of each to cook a great story) to grossly exaggerate the tales we'd tell about our near death experiences to anyone who'd listen.

We went skinny dipping in the creek and swung on the vine above the shallow water and talked about boys and their hair, oranged by the tragedy of the Sun-In epidemic of 1998. We took pictures of the leaves and called ourselves artists, as we followed the papery petals through the creek, snapping pictures while they twirled at the mercy of the current. Mesmerized by the miracle of capturing movement like we'd capture fire flies.

We laid in the tent made of cheap, blue nylon and listened to REM and Third Eye Blind on shared walkman earphones. We'd anticipate the start of the school year and wonder about the new girl coming from the public school. We heard that her name was Ashley. And we fretted. Because Ashleys are always boyfriend-stealing-bad-girls. We went through the yearbook and gave our friends code names based off of characters from Boy Meets Word so that we could talk about them wherever we wanted without becoming victim to eavesdroppers in the girls' bathroom. So clever.

We likened our little corner of the forest to Neverland and we read the book A Boy's Life and told each other that we'd always be Lost Boys at heart. That we'd never really grow up.

And it seems, thirteen years later, as I find myself running as fast as I can, out of control, over the sand dunes of the Oregon coast with the same Lost Boy, thousands of miles from our corner in the midwest woods, I realize that this may be one of the few, precious promises I haven't broken.

To never grow up.

Whatever that means.

2011-05-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

i got a haircut.

bangs, to be exact.

i was going for 'different with a touch of sass.'

what i got was a throw-back to my pre-school days.

po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.

2011-04-26T21:25:00.000-07:00

dear husband,

today we stood in our tiny hallway and you hugged me before you left. unfortunately, your hug was a bit over zealous and you knocked my head into the corner of the wall with your gesture of affection.

i, never missing the opportunity for a good 'what if' question said, "what if that would of been one of those freaky things and i went brain dead from hitting just the wrong part of my head on the wall?"

you, never missing a beat to be the sweet, wonderful man that you are, said "i'd still love you forever. because i gave you this ring. and this ring means that means no matter what, even if you are brain dead, i will always love you."

i, never missing a beat to be awkward in a romantic moment said, "and i gave you this ring that i bought on the internet because i had no money and can't pass up a good bargain and it broke in our first year of marriage. what does that mean?

luckily, we agree that this whole "wedding ring tradition" falls under the "It's the Thought That Counts" category.

whew.

love,

your wife

2011-04-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

The best thing ever happened this weekend.

I was rummaging through my old hard-drive and I found a few AIM (yes, hilarious) conversations from the WEE early on stages of the Liz and Ben love story.

I was so excited to be embarrassed by my shameless flirty, gooey-ness.

Instead, I found this little nugget of goodness.

Just a sweet lil' flirty e-conversation about the societal construction of gender roles.

What? If this boy is going to ask me on a date, I need to know what he thinks about such important matters.

(The conversation started with me asking what his opinions on gender specific toys for children in early development stages were. What?!?! That conversation couldn't wait until AFTER the first kiss? Apparently, nope.)

The fact that I managed to snag me a husband is pretty astounding to me. Despite the odds, I done good.

**yellow: ben, pink: liz***

2011-04-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

I am having an interesting email conversation, right this very second, with a financial reporter from MSNBC about global economics.

I want to point out here that my Macro Economics class sophomore year of college was the worst grade I ever received in the history of my academic career. This was also the class where I was called out, in a hall of 200 students, for talking during the lecture. Didn't help that I was in the middle of crocheting a scarf when the professor walked over to me.

HA.

I think I am going to leave that part of my "background" out with said reporter.

2011-04-13T10:07:00.000-07:00

ah. spring in portland. rainy? yes. a bit dreary at (uh, most) times? sure. but the cherry blossoms are in full bloom and sprinkling everything in proximity with their whimsical goodness. whole sidewalks covered in petals. petals in the hair. petals on the car.

do these pictures look like they were taken by two young folks, just laughing and enjoying nature and relishing in beauty of their new city?

oh, that is because they were. on a monday afternoon, driving home, we were struck by the beauty and hopped out of our car to snap some photos.

ENTER: crazy, spiteful (hilariously stereotypical) Portlander.

we were standing on the sidewalk, throwing petals at each other, and Mother Earth's defense attorney herself was VERY offended by this. she STOPPED her car in the middle of the road, got out and walked over to us.

then she proceed to yell at us.

you know the grassy area in between the street in and the sidewalk? well, we stepped in said area. and were told, in a VERY hateful manner that that grassy area? well that is full of LIVING CREATURES. how DARE we step on it?!? the HORROR! the SHAME!

she then proceeded to tell us that SHE would NEVER do such a thing. step on grass like that.

yeah, well, i would never be a crazy psycho that only has cats for friends, who fertilizes her garden with her own poo and who hates fun.

so i guess we are even.

and now we are going to get back to enjoying life immensely. you should try it!

oh, Portland. funny people in your midst.

but we still love you. petals and psychos and all.

2011-04-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

On Blue Valentine

Dear engaged couples who want to stay together,
Don't go see this movie.

Dear engaged couples who are having second thoughts,
Please go see this movie.

Dear marriage counselors and divorce lawyers,
Your marketing budget would be well spent in promoting this film.

Dear Ryan Gosling,
Mostly just keep being your adorable self. Minus hitting the bottle, plus a dash of maturity and ambition.

Dear self,
If Sseko fails, think about starting a themed motel. Also, go kiss your husband and laugh at his jokes.

Love,
Liz

****

That was my rating--four out of five asterisks--if you were curious.

2011-04-11T16:19:00.000-07:00

my friend kathryn: "i can't go to the movies tonight, my roommates are having a gender reveal party."

me: "whoa. last time i revealed my gender at a party, people got all weird on me."

turns out, this is a gender reveal party.

my bad.

2011-04-07T16:51:00.000-07:00

Dear lady who wants to buy my couch,

I met you on craigslist. You came to our apartment to take a look at a couch that we are selling. You couldn't seem to stop talking about how incredibly, ridiculously small our apartment is, while your child with sticky fingers jumped all over our furniture.

At one point, you looked at me, and told me it was so so so small--as if we were living inside a tuna can.

A TUNA can? Really? If you insist on metaphors, could you not have likened our tiny apartment to something a little more quaint and a little less smelly?

I smiled and laughed amicably about your wonderment of the Tiny House. I didn't tell you that you were really being quite rude, going on and on -- because you were about to pay me $350 for a couch I bought off Craigslist yesterday for $100. And for $250 in my pocket, I can take almost anything you say about my apartment.

You can call my house whatever you want. But please refer to me from here on out as the Almighty Highness of Craigslist.

A pleasure doing business with you!

Love,
Liz

2011-04-06T10:47:00.000-07:00

dear man sitting across me at the coffee shop,

i asked you to watch my computer while i went to the restroom. upon getting up, i knocked over my glass of water and splattered agua over the both of us.

then i made a joke about how i did it on purpose as a part of an elaborate booby-trap scheme to keep my computer safe. about how i normally use banana peels, but left them at home today, so this make-shift mote will have to do.

i couldn't stop giggling. you, however, did not get such a kick out of what i thought was a decent recovery.

love,
liz

2011-04-04T11:46:00.000-07:00

we moved into our new little place this weekend.

it was a strange sensation to be unpacking, knowing that in a few days or maybe a week, we wouldn't be repacking everything and heading off again.

and it feels so good. granted, i know that i will freak out shortly. after traveling for a year, i am sure the walled confines of a teensy one bedroom apartment will cause my incurable case of wanderlust to flare. but for right now? i couldn't be more in love with the feeling of having our own little place.

last night, i thought i was being sneaky. ben was in bed reading and "i went to go brush my teeth" but instead did a little spackling work on our kitchen counter-top that is chipping away.

i was caught red (white) handed. and told that secretively spackling at midnight (with our butter knife. what? i couldn't find our putty knife and it turns out a butter knife works perfectly. try it.) was not the sign of a healthy person. that these things could surely wait until the morning.

but ah, it is the little things right? like getting to spackle your own crumbling kitchen counter. with your own butter knife that you got at your wedding that you haven't actually used on butter yet. at midnight.

here's to a home.

(and to a husband who wakes up, wide eyed on the first morning in our new home and declares: "Naked latte day!! Because this is our house and we can drink coffee naked if we want to!!!" No wasting time, here. I suppose our apartment walls won't be the the only naked things in NE Portland for at least a little while. TMI? To that, I'd say, really? Are you surprised?)

2011-03-30T08:38:00.000-07:00

we're baaaack!

and now we live in the great Northwest.

so like true Northwesterners, we make espresso, on the stove top every. single. morning.

and this morning, my sweet, romantic, uber-artsy husband made mine with some latte art.

"a heart!"

beauty is in the eye of the beholder, i suppose.

keep your day job, hubs.

2011-02-04T22:43:00.000-08:00

we've been looking forward to this for quite some time.

a sseko reunion party!

three generations of sseko women. all together. sharing stories, songs and most importantly, food.

so fun to see where we've been and glimpse into where we are all going.

love. these. women.

party prepping

family pic! three generations of sseko women here. and one boy.

watching some sseko home movies

it is normal to need two hands to cut a uganda cake. the icing could double as mortar if need be.

the aunties just chatting away

2011-02-02T12:54:00.000-08:00

my most favorite boy in all the world just turned twenty six.

last year, we spent his birthday apart. he was at home and i was in uganda.

this year? for one, we were together. for two, we were in one of our favorite places.

cheyea. double bonus birthday time.

so i took the mister to a nice little dinner.

little did he know, there was a house full of friends waiting for us when we returned.

we were, of course, late to his little surprise soiree. want to know why? because there were rabbits (not normal in uganda) at the restaurant we were at. big rabbits. like something-out-of-a-fairy-tale-big.

so, after a leisurely dinner (really ben? you need dessert? and maybe another beer? okay, birthday boy) instead of promptly leaving, we chased the bunny rabbits around the lawns. and for me not to join in a bunny rabbit chase would have surely blown my cover. so chased the bunnies, we did. (meanwhile, while we were busy chasing, ben is explaining the effect that importing rabbits into australia had on the local ecosystem. important stuff here.)

alas, we finally made it home.

surprise!!

next up: super romantic getaway to sipi falls. a beautiful part of uganda, about 4 (theoretically) hours outside of kampala. i rented us a little bungalow, tucked away in the waterfalls and foot hills of mount elgon.

we left the house early saturday morning and made our way to the bus park. we were both actually looking forward to the ride. a solid 4 hours to relax and read and not run in a million directions.

(pause to laugh.)

we sat on the bus for two and a half hours before every. single. seat. was finally filled. around hour two, i was feeling a little stifled, so i pulled back the makeshift curtains to open the window, revealing a bus window entirely covered in dried vomit. i suddenly lost my appetite for the delicious mango i was chomping on.

nothing like a little dried vomit to start our uber romantic getaway.

we had planned to get to sipi falls around lunch time. at 6:00 pm, after a bus, boda, and taxi ride, we arrived to our little haven, five hours late.

and then wonderfulness ensued for the next 19 hours.

caves!

rope swings!

waterfalls!

being alone! (!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

and get this. because we were up in the mountains, we slept UNDER A COMFORTER. i know some of you are up to your eyeballs in snow right now, but please understand, that this is a

very.

big.

deal.

not waking up in a pool of your own sweat, that is.

then our little-less-than-a-day in paradise ended.

on our way home, we crammed into a minibus. oh, i do mean crammed. 15 seats and we were well over 25 people. the Rigling Brothers would have been proud.

then we blew a tire, flying down a mountain road in our tin can clown car, and were very nearly, what is the french word for, toast.

BAM!!

as we swerved across the road, i made a very loud, strange animal noise and froze sitting straight up. ben looked at me sweetly and then calmly tucked his head and covered himself with his arms. (in the case of an emergency, i strongly suggest the later response.)

turns out we didn't die.

so we got out of the taxi and walked.

and walked.

until we found a boda man who would take us to the next town.

and we FINALLY made it to our bus.

free at last.

if by free, you mean, 30 minutes into our ride home a massive fight breaks out over a...

what?

BOMB THREAT.

you know you have gotten to a sad place in life, when people are screaming about some Rwandan dudes that supposedly have a bomb on our bus and you exchange glances with your husband, complain about how annoying the commotion is and put your earphones back in so you can listen to your latest episode of Radio Lab in peace.

don't you people know we are still on vacation, here?

happy birthday, my love. there is no one in the universe i'd rather adventure with.

but next time, maybe i will let you plan our relaxing, refreshing, stress-relieving getaway?

2011-01-24T12:35:00.000-08:00

tonight i sat around with a group of people in the basement here in uganda that i used to call home.

there are about ten of us and we all look like we could have grown up in the same neighborhood and sat at the same lunch table in high school.

but we didn't. in fact, most of us have been brought together only by this place.

we all have different things that drive us. different joys and passions and fears that have drawn us to this place and are keeping us here.

but the common thread is that we all feel a deep sense of purpose in being here. we feel called to and compelled by what might be best described by the great buzz word of our generation: social justice.

and a big part of what we are struggling through together is, what is social justice? what are we doing here? why are we here? what is the goal, the hope, the vision for the future?

and guess what?

here, amongst people who have packed up their lives and trekked to a different continent, miles away from comfort and family and familiarity to seek and live and wrestle this out...(when let's be honest, we could have done this much closer to home, but passport stamps and visas are way sexier. and having malaria makes you such a bad ass, for realz.)

for the most part, we have no idea.

ideas, yes. lots of them. bountiful, plentiful, fountains and lakes and rivers of ideas.

but the answer? the solution?

nope.

sitting in a desk, in a school or at a fancy coffee shop, it is easy to get "passionate" about ideas. to philosophize and theorize and go all debate team on each other. to talk about policy and development and principles.

and then you dive in.

and you realize, all that philosophizing isn't worth jack shit when you just ran down the road (and i use the term "road" rather loosely, and the word "ran," for that matter) to grab another avocado for tonight's guacamole and you are faced with a hungry child asking for food and a compound full of women working their way out of poverty, who need to be paid.

and you are human. there is limited money. limited you. and you make a decision.

and if you are like me, you walk the whole way home from joeseph's vegetable stand questioning yourself. when ALL I WANTED WAS A FREAKING AVOCADO.

you question when you give.

and you question when you don't.

and on a good day, my questions are followed with a quiet, pathetic little prayer, or rather mumble, asking jesus to redeem what i did. or didn't do. to try to salvage the mess i probably just made.

or didn't make.

last week, in a discussion about journalistic ethics, i had a very talented young photojournalist suggest that i "formulate a rule about such circumstances, and then commit yourself to applying this rule in all applicable circumstances."

you know what i told him?

"that is great advice. except that it is the exact opposite of what i want for my life."

because the moment i formulate a rule, i don't question any more. i don't question my role, my place, my humanity and how my humanity is intimately and inextricably linked to the humanity of every person i meet. and those i will never meet. and what on earth to do with that little (read: monumental) realization.

and the more i live, i the more i see the value in these questions. far more than the value in the answers i concoct over a latte and croisant.

but golly. isn't it funny that these questions, the questions that drive your life, that give you a reason to wake up and step out are

so.

freaking.

tiring?

i am going to bed.

2011-01-23T06:29:00.000-08:00

these feet make me happy.

for so, so many reasons.

2011-01-22T00:05:00.000-08:00

i made a new year's resolution.

to take my personal safety a little more seriously. (you're welcome, mom.)

yes, i still ride, at high speeds, through traffic and often at night on the back motorcycles driven by strange men in a foreign country.

but by golly.

this year (at least today), i am wearing a helmet.

(which makes me feel more invicible and subsequently encourages me to encourage my drivers to go faster. counter-productive?)

speaking of personal safety...

i bought some pepper spray for our uganda employees while i was back in the states.

and i for sure got carded.

turns out, you have to be 18 to buy pepper spray.

"Um, I am buying this for my employees. And I am using my husband's credit card. I don't have my ID, but I swear to you, I am not 16."

Photo courtesy of Julie Beckstrom of PotD.

2011-01-21T07:38:00.000-08:00

2 delicious mangos. 2 perfect avocados and a dozen mornin' eggs. well, only 11 eggs. there was an egg casualty on my home from the market. RIP, egg.

all for less than a cup of drip coffee back in the states.

did i mention it is organic?

uganda is so trendy.

2011-01-20T04:49:00.000-08:00

why this place keeps me coming back

our house

2011-01-04T21:43:00.000-08:00

This morning I sit.

I sit on the front porch of this house. And as I close my eyes and sip my coffee, I hear the hum of sewing machines. I hear laughter and languages that I don't really understand. I hear the squeak of the front gate and see another face walking towards me. She is looking so "smart" with a pretty brown skirt and long hair, ready to start her day.

A year ago there was no house.

There was a teensey workshop with walls covered in colorful chalk and a room next door we painted bright blue.

Two years ago, there was just the shade from some mango trees and three girls and lots of giggling.

Fireside Chats

2011-01-02T11:41:00.000-08:00

We had our first company meeting in Uganda tonight.

We shared dinner together. Cleaned off the white board. And set our brains a storming.

About 15 minutes in we lost power. So we lit some candles and pushed through. And had quite the romantic company meeting.

Next time I hear someone in the states complaining about a lack of resources, I am going to say, “Oh, like electricity?”

Oh. I love it here.

I think all companies should have candlelit meetings.

are we there yet?

2010-12-28T08:07:00.000-08:00

I used to think my family was special.

Special as in, when we were all together in one car (specifically on vacation) and needed to get somewhere at some specific time (or just alive) all hell would break loose.

One year, my family drove the Road to Hana in Hawaii. More like the Road to Violent Family Dissension. Turns out the road to hell is paved with good, family bonding intentions. And you get to listen to a drive-along informational 8-track on the way up this 8 foot wide, winding road up a volcano that we never actually conquered.

Here is a little snippet from the brilliant PR people over at Road to Hana to give you a snippet of this gem of a drive:

"With approximately 600 curve and 54 bridges, the Road to Hana can bring you closer to heaven in more ways than one. With winding roads, blind turns, constant traffic, distracting views, narrow one-lane roads, cliffs, and wet conditions, Hana Highway has proven its worth as a danger with many fatalities. Take your time, and make sure the driver is focusing on the road."

Along with several near death experiences, I also had my lifetime best, most disrespectful parental comeback ever. I rode on the glory of this long after the sting of that disciplinary whack wore off.

I (par for my adolescent course) was offering witty (read: snarky) sarcastic commentary during this hell ride up a volcano in a rental...what was it? Buick Lincoln?

Glossy, glossy.

At one point, my dad had enough with said commentary and yelled: "Stop being such a smart ass!!!"

"Oh," I apologized most sincerely. "I am just trying to compensate for the amount of dumb ass in this car."

Well. That was quite a long way to say...

I don't think my family was so special after all.

Because, I got married.

Joined a new family.

And turns out, when we are all in the car together, madness ensues.

Is it Biblical? "When three or more are gathered..."

Luckily, over the years, I have gained a bit more, shall we say poise? Now I put my headphones on, bite my tongue and leave my snarky commentary for my blog.

all that glitters

2010-12-26T18:01:00.000-08:00

The older I get, the more OK I am with the realization that Christmas is never perfect. Why is it that we seem to think this holiday should be only clean and shiny and perfectly happy?

Jesus was born. Out of wedlock. To a teen mom. In a barn. The king of the universe as a snotty little baby sleeping in the pig trough. Could it be more clear that Lord hopes for his children to find beauty in the mess?

Any how.

A few snaps of some of my favorites. (People, that is.)

A dog that thinks himself to be a parrot. We are trying to be supportive of his new identity. But there is something that makes one chuckle when a dog insists on his place on a shoulder.

I wanted to pinch his cheeks. But instead I took a picture.

I don't get offended when my husband asks for a Christmas present that will aid him considerably in tuning me out.

First White Christmas in Atlanta since 1882

Practicing for our upcoming role in Fiddler on the Roof.

Baby sister gradubadates. I couldn't be more proud of the little dork.

Twinkles the travelling Christmas Tree.

I support any new tradition that involves paper crowns and joke telling.

home is where....

2010-12-19T17:30:00.000-08:00

our Garmin says it is.

and the best part of being homeless? people have to give you things they'd normally mail in person.

and then you get christmas cards addressed like this:

as a rule...

2010-12-13T15:14:00.000-08:00

As a general rule in my life, most service providers cause me anxiety.

Take the dentist. Please, oh please don't ask me how much I floss.

Please?

I will lie to you. And it will make me feel bad. One, for lying. Two, for not flossing.

There are few things that elicit feelings of insecurity and anxiety like going to the dentist.

Except maybe going to get my hair cut. It's been HOW LONG since you cut your hair?

No mam, I do not adhere to a religion that prohibits me from cutting my hair. I just forgot about it for a while. (Sometimes I say I've been out of the country and pull the third-world card, even if I've been home for three months.)

And PLEASE do not lecture me on my choice of shampoo. I will get up and leave.

No, I won't really leave. I will just kind of smile and nod, feel bad about myself, and keep buying cheap shampoo.

And yes, Mr. Mechanic, I do realize that it has been entirely too long since I changed my oil. How silly of me.

Really? I pay all of these people good money to make me feel small and lazy. Surely I can find someone to do that for free.

Sigh.

today at the dentist. i wore cool glasses, a neat vest and had my spirits crushed.

maggie taylor

2010-12-13T06:32:00.000-08:00

a little present in my email inbox this morning from one of my besties. a link to the artist maggie taylor. aren't these both haunting and whimsical?

i've been feeling a bit one dimensional lately. and a little fanciful art to start my morning does the heart good.

someday, i'll live in a home that wasn't built to be a home.

but i think first, i'll just settle for a home of really any variety.

isn't this haunting?

i'd like to hang an oversized version of this print in my office someday.

some days i think if you took a snapshot of my heart, you'd find something like this. with a strange rabbit-man lurking in the background and all .

mash-up.

2010-12-08T08:06:00.000-08:00

brillant.

portlandia

2010-12-07T21:22:00.000-08:00

Meet the Lacy's. The Lacey's were our Portland home-base for a whopping 4 weeks. Pretty brave of them, if you ask me.

How long had we known the Lacey's before they opened their home to us, you ask? Well, if I was being truthful, which I am mostly partial to, I'd have to say ZERO days. We showed up on their doorstep one day in September...

and we didn't leave for a month.

[WARNING. THIS TOO COULD HAPPEN TO YOU. HIDE YOUR KIDS. HIDE YOUR WIFE. WE BE CLIMBIN THROUGH THE WINDOWS.]

And four weeks later we said a tearful goodbye and now I look at pictures of Baby Ella at least once a week. Ella Valentine has a special place in our hearts. And Jason and Amy? What a special duo. We felt so loved by them in so many ways. For instance,

Amy served us breakfast in bed....

Kind of. More accurately, she served us drip coffee in bed.

Kind of. Even more accurately, we slept in their basement and one morning we were awoken to drips of delicious Portland coffee seeping through the ceiling above us and drip-dropping on to our foreheads (and then into my mouth when I finally got my wits about me and repositioned myself accordingly.)

Best wakeup call I ever did receive. Amy is such a servant. And also sometimes has trouble with the overflowing coffee maker.

Beyond opening their home (and coffee pot...and shoot, their pretty fantastic liquor cabinet and freshly muddled basil from the garden, for that matter...) they opened up their lives and invited us to be a part of every aspect. From their community, to their marriage and even their lives as new parents, we felt so welcomed into their world.

We walked away from that home looking at each other, like we often do, and saying "Really, Lord? You rule."

Now, roll that beautiful bean footage! Just a couple of snaps I took of these beautiful people. Does Ella not just make your insides turn to goo? Goo, I say.

I kind of want to tell you about this picture. And I kind of want to leave this picture caption to your imagination. Yep, I think I am going with the latter. This image is really all you need to know about the Lacey clan and why we love them like we do.

Ben and his new buddy. True or false: This was B's first time alone with a baby. True. ( Just a hint: I rarely ever pose the true or false question for false facts.) Doesn't he look good with a baby? Wait. Is that the baby or the muscle shirt? Maybe both.

well, kids...

2010-12-07T07:11:00.000-08:00

welp, we just spent a good chunk of life over at damnyouautocorrect.com

and my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

the best is when the person on the other end legitimately has no idea Auto Correct was a culprit.

this might be my favorite:

geek wands

2010-12-06T06:31:00.000-08:00

we were going through a magazine full of geeky gift ideas.

and there was a remote control wand that allows you to control the t.v.

B: "what if you had to do a motion and a spell for it to work?"

L: "yeah! and you couldn't say something lame like, "sports!" instead you have to say something spelly, like "extremeus ESPN-us!"

which of course sounds like "extremus-es penis" when you say it out loud.

and that, my friends, would be a different channel and spell, all together.

oh.

we laughed.

beach

2010-12-05T21:46:00.000-08:00

you know, i am not a beach person, per say.

but we do love a secret beach, that boy and i.

do you remember that afternoon? following the winding path in the trails outside of sydney

to that beach that was all ours?

i was enthralled by the sap, dripping from the trees and you noticed the shore below us and exclaimed.

we walked hand in hand and waded in the water.

and i wondered if you would be mine.

and our love. was it yet born?

and do you remember the beach on the island where we celebrated the promise we made to one another?

we drank cheap coconut rum and read stories out loud and slept hand in hand.

our love was so new. just beginning on this journey of knowing.

and do you remember slipping away to the beach on pawley's island? we snuck away from the others, to steal a few moments under the stars with this new little family of ours. we hid under the blanket and held back laughter as the strangers walked by.

we are becoming a family.

and do you remember those beaches of the oregon coast? playing on the rocks? and the four of us, exploring the pieces of the coast that were calling us? the shooting stars and the glowing sand?

you stood with fanch and dave, looking at the stars. i wandered away. and ran. i ran as fast as i could. in the black of the night, pierced only by the stars above. a new freedom. to run as fast as i could, without the comfort of sight to guide me, knowing that for as far as i could run there was only sand and water before me.

i placed my hands on my knees to catch my breath. and then i wandered back to you.

our love is one that i will always come back to.

and do you remember breakfast on the beach in the redwoods, with the waves crashing, using our insurance card to scramble eggs for a breakfast sandwich? you were my only friend for a miles and miles. hundreds of miles. and you and a mediocre egg sandwich, is all i could ever ask for.

we set up that blanket and the water crept up.

and we moved it again.

and again.

this is a love that will grow. it will change. it will move.

and do you remember, the night at the montage with the light bouncing off the sand and the waves? like we were on the set of a movie from 20's. moon river, was it? we drank red wine and ate dark chocolate and wrestled and played the way that we did at 1605, before we knew that this love was love.

and this love.

it's love.

pinch me

2010-12-05T16:21:00.000-08:00

it is strangely comforting and encouraging to me that people who think of things like this exist in this world of ours.

[via Milk]

besties and babies

2010-07-29T14:04:00.001-07:00

i have the best friends EVER. i think this story proves it.

if you are a boy who gets uncomfortable with the mere mention of "female" things, grow up. we rep over 50% of the world population and the continuation of the human race depends on said "female" things. did i mention i believe whole-heartedly we are the solution to ending global poverty?

so deal with it.

(i'll pause briefly for you to grow up, or navigate away from page)

if you are someone who thinks it improper to discuss personal matters on the interweb, this is me ever so politely and properly suggesting that you not read this particular post, nor much of anything I ever write here.

ok. enough disclaimers.

here is a little something about me. almost every month, ok, every month, i freak out.

about being pregnant.

now, i know it isn't really rational, but i just can't help it. i talk myself down and deep breath mantra mantra mantra, and yet, i still feel like i have a complete and utter lack of control over feeling totally anxious about the idea that there might be a real life human growing inside of me.

now don't get me wrong. i am so pumped to have kids. i think it is incredible and beautiful and that being a mom is going to be so tight. but there is a LONG LIST of things i'd like to do before that day comes.

mostly, oh, run a business. and be a wife. a wife slash business partner. and travel and be homeless and not make any money and go to places that are new and wild and a little dangerous. i am all up for taking our baby on our adventures. but i probably won't take a baby on a boda boda (motorcycles we ride around Uganda) and uh, i am so not ready to give up boda bodas. they rule.

i know most of those are not mutually exclusive, being a mom and having an adventurous life, but my life is just packed to the brim with things that i am totally freaking passionate and excited about. and i just can't imagine bringing a little human into the world right now. i love life. and i love giving myself totally fully completely to these things right now.

family of two for the bohannon party, please.

at least for now.

so on days like today when i freak out about housing a human in the stomach that houses mostly popcorn and pickles and key lime tarts because that is all i really cook (ok, so none of those actually require cooking, hence why i like them) there is only one thing to do:

i have a group of 5 best friends that i lived with all through college. so this morning i sent them this email:

"I had a dream last night I was pregnant. And it was a girl. And we named her (leaving this part out, because I am crazy enough to name a child after a dream I had). Mostly because we liked the way "The Adventures of (name of future child)" sounded and we thought it seemed like a name of an explorer from the olden days that you'd read about in a wonderful whimsical novel about a beautiful, fearless explorer.

and today i am a day late.

and I KNOW it is only a day. and this month has been one of the more stressful of my entire life and i am working 12 hours a day and mono and moving and packing and buying a car and selling a car (and all our possessions) and working with my husband full time and yada yada yada but i feel vulnerable enough to tell my best friends that regardless of the seemingly logical explanation for this...

I AM FREAKING OUT AND CAN'T CONCENTRATE AND OHMYGOSH WE ARE GETTING EVICTED (ok, our lease is up) FROM OUR APARTMENT HAVE NO INCOME AND ARE GOING TO BE LIVING OUT OF A CAR AND WHAT IF I AM GROWING A HUMAN IN ME?!?!?!?!?!!?

can i get some reassurance for my moment of weakness??? please???

oh yeah. and i also really want to drink some blueberry vodka and lemonade this weekend at the lake with all of you.

and being preggers would definitely put a damper on that."

This was the first response that I got back, from one of my best friends in the whole world, molly.

"It will look like BEN!!!!!!!"

So backstory. My husband Ben was the CUTEST little kid you could EVER imagine. Blonde, curly hair, fat cheeks, BIGOLE dimples and squinty little smiley eyes. So, typically, when I have my monthly freak out, Molly's job is to reassure me by reminding of the mental image of little Ben and that somehow awakens the maternal instincts that I actually do have buried deep down and calms me, because GOOOO a little Ben would BE SO FREAKING CUTE.

that works. usually.

but here was my response today:

"Turns out that doesn't work when we are about to be living out of OUR CAR. I want a CAMPER for our Element (new car) not a CAR SEAT!!!"

Molly: "You can live at my house!! And if you are on Oprah, she'll buy you all kinds of sh*t!!!!!

Liz: "Tons of sh*t!!! Uh, much like the kind I will be wiping off BABY BUTT!!!"

Molly: "But you LOVE babies! It may even be as quiet as Jack!"

**Jack is the baby our close friends and is the quietest, most CHILL baby in the whole world. much like his super chill, really calm and laid back rents.**

Liz: "Have you MET the parents of this supposed baby we made?!?!"

Which means there is NO CHANCE on earth I'd create something that even remotely comprehends the "indoor voice" concept. No chance, after the OFF THE WALL child I was, that the good Lord is going to grace me with a mild-child.

Did I ever tell you that when I was three my mom took me to the ear doctor because she was CONVINCED I had a hearing problem because there is just NO OTHER explanation for why a small child would talk SO LOUD, ALL THE TIME?

Molly then proceeded to close this text-versation with my future LOUD baby exclaiming: "WOW MOM YOU'RE THE COOLEST EVER!!!!! I LOVE LIVING ON THE ROAD! I am learning so much about the world and poverty and textiles. You are the BEST!!!!!"

And scene.

Could I ASK for better friends???

**P.S.** I am for sure not preggers. More room for PICKLES!!

{...new friend...}

2010-04-29T19:29:00.000-07:00

I went to Zumba class tonight.

Zumba is an aerobic dance class that is a mix of hip-hop and salsa and 80's (and as of tonight BOLLYWOOD!!! Just when I thought the dancing couldn't get more fun you give me BOLLYWOOD???)

That being said, anyone who knows me (or saw me at my wedding) knows that this is one hour of pure joy for me.

Except for the part where you are in a room with all other 20-30 something women wearing spandex dancing in front of full length mirrors, watching themselves intently (especially during the sexy body roll parts. And some of them make faces. These trying-to-be-sexy-faces that just make me want to check with them and make sure they know they can't actually have sex with themselves. At least not here, please.)

That part gets a little obnoxious. I usually stay out towards the very edge of the dance floor where I can just kind of let loose and try to not pay attention to the one-up-ing-ness going on around me. Besides, I don't have any friends in the class and I usually wear my Umbros from 4th grade that have duct tape in the crotch, so I don't think even if I wanted to get into the middle with the popular regulars they would even let me.

Well tonight, over in my own little corner, I had a new friend. This friend was a portly 20 something Indian (eastern, not American) girl. I immediately felt some sort of odd kinship toward the way she just stood peacefully still before class started, with this pleasant smile on her face. I also noticed that she was wearing a (baggy) UMKC med school shirt. It gave me comfort to know that if I got a little too into the Jazz square and forget to breathe because I am concentrating too hard on my Jazz hands, she probably knows CPR.

I liked her.

Then the music came on.

And I loved her.

People, we were rocking hard to some Beyonce and sister friend behind me had a whole-nother soundtrack playing in her head.

Like maybe the soundtrack from the part in Titanic when Kate Winslet does an irish jig on table?

Or maybe she was channeling her personal dance icon, Mr. Six, with a little "We like to party" going on in her head?

All the while, she is just having the most fantastic time back there. Just smiling and occasionally giggling at her own expense and doing some sort of interesting jig/skipping-in-place/head-bob thing.

I just can not express, short of spritzing you with a chilled shot of cucumber melon water, how refreshing this sight was amidst a sea of spandex and fake boobs.

I want to be like her. Jig and all.

{international business extraordinaire}

2010-04-20T06:17:00.000-07:00

lest you think my life running an international company is super sexy, let me give you a glimpse, a teensie glimpse into my life, language barriers and all.

we are working on some shipping logistics and thinking about moving our account in Uganda over to FedEx. But first I had some questions. The first email the FedEx man sent had about 16 contradictions in it. So I asked for some clarification.

{excerpt from my email to him}

"Can you please clarify this for me? I checked the country listing in the 'Country Listing' document and it indicated that USA is located in zone A. Then I checked the listing in the 'Fed Ex Box Country Listing' and it indicated that USA is in zone D. Can you clarify this contradiction for me?"

I waited all day for a response as the difference between zone A and zone D is about $300 per shipment.

This was his response:

"USA is in zone A in the 'Country Listing' document and in zone D on the 'Fed Ex Box Listing' document...I hope I have answered your question."

Ohhhhhhhhh. Now I get it. Thanks, Douglass.

{marrwidge}

2010-04-12T10:32:00.000-07:00

this morning b. and i got in a fight about laundry.

yesterday i said i would do it. today i felt very overwhelmed with work and acted quite inconvenienced and personally offended (why me??? because I am a WOMAN??? oh, because I said I would when you offered to do it yesterday...?? ok.) when he reminded me that we (read: me) needed to do some laundry today.

we are dangerously close to Whitey Tighty day, which means b has NO MORE clean underwear.

(we don't have a washer or dryer, so laundry day becomes QUITE an event...just FYI...and to make you sympathize with me more.)

long story short. i acted like a pretty huge brat. b was kind of a baby. and we both had to own up to our lameness and apologize.

and you know what?

we fought about laundry!

it made me happy.

because most of the time we fight about...

how to deal with racism...??

and was Jesus a feminist???

and what about hate crime legislation??

and what is the most important part of building a strong brand...??

and eschatology AGAIN??? oh dear.

and what is the most effective way to stimulate a 3rd world economy...??

and what about poverty in our own backyard???

{OR, occasionally because I am having some inexplicable, existential, un-articuable emotional crisis and just don't want to TALK about it right now, just leave me alone!!!! but don't just ignore me because that will just make matters worse, BOY!}

and today?

we fought. made up. and the only thing left to figure out was...

who does the laundry??

not world hunger.

it was refreshing.

AND I am doing laundry right now.

just saying...

(point for ME!) (that is healthy, right?)

{exposed}

2010-01-30T01:28:00.000-08:00

i politely excused myself from a meeting the other day.

because i knew i couldn't yell as loud as i wanted to at the man on the other end of my phone while i was indoors.

so, i walked outside.

onto dusty 6th street in the industrial area of Kampala.

and i yelled.

i yelled an infuriated yell at an infuriating middle-aged man who kept yelling back at me, "mommy! mommy!" and it only made me angrier.

then i hung up.

i am trying so hard to live in a story that deserves to be retold. to take risks. to tackle challenges.

those are the stories i believe in.

the stories i desperately want to be a part of.

but it turns out,

those are the stories that can also make you look really, really bad. the stories that tend to magnify your weaknesses. to show your ugliness. to reveal the parts we try so hard to hide.

i am always nice to a waiter. i don't raise my voice. i stay calm and polite. i tip pretty well. most waiters would call me nice. easy to deal with.

but who wants to hear a story about the Caesar salad i had for lunch?

so, Internet, here i am.

exposed.

and i am saying it before you can.

sometimes i can be a total ass.

a loud ass with a sick temper.

but at least i am an ass attempting to do something more than trying to get a decent Ceaser salad.

{wanted: elves}

2010-01-30T01:02:00.001-08:00

I spend my time these days at a sandal workshop on a university campus in East Africa.

These days, when people ask what I do, I reply "I am a cobbler."

Sometimes, I expound.

Other times, I secretly pray that they let me leave it at that.

{nostalgia ville}

2009-10-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

oh.

kids these days.

they things they are exposed to, the smutty television, the violence, the sex.

i think about having my own children some day, and i think to myself

"Self, don't you wish your children could experience the same wholesome entertainment you did as a child? Oh, Polly Pockets, Chutes and Ladders and The Flintstones?"

ah. the good old days.

***NEWS ALERT***

THE GOOD OLD DAYS WERE NOT AS GOOD AS THEY SEEM IN YOUR FOGGY DRIVE DOWN NOSTALGIA LANE. WHAT THE HELL WERE MY PARENTS THINKING?!?!?

I watched an episode of the Flintstones tonight. I was babysitting and normally we watch an episode of some loud, fancy, talk-to-the television show that makes me teeter on epilepsy. So imagine my relief when we decided on an episode of the good old Flintstones. Ah. So refreshing.

...Kids, I remember back in my day...

In case you are wanting to join me on my pleasant stroll down memory lane, let me recap the episode for you.

Opening Scene:

Wilma and Betty are watching a smutty soap opera about Roberto, the sexy "latin lover"

**quotations denote direct quotes from the show**

Roberto had a very sexy mustache that made Betty and Wilma swoon with desire.

Wilma: "Have you ever kissed a man with a mustache??"

Oh my, has she.

She makes some sexual innuendo about a past lover and his "filter" a.k.a mustache. FILTER??? I don't even want to think about what that means more than I already just did.

**excuse me while I gag a moment**

**excuse me again while my curiosity gets the best of me. I google "mustache filter." The first entry? A video entitled "I wanna Ride your Mustache-The Filter." Note that my curiosity was satisfied and point proven. I did NOT click on the link, even for research's sake.**

Moving on.

Meanwhile, while Betty and Wilma are enjoying some HBO, Fred comes in demanding Wilma fix him his dinner. After barking orders at her, Barney tries to get Fred to make his own PB&J, a suggestion that is met with a classic cartoon steam coming out the ears moment: "No! Wilma is my WIFE!!! And I am hungry and WANT DINNER NOW!!!" After his pseudo violent rage, Wilma submits and fixes him dinner during a commercial break.

Well good.

At least she knows her place.

Now, after swooning over Roberto, Wilma is all hot and heavy and she uses some manipulative "light flattery" to suggest her husband take on some new characteristics to help fufill her new sexual fantasy.

This role playing requires a new hair do, an accent, and you guessed it... a 'FILTER.' I mean, mustache.

Well, as you can imagine, this new persona works wonders for Wilma and all the other women in the quarry village.

Fred has a..ahem...dream...about all the women chasing him now. Simultaneously Wilma is having a nightmare about all the broads after her husband.

After listening in on a phone conversation, Wilma starts to suspect that Fred is having an affair.

Instead of confronting her husband, she goes on a little mission a la Cheaters style. She finds the suspected mistress, and yet again, in a masterful lesson in passive aggressiveness, feigns a little... oh, I don't know...DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. She proceeds to chronicle all the ways Fred has BEAT HER, attempting to ward off the potential mistress (who is overweight and pushing 70, by the way--maybe Fred has a thing for mustaches too??)

She then continues on to tell an elaborate story of all the women that Fred the "playboy" has been with. If fear of a swift kick in the face from her lover doesn't scare the mistress off, maybe a scary STD will do the trick??

Well, luckily Fred walks in. Wilma sees Fred (still assuming he has been having an affair) and literally,

yes Internet,

I said literally,

throws herself prostrate before Fred and BEGS, "Please, oh, please Fred! Don't leave me! I've tried to be a good wife! I'll be better! I'll do anything you want!!!"

Ah. The good old days of wholesome, family entertainment. Minus the adultery, sexual fetishes, dishonesty, misogyny and domestic violence.

BUT...

at least they slept in separate beds.

{the why behind i do ( i did) }

2009-09-11T08:25:00.001-07:00

not that i need to explain myself, but the following is a snippet of one of the many reasons i married the man i did. outside of the fact that i was totally inebriated when he proposed.

ha.

just kidding.

today i sent ben a text message that read: "purple shoes can't fly in the dark! they need directions and instant rice."

if that makes no sense to you, that is because it shouldn't make sense. to anyone. there is no history, no secret inside joke, no hidden references.

just nonsense.

but i got a little overwhelmed with HTMLing and sitting here alone in our apartment, i knew the only thing that would make me feel better was a dollop of nonsense. (and a little brown sugar.)

seconds later, i get a text message back. it read as if the message i sent was as simple and straightforward as asking him to stop and get milk after work:

"but of course! and maybe they need a friend to fly with!"

to be followed by:

"and noodles! and six rubies!"

oh. the luck that i found a boy to play my games with me.

makes life way better.

{dr. jeckle and uncle fred}

2009-08-24T06:23:00.000-07:00

i go to a church that some might refer to as a bit on the hipster side. you know, the kind of church where it is cool to have dreads and boys can wear their deep Vs, if they so choose.

but it is not all dreads and deep Vs. there are families and marrieds and business types and people who come in their running clothes and boys (namely my husband) who wear their khaki shorts and button up Volcom shirts they bought when they were freshmen in college.

but i digress.

in the midst of the diversity that i so appreciate, there was an old man standing next to me.

old.

his back was hunched and his hands shook as he held is aged but well-loved bible in his hand. his deep wrinkles seemed like the pages of an antique book, worn and discolored but home to millions of words and pictures and stories and characters, hidden in the folds.

as he looked up at the screen where the worship lyrics were displayed, he tried hard to keep up. an unfamiliar song, he bobbed his head with the beat and managed to join us in singing on perhaps every seventh or eighth word.

through the sermon and the worship, he would quietly whisper to the lord. praises and petitions.

he was experiencing the Lord. here is this man, sagacious with age and experience. he has lead a life and a journey that i am only just embarking on. standing next to him i felt a sense of comfort in knowing that i was worshiping the same Lord that this sage old man has for, perhaps, several decades. there was a sense of reverence and respect. i was struck with the timelessness of the lord. in awe of a god who can speak to me and him. in the same voice.

then.

during the last song before the benediction, Old Man Wisdom leaned over to me. my heart kind of leaped. i had been thinking about this man, his presence next to me, throughout the service.

and now!

he was leaning over to share some nugget of the wisdom he had gleaned throughout his seasoned life. here, this whisper would build a bridge between our worlds.

he leaned over and i placed my hand gently on his back as i placed my head close to his to hear his whisper of truth and grace into my life. i didn't want to miss a word.

but alas.

no whisper followed.

it was rather loud.

and brash sounding.

i couldn't make out the words, but desperate to understand what it was the Lord wanted to share with me through this old wise yogi, i asked him THREE TIMES to please repeat what he was saying.

finally, in voice closer to a frustrated yell that i was convinced the whole sanctuary could hear, he said "HOW MUCH LONGER IS THIS SONG GOING TO LAST? I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TO GET TO YOU, YOU KNOW."

ah.

the words of the Lord.

suddenly, before my eyes, as if witnessing the second great transfiguration, the Moses-like character next to me transformed in to an embarrassing, off-key, kind-of- inappropriate old Uncle Fred figure.

at first i was crushed. crushed that this character I had concocted in my head was shattered.

but then i just got so happy and thought to myself with a chuckle a phrase i find myself saying often before the Lord: "you would."

you would do that, Lord. you would show me a glimpse of your timelessness and wisdom in the kind, sage, old stranger sharing a pew with me.

but just before i walk off feeling too warm and gooey about it, you would show me that you used an old, deaf, cranky, wrinkly man to do it. not a yogi. not a guru. just some old poo who is late for his gastronomy appointment.

you, my Lord, are a funny one. know that i quite appreciate your genius use of irony and your distaste for the cliche'.

{this is your brain. this is your brain on...nope. nothing. just your brain}

2009-08-12T15:26:00.000-07:00

i was driving in the car today, listening to the local traffic update.

is it weird that when i heard: "there was a multi-car accident due to an overturned crane on the highway"

i gasped and thought: immediately of a beautiful paper crane who had somehow found his way inside a turtle shell, and being that cranes don't really know how to get around in the shells of turtles, consequently found himself stuck on his turtle shell back in the face of oncoming traffic?

the pileup, you see, was caused by the people so in awe and wonder of the beautiful paper crane who curiously inhabits a turtle shell, that they did everything in their power not to crush the rare turtle-crane, subsequently causing a massive multi-car pileup.

thank goodness there are people who appreciate beautiful, hybrid, paper animals in this crazy world of ours.

{confessions of a teenage twenty-something}

2009-08-12T08:56:00.001-07:00

last night, i cried myself to sleep for the first time in a long, long time.

i couldn't quite articulate why i was crying, but i knew it. i held it to myself. i feared that each word i spoke of this sadness would muddy the clarity of my tears. i wanted to keep it close, to keep it untarnished from my sorry attempt to explain it.

life has taken a turn. there are decisions to be made. hard decisions where seeking the Lord and going where he calls seems like too much.

the future is so unsure. there are so many questions. i forgot what being scared feels like.

i sleep with my doors unlocked and love walking in the dark and haunted houses and heights. so i think i don't get scared.

but then i think about something infringing on the life i have planned for myself and i become petrified. afraid of resentment and regret and most of all, having my perfect plans ruined.

as I laid in bed last night i thought quietly to myself, "this could ruin everything."

and then i cried. not at the possibility of the Ruined Everything, but at a deep sadness that i really believe that.

an aching sadness at the recognition that i do in fact believe my plans for my life are better than what the Lord has in store for me.

i cried because i forget. i forget about the blessings. i forget about the provisions. i forget that i stand where i stand, not because my perfect plans work, but because Jesus has grace. and takes joy in my delight.

i forget about how my plans have already changed. and how from here, it feels like i planned to be here all along. in his grace, Jesus changed my plans. but now, somehow they feel like my own.

i cried because it takes so little to rock my world. i cried because i believe that i have faith and courage and grace and then there are moments when i realize it is easy to have faith and courage and grace when you are living in your plan.

i cried because when you are living in your plan, the beautiful robes of true faith and grace and courage are cheap accessories at the mercy of a trend.

i would follow Jesus to the Congo. tomorrow, if i was called to go live in one of the most violent, war torn, darkest nations of this world, I would wrangle my courage and my grace and my faith and go. i would follow Jesus there. there would be no rocking of my world. no Ruined Everything. only obedience.

but is it really courage and faith that enables me when a smaller, less glamorous, safer call sends me to shambles?

i cried because i have to question myself.

and then i cried because it feels so right to have to question myself. i cried at the relief of seeing myself before the Lord in the only way i can: helpless and needy and snotty and blotchy-faced.

right where i belong. no illusions of grandeur and importance and success.

just snot.

{ my stained glass glasses}

2009-07-14T21:23:00.000-07:00

i go to church in a beautiful, old church. i really love starting my sunday mornings off going to church, but every now and then, we go to the evening service.

and when we go at this time, a little miracle happens. the angle of the setting sun coming through the old stained glass changes everything. it feels like it would be impossible for anything to be ugly in the illuminating light. somehow, i can't help but feel more aware of the presence of the lord. of the light around me, of the light coming from the one sitting beside me.

but.

what if my glasses were made out of that very same beautiful, light changing glass?

well.

i would get real pissed off.

because it would mess me up. it would seem foggy. and the colors of the world around me would be all janky. and there would be no narrative through my stained glass glasses. just a jumble of obscure shapes and lines getting in the way of my daily, very important business.

and it would likely make me very, very cranky.

today i had a stained glass glasses day. i was in my apartment, hot and alone, sitting on the floor counting shoes. and then i worked on the Sseko website, trying to do stuff that I don't know how to do on a computer that seems to have a personal vendetta against me. i swear in the hissing of his motor i hear him whispering "...haaa haaaa haaaaa. gottttt yooouuuuu thisssssss time, sssssssuuuuucccka...."

and i get stuck. suddenly, donning my stained glass glasses, my dreams become discolored specks that are getting in the way. if pursuing your dreams is this boring and frustrating, well, no thanks, i guess. this is not grand. nor satisfying, really. it is boring and my computer is breaking and my apartment is hot and what!?! is that a fruit fly? oh shit. i hate fruit flies. i wish i had an office. and someone to do this with me. clearly i had some delusions about what "pursuing your dreams" and trying to "do something meaningful" meant. because sometimes it sucks. this, all of this, not in the job description. oh wait, i was supposed to write the job description and i got distracted thinking, "what if humans had the same eye to face ratio as bugs?" and never made it to that task. so the fact that this was not in the non-existent job description is really my fault too.

and then i remember that the most beautiful stained glass in the world all looks pretty much the same when you are nose to nose with it.

and maybe the nose to nose days makes the days where you get a peak at the whole wall of the breathtaking beautiful story of glass much sweeter.

{a jam packed couple of weeks}

2009-01-12T22:58:00.001-08:00

i made it past the 14 day mark without another bout of malaria.

we celebrate.

a baby is born in a pig trough and saves humanity.

we celebrate.

the love of my life asks me to be his wife.

we celebrate.

lots of wonderful things and lots of celebrating going on...and in the midst of it all...

i stop blogging because i am busy celebrating.

but also because i discover that i am a little passive aggressive and decide not to blog until God decides to talk to me like he did when i lived in Africa. (or until i read a rather serious sounding threat from Kate about updating blogs...)

I talk about adjusting back to America and how it was easier for me than perhaps for many because...(getting ready for this bomb of self-righteousness) I have a pretty good grasp on humanity. Now, before I make you so nauseous that you punish me with the power of that little red sphere in your FireFox menu known as the 'close button', hear me out...

I think there is something, buried deep under this self righteous delusion that bears some weight. I really believe that the deeper we seek to experience humanity in any culture, time or place, the more glaringly obvious the commonalities of the human experience will become. When we experience life and those around us only on a surface level, what we know of life and those around us it is intrinsically and inextricably linked to the culture we experience this in.

But it seems to me that when we experience deep joy, earth-shattering mourning, insatiable greed and unfathomable generosity in ourselves and those around us, the easier it is to find those very same things in the people that make up the worlds that seem so far away in every other respect. As I look back at some of my first thoughts during my time and Africa, I find that I am more struck by the similarities than the differences. There is brokenness and there is healing. Things fall apart and things are restored. There is messiness. And there is redemption. And granted, where this happens often changes drastically what it looks like, but when we look beyond the cosmetic, it is not hard to see the same story taking place in a thousand different places, on a thousand different sets.

In understanding this, I believe that my " cultural transition" to and from was smoother than some. But after settling in and being proud of myself for my easy cultural transition, I am beginning to realize that there is another aspect of transitioning that is proving a bit more difficult...

I feel distant from the Lord. The idea of waking up early, so that I can carve out my "quiet time" to "be with the Lord" and "start my day off right" seems awkward and forced. Like inviting someone to a "coffee date" so you can "catch up" when you have been lying in bed with them all morning, giggling and maybe crying and sharing fears and dreams and life and a blanket.

Now, I am not saying that it is; that it is forced or fake or awkward to make intentional time for the Lord. There are so many people I know, and gosh I used to be one of them, that feel most connected to the Lord when they are intentional like this.

And I am sure, in fact I know, there are people all around me right now, living what looks to be a ho-hum life that are in constant conversation with the Lord. And this is me humbly admitting that maybe after 10 years of feeling like I would say this about myself, that I experience the Lord, even in the often mundaneness of life, I realized that that this connection pales to what it could be. It pales to what it was for me when I was in Africa. The idea of waking up early to pray while I was in Uganda seemed more foreign to me than it had before. Not because I didn't want to communicate with the Lord, but because I knew that I was going to. All day. Every day. Constantly wrestling with questions about his world and his children. Asking for the things I would need to get by. Seeing his beauty in the mess around me and singing his praises loud and off-key. Begging for wisdom, for guidance, for patience, for compassion, for strength.

And now I am home, and the questions are a little less pressing. The begging has turned into a guarded requests. The praises are quieted to cordial "Thank You"s. Where as I felt at times I couldn't shut the sound of Jesus out, I feel now the pressure to run around and quiet the world around me, to find a place, a time, a way, to hush myself and my world to hear him speak.

and he will.

perhaps the dialect will just be a bit different.

it took weeks to get used to hearing Ugandans say "You are welcome" and not feeling like I had to suppress the panicky urge to say "For what?" with fear that I was rudely blind to a kind gesture that required a "Thank you" when in reality they simply meant what they were saying: "You are welcome." In my home. In this place. In my life.

i guess some things just take getting used to. and then one day it is hard to remember when it was still new, foreign, and maybe a little awkward.

{my new life}

2008-12-17T12:57:00.001-08:00

(before i say anything. i need to confess my first brilliant thought as i woke up this morning:

"Quick Liz! Come up with a riddle. Ready set go!"

My first attempt:

Question: Mork and Mindy, origins of a human life, my eating habits. What do these things have in common? Answer: Eggs!

Man, then i woke up a little bit more and realized how incredibly bizarre my brain is and hurried out of bed because i was uncomfortable laying in bed with someone that weird.)

Moving on.
My day so far:
-Wake up
-Come up with bizarre, not clever riddle
-Do some sewing for the sample sandals
-Work on design for Sseko website
-Get distracted and work on various other Photoshop projects
-Research import/export laws
-Get blurry-eyed on my computer and go back to sewing
-Think about moving to local coffee shop to do my research ...and to make me feel a little better about myself.
-Decide against driving in the freezing rain
-Research Fair Trade certification
-Convert my mom's living room into a photo studio and take some product shots
-Call Jonathan and talk about the website and why what I want to do probably won't work
-Work on some copy for the website
-Eat Fritos and English Toffee for lunch
-Take a break to change out of onesie pajamas and take a shower.

(Meanwhile have the National Geographic Channel playing in the background...except for a brief interlude when I watched John and Kate Plus 8 and officially decided against reproducing. Ever.)

-G-Chat with Africa friends
-Try to learn a little bit about search engine optimization
-Research books online that I should read that will teach me how to start a small business
-Think about trying to find hidden Christmas presents, just to be naughty
-Wait until hair dries to avoid hairsicles to go to library to find books to help me not FAIL

Just wanted to share a glimpse into the life of one homeless, jobless me.

thanks for indulging me.

{ media mania }

2008-12-16T18:56:00.000-08:00

one:
it may be presumptuous to assume that anyone is still reading this. after all, i am back in good ole Missouri, which means all my sexy world travelerness has worn off.

(what has also worn out (PRAISE THE LORD) is the faint stench of feet all over my body that i was beginning to think was permanent)

two:
back in America. and i feel like i have a moral obligation to start complaining about how overwhelming and evil American media is.

right?

isn't that what most good returning from the 3rd world journeyers do? we complain about commercialism and the media and suburbs and such.

well. i will not succumb to these expectations put before me by my fellow pious comrades. i happen to have a new appreciation for our media. that appreciation is almost entirely directed towards the National Geographic Channel. i have never been much of a TV lover. in fact, i got a little bit of heat for not knowing how to work the TV in our house the last semester of college.

BUT, i think that was because i had no idea this little treasure existed. try it. it might keep you up all night too, as you stay tuned to learn what in fact could have possibly caused the ginormous wale to explode in the middle of a crowded street in Taiwan. or perhaps understand the mystery of the shroud.

(that reminds me of one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE headlines in the New Vision, the official newspaper in Kampala. giggle with me. the headline read:

"YESTERDAY, (Random African Name) CLAIMED THE BIBLE IS NOT TRUE. MUSEVENI ASSIGNS TOP SCHOLARS TO INVESTIGATE"

So, if in fact you have been wondering about the veracity and validity of the Holy Bible, hang on just a bit, because Museveni (the president of Uganda) has his top scholars on it. we should hear the results any day here... )

moving on.

more media love... iTunes U. thats right. virtual university. if you didn't know this, you can get on the iTunes store and download (FOR FREE) lectures from universities around the country. so if you, like me, are going through university withdraw, you can get your fix there.

now another portion of my new love for new media is for Facebook. thats right. i said it. and i know that as a recent college grad, now is the time where i should start denouncing Facebook (even while spending the same amount of time secretly e-stalking old middle school flames...)

anyways ... i was looking for a web designer to help with the new Sseko website. so, i thought i would journey down a new path for me, and changed my Facebook status to "looking for a web designer..."

my first response arrived in my email inbox 1 minute and 36 seconds after posting.

wowzer. i mean, lets be honest. Facebook is like the local parish soccer team phone tree...on crack.

ah, home sweet home.

{p.s.}

2008-12-11T17:57:00.001-08:00

in celebration of lightning fast internet...i just updated my flick'r account. finally.

2008-12-11T06:33:00.000-08:00

well.

a couple of things:

i kind of gave up on blogging.

and i am home.

really, it is pretty sad, but the last couple of weeks of my stay was just so so busy, that poor little bloggy got left in the African dust.

i am not a goodbye crier. i never have been. i mean, don't get me wrong, i get sad when i say goodbye to people i love, but it is an emotion that rarely elicits wetness from the eyes.

i cried all day Tuesday. literally, could not stop crying. i woke up this morning, in the coldness of the Missouri winter (rocking my one-piece pajamas, mind you) with a little ache in my heart for Uganda.

there are so many people here i am excited to see. and i am realizing that those people are "home" to me. because outside the anticipation of seeing the ones i love, i don't feel any relief about setting foot back in America. the roads are amazing. it is so clean. i ate triscuits and cream cheese and chocolate last night. took a really long, really hot shower. my email loaded in a matter of seconds. and it was all great. but i am surprised by myself. i don't have a feeling of coming home. although it was only a matter of months, that world became my home.

i am looking for something to do now. i am wandering around a little aimlessly this morning, slowly unpacking, making my way over to my computer every so often to watch videos of little Vianey dancing and posing for the camera.

as for now, i am going to take the next couple of weeks to enjoy the cold and Christmas and to see everyone that i have quite missed.

then I am off to figure out how to run a small business, American style. I anticipate that this season of the business adventure will be quite different here in the states than it was back in the U.G. For one, no more riding boda bodas to my business meetings. and I may have to swap in my Chacos for some more professional looking business attire. I am excited to share more about the business...or business-to-be, rather. i really want you all to be a part of this, whatever that may look like.

if you are within a couple hour radius of STL, expect to see me on your doorstep soon. if you are lucky, i will still be in my onesie pajamas.

love you all.

{don't worry...I am not delusional...}

2008-11-23T07:56:00.000-08:00

...and under the impression that anyone out there is waiting on pins and needles for my next posting.

however, i will take the opportunity to hang a theoretical "gone fishing" sign on my blog door.

i will be out of commission for the next week or so.

i don't know if you have heard, but it turns out i am dating a contestant for most neatest, wonderful boy ever.

and he is coming to see me.

here.

in Africa.

is this my life???

(this is me shaking my head "yes" silently mouthing, with a srcunched up nose "ohhhhhh yeeeeaaaahhhh.")

*and yes. this occasion warranted a shower before the standard five-day mark. ooooh baby.*

{all blog and no bite}

2008-11-19T21:45:00.000-08:00

*if you are new to a hopping grasser, please read my October 12 posting, as it will serve as a nice preface to the following entry*

Alright. So, the time has come. This post has been like a little bug in my ear (which is serious symbolism when you live in Africa and often wake up to...well, bugs in your ears...) for weeks now.

But this is coming from the girl, who in a single twenty-four hour period is convinced she is going to: go to law school, become a mid-wife, start an ad agency, do voice-overs for cartoons and move to Switzerland to become an ice-climbing instructor. Needless to say, I have a lot of ideas, and they don't always come to fruition. So I got nervous about this one. I felt like I needed to hit that magic (is it 12 weeks?) mark before you can tell everyone about your bun in the oven. So here is my bun in the oven:

I've spoken a lot in the past months about socially proactive businesses (again, i've written about this before, so I am not going to go into detail). And talking about it is pretty fun. On a lot of different levels I am drawn to this business model. But no one likes a big blogger who doesn't actually do anything :) So, that is where I tell you that I am starting a business. A socially proactive business. And golly, I am pretty excited about.

There will be more to come, but I will give you the real-quick low down. The organization I am affiliated with has started a Leadership Academy for young women around the country. They receive over 900 applicants a year, and only choose 25. They come from villages and tribes and clans across the nation, and purposefully recruit young women from tribes and clans that have a history of conflict. Not only is this school a great education, the main focus is leadership training and character development. They teach principles of reconciliation, commitment, servant leadership, integrity and virtue. The Leadership Academies are the cornerstone (no pun intended) of Cornerstone (the organization I am with). The vision of Cornerstone is very focused on developing the next generation of leaders in this country and these schools are one way in which that is being done.

Since coming to Uganda, I have had the privilege of spending some time out at the school.

I (woops) kept some girls up a little late, sitting in a hut, teaching each other songs, talking about how to change the world.

I listened to their stories, heard about their families, their childhoods, their dreams.

Many have lost one or both parents from things including the LRA rebels and AIDS.

Many come from dire poverty.

But all have shown a will and desire to rise above their circumstances.

I had a great conversation with one young women who wants to be the first neurosurgeon in the country. Others who want to pursue a career in politics, education, entrepreneurship and the arts.

These are the women who will change this country.

If there is one thing I have learned while being on this trip, it is that I cannot change a country in 3 months. I have little to offer. But what I can do is support those who are going to change this place. To do whatever I can to enable them to change their world, their country.

So, these girls graduate from the Leadership Academy in December and will not begin University until the fall. This nine-moth gap is intended to give students time to work and start saving money for college. However, this is a lot more complicated than it sounds. Many cannot even afford to go back home to their villages. And every penny that they did make, if they could go back, would go directly back to their families who are in desperate need of money. It can be hard to find work, and even harder for young women.

Every single one of these women has the ability to go to University and the propensity to become the leaders of this nation. However, at the end of the day, the only way that is going to happen is if they come up with the money to do so.

So. This is where I tell you that the best solution I could come up with was to start a business to employ these girls for this nine month period before they go to University. So, that is what I am doing. This post is already ridiculously long, so the details will come later.

But I will tell you...

It turns out that starting a business is hard. Starting a business in a third-world country is...well, sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

I have spent entire days, wandering in the rain through the Oweno market, only to emerge more lost than when I started.

I have made a lot of mistakes.

I have come to have a new appreciation for the wonders of Excel (I desperately need an accountant if any are willing to offer their services :) I throw-up in my mouth a little when I try to figure out taxes and tariffs and imports and exports, mostly just trying not to do anything that is going to land me in jail.

I have had violent urges to punch Ugandan business men who try to take advantage of the fact that I am a young, idealistic, mzungu (white) woman.

I have been really close to throwing up my hands and throwing up the towel.

But at the end of the day, my desire to empower these women so that one day they are not taken advantage of simply because they are women outweighs my frustration. My desire to see these women start their own businesses and write their own plays and teach the children of their nation is stronger (albeit slightly) than my desire to punch someone in the nose.

"So we beat on, boats against the current..." F. Scott Fitzgerald

{a little blog reflection...}

2008-11-10T23:16:00.000-08:00

So this morning I scrolled through the last several entries of my blog. And I realized something rather striking to me. I started this blog with the purpose of keeping my state-side world up to date with everything I was going to be doing here in Africa.

And as I think about it, if this blog is your only way of keeping track of me (shame on your for not Skyping me) then you really have NO idea what I have been doing. This made me realize a couple of things:

1.) I have pretty intense fear of being one of those bloggers. You know, the ones that say: I went here. And it was pretty neat. And then I did this, and it was cool I guess. And then I saw that. And it was neat too. Yada yada yada. So I guess that leads me more to being a random thoughts and snapshots of life blogger, than a here is my daily schedule in a blog blogger.

So I could do that. I could tell you about the newsletter I am working on for the organization I work with. Or tell you about the public speaking class we teach at the local university. Or about the Sunday night Bible study we lead for a group of college-aged girls etc, etc. And I guess that would be fine. And maybe you would have a better idea about what exactly I am doing here, about how I spend my time.

2.) But more than that, it has made me realized how much Americans love to do. How important it is, to at the end of the day have a list, decorated with tiny accomplished check marks.

Now, on the one hand, there are definitely bonuses to such a mindset. Oh, I don't know, like paved roads, pasteurized milk...nano-technology. Stuff like that.

But at the same time, so much is lost. When I meet someone back home, or even ex-pats here, the first question always tends to be, "What do you do?" We want to know how a person fills his or her day, because in our minds, that tells us the most about who that person is. Often, without knowing what it is that someone does we almost feel paralyzed in our ability to know them. I think this is one of the most difficult parts about coming to a place like Africa for task-oriented foreigners. People come to Africa and they want to help.

They want to do.

They want to accomplish something. And they become frustrated with the ineffective, often corrupt system.

They want to give. But they realize that in a continent drowning in need, what they can give seems so small.

But I am learning that before you can do, you have to just be. To be okay with not having your on-hand, lamented, pocket-sized list of all things you have done to change the world in the past 6 weeks.

To be with each other.

To spend entire days, walking, sitting in huts, taking tea, playing with cars made out of juice boxes, to just be with one another.

To be with yourself.

To quiet the noise long enough to see the beauty, the humanness, the likeness, in those you have come to serve. I so often feel burdened by expectations. Sometimes I feel panicked. Am I doing enough? Am I making a difference? Am I changing the world? (granted, there are those who perhaps don't ask these things enough.) But, I don't think those things can come until we answer the question, can I "just be?" It is out of that peace, not the anxious, panicked feeling of needing to make a difference, that flow the actions that will change hearts and change lives, including our own.

{can you give a blog away?}

2008-11-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

please be patient with me.

if there was such thing as social services for blogs, i would likely be reported.

i have been a terrible, terrible blog mommy.

and the shame...the guilt of abandonment, it is making it harder to come back.

but i will be back soon, i promise.

In the meantime, here is a little something to keep you entertained:

Mr. Obadiah has become an exciting nightly ritual. Every night around 10 p.m. my text message alert would go off, and everyone would gather 'round to read the good news...

Here are some of our favorites:

plz liz! god never created human being 4 no reason. u make mi crazy. u will know me if lord give us a chance honey.

hi swite liz? i request u 2 tel me where 2 meet nd u get 2 know in detail. gd 9ite dear.

hi honey liz? howz de weekend? 2 me is not gd coz im missing you daily. have a lovely nite.

hullo queen liz? im just a ugandan but 4 sure love u liz with all of my hear. gd nite honey.

bahahahaha.

then, my "boyfriend" called and gave Obadiah a piece of his mind...we haven't heard from him since.

ah, summer lovin'. well. i guess it would be rainy season lovin'. but that just doesn't have the same ring to it...

{things you are not supposed to bring up at the dinner table...}

2008-10-22T04:05:00.000-07:00

Ask any American Christian what their opinion on homosexuality is, and it is quite probable that they they will share with you a pretty strong conviction. And it is also quite probable that that opinion will start with the phrase, "Well, the Bible clearly says..."

(Now, just to clarify a few things from the get go, the purpose of this post is not to discuss the morality of homosexuality. If that is what you would rather discuss, I am sure there is a 24-hour Focus on the Family chat room you could join to debate away. Please, if that is what you are hoping for, go join them, because that is not what this is about. I have merely chosen to use the issue of homosexuality to illustrate a bigger point.)

Many of these people that explain to you what the Bible clearly says about homosexuality are referring to six verses of the Bible. Six verses that can read that homosexuality is a sin. The church in America has built a crusade around the immorality of homosexuality. These six verses have been used to back a movement that has had enormous social, religious and political implications. And this crusade is largely based on the importance of the infallibility of the scriptures and the mandate that they be taken seriously and literally. It has been an issue that has acted as a polarizing force in our country, our government, our churches and our schools.

But after all, the Bible tells us so.

Now, ask those same people what their thoughts are on poverty. On wealth management. On the taking care of the widows and the orphans. On the oppression of the poor. Ask them to show you their bank account. To talk to you in the same frankness, with the same matter-of- factness, and with the same level of confidence on how they make, spend and invest their money. Ask them who made their shoes, and if they were being paid a fair wage. Ask them if the women that assembled their television were working in that factory where they routinely raped and subjected to sexual exploitation, but returned day after day in a desperate attempt to feed their family.

And when they look at you and make you feel like you have just crossed an invisible, but very strict line of social propriety, ask them about the 2,000 verses in the Bible that speak to this subject. Ask them about 16 of the 38 proverbs in the New Testament that deal with it.

Ask them how their literally they interpret Jesus' words, "Go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then, come follow me."

or "When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled the lame and the blind."

or "Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink. I was a stranger and you did not invited me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me...Whatever you did not do for one of least of these, you did not do for me."

or when Paul talks about the church and says, "All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had...there were no needy persons among them."

Then remind them of the words they spoke about interpreting the scriptures as literally as possible.

About how the Bible tells them so.

Then take a step back and ask yourself why? Why? If people really believe that the Bible is God breathed and perfect...? Why? If it is imperative to the moral health of our nation that these six verses be taken very seriously...? Why there are over 2,000 verses that get forgotten, justified with 'cultural context', ignored, and seen as radical, unrealistic and impractical? Why the Word of God instructing that man not lie with man should be taken more seriously and literally than 'go, sell your possessions?' Why the story of Sodom and Gomorrah is a notorious reminder of the consequences of immorality, but the story of Ananias and Sapphira is forgotten and glazed over?

Here is a thought. Perhaps it is because, for many, homosexuality is one of the only things that can be spoken on with such conviction, such passion, such confidence, that does not require a single thought about how it should influence their own lives. I could sit here and say until I am blue in the face, that homosexuality is a sin, that God despises it, that it is an abomination. And guess what? I don't have to change a singe thing about the way I live my life.

But the minute I open my mouth about money, about possessions, about poverty, about the oppressed, about widows and orphans and the sick and the homeless, I better be ready to take a closer look at my own life. There is not a single one among us that is exempt from seriously examining our own lives, and that includes our bank accounts, living rooms, and closets. And suddenly, that makes those 2,000 verses pretty scary. And it makes glossing over them, justifying them, and explaining them away, much more tempting.

What would it look like for us to focus not on the immorality of "them" (whoever that is to you) and more on our own the injustices and ways in which we grieve the Lord, as opposed to our neighbors? It is far easier for me to focus on the "sin" of the "others" than to seriously examine my own heart.

And, oh boy, I have a lot of examining ahead of me...

won't you join me? oh, and pass the mashed potatoes. please.

{gelly shoes, Bozo the Clown and side ponies}

2008-10-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

Today I was setting up a classroom at Makerere University for the public speaking class we are teaching. I was rearranging the chairs and tables and started dragging a heavy wooden table over to the corner. I was scooting along and before I realized it, I had trapped myself in the corner between the wall and the table. And do you know what my very first thought was? My gut reaction? My first instinct?

I literally in my head said, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

Really?

Ba ha ha ha ha.

You can take the baby out of the 80's, but you can never take the 80's out of the baby.

Long live the 80's.

{the friends that kept me company in bed when Kristen was away...}

2008-10-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

Jesus For President:Politics for Ordinary Radicals
Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw

A book to provoke the Christian Political Imagination

"Jesus is forming a new kind of people, a different kind of party, whose politics are embodied in who we are. The church is a people called out of the world to embody a social alternative that the world cannot know on its own terms. We are not simply asking the government to be what God has commissioned the church to be. After all, even the best government can't legislate love. We can build hundreds of units of affordable housing (a good thing by the way) and people still might not have homes. We can provide universal healthcare and keep folks breathing longer, but people can be breathing and still not truly alive. We can create laws to enforce good behavior, but no law has ever changed a human heart or reconciled a broken relationship. The church is not simply suggesting political alternatives. The church is embodying one."

My Name is Asher Lev
Chaim Potok

"I stopped in front of a mound of snow and with my finger drew in one continuous line the contour of my face. Asher Lev, Hasid. Asher Lev, painter. I looked at my right hand, the hand with which I painted. There was power in that hand. Power to create and destroy. Power to bring pleasure and pain. Power to amuse and horrify. There was in that hand the demonic and the divine at one and the same time."

{young, fickle lovers}

2008-10-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

yesterday I was passive aggressively giving Africa the silent treatment.

today we were back together, like two hormonal, European adolescents, PDA-ing on public transit with no concept of decency and/or propriety.

okay. maybe that was a little dramatic. but....

I love Uganda.

{good idea, bad idea}

2008-10-15T04:05:00.000-07:00

The Double Punch

Works exceptionally well as a sign of celebration when John leads the Gulu Hawks to an epic victory.

Works not so well while defending yourself in the Oweno market.

{sometimes blog post titles intimidate me}

2008-10-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Over the past year, I have spent quite a bit of time (mostly at Kaldi's, with the occasional, and by occasional I mean daily, break for some Sparky's Ghiradelli and red wine ice cream) thinking about for-profit businesses and non-profit organizations.

For those of you who haven't been subjected to hearing me do my shpeal a hundred times, these entities and their relationships to one other and the consumer base is the topic of my thesis I am currently working on (and by working on, I mean thinking about...enter dark looming rain cloud that hangs ominously over me as I hop across continents)

Since there are no Kaldi's or Sparky's in Uganda, I continued to ponder solo style until I ran across some like-minded individuals who shared my enthusiasm...for examining these differences, looking at the relationship between these two sectors, and specifically thinking about the way Corporate Social Responsibility fits in to the scheme and can act as a bridge, a Middle Earth (that was for you, Andy) between these two worlds as one possible way of combining and harnessing the strengths of each...

Since the beginning of this journey, there has always been a tension for me. My heart is in the non-profit world. That makes sense to me. I am drawn to the missions, the visions, the passions of the non-profit world. But then there is that pesky brain of mine. And it clicks much more with a business operation model (That is not to say that both don't play an important and distinct role in society, but more so questioning the stark separation between these two worlds, both structurally and theoretically, and questioning if this separation is always necessary and the most advantageous for all constituents).

Not to mention the fact that American consumers are arguably the most influential and powerful group of people in the entire world. More powerful than any government, dictator, lobbyist or royalty.

A ticket to a Hannah Montana concert recently sold for $2,000 dollars.

Hannah Montana.

Laugh at the absurdity of this...

...and then remind yourself that there are 1.4 billion people living on less than $1.25 a day.

and that two hours of sub-par musical bliss for a lip-gloss wearing 13 year old was more than 4x the yearly wages for 1.4 billion of our neighbors.

I really believe that in order to change the world (among other things) we have to change the way the world (and specifically America) does business, their consumer habits, and social consciousness. That is why I am so drawn to the concept of Corporate Social Responsibility. Shifting the paradigm. Taking CSR from being something that a company does to get an edge and a pat on the back, to a survival mechanism. Taking the concept of a socially responsible business from notions of corporate philanthropy, charity, and once-a-year volunteer days, to a concept that infiltrates and dictates every aspect of a business, from planning to manufacturing to advertising to sales.

There is immense power in market demand.

(think Giga Pets)

And if American consumers demand that the companies that keep their lives running, bodies clothed, and bellies full go beyond annual penny wars for a local charity, the beauty of capitalism and competition tells me that their competitors will have no choice but to follow suit.

Next on the agenda: How to create this demand.

Stay tuned...

but I am confident that if ...

a couple of guys with a whole lot of pseudo-precious stones on their hands can successfully build a global demand by convincing the world that an arbitrary mineral, I mean, a diamond is in fact the symbol of true love and commitment (and by golly! now the sign of an Independent Woman too!! Raise your right hand ladies!)...

...or that Hasboro can somehow create an outrageous demand for virtual key chain pets that leave little stinky surprises behind if they are not tended to...

i think we can figure it out

{a post for the one who is waiting...}

2008-10-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

Bahahahaha.

Just kidding.

:)

*And I hope everyone laughs as hard as I did when I saw this *

2008-10-04T02:57:00.002-07:00

Haunting.

I don’t think I have ever used that word before.

But I stood in the kitchen with a man who has lived in Africa his whole life. A man who has a deep love and knowledge for this place and these people. We talked about the genocide in Rwanda. I know little of this terror, the horror of the hatred manifested in those 100 days. He spoke of a moment in history that is still encased in thick haze. The moment in time which sparked the death of over 800,000 people. President Jvuenal Habyariman’s plane was shot down. It is not clear who did it. It seems obvious to assume that it was a Tutsi, but perhaps it was a Hutu, one of his own. Habyariman was returning to Rwanda from a peace conference in Tanzania. A gathering to discuss they ways in which these people could live amongst one another. Where steps, albeit small, we taken to achieve this. Habyarimana signed a peace agreement. And on his way back, the spark. Within hours, the genocide had begun.

all i could think was, haunting.

It is haunting to me to think about what could have been.

What that year would have looked like for those people, had the “spark” of the death of Hayariman not taken place.

The “spark” that lead to the raging fire that was the Rwandian genocide.

Maybe that is the difference between love and hate. Hate has those moments. A spark. The breaking point. An instigation. The final straw. A word. An action. A look. A thought.

A definable moment where something breaks inside the heart. Something tears. And from that flows uncontrollably what the heart has been building up. A disregard, a release of the poisonous belief, that “they” are less human than “us.” That their tears are not quite as real as ours. That the pain they experience is less wrenching than ours.

Hate is a death.

It is a failure.

A failure to see.

A failure to imagine.

Love does not have a moment. Love is not sparked. There is not a final straw, a moment, a time frozen in history. Maybe with infatuation. But not with love. There is not a word, not a single action, a look, that causes a heart to love. Because love is cultured. It grows upon itself. It is only great when it is small. You take steps, small steps, and one day you realize that it is there. That it is real. That you believe in the beauty, the worthiness of another. That you ache for them. That you laugh with them. That you rejoice in their joy, that you are broken by their brokenness.

It is seeing another, not with your own eyes, but through the eyes of their creator.

A saint is not a moral being. A saint is not clean or set apart or living above.

A saint has the eyes of a lover. The imagination their creator.

"That is beautiful in that corner- to them.
It needs a lot of learning to see with a saint's eye.
A saint has subtle taste for beauty...
When they saw the lines at the corner of the eyes,
the shape of the mouth, how the hair grew,
it was impossible to hate.
Hate was just a failure of the imagination."

Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory

{three thousand words+ a couple}

2008-09-27T22:50:00.001-07:00

last night we went out to an orphanage that a couple of friends manage. we built a bonfire and all sat around, playing with fire and singing songs. Kami brought the kids some of those glowy necklaces that the kids were fascinated by.

one of the older African men led us in a prayer. during the prayer, I was playing with my glowy necklace and it cracked and sprayed glowy liquid everywhere.

all eyes were closed during the prayer. but i looked up out of that Did Anyone Just See That? instinct and met eyes with a little boy who looked stunned at the explosion of neon liquid now splattered on my skirt, his leg and all over Kristen's black fleece.

our eyes met and after a short moment of a locked gaze and stare, i smiled. it was as if he received a silent permission from me, a comfort that in fact this strange neon liquid was not a dangerous acid, and we both could not help but start giggling. it started out as a little snicker, but then took all of my might not to burst out laughing. every time i saw him hold back a giggle, it was harder for me not to.

then came the I Am Trying Really Painfully Hard Not To Laugh Snort.

eventually, my self control failed, and we were interrupting (or rather accompanying the) prayers with our laughter.

it was just a really beautiful moment. sitting in a far away place with this little one whom the world would say i have nothing in common with. and in that moment of stifling my giggles, i felt connected to him in a way that seemed to question every boundary, barrier, or difference we can give so much complicated importance.

{the power of positive thinking}

2008-09-26T17:39:00.000-07:00

it was less than 48 hours ago that i sat in this room, talking about my iron stomach and how i was absolutely convinced that i will leave Africa without getting sick. let's be honest, it is all so psychological. if i think i won't get sick, i probably won't get sick. i've got this insanely positive outlook on life that should serve me quite well, thank you.

now it is 3 a.m. and i just had another date hunched over the porcelain beauty.

positive thinking, eh?

screw you, Dr. Phil.

2008-09-21T23:11:00.000-07:00

i have such an affinity for symbolism. i think it is why i don't really like country music. in country music it seems like this is this. in symbolism this is really that. and i like that. which is why i am sharing this.

the Bible is full of symbolism. but there is one piece, one epic piece that continually brings me to my knees. a single word picture that explains the entire gospel.

"and the curtain in the temple was torn in two"

the curtain. it took over three hundred priests to move. bigger than a basketball court. inches thick. the curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the word. the dwelling place for God himself. it would take a year of preparation to enter the Holy of Holies. and even then only the holiest, highest priest could enter into the place separated by the great curtain.

and when Jesus died on the cross, "the curtain in the temple was torn in two."

the Holy of Holies was now...

...exposed? contaminated? compromised? this place that had only known the purity and lightness and righteousness of the Lord himself was now flooded with the darkness of humanity. with jealousy. and anger. and revenge. and lust. and greed.

is it the end of true Holiness?

or

a new kind of Holy?

it brings into question everything we believe about Holiness. is Holiness this separation? this division? boundaries and barriers and classifications? this clean crispness we have made it to be? is it white robes and the right words? an elevation of sorts?

or is it the great mixing? and tragically messy? a beautiful descent? an epic release of the untouchable God from the temple we have condemned him to, flooding out, to be with His people with no separation, no conditions and no prerequisites. it is a mad picture of a mad God furiously in love with His people.

Jesus died and the curtain was torn. not just a little. but in two. not a single fiber was left connecting the pieces.

and with the death of Jesus came the death of that holiness. and the dawn of this Holiness.

{tupac changes}

2008-09-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

it has happened.

i knew that coming to a new and far away place would bring changes in me. that i would be broken, that i would grow, that i would be transformed.

i could never have anticipated this change, but now it is here, it is a part of me, and i struggle to remember the days when this was not a part of who i was. it is like waking from a dream, struggling to separate fantasy from reality in the early morning haze.

i like tea.

(if you did not understand the epic-ness of that statement, you need to brush up on your Tales of a Hopping Grasser blog history)

perhaps it was being in a round hut, with friends, on a ranch, in the middle of Africa, cooking dinner, talking about Jesus, and playing Gin Rummy by lantern light, with a cup of tea in hand that made it simply delectable.

perhaps it was the three tablespoons of sugar and powdered milk.

either way, i like tea.

i have entered into the the glowing city i have longed for from afar.

{four thousand words}

2008-09-16T13:55:00.000-07:00

{i am trying to teach some of the older boys some photography skills. this is one Patrick took while i wasn't looking! What an eye, eh?}

{another one of the boy's shots. Marc took this one...}

{a storm of brains}

2008-09-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

this summer i worked at a PR agency. my favorite part of my job was brainstorms. oh, i love them. they are glamorous and sexy and whirlwindy.

so i come to Africa....and brainstorm. and OH! if i thought that brainstorming about (obscure client) and the launch of (obscure product) was fun...

On Sunday afternoon we had tea and biscuits and sat in a tiny cramped apartment to talk about what it would look like to love the unlovables. our dream is to have a place, a home, where young girls who have been involved in prostitution and sexual exploitation can come to be...young girls.

we sat with three wonderful Ugandan women. they are my age. bright and sharp and beautiful. all three students at University and former Leadership Academy girls. we have so much to learn from them.

one of the greatest challenges will be understanding. we were asking questions that these young women have never been asked before. about sex. about dating. about prostitution. and marriage. about pregnancy. it was a strange clashing of worlds. to sit in a room with these women, who are so similar to us in so many ways, women who will become great friends, and to have many of these questions met with awkward silence and nervous laughter. there is so much that is unspoken in this culture. to understand this world will take patience and effort. it is complicated. there is culture. and tradition. and economics. and social gender constructions. and babies. and education. and trades. and drugs. and families. and aunties (pimps). and taboos. and cycles.

ah! but there is beauty in the mess of it.

I am intimidated by people who speak about infrastructure. about how the infrastructure allows the cycle of oppression and poverty and abuse. because frankly, i don't know what on earth to do about the infrastructure. it seems big and complicated and impossible to me. perhaps that is the effect of being 4 days into this new world. maybe it is stupidity. or maybe a failure of the imagination.

but this. a safe place. a home. a place for girls to escape the life they have known. to be told they are more than what they are paid for. that they are beautiful and valuable and deserve respect. that they are loved. and that they can love. that is something i can wrap my brain around.

brainstorms are dreamy and sexy. it is after the storm that you begin to ask questions. how and when and what happens if.

but the why is answered and that is a start.

and beginnings are fun.

{a longing for simple love}

2008-09-15T21:23:00.000-07:00

i am in this place, with these people, and there are moments that i feel a sense of unawareness of the change. i see, and hear, and smell, and nothing is the same as it used to be. yet as i walk down the pot-holed street, none of it seems different. there are people. people with kindness in their eyes. people with tired in their eyes. people who look and speak to others with a sense of recklessness degradation. there is love and there is greed. there is grouping and gathering. there is loneliness. i don't feel far away from home.

i also feel like i am questioning what it looks like to love. I think the dream of simple love is what draws many people who want to love to a place like this. there is such great need. and to love is to sacrifice to fulfill that need to show love. it is clean and crisp and simple.

i remember thinking about a place like this in a pretty dreamy way over the last several years. while sitting in a Honda Accord with 16 year-old white girls who had everything. they were rich and smart and talented and surrounded by people. i desperately wanted to love them, to show them Jesus' love for them. but i would become overwhelmed. it was so complicated. so daunting to think about trying to cut through everything that surrounds them, everything that protects them, everything that they have built up around themselves to keep them warm and comfortable. to avoid the silence with constant talk. to avoid the loneliness with things to do and places to go. i longed for a simpler love. a place where need and brokenness was obvious. a place where loving was hard and gritty but simple. a place where my love would simply be an act of obedience to a clear and simple and straight forward call.

and now i am here. i am in that place. and like most of the places we long to be, it does not fulfill the promise it offered me from a distance.

i feel like i am starting over.

it is not simple here in the way i imagined. because love is not about circumstances. it is not about geography.

i am overwhelmed in the exact same way that i was overwhelmed in the Honda Civic. i am learning that this great need does not necessarily pave the way to a great and simple and obvious love. this need is a noise. a noise like iPhones ringing, and mTV, and football games.

it is overwhelming. i feel helpless in the way that i felt like i would never be able to quiet the noise in their lives. to quiet the noise long enough to whisper love. to whisper that there is more. that they are more.

{happy thoughts}

2008-09-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

well. i found my happy place.

you know, that one place where you can go and everything is right with the world.

Monday night African Aerobics class.

{first (deep and meaningful) impressions of Africa}

2008-09-13T13:44:00.000-07:00

i have just hit the 24 hour mark.

and i know it might be premature...

but i love this place.

the kids at Voice of Hope had an acrobatic performance today, so we went to go show our support and cheer them on. oh. they are wonderful. so beautiful. so gentle. so...honest.

"mommy leeeeez!" they said, pinching my arm. "you are satiiiissfied, yes?"

no friends, they were not telling me they see my fulfillment, satisfaction and contentment in the Lord.

they were telling me i am fat.

I knew this experience would be humbling. maybe just not like this.

In other African news, here is a conversation i overheard today:

"Hey Josephat! I am moving seven wooden couch frames across the city today. Mind if I borrow your bike?"

Ok. that was a lie. I didn't hear that conversation. But I can almost promise you it has taken place. It is a fun game to try and see the most ridiculous things people can transport on bicycles. Oh, and the seven wooden couch frames? That really happens.

{personal ad}

2008-09-10T15:59:00.000-07:00

if i found a personal ad in the paper seeking a "defensive, prideful, 5 five 3 blonde, " i would be morally compelled to respond. it is times like today where that description of me is affirmed.

i went to the bookstore to buy Shane Claiborne's new book Jesus For President. as i was in a bit of a hurry i asked the lady up front to point me in the right direction.

what did she tell me? she smiled almost with a sense of endearing pity and said, "that will be back in Christian Inspirational, underneath the Great Gatsby poster."

uuuuugggg.

i immediately felt a sense of defensiveness. not wanting to take the walk of shame to the back corner to Christian Inspirational land. not wanting to see Joel Olsteen's creepy face and plastic smile stare at me as i walk past his book, not wanting to "Learn to be a Better Me" with the help of his seven steps. not wanting to look, but like a bad car accident, feeling compelled to read the titles as i walked by like Sexless in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity. and then a feeling of righteous anger when i see it sandwiched between St. Augustine and Bonhoeffer.

why couldn't the book i am looking for be in an area of the store where i really belong? you know, the section in the front right with the banner that reads, "Books for smart, progressive people who follow Jesus and yet do not necessarily identify with the conservative religious right and are not really interested in how to be a better me. No Olsteen Allowed."

really, liz?

i say that i hate when we categorize people into groups. but dangit. if you are going to put me in a group, at least let me title it. and likely, i am going to leave the world inspirational out. thank you.

this blog has become a nice confessional for me. thanks everyone.

{oh joy!!!}

2008-09-10T08:46:00.000-07:00

when i sent out that mass email i guess i didn't really think about the fact that i might get to hear back from some of you before i leave! this has been such a fun morning going through my email!!! yay!!!

(i am now very insecure about this part of my blog because Kate Bethany Tichelkamp pointed out that i forgot some very important people in this effort to blast email. so if your email was not already in my gmail contacts you probably got left behind but i love you. and kate. she is great *please say out loud with Scottish accent*)

also, several of you have asked, and i forgot to mention the small detail that I will be in Africa for 3 months.

many of you have been so encouraging. it is funny, because on the one hand, many of you are expressing a lot of admiration for the initiative behind this trip to Africa. which makes me look pretty "proactive" "go get em" "on top of things" ... take your pick. but perhaps that is just an illusion. because....

...what you don't know is that...

i have just accomplished something far greater than planning a journey to another world.

yes, folks.

I am proud to say that after FIVE months, and getting pulled over FIVE times, and FIVE times of having to tap into my inner thespian to manage some tears to get me out of FIVE tickets...I have FINALLY put my new license plates on my car. less than 24 hours before i leave the country.

Bahhahah. sometimes i amuse myself.

thanks for letting me confess that before some of you go about your day thinking that i am some responsible all-grown-up adult now :)

***On another note, for any of you struggling with your weight, hoping to put on a few extra pounds before the New Year, I recommend the anti-diet that is about to be all the rage. It is called the

Plan-On-Spending-The-Next-3-Months-In-A-Third-World-Country-
Because-You-Eat-As-Much-As-You-Possibly-Can-Of-Everything-
Because-They-Probably-Don't-Have-Taco Bell (wait, liz. you hate
Taco Bell. I know but that completely is irrelevant while in this
mindset.) In-Africa-So-Eat-Up-While-You-Can plan.

stay tuned for more helpful, healthful tips!

Love,
Liz Forkin

{thanks, but no thanks}

2008-09-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

my friend kristen is going to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. she asked me if i wanted to join.

she said: "i know it is a little out of your budget..."

I said: " A.) it is indeed a little out of my budget and B.) a lot out of my target heart rate zone. But have so much fun. "

maybe some day. like someday when the term "moderate exercise" doesn't mean once a month.

{ever wonder?}

2008-09-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

have you ever wondered what you would pack if you were moving to Africa?

me too.

{rainy days}

2008-09-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

getting out of bed on a miserable, rainy day is hard.

but i discovered this morning it is not nearly as hard as getting out of bed when you wake up and think to yourself, "self, this could be one of the last times you are sleeping in a bed for a long time."

{a book and its cover}

2008-09-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

Stirring It Up: How to Make Money and Save the World
by Gary Hirshberg

A good, easy read for anyone remotely interested in sustainable business models/entrepreneurship.

{funny friends}

2008-09-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

My dear dear friend Rachel dedicated an entire blog post to me.

Here was my favorite part:

She seems like she'd be a huge stoner, the way she talks about all of this hippie shit like "reconciling relationships" (she's very go-with-the-flow), but isn't at all.

i love you Ratch

2008-08-26T12:08:00.001-07:00

According to Jean Piaget, I am a little bit stunted.

Actually I am a lot stunted. Years behind where I should be developmentally. About 22 years and 3-6 months behind, give or take a couple of months.

At about 9 months, most infants have developed a sense of object permanence.

(now in a very literal sense you could say that I am lacking here. please reference “Losing Babies” post below)

But where I am lacking is in a less literal take on object permanence. When an infant reaches this stage, they are able to comprehend that although an object may be out of sight, it still exists. It has not disappeared. It is merely visually obstructed.

I wish that I had better “feeling” or “emotional” permanence. Now, I suppose the fact that I don’t is really a rather complex emotional survival mechanism. To feel every emotion you have ever experienced perpetually and with the deepest passion and concentrated intensity that exists at the apex of that moment in time would be rather overwhelming.

Actually. I just changed my mind and maybe the rest of this post. Right now, just at this moment.

Oh ha ha ha ha. I never know where these posts are going to go…

Back to the overwhelmingness. Perhaps the relationship between the intensity of these emotions can be seen through the illustration of light wave interference!!!!!

Oh!

This is exciting to me. (If you are not excited or intrigued as well, do us both a favor and stop reading. This could be long…and messy) We have this notion that “balanced” people maybe don’t experience passion or emotion as intensely as the starving artist, the old eclectic lady, the neurotic scientist, or the angsty poet. And perhaps that it is true. But what if this difference was not born out of a shallowness of emotion, but rather a more sophisticated development of “feeling permanence”?

Now, since the emotions still exist in the original intensity, they can still be experienced, still be tapped into, however, they do not have the commanding power they hold when they exist in isolation.

This is something that I am trying to develop this in myself. Similar to my lucid dream experiment, it requires an immense amount of discipline and awareness. However, to understand why this is something I would desire, it requires a paradigm shift in how we see the “medium”.

Medium.

Medium is the neuter form of the adjective medius, meaning "middle"; as well as, a neuter noun meaning, "the middle". Really, it is a word that at first glance makes me cringe. From the medium comes the mediocre, the in between, apathy and complacency, a watered down way of living, thinking and loving.

But…

I would propose that a medium composed of one single line, is entirely different than the medium composed of two extremes occurring at the same moment of space in time in equal and opposite intensities. Although the result is a straighter line, without the troughs and peaks of the two individual vectors, the reality of the existence of the two opposite curves is unchanged. There is a balance. However, the balance does not actually change the curvature or nature of the individual waves.

Versus

Following?

For this exercise I try to capture passionate emotions… not to avoid their equal opposites, but rather to condition in myself an awareness of those feelings long after I am done feeling them, while I am actually experiencing the equal and opposite.

I say often that love is not a feeling. It is a commitment…yada yada yada. While I believe this to be true, I am beginning to realize that it is undeniable that there is an emotional component to this thing we call love . Now, I am not going to launch into another discussion deconstructing the semantics of love (reference English language post) because there are people much smarter and more eloquent than myself that have already done a fine job of this (you should think about reading The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis if you have not already)

For the purposes of this example let’s take a romantic love between a man and a women and compare that love to the love of a mother to her child.

I would argue that each have the capacity to exist in equal intensity. However, I would also argue that mothers have developed an emotional permanence in regards to their relationship with their child that is unique to the way a man loves a women, or vice versa.

**Of course this is all based in observation, second hand experience (being the object of this feeling-permanence love) and speculation**

Imagine a mother, who loves her child with an intensity (for the sake of illustration let’s quantify this love) to the 9th degree. Now I would argue this love is manifested in many ways, one of which is Joy. And that this mother, because she loves to the 9th degree experiences joy to the 9th degree as well. Now the sadness this mother can experience is only capable of reaching a degree that is equal and opposite of her joy, so this mother can experience sadness and loss to the 9th degree as well.

We can only truly morn insofar as we truly delight.

An then we have the lovers. Now again, I am making generalizations here. But I would argue that in our society’s construction of romantic love we experience and act upon only one wavelength. There is either passion OR apathy, joy OR sorrow, unity OR disconnection.

The fact that the wretched phrase “fallen out of love” is exclusive to romantic relationships is evidence of this mono-wave basis of romantic love- you are either in love OR out of love. I’ve never heard a mother explain that she has simply fallen out of love with her child. That she must follow her heart, and her heart is saying that she just doesn’t love him anymore. That isn’t because a mother is immune to experiencing anger, betrayal, sadness, separation or frustration to the same degree a lover does, but rather that in that moment, at the peak of her emotional wavelength there is an awareness of the presence of the equal and opposite manifestation of this love. That somehow, in the midst of heartbreak and pain, there is a realness and closeness of the love and joy that exists as well, in the same time and space, even though perhaps it has not in that moment come to fruition.

It is the difference between the child whose toy is hidden from sight and believes that it is gone forever, never to return and the child who has learned that although they cannot see the object of their affection, it exists and is somehow just as real as when it was in their own hands.

This is one of the most profound mysteries of the Lord. A holy God that is more grieved by our sin than we can understand, yet loves us with an intensity in that same moment that is equally incomprehensible. For it is not mere tolerance, or that the Lord sees our sin as less offensive than it is and so he is able to have affection for us, but that somehow, a deep recognition of that darkness can coexist with the luminous beauty by which he sees us. That his repulsion to darkness can coexist with the lengths to which He would go to follow us there, to bring us home. At once there is Truth and Grace. Jealousy and Sacrifice. Anger and Joy. Creativity and Steadfastness.

I deeply desire to be someone who (insofar as a human can) does not seek to water-down or temper my emotions, that I would allow myself and even seek to experience the depth and heights of the human heart, yet that by being aware and connected to their equal and opposites, I would not be controlled by those passions in the way that is inevitable while evaluating life on a single wave length. That while feeling anger, hatred, even contempt for the actions or words of one I love, that I may also remember the pure affection that exists for the very same heart from which those things flow. That I can exist not in a medium of lukewarmness but in the steadfastness that comes with “emotional permanence”.

If you made it to the end of this, leave your name and address and I will mail you a cookie. You are a trooper and clearly operating on a dual wave length interaction of patience and morbid curiosity about this labryth of thoughts of mine...

{new hero}

2008-08-19T20:18:00.000-07:00

I salute you, Cindy Lou Who Johnson.

i love you.

(but not in a creepy you-are-so-cute-i-want-to-live-vicariously-through-you way)

Only 1,460 more days until Women's Gymnastics 2012. Or in case of the Chinese, Tween Gymnastics 2012.

{true or false}

2008-08-19T14:15:00.000-07:00

i am doing some research on business schools and i just typed in

"biss-nass" into the search engine on accident.

2008-08-15T14:13:00.000-07:00

Since I am now well-versed in the corporate world, I decided that I am going to begin sharing my wealth of how to succeed in the business world with the rest of the non-corporate peons:

1.) Network, network, network!
Always take initiative to introduce yourself to others. For instance, at lunch today, I saw a gentlemen sitting at the end of the table. I walked up confidently and said cheerfully (but not overly cheerfully, after all, I want to be taken seriously. I am a business women now) and said, “Oh hi! Are you the new Public Affairs intern? I’m Liz, up in Corporate Rep.” The table became quiet as he replied, “Actually, I am the intern supervisor. My name is Tony.”

2.) Get smart!
That is a term we like to use over here in the land of corporate communications.

Go get smart.

On your client.

On the industry.

On that reporter.

After all, you are going to need a lot of background on him to understand why the reporter at the New York Times hangs up on you when you pitch him that story. You know, the one about the latest green breakthrough- how your client's aesthetically pleasing beverage bottle can actually be reused as a vase!

Well, I like to get smart during work. All the time. So I listen to podcasts (please click on this link. it will change your life.) while I do my “neck down work.” I was listening to a podcast on the latest primordial primate findings in the archeology world. My speakers were acting funny because it wasn’t as loud in my headphones as it usually is.

So I cranked that B up.

About 15 minutes later, my ear bud fell out. And I thought, “Weird, the sound didn’t get any quieter……..b. e..cause…mmmyy EARPHONEs ARE NOT PLUGGEDIN!!…” It doesn’t do much good to hide the video podcast behind your Outlook Calendar…WHEN EVERYONE IN THE OFFICE CAN HEAR WHAT YOU ARE LISTENING TO.

3.) Always, always, always edit your work.
And when in doubt, ask for a second opinion. Like the other day, I was writing this blog, and I used a tricky collective noun. So as one of the VPs was walking by, I said, “Exuuuseee me…” and proceeded with my grammatical question. Her response? She wanted to see the “context” meaning she walked over to my computer to see:

A.) My blog.

B.) The “context” sentence which read: “There is a plethora of words to describe a sexually promiscuous woman…”

All in a day’s work, kids. Just keep your chin up, remember these helpful tips, and someday you might also find yourself at the lowest possible point in the corporate food chain.

Cheers!

forgetting babies

2008-08-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

well. it happened.

maybe today. maybe yesterday. it all seems very fluid and fuzzy.

i forgot that i am the proud mamma of a new baby blog.

it must happen to everyone from time to time. for a moment in time, life exists as it did before the birth of this little monster. and then i remembered. first guilt. then mild shame. then an anxiousness swept over me. i don't want to go back. what did i start? i have nothing to say. not now and probably not ever again.

(then i remembered it is ok. because it is just Techmaster Pat)

I am sure there are a lot of scary things about having children. we live in a cruel, dangerous world. there are lots of things to be fearful of: drugs, alcohol, gangs, post-modernism...sorry. i am getting too graphic...i don't mean to incite panic.

i can deal with that, i am sure. ...when the time comes.

.however.

i am TERRIFIED of forgetting a baby like i forgot my blog.

you may think i am being ridiculous. but i lose things.

a. lot.

important things. things i love. things i care dearly about. if it doesn't help my body perform vital functions, the likelihood is that at some point i have lost it.

...what makes matters worse...

and i am not exaggerating when i say this...when i look for things...i have to pee.

ALWAYS.

i could be so dehydrated that my skin acts like silly putty when you pinch it...but if i am looking for something...somehow...maybe just to spite me...my body will find every ounce of extra fluid in me and send my brain an urgent message to discard.

it is really unbelievable.

OH YEAH. as soon as i find it...you guessed it. the urge is gone.

hmm.

maybe it is somehow connected to whatever is inside me that makes my right side violently twitch when i get scared.

be true to thine self

2008-08-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

confession:

i desperately want to love tea.

i do.

but i don't.

i see people who love tea, and this strange little green bug stirs in my heart. it is the very distinct feeling i experienced when i sat next to Megan Green in the second grade. i envied her bubbly, perfectly slanted handwriting with such longing passion. i thought it must be those pretty, stenciled pencils she used. i was so jealous of that beautiful cursive that i stole one of her pencils. i soon discovered that her handwriting had nothing to do with the pencil.

there is something about a tea lover.

less pretentious than a wine-head. less neurotic than a coffee addict like myself. more accessible than an espresso connoisseur. something so refined, yet so down to earth.

my sister likes tea. it really upsets me. i feel disconnected, separated from her in that. i feel like it should be genetic. like it is genetic that neither of us really wear jewelery, or that we buy underwear at the dollar store.

but she has moved on to a world i can not be a part of.

2008-08-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

It seems if there is one unifying thread among people all over the literate world, it would be that everyone has some sort of beef with the English language. Harsh, nasally, wacked out, inconsistent grammar rules, difficult to learn, impossible to master, a vocabulary filled with what seems to be a plethora of unneeded words and a shortage of ones that really matter. We say we love our mothers with the same word we used to describe our affection for lime Popsicles.

Today my complaint is actually rather unfairly directed towards the English Language--as it is merely a reflection of our society. So, English Language, I apologize for making you the scape goat in the following rant:

There is a plethora or words (eeek. that is a tricky collective noun. I had to think about that one) to describe a sexually promiscuous woman. If you have a child with you and you are reading this blog aloud to them:

a.) make sure you always use voices while reading aloud,

b.) stop reading it aloud as I list these words out for you:

Ok never mind. I just decided against listing them all out. I would hate for my blog to earn a Mature rating. Does cyber-world do that?

So keep reading out loud if you wish. Sorry for the false alarm.

In my head, just now, I thought of six words to describe a sexually promiscuous woman. And that was with no real concerted effort. All of them very ugly words. I hate to hear them. They reveal an ugliness of the human condition that makes me sad. There are few words I can think of that carry such hate and disregard for the human heart.

That being said, they do exist. And are used often.

Yet, I can think of not one word commonly used to describe a man who is promiscuous. Even that word. Right there. Say it out loud.

Promiscuous.

Even that has an undeniable air of femininity.

After racking my brain I (with the help of a co-worker, hi Rachel!) came up with two words that could be used to describe a man lacking sexual scruples: pimp and stud.

Is it a coincidence that both of these words are now not used derogatorily but rather in a complimentary sense?

“Such a pimp.” Pimp my Ride. “That hat is pimp.” “What a stud.”

And then there are the words that require a modifying component to describe a man. Man-whore. Male-slut.

There you go. The proof is in the modifying pudding. The need for a modifier proves that we have socialized those words so that they have become exclusive descriptors of females, only appropriate to describe a male when a modifying component is used.

A double standard in gender and sexuality. This is certainly not a new thought. And it is not limited to our culture or time alone. It has not all of a sudden dawned on me that a double standard exists. It is just pretty mind boggling to me that the contemporary English vocabulary (or lack thereof) is such a blatant indicator of the way we socially reward (or at best ignore) men for sexual activity and derogate women for the same thing.

***In other news, Angie (our secretary) has a huge bowl of candy at her desk. I have “gone to the restroom” (which forces me to pass her desk) eight times today, subsequently consuming eight boxes of Nerds. Oh happy day.***

2008-08-05T15:05:00.000-07:00

Last week, I met Jesus in a man named Joe. Now, as I sit at my desk, I keep thinking and hoping that I will meet Joe again. And Joe and I will sit down and eat lunch together on the marble stoop in front of the Bank of America building and talk about Jesus and jail and God friends and back pain and new babies, and I will try not to cry as I think about God walking among us. But I will probably let my eyes briefly wander from Joe as I see the women who sits behind me at the office, crossing 4th Street on her way to lunch. Joe’s eyes never wander from me. He is there. And I want to be too.

It just occurred to me, just as I was writing that, that I have been thinking about this idea of “meeting Jesus” lately.

What do I even mean by that? To be sure- we have only seen a glimmer, a shadow of Jesus. There are things that will continually be revealed to us, new things to be learned, always discovering new glimpses of who he is.

But I think I am talking about something different.

[meet: to become acquainted with]

It is an interesting thought to me. What does it mean to meet the one who lives in you, to meet the one in whom you exist, to meet the one who whispered life into you?

Can the newness of meeting and this intimacy co-exist?

I say yes. It seems to me a little like sitting on a porch with friends, while one you love is talking. And as he talks you know that you have heard it all before, many times. But there is a newness to his words. And you find yourself listening as if it was the first time. And somehow, when he is done talking, you know him more. You couldn't say what you learned. But something has changed, and somehow you know him more. You love him more. I think that is a little bit what it is like to meet Jesus.

2008-08-05T13:52:00.001-07:00

"the things you own end up owning you" - fight club

this is not the beginning of a philosophical or meaningful commentary on the dangers of materialism.

it is just the way i feel when i think about going home and cleaning my room tonight.

this is NOT billable

2008-08-04T14:18:00.001-07:00

Here is an interesting thought: Charles Leadbeater, a former journalist at FT has become quite a champion of the creativity of collaborative thinking. Be it Wikipedia or the invention of the mountain bike, Leadbeater sees this user-generated collaboration as the next wave of how we will work, live and play. He talks about this guy in China who is the computer-gaming industry. It is the largest computer gaming company in China with over 250 million subscribers. How many people does he employ to service this massive amount of users and servers? 500 people. A shockingly small number. How does he do this? He doesn’t. He doesn’t do the servicing.

“He gives them the platform, he gives them the rules, he gives them the tools, and then orchestrates the conversation.”

But the actual content is created by the users. I love this: Charles says, “It creates a stickiness between the community and the company that is really really powerful.”

So this is interesting. Especially to someone like me who wants to go into the video game industry.

Ok. Just kidding.

(but I did pull my first-ever all nighter trying to beat the icy level in Donkey Kong)

He goes on with this thought...A gaming company has one million users. A mere 1% of those users become co-developers, contributing ideas, and you have a massive force of 10,000 people, who take what they love very seriously, daily revolutionizing the system. Now put your imagination caps on: take a small percentage of all the students in American public schools and make them co-developers of the educational system in this country. Or how about 1% of patients in the healthcare system to become co-creators. And imagine the resources that emerge.

Users become producers and consumers become designers.

I love that thought.

(http://www.charlesleadbeater.net/orange-buttons/we-think.aspx)

And P.S: He prefaces this thought with questioning the traditional idea of “creativity”. I think we should all take a moment to do such…this idea that “creative people” are special people, in special places, plugging ideas into a special pipeline.

We all have this idea of what it means to really be creative.

For some, I imagine that the “creativity” title is reserved for the guy working at Google, bringing his strange mix-bred exotic animal to work, where he sits him on his blow -up office furniture…until it is time to eat, in which case the little munchin runs over to his automatic feeder, which is reminiscent of a Honey I Shrunk The Kids appliance…

Or maybe when you close your eyes and are visited by the “ Creative People Mugshots” fairy, she brings you a picture of the artsy girl, with the mixed prints that always seem to work, with her modge-podged journal, and Imogene Heap always playing in one ear. Wait scratch that. Ms. Heap is probably far too main stream at this point to use her in that reference. But I suppose I am not creative enough to even come up with an appropriate reference, because, I will admit with my head hung low that most of the music I listen to comes from people who give it to me. I have yet to “discover” a band. Hmmph. But either way, the eclectic girl tells stories about her Polish grandmother and Polynesian father and about how she was ignored as a child and about all the brilliant things she did to entertain herself. And her dog’s name is some obscure profanity.

OR maybe it is not a girl with a Polish grandmother at all. But rather the boy who becomes intoxicated with the beauty that is Russian literature. And he writes poetry about things like Coca Cola bottles and makes satirical political jabs that you don’t quite understand, but you assume it is brilliant—because after all, he loves Russian literature. How could it not be? And he names his cat after a minor character in one of Dostoyevsky’s unpublished, early works. ( And for full disclosure purposes, I did have to look up how to spell Dostoyevsky’s name. thank you.)

Well I say: Death to the Creative People Mugshots fairy. And this hateful passion does not come from a lack of fairy love. In fact, it pains me to even say such a loathing command, and I can’t help but conjure images of tinker bell choking on Captain Hook's poison.

(if you are not clapping your hands right now, shame on you.)

*** (for an entertaining fairy read take a look at Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book. oh no. The fact that all the fairies are squished between the pages might also lead you to believe I don’t love fairies…but it is beautiful nonetheless) ***

But death to the CPM fairy, for all the damage she does in making creativity about “them” and not about “us”. For reserving the label of the truly creative for those who in our funny little minds meet the funny little standards we have CREATED. Let’s be honest. I wouldn’t want to read Russian literature even if I didn’t get completely overwhelmed and confused by the characters’ names alone.

Ok. maybe I would, but I really think that is the damn fairy again.

Because this fairy (that is me now. This is my blog so I can say I am the counter fairy) says you CAN be creative. And YES, the next time you are asked to describe yourself, YOU can use the sacred term. Yes, YOU. Even if while reading this you are wearing designer jeans, that you bought (gasp) for full price. Or even if your favorite band is Maroon 5. Or even if you would rather play Wii tennis and eat processed snack foods than listen to underground music, while writing in your modge-podged journal, and yelling your dog’s obscure profane name because it just knocked over your cup of fair-trade coffee.

….all of which can be great great things. But not when we make these things exclusive markers of "the others."

Now, I am not going to hold on to a stick of cotton candy and cheerfully say in a sing-songy voice… “ la la lee dad a da. Everyone is super creative in their own special way.” Or claim that everyone is is as equally creative as the next bloke. After all, it is a gift...a beautiful one at that. I just want to say, let’s be a little bit more creative with how we define creativity, eh?

Remember how I started this as a blog to keep track of me while I romp thru Africa?? Bahaha.
And how no one even knows this blog exists?

Except Pat. Hi pat. : )

and i apologize. surely this is much too long for one blog post.

the BEAST, how i love thee...in all thy moldy glory...

2008-08-03T18:06:00.000-07:00

if you didn't dare to venture into the vlog world below, you don't know that this is a place for me to bring YOU with me on my adventure to Africa.

now you do. so i really hope you will join me.

it is funny writing this right now because no one besides Techmaster Pat knows this exists.

hi pat.

this weekend i began my new adventure. i say that, not because i am on my way to Africa, but because today i officially said goodbye to 1605 ...

it was bittersweet. my sister will be living in my room. she painted over my (her) chocolate brown walls and trees and flowers and birds with a deep green. and here is not the place for me to share my opinions about that green :)

i won't bore you with the details of the moving out process. i will tell you that you that 1605 could have been the site of an Ewok convention in the past. or maybe an Ewok weekly meeting.

(i do hope i am not insulting the Star Wars community. the Ewok is the big overly hairy one, right?)

there was more hair in more obscure places than you could ever imagine. we were particularly sad to throw away a note from our maintenance man after calling him about a clogged drain that read "BIG (underlined three times) wads of hair in drain. imagine that."

but more than the amazement that we all still have hair on our heads, or that we REALLY used that little burner crusted thick with my Pam remnants and Pan's broccoli bits till the very end was an overwhelming sense of gratefulness.

there are many things i could say of that house. and out of a fear of the limitations of my clumsy words, i will refrain. but here is a thought that i can not let go of: as i look back on my time in that house i hear one word over and over again, namaste. It is a word that means, " i honor the holy one that lives in you, that also lives in me."

that to me is the journey, the real adventure. and this home represents a wonderful place along that long journey. in learning what it means to recognize Jesus in those closest to your heart. to see Jesus in them. to honor the Jesus in them. to allow them to be a part of me believing that the Jesus i see so clearly in them lives within me as well. that honoring the holy one in B looks worlds different than honoring the holy one in Mols. that the words that Lou speaks reveals a facet of the holy one that is beautifully different than a glimmer of the holy one i experience while swinging with Pan or giggling with Whit. i have seen a shadow of the beauty of our Lord because i have known the beauty and brokenness of these women.

and now the journey continues. my heart's desire is that this will be my path.

i don't have the slightest idea what it will look like to honor the Jesus i will meet over the next couple of months. i assume that i won't know until i one morning i wake up and realize that i am in the middle of that glorious mess. because it seems to me that that is how Jesus works. in the present. in the now.

"the future is of all things, the least like eternity. it is the most completely temporal part of time. for the past is frozen and no longer flows, and the present is all lit up with eternal rays...love looks to the present; fear, arvarice, lust and ambition look ahead. with the present, there and there alone, all duty, all grace, all knowledge and all pleasure dwells. " c.s. lewis

want some cookies

2008-08-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

hello. this is my first posting. i hope it is not my last.

that was not meant to sound morbid. i just don't know if i am going to be good at this.

stay tuned. and thanks, pat : )