Subbing Moments, We Salute You!

It has been over two months now that I have been substituting here in Portland and, unfortunately, things simply haven't picked up the way I had hoped.  I am still only getting one, maybe two, calls a week (this week I didn't get any!), and quite frankly, such sporadic work simply isn't sustainable.  Tutoring at Huntington has proved equally lackluster.  And so, it looks as though it is back to the drawing board!  Hoorah!  But before I leave my distinguished sub career behind, I thought I would share a few highlights from the road:

5.  Arriving to a school where the teacher left absolutely NOTHING to do.  No sub plans, no worksheets, no movies.  Nada.  Luckily, the Assistant Principal was good-hearted enough to scrounge together random DVDs from surrounding classrooms.  The day's lesson evolved into a film fest of the following: The Incredibles, Why Dog's Smile and Chimpanzees Cry (a Discovery Channel documentary), The Lost Boys of Sudan, and Speak, a film about a young teen who is raped summer before freshman year of high school.

4.  Being totally and completely DOMINATED by a 7th grade Dance Class.  Thirty-three thirteen-year-old girls.  One unfortunate substitute.  'Nuff said.

3.  Being referred to as "the super strict one" in the hall of a particularly rowdy middle school.  Silent high-five to me!  Woohoo!   yes, I believe this was the crowning glory of my subbing experience.

2.  Same day, same class:  boy eats paper.  Seriously.  Is moved to another desk- and away from the squealing girl sitting next to him- and continues to glower at his classmates as he chews on another 5 x 3 index card.  Creepy.

1.  One of my most productive, stress-free days?  Teaching a middle-school Intro to Spanish class.  yes, my friends!  Miracles do indeed happen!  

So I was just perusing the internet and came across a fun little book game and thought I would try it out!  (read:  massive dorkiness to follow.  be prepared.)

Basically, the point of the game is to take a book, any book, and let it fall open on a random page.  Then read a pre-determined number of lines (lines 7-12, for example).  Post these lines as a "teaser" for the book, a literary appetizer.  A small helping of fresh out of the oven bruschetta, if you will.  

Doesn't that sound absolutely delectable??  Here, I'll go first.  

From my current read: Peace Like A River by Leif Enger

p. 56  lines 7-12

"'Of course not.  I know it happened.  It just shouldn't have.  Don't you see that?'

'No,' Swede replied.

But I saw what he meant, or I would eventually.  Davy wanted life to be something you did on your own; the whole idea of a protective, fatherly God annoyed him."

Actually, I'm still on p. 38 myself, so this little exercise has served as a bit of a teaser for me as well.  Ooooh!  I can't wait to get to p. 56 so I can find out what they are talking about and why!  Perhaps I will get there this afternoon, during the hours upon hours of free time on my hands these days.

For now, I sit at Peet's Coffee and Tea in swanky Lake Oswego, waiting for 1:30 to roll around so I can go to the district office and register to substitute.  For the record, this will be my fifth district with whom I have offered my services.  Up until yesterday that number was stuck at three.  Three districts and only two jobs in the past month: one half day in a high school "Future Focus" class (in which I spoke about grande themes such as out-sourcing and globalization to a room full of blank faces) and a full day in a middle school "Keys to Music" class teaching keyboarding to sixth graders.  So now I am adding two more districts to the mix, in a desperate attempt to nearly double my odds.  Hey, it's worth a try, even if it means having to drive 45 minutes to a school on the other side of town.  

Meanwhile, I will be drinking copious amounts of tea and flying through two books and countless newspapers a week in a vague attempt at maintaining some degree of mental stimulation, while simultaneously creating the facade of an intelligent, worthy individual with worldly perspectives and an unnatural love of... wait, youtube videos?  Damn it.  My cover is blown.  

Now back to those titillating clips highlighting John McCain's anger issues...

Polit[ick!]s

Perhaps it is a bit overly dramatic of me to say, but let me just state, for the record:

If McCain/Palin win the election come November, I will be moving to Canada.  Seriously.  

I hear Vancouver is beautiful, quite progressive actually.  And let's not forget the federal health care (yes please!).  Yes, it's official.  If this country is swept away by an aging, obviously incompetent Republican and his busty no-brain side-kick, I will a) throw a conniption fit b) cry c)begin packing d)cry some more.  

Having come to this conclusion some time ago, I was shocked to discover that (gasp!) I was not the only one!!!  There are others who foresee a life in that great northern frontier!  Only, whereas I simply talk about the prospect to friends and write about it on here, my blog, they lift their voices to the heavens and SING, baby!  And oh, it is beautiful. 

The fact that this dire predicament is a rather substantial possibility is all the more worrisome.  Perhaps this explains why I felt so depressed after the VP debate this past week.  Like millions of Americans around the country, I so desperately wanted Palin to fall on her condescending little face and prove to the world what a fake she really is.  Unfortunately, that didn't happen.  She was well put together, gave a strong delivery, and somehow managed to formulate semi-complete sentences.  This in and of itself was an immense accomplishment.  Granted, if I heard the words "Maverick" or "Energy Policy" one more time I thought my head was going to explode.  Question dodging aside, as a debater, she scored top marks.  

Palin-bashing aside, my general disgust for politics was revived this past week, what with the "bipartisan" bail-out, McCain's grandiose decision to put his campaign on hold (talk about "gotcha" journalism-- how about "gotcha" politics, Johnny?), and the countless mis-statements from BOTH parties during the debates.  A couple of things that I wish they would get straight, once and for all:

1.  Obama/Biden:  the Iraqis do not have a $79 Billion surplus so STOP throwing that figure around like it's your last lifeline to the candidacy!  Just get it straight:  by now, it's probably closer to $60 Billion.  Doesn't quite have the same dramatic effect as the former, but still gets the point across, I think.  (not to mention it's TRUE!)

2.  McCain/Palin:  Obama did NOT vote againt spending for the troops!!  He voted no because of the TIMELINE, damnit!  How many times do we have to explain this one to you?  McCain did the EXACT SAME THING!  He chose not to vote for a spending bill for the troops because it contained a timeline, just as Obama chose not to vote for a spending bill for the troops because it did not contain a timeline.  Get it?  Good.   

3.  McCain:  There's no point trying to deny your closeness to George W.  (both in your personal life and in voting record).  Hell, when Bush heard the news about the devastation of  Hurricane Katrina, he immediately jetted off, not to New Orleans, but to YOUR Birthday Party, for God's sake!  Now that's commitment, my friend.  Besides, there's no covering up your average of voting with Bushy 90% of the time over the course of the past 8 years.  

4.  This last one is for all of ya:  please, please!  Stop quoting the other out of context, spinning whatever they say in a way that supports whatever point you are making, whether it is accurate or not.  I mean come on, Obama!  I thought you were supposed to be all about a "new" type of politics.  For the most part, I say you've done a fine job breaking out of the mold.  Unfortunately, the closer we come to Nov. 4th, the sloppier you're getting at holding true to your word.  

True to my word, I return with a real, honest-to-God, post!  Still, I find myself in a bit of a precarious situation.  I suppose such is the way of time and forward progression.  You see, I feel as though I simply have too much to say!  I would love to be able to sit down and wax poetically about the people I see and the places my feet have taken me over the past months, but I can't seem to pin myself down to describing simply one, two, or even three such observations.  Life is moving ahead and warp speed out here on the West coast and I am simply floundering along trying to keep up. Sigh...

Which brings me to the ever-dependable, yet perhaps over-utilized staple of the blog world:

The bullet by bullet update, a medium which magically allows the writer to catch up said reader in record time, with an efficiency that is quite mind-boggling.  So, enough preface.  Let's get to it, shall we?

• I have a home!!! For real!  And it is AWESOME!  1 br 1 ba, close to downtown and in between the Hawthorne and Belmont districts.  Basically, we are in the heart Portland, in a neighborhood bursting with life, youth, and creativity.  Our little house is actually part of a quad that is occupied by three other young couples.  I am so excited about our new neighbors!  Already we have shared dinners, game nights, good conversation, homemade milkshakes, and even some quality "Office" time!  I left the house this morning and have been wandering around all day, walking to a bakery this morning for breakfast and tea, then to starbucks to try and find internet, and finally to Hotlips pizza for lunch, where I am currently camped out.  There is a fresh produce market a block from the house and a grocery store four blocks east.  Movie theaters, coffee shops, book stores, music venues: all within a ten minute walk.  Like I said, it's freakin' amazing.
• Doug is loving his job, working as a Case Manager in Clackamas County.  He carpools there and back every day for roughly $10 a week and, starting this week, will begin a 4-day work week.  As in, he will be working 37 1/2 hours a week, with every Friday off.  What a punk.
• As for me, things are finally starting to come together.  I have registered as a substitute teacher with two districts already, and have an interview with Beaverton school district, a highly-sought after position, on Tuesday.  Meanwhile, on Monday I start shadowing for Huntington Learning Center as a test prep tutor.  
• My dear friend Liz will be joining me here in Portland in a couple of weeks, something I am absolutely ecstatic about!  As lovely as Oregon is, I have been seriously lacking some female camaraderie, something that is of upmost important to me.  Which is why I nearly peed my pants when, a couple of days ago, I found out that Ms. Wendy Higgins, another of my favorite people on this planet, will also be following me out West!!!  I feel as though the addition of these two beautiful ladies into my life is a blessing beyond words.  With them they bring a sense of peace and fulfillment that only girlfriends can offer.  So get on out here, girls!!!  pretty please?  :)

Well I think that is enough of an update for now.  I am quite confident that my next visit will be a little less structured, and perhaps slightly more specific.  Then again, who am I kidding?  The possibilities are endless, my friend.  And isn't that absolutely the way it should be?  

:)

Public Notice:

This actually isn't a real post.  Not really.  I suppose it's more of a "keep you posted" post.  As in: now that things are finally starting to settle down here in the beautiful Land of Ports, new, updated, and ever-fascinating posts are on the way.  So fear not, my loyal follower(s)!  I have not abandoned you for greener blog formats!  

More to come....soon...

1,2, and 3

Three interesting things have happened today:

1.  I got a call this morning requesting that I come in for an interview!  I am scheduled to be at Gresham High School at 10:00am on Monday, July 28th to interview for a full time teaching position!  GREAT news.  

2.  On our way out the door this morning, we ran into a mini-van.  Wait, let me clarify:  we did not walk out the door and ram our faces into the side of a car.  Doug was driving, and as he made a left turn off of our street, a mini-van came zipping around the corner out of NOWHERE and BAMB!  We creamed her driver side door, leaving a rather heavy mark to prove it.

Ok, so I may be dramatizing the incident slightly.  Either way, we immediately pulled over and gave our information to Mrs. Suburban Mom All-Star Hell-of-a-gal (S.M.A.S.H. for short).  She called us back a couple of hours later with an estimate: $3,700!!!!!   At which point Doug and my mouth dropped simultaneously.  I mean, granted this was a mini-van and we happened to hit the spiffy [and expensive] electric sliding door that is a mini-van staple, but still!  $3,700???  Seriously??

3.  Post traumatic incident with S.M.A.S.H., we mustered up the strength to carry on with our day, gravitating to the one place in Portland where all meandering souls go to heal their wounds and clear their mind:  The Portland International Rose Test Garden.  The garden was beautiful, as I expected.  It is a rose garden, after all.  

A wise man once wrote, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  Doug and I officially confirmed this statement.  I think we smelled two dozen different varieties of rose, each creatively named for it's peculiar size, color, and fragrance. "In the Mood" and "Tahitian Sunset" are two particular varieties that come to mind.  

Now is when I sincerely wish there were such a thing as scratch-n-sniff digital pictures because honestly, the airs emanating off of these flowers were far more brilliant and captivating than their physical beauty.  Perhaps this is why Shakespeare, like most poets, was so fixated by them.  

"Of all flowers

  Methinks a rose is best."

--straight from the horse's mouth.

I have read over my most recent blogs and realize that I seem to have unintentionally given the impression that I am unsatisfied with how things have been going in Portland.  This is absolutely not the case.  Granted, there were a couple of days at the beginning where I feared the worst.  After all, traveling 3,000 miles across the country, far far away from everyone and everything you love and hold dear...well, that's kind of a big deal.  So of course there are fears.  Of course there are trembles and heart-clenching moments of doubt.  This is to be expected.  

I think it was day three (or was it two?) in Portland that I had a minor little breakdown.  It was time to get serious and find a job and for some reason, I was making this process incredibly difficult.  Documents that I desperately needed began disappearing (i.e. I kept losing them), and I found myself lost in a dizzying haze of uncertainty and worthlessness.  I did not feel like the strong, independent woman that I so desperately envisioned of myself.  Instead, I looked down at the red sandals on my feet and saw a child, a helpless little girl who suddenly realizes she's not in Kansas anymore.  

So I cried.  I wailed; snot erupted from my orifices like Old Faithful herself.  The more I cried, the heavier the flow;  the heavier the flow, the more I felt like crying.  Stuffing my nose with the cottony comfort of Kleenex tissue, I told Doug I was done crying.  It was time to go.  

"But you still have sad eyes,"  he replied, so earnestly wanting to melt away all of my fears and frustrations.  

"Yes, I know," I shrugged.  "That's ok."

And the truth is, it was ok.  The next morning I completed my first application and suddenly, things didn't seem so murky and uncertain.  I had a plan, a goal, and the empowerment that I needed to follow through.  What else could a girl--sorry, woman--ask for?

Doug and I have been in Portland for over a week now, and each day I feel a piece of this place penetrate my heart and leave a small, magical droplet of what feels like home.  It may take some time, but those droplets are the foundation of a great river of strength, beauty, and sweet sweet clarity, a river that is teeming, ready to burst through me and in me and all around me.  I can feel it building, waiting for the time to come when it's crystal clear water can wash clean the stagnant pools of my past and fill me up to the brim with courage and life and supreme love!  

  Portland may be big and new and more than a little bit scary, but it is also the beginning of something strong and powerful building within me.  Time and time again I have heard people caution me about the weather here in the Pacific Northwest.  They tell me I will love it now when it is sunny and warm, but once the rain comes, I will think differently.  The rains of Portland will wash away such a sunny disposition, they say with disdain.  Well let the rain come!  Bring on the clouds and the mist and the clammy gray skies.  I embrace their water vapors because they will simply build up that mighty river that is on its way; and oh, it is coming!  And it will be glorious!  It is glorious now.

For now, I am content with the soft dew of Portland's potential.  It calms me and it brings me peace.  Doug and I have both noted how relaxed we have felt these past few weeks, as if the world and all of its protective energy is holding us, giving us the precious softness we so need in a time of such harsh reality.  I thank it's comfort and support but I also know that it will not always be necessary.  There will come a time in the not so distant future when we will not need such vigilant protection.  But until then, I am thankful for the angels watching over us and furtively looking to the skies for the magical rains of tomorrow.

Stay away from Buster's.

Good news! We found a place to live! It's an extremely cute house in the NE side of town, right by the MAX line. We will be temporarily renting a room there starting next friday through the end of August. AND, there is a possibility we will be able to take over rent for the whole house starting in September. Hopefully we will have jobs by then and will have a better idea about where we need to be. The two girls who live there seem super cool and I am excited to get to know them better. Like Doug says, the house and it's inhabitants have "lots of potential"--potential for new friends, great living space, and possibly even a long-term rental. Very exciting! Also, the woman who owns the house we are staying in right now has agreed to allow us to stay an extra week, so we should be covered! No camping/hostels/knocking door to door looking for shelter. It is settled.

On a slightly unsettling note, Doug and I went out to eat last night, our first "night on the town," and where do you think we ended up? Yes, a BBQ place recommended by the local auto mechanic. Here we are, 3,000 miles away from home, and we continue to fixate upon the lip-lickin' splendor of some goooood Q. Call it an obsession if you will, I call it having good taste. So here we are, attempting our first gander at Northwestern BBQ and, to no one's surprise, it was AWEFUL. Terrible. I hated it. In fact, I hated everything about the place, from the country-western music playing in the background to the cowboy hats and longhorns plastered against the wall. As I forced down the dry, overly-seasoned bites of "pulled pork," I felt the all-empowering, all-encompassing emotion common to southerners everywhere: guilt. I felt like I was betraying my roots, my country, my GOD, by simply being there. The place was a mockery; it single-handedly managed to suck the soul out of the most soulful food there is: fire-roasted pig accompanied by some mighty-fine sauces. It's as simple as that.

Doug assures me that there is still hope for Oregonian BBQ; "don't give up hope now, not yet," he says with a penetrating stare.
I take a deep breath. I know, honey. I know. It's just so damn hard when you've left behind something so damn good.

from Portland!

And so, after eleven days of sweat and dirt and luminous exploration, Doug and I finally reached Portland, OR, our home in the making! Little Sioux (that's what I have officially Christened my mazda) took a deep sigh of relief: we had made it.

Now, here we are, four days later, and the reality of our situation is finally starting to sink in. We have been lucky enough to have a beautiful house to stay in until this friday, at which point we are on our own. Unfortunately, the plans we had made for the end of July have fallen through, which leaves Doug and I in quite the precarious situation. Up to the challenge, we have both put on our "serious" faces (and Doug his "responsible" voice) to step up to the plate and figure out a solution. Surprisingly enough, there are quite a number of temporary sublets out there, so we are hoping to find a furnished place to live in for a month or so until we have jobs and are ready for something more permanent. At least that's how the plan goes.

Big Sigh....

I woke up yesterday morning with an ache down in belly. The ache moaned and I knew that I was finally missing Asheville, my little home tucked away in the Appalachian Mountains, so far far away. Portland is big and...city-like. The people are different. The landscape is different. Where are all the trees? Instead of foilage and creek-beds I smell exhaust; rather than hear birds and crickets, my ears are filled with the sound of busses and an eerie silence. Where has my home gone? Is this the replacement? Has it all come to this?

Reminder to self: we have only been here FOUR days. Hardly time enough to be able to inhale the fullness of such a big, new place. And so I am trying to be patient. Doug and I are about to head off to the coast for the day. I think a little time away from the city and under the wide branches of nature will do us both some good. My heart calls out for the salty sweetness of the sea.

As we were traveling down the road today, it suddenly occurred to Doug and I that everything that we own, we are currently hauling with us, on us, across the country. EVERYTHING that we own. That's pretty wild! I mean, what a crazy thing! Who does that? Well, apparently, we do. And I think that is freakin' AWESOME! It's such a freeing thing, really. Just hitting the open road and experiencing that untamed and unpredictable adventure called life.

Speaking of life, the past two days have included lots of it! Last night, we camped over in the Badlands, witnessing the most awe-inspiring fire-works display I have EVER SEEN. No lie. And where did this gargantuan pyrotechnic celebration take place? Why, Interior, South Dakota, of course! (pop. 77) To say this was a surreal experience would be a vast understatement. It was DISTURBING how enormous these fireworks were. I think this tiny little town must spent more money on the fourth of july than their entire education budget for the year. Scary. As Doug so aptly put it, "Their teachers are getting paid 6.00 an hour but hey! They've got one hell of a fireworks display!"

Tonight, i sit on the front porch of the town store here at Devil's Tower, Wyoming, stealing their wireless internet while stealthily charging my phone. (This comes after sneaking into the nearby KOA and "illegally showering" in their facilities. I know, I've turned into a thieving renegade. I blame Doug completely.)

Devil's Tower, btw, is amazing. Absolutely breathtaking. As are the cute little prairie dogs that scurry around it's base.

I could say more, but Doug is getting hungry, so I will try and post some pictures of our latest travels!

CHICAGO

It's 10:30 at night and Doug and I have set up camp here in Sioux Falls, SD. Not much to report on for today's activities, I'm afraid. We left Winnetka, IL at 10:30 this morning and have been driving ever since, stopping for gas and for dinner at a mom and pop's Mexican place for dinner. (And by mom and pop's, I mean lip-lickin' good and more than a little bit sketch.)

So let me back up a day. Yesterday morning, Doug and I left Lebanon and headed north to Chicago, arriving in the Windy City shortly after noon. Miraculously, we managed to drive into the heart of Chicago and PARK our car/trailer in a garage for the low, low price of 13 bucks for the day. For those of you out there praying for us, thank you.

Once in Chicago, our first stop was a walk down Michigan Avenue, where I was immediately struck by the wide streets, beautiful gardens, and fascinating architecture of this strange yet oddly familiar city. Fortunately for Doug, I restrained myself and only snapped a couple of pictures. After all, pretty streets are one thing, but Doug and I, we were on a mission and that mission, was aptly titled: Taste of Chicago. Now those of you who live in Charlotte are familiar with the festival of a similar name and in essence, it is the same concept: hundreds, and I do mean HUNDREDS of restaurants from around the city come together and set up booths downtown. As a participant, it is then your job to meander the swarmed street tasting the delectable, finger sized tid-bits presented to you by the venders. So basically, we gorged. Mexican Empanada? yes please! Indian Samosa? Of course! Chinese Boa Bun? Why not?

Awesomeness.

So, after feasting upon the best Chicago had to offer, we make our way to Navy Pier in search of an IMAX theater. We don't care where or how, but IMAX is calling us forth and we have no choice but to answer with a "two tickets for Kung Fu Panda please." Of course, it only took us 45 minutes to hike across town, along the shore of Lake Michigan, to reach the gloriously cold mecca of air-conditioned entertainment. And oh was it glorious, Jack Black included.

By now, we have worked up quite a sweat (I am scaring little children away with the smell reeking from my pores) and our appetites begin to re-awaken. It's Chicago stuffed pizza time, baby!! Off to Giordano's we trot, revived by visions of a pizza so delicious, some say it was sent down on a golden chariot by his Holiness Himself. After waiting an hour for our own personal slice of heaven, I hold onto my faith. It will come; soon, I will be graced with its esteemed presence. Sure enough, the pizza arrives and, honestly, it's all rather a blur from there. Even now, I get dizzy thinking about how freakin' wonderful that pizza was. The stories are wrong though. God didn't commission the baking of that pizza; God WAS that pizza and that pizza WAS God. And I have finally seen the glowing light of salvation, a salvation stuffed full of gooey mozzarella, garlic, tomato saucy goodness, and giant chunks of meaty sausage.

Haleluia and Amen.

So Doug and I have reached our official resting place for the evening: Econo Lodge, Lebanon, Indiana.  It is past midnight and we have been driving all day.  We began by stopping off in Maggie Valley to say goodbye to the mountains that I so love and will miss so deeply.  I couldn't help but shed a tear or two during our last moments together.  After all, those mountains have really been there for me over the past 7 years; through it all, my heart has remained rooted to their unwavering spirit, and I will be eternally grateful.

Four hours and ninety dollars in gas later (yikes!), we made our second stop at super AWESOME  Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, the longest cave in the world!!!  The cave itself is hundreds of miles long, with untold miles yet to be charted, so needless to say, there are a lot of different tours and expeditions you can go on.  Unfortunately, Doug and I only had a few hours, so we chose the "New Entrance" tour, which was about three hours long and covered 3/4 of a mile.  The beginning of the tour lead us down over 300 steps into the very depths of the cave; the air was cold and moist as water trickled down the sides of the silky smooth limestone, continuing to carve away at the stone.  This was all rather majestic, indeed, but the real splendor came toward the end of the tour, with stalactites and stalagmites bursting out of every crevice.  I suppose I could go on, but I will leave you with some pictures of today's adventures.

final night farewell

So everything is packed; the room is empty.  Doug and I are both hovering around that inescapable pentacle of exhaustion that is so common to big moves and big changes.  I have said goodbye to those that I love dearly, including my friends and my lifeline here in Asheville: Brian, Meg, Annie, Andrew, Wes and Henry.  I also hugged goodbye to my family: Mama and John, Daddy and Sandrine, Tabatha, Keir, Rechelle, Isaac, Mallory, Elena, Amanda, Allison, Charity, and Hannah.  I will miss them all terribly.  They may not know it now, but I have cried many tears over the past couple of months, preparing myself for the final farewell.  It hurts my heart when I think of life without then, so far away.  Still, it is a cleansing sort of pain, a pain that will inevitably make my heart even bigger, able to invite even more beautiful people and experiences into my already full life.  For now, I am going to sleep in my empty room with the man I love lying beside me.  Tomorrow, we will embark on a grande adventure, an adventure that I cannot wait to share with all of you!  

As I say goodbye to Asheville, my heart swells with the love and support of those I leave behind.  Thank you.  I love you.  Goodnight.

A Haiku, for You

The grass is greener

Especially in Portland

On the other side.

Moving is a pain

birds really like the forest

I sure hate packing.

Procrastination

Can be a beautiful thing

Thank you e-blogger!

:)

The fruits of my labor.  Obviously I am somewhat lacking in the productivity dept.  Hmmm...

 Another Haiku anyone?

From Dublin to Belfast

So Doug and I are midway through our grande adventures in Ireland!  The Blessington clan (mum, dad, sis, bro, and myself) has officially ransacked our way through Dublin, Belfast, the Coastal Causeway, and [London]Derry.  Now settled in a blissfully lush hotel room in Mulingar, I find the time to take a deep breath and debrief.  

Overall, this trip has been thigh deep in political analysis and the in-your-face ramifications of a culture just starting to pick itself back up after years and years of war and conflict.  Arriving in Dublin, there wasn't much culture-shock.  Best described as a European mix of New York and New Orleans, Dublin doesn't really start hopping until 11 or 12 at night.  Still, despite the on-going drunken debauchery, there is still that surprising hustle and on-the-go pace that is reminiscent of the typical New Yorker, barely taking the time to tie their shoe, much less talk to their neighbor on the sidewalk.  Honestly, most of Dublin is a complete blur; after 12 hours traveling overnight with very little sleep, the sites we did manage to see upon arrival, such as the Book of Kells (oldest book in the world--very cool); the original tower of the Dublin Castle, build circa 1200; one of the oldest Korans in the world; and a sip of my first oh-so-delectable IRISH Guiness, just to name a few, all seemed to meld together into one extended blur leading up to my head hitting the pillow in our quaint little hotel.  Still, I managed to grab a couple pics along the way:

The next day, it was upwards and onwards (quite literally)! Here the light-hearted tone of the trip shifted as we entered a city rich with strife, grief, and sore wounds. Upon entering Belfast, it seems rather bright and inviting, your typical English settlement rife with jolly little pubs and the Grande Europa Hotel. The city itself is surrounded by the green hills of Ireland, a surprisingly peaceful landscape.  
However, Belfast itself is actually not even in Ireland;  Republicans refer to the six counties still belonging to England as Northern Ireland, while a Loyalist would call it Ulster or a number of other names that are escaping me at the time.  While in Dublin, an Australian woman suggested we take a "Black Cab" tour, which is essentially this:  a former member of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) picks you up in his black cab and carts you around the city, explaining the history of the war, telling stories about what happened and what life was really like, all the while taking you to actual sites throughout Belfast.  

So that is exactly what we did.  To actually try and describe the experience would be rather pointless, at least here and now.  If you would like to know more details, just ask and I would be more than happy to talk with you about them.  However, I will say this:  Imagine sitting in the back of a cab as a former member of the IRA points down a street to the very house where British soldiers sledgehammered down the door in the middle of the night, went upstairs, and shot his brother in the head point blank.  "And just down that way is where they killed my brother," he says, in the same matter-of-fact, no-nonsense Irish twang that has characterized the "tour."  We look, stunned, down the street to the door in question.  Just beyond it stands the Peace Wall, a giant 40-ft tall barrier of steel fencing that separates Protestant Belfast from Catholic Belfast.  

To say this was a powerful moment would be a clear understatement, as would for me to say that I now know and understand everything there is to know about the Troubles of Northern Ireland.  Still, I feel like a giant light has been shown on an area of the world and a peoples that we as Amerians know little to nothing about, separate from BBC propoganda labeling the IRA as "terrorists" and "radicals," when in fact, a closer examination would show something much deeper: an oppressed population blindly fighting their own in search for a better, equal life.

Some more pics of Belfast and the Troubles:

A Writer's Dilemma

Last week, Doug and I were house-sitting for his parents and I had the opportunity to chat with his younger sister, Sarah.  She was baking a scrumptious apple pie and I jumped on the opportunity to distract myself from much-needed planning.  As the hours passed, the conversation ebbed and flowed around friends, family, literature, life.  Turns out, Sarah and I share an all-too-often squelched passion for writing.  I thought back on my most reason drought and pondered aloud,

 "Why is it that happiness and written expression have such an antagonistic relationship?"  

Her eyes lit up in response:  "Oh, I know!  It's so true!"

We sat with this thought for a moment before I added:  "I mean, when I was desperately sad, lonely, angry, and generally filled to the brim with this brooding angst, man, the words would just pour out of me.  It was so beautiful!  So fulfilling!  But now, when I'm finally happy and content with my life and in a healthy relationship, it's like BAMB! gone."

She nodded, her lips pursed together in resigned affirmation.  Her brow furrowed as she attempted to roll out the pie crust without it cracking along the edges.  

"Some of my best writing sessions have been in the depths of great sadness.  Why is that?"

"I don't know." I replied.  "But it sucks."

     An hour later, I sit and watch the vanilla bean ice cream melt around an island of freshly-baked apple pie.  To my left rests the valley, lush and alive after the previous night's showers.  A wave of cloud creeps over the mountain tops, cascading down the slopes and covering the landscape with a fresh coating of misty goodness.  I scoop up the first bite: a perfect combination of ice cream, crust, and sugary apple.  The flavors combine to create a sensory experience that rivals most and I can't help but breathe in the beauty of the moment.   

     Looking back, I know that, ultimately, my mind was not focused on capturing that scene and labeling it with four-syllable words and brilliant figurative language.  I didn't have a story-line in my head; The Grande Adventures of Candecium were nowhere to be found.  And honestly, is that such a bad thing?  I can't help but wonder if such intellectual stimulation would have lessoned the moment somehow.  Perhaps the best kind of sensory reception involves feeling, living, being in that moment.  Experience is ultimately the best teacher and yes, that applies to writing as well.  So, for now, that's where I will be: experiencing what life has to offer.  I will continue to breathe in all of its smells, taste it's wonders: the sweet along with the bitter.  One day, my words will thank me for waiting and when the day comes when their story needs to be told, it will be with the unquenchable fire of a true writer.

    

     

 

Oh, that Barack...

So, after much urging by my political advisor (thanks Meg), I took the time to view Obama's "A More Perfect Union" speech on race in America.  To be forthright, I was blown away by the insight, courage, and down-right honesty presented in this broadcast.  Though it is difficult for me to jump fences based on this speech alone, I must admit, the temptation is lurking just around the political corner.  

In the end, I don't really care who says it, as long as it is said.  The fact that Mr. Obama happens to be the speaker only makes me respect him as a man and yes, as a public figure and potential leader of our country, even more.  Will I vote for him in the primary?  Sigh...damn it.  Now I just don't know.  

Hurray!  I figured out how to upload the full video, parts 1-4, onto this post!  (if you are reading this right now, i expect silent cheers and raised fists for Candace's technological proficiency.  thanks.)  Please, please take the time to see it and let me know what you think!!!  Yay! I'm so excited! :)

Trying my hand at poetry

A Manifesto on Life:

The Cactus

The snow falls                    

outside on the hill;            

tiny crystals                        

float here and there.         

In a window, the cactus stands            

as tall and proud as it possibly can.    

Prickled and green, rigid and still,   

it cares not for that snow on the hill.  

Days go by

and the snow melts.

The sun shines bright

a warmth unfelt

by the cactus, prickled and green.

A desire for more remains to be seen

for the cactus,  all alone

upon the sill it forever calls home.

The life of                    

a cactus so grand          

may be for some            

the perfect stance.         

As for me, I prefer the sky,          

the cold world of danger that reigns outside.   

Cruel may be the struggle of man      

But with it comes love, hope, and a helping hand. 

An update in the oh-so efficient bullet format:

• Doug and I are [almost] officially moved in together!  i.e. shacked up  The [almost] is attributed to the fact that I still have a carload of junk to either a)  throw away or b) ship over to the new pad.  The past few days have been spent rearranging furniture in a desperate attempt to fit all of my bedroom furniture into Doug's already furnished 10x13 bedroom.  Surprisingly enough, we are both very satisfied with the result!  
• Ok, this last sentence was a vast understatement.  I am absolutely ecstatic about sharing my life and living space with Doug.  Let me be clear about this:  I am incandescently happy about this aspect of my life!!!!!   
• In case words aren't enough, allow me to elaborate via a pictoral representation: 

Me: incandescently happy.

Ok, back to my bulleted update:

• I have a job! yayyy!!! :)  At least I think I have a job, a job I was offered almost two weeks ago and have yet to actually start.  Alas, my first day is now scheduled for next wednesday.  That is, unless they decide to bump me back another week just for funzies.  This is not an impossibility.  
• Despite my newfound job security (?), I am still in the process of applying elsewhere, just to keep things interesting.  My prospects include 1. a full-time position as YWCA Coordinator working with youth in Asheville and Buncombe County.  Perks: a) involves working w/ teens b) full time w/ benefits!!!!!  Very exciting.  2. Goooooo Asheville Blues!  It looks as though my alma mater is very interested in hiring me on as part-time interim English teacher for the remaining school year!  Perks:  a) Working w/ teens b) Daily interaction w/ Jay BonBons c) a great experience that would look great on a resume!!  Exciting stuff, I know.
• BIG NEWS:  I have officially joined Camp Hillary.  Yes, it's true.  I support Hillary Clinton for president.  I have been leaning towards this decision for awhile but consistently found myself split between Clinton and Obama.  Perhaps I will jump sides later down the road, but for now, Clinton it is, for a couple of key though perhaps overly-simplistic reasons:

1. My brain says practicality--keep to the issues missy-- but my heart screams, "Goood GOD I want a woman president!!!!!"
2. Speaking of issues:  Universal Healthcare.  I likes. A lot.
3. Strong and experienced.  Why is that when a woman is confident, professional, smart and cut-throat she is an evil bitch??  If that were a man up there, we would be waving an American flag in patriotic splendor.  Obama talks a good talk [comparisons to MLK are awe-inspiring] but does he stomp the stomp?  Who knows.  Well I'm sorry, but I think this country is teetering a little too far on the brink of annihilation to place all of our pennies in one appealingly-black basket of "hope."
4. The Economy:  Clinton did it back in the '90s, now it's Hillary's turn to kick fiscal irresponsibility into next week.
5. Coming from a long lineage of therapeutic bargain shoppers, I understand the golden rule of a good deal:  Never, under any circumstances, turn your back on the "Two For."  Two presidents for the price of one?  yes, please!  
6. Finally:  Obama's "You're likeable enough, Hillary" comment does not sit well with me, making me wonder if men in America--white or black--will ever accept a strong woman calling all the shots.  

This in and of itself would make my back Hillary.  But everything combined?  I can now proudly proclaim:

Hillary Clinton is my homegirl

Cinderella's Y2K

So Doug and I are at the Drip, matching Macbooks in tow. Very cute. Doug is very focused at the moment [see below]. Doubly cute.



As for me, I'm drinking my green tea and desperately trying to upload more photos up onto the site. Technical difficulties abound. Despite this temporary roadblock, onward I march, valiantly climbing that mountain otherwise known as "the Internet." Sneaky little bastard.

Speaking of the World Wide Web, whatever happened to Y2K? You know, the collapse of industrialized society as we know it, electronic armageddon, bomb shelters, fear, propaganda, the whole works?

April, 1999: it's the eight grade dance. My hair is long and pulled back in the front. Landon, childhood friend-turned boyfriend three years later-turned back to friend a year after that, is my date. Having hit puberty earlier that year just in time for football season, his tall, bulky awkwardness borders on cute; he hands me a corsage. His mother takes our picture and I officially turn a deep shade of scarlet to match my burgundy dress. It's short, not floor-length like most of the other girls' dresses. And, unlike them, I didn't have my hair and makeup done at the salon down the street. They look older, more mature, developed in all the right places. I look down at my own adolescent body: my boobs seem to be getting bigger every day, an observation that is the source of more embarrassment than pride. I can just make out my toes past their protrusion. Damn it. My strappy white sandals have bows on them. How 6th grade of me. Shit.

Landon and I finally wave goodbye to his mom and make our way towards the overly-decorated cafeteria turned dance hall. The theme of the evening is "Cinderella's Castle," explaining why we are each handed a plastic slipper and magic wand at the door. Landon and I exchange amused looks. I see my best friend, Hannah running towards me. From the neck down, she looks like a princess. My heart sinks. Her dress is beautiful. It's long (of course) and sparkly with an empire waste and split overlay that cascades down from her cleavage in a giant upside down V. Wow. Her boobs look amazing in that dress. She looks like Drew Barrymore in Ever After.

Hannah says a brief hello to Landon and then directs her attention towards me.

"Wow, Candace, you look amazing!"

"Yeah, so do you."

There is a pause. Hannah is obviously waiting for me to say more, to comment on her dress, her manicured nails, her fake eyelashes.

"So...nice dress." I say in a vague attempt at hiding my envy behind a veil of complimentary conversation.

"You like it? My grandma bought it for me. It cost $400." Her eyes protrude at the mention of money. Evidently Hannah mistakes the blank expression on my face as a request for more information. She continues:

"My grandma says that the world is going to end in about six months anyway. You know, Y2K. We saw this dress in the store and she said she just had to buy it for me, even though she didn't really have the money. 'Well, it ain't like any of us is gonna live to see your prom, so we might as well do what we can now.' That's what she said. Grandma is a little nutty, but maybe she's right, ya know? She has a whole cellar full of canned goods and potatoes that she's been saving for four years now. I tell you what, when the shit starts flyin,' at least i'll know where to go to get some good canned corn!"

Landon laughs.

I should probably laugh too, but I can't help but notice that Hannah's hair is a bit lop-sided and some of the bobby-pins are sticking out obtrusively. It would probably only take one little pull of a pin to cause the whole beehive to come crashing down. My eyes scrunch up as my right hand twitches. I'm about to go in for the kill when Hannah catches the eye of another innocent friend to pounce upon. She runs in the opposite direction, heels clicking upon the cement floor. Her hair comes to a stop behind her, swaying from the sudden movement. Oh well. It's probably for the best. Besides, it would be a shame to ruin the poor girls' night on account of my own pettiness.

It is her last six months on earth, after all.

He asked me to write.

He asked me to write. We were sitting on the couch, locked into each other. There were still tears in his eyes. Our love filled him to the brim, you see; the tears were the salty excess of his joy. I was crying too, in my own way, chest heaving, hands frantically touching, memorizing, adoring. I cried because I felt as though I had been on the verge of losing him, this man I loved so dearly, only to open my eyes and find him still there, loving me as I loved him. What an exhilarating moment! I remember the feeling as my panicked self slowly melted into a sweeter calm. My head began to spin and my skin sang out to this beautiful man I called my love. Yes, I remember that moment quite vividly, the moment I simultaneously lost and found my other half. And oh the kisses. There were kisses too, of course.

“Write about us,” he said after one particularly wet embrace. “I would like that.”

“Yes,” I replied, “of course I will.”

I gave him a smile, stamping and sealing his request in a kiss. Still, my insides couldn't help but churn. Write about us? About him? There seemed to me an inherent danger in the act. To try and define something so powerful, so pure, well, it bordered on blasphemy. The Muslim world considers it heresy to print an image of Muhammad for fear of false worship, of turning something otherwise divine and beautiful into a man-made idol. I suppose I beheld similar fears.

And so the days went by, then the weeks, and I did not write about us, as I said I would. I thought about it, of course. Words would brush in and out of my head like fallen leaves: beautiful and inspiring, but difficult to contain. Funny thing about dry leaves: they simply refuse to stay in one place for very long.

It is winter now and yet the leaves just keep falling, in and then out again. Still, spring is just around the corner. Perhaps I will have better luck then. Maybe, when surrounded by growth and fresh beginnings, maybe then I will be able to write about us, like I said I would. But not yet, not today. No, no that would just be silly.

Presence of Mind

So I have changed my blog format. It seems fitting. My life is so drastically different now; shouldn't font and color wheel reflect this shift? Darker, Polka-dot candace is out; sophisticated, free, GRADUATED and in LOVE Candace is way in! I like that.

so, my new year's resolution(s)

Resolution #1: Be present.
This is my number one goal for this coming year, especially these next few months.
As of late, my days have been very open and noncommital. In short, I haven't really been doing much. In the past, such blatant sloth-like behavior has been the source of great pain, usually in the form of restlessness, anxiety, fear, and worry, sometimes building into a state of depression, self-doubt, and a drastic decrease in self-worth. What a waste of energy! And for what? So that I can feel bad about myself? So that I can build up walls and limitations and somehow manage to convince myself that I am nothing? Self-fulfilling prophecies are a bitch, my friend, and not to be toyed with.
Well, no more. I'm done. Cuz you know what? It's ok to take a break. It's ok to not have everything figured out right NOW, in this very moment. It's ok to just let myself BE for a little while. Haven't I deserved it? Do I not have enough faith in myself and my own abilities to know that things will work themselves out and I will be fabulous? That I AM fabulous, right here, right now? Why worry about the future? Why allow my past to determine that future, to hold me back today? Now that's not saying I shouldn't have ambitions and goals and hopes and dreams; I just don't want to get bogged down and consumed by the fear of not attaining those dreams.
Eckhart Tolle says:
"All negativity is caused by an accumulation of psychological time and denial of the present. Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry--all forms of fear-- are caused by too much future, and not enough presence. Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of nonforgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence." (50)
What a profound notion. Wow. I totally get that; I feel it. Props to Tolle.
So, the solution? Be present. Do what you can, when you can. The rest will take care of itself.

Resolution #2:
Write more.

Both of these resolutions are currently in progress...
and I'm lovin' that.