graduation. birthday party. wedding. father's day. VA.

does going home to the family home in virginia count as a travel post now?

(hmm.)

my trip to guatemala.

So, I spent six days on a crater lake in the middle of the Guatemalan jungle last week. Mi and I stayed on what she referred to as a “compound” (her word reminded me of some kind of military barrack terminology that somehow did not exactly fit the exotic setting, but, hey…) – a property on the side of the lake with its own dock, a 1,000 degree wood burning (pot-bellied stove) sauna (in for 3 minutes, scamper down the dock, belly float in the lake for 10, go back in for 3, repeat until tired.), mini palapa/hammock/outdoor couch cabana type things for lounging, massive sprawling property of the French ex-patriot and owner, Pierre (had us over for lovely drinks and Pringles with, pesto (?who knew, right?), along with his lady friend – also solar powered hotel owner, at which point we heard all the underbelly of the Lonely Planet guide book writers… enquire for more info…)

Mi insisted on reading some kind of horrifyingly grotesque sci-fi novel while we were at the lake, which meant that on top of the somewhat (ok, more than somewhat. I’ll admit, very high) likeliness of something horribly wrong happening (we read in the local news paper that on the road between our village and the neighboring, there was a 98% chance of getting robbed by none other than, I quote “machete-wielding banditos”), she was perpetually freaked out by “monkeys” (? Were they really actually there? Debateable.), jungle noises, and the broken bottle guard fence that separated our section of the property from the tuk-tuk ridden “road” (read: jumble of rocks and dirt barely walkable without twisting ankle, much less operate some type of motorized vehicle.). Our little section of the “compound” was a pretty basic cement floored one bedroom, one table, one wardrobe scenario with a polar water jug which we broke (and fixed, thanks to an American installment of ducktape on mi’s part: well done.) within five minutes of arriving.

Almost everyday, we got up, one of us put coffee on in our little camp kitchen, made some onions, eggs, tomatoes, and cheese, using, what you ask, to grease the pan? Sesame seed oil. Yummm. so a delish egg scramble with a bit of a “hmm, what exactly is THAT?” after taste. We would then sit out on the front porch over looking three massive volcanoes and the lake, deciding what we were (or were not) going to do that day. There was no TV. No internet. And we had no ipod speakers. Just a few books, some boxed wine, and headphones, which we put into a glass jar to serve as an amplifier for about five minutes before we decided that muffled “adele” wasn’t really worth it. So basically, solitude.

One day, we decided it would be a brilliant idea to climb one of those volcanoes that towered over us: covered in mist at mid day (we went in rainy season.), and looming in darkness in the mornings and evenings… that for some irrational reason I reckoned that my lack of physical activity would position me to be able conquer such a climb. With relative ease. In “poco tiempo.” In fact, I reckoned I was in SUCH good shape that I didn’t need to bring a snack, drink water the day before, have more than an avocado for dinner, and also didn’t need to bring my lumbar pack to hold my water bottle in. Did I take into consideration that these days I consider getting off the subway 2 stops to early to walk home is the most exercise I EVER get to do? That my heart rate accelerates going up stairs? That I maybe smugly, in a Pharisee type fashion, look at my colleagues when they take the elevator instead of 12 stairs to work (as if the 12 stairs make me better. Well, they do.) Did I mention that I am fairly sure my muscles have in fact atrophied since beginning a therapy job where I sit in a chair all day and the only physical activity I am allowed is a non-verbal affirmation (head nod=”continue, I am listening;” body stretching= “I think we need to change the subject;” wrist movements= “tell me more about that;” and finally, the big one, turning my neck to look at the clock= “well, its time for us to stop;” with the compulsory accompaniment back to the waiting room.)

Anyway, all this to say, that just because you are young, just because you don’t weigh a lot, and just because you eat one egg for breakfast and carry water in your hand, DOES NOT MEAN that you can climb a volcano 5 kilometers straight up while following a chipper, VERY fit guide. I have to say, that for the first time EVER, I had to quit. The volcano officially kicked my ass. Mi was in better shape than I… she is far more active than I am, but while active, she didn’t exactly put up a fight when I suggested we stop. I was flabbergasted that my brain could not muster the psychological “strength” to make it. Needless to say, I was NOT a picnic walking back, after ¾’s of the volcano and no summit had been achieved.

I was, however, placated by an obscene amount of guacamole and chips, accompanied by a lovely cold beer, and by Mi starting to talk to me again (she was also apparently, not pleased at how hard the hike had been.). After eating – no, gorging – on lunch, we were both reasonably happy and laughing at our attempt and trying to convince each other that it wasn’t that we were getting older or were out of shape, but it was our “poor planning,” that had left us begging for mercy at the feet of Volcan San Pedro.

We both hobbled for 3 days after.

Aside from the volcano-trekking, Mi and I busied ourselves by taking the public boat (50 cents a ride) to the little mayan villages that dotted the lake’s circumference, weaving in and out of the massive mountains that sheltered the lake, browsing small local cultural history museums (who knew, mi is a museum nerd. Gorgeous.), eating street food (she is a legend), browsing grocery stores (well, this was me. I don’t think mi really understands my fascination with supermarkets in other countries.), attending crazy mayan rituals, laying in hammocks together, making one-dish-wonders on the camp stove, doing laundry by hand (this was mi with her headlamp. Another classic.), journaling, trying to locate all of mi’s money in her impeccably packed rucksack (she had spread her money in approximately 9 secret locations) reading, taking tuk-tuks that were so wobbly they feel like your cortex may shake loose, getting caught in the rain, having a melt down, not being alone, figuring out our mayan astrology, hearing our fortunes, making mayan ceremony, listening to rain on the tin roof, and eating bowl after bowl (after bowl after bowl) of guacamole…

With smiles.

So

Amazed

Because

Life

Can be

So –

Just

So very

Beautiful.

(remember to remember this.)

pretty brilliant relationship podcast.

http://www.jbmti.org/media/audio/WCW_Fall10_Jordan_EmpoweringRelationships.mp3

exploration and imagination and trajectory.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/tue-january-18-2011/neil-degrasse-tyson

some brilliance.

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/371416/january-18-2011/cornel-west

"...until there is a more meditative dimension in the peace movement, our perception of reality (and thus our ability to help occasion understanding and transformation) will be terribly crippled. whatever our religious or nonreligious background and vocabulary may be, we will be overlooking something as essential to our lives and work as breath itself."

James Forest

mlk was an activist and lover.

"When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights, are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring."

-MLK Jr., "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence" speech, April 4, 1967

things i find interesting.

during advent things rustled to the surface.

among them are:

story and vulnerability.

my beautiful friends who birth babies. and who are activists because of their "strong convictions."

polyphonic feminisms. a new online mag i respect.

how they see sex and love.

the children's repository of "banned" books. is there such a THING? (and half of them are already in my amazon order to my house.)

back.

i write this from my bathtub.

i am three quarters through a bottle of wine and one episode into modern family.

this evening i shared with a woman rabbi who is a -- i mean most deeply -- friend. She is wise and generous and creative. she shared her moleskin of watercolours with me and i am amazed at how she connects my story with those from her community.

i wonder what this partnership may hold.

my body feels relaxed and soft: folded in hot waters.

and i have much to write.