My Southern Comfort

This was not the South I experienced. Yes, it would be wonderful to have a place that looks like this. With acres of space and lots of parties. I'll admit, its a dream. But my childhood wasn't full of mint juleps and savannah-ian accents. Think of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour. Those are the fellas I grew up listening to. Grits weren't served often- they heat up a kitchen and take too long. Breakfast is cereal or eggs if you are lucky. Every summer day was spent outside, with a hose nearby if you were thirsty. We spent our days thinking of Huck Finn or the Rascals and maybe Swiss Family Robinson. Maybe fishing, but usually not because of alligators. Ask me what I want to eat and I'll tell you biscuits, mashed potatoes, fried chicken and green bean cassarole. Water? No thank you, sweet tea'll do mighty fine. Dessert is pumpkin pie in the fall and strawberry shortcake in the summer. You name it- we fried it. Elvis found his way into the hymns, heading off to the church for sunday evening service or near the holidays. Summer began as school let out in June and the Fall officially started the middle of August when you went back to school. No one owned snow boots or rain boots or even an overcoat. Flip flops can be worn year round and winter has officially begun when your pool is under 64* Which is usually some cold day in December. I spent many Christmases at the beach or a bbq. But like any place, living your life is a whole different experience. Just how many new yorkers go see their city? I do. One new thing a week. You only live once.

School's Back in Session!

I continue to resist the constant urge of being a language arts teacher. Tomorrow, a dozen of people I know will greet youngsters on their first day of school. Their day will be full of smiles, tears, lunches and crayons. Another dozen will head back to their classrooms to construct that welcoming room for their future students. Sometimes I wonder if that's where I should be- in a classroom. Teaching the times tables, reading Bridge to Terrabithia, and assigning book reports and scheduling pizza parties. Maybe one day I will be there. Not this school year.

The Time Has Come the Walrus Said....

Why don't more people look up when they walk? It's more attractive when you do. You discover things on your walk. Like this building. I like this building. It's on Central Park West. I don't know if I'd appreciate it if I lived here. You don't really stop to look at your building before going inside. Plus, I'd probably have a lot on my mind if I lived there. More money, more responsibility. For some reason, I always think it would be a good place to sell something door to door. (Not that that is allowed inside.) I don't even like doing door to door things. But it would give me a chance to see inside other people's homes. Not in a stalkerish way. Just in a "wow. I would NOT have put red curtains in THAT room" kind of way. Now you know.

My Moveable Feast

About once a month, our apartment throws together a brunch. We make the main dish and ask our friends to bring what else is needed. Some days it's impromptu- someone had leftover potatoes, so we have home fries. Another time, an excess of Bisquick. Whatever seems to work. We've finally gotten to the point where there's a base of people that come by and spend a couple of hours eating good and catching up on the past few weeks. It's funny to think that in the short time we've had it, a couple of legit business deals have gone through, a couple of jobs have been discussed and none too often, words of encouragement for a passionate shift into art or creating are passed around. Although by the time the brunch is over its usually 4pm, I'm settling in for a sugar coma of sorts and I've only managed to clean the dishes; I still feel that the day is an accomplishment. I also notice that the words and ideas percolating in my head for the past month spill out onto the page faster.

There are gorillas in the mist?

They found 125,000 gorillas recently. In the Congo. Apparently, you don't really "tag" or "count" these gorillas, you just look at their nests and count them. (Called nests, I prefer- pallets to sleep on) Have you seen the size of the Congo? Where do 100,000 gorillas hide for 10 years. (The last count was in 1992) I misplace a sock or my eye glasses for a week- but gorillas? The WCS located the "mother lode" (I take this direct quote) and also discovered 6,000 gorillas they didn't even know were in a isolated swamp. This fascinates me. I understand the concept of the forests. I understand the concept of a secretive species. But misplacing and underestimating 125,000 gorillas? They're not mice- how does this happen?

In other news, you can now get a camera, mp3 player and other small electronic needs at vending machines in the Dallas Airport. ...Maybe we can pick up a tracking device on the way to the Congo.

I don't believe in Sundays.

It's a lot like finding your borough. When you find another one that's "almost" yours, you realize just how much your current borough isn't for you- even though this other one isn't yours as well. Does that make sense? Being here reminded me that my time is short in NYC. Not because I don't love this town. Don't get me wrong. I love NYC. But it's not my borough. Not forever. I'm still searching for mine. Vermont isn't where I belong either. I'll know when I get there.
In the mean time, I'll enjoy the side trips from NYC to places I've never been before.

Ante Up.

Sometimes I wish I'd spent more time paying attention in my Web classes rather than using that time to update my myspace and edit my Shakespeare papers.

But, as with Algebra classes- what's the point? I'd just hire someone to do this kind of thing for me.

Confessions of a Scrap-a-holic

I scrapbook. It's not blogging. It's not about my "journal" entries, my momentary lapses into organized chaos at work or a place to release a diatribe about the latest fad I've seen on the subway. No, I scrapbook because it's calming. I'm in control of the complete process- layout, setup, organization, content- the whole nine yards. How that would translate into a regular paying job is beyond me. What I do know is no matter how stressful life can be- I can, without hesitation, sprawl out on my floor with pages and pages of paper, stamps and ribbons and create a memory on paper. Looking back at the past 10 years I've been indulging in this hobby- I can see how much better I've gotten and resist the urge to redo the pages. After spending $90 in Michaels on Friday I can't help but wonder- would someone pay me to do this?

Working on Leaving

I stood at the door of Holy Apostles anguishing over a decision about my future, not unlike the 1,000 people who’d walked through the doors earlier that day to receive a free meal carry. Six months into my AmeriCorps fellowship and already I’d worked with 1,884 volunteers serving over 67,396 meals. Still, it seemed something was missing. Maybe it was time to walk away from AmeriCorps and realize I was not cut out for this sort of work. I’d finally decided that this night would determine my future with AmeriCorps. I thought maybe some clarity would come to me by the end of the night. I had no idea that it would be one person that made all the difference.

St. Johns Bread and Life is a soup kitchen in the heart of Bedford-Stuyvesant. Even though it is only a few blocks from my apartment, I didn’t serve there until 5 months into my service year. St. Johns feeds about 250 daily with a small kitchen and crew of devoted volunteers. What stands out among those that volunteer is the food pantry coordinator. Always with a smile, Yemi is quick to laugh and even quicker to put you to work. No matter what her mood, she always has a smile just for her volunteers. From the first day at YSOP, I’ve heard many comments about how volunteer’s experiences are enriched due to a smile and a laugh with Yemi. She made the part of the day easier when volunteers talk about their experiences at a soup kitchen.

I greeted donors and friends of YSOP as they came into Holy Apostles. Although I’d only met her once before, she made a beeline for me, said “Thank You” and handed me flowers. It caught me off guard. So many times had I called her frantically needing a site and asking if I could send her “just 6 more volunteers” So many times have I had to call her and tell her groups were running late or not coming at all. She even came in on a Sunday just to find something for my volunteers to do at St. Johns. If anyone should be doing the thanking, it should be me. I stood there speechless. I tried to express my gratitude for everything she’d done and asked why in the world she would be thanking me. In so many words she explained that without the volunteers that I sent, she wouldn’t have the energy to do the work that she did. Without her, I tried to explain, there wouldn’t be volunteers eager to serve.
As my year comes to a close, I still think about the night I almost walked away. Long hours and a few encounters with angry students, teachers and homeless individuals can deter anyone, much less someone in this position. I started out my year thinking I was helping the homeless and helping students. But it was a smile and a couple of flowers that showed me that the real lives I was touching were the ones that have dedicated their lives to serving others.

Pancakes and Posts

Here are two posts I'd started to write and then stopped. Note the emo eminating off. Oh and each one posted with the same picture:

1: Is there a point in one's life where things just sort of work themselves out? Or is life still just a series of events that our brain connects based on how important they seem to you? Is there any point to worrying about tomorrow? Especially when it prevents you from living for today? What a melancholy train of thoughts.
I'm looking for a new job. I've got just a few weeks left with this one and need to get on the job search. I've also started looking into a script I'm developing. I don't know what that's going to be like but it's starting off well.

2. There's a lot to be said about the moments during a rainstorm. Its the time where I can compare the chapters of my life and smile just a little more. Rain is soothing. Use the lightning to channel your breathing. It rained inside some days. Just like it rains inside your soul some days.
Writer's Note:
You will read this and think, "Is this directed at me?" To which, I can only respond, "Parts of it were". The truth is, F. Scott wrote to Zelda and Gerdie wrote to Alice. Hemmingway wrote to a couple of ladies (although I wouldn't call that writing) and Jane Austen wrote to someone she never met. So there are some days when yes, I am writing to you. Some days, I'm writing about someone else. And sometimes, I'm writing just to make sense to myself. What flows through my fingertips is a mixture of reality, fantasy, love and loathing. I cannot take credit for everything. In fact, I believe I will take the Mark Twain approach to most of my musings. Those attempting to find truth shall be shot. Or something like that.