Siem Reap, Day 3

The day started with a hotel breakfast of fried rice, bread, and fruit. Husband and I opened the restaurant, surprise! This was hands-down one of my favorite meals on our trip.

We then hired our favorite tuk tuk driver, having come to know him in our short stay, to take us to Tonle Sap Lake. While the lake experience was not what we imagined, I loved riding through the country by tuk tuk. This ride took us a ways outside the city and provided a glimpse of what life was life for the local Cambodians. If I had the power to stop the tuk tuk, I would have a million pictures... and for better or worse we might never have made it our destination. The rising sun over the brightly colored houses lined with full, lush gardens had me captivated. There were also several picturesque hammock bars overlooking the neon green rice paddy fields and budding pink lotus flowers plots.

After purchasing tickets, we were excitedly off on our private boat. Things quickly went down hill as we realized we were scammed with the ticket price. We were then told to buy rice for the local school at the outrageous price of one dollar per kilogram. We might have been lured further, had we not been asked to buy the "school rice" in fifty dollar increments. The boat ride proceeded to a restaurant for more price gouging. The views and floating life were fascinating and I would have relished in the experience more, but the entire ride we were being hounded for money. This being our only negative experience throughout the entirely of our trip, it hardly damped our spirits. Though I would not recommend this to those traveling to the area, I delighted in having more tuk tuk time and getting a glimpse of the floating village.

We headed back to Old Town for a bit more shopping and lunch. Our tuk tuk driver took us back to the hotel after lunch for a bit of relaxing, postcard writing, and packing before our afternoon departure.

We were dropped at the wrong terminal of the airport, but given that we were picked up on tuk tuk, the walk to the domestic terminal was short. The plane was delayed about an hour, which lent itself to much confusion; we had no idea what was going on. Once we finally arrived at the hotel, exhausted and after dark, we realized someone had walked off with our bag. This ended up being no big deal. The driver simply tracked down the prior drop off and made the switch.

We were greeted with super sweet juice and tiny chocolates. We had arrived at the fancy portion of our travel. A bit sticker shocked by prices, we opted to walk down the street for a not so good Khmer barbecue dinner. Our first impression: Sihanoukville is a nasty tourist town of bars, casinos, and pizzerias, built largely in part by the two sizable ports.

A Cherry Blossom Morning

There might be a theme in the previous and future posts. I am embracing Spring because it’s been a long, cold Winter. To not do so, oh what a shame!

So what could be better than walking to work? A walk to work while the sun is rising, with an in-route detour to see the Cherry Blossoms at peak bloom on a crisp Friday morning. There was also a pause along the National Mall for a park-bench breakfast consisting of Farmer’s Market honeydew and cashews.

Despite my time in Washington, D.C., I can site very little of the history of these trees. I do know they bloom once a year for a very short window (i.e., two to three days) usually in early April. I think they were a gift from Japan, planted 50 some years ago. My last two statistics might be off. To me, this doesn’t really matter. These trees are spectacular and regardless of all the camera-crazy tourists they bring to my city, I marvel and delight in the splash of color on gentle petals each year. This year I employed a weekday, early morning tactic to catch the trees in their blooming glory. This might become a new tradition. The verdict is out as to whether the sappy couples posing for cheesy engagement pictures at the not-so-appropriate sunrise hour is better or worse than hoards upon hoards of regular, touristy blossom onlookers.

The fact of the matter: I have to share the Cherry Blossoms. And I need to make the most of it. I certainly managed to do so this year!

An Apple Update Issue

This is a rant. And it might get technical. About a week ago, the messaging feature on my lowly iPhone 4 stopped working. Each time I attempted to text someone, there was no keyboard display to type my message. Rather ingeniously, I came up with a work around. I typed my message into the Google search engine; copied and then pasted into Messages; and hit Send. So you can imagine how long that took to get old? I finally accepted reality and updated my iPhone to iOS 7, five months after it was released.

Prior to updating, I backed up my phone--a precautionary step in the process. The update did its thing. And upon finishing, I was immediately notified that iTunes on my four-and-a-half year old Mac is no longer compatible with my phone. I naturally downloaded this latest--and greatest--version of iTunes. But after downloading, I attempted to install and learned my Mac needed at least OS X 10.6.8 to run iTunes 11.1. From there, I proceeded to do as requested and download OS X 10.6.8. What do you think happened when I tried to install? An alert said I needed at least 10.6 to run this update. I was real good at playing this game until I tracked down 10.6 and learned this convenient upgrade comes at a $19.99 cost.

I pooled my resources for advice. Through research, we learned the latest Mac operating system is 10.9. We also learned to get 10.9, I need to spend $19.99 on 10.6, $19.99 more on 10.7, and equal amounts on both 8 and 9. Further research later unveiled an additional challenge, my "old" laptop is not capable of supporting 10.9. Or running 8 efficiently. It might--at a $19.99--risk be able to handle 7.

So I have reached a cross roads. I could pay to upgrade to 10.6 and happily be able to sync my phone to my iTunes, iCal, etc. on my computer. This is what I will refer to as a temporary fix. I can adjust to living with my phone and computer as separate entities. This is what I will refer to as the likely option. After all, I don't sync the two that frequently. I will need to find another way to back up my phone, namely my contacts. That might be what the cloud is for? Or buy both OS X 10.6 and 10.7, hoping this gets me through this and the next inevitable iPhone update. This is the least likely option.

That is the backstory. Please, indulge my rant. My laptop is four-and-a-half to the day. I was forced to determine the exact age today in the research portion of my update difficulty. I am someone who takes pride in meticulously maintaining my belongings. I therefore feel as though I should be rewarded with product longevity. Most often, this isn't the case; I went through my first three iPods in six years flat. But this time, my Mac has stood the test of time. And because of this, I'm punished faced with a slew of challenges.

I understand Apple wants to make products good enough to hook the customer but not so good that these items never need replacing. Long before today, I decided Apple's line of desktops, laptops, and tablets is not for me. I use my laptop for the most basic of functions. Simply stated, I don't demand luxuries the Mac affords. The Apple look is sleek. But practical? Not so much for me. When this laptop does eventually bite the dust, I will not return to Apple for a replacement.

The latest challenge should not surprise me. History repeats itself. In my immediate family alone, this is the third Apple product update issue. We first had a desktop (and still do) that hasn't been updatable for years. It hit the wall my laptop is near barreling into. These machines, again, are not capable of running the latest--and greatest--updated operating systems... or even the two platforms prior. So we're talking about functioning machines that are unable to maintains their health with updates and therefore render themselves (and the associated capabilities) useless. There was also my brother's iPhone 3, the one he paid all of a dollar for. The features quit working entirely when Apple stopped supporting the operating system his phone was running.  He was ultimately "forced" to invest another dollar in upgrading to the iPhone 4. And, again, after duly updating my phone, I exposed my Mac's inadequacies.

So Apple, why? Why, I ask, if I'm willing to spend the money to continually update my operating system would launching so far ahead of the older machines running older operating systems be smart? I have to believe I'm not alone in feeling as though a machine originally valued a two grand is not worth maintaining in time.  

After investigating, I realize I lost this battle. The fate of my four plus year machine is doom and gloom. I know I have no power to change the beast that is Apple. I do know that voicing my complaints here does me wonders. And hopefully allows another person--if only one--to relate.

The 2014 Budget Crisis

My holiday conversation topics were investment-related. How to. How much. Where. Boyfriend and I left Boston, Massachusetts with a starting point, in addition to a plethora of reading material. While Boyfriend is devouring Bogleheads' Guide to Investing by Michael LeBoeuf... I'm still working up the courage.

I thought a childhood of hoarding money would get me through life. I thought I knew "enough" about saving and budgeting. I thought depositing a large chunk of money into my 401K each paycheck was an accomplishment.

For the past four years, my yearly savings have gone to weddings of childhood, high school, and college friends. This year--without a single wedding on the agenda--I'm planning to save like a grown up.

In order to do so, I sat down and made a real budget. A do-not-spend-more-than-$XXX.XX-on-groceries budget. My budget painted a gloom picture. It will be tough to save even five grand on my meager income. Since that is essentially the cost to lease my car each year, this amount will not go far. This [budget] exercise demonstrated the speed at which my spending habits add up. Not only the save-for-a-big-purchase-and-buy ones but the monthly ones too. The rent. The eating out. The electric payments. The haircuts.
 
From this I have deduced, I am a lifetime behind on education in regards to finances. There should be lessons on budgeting and investing and retirement and saving and topics of those sorts beginning in kindergarten. Because here's the thing: I'm a very frugal person. Or I thought I was until I met Boyfriend. Once he got past buying lunch each day, he became The Cheapest Man Alive. Turns out making purchases on clearance, couponing, eating leftovers, reusing baggies, picking up change on the street, and checking books out at the local library won't make me rich secure a modest future.

Here's the other thing: I have nice taste. I enjoy pedicures. I love J. Crew (on sale). I want all the fanciest kitchen appliances, namely a Vitamix. And with Christmas just behind us, I purchased a Garmin Forerunner 410. Gulp.

(I'm already obsessed with it... though it has yet to arrive.)

So I made my budget. And I made my goal, or dream--to own a home, soon.

But you know what? My credit history is nonexistent despite owning a credit card for eight years and paying it in full every month. And turns out all those bills my roommates had in their names could have been building my credit history. Hindsight.

What else have I learned?

1. Houses are expensive. 
2. They require down payments. 
3. And mortgages. 
4. And getting approved.
5. They also require a place to (permanently) settle.

I must stop writing. I am just so overwhelmed. The end.

Life is tough. Adult life is tougher.

Seller Central

I'm somewhere between an old job and a new job. And while I wait for the official promotion, I'm all sorts of miserable. It really makes zero sense. A typical day begins at 8:00 am with breakfast. Then I decide to exercise or shower. And because I have nothing, nothing at all to do, I often opt for skipping both the exercise and shower. I can usually entertain myself with various house chores until about 11:00 am. The rest of the day is a wash. Though as a result of my being here to sweep up each dust particle before it settles, the apartment is cleaner and more organized than it will ever be.

I read about two books a week. I drink way more coffee than necessary to fuel my sedentary day. And I watch a lot of Food Network. I attempt dishes I have no business making in my kitchen--inspired by Pioneer Woman and Ina Garten. I honestly have less interest in cooking and more interest in messing up the kitchen so I have something to clean. Oh and I can tell you nearly every Ellen DeGeneres joke from the past three months; I'm tuned in everyday at 3:00 pm. I also do a lot of clock watching, in anticipation of the 5:00 pm hour, when all my friends are heading out their various office doors home to play with me. This has been a true test of patience.

So clearly in search of things to do, I started a business. A book selling business on Amazon. I'm finally parting ways with all those classics from high school and college. I have to admit I'm a bit distraught about it. I'm a hoarder of all things books... and saying goodbye is tougher than it might seem. But we need the space and I'm not going to read these classics again as I once dreamed, especially considering they weren't fun the first time.

Turns out, I'm a horrible business woman. Boss Man would be ashamed as I've spent the past 18 months developing business. I've sold two books, both at a five cent loss. That puts me a dime in the hole. Plus, I had to make a trip to CVS to purchase brown shipping paper--the cost: $5.70. I bought two rolls to prepare myself for all the selling I would be doing. And because shipping paper was buy one, get one half off. What a steal!

In addition to the change, I've lost quite a bit of time. Listing all my books for purchase took two hours. Then there was the walk to CVS and back. The wrapping the books for shipping. And the walk(s) to the post office. I'm estimating the prepping each book for shipping and journeying to the Post Office comes at an estimated 30 minute cost. I'll spare you from the further exact cent and minute-by-minute details. But do know it's all been a loss, a negative--I'm in the red.

You can now find the classics of my formative years for a premium price--at least twice their worth, though each classic is loaded with nuggets of quality notes embedded (within text)--at Amazon near you.

The Journey

More than four years ago, I started writing as an experiment to see if I would enjoy the ride. I have. This blog has been multipurpose throughout the years, but over time morphed into a place of healing for me. I needed to write to escape and process. For better or worse, this experiment has come head to head with my real life on several occasions. And all of a sudden my thoughts are too dark and confused to put on the blog. This has been the case most recently. So as I have before, I had to sort through these thoughts before I could put them on the internet for the world to read. It’s easy to sit down and write about the good times, say my first adult vacation. The one I took back in July. More difficult though, are the hard times, the dark times, the times I’d often rather forget.

This road I have traveled for the past four years has been flooded with moments I’d rather forget. The lessons I’ve learned have come at a price. I’m not entirely sure the full price, but I do know I’ve had to give up part of me to become who I am today. It has been painful, lonely, dizzying, and disconcerting. The times I’ve cried in sadness, anger, confusion, and weariness. Oy, the ugly cries.

I had no idea closure would be this tough. I had no idea if closure – in this form – would come at all. The rest I feel today, though preceded by many sleepless nights, is a deeper rest than I’ve ever known. Though I would not choose this journey, having come out on the other side I am stronger because of it.

Over the next few weeks I will share more about the journey I’ve been on. I hope you’ll join me.

Sometimes Not

I am in this waiting place, hoping for a lightning bolt moment where the summary statement of events from the past couple weeks come to me. I really, really like neat little packages with a lesson at the end. Increasingly, I am traveling down these paths where it just is not quite that simple.

So that’s right. I used to judge your blog. I sat smugly on my couch, looked at your blog for the second time in two weeks and you had not posted anything! I mean, what else were you doing with your life? Probably living it. In my world, that was not allowed. You owed it to this devoted follower, to post - regularly. I find that it is perfectly OK for me to judge your blog, but I do not appreciate your snippy thoughts about my blog. I have been on this journey of blog writing, sometimes writing every week, sometimes not for more than three years. Right now, it is a season of “sometimes not” documenting. I am having trouble writing about life in general because I want to share meaningful events, but I am full of a lot of loose ends right now. (I am finding this is not a horrible thing.) It is not because I do not have thoughts. Oh believe me I do! Again, I am not really sure what they all mean. I have not processed and worked through them enough to write about them on a blog. I am a bit of a perfectionist and so I am refuse to write about something until I can wrap my mind around it satisfactorily.

All of this is to say, I’ve stopped judging you, my fellow bloggers. I now understand that not all thoughts are able to be worked out in 300 words or less and that is OK. It is actually a good thing because lets face it, life is complicated, busy, and incomprehensible at times and we need to be able to rest in spite of the chaos. I need to dispel my compulsion to know and fully understand everything immediately (and then blog about it).

I am still going to post from time to time, but more sporadically than before. Let the judging begin!

Traveling for Work

Dear Pops,

At the close of business hours on Monday, I learned I would be traveling to Norfolk, VA to support a Navy project. My to-date focus at this company has been solely Internal Revenue Service (IRS), so this effort was certainly going to be a challenge. And when you factor in my direct-line at said company--Boss Man, also focuses his efforts entirely on IRS work, I will admit I was nervous.

I am writing you now following my first working vacation. I started Wednesday morning at 5:00 am with a shower and a Starbucks drive-by. Black fuel in hand, I managed to be at the office by 6:00 am for a prompt departure. I traveled the four hours to Naval Station Norfolk with a coworker I have only crossed paths with in the halls of headquarters. The conversation was filled with the long, awkward pauses of two people who have near nothing in common and share a respect for work boundaries.

The work portion of the day may have began later than my typical 8:00 am start, however, I was expected to put in a full eight hours of cube-land grind. As the day progressed, my fried brain could not wait for the clock to strike 6:00 pm; my stomach was crying with pains of hunger by this time. The only things I consumed all day was the apple I packed and a slice of greasy pizza. This, as you know, is a very untypical Wednesday meal plan. Now joined with four additional coworkers, together we traveled 30 minutes to the hotel in downtown Norfolk. The day was not over. I had 15 minutes to change into an outfit less dressy than my business suit and nicer than my usual post-work sweats. I savored this brief period of alone time.

I gathered with the crew in the lobby a little before 7:00 pm. There I grew increasingly aggravated and grouchy--my hunger intensifying--as we waited for the dawdlers. Then, collectively, we decided on Thai food. This was not my first choice for cuisine. My one hang-up being, I had plans for Thai with friends, not coworkers, at Bangkok 54 back in Northern Virginia on Friday. But I am sure you know how that is. At least a decision had been made without too much commotion! Thankfully my dinner was spectacular for an empty restaurant sitting amidst an unpromising downtown.

At 9:00 pm, I was free to return my hotel room, where I was greeted with the pings of several work emails coming through. I was unable to log into my company's VPN on the Naval Station, and I owed one final monthly report to Boss Man. (This would have been handled first thing this morning... had I been sitting back in Chantilly, VA racing through my normal routine.) At least I had Modern Family playing in the background. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep quickly after; I slept well.

By 6:30 am, I was fully clothed and in the lobby, waiting for my ride to Yorgo for another spectacular meal--bagels. We had breakfast off-site to grab additional emails from the network before going into "lockdown" on the base. I have coworkers making this trip on a regular basis to appreciate for finding this off-the-beaten-path gem. But we were working by 7:10 am... and the day ended around 5:00 pm, at which point I still had the four-hour drive home to Northern Virginia.

Aside from the faces of distant coworkers, a short walk to dinner, and the drive to-and-from the naval base, this is what I saw of Norfolk:

I was taunted knowing Virginia Beach was somewhere in that blue distance.

That was a lot of babbling and pontificating, to convey my sincerest apology. There is nothing remotely close to that feel of vacation when it comes to travel for work. There was no time to plan, not that I do a ton of that prior to travel anyway. There was virtually no time to explore. There was hardly time to pack!

Ever since I was your little girl, I envied all the vacations work took you on. In my heart of hearts, I have always been a traveler. I enjoy finding that fresh perspective travel brings, escaping the ruts of daily life, and discovering new cultures and places. I particularly long for the places that make me appreciate my life. You have been on some "incredible" vacations--Aruba; Berlin, Germany; Cancun, Mexico, to name a few from the previous two years. But after my 39-hour excursion to Norfolk, I have come to realize these dream destinations, among your more mundane trips to Detroit, MI, Minneapolis, MN, San Antonio, TX, and San Francisco, CA, are noting like real vacations. They were longer than average working day, in conference rooms and cubes you are unfamiliar with. They were spending time with people you would rather limit yourself to 40 hours (ha!) a week with. They were simply doing your job.

Before closing, I will thank you for encouraging me to take on challenges and teaching me the importance of team work. Mostly, I want to thank you for instilling in me a solid work ethic. One that does not include "counting" hours and instead giving quality hours until the task is accomplished.

I will no longer be referring to these nights away from the home you built as vacation.

Much thanks and many more apologies!

Love, Sister

Giving Life

I cannot compose an essay with enough second grade adjectives--fantastic, awesome, totally fun--to convey to my abundant audience the extent to which I enjoy my job. I am of the lucky few who wake up, albeit exhausted, looking forward to spending a third of my day behind a computer, in a cube. You get it. But do you? The job presents challenges for me to grow both individually and professionally. Allows me to work with people just enough, to the point right before the incompetency has my skin crawling. Has me attending oh-so-important meetings. And knocks each bit of entitlement out of me, leaving me right where I belong.  Enough, enough about my crazy cool contracting job. Unless you are wannabe me for hire in Atlanta, Denver, or Odgen? Then we should continue this conversation elsewhere.  

At the end of the day, circa 5:00 pm government time, my job is not very fulfilling. And I do not think I realized this until I was in the throes of spearheading a blood drive in honor of my neighbor recently diagnosed with osteosarcoma. It should have hit me long along… but did not. This... this feeling is OK, especially for now… since I have this project. I can still love my job. And find satisfaction outside the office. When this blood drive has come and gone, I need to remind myself to take on some volunteering efforts. Maybe I could go work at a puppy shelter? Or read to elders? Or organize another blood drive? I do not know. I will think of something. I might not be making what I consider to be a difference in the workplace but this certainly does not limit me for having a positive impact on the planet and people beyond the office. I can still be the humanitarian I dream of being.

My meeting with a wonderful woman from the American Red Cross put life in perspective for me. While this blood drive effort is a large task, as a not full-time job, it is serving. And I thrive on it. When I send emails/make phone calls to the Red Cross, when I research the pros and cons of a 501(c), when I work with others on a common goal of making the difference in this 11 years old life, I feel something. I cannot pinpoint one emotion. It is an overall 'this is where my passion lies' mental state. This is what I want to be doing. This is who I want to be doing this for.

The goals and ethos I set for myself have not been obliterated. My job is not my life. It is a means to a life. My accomplishments on the job are not my accomplishments in life. 

I will close with a quote by one of my favorite men: "It's easy to make a buck. It's a lot tougher to make a difference." (Tom Brokaw) 

Say Something #29

I actually have posts for Say Something #24-28... but I have been too lazy to steal the accompanying pictures off my parent's cameras, so in the meantime, you will have to settle for the BIG headline of today my life story... and look forward to the missing headlines Friday night when the work week has ceased.

This post is going to be read dramatic... because again today something SUPER exciting happened in my juvenile career. And I am NOT being sarcastic. This is real life JOY. And I do not know how to convey my enthusiasm, aside from scattering in a few random CAPITALIZATIONS here and there.

I heard my boss whizzing upstream, in route to my desk for what I hoped would be an afternoon I-am-losing-my-mind-because-you-are-impossible-to-work-for vent session. I am totally his favorite employee EVER. And yes, I speak my mind just like this in the office. Quite shockingly, he had no interest in me, myself, or I as he had a boss-y type meeting to attend, one his walking pace indicated he was late for. He entertained my musing long enough to invite me to tag along to his "biz dev" meeting. I always feel oh so important at work, but today, I felt particularly important for a FULL hour.

There was business card distribution. People were saying: "I got this deal.", "I can help you here.", "How much we talking?", and more great things like that. My ultimate favorite line, "I will let you marinate on that." I plan to incorporate that into all future bribes. And threats. Also, lest I fail to mention, Biz Dev Dude had an accent, that might have been of Australian decent(!!!).

As the meeting concluded, my boss and I climbed up the stairs to our respective offices (ahem my cube, his office), I pronounced, "I have been waiting for that my whole life." He questioned the "whole life" part... but, seriously, at least the five months since starting. I just had to know what all the schmoozing was about. And now I do, and it is BETTER that I could have imagined. Soon I will have contacts.

To be so lucky. To love my job. Oh happy hump day.

Say Something #9

I am opinionated. Some might even say very opinionated. That goes mostly well with people who know me. But you can imagine how well that goes as the entry level girl in the male-dominated contracting world. You guessed it: well. Some might even say very well. 

Since starting my job, I have encountered several grammatical debates with my boss. Quit laughing readers. This working Thursday began quite roughly to be not-so-dramatic. At 7:17 am I sat frantically reviewing a document, that frankly should have been completed days ago, with the utmost urgency. As I am turning the pages, I note my friend, the comma, has re-inserted itself after the e.g. in each parenthetical lists. 

And the following conversation ensuses...

Grammar Girl: The comma is back [following e.g.]. Why?
Boss Man: Despite the descrepencies on the internet, I think that is the right way.
Grammar Girl: So, you mean I was right all along?
Boss Man: I am not as set in my ways as you think.   

So powerful. So influential. At such a young age. 

Say Something #3

I have over committed myself... it certainly did not take the re-entering the writing world for me to realize that, but I now have a clearer picture. There is a lot going on. And I hope to share more in the coming days.

For now though, this: On Wednesday at my work function, I learned a lot about the harsh realities of business politics. I left with a sour taste in my mouth... and it is still resonating poorly with me today. So what this boils down to is a challenging day of work... followed by a tough conversation with the women of 'my hood'... and 23 months without T.C.M.

A Love Story with Kale

Among many other ridiculous fears, I equated work with lunching out, and I did not know where I would find my place. My dad eats out everyday. My mom claims I should participate to be social. I have had friends profess how hard it is for them to pack their lunches, to the extent they engage in challenges with co-workers--aiming for the most packed lunches in a month. Then there is the after work hunger and exhaustion... where I was warned grabbing to-go in route home routines were easily established. I worried. I freaked. I panicked. I did not plan on surviving. Should have opted for marriage and children! 

But now I breathe easy, it is true, I can be me wherever me is in time. I have packed my lunch every single day, including the day the company took me out on a "Buddy Lunch" date. I come home at night and cook dinner or eat cold leftovers. Thou shall not lie, my mom has cooked me one meal a week since starting; those days will eventually end. Perhaps I should save my declaration until then? I refuse since I am the technically the newest expert on working, I can honestly say I do not understand this over-sized portion, dining out frenzy. Preparing lunches and "cooking" dinner are not that difficult. Does it help that I started my career in Lesotho? Does it help that I am vehemently opposed to the other side of the bandwagon? (It is possible I will fall off, you can make fun of me then). And I understand if you enjoy eating out--that is one thing. By all means, continue on in peace. It is not the picnic tables in the parking lot yard, it is not the book in my hand and the sun on my face, it is not for me.

In Lesotho, I met Kale; I have been head over heels in love since then. He came into my life, at the moment I declared I could not swallow another bite of the onion and zucchini medley that pulled me through my first few months at site. (To this day I cannot look at a zucchini without feeling a bit nauseous.) My first impression of Kale was bitter. I kissed raw Kale goodbye when a friend cooked the leafy green. I suddenly believed in witchcraft after watching this leaf transform into a chip--holy heaven! On my own, I added peanut butter and raisins--wrap style. You would be pleasantly surprised.   

Today my mom, knowing my boyfriend well, shared a recipe: Crispy Kale Salad with Tossed Coconut. The title sold me--this was going to make my Friday night, as if Peanut Butter M&M's did not already have that covered. Throughout the day my mind wandered to this meal, conjuring up the flavorful concoction with each bland sip of water I took in. I was basically ecstatic when my carpool buddy wanted to abandoned work a few minutes early. We get home; I barely changed (and folded and hung) my clothes before I was chopping garlic, mixing oils, and scrubbing kale.

Mealtime over... brings me to two places I dared I never go: First, to the computer after hours. Second, a recipe posting on my blog. At least I shared a story. The ingredients and directions will be worth your reading time because I personalized this stolen masterpiece. 

Crispy Kale Salad with Tossed Coconut 
(adapted from Super Natural Every Day: Well-loved Recipes from My Natural Foods Kitchen)

• 1/3 cup olive oil (I one-thirded this.)
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil (My rendition read "t" which I interpreted as tablespoon. I cleared up my own confusion by spelling 'teaspoon' out for you. A "note to self" recommended one-thirding this in the future, funny how my taste buds could be the author of this dish!) 
• 2 tablespoons (That is big "T" I learned.) tamari (equals gluten-free) soy sauce. (Halved by yours truly.) 
• Splash or two (or four) of hot sauce
• 4 (or 14) large cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 1 large bunch kale cut into ribbons however you like (though stems and large ribs should probably be removed)
• 1 cup unsweetened large coconut ribbons (I am not sure what ribbons are, aside from fancy string Moms torture their daughter's hair with. I used shredded.) 
• Cooked grains (I opted for barley.) 

Directions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a lidded jar, pour in the olive oil, sesame oil, soy sauce, hot sauce and garlic. Shake well. In a large bowl, dump in the chopped kale and coconut and pour in about half of the dressing. Spread out onto a large baking sheet, bake for 15 minutes or until the coconut becomes golden and the kale turns a bit crisp. Stir the crazy yummy combination about at the half-way through cooking. Remove from oven and serve on top of your grain of choice, drizzle (or do not) with remaining dressing. (This will feed me twice.)

No photograph, that would be over-stepping my limits for a third time tonight. (And the look does nothing to justify the taste!)

It is Friday, Friday, gettin' down with a book on Friday. May your weekend not be so rainy. 

The Commute

Yes, another post about the oh-so-exciting life I am leading. And you have heard it before, I am a functioning piece of the corridor of 9:00 am – 5:00 pm working America. I feel the need to repeat myself; I find this helps legitimize my situation—makes it feel real. For the record, this is not the first time I have held a job, believe it or not. Aside from serving as President of Human-sitting, I was in the Peace Corps—totally real job—for that short stint. Together, those with ample travel, sum up the past three years. (I never thought I had the capability to do that in a single sentence.) Yes, in May I will celebrate three years freedom from Clemson University—my graduation into reality, which I see as technically postponed with some life choices until now.

Though my prior totally real job as a high school math and science teacher in Thaba-Tseka, Lesotho never survived long enough to become resume caliber, it impacted my living resume in a grand way. For the sake of my upcoming point, let me recap the perks in a teaching position, more specifically my teaching experience in Africa. The school day began at 7:00 am sharp, the sole timely event in Lesotho, and ended around 4:00 pm… not so sharply. Because, like any high school in America, the learning was proceeded by activities, sports, tutoring and sometimes an after-hour meeting (I never approved of). I usually dodged out around 5:00 pm, unless I could convince running club to end at my place, more than three miles from the school grounds. On average, I worked a standard 10 hour day. My classroom time while at school extended around four hours a day. So during this time period, I was on my feet standing or pacing. And then there was the commute. 

In Lesotho, I commuted 47 minutes to school, morning and night—hot or cold, rainy or barren, energized or exhausted; I made my walking way in either direction. Three days a week I was in charge of collecting the mail from the post office I passed on my way to school at lunch. This meant a 40-minute round-trip additional "commute" because of limited post office hours. The point is I had ample “on my feet time” throughout the working day. And the thing is, I loved it. Some days I would greet everyone, including animals, especially pigs, on my way… extending the commute by over 20 minutes. Some days I would zone out to my overplayed music. Some days I would run to or from or both ways, avoiding thrown rocks along the way. Some days I would walk with Middle Sister. Some days I would walk in silence, pondering my place in this world. Some days I would stop to watch a soccer match being played on an unimaginably rough surface. Some days I would test out a new route. Some days I would time myself, attempting to best the time on the way home (without running). Some days I would stop at my host mother’s restaurant for the leftovers. (I could keep going.) My commute never felt grudgingly long because of these variances. 

This brings me to today, over three weeks in to work in cubical land, where I find myself with a Lesotho-like commute and a much different means of transportation. I have music. I have podcasts. I have books on tape. And I have a neighbor to converse and share the ride with twice a week.  It is America—I can have anything I want. There are food hubs buzzing along the way. There is a Starbucks tempting me at every turn. There is a cell phone, with unlimited minutes, begging me to return calls. But what I want more than anything is to be out of that car. To be away from the congestion. To be free from poor food options. I want to be walking the streets (of Africa, but I would settle for America). 

Why the desperate need for relief? Well... I hate the required weekly trips to the gas station. Oh the environmental suicide I am committing. I hate more time sitting and less time for being outside during daylight hours. I hate the being in traffic, watching my life tick off the clock motionless. And the thought of a minimal guarantee of 10 hours sitting, commute included, five days a week... makes me restless. Each new day my commute, following the same route, traffic patterns, and nonexistent scenery develops a more ancient feeling. I am not complacent, I will seek alternative solutions until I am satisfied. Biking to work? Breaks on the hour for cubical jacks, knee lifts, and tricep kicks? Public transportation? The obvious solution: RELOCATION. I refuse to find my sitting place in this world; we humans were made to move. In the meantime, I am exceedingly grateful it took me slightly under three years to get here.

Yesterday Aside

So I am doing some LSD, which stands for long slow distance in the running world, and my mind is racing with blog updates—the general thought pattern being the positive path life is on. I am this perfect type of content, comfortable with room for improvement. This day, April 15 at 9:00 am, was already promising—I woke up with plenty of time to make (and eat) pancakes with a side of fruit and indulge in a latte, all before changing into running clothes and hitting the gym. The weather was so nice, yet I opted for the treadmill instead. I had plans set for lunch at the best café in town, where outdoor seating is plentiful. Throughout the pounding, I just kept thinking to myself “I feel so good right now. I am so happy!” This thought transcends beyond those running moments. I am physically the best I have been since January 2010--I am in shape, I am eating healthy (and regularly), and I am sleeping better. These sound like basic human rights—freedom to exercise, freedom to indulge, and freedom to rest peacefully… until they dissipate. In the beginning I struggled with the absence, then in human fashion, I learned to adjust… to the extent where a meal proceeded without a stomach ache or a full nights sleep threw me off.

It is ironic that on Sunday, just five days after recovering from a three-day migraine coupled with bouts of stomach pain, I was already thinking about how great I am doing physically. I was hesitant as to whether or not to share, when Sunday night, hours after this “thoughtful” run, I got a headache. (This one--luckily?--never progressed to full blown migraine and was gone after sleeping.) I decided the update was necessary because even if I am not operating at-best physically, I am doing much much much better.

I used to ascribe value to being more athletic, kinder, prettier, skinnier, smarter, etc. because I trusted in them to give me worth, to make me happier. Then I graduated from high school, quickly discovering that these things are not true. Like anyone over 17, I had to dig internally and find strength elsewhere. It was there. I was a strong person, or thought of myself in that manner anyway, faulty attributes and all. Adult or not, I ascribe significant value to my health. I believed general wellness was controllable... until the unrelenting parasite. The ongoing saga makes me feel really really really weak. Weak. Pitiful. Vulnerable. Exposed. Ashamed. Had I been told in February 2010 I would coexist with this parasite for a possible decade—the estimated time this friend will be with me—I would have given up. But now that it is April 2012 and I know how to manage the symptoms, I will survive, living a fairly normal life.

Half (or more) of our being is mental. And, here too, I am a revived soul. How is that for drama? In all seriousness, since September 2010 I have waited on me. The third changed my life drastically, and mostly I could handle this, but I refused to start from scratch; there were pieces of me I very much liked—my passion above all. Part of my new found “mental energy” I suppose comes with having a working purpose, though job or not, I am less apathetic. Following the tragedy, I stopped caring about much of what fueled my past, namely Mother Earth, starving African children, and friendships. It is nice to have recently caught myself inserting opinions where and taking pleasure in pastimes. I honestly shock myself with my concern regarding this and that, experiencing these feelings is foreign.

My family joked that my 24^th year of life had to be better than 23… but the mood-swings in September and illness in November shot that dream down quickly. Then, no longer joking, we hoped for 2012. And one-quarter in, this might be the year. Because if nothing else, I have a recovered frame of mind.

Timely Death

On a day like today I know why I am unemployed. I rose early after a restless night, I struggled to finish a routine workout, I took time to chop vegetables for a restaurant style salad, then I migrated outside with my lunch, and slowly worked my way through an over-sized plate during an extended conversation with my mom. For the rest of the afternoon, I hardly moved--Mom came and went as her chores allowed while I sat there on the wrought iron deck furniture, engrossed in a novel. In a few minutes it will be time for dinner. And on a day like today I do not care one bit.

This morning, I returned home (from the gym) to the bittersweet news, my Great-Uncle F had passed away. It seems terrible to admit that out loud, but it is true. He has spent the later half of my life thus far deteriorating--in memory, thinking, and behavior patterns. The cause of death would be pneumonia, not the Alzheimer's disease that took his mind (from him, from us) sometime ago, along with his quality of life. (And arguably the quality of Great-Aunt D's, his wife of over 60 years, own life as well.) It was time for Great-Uncle F to go. Time for him. Time for Great-Aunt D. After his mind left, we all sort of waited for his body to do the same. I have not had the unimaginable task of watching him become a skeleton of his former energetic self. My Great-Aunt D has. She has demonstrated love, in sickness and health--visiting him day-after-day for the past several years; she was loyal to the bitter end. Bitter. Death has a way of making me bitter. Sweet. It is sweet we can trudge on together in peace, knowing he--mind and body--rests in peace.  

Once I became of age for storing memories--his later lively years--grown-ups still bored me, leaving me with few personal memories of a great man. I will remember him as the best dressed man in town. This though is not even that personal, most of Greater Detroit will tell you F.C.A. was a stylish man. Then, of course, more tragically in the brunt of Great-Uncle F's disease I will remember the first time I witnessed his inability to recall his nephew--my dad. To bear first-hand witness to the devastation Alzheimer's has on families broke me. I cannot imagine how Dad felt in that moment... as time went on, or even now. It can hurt to be forgotten by someone you met only once before. To be forgotten by your own uncle--the same person who lived right next door as you grew from infant to toddler to child to teenager--is unimaginable. 

In October I was able to travel the distance to Michigan to close the book, to celebrate the the story of Great-Uncle J. It is March now and I am in a similar place. I should go to Michigan and attend the funeral. I have prior obligations... road-blocking my attendance at this weekend's ceremony. I want to be there for my Great-Aunt D as I was for B. But I need to be here. I needed my mom this afternoon to reassure me I was indeed needed here. Even when the time is right, death has a way of being untimely, for those left behind--for me... and for my guilty conscience.  

(I could not find a place to work this in, yet feel it is worthy to note: Today, March 13, happens to be my dear friend's 25th birthday, marking this the third consecutive death of one of my people falling on the birth-date of another one of my people.)