Feeling Charitable

When it comes to donating to charities, I have an established protocol. I am very passionate about "my" charities, usually donating only to those. I am unlikely to donate to random organizations, though I do try to budget to support the occasional friend's passion (e.g., the Light the Night fundraiser K.D.S. raises money for each year). If the cause is near and dear to a friend's heart, I can easily find room in my own heart. I do, however, in both instances demand knowing where each penny of every dollar goes before I'll even consider writing a check. After Peace Corps, I'm particularly stern on this; the mismanagement of money is worse than you can believe. My last rule of thumb: I donate during summer, when donations are generally at their lowest.

Lately though, send me a brief on someone in need and I am in. All in. I’m feeling quite charitable lately.

(I hate to say it’s unlike me because I don’t necessarily think that’s true.) 

In addition to the spending I witnessed in Lesotho and through Team Mathias, I'm more inclined to donate to local (and/or small) organizations, where overhead spending does not play a huge role in costs. To my knowledge, Team Mathias funds have gone directly to help cover medical costs for Mathias and support childhood cancer research. I can buy in to that!

These are some animal, children, and illness-related "organizations" I might consider learning more about going forward. If it's not based in one of the above or Africa, my interest is quickly displaced.

• Chocolate Bar – This story of a six-year-old helping his friend battle a rare liver condition, Glycogen Storage Disease Type 1, through the publication of Chocolate Bar, appeared as a follow up to an earlier airing on NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. I was almost brought to tears by the story. It's simple and heartwarming, and something this world could use a whole lot more of. The success of Chocolate Bar is rooted in the BIG idea of one six-year-old, and a bunch of people standing behind his idea and mission to cure a rare disease. Wow. 

BIG news: After years and years of waiting, I finally received my first free set of address labels! They came from a nonprofit I had previously been unfamiliar with. My parents receive thousands of these each year. Even during the "on-the-move" period, address labels magically found their way to the mailbox. I’ve always wondered how it happened. Though I'll continue to wonder, I'll do so less now that the magic has been bestowed upon me. After having Boyfriend check The Children's Inn charity rating and approving, I made a celebratory donation. 

• The Children's Inn at National Institutes of Health (NIH) – A "place like home" for sick children and their families to stay for free while receiving groundbreaking medical treatments at the NIH.

My new running habit led me to the untimely purchase of not one but two pairs of shoes. After more than a decade of running, I'm a firm believer in rotating shoes. This led me to my local running store for a fitting, where I decided on two pairs shoes. If I'm going to continue running this mileage, I'm not going to do so on shredded shoes. I purchased one of the two pairs at market price to pay my thanks.

In my hunt to find a new perfect fit, I was real picky. I wound up trying on at least nine pairs of shoes. In high school and college, I relied on a retired line of Asics. Those shoes became dead to the world when the new "minimalist" movement moved in. Sigh. For the marathon, I went with Mizuno Wave Riders, a line from the old track days. The Wave Riders underwent an unfavorable upgrade from 17 to 18 during the previous months. Wouldn't it be convenient the newer version mimics a model prior I haven't run in and rubs my outside big toe in an unfavorable way?

(How much didn't you want to know about my running shoe saga? All of the above, I'm sure.)

Enter eBay, to my quest to be a bargain shopper. As I was checking out with my Brooks PureFlows 3, I was asked to donate to the Blind Cat Rescue and Sanctuary.  

• Blind Cat Rescue & Sanctuary –  If there are blind cats in this world in need of rescuing, I'm here to be of assistance. Well, financial assistance. I don't actually like cats. Not even a little. But the idea of blind cats was the saddest thing my little mind could fathom on Sunday afternoon so, of course, I made a donation. And no, I didn't check to see if said organization is a real thing. Later, I found their website where the slogan Help Blind Cats See a Future resided. Hello puns, one of my favorite things. So if only five cents goes to help a blind cat, I'll find comfort in my good intention. Animals--including cats--and puns, I'm sold. 
• Note: This was my first eBay purchase and will likely be my last. I'm on a budget and I hardly made out well, when I take into account the price of my shoes after the donation and the time spent both researching running shoe steals and later blind cats. Oy.  

• Ellery's Life – Another child battling another rare disease--Primary Ciliary Dyskinesia (PCD). Ellery is managing PCD with music. Her story, told through her mother, is one of patience, perseverance, discovery, and reclaimed life. I'm willing support Ellery's dream and her efforts to raise money for PCD research and awareness in the process.

This has been (and hopefully will continue to be) a nice regrouping with my wannabe humanitarian ideals. 

How are you going gold?

Over the past two years my interest in childhood cancer has grown tremendously. As a result, I’ve been reading more first person accounts of the childhood cancer. I came across this article this morning from The Huffington Post and I would encourage you to read the full article here.

"I never thought I'd hear those words, 'Your daughter has cancer' ... and then one day I did," says Melissa Bradley, whose 4-year-old daughter, Belle, is currently in treatment.

The devastating reality is that a parent hears that news every three minutes.

And while childhood cancer is the leading cause of death by disease in kids under 15, research remains underfunded -- currently, less than 4 percent of the National Cancer Institute's budget is allocated to research it.

As I have mentioned here and here, Latte Woman's 13-year old son has osteosarcoma (bone cancer). And while I have seen so much good pour out of the community on behalf of Mathias, I live each day with a pit in my stomach. I can't say it enough: This isn't fair. Mathias is a child; a kind and brave and wonderful and smart child. He will forever be a my super star. Sadly, though, he isn't the only childhood cancer warrior. There are so many.

This month is Childhood Cancer Awareness month. Our once yearly, month-long reminder to stand up to this disease. We have a  responsibility to continue to fight for our children. I'm doing a small part to learn as much as I can about childhood cancer and spread awareness at each opportunity.

Join the fight. We're all going gold, together.

Links I Like

This is called procrastination. This is called I'm losing my sanity piece-by-piece with each day the Government remains shutdown. This is called laziness. I still have unpacking to do,  I'd rather write though. I could write about my summer vacation or closing the chapter on Lesotho, but procrastinate further, I will. I would like to share with you two polar opposite but equally fascinating articles I came across on the World Wide Web. I'm by no means an internet wizard. I stick to what I know--email,  perusing the New York Times and Twitter, and blogging--and beyond this scope, family and friends alike keep me in the loop with article forwarding. This is how I ended up at BuzzFeed Sports reading about the joys of being a Kansas City Chiefs fan.

The first article: 11 Reasons You Should Start Loving the Kansas City Chiefs 

If you're not a football fan or don't have a team to pull for, this might lure you to my favorite franchise. No. 10 had me recalling fond childhood memories, while point 11 made me sigh Chiefs amongst a fan base that has weathered it all. Boyfriend fell for the Chiefs at seven--the story of Eric Berry's fear of Warpaint; he's shared the story with all ears as soon as the news broke sometime last year.

The second article: Moose Die-Off Alarms Scientists

This is an extremely sad piece of writing. It's no secret that my heart is in Montana. I absolutely love the way the animals roam freely. And while my biggest passion is for the wolves--snow-covered baby buffaloes being a close second--there is something indescribable about moose; it's a see-it-to-believe-it phenomenon. So winter ticks, brain worms, liver flukes, snails, heat, pine bark beetles, and hunters be gone. Yes, hunters. There are people obtain hunting licenses to kill moose. Would you conceive it?! I do not believe that is necessary, no not one bit. And wolves, be kind to the moose. For you know what rapidly declining populations are like.

In Minnesota, there's an ongoing study monitoring dying moose. Jim Robbins of the New York Times quotes Dr. Bulter, who leads the study, in his article, “If the heart stops beating, it sends a text message to [Dr. Butler's] phone that says, ‘I’m dead at x and y coordinates.’” It's just all so terribly tragic.

Southern Exposure

Before you realized you’ve lost half your day, I'll give you fair warning. This is an epically long play-by-play of my weekend down South. If you’ve just got a minute, I won’t hold you up. Here’s what you need to know: The preseason ranked No. 8 Clemson Tigers defeated the fifth ranked Georgia Bulldogs at Memorial Stadium, more popularly known as Death Valley. That’s a win for this girl in the brother/sister rivalry. On Sunday, the Atlanta Braves let me all sorts of down at Turner Field. And Monday I got to spend with two folks I adore – my brother, C.D.H., and his girlfriend – and don’t see nearly enough. Along the way, I introduced Boyfriend to my past – friends, college town, etc. – and that meant… a whole lot of Southern exposure.

On Friday night, I met Boyfriend at Union Station for the quick train ride to Baltimore Washington International Airport. He insisted on being eight hours early for our 8:15 pm flight,  for fear of missing the last plane bound for Atlanta, GA of the evening. He really had nothing at stake. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand the urgency in being HOURS early to the airport. As far as I’m concerned, arriving while the plane is boarding is ideal. But I guess that’s a difference the two of us will have to work on. Being extra early meant we had time for a five-course airport meal. I can honestly say that’s the first time in my recorded memory I have had food from the airport. Alas, the sub-par food was made up for in lengthy conversation. It’s really sad that I’ve allowed my schedule to get beyond my control, and now have to consider pre-departure time as 'date time'. So – no surprise – we arrived it to Atlanta late, got our rental car, and arrived at Brother’s place even later. This was opening weekend of college football; I could hardly contain my excitement – the Bulldogs were set to play the Tigers in Clemson. And I was going to be there to kick things off right.

Flashback: This was College GameDay’s second trip to dear ol’ Clemson. Their first was in 2006, during my sophomore year of college. My friends and I camped throughout the night to be front and center inside the magic GameDay parameters. And when I use the term “camp”, what I actually mean is we stood on our feet… in a single file line waiting for the 10:00 am show. To validate all my hard efforts, my then 83-year old grandma saw me on television multiple times during the span of the two, now three, hour program. I’m glad I have her to document my big break the patience I exhibited. J.L.W. and I – shockingly – couldn’t walk after 22 hours on our feet. So instead of tailgating and further amping up for the 8:00 pm start, we found ourselves recovering in bed. By game time, we were ready to take on the Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech… and another four hours of standing. Ahhh yes, those were the days.

When you stay up too late, morning, especially early morning, comes quickly. And that it did. Before the clock struck eight, Boyfriend and I were on the road to Pendleton, SC for brunch with the R.L.’s before tailgating. My charges – now five and eight – have certainly sprouted in my absence. I could tell you tale after tale of my time with that tribe; they’re brilliant bubbles of goodness. (I’ll spare you a second flashback, for now.) My time with them was cherished. But now I have to focus on recovering; I miss this family oh so much. From there, Boyfriend and I laced up our walking shoes and proceeded to Clemson. To embrace the Solid Orange spirit, we stopped off downtown. There he saw it all – five bars and 13 sub shops. The newest addition: Jimmy Johns. The town of Clemson is clearly moving up, Up, UP. The next stop: Tailgating. Our first mission was to find J.M.M., her husband, and crew in the sea of orange near Doug Kingsmore Stadium. It rained, so we stayed awhile longer than intended. But this ended up being a win as Boyfriend found a fellow Bostonian, from his neighboring hometown, to talk him off his the-South-is-scary ledge.

Then it was on to tailgating with J.L.W. and gang. This was a moving tailgating... allowing me to give Boyfriend a through-campus tour as we migrated back downtown. The insanely overpriced tickets I had seen before my departure were hardly available outside the stadium gates prior to the game. I was not wasting time with the ridiculous price tags and lack of tickets any further. And while it pains me a little still to have missed the opportunity to see the Tigers live, downtown ended up being a lot of fun. Until the bar closed before the end of the game. And we had to evade an oncoming riot.

Flashback 2: In Clemson… on Saturdays – all bets for bars and booze are off at midnight.

(I do think for this particular occasion, all would have welcomed the idea of an open bar serving only water and beverages of the non-alcoholic variety. I suppose that’s not profitable?)

The R.L.’s had us for the night… and graciously Grandma J cooked us yet another elaborate breakfast. We sort of took things easy that morning. And that was OK because it rained all morning/afternoon anyway. In fact, it rained so hard I almost cried behind the wheel (once we did make a move back towards Atlanta) because I was oh so scared navigating the 22 nonsensical lanes of traffic heading South on 1-85. But then when the rain cleared, I still wanted to cry because I kind of missed the South for the epic thunderstorms. I just don’t get that kind of shower in Washington, DC.

Sunday, for a late lunch, we met with E.L.P at Ormsby's. The food was delicious folks, I highly recommend this establishment for those of you in the Atlanta area. After that, Boyfriend and I headed to Turner Field because duh. S.M.S., the darling girlfriend of my brother, got us THE BEST seats. So that was awesome. But not so awesome was the Braves being shutout… by the Miami Marlins… in nine painful innings.  And worse, they gave up – none of my favorites even played. Oh well. The seats were excellent and we dodged (more) rain. Despite Clemson’s win, we were welcomed back in Brother’s apartment… where we did some serious rehashing of Saturday’s events. C.D.H. was slightly comforted by Liverpool’s win over Manchester United but otherwise wasn’t handling the loss so well.   

The final day was a touristy one. We started the day by watching the rain. Because, that’s right, it was raining again… for the third day in a row. Raining hard. My brother lives in a loft with gigantic – I’m estimating 16' x 12' – windows, so I opened them right up and relished in the rain. Then we walked to brunch at Java Jive. That was tasty (and quite filling). And from there, we went to Starbucks. That was an unlikely move considering this was Boyfriend’s first trip to Atlanta… but my brother’s Starbucks is one of 500 of 18000 Starbuck’s with a Clover machine. Have you experienced this yourself? Heaven. In a cup. This joy had a strong and oily depth my coffee-sensitive taste buds had never been exposed to. I'm not going to lie – watching the barista construct your made-to-order cup is half the fun.

Then we traveled up the street for some pretend shopping at Paris on Ponce, a fancy oddities store. Basically, we all wanted everything. And could afford nothing. By this point, the rain has subsided enough for us to take a stroll on the Atlanta Beltline. C.D.H. has been dying to reveal this masterpiece to me for some time now. In a city that demands a car and has 65 streets with Peachtree in the name – not at all confusing, this revitalization efforts exists to connect all of Atlanta's neighborhoods. I was surprised by the number of people out, even on this not so nice day, as we moved up and down the the Eastside Trail. The many bizarre art exhibits lining the pathway provide ample conversation starters. And smells radiating from restaurants backing up to the trail give a happening vibe.

Not having walked enough, we wandered around Piedmont Park’s niceness. That was lovely… and provided us a stopping point for a picture of the Altanta skyline. The last stop was Little Five Points for some window shopping of the Bohemian variety. We paused for smoothies at Arden’s Garden where I proceed to slurp my spinach intake for the year. The four of us made one last pit stop at Publix for subs in route to the airport. So yummy!

It was whirlwind. And there was definitely a lot I missed. But... here's to hoping the Braves make a statement in the playoffs... and I just can't resist making my way down South again real soon.

Spring Highlights

In late April, Dad, Brother, Boyfriend, and I attended the D.C. United/Philadelphia Union matchup. My closest relation to that of a celebrity is to 20-year old Jack McInerney, star forward for the Union. His family lived next to mine during the Alpharetta, GA days. We shared the relationship neighbors shared: babysitting, carpooling, and cul-de-sac pick-up games. In the way I attend all sporting events, I knew who I wanted to win—United—upon entering RFK Stadium. Incidentally I had a lot more fun watching Jack perform. He scored two goals before halftime to lead the Union to a 3-2 victory over United. So yes, United lost… and I hate losing… but I do not think I was alone in feeling some vested interest in seeing Jack play well. And since he did not disappoint, I did not leave disappointed.

And if your curiosity is peaked by the 20-year old sensation, do note on May 31, Jack was selected for the preliminary Gold Cup roster for the US Men's National Team. 

This is Boyfriend and I on a wine tour. 

Northern Virginia certainly is not Napa Valley; however, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it is littered with wineries. I have been eager to tour them for quite awhile. Our tour consisted of two wineries--Chrysalis Vineyards and Willowcroft Farm Vineyards. When my parent’s neighbors organized the event, I could not resist the invitation. I thank them very much for the planning that went into making this a successful Saturday. There is not a lot more to say about drinking wine while overlooking gorgeous vineyards. I would say I learned something. But all knowledge was diluted with each tasting. This was simply a beautiful day with stellar companionship. And, again, wine. Which makes most things better, right?

Fondest recent memory: There was a three-day period in May where each night I crawled into bed, I had clean sheets. It was miraculous. I could explain how it happened but that would bore you. So just accept that is happened. And it was all around fabulous.

I visited an alpaca farm. And made lots of new friends. These creatures are true characters. And will one day make a great addition to my farm.

I entered the world of coconut oil. I highly recommend you do the same. Then together, we will refuse to turn back.

I spent five hours chatting on the phone one night with a girlfriend of mine. That is a new record for me! The phone call was not enough, as they so often are not… so I am taking a trip to Research Triangle to spend a quality weekend with K.N.K.F. here real soon.

Part of what prompted me to highlight a few spring weekends was the realization summer is here. This weekend, I hung out with my six-year old friend, C.R.M., for an afternoon at the pool. Beyond this time with my favorite munchkin, I opted to evade the sun (and humidity!) indoors--parked in front of the television watching the Atlanta Braves/Washington Nationals series. It feels terrific to head into the summer six and a half games up on the Nationals. 

These were the good goings-on of spring.

Say Something #19

Below is an email I received from a friend, regarding 16 & Pregnant/Teen Mom star Farrah Abraham's new book. 

To: You

I just returned My Teenage Dream Ended by Farrah Abraham citing "offensive content" as the reason. I read this dribble so you didn't have to! And now, I present you with a list of my favorite quotes. Ahem.

"Let's go upstairs and you can help me finish getting ready." Derek was always good about watching me get ready. Afterwards on the way out of the room, I grabbed his manhood and dared him to stick it in right then and there.
 
Then Derek wanted to mix things up and decided we should have sex in my sister's room down the hall. (My sister wasn't home, just FYI.)
 
We claimed our sex life back on the hood of his car and I looked at him and all the millions of stars in the sky and I will never forget how perfect it felt. Best of all, Derek dropped me off at home on time for curfew.
 
I just kept repeating to myself, We're broken up. I'm too young for this. He flirted with ugly girls.
 
Clearly my period had arrived. This was too much. I said, "Okay, maybe this is a sign that we shouldn't talk anymore. It's not working out." He seemed fine with that.
 
I knew I should never take back a guy who stole, smoked, did drugs, and worked at Burger King.
 
He was tall, confident and cute. The only thing about him that fell short of my expectations was his car - it was kind of a beater.
 
My mom came upstairs and turned the lights on. She took one look at me and said, "Oh yeah. Your water broke. It has that smell." I had to laugh because all I could think was that the smell reminded me of having Derek's cum inside me.

Also, this video.

From: R.D.S.

Do you feel second hand contaminated, the way E.J.R., a fellow friend on the email chain, does?

Beautifully Rotten Food

I intended to spend a significant amount more time writing following my trip to Central America. Then life sort of swept me up in a tornado of March madness. Or maybe it is because of this trip to Central America I got distracted?

In the goings of the past month plus, I have had a couple of afternoons on the deck reading, engrossed in my flavor of the week. I could and would like to write a book review, or nine, however, I will save that for when my writing is thriving. When my head in not stuck in a book, I resort to my inbox filled with articles on wedding ideas to the mountain lions of Northern California to Spring Training (Notice I transitioned smoothly into baseball instead of addressing the demise of the Kansas Jayhawks to the Kentucky Wildcats of all teams.) to world aid for reading... never knowing what to expect. Tonight, I want to share a really great piece titled "Beautifully Rotten Food" recommended by a friend, an avid reader of The Huffington Post's Food Section. This article sheds light on food waste in a unique manner--Austrian artist Klaus Pichler uses still life photography to capture food far past the expiration date.  

And since I have exhausted myself encouraging others to buy local, buy quantities you can eat, clean your plate at meals, and never leave those leftovers untouched... these images "accompanied by statistics regarding the food's origin, time of harvest, means of transportation, distance traveled and its carbon footprint" might be all the motivation you need to help reduce food waste. If you are not too squeamish, I highly recommend checking this out.

Unfortunate News

(I was in the heat of this post when our internet cut out. It was revived this afternoon. This chronicle, delayed from Wednesday, is predictably upsetting. Had I been able to finish writing as my sadness flowed through that moment--you might have accurately caught my gist. And I am rambling…)

My plate is full. I should be scurrying around trying to make sure everything that needs to be handled before full-time holiday mode sets in is complete. I have a list a mile-long, with 'secure a job' at the top.

When I refreshed my email, I had a link to this article regarding an old beaver pond in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana boldly waiting in my inbox. I can all but guarantee you will have no interest in the contents of this article... but I had to share my devastation. I am momentarily flustered and quite off track.

So I am here, writing, at noon on a weekday. I poured another cup of coffee. I have The Avett Brothers playing on Pandora. My Rocky Mountain Field Ecology pictures are pulled up... and I am scanning for the old beaver pond. The author of the article, nature/wildlife photographer Dan Hartman, took my Ecology 491 class to his treasured spot, this old beaver pond, on our May 2008 trip.

These are the images I have from my brief visit to the (Beartooths and) pond. They are low-quality, forgive me, I was working with 3.2 megapixels. It really is a gem to be "treasure[d] for its' purity... packed with diverse habitat."

I am struck by the harsh reminder of the way life often works in this world. I am unmistakably disheartened for Hartman's loss. This was his place. Then the reminder: life is a game. We question the rules, the fairness--unless of course it is going our way. I have been discouraged by the roadblocks in my path; my skill set limits me from competing on the level I would prefer. I want to stop. To complain. Worse though are the losses--exceeding my control--I am forced to accept. The game continues and sitting out is never an option.

Living in an area of exploding suburbia, habitats are being ruined faster than I can blink. We, the destructors, place an insurmountable challenge on our creatures, whether deer or songbird... and they never have a voice. I do not have the answers for exploding population, for our need to reconstruct and redesign nature. Instead I have distrust in we--the destructors. I have loads of raw emotion--genuine sorrow for the creatures we continually take from. The ones who silently forge on in this game of life.

Basset Hounds Running

I came across this link featuring excellently photographed basset hounds running on a blog recommended by a friend. The webpage has become the topic of conversation around our house for much of the past week. My family--basset obsessed--is on our third hound in my lifetime. There is no getting around it, this is the breed of my parents subscription.

If you do a little click, click, clicking of your own, you'll find several minutes of the purest laughter you have had in a long time. And if you find otherwise, you're dead inside; my sentiment anyway. The photo below, an imperfect image of dear Louis doing a little "running" of his own, is an half-hearted attempt to provide an indication of what your experience entail.

Laugh on.

Dream Decorations

One day, soon, hopefully, I will have my own place. And when this occurs, this quote--painted on reclaimed wood--will be displayed in my space:

In this house

We do second chances

We do grace

We do real

We do mistakes

We do I'm sorry

We do loud really well

We do hugs

We do family

We do love

Thank you for the continued pinning of things I adore. 

Magnitude 5.8

The anticipated date of September the third is wrecking havoc on my mental state--greatly increasing the emotional magnitude behind each event. My guess is this has been building all year. To this day, I remain continually haunted by the negative media attention Peace Corps continues to receive, this story from the Sunday Washington Post was delivered directly to my home. In addition, early today I became privy to some very exciting news--honoring my late friend.

I want to celebrate the life and memory of T.C.M. Everyone should know of his joy and love for life and others. He would have wanted a legacy, in turn I crave that for him too.

This being said... the news regarding T.C.M. left me further confused, feeling more lost than ever before.

I paused. I tried to breathe. I couldn't process. There was an earthquake in my head.

I started to wonder if a big part of my inability to get past this event... is a direct cause of an organization that has done their "level best" in the words of my old students, to keep the sole survivor at bay.

T.C.M. can have the glory. He deserves the glory; this can not be emphasized enough. The reality though is he is gone. The situation is absolutely horrid, and I hate hate hate having to accept it. Overcoming grave loss during your twenties is not easy. Even worse is knowing your friend will have nothing beyond his twenties. This immediately puts the importance of living life to the fullest into perspective.

I do not consider myself desperate for attention. Though in Peace Corps, the loudest is heard. I was actually a volunteer in Lesotho too. Again, I do not want, nor do I need--or deserve, the fame T.C.M. is worthy of.

What I want is respect. I want to be kept in-the-know. I want acknowledgement of my existence. These are things I am entitled too as I am left fighting this fight alone.

My friend was taken. My service ended prematurely. The friendships made with locals dissolved. My relationship with volunteers are strained, strained by distance, distance and time--the time remaining in our service, the service all of them have been allowed to stay and finish.

I struggle daily with the lack of closure, immense guilt, effects of trauma, a broken heart, and complete isolation. I'm isolated from a place I fell hard for. I'm isolated from the Peace Corps community. I'm isolated from a friend base that lacks the ability to comprehend this tragedy. This very morning I was surrounded by my family, and yet... I felt sickeningly alone.

Volunteers, sharing a common understanding, will spend the dreaded date together; they have the ability to comfort one another. I am envious of the access they have to each other. Together, they will finish out the work T.C.M. and I started... in what we pictured as a 27 month life-altering adventure. I will be at home--lonely--in an environment moved far beyond the death of my dear friend. 

But I suppose that's only my half-full attitude... or a result of the fact...

"We live in a world where we rarely speak out and when someone does, often nobody is there to listen." (Jaycee Dugard)