Sweet Neighbor, Part 2

Back, what seems like a long time ago--when life was cheery and blissful--I wrote a thank you post to my dear neighbor. Dealing with her own trials and tribulations, far beyond my comprehension, this same neighbor is just as sweet as ever. Her heart is huge! After hearing bits and pieces of my eating habits post-vacation... she brought me up her gazpacho and a couple of additional sample pasta salads.

I can't begin to describe how delicious her gazpacho is. It would literally blow your mind(!!!). My absolute favorite, only when she makes it, of course.

We spent the entire day at the pool together; removed from the sun, when delivering her goods she noted my toasty skin. An hour later she returned with fresh aloe. Maybe this isn't amazing to you, but I had no idea regular people can and do grow their own plants.

I want to be on the N.J.M. level of awesome.

And I promise to pay her gratuity forward!

For Life, eh?

There is no pressure for me to be part of the disgusting rat race society forces college graduates to partake in. And I'm thankful I feel this way... because I'm still trapped.

The third of each month continues to be a major hurdle--getting to, through, and over. I have become good at slowing down and bracing myself for sleepless nights come that time. Let's be clear, this is NOT to say I do not think about the event or T.C.M. every single hour of everyday. No worries, that has not stopped going on. It's the third and around that time, the intrusive memories are particularly challenging.

With time my sleep pattern is improving, or it is becoming just that--a pattern. The night before, the night of, and the night after the 3rd of each month are usually troubling... with a few spastic early mornings or difficulty falling asleep sprinkled throughout the month. It's manageable. For the most part I feel like a functioning human again.

And whenever you get comfortable, life mixes the structure I worked desperately to establish right up. This time with a combination parasite and sleepless night attack. Three days of parasite funk--details I'll spare the audience of. It's unpredictable cyclical un-fun-ness! Throw that on top of six nights and counting with less than three hours of sleep; I want to pull out my hair, expect it already falls out at an alarming rate--thank you parasite.

The storms in (my head and stomach) NoVa have passed, hopefully leaving gorgeous hot sunshine for the weekend. Even in my most insomniac state I can handle laying out by the pool.

Exhaustion City

My college roommate might know me better than I know myself. That tends to be what happen when you spend every waking minute together... and then decide that's not enough time so living together for the final year of college will further the bond. Only certain friends will stay up late with you quoting Braveheart or calling customer service at Waffle House to tell them what a pleasurable dining experience you had. She is always down for fun, regardless of the circumstance.

C.J.R. is another friend of mine, one I met my senior year in college. Ten steps ahead of everyone in each game of life, she knows the meaning of the word maximize. Storytime with C.J.R. often lasts over an hour and are sometimes necessary multiple times a week. There is always something to look forward too.

Mix these two together, who before my extended trip to Boston--where the transplant and native currently reside--were simply acquaintances, and you have one successful trip.

If the near continual rain throughout the entire trip was a sign of something, I missed the signal. Looming rain clouds greeted me on the East Coast. Inclement weather might have canceled our camping plans, but we didn't let that stop us from biking the New Hampshire coast line.

This sign, barely legible in the rain, made me inquire as to the possibility of seeing Cape Cod while in the area. C.J.R. was, go figure, one step ahead of me. Already considering visiting the landmass during our "empty space" midweek. First to Boston to catch some zzz's before heading to the suburbs to meet the mother of one of my favorite fellow volunteers.

I exhausted my vocal cords and her ears sharing stories of volunteer life. She joked about our meeting being a "first date" of sorts, compliments to her son, the "match-maker." I mean she won me over with a trip to my mecca--Whole Foods, a walking tour of the area, and a deliciously home-cooked meal. As the evening wound down, somehow without the conversation doing the same, we watched the Boston Bruins play in the Stanley Cup. Thankfully (or sadly) the Detroit Red Wings were not the opponent, so while in Boston--go Bruins?

The next morning was an easy one, over coffee with M.B., contrasted by a physically exhausting afternoon. I traveled with C.J.R. to Cape Cod where we biked (in.the.rain. against gale force winds) the canal before hiking around Nickerson State Park.

There was a nice climbing element to the hike due to plenty of dead trees. Technically scaling these perfectly placed (very slick) branches wasn't required to forge the trail as walking under usually sufficed, however, they were great for posing(!!!).

My body demanded another cup o' joe on the way to the home of C.J.R. The time had finally come, after two years, for me to meet the infamous R family--granola making, package sending, vegetable growing, youngest historical society members, wine/sangria making, travel enthusiast. The bond this family shares was mystifying, in an awesome way.

Not wasting a minute--drinks on the town that night, followed by an early morning ferry to Block Island, Rhode Island. How do I even begin to describe this island? Imagery.

Slightly worried I had already peaked on the island with a week still remaining in New England I headed back to the city to meet up with poor (or rich?) H.C.O. who was subjected to the working world for the first part of the week. We ate dinner out on the town before perusing the Newbury Street/Public Gardens/Faneuil Hall area. Continuous late nights and early mornings had not caught up to us... yet. Thus we voyaged on with morning walks on the reservoir, a museum tour, an arboretum stroll, a baseball game, cruising (on feet) through the North End, visiting the East Harbor, photographing the Charles River Esplanade.

With some nice weather (finally) I joined the R family at their beach house on Long Island, New York. A doctors orders for rejuvenation--prepping me for my final days in the city.

There were very few things I missed. Upon mastering 'The T' and falling for the city, it was time to get out. When I loaded the bus to Philadelphia I was hoping to crash. Instead my brain was processing all 3000 thoughts racing through. The entire nine hours were spent journaling the events of New England.

This trip was a blast, each and every leg. Instead of hunting for a job, I'm hunting for excuses... to continue traveling.

Philadelphia, PA

The last leg of my trip took place in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where I reunited with Peace Corps district mates. These were two of the guys I spent nearly every other weekend with in Lesotho and have yet to see upon returning from Ghana. Catching up was quite pleasurable!

A lengthy bus ride and too much fun in Boston left me feeling ragged upon arrival. My amazing host had homemade pesto over pasta waiting for me. Re-energized, I rallied for a night out. The next morning we failed to replicated a typical African breakfast and hit the road for Mount Airy, where we "hiked" around Fairmount Park. If my hiking companion hadn't ridiculously shoed himself in Converses, I would have spent the entire day under the sun--biking, hiking, and cooling off in the Schuylkill River.

From there we hit up the adorable Weavers Way Food Co-op before making way back to Philadelphia proper. After adequate hydration and a reapplication of sunscreen, we caught a bus to Love Park where we spent an uncomfortable amount of time people watching. We continued on with a walking tour, backtracking briefly for happy hour with J.W.M.'s co-workers. Eventually making our way up South Street, we crashed on the couch for an intriguing extra inning game of the College World Series.

Saturday I accompanied J.M.W. to a work function where I experienced water ice. One major sugar high. With every high, comes a low--this being in the form of a nap. Feeling quite refreshed, we made our way to West Philly were we celebrated J.M.'s quarter of a century birthday, with an outdoor, vegetarian friendly, cook-out.

Sunday we slept in to recover from all the celebrating, waking up in time for the afternoon Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park. That night we attended a True Blood party. Knowing nothing about this show, I filled my plate and feigned interest for all of five minutes before spending the remainder of the party on the roof marveling at the nighttime skyline.

Monday it was finally time to make way to Northern Virginia; home never felt so sweet.

10 months with you, 10 months without you

My friend’s sister went through a tough pregnancy with her now twin one year old girls, who are simply adorable and have been nothing but a blessing for her and her family since then. Anyways—very few people actually knew how incredibly rough her situation was…until she shared the story on her new blog. It brought most everyone, including myself, near tears. The journey was unimaginable, unless you went through it yourself. Sound familiar? From her I learned how healing it was to put her story out there. And from my experience, I know the more I discuss the event of September 3, 2010 the easier it gets.

I have had a fair share of opportunities to share my story, yet as a "blogger" I feel opening the flood gates for others to read (or ignore) at their own will would be most beneficial. At this time I do not feel as though it’s right for me to publish the details without the consent of the people who may have been hurt the most, T.C.M.’s parents, whom I have had zero contact since the night of the murder. I have no idea what they know about the events of the night… but whatever they know was derived from my mouth, most likely channeled through several officials before reaching them.

Healing is difficult when your natural tendency is to dissociate. You never actually heal from such a trauma; it becomes a part of you. Right now I can't share the actual account but recollecting the back story seems appropriate on the ten month anniversary.

T.C.M. and I were not involved in any sort of romantic relationship; we were extremely good friends. Despite our platonic status, he continually professed he was going to marry me one day and prematurely insisted on calling my parents his in-laws. This was all in fun and games, of course. I was closer to T.C.M. than I have been with most people in my life. Part of this closeness was the nature of our situation: two young high school math/science teachers stranded “together” in the same mountainous district of Lesotho, for what was supposed to be two years. Apart from our proximity to one another, we had a lot in common. I had a college friend from his hometown, we shared rival National League East baseball teams, were both educated at southern institutes, come from families of musical inclination, and much more. Our extreme personalities counterbalanced each other quite nicely. He brought out a side of me I didn’t even know existed, a side of me I really liked. He was a schemer (I find most men are) with the unique ability to dream big and follow through, an admirable character trait.

Confident and caring, he shared my passion for Lesotho and global health, while remaining grounded by his family and large friend base back stateside.

Before moving to our Thaba-Tseka homes we spent a long weekend together in the South (of Lesotho), with a volunteer two classes our superior, learning about site life. During the three month district lock-down we were able to visit each other, prior to celebrating our "newbie" status with the remainder of our district. As time went on I grew less fond of public transportation and my primary teaching job. When I needed an escape from my village (or a shower) I weekended in Katse, T.C.M.'s home. He was always there to bounce ideas off of or forget about stress with for awhile. When he ran out of money or fresh produce... he made his way to the camptown where I resided. The entire district of Thaba-Tseka has very few high schools, meaning our schools frequently brought us together for events--track meets, debates, science competitions.

The first semester ended and we were both ready to get off the mountain, well mother nature had a different idea. It snowed and snowed and snowed a little more. There was never any real accumulation--just enough to keep transportation inoperable. We made the best of the situation by celebrating the World Cup opening at the lodge with his co-workers. The weather cleared and we parted ways, reuniting in early July.

T.C.M. visited [my] town to track down the perfect pig for a 4th of July slaughtering. He had "his" welder make him a spit for the occasion I was not planning on attending (me=vegetarian). You had to be there to understand the trials and tribulations required to purchase swine in Lesotho. Reeediculous! Realize, what was supposed to take him a day, took the week, in addition my accompanying him back to Katse, where I eventually witnessed this debatably humane killing.

The rest of winter came and went, ending with a week long AIDS training in Nazareth, a five plus hour trek West from my home. Immediately following, school started back, not feeling well I kept to myself for most of August--finally accepting company the last weekend. We got into shenanigans only T.C.M. would track down. Hotel party? In Africa? The very next weekend we traveled the six hours to Maseru, the capitol of Lesotho, for the Close of Service Banquet in honor of the education group ahead of ours.

This post is now a novel; I never said it was a short story. After typing I feel much relief, recalling many more good--over the one epic bad memory.

Living Locally

Blueberry season is upon us--hip, hip hooray! C.A.H. and I headed to Great Country Farms (GCF) with intentions of stocking up on enough to last through the winter. We struck out, one week into the season GCF was picked out. We still bonded under the HOT sun picking for more than an hour to secure three pints.

A hayride tour of the farm, blueberries right off the bush, and baby animals... still lots of fun to be had.

The day ended with the monthly First Friday celebration in our town. There was no better way to kick off the long holiday weekend than with happy hour, dining, and live music!

This morning my mom and I were up early to hit up the farmers market--orange cherry tomatoes, peaches, green beans, corn, salsa and Ciabatta bread. July is off to a good local start!

City Flowers

During my extended stay in New England, I squeezed in two trips to the Boston Public Gardens. One might have been enough for most people but these unlabeled flowers (featured below) brought me back. In between my visits I spent a fair amount of time analyzing this flower type on the web, texted three people I respect for information, and obnoxiously questioned everyone within range. I turned up empty.

They are exquisite! Their sphere shaped purple flowers beg you to touch them, revealing an even more mystfying texture.

It wasn't till a couple days after I left the city, a text from H.C.O. revealed they are called Alliums--her answered coming from a random curbside conversation with a stranger. Go her! Futher research revealed they are more commonly known as Flowering Onions, thanks to their soft oniony scent.

Mystery Solved. Yay Plant Identification!