Four thoughts

1) Something that makes me proud to be me is my bleeding heart. Sure, it's gotten broken and stepped on, but in the grand scheme of things, it's a blessing. It seems like too many people are afraid to show some emotion and I only wish that people didn't de-value this gift. The world needs more people to be postive and shine some light.

2) Situation you've had to get yourself out of: My Dad has this phrase - "act as if." When we were on vacation in Florida, we'd walk along the beach and go to explore hotels and restaurants where we had no business being. Usually we'd be approached by some security guard and would make up a room where we were staying or a person we were with. After he'd leave us alone, we'd swim in the pool or something stupid like that. Throughout the whole ordeal, my heart would beat furiously (as I HATE even pseudo-authority figures) but it has taught me well...I snuck into bars before I should have and made it into the first few rows for many a baseball game.

3) Time stops in its tracks when I'm enjoying simple pleasures. God shows up in the smallest blessings and I get mesmerized like a child in a candy store. A poem that reaches my heart, weeknight coffee with my best friend, unexpected silence on a walk, a child grabbing her father's hand - all these moments make me wish I had a pause button. I wrote a haiku about a milkshake a week or so ago, and it was all about a lunch I'd had by myself where time seemed to stretch out in front of me. So many Christians think God is all about discipline and refinement (which He is), but he spent a whole lot of time trying to teach us to enjoy the bounty of this world. I guess I'm a hedonist when God reveals things.

4. I realized I was an adult when I decided to go to Kenya. My parents who are incredibly supportive were PETRIFIED and wouldn't back it. As a result, this spoiled little girl had to figure it out for herself and trust that God would make it happen. It still surprises me to this day that I got there. I guess picking an apartment and getting a job were pivotal moments, but taking myself (with the help of my adult family) to another country made me realize that I can do anything through Him that provides.

I stop to see a weepin’ willow

I spent a large portion of my childhood walking.

My Dad, brother and I would frequently head out after we ate dinner, our bellies still full of food. (My guess is that Mom enjoyed the peace and quiet of a house minus two gabberwocky kids.)

The fact that our stomachs were still sloshing around made it impossible to run or treat the trek as exercise. It was a stroll - something to aid digestion, I suppose, but mostly it was something that killed an hour or so. I don’t remember much about what we talked about, only that it was sacred time. Peaceful. Relaxing. Like a cup of tea before we rolled into bed.

Around 8 last night I was antsy and jonesin’ for some chocolate. I wasn’t in the mood to drive anywhere, and decided it was too beautiful not to walk somewhere nearby. Wanting to stretch out the trip, I decided not to go to the gas station directly. I’d stroll for a bit by myself, then nab a Hershey bar on the way home.

The night air was breezy and cool. Pulling down on my sleeves, I was happy that I threw on my pullover and long cotton yoga pants. I stepped slowly through my silent parking lot, relishing the calm. The gray sky rolled overhead, patchy and threatening to rain, but mostly heralding the season's impending return to Fall.

When I turned off 95th Street’s busyness and headed back in to the neighborhood, I re-realized how holy the practice of “just walking” can be.

Some people say they get clarity when they’re running. Because that activity is rather painful for my teeny, wussy lungs, I have to focus on not dying, thus defeating the purpose of any introspection.

But walking gives me clarity. It’s peaceful and settling to my soul.

Most of the time I’d have had music humming, but as of late excess noise has been irritating me. I decided to let my iPod remain in my jacket pocket, staying present in the silence. In the stillness I heard the most beautiful sounds of things I’d forgotten.

Cars softly whooshing by as they headed back to sleepy homes.
Cicadas croaking in surround sound.
The electric buzz of streetlights overhead.
Laughter wafting out through slightly cracked ground-floor windows.

The quiet focus was well with my soul…and my thoughts. They slowed down and became clear-cut. I could wrap my arms around the meatiness of my dreams and slice my hand through the thin vapors of my anxieties.

In the stillness, God and I eventually talked through a few things. It was a more natural form of prayer - one that sort of naturally bubbles up when your state is meditative.

It’s amazing what He says when you’re silent enough to listen.

So many books...

It appears that I've been tagged with one of the TOUGHEST challenges ever. (Nice work, Mr. Myles.)

So, dear readers, here is my noble attempt to narrow down a lifetime worth of reading.

Thank God I have a horrible long-term memory.

One book…

that changed my life: Banana Rose by Natalie Goldberg. It's this magical story of a couple living off the land in New Mexico. I fell in love with the Southwest as I read it (I think I've always secretly wanted to be an organic farmer living in Albuquerque). But more than just beautiful prose, this book reminded me that passion can exist in a long-term relationship. When I realized that two people (even messed up fictional ones) could be so in love, it highlighted the glaring lack of it in the relationship I was currently in. The book and its timing were perfect.

that you’ve read more than once: High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. I LOVELOVELOVE this book, along with everything else he's written (About a Boy, A Long Way Down, etc). Usually it's tough for me to identify with a male protagonist, but this writer's wit, sarcasm, and human touch make you root for the slightly awkward (and slightly a-hole) main character. Walk, don't run to buy it now - especially if you love music.

that you’d want on a desert island: Definitely the bible and a journal, but in the interest of something different, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda.

This collection of poems is the modern day Song of Solomon. I found this book in a gift shop on St. John when I was 16. At the time, I knew nothing of love but I could certainly understand heartache. Neruda showed me what it looked like with a little bit of wisdom attached -

"Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture."

that made you laugh: Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. Another book that I've read over and over again, I can only read this when I'm alone because it makes me snort and laugh so hard that I've literally cried. I've often wondered how much of this is fiction, because life just can't be that hilarious. (The chapters on his drug use are particularly genius.)

I think he's one of the best comedic writers I've ever read (Naked is also brilliant) and the way he dances back and forth between life's tragic and sweet moments is effortless.

that made you cry: The Time Travelers Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. This book is in my Top 5 - easily. It has the weirdest premise - it's the story of a couple's developing relationship disrupted by the fact that the husband time travels. It's messed up, beautiful and tender. Trust me, just read it.

that you wish had been written: Hills like White Elephants - Ernest Hemingway. I remember reading this story in high school. I dissected it later with a teacher who explained that this mysterious little dialogue was really a discussion between a couple about her burgeoning pregnancy and his desire for "it to be taken care of."

It's always sort of haunted me that I didn't know the beginnings of their relationship, or what became of it afterwards. I think it's a horrible crime when a short story isn't given the affection it deserves...thus becoming a novel.

that you’d wish was never written: Beowulf. If this work had never been written, my life might have taken a completely different trajectory. When I read this (or attempted to) I was an English major, hoping to work my way towards a doctorate so I could teach somewhere.

As fate would have it, I took Early English Literature during my junior year, almost threw up when I saw the syllabus, and promptly moved my communications minor to my major. The rest is history.

It's amazing to me that people actually like this poem.

that I wish I’d written: The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. If you've been reading my blog long enough, I'm sure I've mentioned him no fewer than 10 times. Gibran mastered the art of mystical poetry and over the course of my life, these poems about the dichotomies of life have helped me to see that life is neither black or white, but an equal balance of both.

that you are currently reading: As usual, I've got about 3 going - STILL reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt (one of these years, I'll finally finish it), re-reading Me Talk Pretty One Day and studying my way through The Challenge of Jesus by NT Wright. I'm really loving this book, but I'm going through a fiction phase right now and theology isn't particularly conducive. It's going to take a concerted effort to get it read quickly...maybe over Labor Day weekend.

that you want to read: I just finished Fidelity by Wendell Berry and I must get my hands on every other piece of work he has composed. His character development gets more and more beautiful with each short story. He gently caresses each story, slowly bringing it to conclusion, all while you pine to be inside his quiet, sweet little farm world.

Also, Out of Africa. I've been waiting to pick this up until I'd returned from Kenya, and I think it'll make it to the top of my list in the next month or so.

Ok, if anyone will indulge me, please feel free to post your favorites in the comments section.

I'm far too lazy to tag at the end of a weekend...

Due Date

Last Friday over lunch I went and checked a few books out at the library. (This isn't something I'm in the practice of doing, as I obsessively write in my books and it sort of pisses me off that I have to restrain myself.)

Anyhow, I'd been dying to pick up something by Wendell Berry, so I grabbed his book, Fidelity. I was excited to dive in, so last Friday night I went to one of my favorite people-watching spots, Fric & Frac on 39th St., to sit outside, enjoy a pale ale, listen to some tunes, and get well acquainted with this writer that I've heard such great things about.

I opened the plastic covered little book, and was immediately riveted by something I hadn't seen in a long time - a stamped inside cover with previously inked due dates. The excitement gave birth to an homage in my journal to this antiquated and beautiful practice.

More importantly, it got me thinking about all the old traditions that are dying out in our fast-paced, McDonald's culture, intent on capturing data.

Bicycles used to get yourself somewhere.
Milk bottles delivered to your doorstep.
Writing with pencils.
Going for a walk - not for exercise's sake.
Making tea on the stove in a kettle.
Cooking anything from scratch.
Making a mix tape.
Just dropping by someone's house.

Sometimes it's nice to think of all the old ways things were done. There's something elegant and quaint in the traditions.

While I'm not going to

Burn One Down, I am hoping to be Blessed to Be a Witness to some great tuneage...

Tonight. 7:30 P.M.

com·mu·ni·cate

verb: 1 archaic : SHARE 2 a : to convey knowledge of or information about : make known

Some people's spirits are so alive and potent that they are capable of physically possessing us. Their kindness and intrinsic goodness touches something so deep inside that it becomes indelible - a tattoo imprinted on our hearts.

On Tuesday, my first visit to Missionaries of Charity in Huruma, I met Grace, the woman pictured above. I can so vividly remember the moment I locked eyes with her. It was like seeing hope molded into human flesh.

She rushed at me, embracing me as a mother embraces a child who has returned home. She smelled like milk. Hugging her felt like sighing. I bent over her frail body as she shook with laughter. "Aaahhhhh. It's so NICE to meet you!"

Pushing away from me, she held on firmly to the sides of my elbows, peering through her laughing eye's slits. She wanted to get a good look at me. "Goodgoodgood," she expelled in one breath, nodding up and down excitedly.

Her face took on grave seriousness as she very deliberately and slowly sounded out the Kiswahili for me, "Naaaa-eeeeet-wahhhh Grace!" She spoke her name in a staccato fact, like a child thrusting their arm into the air to answer a question.

On Wednesday, we huddled together in the corner of the concrete laundry room. The staffwomen rushed around us, hurriedly carrying buckets of laundry water, leaning over to mop the floor, preparing beans and rice for the women.

As they buzzed around us like bees, her tiny, wrinkled brown hands rested in my lap and grasped mine tightly as if to quiet the din. Her presence froze time. She had decided that I was a worthy enough pupil, excited to learn, and must be taught Kiswahili from her expert lips.

Her brow would furrow as I repeated each phrase over and over again, staring directly into her chocolate eyes, slightly foggy with the passage of time.

"Two-wehn-day la schooo-lay," I tried. "Twehn-dey la scho-lay. Twende la schule." (Let's go to school.)

I sounded like a person falling down a cement staircase with glass jar full of marbles. A million mistakes spilled out into the room. The entire time I spoke she would lead me through the process of sounding it out, her body bobbing up and down with each syllable, approving or pausing to correct me as I butchered her beautiful tongue.

"eh-eh-eh," she'd correct. "sh-oooo, sh-ooooo." Her lips froze in exaggerated positions, all for my benefit.

Upon leaving her on Wednesday afternoon, I bought my Swahili pocket dictionary. I read over the phrases that my breath had been pushing out with exertion for an hour straight. As I saw how a word was spelled, it was like the synapses in my brain were shortened. Things clicked.

Now thousands of miles away from my expert teacher, I'm just as struck by the power of the gift she gave me as I was by her presence then.

It was as if she understood how much I love to communicate. God put her there to satisfy a part of me that was still present, even in the absence of a common language.

As I searched out this title today, a secondary definition for communicate jumped out at me -

1: to receive Communion.

Grace's communication transcended mere wordplay.

The time she spent with me was akin to taking communion. Her goodness indwelt my spirit. Her generosity fed my soul.

And I left nourished.

Sweet nectar from God (haiku)

Joy is frozen milk,
hot fudge licked off a long spoon.
My milkshake for lunch.

on a bad day,

here's what makes the world right again...

1. Friends who don't let me act like a baby.
2. Crunches. Add weight. Repeat.
3. The Rolling Stones, Paul Simon and Led Zeppelin.
4. Fat Tire.
5. Knowing that Tuesday will be here in 6 hours.

Let's try this again tomorrow, shall we?

Today's soundtrack: "Beast of Burden" - Rolling Stones

In the words of...

I caught this on Lawrence.com today and thought it'd be a great idea. Go to this site and poke around for your 5 favorites.

"Once in a while you have to take a break and visit yourself."
Audrey Giorgi

"Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time."
Thomas Merton

"Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something."
Henry David Thoreau

"Great minds discuss ideas; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people."
Eleanor Roosevelt

"I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand."
Confucius

I never tag anyone (mostly because hardly anyone reading has a blog OR updates it), but this is who I want to hear from:

E Sue
Sarah & Julius
Myles
The Hamster
Kelli
Bruce
Cass (I'll post it in the comments for you)

Consider your opinions solicited.

Today's album: The Arcade Fire - Funeral

You are mine.

Along with the Thursday funniness, I thought you might need something soothing too.

A while back, I heard about a site called Sacred Space. Run by the Irish Jesuits, it's a space that is breathtakingly simple and beautiful. On days where I need a timeout at work, or an affirmation, it always seems to deliver. Strange how God does that.

Today's prayer cycle is particularly healing and begins with something I just wanted to pass along as an affirmation.

When God looks at me, he desires me and is saying:
You are desirable.
I made you good.
I want you.

God sees me as his daughter or son, whom he loves.

He says:
You are mine.
His gaze says:
I delight in you.

Can I accept this gaze of love?
Or do I run back into disapproval?

His gaze is like sunshine.

Can I rest in it,
bask in it,
until I am bathed by the Holy Spirit?

How healing.

I know we all need to hear these truths more often. That's why I try so hard to make the people I love abundantly clear that I love them implicitly, no matter what.

Today's soundtrack: You Are Mine - MuteMath - Album: MuteMath

You're on Notice

Want to have some Thursday fun?

Be as cool as Stephen Colbert and make your own "on notice" board here.

Mine is above, and yes, I do really hate cats. In my defense, they are worthless, and I am allergic.

That is all.

The empty pages flapping in the wind...

I want so badly to be able to write about what I've seen. (I also want it to be good.)

I want to write and write and write and write and record until my hands get stiff and the syntax is spent and all of it is outside of me, ready to be catalogued and assembled.

Unfortunately, with the slower than expected transition back to normalcy and my lack of free time, I haven’t been allowed this luxury.

I had a teacher in college that used to start our night class (Exposition and Report Writing, blech) with an assignment: Write freely about anything for 15 minutes.

It could be thoughts, story, poem, whatever. It definitely couldn't be edited, and it probably wouldn't be good. But that was the point.

I’m not sure if he thought that you had to work though the crap to get something great or if he felt that it was like letting the cap off a bottle of ink – you had to pry at it before it for a while before it would pop and flow out freely.

As I tried no fewer than four times today to write a blog, it got me thinking: maybe I need to revisit college and reuse my professor's strategy. Maybe even, dare I say it, develop a habit of disciplining myself to do it?

Any other writers out there that have any tried and true methods to get the ink flowing?

- Letter writing? (Hemingway wrote letters 3-4 times a day to his first wife.)
- Interviews full of wit? (Like his politics or not, Safire was a brilliant punster.)
- Exploring the gaps in mythology and Biblical story-telling? (Gibran's Prophet springs to mind.)
- Mind maps?
- Venn diagrams?

Throw 'em in. I'm open to suggestions...and ready to practice.

Today's soundtrack: Little Words - Mint Royale - See You in the Morning

African eloquence

"You should always know your shoe size before you buy a pair of shoes." Kenyan proverb

Today's Soundtrack: Shaking the Tree - Peter Gabriel - Secret World

Stitches

As I seem to be having some trouble putting my Kenya experience into words, I was a little bit healed when I ran across this on BBC this afternoon. I thought it was pretty incredible.

The story is almost identical to the epic that unfolded before me. Please treat his experience as though I were telling it to you - then I think you'll see why it's been hard to adjust.

It's healing to know that someone can define what they see...even as this writer cannot.

Photo Essay: A teacher's life in Uganda.

Today's Soundtrack: Unplayed Piano - Damien Rice

A confession

This space is suffering from a tragic lack of honesty.

My life for the last two weeks has been pretty craptastic.

It's been really hard to adjust back to life in America. I feel like the last thing I want to be doing is processing Kenya, and that feels really sh*tty. I saw something so life changing and huge and such a part of the long-term vision for my life, and instead of getting back and digging in to it - I've just been escaping.

I've watched more TV than I ever do. I haven't touched my journal or my bible. I'm doing a lot of posting about nothing and getting up everyday to try and be "normal."

It's like I know that I can't go back to the person I was before, so I'm not sure what I'm coming back to. I feel sort of adrift.

But the oddest thing about this is - I'm really kind of ok with this. I'm not an emotional wreck, because emotion is the last thing I want to tap into right now.

I just feel bad for not wanting to be the analytical, overly emotional Ally right now. I'm worried that if I give in to a little luxury of numbness, I'm going to forget about all the things I saw or all the good I'll get to do in the future.

When I was in Kenya, it's sort of like I timetraveled.

While I was there all these new experiences flooded my brain. What I saw confirmed ways I want to be living my life, and pointed out ways that I'm negligent. If I'd stayed long enough, I think I would have worked through it and gotten comfortable again, but instead I came back to a life in KC that had continued on - not allowing for the luxury of comfort.

So, I guess I've lapsed into this numbed state to create my own place where I could start to process it...slowly, over time, able to look at the good and the bad in its proper place.

Today's Soundtrack: Everything in its right place - Radiohead - Kid A

I need you so much closer ...

I think I'll be talking for a long time about how legendary the assemblage of bands was at Bleeding Kansas last weekend. It's just cool to know that areas so close to KC are pulling in really solid bands and, that people are going to take advantage of it.

The above photo is of Death Cab For Cutie rocking out during what, I think, was their finale of Translanticism. I've been into DCFC ever since I moved to KC, and Ben Gibbard is one of the most brilliant poets I've ever heard placed to music. It's pretty awesome that he happens to be a fantastic musician to boot. Everytime I've heard them, I haven't been disappointed. They're a great live act.

I saw these photos a few days ago, and as is my usual Friday tradition, I was building a playlist and saw them on my desktop while I was trying to put together something fun. That rediscovery (and the fact that I'm ready for it to be 5 p.m. already) have led to a Friday filled with buying up new songs from bands I hadn't had much interaction with (including Mates of State and Broken Social Scene...both of which are growing on me). I figured that since I won't get to see anything this great for awhile, I'd make this weekend's tuneage an homage to the mainstage acts instead.

Check some of it out. You'll be glad that you did.

Does Kansas Have Heart?
Think Long - Mates of State - Bring It Back
These Days - Mates of State - Wicker Park
Like U Crazy -Mates of State - Bring It Back
7/4 (Shoreline) - Broken Social Scene - Broken Social Scene
Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day) - Broken Social Scene - Broken Social Scene
Swimmers - Broken Social Scene - Broken Social Scene
Bedshaped - Keane - Hopes and Fears
Crystal Ball -Keane - Under the Iron Sea Alternative
Everybody's Changing - Keane - Hopes and Fears
Hamburg Song - Keane - Under the Iron Sea
Marching Bands of Manhattan - Death Cab for Cutie - Plans
We Looked Like Giants - Death Cab For Cutie - Transatlanticism
Photobooth - Death Cab for Cutie - We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes
Transatlanticism - Death Cab For Cutie - Transatlanticism

What are you doing today?

I just sent out a press release about our new Lyric Opera blog entitled, "The Fat Lady Blogs."

Working in non-profit rules.

Today's soundtrack: Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol - Album: Eyes Open

From 30,000 feet

I penned this en route from London to Nairobi, just after we crossed over the ocean to the very tip of the north end of Africa...then reworked it a bit once I got home.

5:24 p.m. - Kenyan time

Separated from the earthy, arid floor 30,000 feet below,
my gravity-defying molecules rush over
the vast Libyan desert.

There are the most beautiful lines of streaked sand...
running like veins,
searching for water over its scorched skin,
parched and unsatisfied,
yet moved only by the fiercest wind.

It reminds me of what wet paint does when I hold the canvas upright,
rapidly descending the surface,
spiralling,
then touching another color,
then jumping away again.

Squinting through the brown hazy of dust,
I can make out a few tiny structures -
cement shelters,
oases in the unrelenting heat.
They form a smattering of mint-colored patches -
like the brown paint of desert is wearing off in spots
and the snow of ice ages past
is showing through.

This is Africa.

I've had some time to think about it

and watched the sun sink like a stone.
I've had some time to think about you,
on the long ride home.
-Patty Griffin, Long Ride Home

I'm not used to patience. Time and waiting and all the beautifulness of life revealing itself...these are foreign concepts. Unfortunately, God must have realized this as well, and has painstakenly taken time to point this out to me as of late.

1. E Sue has left. This sucks. I miss her so very much. Strong women are like El Nino. They only come along once in a while, cast some sort of cool air, and make you realize that there are forces in the world beyound your control. I doubt that anyone could duplicate Elizabeth's strong character or her very deliberate and calm dissection of life. She is grounded and resolute, and she is reading this, so I hope you realize how much I miss you. You are like air...it's awfully foggy without you in KC.

2. It's taking me some time to process Kenya stuff. I think God left me a little under the weather last week so I'd have time to be ill enough to recoup. I love life so much that I bounce out and tackle it full-on...whether I'm healthy or not. The time-out was welcome and purposeful. I'm feeling much better now, but it takes patience. I'm learning.

3. Music, again, rules. After this weekend's rock-fest, I'm super in to Broken Social Scene. These guys were realllyreallllly drunk, but hillarious. They kept referring to the festival by asking if Kansas had heart (a play on Bleeding Kansas/Bleeding Heart). As a super liberal lady, I thought this rocked. Keane and Death Cab were also in good form, as I'm sure only 105 degree heat can inspire. I'll post a setlist later.

4. You'll be happy to know that the long road back to normalcy has inspired my culinary skill. Tonight I made pork loin with a delicious homemade sweet sauce and rub, and my (what I'm sure is world famous) zucchini. If loving Whole Foods is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Today's soundtrack:
"Here's where the story ends" The Sundays

Happy Saturday to me

1. This is Follow The String's 100th post. I thought about getting her a new dress or something to celebrate her centennial, but she's a simple kind of girl.

2. Me + Lawrence + Bleeding Kansas + Free State Beer = One AWESOME reason to come back to America. As my Dad would say, "if it's too loud, you're too old."

Words to live by. Write that down.

The end of an era

I said it back in April when I strolled around a lake down in southern Missouri with Cass...

"Things are going to start changing. We've got this beautiful group of strong, independent friends, and sometime soon people are going to move away or find someone cool that takes up the better part of their free time. I can feel it. We better appreciate this time while we have it."

So we did. And damnit, I was spot on. We're steadily walking away from the pinnacle of feminine togetherness that we've enjoyed over the last year.

Although I think we all secretly hoped to be the one that found someone cool and got to be "otherwise occupied," it would seem that Elizabeth Sue Young is the first defector...moving to sunnier shores down in North Carolina. Le sigh.

E leaves tomorrow for an indefinite teaching gig, and although it feels like one of my limbs will be missing, I couldn't be more proud of her.

I usually opt for sad, mushy goodbyes, but that's just not how E rolls, and it wouldn't be a fitting tribute.

So, Elizabeth, I give you the best internet gift I could. A kickbutt playlist. I promise to listen to it on repeat - laughing, crying, and reaching for another Boulevard Wheat to keep you near to me.

I love ya, girlie. Go get 'em. We'll miss you.

Tarheeled and Tan

Airplane - Indigo Girls - Rites Of Passage
Recycled Air - The Postal Service - Give Up
Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder) - Maxwell - MTV Unplugged
Fly -Patty Griffin - A Kiss in Time
Destiny - Zero 7 - Simple Things (Bonus)
Big River -Johnny Cash - The Best Of Johnny Cash: San Quentin To Folsom Country
Lady Pilot -Neko Case - Blacklisted
Friends - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin
Desire -U2 - The Best Of 1980-1990
Let There Be Morning -The Perishers - Let There Be Morning
Blinded by the Light - The Streets
Atlantic - Keane - Under the Iron Sea
Little Thoughts - Bloc Party - Silent Alarm
Big Calm - Morcheeba - Big Calm
Everything In Its Right Place - Radiohead - Kid A
Falling is Like This - Ani DiFranco - Out of Range
Feelin' Good Again - James Earl Keen
Foreign Language -Anberlin - Blueprints For The Blackmarket
Hold My Hand -Van Hunt - Van Hunt
I Will Bow - Enter The Worship Circle - Second Circle

It's the little things (part mbili)

(mbili = two)

Bruce asked two questions in Monday's comment section that got me thinking:

When I ask people about their trips, I always ask "what was the best part, or thing you'll most treasure." Something like that. But I always ask, "what was the worst part or the thing that you least liked?"

Good questions, for sure.

First, the best part that I'll treasure.
















The kids.

I have so many stories about the adorable things that they did, but I was incredibly impressed by their eagerness to be educated.

The children at Villa Teag live above the school and they're all orphans. They sleep upstairs and then go downstairs for school and while you'd think they'd be really sick of the setting - they love it.

They consistently demonstrated an intelligence that I haven't seen in American children, although it's different. They're lacking in creative expression, but can remember really complex concepts - most likely a result of lots of memorization and reciting facts.

I spent most of the time with these preschoolers that are cracking up in the above picture. They would look up at you with these big doe eyes and listen to whatever you were teaching...repeating anything you said in the cutest little accent. (Don't worry, I'll be doing these imitations anytime you see me.)

In a few short days, I taught them how to write and remember numbers, how to phonetically sound out English words (a precursor to spelling them), and a few songs. They learn so remarkably well through song...even if "Itsy Bitsy Spider" was a LITTLE hard for them to say.

Seeing their desire to learn, I'm convinced that education is the key to Kenya's longterm success. It begins with empowering adults to get teaching degrees, and ends by encouraging the government to hire more teachers. Before we left there was word that there was a mass-hiring underway, and I hope that holds true. Education will not only stimulate minds, but will prove to be some sort of economic success for teachers.

The children also inspired me to keep their passion alive, and I'm committing to volunteer with kids on a regular basis here in the states. I'm not sure what this will look like yet, but I think I owe it to their memory to not to take education for granted.

Second, the worst part.

















The trash and pollution.

When we visited Dandora, Julius showed us the land his old house was on. It butts up to the largest dump I've ever seen. You litterally walk out the back door, and trash is piled up at least 20 feet high.

It is in smackdab in the middle of one of the poorest sections of the city, and it's on top of land that people own.

Think of it this way...you buy land to build a house on, and the government decides that your city block is the perfect place to dump trash. You complain, and it's possible that you'd be killed.

The Kenyan government is so corrupt that they collect money for garbage collection, don't collect it, and then almost literally, pile it on top of people that can't complain about it because they don't "matter." It's disgusting and it's at least 50 football fields worth of garbage piled up, causing asthma in residents surrounding it, encouraging criminals to hide within its piles and generally disgusting me.

Now, air pollution is another matter entirely. Almost the entire group got a nasty cold, and I think a likely contributor (along with 100 runny-nosed children) was the black smoke that billowed out of most industrial vehicles that cram the streets. I wish that my photos would show the smog more clearly, but you'll have to take my word for it. Our snot was black.

I don't know how corruption is directly causing this, but I'd believe that someone, somewhere is benefitting from not enforcing air quality standards.

Today's Soundtrack: "You Are What You Love" - Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins - Album: Rabbit Fur Coat

Timeless moments

Three little dudes from Villa Teag in Dandora ham it up.




















Julius and I take a cue from E's past adventures and pose like flamingos at Lake Nakuru.


















Seen at Carolina's for Kibera - "Kicking Out AIDS through soccer."
















A (little TOO up close) view of a lion as she parades by our safari van...on the way to grab a zebra for breakfast.






















2 little boys from the Masaai village.
















My view for 2 weeks - a view from the van of the roadside in Dandora.

















The BEST picture I've ever taken. Two elephants at the elephant orphanage.
















My homegirl Sarah & I get cuddy before eating at the Carnivore in Nairobi.


















Streetside and beautiful skies in Huruma. I love it when God shows off.