Ro Ro Ro Your Boat...GENTLY Down Your Stream

I will find the answer if I let it go Give myself sometime to falter Everything will come around In time

Tonight I spoke with my dear friend Rochelle. It was AWESOME. Skype is a technological miracle, and I am so grateful to connect with those I love. Like most of you, Ro thinks what I am doing is brave and exciting. Not to burst her or your bubble, yet I told her it is mind numbing how normal life is carrying on as I carry on around the globe. I typically feel behind in emails, blogs, and posting pictures. I often wait until the last minute to make reservations be it accommodations, train, or plane and end up with not quite what I wanted, yet with it all working out in the end. I don’t make it to bed early enough, and leave the dishes for the next day, and wake up late only to leave brushing to the chewing gum.

Rochelle reminded me how fortunate I am, getting to experience such vastly different places, cultures, and people during this stretch of time. She listened as I moaned about my neighbor/housekeeper who is eating my chocolate, accidentally locking me out, and calling my digestive cookies ‘dog food’. I went on to brag and beam that I love the girls and women at the center I am volunteering at and that they love me! I teach impromptu to dances classes, feel productive and useful in English class, and most importantly-finally feel free to be my silly seriously goofy self.

She asked me more questions, and I continued to rattle on about ‘Incredible India’ and how I am in love with the head tilt jiggle. I boasted at how I did it myself unconsciously yesterday after only 4 days in India, and how I received many eager and happy girly tilts in return.

And then it DAWNED on my to ask her about HER in return.

The lumpectomy was a success which she knew directly after surgery on Friday. She received her prognosis from the doctor today that 14 of the 16 lymph nodes are clear, leaving just two as pooh stubbornnotgettingthehinttheyarenotwelcome left.

Yes, while I have been prancing around the world, Rochelle, Queen of Roboobia, has been battling breast cancer.

When I gleefully come across her on FB chat, or reach her my voice or video, she is positively interested in me. My goings and comings, my interactions with people, my health, safety, and so on.

I seriously tend to forget she is going through this war on herself while speaking with her. Instead, I get this burst of energy, surge of happiness, and feel ladles of her love lapping over me.

Towards the end of the inandoutSkypefromonehalfoftheplanettotheotheroverinternet call, she tells me about some documentary that she is going to send me in email. She was going to do it , ‘right now’ so that she wouldn’t forget to send it to me.

I receive the email with two attachments. The first is a zip file with PDF documents about the director, producer, and the timeline for the film. I am a bit curious as to why I should bother with all that stuff, and look at the second MOV attachment that has only download 4% and figure I should take a look at the first. I first read about the director-never heard of her, then move on to the producer, and I am starting to feel like I should recognize something. I like the title, “Right Where I Belong” straight away without knowing what it is referring to, beyond applying it to my own life. It is not until I start reading about the film, that I see Rochelle’s name.

The film is a documentary about her experience with breast cancer.

The trailer has downloaded, and with it my tears, my guilt, my frustration, and most importantly my renewed admiration for Rochelle.
I watch it again, crying the full 3 minutes. I then go to her blog, and reread, and shamefully-read for the first time about her experiences in the last 5 months. Tears were steady, and began to pound behind my temples. Could it really be that long that she has been dealing with this? How could I be so blind to all the trauma, pain, and fear that Ro Ro-who is so near and dear to my heart, has been experiencing?

Looking for comfort, I ran to iTunes to listen to songs that make me feel connected to Ro. I typed in Wicked, “ For Good “ and realized it is only on my recently lost iPod. I next typed in Sarah , and got “Perfect Girl”, a song until now I hadn’t especially like.

The first line seemed to be the questions I was feeling, and the chorus felt like answers from Ro.

Am I faithful? I am I strong?

Don't worry you will find the answer if you let it go Give yourself some time to falter But don't forgot know that you're loved no matter what And everything will come around in time
This is how I feel every time I speak with her. That I am on a journey to find some answers, and to take my time and enjoy. If there are times of doubt, times I want to run home, to remember that she loves me no matter what.

Towards the end of our phone call, we were both marveling at the different paths that our lives were taking, and yet how important it was to be ourselves, independently growing and feeding our souls the lessons that would create our true selves. I wanted a hug from her at the end of our phone call, and yet I knew I had just received one.

Tonight I was going to do the normal and mundane things that life requires. Go to bed early, find out more information about the trains and hostels, answer emails, cook dinner, and read my novel until I fell asleep.

Instead, I received a astounding jolt through visual image and sound of the tumult that Rochelle lives everyday.

Again, I am so grateful for technology that connects me with those I love.

I am so proud and amazed by Rochelle’s fortitude and ability to share her experience so that others might grow and feel empowered to find their true self.

Tonight, I took one step closer to mine my true self. Thank you Rochelle for loving me and allowing me to attend to my journey as you attend to yours.


To read about Rochelle’s light and energy that shrunk her cancer go to: http://www.navigatorgaia.blogspot.com/

A Heart Full

I have bits of words from the musical Les Miserables stuck in my head, ‘A heart full of love….In my life…..touches my life….waiting near…waiting here’.

I have been on the African continent since November, experiencing the ebb and flow my heartbeats, skips, and aches.

Last night I picked up a book about a Aussie woman’s experience living and working in S.Africa, and since then I am finding it difficult to ignore the aches. Page 28 finds me on the verge of tipping over. I have continually fought back the urge to get my computer and type this, yet page 28 won. I now sit in the large spacious common room in Durban’s hostel, The Happy Hippo and wonder if I should move back to my room where tears in waiting might be better received.

The author arrived in South Africa in 1988, during apartheid. She talks about how her whole life she dreamt of coming to Africa, and how she was prepared to fall in love. She was surprised at the underlying hostility she felt once crossing the border from Zimbabwe into SA.

I too feel it.

I’ve spent my time with Black, white, and mixed race, what here is termed ’coloured’, yet the majority of my time has been with whites. I wonder why that happens. In Tanzania and Ethiopia that was not the case, yet whites are also the minority there. Yet here, wandering around on my own, I still tended towards meeting and befriending other white people. Walking down the street in Wellington, the small town I stayed while working on a wine farm, it was white people who waved me over to the local watering hole and insisted on buying me a drink. Yet last night in a huge Texas like thunder and lightening storm, it was a Black man that rolled down his window during the tumultuous rain and asked if I was lost. I then followed him to the street that would lead me to my night’s destination. People are kind. People are good.

Yesterday, I failed to give a young Black man a ride out of the National Game Park. I felt guilty the entire drive out. I have given loads of women lifts, yet never a man-regardless of color, though honestly a white man was never asking. Would I have turned that young man down had he been white? I hope so (as does my brother Jared), but…

One cannot help but to continually role the ideas of race around in this country. As the farmer I worked for said, “We are all just one race-the human race. Race is just fabricated by us as an excuse.”

But is it really this country? I often find myself struggling with such issues and ideas at home as well. What would have been my life like had I bought a house in Oakland? Would I be more aware of the problems, as I would be more a part of a Black community? Has my life been kept idyllic living in sweet suburban Campbell?

When I was around 7 or 8 my mom asked me if I had anything against Asians. What?? She went on to say that she had noticed that I did not have any Asian friends and wanted to make sure that I felt positively towards all people. I wonder if my mom remembers this, as the impression it made on me has never faded. I believe I made an effort to create my own little United Nations circle of friends. Yet looking back, I do not believe I had any Black friends. Did she only ask about the kids in my neighborhood? I don’t even remembering having Black classmates until middle school.

Since I’ve gone back to my childhood, I am going to dredge up a haunting memory. Many of you know I wear contacts and glasses. I did not get contacts until I was a freshman in high school, and as a child my glasses were Coke bottle thick. I was often made fun of and taunted due to my ugly ducking goggles. During the ride home from a field trip to Marine World some kid from another school made fun of me with the usual taunts of Four Eyed Freak and Ugly. Now these were nothing new to me, I got them at home regularly from my brothers so one might have thought I’d built up a tough skin by then. But no, I found that I finally had something hurtful I could say back. So I called the kid a Nigger.

It worked, though like me- he was able to quickly cover up his hurt with anger and his verbal barrage started a fresh. I have no idea what he said back then, but still now, I remember the moments after I said it felt as if a heavy weight came down on my chest and shoulders, pinning me to that place while the rest of me was desperately trying to run away.

Again the impression of that moment has never faded. That I retaliated with hate, and with something that my young mind did not quite comprehend the power of. I learned young, that that was something I did not ever want to repeat. Not just using a racially derogatory word, but spitting back hate.

This has been a bit of a purge, now hasn’t it? Bear with me.

Africa, and more particularly, South Africa brings to surface all of these confused feelings of race. Yet, digging deeper, it is really about where we all fit in. Having a place in the world where one feels accepted, valued, and has the ability to prosper are the basics needs of the human experience.

Hence page 28 of Sandy Blackburn’s Holding Up the Sky.

“… to believe in God means to care about what is happening in the lives of people around you.”
Now this has a bit of a stickiness to it for me due to the reference of God. So if I take the word God out, and substitute it with us. Us meaning, we the people of the planet earth, I feel calmer about my place here is the world because I know I care.

Blackburn continues to explain her purpose as part of a mixed group making presentations to high school students in the Durban area during apartheid, “ We were attempting to communicate that if you were black you could not avoid politics; and that if you white, you were still impacted by politics although it felt far less uncomfortable.”

Campbell is far less uncomfortable than Oakland. The U.S. is far less uncomfortable than Africa. My life has been far far less uncomfortable than probably 90% of the world’s population.

So what am I doing about it?

My baby step is caring about what is happening in the lives of people around me. I still have more white friends than Asain or Black, but I do care about others.

And Africa fills my heart with that.

Baggage That Can Weigh You Down

I repeated a scene today at the Cape Town Airport from Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible. In fact, I took it to the next level. Kingsolver’s character’s are smart enough to the check the luggage weight limit before they got to the airport, I on the other hand, assume I will not even be close. Guess, I picked up a couple souvenirs two many from the wine farm.

I arrived to the airport about 5 hours early, thanks to a great friend that offered me a ride from Wellington, so I did not have to take the train. And because I was not taking the train, I would not have to manage my luggage (car, cart, plane), hence the overabundance of food and drink items I felt free to bring that might otherwise have weighed me down.

I got up to Mango’s counter, after carefully repacking some more items (food) acquired along the way, and smartly double checked that I could take on 6 bottles of wine- as it was a domestic flight to Durban.

Three.

Three, really? Are you sure? I was told six.

Told, smold.

So I not so happily trotted outside to the bubble wrap department and paid to have 3 bottles bubbled and skipped right back into the counter.

So, I can carry on all three of these?

Got the head nod, thumbs up and expected to see the counter agent waving me in with the neon lukeskywalker saberish traffic control lights when I was told there would be an additional charge for the overage.

It seemed I was 8.5 kilos over…17.6 lbs and it would cost me 240R ….40USD for my oversight. In light that my ticket was only 320R, it seemed ridiculous to pay so much for a bag.

Um…really? Can’t you just pass it on by and give me a ‘Hey we’re glad you came to our country to volunteer’ type thing? (yes, I know…I volunteered on a wine warm. It was still volunteer work!)

She looked at me and suggested I try repacking.

Entered amped up Poisonwood Bible scene.

I first decided I must off load my books, the ones I was hoping to give to someone who wanted them or resell them back to the used bookstore in Joburg. I found a woman at the tourist counter, who after calling her supervisor to make sure it was okay to accept my contraband, thanked me for the 4 books. (-1ish kilos)

I then started my repacking by finishing my Stoney ginger beer, baguette with mouth watering salami and goat cheese on the assumption that they couldn’t weigh me. Next, I went to the ladies room and opened my Ceres white grape juice and drank as much as I could (I can just see the pride on my father’s face) and poured the rest in my water bottle hoping security will over look it. Then I started to take out items and stuff my pockets. I mean stoof! Wallet, glasses, ipod, camera, journal, pens, phone, chocolate bars (had to be counted), and headphones. Then I pulled out my fleece and tied in around my waist, and tied my jacket on top of that, stuffing those pockets as well. Place my hat on the head, and hung my sunglasses over the neck of my shirt, as they looked ridiculous on, inside and would most likely fall off if resting on my hat- causing me to have to bend over to retrieve them whilst other items would follow suit from my pockets and expose me to the authorities as a crook. Lastly, I put more things in my basket that previously just held my backpack, hoping they would only weigh my backpack and not look into my bag.

I was ready.

I returned to the counter, a new ticket agent was behind the counter, yet the same supervisor who naysayed my volunteer line was still on duty.

I smiled and handed over my ID. I slightly panicked and thought the jig was up when she asked for my credit card that would require unearthing from my over burgeoning pockets, yet managed to dig it out without incident.

22.5 kilos! I had managed to offload 5.5 kilos…most of which was secreted on my body. I held my breathe as I waited for her to comment on the 2.5 overage…yet she just kept asking about my travel experiences while beautifully multi-tasking my bags on through to the conveyer belt.

Hurray!

Next step security.

36 memories

So I was pondering the immensity of the age turning process and all the wonderful things that I have done, learned, and experienced over the years. I at first thought I’d make of list of 36 things I have learned over the years, yet instead I thought I’d share 36 memories from my life-starting from the first year up until the present one- some I truly remember, others were told to me.

1- Almost drowning in bed. I was in the crib, which happened to be under part of the roof that was covered with a tarp as my parents were mid construction on the house. It had rained recently, and apparently water collected on the tarp, and the weight of the water was too much and caused the tarp to slip- allowing water to fall on my face. I was in a brace to help turn my duck legs into dancing swan legs, and was unable to move. Luckily, mother’s instinct alerted my mom and I was saved. I love water to this day, just not in bed.
2- Apparently I was quite precocious as a youngster, and was speaking sentences by 2 years (in better stories it was 1.5 years) and would turn to strangers in the supermarket while pointing to my mother and say, “Do you know that woman has 6 children?”
3- Gymnastics. My teacher’s name was Paul. He scared me. I must have insisted on wearing a tutu to class because I have a vague memory of him threatening to take it away if I did not comply with his request. The idea of no tutu! It was cukoo!
4- Going to Mexico baby. I remember leaving Joel behind at Grandma’s (lucky!) and a vague memory of piling into a taxi (our family of 8) in Mexico (maybe it was Tiajuana?).
5-Flunking my first year of school. As my birthday is in December, I was able to go to kindergarten early. As my speaking non stop inspired others to believe I was of high intelligence, they sent me to a private school. Unfortunately, my skipping skills were not up to par, and it was recommended that I repeat kindergarten.
6 - Meeting my new neighbors that came from Ing Land. Mr. Joyce had long shaggy hair (just past his ears) and a wall full of records. Melanie had Barbies ( not an item in the Headley House) and Becca was a YOUNGER sister. Mrs. Joyce invited me for tea!!! I drank hot cocoa.
7- Getting caught in the second grade stealing a Twinkie out of Sarah Willard’s lunch box. The classroom appeared empty, until I realized my teacher was staring at me with while I held the Twinkie in one hand, and Sarah’s box in the other.
8- Getting baptized. I couldn’t wait, ‘cause it meant I got to choose a restaurant to eat at for dinner. I chose this kind of dive bar place in Los Altos called , The Echo, so that I could order a baked potato.
9- Riding on the Boy Scout banana seat bicycle that one of my brother’s earned/won?, on the first day of fourth grade in my purple draw string and tie in the back overalls with a white puff short sleeve top. There is a picture of this somewhere, which is most likely why I remember this. Yet the distinguishing moment was that I remember feeling pretty in this outfit. My first memory of clothes making the girl.
10- Directing my first play, “Paddington Bear”, starring Jenny Pettibone, Annie Norbey, and Courtney Rowe. I remember there being drama during a rehearsal and we got in a fight that the principal, Mr. Anderson, had to help us work out. I have recollection that I did not like the way he handle it! None thespians.
11- Getting my period and debating whether or not to tell me mom- cause I knew she’d say something awkward AND tell my Dad even if I asked her not to (geez). I was right. She said, “Welcome to womanhood.” and told my dad. (double geez).
12- Becoming a Beehive (start of church youth group) and getting to hang out with Anne Packard and Barbara Whitman, two adult woman who seemed to know how to be silly and fun! I wanted to grow up to be just like them!
13- On a water-ski trip with my church youth group, my girlfriends and I huddled in the campsite bathroom reading the directions for how to use a tampon.
14- After studying for months over a hundred ballet terms in French, improving my strength and flexibility, and taking more classes as to pass the test to be on pointe-I provided an unsolicited answer to a friend during her test..after I had passed, and while she was stuck….I was caught, and caused us both to flunk.
15- End of freshman year, the day after the last day of school. I am in the home economics room finishing my sewing projects as to avoid a failing grade, as Ms. Grennals took pity of Mr. Headley’s way to talkative and not so talented at aligning darts and cutting out interfacing daughter. This class brought Carolyn Balfe and then subsequently her sisters Marianne and Kathleen into my life.
16- Claire Soucie made a sign for my birthday picnic at school during lunch that read something to the effect: “Kory’s sweet sixteen birthday lunch. If you don’t have a present or chocolate….BUZZ OFF!!”
17- Receiving the call that my grandfather passed away. I tried to call my dad at school, yet they would not transfer me to his room!! My friend Ali happened to stop by in her car, thus providing me with a way to get over to my dad.
18- Riding at a full run on a horse in beautiful Southern Utah. I took a road trip with Becky Sampson and met up with Ali while exploring the amazing sites of natural in Capital Reef, Goblin Valley, and Bryce Cayon. Becky’s family had a camp with horses that we were able to ride during the trip. It was so exhilarating! I was terrified and excited all at the same time.
19- Moving out to become a nanny...in Los Altos! I offered many apologies to my mother for complaining about dinner, not putting away my laundry, returning unfinished lunches, and my overall snot attitude to her.
20- Watching Pride and Prejudice (Colin Firth…wet shirt) with the Slaugh sisters and Kim. I then decided our house needed a name as done in Jane Austin’s time…so I slapped a pad above the door and dubbed it the , “Maxipad”.
21- Turning 21 in Paris. I had 3 Nutella, with various other deliciousnesses- like banana/strawberry- crepes, saw the Paris Ballet perform Swan Lake, and bought a dress! Then was flirted with by a cute fellow traveller. Oh la la!
22- Becoming close thru writing letters to family and friends, yet especially my brothers Jacob and Joel while all three of us served missions.
23- Working for Jared and Rick at AfterImage. We would tip toe around the office when burning a CD. It would take an hour to burn, and another hour to finish. Often, if the door closed to hard, or someone bumped the table, the CD would fail and we would have to start all over again.
24- Riding in the California AIDS Ride 4. I was so amazed by the financial and emotional support family and friends gave me while I fundraised and prepared for the bicycle ride from SF to LA.
25-Deciding to leave the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormons) because it did not support marriages of love for all people.
26- Falling in love.
27- Teaching my first full year in Saratoga. It was a disaster. Yet, I have made such wonderful and lasting friends through that job. I remember hiding in the closet from a parent one day, ‘cause I just could not take her daily gnawing.
28- Falling out of love.
29-Learning to scuba dive in Thailand on Koh Tao (Turtle Island) and realizing that my heart and soul were opening up to life again while swimming with the fishes.
30- Running a marathon in Hawaii. I was super slow…5.5 hours…yet I raced the last quarter mile and leapt over the finish line. Directly upon returning to SF, I had some amazing friends come together to celebrate my birthday with me….my mom made me my favorite cake to take to the dinner party.
31- My dad’s graduation gift to me upon earning my Master’s degree (first Headley!). He went around to different stores to buy all the different types of specialty chocolate bars that he could find. He then wrapped them each individually, and came over to my house and hid them all over. My roommate had to help him relocate them out of her dog’s mouth reach. He also made a photo book from cards and pictures of me from special moments of my life.
32- Celebrating Christmas in Costa Rica with Danny and Drew and some other new friends. We danced to Madonna’s Immaculate Collection (who knew it was such a great Christmas Album), poured the pie (minus the crust) that never set into the blender, and shared gifts of sparklers on the moonlight beach. True spirit of giving!
33- On my first night in Sparspach, France visiting Sebastien’s family, his niece Antonia (then 5 years old) asked if she could sleep with me. I was so blown away by the love and trust of his family, and the way children can feel free around others.
34- My parents coming over with comfort food (chocolate covered pretzels and mini brie bakes) when I told them that my boyfriend and I were splitting up. I felt so loved, cared for, and normal. I think the number of dinner invites by my brothers and their wives peaked in those following months.
35- Wading through the stream at the hot springs in Jamaica, a little boy pointed to me and said, “Chinese! Chinese!”
36- Dancing to “La Bamba” sung by a Tanzanian band in a little bar called, First Left, in Sakina, Arusha, Tanzania, after drinking my first Krest- as a Stonie was not available.

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raniy day blues

It’s raining today. It didn’t start until about 1pm, right after I finished hand washing my clothes. I had thought it might, as the sky had a big dark cloud heading our way, yet often it just rains for 30 minutes or so. And it did. I was so proud of myself. I rang and rinsed out my clothes, and then hung them up to dry in the hot sun. I sat outside with my banana stew that Irene had made for me, and felt appreciation for all the times she has washed my clothes, without me saying a word. I would just come back home, and there would be my clothes clean, and folded, along with my shoes scrubbed and clean.

Then it started to rain again. I thought, eh..my clothes are wet anyway, and I didn’t think I did such a hot job washing them anyway, so now they are just getting an extra rinse.

That was four hours ago.

I think I just made more work for Irene, as they must think I am totally inept. I had wanted to wash my clothes to use less detergent, so I put a bit in and let my clothes soak, as the directions indicated. Within 5 minutes of the soak, a family friend, Eleeza, began washing them and went to get more detergent, as “There is NOT enough soap in here.”

Wait. Wait! It’s okay, I think it will be fine, I tried to dissuade her.

Oh no, these won’t get clean.

Yet the package says to soak them for an hour, I try.

Now, you must realize that I am speaking English, she is speaking broken English, and then Swahili with my host family’s 8 year old daughter interpreting as best as possible. Clearly, the package is not reason enough. She kind heartedly goes to put more detergent in the bucket…

Wait! Please….I am thinking about the slightly soapy feeling my clothes have had recently, and realize I am in a corner that should not be explained away.

Yet I do anyway, saying ASANTE over and over, and pantomime scratching….mumbling that too much soap makes me itch.

She backs away, and feel relived that I will be able to wash my clothes with just enough soap, and show them that I am not a lazy bum, who is too good to wash her own clothes or only knows how to use a machine.

Yet now the rain continues, and I just saw one of the kids wringing out my pants.

Later that night, as I am returning home, Evita (host mother, although I am 3 years her senior) is laughing at me as I walk up while pointing to my wet hanging clothes. She comes and hugs me while laughing saying, “Poli Poli” (sorry). She just makes me laugh. She, her husband and I are laughing at what a dork I am for washing my clothes on a rainy day. Her husband is explaining to her how back in the states I use a machine and only press buttons.

Oh well, I should not be ashamed of my, PoorAmericancan’tdoanythingwithoutallherfancymachines status.

Spit Shake

Yesterday, a woman spit on me. It took me by surprise, and was unsure of how to respond. Then I realized she wanted me to spit on her in return. I’ve never suffered from such a dry mouth as I did in that moment.

I was returning from the Olasiti Orphan Center, after getting a treat of seeing young people practice songs in as a chorus. The treat was momentary, as some boys thought it also the perfect place to joke around and chat. After asking them to be quiet without success, I headed back to my home stay, in a bit of a perturbed mood.

Along the way, as is wondrously usual- a regular parade of children walked with me. Along the way, we met in the road a Masai women in traditional clothing. Our eyes met, and we reached out our hands to shake, and that is when she spit. I wish I could have seen my own face, as I was so startled, and had no idea the intention.

The children laughed at me, and the woman continued her grasped, until it dawned on me that she was trying to gesture with her free hand and mouth that I too should return the spit. I puckered and pouted and tried to spit out some liquid of non offensive proportions, yet really all that issue from my mouth was a dry French tout!

The woman kindly acquiesce my hand, smiling knowingly at my blunders, and continue down the road in the opposite direction.

The children left in the road with me quickly started to sing a song to me,

Jambo
Jambo sana
Harbari
Inzuri sana

It is a song of greetings…the first line says, “how are you?’ the second line returns the greeting and responds fine, and the 3rd and 4th do the same, in a more formal manner. Now that I know what the words mean, I am totally impressed at how fast the children were trying to teach me the everyday survival skills.

Too bad there isn’t a line in there about spit!

Smokers' Breath

My nostrils are filled. My head is pounding. My eyes can’t blink away the haze. The Addis Ababa Airport is filled with smokers, and I am not one of them. I want them to go away. I looked for a out of the way place for myself and I still couldn’t get a way from them all. Literally placed my self in the outermost corner, and they seem to be magnetized to me. I was doing my yoga stretches. Trying to feel sane, healthy, and calm. It started to work…calmness. Body getting more flexible with each stretch. Breathe in..YUCK!

I moved to find a new spot and…...

Through the glass separating those at the gate for their departure, from where I was wandering up and down the shopping area, I saw my biker dude. He could even have been a former member of ZZ Top. He had a bald head and a long white beard. He was thick and muscular, wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt. I looked at him through the glass, probably a bit too long, and he got up and moved towards me. He was probably trying to figure out if he knew me, since I was staring so openly. Now THAT would be cool, eh? To see someone you know unexpectedly on the other side of the world. He looked at me for a while, from a distance and then headed back to his seat.

I wanted to run over and put my hand on the glass, and have him do the same. To make a connection with..with…a biker dude? With someone, that I knew. But just seeing him, made me feel good. I don’t know why, maybe he just looked so American. He was the epitome of my home. Not the geographically correct answer to , “Where are you from? ‘United States.’”, but America! The land that I know people.

Get your motors running….Head out on the highway…..Looking for adventure…

The stinging and tearing of my eyes brings me out of my reverie. I am in the computer lounge and no one in this 30 x 30 room is smoking, and still my eyes are stinging. I keep coughing now and again too. Just to try to give you an idea how bad it I…For the past three weeks, I’ve been in countries where it seems the majority of people smoke…and did so all the time! I’ve slept in a pub for the last two nights. Ya think I’d be okay with the smoke by now. NOPE.

I must say, the amount of natural light in the airport is gorgeous! Although, perhaps that is why it seems so hazy…the light reflects off the smoke.

Poop…just a splinter of positive thinking arose.

Maybe I’ll go check out the biker again for a breath of fresh air.