Saying Grace

Recently I felt like getting retro with it, and writing on my old blog again. I imported a bunch of old posts to a new layout and seemed to lose most of the comments. Oh well. Thanks for those comments, guys. Everything is impermanent.

When I was thinking about writing, I immediately thought about a theme that keeps creeping up in my life lately. Grace.



I'm not exactly sure what grace is but I like this definition that I've come across:

Grace is experiencing the joy of being alive in the here and now.

Last fall my friend Suzanne gave a sermon about grace at church. It really had me thinking. She said how when people say how God knows the count of every hair on your head she thought that was a load of BS. But one time she was reading about the science behind how bears hibernate and she was so blown away that she thought there must be a God and if he can manage this thing with the bears and all the other bajillion organisms and the entire solar system, what's knowing how many hairs are on our heads. I thought that was a fascinating way to think about it.

There's so much that I don't know but the answers are out there. Whether God is an old wise gentleman or a hippy lady wearing sensible shoes or a Great Spirit or if there is no God...there is an answer to how many hairs are on my head and how many organisms are in the solar system. I don't know those answers. There's an answer to what will happen to me tomorrow, but right now I have no idea. That could be stressful, but it could also be beautiful because I can make the choice to concentrate on today and accept that tomorrow, no matter how I try to control it in my mind right now, is a giant mystery.

I sat in silence in lovely little Holy Covenant church and thought about these things until my head nearly popped off.

That night I left church, walked to the train station, sat down on the wooden bench while I waited for the brown line and cracked open "Travels with Charley" to the page where I left off. The first line I read:

"My grandfather knew the number of whiskers in the Almighty's hair. I don't even know what happened yesterday, let alone tomorrow."

I got the chills. Coincidence? Maybe. But also grace.

Grace is experiencing the joy of being alive in the here and now.

A couple days later I was cleaning out boxes and came across a paper I wrote for the class "Religious Visions in Modern Fiction" about discovering redemption and grace on my trip to Appalachia. I somehow tied Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle" in there because that's what you do with college papers. My professor had written a page full of nice comments that read more like a letter, and it ended with, "One may consider it grace that you took this trip and this class at the same time. Keep this paper always." Oh grace...you sassy little concept...always creeping up on me.

When I went back to this old blog, the name "Saying Grace" came to me. I like it in terms of saying grace before meals because food is central to pretty much everyone and everything I love- family and friends and traveling and training for a marathon. And because saying grace before and after meals is a practice my parents instilled in me that we still do today and it makes me think of tradition and family and how I was raised. And because finding grace in small moments is what motivates my choices in friends and career and travel and music and family and everything. Maybe the key is to just say it's grace and not take this crazy shit for granted.

The perfectly ripe pear from the HarvesTime that somehow made it's way into my morning snack. Grace. The first time I laughed hard, from a real place, with a brand new friend. Grace. The familiarity and comfort and nostalgia I experience at 18 Holly Drive. Grace. Reading the final paragraph of a book I love. Grace. Sharing a homemade meal with friends. Grace. Making music. Grace. Setting up my tent in a new nook in the woods. Grace. Standing on the shores of an island off the coast of Belize, saying goodbye to my Italian fling, and having his parting words be: "Call me if you wanna make a baby." Grace.

Each day is full of moments that fill me with grace. They're the moments that make me smile or make me feel connected to someone or just make me think about someone or something other than myself. Just the other day a woman on the Red Line stood up and started singing gospel at the top of her lungs. I was prepared to be irritated with her because it was early and I was tired, but I was too busy being amazed at how lovely her voice was. Grace.

The plan is to use this blog to write about these moments. Current ones and old ones. Next up: the story about that Italian.

Stamped Twice

Once again, we stepped off a bus in an unknown location, and casually tried to figure out where the hell we were. This time was different because we had the address of a hotel where we had an actual reservation. This type of forward thinking was only due to the fact that someone else took care of that for us. We were off to meet our fellow Habitat for Humanity volunteer crew. The plan was to stay in Budapest for the night and board a bus for small town of Hajduboszormeny the next day.

We stood in the middle of the dingy bus station, and quickly consulted the guidebook. I hadn’t looked at the Budapest map until we actually arrived in Budapest. After a few weeks of travel, I’d come to terms with my lack of memory and realized that there was no point in consulting maps before I was actually lost in the middle of an unknown town. The first guidebook discovery was that Budapest is actually two cities- Buda and Pest. I had no idea about this and was instantly fascinated. How had the world kept this secret from me and what else weren’t they telling me? Is New York actually New and York? Is my hometown actually Pars and Ippany?

It turned out that we were, and needed to remain, in Pest. Some friendly young strangers showed us the way to the metro stop that would apparently get us quite close to our hotel. Sam and Ramona, friends we met in Lake Balatan just days before, had given us an unused pack of metro tickets. Kris and I both fancy ourselves city slickers so urban trains are in our comfort zone. We ripped out the first two tickets in the booklet, and following the lead of all our fellow train riders, stamped them in the machine next to the turnstile. We flashed the tickets to the security guard who nodded with approval, and then schlepped right aboard. If it weren’t for the giant backpacks and our boring under-dyed American hairdos, we may have been able to pass for locals.

Arriving at the Oktogon stop, we stepped off the train with a spring in our step and a false sense of direction. A short, stocky security guard asked to see our tickets, and we both smiled and handed them over. We were old pros.

“NO GOOD!” she yelled.

Surely she was mistaken. Poor lamb. She must not travel much. We had tickets. Tickets that were stamped.

“Stamped twice! NO GOOD!” Ok, first of all ma’am, how do you know we speak English? Just because our shoes are not fashionable, and neither are our entire outfits for that matter, it does not mean we’re not European. And also, what in God’s name do you mean…stamped twice? Clearly you’ve got double vision. I took my ticket back.

“See here….it was stamped only…” Crap. It was stamped twice.

Kris and I looked at each other with eyes that said, “This is kind of funny but I don’t want to get thrown in a Hungarian prison, and also, what is going on?”

Kris attempted to interrupt the guard’s repetitive “STAMPED TWICE” song with, “Yes, we see that it was stamped twice. But, we only put it through once. Maybe the machine was broken.”

“MACHINE NO BROKEN! STAMPED TWICE!” This gal was exasperated with what she could only assume was our attempt to overthrow the Budapest rail system. With a hand on her hip, and a toe tapping, she shook her head, and with all the creativity she could muster, yelled, “Stamped twice!”

Listen, lady. I’m sorry that this job forces you to wear a mustard-colored business suit that strips whatever femininity you had left after that unfortunate haircut, and I’m sorry that Americans are unnaturally obsessed with dental hygiene, and you have a mouth in which no two teeth are heading in the same direction, but sweet Jesus in the morning, we did not stamp these mother-stinking tickets twice. And then Kris figured it out.

We stamped the tickets twice.

Of all the ten tickets in the book, we chose the two that had already been used by Sam and Ramona. How on earth are we to explain this to Hungarian Cruella DeVille?

“Ok, “ I started with a little chuckle, “NOW we see what happened! It’s funny actually….our new friends, Sam and Ramona, they’re great by the way….they met at a whorehouse in Italy a few years back…”

“Pay fine! Six thousand forint each! You pay right now!” My inner currency convertor calculated that to be about $30 each. By this point, Cruella had called over her co-worker, Budapest security’s answer to Paul Blart: Mall Cop. He joined the “Stamped Twice” chorus complete with the disappointed head shake.

Kris and I made one more attempt to explain ourselves. “We made a mistake.” Kris explained. “I took a ticket that I used already BY MISTAKE. Look at the other empty tickets in this book! Used that one by mistake!”

They weren’t having it. Ok, FINE. We’ll pay your fine. We very calmly explained that we didn’t have 12,000 forint on us. Cruella, with her hand outstretched, asked with less grace than I would’ve preferred, “EUROS? CREDIT CARD?!” Like we were gonna hand a credit card over to this dynamic duo.

Correction. Trio. A third metro security guy entered the scene. He had what seemed to be the standard issue moustache (yes, that includes Cruella) and grumpy pants. He grabbed our double stamped tickets and yelled, “No good!”

Thank you for clarifying that, sir. Finally, after at least 15 minutes of less than satisfying discussion, they agreed to let Kris go upstairs and get money out of the ATM. I, on the other hand, was not to leave the train platform. Cruella wanted Paul Blart to go with Kristen, because she must’ve thought Kris was just gonna leave me stranded in a Hungarian train station. Paul Blart started going upstairs but then gave up. He probably just wasn’t in the mood for that much cardio.

Standing around with the Trio of Incompetence while waiting for Kris was a wee bit awkward. They didn’t really have much to say now that screaming “stamped twice” had lost its luster. Time passed. Even more time passed. Finally, Kris came downstairs, paid off the security guards, and we were released. It turned out that Kris took so long because the guard upstairs wouldn’t let her back down with a ticket that was stamped twice.

Voluntouring the World

It sure has been a while. There's lots of excuses for this but the main one is the giant trip Kristen and I are about to go on. We're heading out for almost 5 months of volunteering and travel around the world. We'll be posting pictures and stories on the Voluntourists blog. Check it out!

Ice Fest '08

Last weekend, I ventured to Munising, Michigan for the 2nd Annual (for me, for Munising it was the 25th Annual) Ice Festival. The details of my adventures at last year's fest are here. Once again, Mark and Felicia (whose fascinating adventures of life on a boat can be found at Life Aboard Mazurka) loaded up Stella the amazing boat of a car with snow tires that can get through anything, and picked up me and Colleen for the adventure of the season. This year had a lot of the same sorts of fun- a bevy of somewhat healthy snacks balanced with stops for not so healthy food, fascinating conversations, lots of dudes in beanies, two very friendly guys named Ron, fun attempts at climbing, interesting presentations from extreme climber types, and lots of great people.

Here I am scaling at least 2 feet higher than last year.











One of the things that stuck with me after the weekend (aside from the flu. Thanks for the gift, baby Sophia!) was a presentation given by Stephen Koch. Stephen has snowboarded from the highest peak of every continent, except Everest. He attempted Everest but because of those pesky weather systems, wasn't able to get to the very top. He got pretty darn high though. Many years ago, I climbed to the top of Kilimanjaro that dorky way- where you have a porter and go up the boring 'ol trail. Having stood at the top of that big guy, I can NOT imagine, in a gagillion years, snowboarding down it. It's absolutely terrifying to think about. (Let's not get into the fact that I can't snowboard down a bunny hill.)

Stephen's detailed account of how he almost died in an avalanche in the Grand Tetons had me on the edge of my seat. Actually, I was laying on the floor about 7 feet from where Stephen was giving his presentation. I was tired from a long day of climbing hanging daggers. But, if I was on a seat, I would've been at the edge of it. I just don't even know where to begin with this story. He was alone. He was about 2/3 of the way up the mountain. His snowboard was on his back. Avalanche hits. He gets knocked over and is sliding down the mountain on his back- snowboarding. He's losing gear along the way. Little things, like his backpack. And an ice axe. But chill out folks, he still has one ice axe left. Tumbling occurs. He hears one of his legs do something very wrong. Now his leg is in an L shape. That's not supposed to happen. Still tumbling. Tumbling stops. He's relieved. Until he realizes he's in mid air, going over a cliff. Oh sweet Jesus. Hits the ground. Back does something that is not right. Bowling balls of snow and ice are still flying down the mountain so he had to get out of the way. He wrapped rope around his gimpy leg, and rigged up a way to get himself out of the way. His friends wouldn't be expecting him until late, so no one would look for him until morning. That meant he had to get through the night. With a completely gimpy leg, the other leg with a torn ACL, something broken in his back, and a few broken ribs. And virtually no gear. He sat crouched down, and breathed quickly, in and out, like a woman in labor, so he could keep his energy up. He did this ALL NIGHT. Thankfully a helicopter did come find him the next morning. And, after a ton of surgeries and rehab that year, he went back the next year. This time he took someone else and had more avalanche savvy about him. He made it to the top and snowboarded down.

I'm fascinated by the psychology of people that do stuff like this. In one way it seems so selfish and insane. But, on the other hand, it's nutty and he's putting his life in danger a lot, but it's his life. And maybe his extreme riskiness inspires others to take risks in their own lives. One person's snowboarding down Everest is another person's decision to run a 5k.

Here's Stephen snowboarding down Everest.











Maybe he's just crazy.

Obama's "War Room"

That's what it's called on the event posting online. It was actually a room on the 11th floor of a building in downtown Chicago that looks like every other giant room in a downtown building. It was home to the Obama campaign's voter hotline.

The stomach flu kicked my butt Sunday night but I was feeling better yesterday. Still tired and kind of weak but okay. So, I headed downtown on my first major outing since I was sick. Felt a little out of it, but okay. I arrived at about 4:30pm and entered a room packed to the gills with people with laptops and phones. I set up my laptop, got a 10 minute training on what to do, and was on my way. As the Obama staffer predicted, 90% of the calls were from people who needed help finding their polling location. That just involved looking it up on the Obama website. About an hour after I got there, I felt a fever coming on. It hit like a ton of bricks. I felt absolutely loopy by 7pm, but couldn't bring myself to leave. Obama fever seemed to trump my real fever, and I stayed until the place closed at 10. My sincere apologies if I infected any of the kind volunteers around me.

I talked to a lot of cool people. There were a few Republicans who wanted to know if they could switch their party affiliation and vote for Obama. Unfortunately, it was too late in their states but Obama has their vote in the general election. A guy in Idaho was checking on his polling place. I gave him the info and he said that was an hour away and there was a blizzard. He said it's usually right in his neighborhood. He was so bummed out. He said it was the first time in 24 years that he hadn't voted. I checked the stats on Idaho and told him that if it was any consolation, Obama was creaming Clinton in Idaho. He felt much better about that.

Then we had the hilarious woman in El Cerrito, CA. She was trying to find her polling place but got lost. I used to live in Oakland, and shopped at the El Cerrito Target, so I was familiar with the main streets around there. She was so frustrated but cracking me up. "If this man wants my fuckin vote, then he should make it easier to get to this fuckin place!" I said, "If you give me 10 minutes, I will get you to that f'n place." She agreed. I told her that the google map said she was 2 minutes away. "Now how can it be 2 minutes, when I been talkin to you for 10?" Good question. Real good question. But alas, about 4 minutes later, she said, "OH. MY. LORD. There it is." She was beside herself with happiness. I just love that she crabbed the whole time but she clearly wasn't about to give up. Yes she can. And did.

Adding to the fun were the volunteers surrounding me. The woman next to me was cracking me up all night. Academic type with an incredible sense of humor. She was making calls to California to remind them to vote. After a long normal chat with someone, she hung up the phone and said, "I just talked to a 5 year old." Never too early for a Civics lesson, I guess.

Then I tune in to young New York Ben's conversation and I hear him say, in all seriousness, "He is a very special man, isn't he?"
At one point I heard Ben analyzing Edwards' hair with someone.

Sef, the Kenyan guy across from me, said people in Kenya think Obama already won. Sef gets calls from Kenya asking what President Obama is doing to change the United States of America. I find that so heartwarming.

I also got a couple calls from people in California who had just received reminder calls from an Obama volunteer. They called to find out where they needed to go. It's great to see that making those calls actually works.

I had a woman call and report that she voted in California and that her name was already marked off in the book. They worked that out, but then after she voted there was nothing to protect her vote so the volunteers at the polls could see who she voted for. She was told, "We're not using those sheets this year." Then the guy put the ballots on the ground because "the ballot box was broken." VERY fishy. That type of info got forwarded to the legal department.

I was really impressed with how well organized, calm and helpful the Obama staff was. The phones rang non-stop but it was a well-oiled machine in there. Any time a state was called for Obama, everyone would burst into cheers. I happened to be on calls during most of those, and I think it helped energize the person on the line. I really thought that there was going to be weeping when Connecticut was called for Obama. (Thanks, Marian!).

It truly was an amazing night and I feel lucky to have been a part of it. AND, I think Obama is in a VERY good place right now. He's won more states than Hillary, he has more delegates pledged, and he obliterated her in some of the red states. This is what we need. A Dem who can turn red states blue. (I love that song by Crystal Gayle: "Don't it make my red state blue...")

The audacity of Iowans

Thank you, Iowa. Thank you Obama campaign staff, volunteers, precinct captains and donors. You have made me a very happy gal.

Now, let us remember that I get weepy over the most pathetically lame movies and commercials, so it's not like making me cry is that tricky. But I tell ya, last night's caucus coverage had me shedding tears all over the place. When I heard that over 300,000 people turned out, I got teary-eyed. It's as if the weight of this country's apathy was being slowly lifted, one corn-fed voter at a time. Coverage showed rooms full of caucus-goers, with their hands raised, waiting to be counted. More tears. I don't know if they were voting for Huckabee or Obama or even Biden...it just made me happy that, young and old, white and whiter, left the comfort of their warm homes on a bitter cold night, and rocked their vote.

Perhaps my favorite part of the results was that Obama won among women voters. Hillary thinks she gets me, but she totally doesn't. Maybe Obama doesn't get me but at least he's not presumptuous about it. He'd be all, "Mary...I don't get you. What is your deal?" And then he'd audaciously hope to understand my explanation.

I am fully prepared to get pissed off at some of Obama's decisions if he becomes President. I would be pissed off at some of any human being's decisions if he/she was President. There are two reasons for this: 1)I sometimes like to get pissed off because it feels good to misdirect my anger and/or obsess on things I can not control 2)if I had the same exact thoughts as any other human being, then that would just be freaky and I'd be too busy being part of a sci-fi movie to care about politics. But, even though he's bound to piss me off now and then, there are many reasons why I think Obama is the clear choice for President. I agree with the majority of his policy proposals and I am confident that they're not just a bunch of bull someone wrote up for him. I bet you a dollar he carries that stuff through. That's right. ONE DOLLAR. Also, I think he has the confidence, humility, intelligence, experience, and good 'ol fashioned people skills to begin the extremely important task of repairing relationships with other countries/people who think we're a bunch of whiney little jingoistic bitches. This is how to "fight the war on terror." Sure we need to protect ourselves and have a defense system and all that but maybe we should think about addressing why there are so many evildoers wanting to do all the evil. Also, he'll support our troops in a real way by getting them the hell out of Iraq, instead of just crapping a load of dumb yellow ribbon magnets and corny shallow patriotic phrases that really make no sense.

And last but not least, I believe in all this hope stuff he keeps jabbering on about. I truly do. Those who thinks it's corny BS, should throw out their grumpy pants and try some hoping themselves. I don't care if you'd never vote for Obama in a million years, you can not tell me that that wasn't an amazing speech last night. Obama's delivery is incredible but his speechwriter deserves a cookie. That business about hope being the bedrock of our nation...it sounds kind of trite and corny but HELLO, people! IT'S TRUE. And, it made me cry.

I love this country. I truly do. I have driven across it seven times and seen many nooks in crannies in almost all 50 states. I absolutely love stopping in small towns and chatting with friendly locals, who shares their town pride and local culture with me. The United States is freaking incredible. Mount Ranier? Good god, that's beautiful. New Orleans gumbo? I'll have two helpings, please. The northern friggin lights?? DUDE...the sky has green stripes! The Jersey shore?! Hand me my hairspray and let's do it! And good 'ol Chicago. I fall more deeply in love every day.

I love this country because I can say that I can't stand George Bush. That is an amazing right. I love this country because there's a long history of hope leading to change. It pisses me off that gay people do not have equal rights as straight people. But I hope that changes. And by hope, I mean I continue to bitch about it and vote for changes and advocate for gay rights, because I've seen how those actions have led to change in the past. Obama's speech last night made me cry not just because he's a good speaker. What he says is the truth. There are people who died for my right to vote. DIED. Ensuring future generations rights was more important to them, then their own life. There are people who died for Obama's right to sit at the front of a bus. I don't really know if I'd be willing to die for such noble causes, but I am occasionally overwhelmed with gratitude at the selflessness of those that came before me. It at least makes me want to get off my ass and vote.

I also got weepy because my own status as an American citizen is the result of hope in action. My own grandmother left her friends and family in Italy at 17 to go to New York and marry a stranger 13 years older then her, because there was hope that there would be a better life for her and future generations here. Now I have opportunities generations before me may not have been able to fathom.

Also, Mitt Romney freaks me out and I'm glad he wasn't able to buy himself a win. And kudos to Edwards for taking second.

My old pal, Eunice, who died at the ripe old age of 98, was a huge Kerry supporter. When Bush was elected, she said in her thick Jamaican accent, "This country is fulla fools." Her dislike towards Bush could only be matched by her dislike towards the Yankees. I had a long talk with Eunice yesterday morning. I told her that I was sorry that she wasn't around to get involved in Barack's campaign, because I know he's the kind of person she'd love. I told her that maybe now that she's on the other side, she might be able to do a different kind of campaigning. Who knows if she did, but the thought of a sweet little Iowan waking up to a Jamaican old lady's voice in their head, "Chile...don't be a fool....you go and cast your vote for Mr. Obama"...well that just makes me happy.

I like 2008 so far.

A Very Jersey Christmas

Food, glorious food. I've had a lot of it in the last week. In fact, a tin of mom's Christmas cookies are staring at me now, with their puppy dog eyes, wondering why the hell I'm having a banana for breakfast.

Christmas in Jersey was a great time. I got a headstart on the overeating on Saturday night at Avenue in Long Branch, the restaurant where my friend is the chef. First of all, the restaurant is right on the beach. I don't normally make it down to the shore in the winter so I sort of forget that it's still there making waves in December. Winter at the ocean is a very cool thing. Literally and figuratively. My friends, brother and I had one of those meals that I'll remember for a long time. Everything we had was delicious. Short ribs that were so full of flavor that a tear of gratitude comes to my eye just thinking about it. The steak tartar...wow. Even the side of brussel sprouts was a little bowl of tasty magic. And the wine. I know nothing about wine but I love when people who do suggest wines that will go with my meal. The reality is that most types would probably taste good to me. But I like to think that I do actually taste those oak undertones that pair nicely with the pappardelle. Or something like that.

My parents and I saw Sweeney Todd on Sunday. Loved it. Absolutely loved it. First of all, it became apparent to me that I have most of the show memorized. I saw it when I was in high school and then must've listened to the soundtrack more than I remember. The movie stayed very true to the show so I was able to sing along (in my head) with most of it. I thought Johnny's lack of singing skills might ruin it, but he was great. And Helena made an excellent Mrs. Lovett. The story is so fantastic in a Shakesperean tragedy sorta way. Tim Burton did a great job of creating just the type of dingy, creepy London town where one would tend to find a murderous barber and his sketchy pals.

The family Christmas Eve and Christmas Day festivities were a grand 'ol time. The usual blend of overeating, overexplaining the Yankee Swap gift exchange game and then screwing it up anyway, competitive billiards, and just the general hilarity ensues when you throw my family in a room together. If you haven't seen it in action, it's hard to explain. There's the comedy that happens because we all think we're hilarious, but then there's the real comedy that ensues because we're ridiculous.

Christmas morning began with my parents, two of my brothers, and I watching at least three hours of the Dog Whisperer. I'd never seen the show before but am now a huge fan. It made me want to get a dog just so I could try out Cesar's training techniques. Then my other bro, sis-in-law and nieces showed up, bearing Guitar Hero. I can't quite figure out why it's so addictive but even now, I really wish I was perfecting my skillz on "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." I think if I just played it for about 4 hours straight, I might be able to get up to the medium level.

Now I'm listening to my brother's annual CD compilation of some of his favorite songs from the past year. Good one, Joe. I really dig the Spoon tune.

I better go. I have a lot of Christmas cookies to eat before it's time to make a resolution to not eat so many cookies.