Time to Get Professional

After a thorough review of our photo inventory, it has been discovered that I don't have any professional demenour photos of myself. In otherwords, I'm always making a goofy face, holding the rabbit, or am with someone else. The only ones that are mildly passable in this regard are from the wedding, and I'm not going to use a wedding photo for a professional identifier. This simply will not do, especially if I plan on gearing up to promote myself. It may stem from lifelong self-image issues, but as the hubby loves to tell me, I have a pretty bad fake smile - or should I say forced smile. I don't like showing my teeth as it feels a bit too chimp like.

Proof that I never make normal faces, even for my husband

I've decided that I need more mental stimulization, which is one of the motivating factors of this blog, so I'm yet again scanning through available jobs of interest to see what kind of further training I would need to obtain one of them. So far the answer seems pretty self explanitory: masters in public health or social work. It is something that I have suspected and now known  for a few months now, but it still leaves me floundering a bit when I come to that conclusion. If only if didn't cost so much time and money to achieve. School was always easy and usually energizing for me, and now that I've been away for 5 years to the day tomorrow, it seems difficult to get the wheels turning again. At times I wish I had never stopped, even though I understand and still agree with the reasons. Several friends have recently graduated from graduate school with their advanced degrees and I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. 

Back in the summer of 2006 I was in Switzerland with the future hubby's family. We were up in the Alps hiking down from the Schilthorn (the famous revolving restaurant of James Bond movie fame) when we stopped at a cliff side meadow for a short break. I remember sitting on the edge of the cliff looking over, completely unafraid while getting scolded for doing something so potentially perilous. At times I wish the hestency that comes with getting older and having more responsibilities didn't exist. Had I never worked within the medical field I would potentially not have so much paranoia about medical costs or a fear of being without health insurance which keeps me from being truly ambitious. I've become very skiddish about certain things over time, or perhaps I was always this way - hyper rational and now at the point where its becoming a hinderance. Well, there's no use of pouting about it now.  I guess that I'll just have to make the hubby take some more professional photos of me.

And it feels like a rather blustery day

This time of year, when the rain is pouring and the wind is blowing, I have the songs from the original Winnie the Pooh movie stuck in my head near constantly. I can't help it - its like a jukebox up there. Especially while waiting for the bus after work standing infront of a Thai restaurant seeing the leaves and the rain blowing horizontal, it helps to have a happy innocent little jingle cycling through my mind to pass the time. I have many memories of childhood walking home from school in the rainy Octobers and Novembers of years gone by cleaning out the storm drains with my shoes as I went. I always liked wading into the giant puddles and then watching them disappear.

My parents have told stories of the practically annual Thanksgiving Day storms, where the turkeys were cook on barbeques, camp stoves, fire places, etc, just to make the meal go off as planned. I don't know if I would be that determined. I'd just eat some salad and some cold mashed potatoes, wrap up in a blanket, and take a nap. The power never stayed out long growing up, since we were close to a hospital and therefore one of the first grid squares to get fixed. For those few precise hours when we were reverted to the ninteenth century were always met with anticipation. A fire would be built, candles would get lit, and dad would break out the acoustic guitar to pass the time - a grand amusement for a young child. It always makes me think about a combination of the early settlers a la Little House on the Prarie and the roughly 1.6 billion people in the world who live without electricity daily.

Candle lit jail at the Kasbah of Chefchaouen, Sept 2011

The two times I've been to Africa so far have each had their moments without electricity. On this last trip to Morocco, we awoke in the small mountain town of Chefchaouen to find that all the power was out. We went into town to bide our time, which was not an issue for most things. We visited the Kasbah, which having been build before electricity came to the Rif Mountains, had adequate windows and skylights that seeing was not a problem. In the darker areas, such as the jail, the candles gave an eerie, almost haunted quality to the low ceiling and the chains. The only problem we faced was needing to get more cash for dinner - remedied by the US cash that I brought alone for back up as all the ATMs were down. Life goes on without electricity. Since multiple forms of power are utilized (gas, wood, coal, sunlight), their world doesn't stop with a brown out as it does in the US. Similarly, the power went down in Egypt and Ethiopia. You've never seen so many stars as in the Simien mountains at 10,000 ft with the power out. (Mental note - start packing a small flashlight when travelling... it would have made getting back to our room much easier and the night sounds less intimidating)

Winter in the Pacific Northwest almost always means stormy weather, which in turn means an acute sense of the hard life of the poor. No one wants to think about sleeping outside when it gets into the 30s (or lower) at night. We all feel better when emergency shelters for the night are able to open and when we give our token can of cranberry sauce to the holiday food drives. When it gets dark by 4pm, we prefer not to think about navigating the cold dark night alone. While waiting for the bus the other night a man came by asking for change. After one person told him "I'm sorry" instead of a direct no, he retorted "Don't be sorry, you're alive!" He continued to ramble about it as the person walked away, but it cause me to think: are we really sorry or do we just say that we are sorry to assuage our own guilt for choosing to not give the change from the bottom of our bags. I never carry cash and therefore almost never have any change, except for the odd penny or nickel I find on the ground. Perhaps this behavior has developed as a way to not feel the guilt of saying no since I have nothing to give.

9 to 5

I know that I'm not the only one out there, but I really am not a fan of the 9-5 work schedule. If I had my way there would be no such thing in the world of offices. The concept of everyone working basically the same hours doesn't work for anyone. That means if you need a doctors appointment, or need to have some work done at your house that you need to be around for you options consist of either taking time off of work to accomplish your tasks or trying to cramp it all into the weekends when few medical offices are open and the stores are crammed with people. The 9-5 slog also makes for worse traffic for everyone. Especially in a city with little transit, having 80% of the population on the roads at the same time makes little sense.

When you add into the mix families with children, you have an even bigger challenge of either having kids home alone while the parent's are still at work (since no K-12 school is in session beyond 5pm), having to pay for child care, or forced to only work part time at most in order to make sure that an adult is available for when the kids are out of school. There is no winning solution, other than perhaps changing the normal business hours. For me, my preferred schedule would to work only four days a week, but work 10 hour days - two on, one off, two on, two off, etc. I'm not one who likes routine, I hate being interrupted from my work flow for a meaningless mandatory 15 minute break, and I find I get the most done when there are not necessarily other people around. That schedule won't work too well in the future with kids, but if I shaved it down to 30-35 hours still only four days a week that would work.

Everyone on the roads at the same time means that everyone takes longer to get to their final destination, everyone wastes more fuel getting there, and everyone is crankier - which in turn makes you question why bother going through the routine at all. Some days there is nothing you can do to keep up, no matter what sort of job it is, while others you feel like you are just wasting your time (or the company's money) just waiting for the clock to say you can go. Sales, customer services, sanitation, health care, construction, gardening, you name it and the routine will not always serve you well. Mostly it just serves the almighty dollar.

I  remember hearing once the difference between East Coast and West Coast US work mentalities. East Coast: live to work. West Coast: work to live. I'd like to think that the West Coast mentality at least gives the option of escaping to a life where you don't need to work the standard schedule. These days of supposed economic leaness makes it even harder to escape. Employees who are underemployed can't look for something else because they are told that they should feel lucky that they even have a job. Employers are told they had better not hire more people or else they risk their profits. It's a no win cycle keeping both halves under-performing. What motivation is there to work hard and advance if companies are too timid to take risks with their profit margins, and what motivation is there to hire new talent if that talent is unwilling to risk moving up? Sometimes if feels as if the career path is more of a corn maze than a road map: you think you know where you are going until you get stuck in a dead end or in an endless loop. There is little help to get out of the maze if you don't know the right people, make the right connections. That's partly why the mentality in this country towards the poor is so horrid. We expect everyone to be  able to work hard and advance and if you fail at that its because you didn't try hard enough. Only we forget about how much networking is involved, how you need to know someone inside to even get an interview these days, and how the last hired is most often the first fired. There are many factors working against us and it takes more than your own bootstraps to keep afloat these days.

I suppose if we all just lived to work it wouldn't matter that we were caught in a maze of corporate bureaucracy. Maybe if we all were working at jobs that made us not mind the junk that comes with it - office politics, gossips, deadlines and surprise projects, we might then find that bridge in the middle that gives a vantage point, a place to regain your sense of direction.  All jobs are just another four letter word... the goal is to find something that elevates the experience above the mundane. I can't say that I've found that yet, but I'm relatively young still. I've got time to ride out this supposed recession. Lets just hope that is doesn't stunt my growth.

Let the Fall Duldrums Commence!

Let it be known - I hate fall. Really, honestly, in my eyes it is the season of death and decay. Living in the Pacific Northwest, I go from days of 14+ hours of sunshine to less than 8 in the dead of winter. I get to work before the sun is completely up and leave work well after it has set - and I only work the standard 8:30-5 schedule! At least with winter you have the holiday festivities of Christmas, Hannukah, New Year's, Valentines to living things up. Plus, the week before Christmas the days begin getting longer again.

My husband, on the other hand, loves fall. He loves the colors, the baseball, the crisp air. The darkness doesn't bother him. It never used to bother me either, until I moved south to where your day light hours don't vary throughout the year. Now that I've moved back it is all that I can seem to notice.

Autumn at Green Lake 2010

Yes, its the season of lots of delicious food (pies, roasts, apple cider and hot cocoa), but those inside tasties are just a distraction for the dreary gray world that is taking shape outside. It rains a lot, the storms seemingly getting worse and worse each year - or maybe I'm just getting more affected by it. We've spent many weekends trying to make me not loathe fall. Trips to the local pumpkin farms, trips the the arboretum to see the colors, trips to the store to get all bundled up and cozy. While mildly diverting, the distraction never lasts. I'm once again stuff with the heat slowly being sucked out of me day by day just as the sun is getting sucked out the the sky.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am always cold, even in summer I keep a jacket handy and gloves nearby. Or maybe its the mold the sprouts on everything up here during our three damp monthes that wrecks havoc with my nose. Or maybe its all in my head - the diminishing sunlight bringing on the supposed Seasonal Affective Disorder that is much mocked up here. (Of course you're sad without the sun, suck it up like the rest of us!) I'd like to think that it's none of these more obvoius reasons, but just that out of the four seasons to choose from, I like this one the least. There's nothing wrong with not liking it, it's just that this happens to by the hubby's favorite season. This clash is where the problem lies. It's one of those things that doesn't bother you when you are just dating, but now that we're stuck with each other we must find a way to adapt. I try to be more chipper about the ever dying daylight. He tries to contain his enthusiasm to a managable level.

This year I'm trying to be more upbeat about it, but lets face it - Seattle is known for its horrible, soggy, cold fall and winter. This is the reason that people like to mock us for our rain and suicide rates. This is the season that drives people away from here. Having been born and raised here, I should be able to take it. I just miss those 70-80 degree autumns on particularly soggy days. At least there is always an excuse to get a new coat! Now if only I could find som golashes...

La Bandera de la Muerta

While in Spain I learned the stories of several Bandoleros, or Bandits, who are present in the 19th and early 20th centuries in primarily Andalucia. While they were usually men driven to crime be sheer poverty, they were also noblemen fleeing the law due to crimes of passion, such as the famous José Ulloa "El Tragabuches", who was a bull fighter, but after killing his wife and her lover turned to a life of crime as he saw no other option. There was the Jose Maria Hinojosa "El Tempranillo"(the Early Bird, so named because he began his life of crime at age 13), the most famous bandit, was known for daring daylight holdups which eventually led the King to grant him a royal pardon in exchange for him agreement to work for the state as the chief catcher of other bandoleros. The bandoleros were highwaymen, smugglers, robbers and contraband runners, so prevelant that the Civil Guard was formed to round them up.

Interest in the bandoleros became romantacized as time went on, with numerous books, movies, operas, even cartoons and comic books chronicling the life of these real life bandits. It became such a crazy that when english tourists would come to Andalucia to see the other sights (Sevilla, Cordoba, Granada), they would pay to get themselves "held up" by a bandolero and his gang. To me this sounds akin to going to Mexico right now and paying to get caught up in the drug cartel. There is even a hotel in Malaga Province that names its name after the Bandits, Hotel Bandolero, and they even have silvery statues of a bandolero and a maiden in their establishment.

Oddly enough, none of the men in our group had interest in seeing the bandolero museum, so the females went in and had a grand old time. It did get me thinking though: if we were in England and there was a Robin Hood Museum, the men would have gone. In the states if there was an Al Capone or Bonnie and Clyde museum they probably would have visited. Why do the spanish versions seem so much less manly? Could it be that they have be romanticised to the point of no longer being viewed as masculine?


Now, I have a pencant for visiting cheesy museums, and this one was actually very well done considering that there was not that much in the way of artifacts that could be put in such a museum. You had your usual wax figures portraying a scene, dioramas of the civil guard raiding a bandit hide out, reproduction weapons on display, and literally hundreds of books and graphic novels telling the tales. There was even a romanticized female bandit novel on display, La Bandera de la Muerta - the female bandit of death. The soundtrack was what you would expect, the haunting spanish guitar playing bits of Bizet's Carmen.


While I don't necessarily condone robbery and banditry, I do find it fascinating how with a little detachment from the situation something as brutish as being a bandit turns into a sex symbol, a persona to make the women swoon and the men want to either join them or hunt them down. I gues the girl always likes the idea of the bad boy, even if the reality is nothing that she would actually want. 

How Much is it Worth to You?

I recently spent a little over a week in Morocco, a country that I have wanted to visit since I was about ten. It was pretty much everything I had hoped for and anticipated, and of course a whole lot more, as one is never completely prepared for travel. We arrived in Marrakech midafternoon, and it was not nearly as hot as I had anticipated, only about 32 degrees celcius if that. Luckily the air was dry and our Riad was lovely. We had a memorable and refreshing first cup of scaldingly hot mint tea (which became an addiction), nibbled on almond cookies, and waited for the rest of our party to arrive from another part of the country. Once the whole gang was assembled and we were properly refreshed, we headed out to the infamous Marrakech Night Market held nightly in the Djemma El Fna, as it has for hundreds of years. It is one of the only world hertage sites to be purely an activity instead of a building. Nightly performances from storytellers, gypsies, roving henna artists, and monkey wranglers. It can be pretty overwhelming, especially for the stray American unaccustomed to barganing and defending your choices in dining and shopping. The food stalls are full of people with menus proclaiming to give you a life changing experience; when we finally just picked one there was applause for the salesman who finally got our group of five to take a seat.

Marrakech Night Market

The rule of life here is bargaining. Nothing has a fixed price - it is all what it is worth to you the buyer. The seller will of course begin with some outrageous fee, expecting you to at the least halve the offer if not more, assuming that their take will be somewhere around 60% of the original asking price. Many a salesman will of course try to get as much for their wares as they can, but that is no different that fixed price places in the states who mark up their wares for a larger profit. At one point in the trip the shop keeper kept lower the price for me as I kept trying to leave the store, mainly because I didn't have any bills small enough to bargain with. I never want to bargain hard for something cheap, then hand over large bills expecting change. It just makes it all feel so trivial, especially when you factor in the exchange rate. (The dirham was 1/8 the worth of the US dollar at the time we were there.)  You can find real deals everywhere, but you can also see the human touch in everything. There is hand painting, carving, weaving, guilding, on everything. From stair risers to ceiling beams, there is nothing mass produced. Even the daily orange juice is fresh squeezed. We saw no McDonalds or Starbucks; the most commercialized products we saw were bottled water and yoghurt. Everything changed when we got back into Europe. It was sad to leave a place that puts such a high value on craftsmen and individual attention to detail instead of cheaply made, mass produced generic wares.

 Morocco felt like a very personal country, where everyone wants to hear your story, and if you by something all the better, but they at least want to talk with you. They really see the human as an individual of worth instead of just another customer - which is not necessarily what you would expect entering in to a bargaining culture. The offer of a cup of tea is not a scam to get you to buy more. They have been operating in the arena of cross cultural communication for centuries, and its high time we in the west trust a little in the decency of human beings. Everywhere we went shopkeepers proudly discussed the great things Morocco has to offer, lamenting the lack of tourism and the brain drain they have for the upper crust of educated society. You get the sense that this is a country of people with lots to offer but still trying to find ways to market it to an arab afraid western world. So in the end, how much is that rug, or platter, or scarf really worth? Worth the hassel of bargaining to get a fair price, knowing that your piece is very likely the only one exactly like it, or worth the convience of not bargaining to get a mass produced clone? How much is the livelihood of a master artesan worth? Or the continuation of centuries of tradition?

Into the Great Unknown, Again

Tomorrow morning we leave for a month - well, 24 days, but whose really counting - in Europe and North Africa. Travel is definately a bug that I caught young, and its something that I can't quite explain how. We never went anywhere far flung on family vacations, usually because we couldn't afford it either financially or time wise. I was always the kid reading the folk tales from far off places instead of contemporary childrens fiction, which in the '90s was dominated by Goosbumps and Sweet Valley High. Since my first trip abroad in 1998, this will be my seventh international flight to three new countries.  Once I get back from a trip, the wanderlust is sated for maybe a month, and then I'll be already idly planning the next trip. It has become a matter of pride in a way, being able to refute others misinformed comments about the world at large and point out where their own cultural biases lay. Anything from belief in elves in Iceland (you can't prove that they don't exist!) to Ethiopian Orthodox fasting, which for the devout totals 250 days a year, the world is full of diverse practices and beliefs, and it would be beneficial for us to be exposed to these different ways of seeing. It encourages you to reevaluate all that you deems as natural and inalienable and see just how much we take for granted.





Gilbert Chesterton

There are many great and inspiring quotes on the web about travel, but one that seems to speak to me is by the English writer Gilbert Chesterton: "The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land." How true it is that something a simple as a free potable drinking fountain can be overlooked on your way out of the country and rejoiced over on your way back in. To see the land you live in a little differently, not as an outsider persay but to see how the rest of the world sees you. It seems like as one from the United States we always expect the worst from the rest of the world, and are fittingly not surprised when a dictator comes to power or an internal sect of people are oppressed.  The rest of the world, on the other hand, expects the best from the US and are disappointed when we fail to meet the high expectations, such as the debacle that is Iraq post-Hussein, or Guantanemo - the infamous black stain on our human rights record.

We were in Egypt in February 2009, just after the inaguration of Barack Obama. Everywhere we went people would ask us questions about politics trying to get a feel for how our new president was viewed in country, as they clearly had disdane for the previous one.  They would ask questions about Sen. McCain, and would tell us how happy they were that Obama won the election and that Americans had come to visit and that not all muslims are terrorists. They had this sense of renewed hope in the United States, like we had been knocked down in their esteem and had now been catapulted back into the stratosphere. When we asked questions back about how they felt about their president, Hosni Mubarak, they had an enigmatical answer - he doesn't make war and we like that. If the best you can say about your leader is that he doesn't provoke the neighboring countries, there are clearly some other issues afoot.

This impending trip promises a whole new lot of surprises and memorable experiences. I, for one, hope to see goats in trees, and drink copious amount of mint tea.  I'm tempted to go to a hammam, but so far no takers in the group and I don't want to go alone. We've been planning this trip for almost nine months, so keeping my expectations at bay has been tricky. Nothing is worse that spending all that time and money to be thoroughly disappointed due to your own overshot expectations. That's how Venice was for me the first time. On the second go around, because my experience had sunk it so low, I had a wonderful time. So we'll see. Let the latest journey begin!

Keep Looking Up

Last night we went stargazing with the hubby's family, my parents, and an assortment of my in-laws friends.  Now, let it be known that I am 1) almost always falling asleep by 9pm, and 2) probably the lease enthusiastic person when it comes to space, much to my husband's chagrin. With those two facts put aside, I'd say that the party was a success. From a young age I have memories of watching Jack Horkheimer's Star Gazer, and this outing kind of reminded me of that. We were using a telescope powerful enough to see the stripes on Jupiter, the shadow of the rings of Saturn, and to tell that Neptune is blue.

 While I can appreciate the fact that the ability to far enough away to see distinct shapes and colors has been monumentally influential throughout history, what seems to impress upon my memory the most is Isao Tomita's electronic rendition of Claude Debussy's Arabesque No. 1 used for the theme song on Horkheimer's show. Whenever I think of the night sky, that soundtrack plays in the back of my head, as well as the excitedly exclaimed "Keep looking up!" It was never something that I could ever get that excited about but I appreciate that there are people out there who can.

Well, old Jack, the original Star Hustler (as the show was first called), died earlier this year and the replacement hosts are not nearly as good. They are knowledgable, to be sure, but they are not quirky enough to pull off the theme song or to replace Jack's intense enthusiasm. But as I'm quick to remember, change is ever present and inevitable. There will always be people in the world dreaming of the stars and looking to the heavens. As there should be. Curiosity is important and powerful stuff.  Me on the other hand - I'm content with this planet alone.



How does your garden grow

Since living on our own, the hubby and I have really taken to gardening in the yard while we let the rabbit out to frolick in the sunshine and fresh air. It has really made us more into the urban farmer trend. In our little apartment yard, we're already the proud cultivators of several strawberry plants that have been quite prolific, two blueberry bushes that would be doing better in the spring had not stunk this year, rosemary, chives, mint, and a surprisingly fast growing lavendar plant. Our experiments in the two years we've been here have taught us that when we one day have a home of our own, the yard will be full of edible things, like fruit trees, medicinal plants, and herbs instead of ornamental things that just look pretty but serve no other purpose. It has also led us to pay much more attention to the food we purchase, especially things like the salt content and additives that neither of us college educated people can pronounce easily. Nothing is sadder to me than a child who does not know where their food comes from, except perhaps an adult who still unaware.

 Pico getting his home grown daily vege

I've never read any of the Michal Pollan books or seen the movies "Food Inc" or "SuperSize Me" or any other such documentary on the subject of modern agribusiness. All I've really been immersed in is my mother's vegetable garden while a child, my own forrays into gardening for produce, and my anthropological studies which touched on domestication of food crops and the affect of diet change at the rise of agriculture. For many years now I've been a promoter of a Hunter-Gatherer style diet and exercise pattern. While specific cultures have different diets depending on what is regionally available, our current food system makes this provision increasingly difficult to follow, since it is always growing season somewhere in the world. Seasonality is lost on us, except for the fact that you have pumpkins around Halloween and cherries around Independence Day. If you don't know where your meat came from you shouldn't eat it, and if you can't handle the fact that those little baby chicks grow up to be butchered and turned into fried chicken, you shouldn't eat them either. (Side note: I'm super excite about the local independent butcher shop that is going in a few blocks away. Talk about really making the connection between that steak and the part of the cow!)

I can pet a goat at the county fair and have a lamb gyro for lunch the same day without guilt, but I don't get militant about it. I think that is the key: militancy. While I choose to grow my own blueberries and chives, I don't look down on you for buying the non-organic kind for cheap at the store. While in college I pretty much stopped drinking pop and adding salt to my food, mainly because I didn't want to pay for it (who wants to move every six months with an open salt shaker, anyway). Now when I drink pop or eat really processed foods, the first think I exclaim is how salty it tastes.  I have friends and family who span the food gathering spectrum, from hunters and fishers to vegetarians and vegans. We all get along as long as we don't attempt to convince the others that our way is supreme. And then there is the scientific fact that every body has different needs. For instance, I feel better when I eat red meat and dark green leafy vegetables; I get fewer headaches and have more energy. Luckily for my acquaintencese, I recognize that not everyone feels better eating that way. Gluten intolerance, lactose intolerance, even rice intolerance is becoming more common as we limit the strains of each product that we eat. Instead of a wild rice blend we all eat basmati or jasmine rice because they are cheaper to produce in large scale.

A garden in the yard for food production is great in many ways - its economical, it provides exercise and a sense of accomplishment, and it is a great teaching tool for families. I love to eat, but everything tastes better when you grow it yourself. And besides, who doesn't love the octopus carrots that results from too many seeds being placed in the ground in one spot?

Military Time

I got in a discussion today about the 24 hour clock, which the rest of the world uses, but here in the US we just refer to it as "military time." It got me thinking about all of the little oddities we have here verses other countries. Some are benign, such as how we refer to time after 12:00. Others, such as our views on the use of credit or primary languages, can be rather devisive. There are regional variations within the US on such matters, of course, but for the general populace there is certain common ground. Why wouldn't you start over at 1:00? That's what the clock says, after all. Of course I'll buy that flat screen tv on my credit card. Who pays directly for anything anymore anyway?





The Great Melting Pot, Circa 1909

As a nation that prides itself in its "melting pot" image we certainly try to maintain our own uniqueness. I think we resemble more of a tossed salad, where each addition maintains aspects of it's identity, but more overt signs (such as language, traditional names and dress) fall by the wayside. Why else do the children of immigrants from the 19th century still practice traditional Irish dancing and hold regional highland games, just to name one example. And yet with each new wave of immigrants we see the groups just off the boat/plane before them quick to set up barracades to assimilation. Whether it be the early english and dutch settlers degrading those "heathens" the prussians, to the waves of italians, irish, russians, jews, chinese, southeast asians, latin americans, indians and the multitude of cultures from the levant, each group finds constant resistance. That is what makes us hold on to aspects of our former lives; when the national community refuses to accept you, you form your own group united in commonalities.

I hear people complain about "illegal aliens" quite frequently, whether on the bus, at work, or in the newspaper, and yet I don't think the majority of them have actually met a real illegal. (Although, the concept that a person can be illegal is open to debate. Their residency may be, but not their personhood, but I digress.) It seems like the complaint is usually not about the person here illegally but the culture that they bring with them. There is this resistance to new ingredients to our hallowed melting pot/salad. You would think that in a nation of immigrants we would have better, clearer routes for people who are currently immigrants, instead of the jumbled mess we have now. For example, while at ASU we had a student body president who was in the country on a student visa. He got married to a US citizen, which changed the status of his visa. When the marriage fell apart a year later, the ex wife called immigration on him, resulting in his deportation even though he was still a student. While the majority of deportations are not by jilted exes, the anecdote points out the complexity of the lives that recent immigrants have and how it seems the system could use an overhaul. And by overhaul I do not mean build a wall with lasers and reinstate quotas on certain groups.

I guess the idea that I'm trying to string together is that the US is the odd one in the world. We do things differently here than in many other places - some things better, some things worse. Until we knock ourselves off the high pedestal that we've been raised to believe in, I find it hard to believe that we will ever solve our immigration issues because we subconsciously view everyone else as inferior. If we are number one, what does that make everyone else? The sum of our parts is what makes us great; it is also what makes us so darn difficult to agree. Until we accept that people from around the world have positive things to contribute to our society we will continue to have an impass.

What a difference a few years makes

It's amazing to me how much my life is different that I thought it would be three years ago.  Working full time in a job I'm not super thrilled with basically because its not in my chosen field and I would like more of a mental challenge. Married but still adjusting to the rhythm of married life, including helping the hubby learn to cook. Willingly giving up driving in favor of public transit, carpooling, and a lower stress level. These are all aspects of life that are relatively benign. Had someone told me that I'd be getting daily injections and poking myself in the eye with contacts, I'd probably think you were crazy.

I've come to grip with the fact that I was most definately depressed for the majority of last year, from the time of my diagnosis with multiple sclerosis until about this past fall. What was supposed to be one of the happiest times in our lives (our first year of marriage) had me in tears at least twice a week and sometimes more. I've been told that it is a perfectly natural reaction to a life altering diagnosis of a chronic progressive malady, but that doesn't make it feel any better. I was 24 with the energy level of a 40-50 year old. My poor newlywed husband had to put up with a new bride that was a basket case who didn't want to be touched unless it was held while crying; he has been wonderful through all of it, by the way.

Basically all I have done lately is snooze in the couch...

By the time last fall came around, I think I had had enough moping, and decided that the following spring we'd step out into the MS community by forming a team for the Seattle Walk MS. Our team, A&B's Happy Hoppers, a nod the our beloved pet rabbit Pico, became the focus of my attention through the gray winter month, and gave me a sense of purpose about the diagnosis. When this whole thing began I was in the process of trying to apply to graduate school for public health to become a patient advocate. Now I have to learn to advocate for myself instead, which, I suppose in the end will make me a better advocate for other chronically ill people. 

The strange thing is, I've been lucky so far and had one real "flare" of symptoms, which is what led to the diagnosis. I've only just begun to scratch the surface of what such a diagnosis can mean. I was at my neurologist this afternoon for a routine check up and she mentioned that they don't hear much from me, which is good.  I'm at the very beginning of what will be a life long journey and where has it gotten me so far? Itchy. Very itchy. And bruised, self conscious, a bit of a hypchondriac, but otherwise ok.

Cost-Effectiveness

I've been trying for the past few years to reread my copy of "Pathologies of Power" by Dr. Paul Farmer, one of my living heros. Having first read this book 5 years ago while finishing my undergraduate degree at ASU, it is marked up with my notes from class. Reading through it you can see the voracity with which I devoured it on initial read - the first few chapters are nearly illegible due to my underlines, cirlces, and arrows connecting the ideas across the pages. It got to the point where my markings ceased because almost all of it was being marked as something I should remember. Comical in hindsight, but it still stirs my excitement over the subject and reminds me that this is something I have a passion for and would like to pursue.

Anyway, I finally picked it up again after a good 10 months of inactivity and was once again thrown into the world of MDRTB (multi-drug resistant tuberculosis) and structural violence against the poor. This particular chapter's conversation of cost-effectiveness in terms of health care I find particularly timely, as today the nation averted a near financial meltdown.  Specifically, Farmer talks about the distribution of technological developments and the use of the phrase "cost-effective:"

"In the name of cost-efectiveness, we cut back health benefits to the poor, who are more likely to be sick than the nonpoor. We miss our chance to heal. In the settting, we're told, of scarce resources, we imperil the health care safety net. In the name of expedience, we miss our chance to be humane and compassionate. ... how can we glibly use terms like cost-effective when we see how they are perverted in contemporary parlance? You want to help the poor? Then your projects must be self-sustaining or cost-effective. You want to erase the poor? Hey, knock yourself out. The sky's the limit." (Chap 7,pg 176-7)

Farmer's distaste for the status quo is palpable, even infectious. We can not just sit by and let those in power inform us that certain humans are worth the money to take care of and others are better off dead. We've had quite the political discourse the past few years about the need to cut excess from operating budgets for programs no longer deems "cost-effective"; sadly many public health and social programs have been on the chopping block because those in power are divorced from the reality of the disenfranchised who acutely feel the effects of these decisions. As someone who grew up for the majority of my childhood without health insurance and therefore not going to the doctor unless I was really sick (which thankfully was rare), I can't help but think that those who view public health and social safety-net programs, such as emergency shelters and walk-in clinics, as expendible are blinded my their own affluence. 

But enough griping. There are, of course, successes that have emerged from the process of stream-lining. Although I find it hard to think of an example, there must be, otherwise the concept would not be so widely accepted.

 My hero, Dr. Paul Farmer - picture from the back cover of "Pathologies of Power"

To begin at the beginning

So, the online world of blogging has finally enticed another naive writer to spill their thoughts onto the intractable internet for all see and judge. As quaint as it may sound, the idea of a blog has been percolating in my mind for quite some time - it has just taken a while to get myself to actually follow thorugh. The intent of this blog is partly to vent my own frustrations with the way of the world and my own struggles,but to also find a way to celebrate the little moments that result in positive change and make the world a little brighter, at least from my little corner.

Why name it "Unavoidable Turbulance"? I take it from one of my favorite quotes: "Change begins with radical questioning and proceeds with unavoidable turbulence" from Between Heaven and Earth by Harriet Beinfield and Efrem Korngold, a book about Traditional Chinese Medicine. It is hard for me to even remember a time when I wasn't questioning something or when I haven't intentionally chosen a more difficult route because I thought that it would be more interesting. Change is one of the only contants in life, and that we must embrace it and grow, or fear it and become incapacitated. We will not always know the road ahead, but there will always be challanges that we must meet.