It always seems that while I'm in the midst of finishing one post, something distracts me and I'm on to another. This is one of those times. Over the last few days, I've talked with a number of friends. Each and every one is dealing with some sort of crisis or situation and each could use, I believe, some encouragement. You know who you are. And this is for you:

"Dark shadows close me in, creeping ever nearer, obscuring the truth, the light. Hope fleetingly fades and the horrors of the past and the present become overwhelmingly harsh, choking off even the gasping, short breaths I try to manage. Reason fades, clarity dims, only the darkness is visible. Am I seeing from my mind's eye? Are my eyes even open? How can I be expected to think with such crowded, dark, spiraling ephemeral thoughts. I follow one wisp of a memory, which quickly slips into another and then another. I've lost track of where I started and where I was going. Was I remembering or predicting? I am undone and cannot free myself, all hope is lost.

But can hope, the bastion of humanity, truly be lost? I ponder the absurdity of life without hope. I ruminate on the inability to live a future without a past, envisaging the heaps of bags that I carry through life from one situation to the next. In each instance, I sift through the contents of endless trunks sorting out what emotion to wear draped upon me like a ill-fitting dress, what past experience to wear as my sunglasses shielding me from the harsheness of the landscape, what personality trait to walk in, hoping it will be a comfortable fit and appropriate for the road I am about to walk. All the while, the trail of luggage follows me interminably, growing with each passing conversation, each experience, each day.

Is hope so elusive? Constantly fluttering just out of reach, caught by the dark winds? Can hope exist, even in the darkness? At night, when I turn down the lights, does the table cease to exist? Or the bed on which I am laying...is it less a bed in the dark than in the light? If I close my eyes, does my room disappear? I think not. And so, as I am surrounded by the inky, oppressive labyrinth, I cling to the hope I know is there. At first, it is a thready whisper. My grip tightens and the hope thickens, gaining substance. The thread becomes a skein, the skein takes shape. Slowly, almost unnoticably, the darkness slowly begins to dissapate. I can see the faintest outline, a silhouette. I cleave myself to the hope, which leads me through the calignosity. My vision sharpens, shapes begin to form as the faintest glint is revealed, slowly at first, then rapidly gaining brilliance. Soon, my hope is pulling me forward and I'm enveloped in luminescence so bright I see no darkness. I squint, trying to adjust to what I'm seeing. Slowly, in awe, I realize I am surrounded - not by darkness or despair. I am surrounded by those who care most for me, those I once called friends. As I wandered blindly, they came around me, gently and carefully guiding me into the warmth of the light."

Labels: Friends, Reflections

I received a really interesting email today. A woman who works at a local scrapbooking store had been asked to create a scrapbook for the family, showing the work that had been done to build their house. She was searching the web for information on the family and got a hit on my website. So she sent me an email. It is so interesting to hear the ways people in the community have contributed to this project!

Remember I said all the materials, etc. were donated (or at least that is the way it's supposed to work). Perhaps people in the South Bay/Southern California are calloused because of the number of films that shoot here. Maybe they are just too greedy, I don't know. But there were a number of things that we had inordinate difficulty finding: shuttles to carry the workers to and from the job site from the parking area (no way you can fit vehicles for 400+ workers into that little neighborhood), tents for all sorts of different headquarters, rest areas, etc., quickdry cement for the foundation, RVs (recreational vehicles) to use for certain people who had to be onsite 24x7 for the duration of the project. Some of these things we never got donated and different people (the contractor, ShareFest, ABC) had to pay for out of pocket. But other things came in odd ways. Instead of getting RVs from a single location, different families in the community donated theirs for the week. Our friends, Rod and Kristen Lenders, for example, were thrilled to contribute in even this small way. In addition, they found us a granite supplier, which up to that point, we didn't have.

Some of the local radio and television stations ran a short promo asking for drywallers, tilers, etc. to come help. Scores of talented, skilled people showed up to volunteer their time.

Steve and Joyce Fukumoto, who have a local floral business, organized a Farmer's Market, where all the proceeds would benefit the family. I heard a story afterwards about the Farmer's Market. The Fukumotos were hoping to raise $11,000 for the family. The Farmer's Market took in over $4,000, which is great, but Steve & Joyce were disappointed that it wasn't more. Shortly after that, someone handed them a check for $7,000!

A photographer from the LA area, Trish (I'll post her full name when I remember it), did a rather amazing thing. She flew herself down to Cabo San Lucas, where the family was vacationing during the build. She contacted the family and arranged to spend a day with them. She took some truly amazing photos - black and whites, of the family - individual shots, family shots, husband/wife shots. She flew home, blew them up and framed about 20 of them. The hallway between the bedrooms is beautifully decorated thanks to Trish's heart and talented eye.

These are only a few of the many many stories of people who went above and beyond to help the Ripattis!

Labels: Extreme Home Makeover, Reflections, Volunteerism

As I struggle to complete my reflections on my trip to Costa Rica in 1996, we just received an email from South Africa. About a year ago, Kirk and I were interviewed about our Round-the-World Trip on episode 10 of the Amateur Traveler podcast. Apparently, people are still listening to it!

"I am a new subscriber to the Amateur Traveller Podcast and I took a listen to the around the world episode where Chris interviewed yourself and Donna about your travels. I was especially glad to hear that you included South Africa, esp Cape Town in your itenary.

I am busy reading your journls on what you got up to down here and it seems like you covered many of the major attractions. It seems like you guys didn't manage to get to the winelands which is one of the most beautiful parts of the Cape. Towns like Stellenbosch, Paarl, etc come to mind.

I hope that you do decide to come back one day, but in the meantime, I'd like to invite you to listen to our podcast called The ZA Show (pr: The Zed-A Show) where we (my wife and) talk about all things South African from news, soundseeing tours, interviews, play SA music and keep listeners up-to-date on SA preparation for the 2010 soccer world cup. The address is http://www.thezashow.com.

Take care
Regards
~Glen"

In addition, we still occasionally hear from people we met on our trip. The memories are full and still, after three years, quite vivid!

Labels: Podcasts, Reflections, RTW, Travel

I am rarely one to rant. In fact, I try hard not to get angry or upset. But for a moment, one shred of a second, I will share with you one of my pet peeves. It happens every day, in many different contexts. I can't begin to explain how frustrating it is when someone takes a single, isolated action and makes it into something it's not. For example, if my neighbor, who happens to be a local policeman, borrowed his neighbor's hose without asking first (even though he has done so many times in the past and always had permission), that is an isolated instance. Who in their right mind would then, as a result of that action, accuse the local police department (or for that matter, all police or law enforcement officials anywhere) of stealing, improper use of persona property or any impropriety whatsoever. Who would possibly imagine that the man, who happened to be a policeman, took that action on behalf of police everywhere? It's an absolutely ridiculous leap of logic. Yet, I see this happening daily. Not that specific example, but in many settings, forms, varieties.

Frankly, it annoys me. If I, as a lowly accounts payable clerk in an office, pay a bill (or fail to), what has that to do with the health club to which I belong? What does it have to do with my friends that I met 10 years ago in Texas? Or, perhaps it reflects on the girl I met in 5th grade who later came to my sleepover birthday party? Ridiculous. And I say this to anyone who jumps to such illogical, vague and ungrounded conclusions. Think before you speak.

Labels: Reflections

Life has many twists and turns, leading us, sometimes exhuberantly and sometimes reluctantly, down a rocky, treacherous, challenging and rewarding path that is unique to each one of us. How we walk that path is a function of the choices we make. Do we walk it in solitude or gregariously? With hope or such fatalistic realism that we cannot bear any single step? Do we accept the path or challenge every meandering, every juncture, every fork?

Never did I expect to be where I am today. Or yesterday. Or tomorrow. I plan, I dream, I imagine. I just don't expect. I really don't plan as much as I used to, somehow freed of the burden of thinking everything must be within my control. Perhaps that change began when I married. Perhaps it began when Kirk and I took a year off to travel. Perhaps it began earlier, later or even somewhere in the middle. At any rate, I find that planning is just not something I dwell on. The need to control things no longer festers, an unfulfilled urge dictating my every step. A step is just that - a step.

Today I took a reluctant step - one completely out of my control. I don't know where the step will lead - the path has many trails snaking across it. Will one of those trails become the path, leaving the path behind as a mere trail? Of course, such things are possible. Will I notice the deviation if suddenly, a small trail is subtly transformed into my path? Will I miss the old path? Perhaps it will meld into a single, uninterrupted journey - with time or distance. Perhaps it will be only a series of shorter journeys, littered with memories and marked with milestones.

It is, after all, my path to walk, view and remember as only I can. A piece of me is missing today - a piece that I dearly yearn for. I meander down my path looking hopefully at each little trail, seeking the one that will lead me back to wholeness, confident that the trail is close by, waiting to be discovered and used.

Labels: Reflections

In June of 1995, I was living in Dallas, Texas, working for Liberty Sports. Liberty was a small- to medium-sized media company (a subsidiary of TCI) that owned the Prime Sports Networks. When I joined them, they had 1 US-based, Spanish-language channel (my experiences was in international) plus they were in the midst of launching a Latin-American spanish language channel.

I spent three years at Turner before leaving to join Liberty. I found that at Turner, unless you had STARTED in a specific department, people in my field really had no way to advance. Now, I'm not a ladder-climber. That sort of thing just doesn't interest me. But after three years in the same department, I was bored. My boss, Randy, was also bored and had started sending me on interviews for jobs for which he was overqualified. Most of them, I was grossly underqualified for.

I had lunch with a friend of mine over at Turner Sports. Mike told me that he knew of someone that was looking. I presumed he meant at TS, but in fact, he was talking about Liberty Sports. I was interested until I found out it was in Dallas. Gah! I had spent almost four years making Atlanta my home! Why would I move now?! After a week or two of Mike calling me daily to see if I had sent my resume, I finally did - just to get him to be quiet! I was rather shocked when they called me within a day, asking to interview me.

I had lived in Dallas before. I still had friends there, some of whom I talked to on occasion. One of my friends, my closest in Dallas - Leasza, was dying of cancer. She was actually in the hospital in ICU (again). I decided to take the interview. At the very least, it would give me a chance to go visit her. I did visit her - it turned out for the last time. Less than a week after my trip, she passed away. Years later, after I had moved to California, I received a letter from a woman who had been her nurse. She told me how Leasza used to talk of me and how deeply she appreciated our friendship.

The job itself, though I was determined not to take it, sucked me right in. I would be going from a company with over 60 lawyers on its payroll, most of whom were pigeon-holed into narrow fields, to a company with three. Liberty's work was just as broad as the work at Turner - but far less in quantity. As much as I hated to admit it, this was the job I had been looking for.

I was in Dallas only 1 night. By the time I got home, Randy (my boss at Turner) informed me he had already received a call asking for a reference. He told me he lied through his teeth and so I now owed him my first-born child. Randy was always a jokester, and is certainly one of my favorite bosses during my career. Within 3 days, I had a new job. I gave as much notice as I could at Turner, 4 or 5 weeks, if I remember correctly. I had accepted a job at a 45% pay increase, plus they were moving me from Atlanta to Dallas (yay! I HATE moving). I felt wanted. Additionally, only a few days after I returned from my interview, I came to work to find my desk full of a beautiful, exotic flower arrangement. A happy birthday from my new job!

So, in 1994 I moved to Dallas. I had spent three summers there during college, but this would be the first time I lived there year-round. I found a nice little apartment in the corner of Park Cities, directly upstairs from my new boss's best friend, Kevin. It was a 16 mile commute, but always going opposite of traffic (except during Dallas Cowboy football home games). The work was interesting and fun. The people were nice (well, most of them were) and it was a fairly close-knit working environment. One of the other lawyers quit shortly after I arrived, but it worked out fine. David, Mark and I worked together and kept up with things.

In June of 1995, we were looking seriously at some business with a Canadian company and Mark and I had to go to Toronto to perform due diligence before we committed to the deal. I frequently traveled to Denver (where our parent company officed) but this would be my first international trip for work.

We flew from Dallas into Toronto (I think via New York, but I no longer remember that detail). When we arrived in Toronto, it was quite late. Mark and I took a cab from the airport to our hotel. We had eaten on the plane. The next morning would start early, so I went straight to sleep.

In the morning, we ate breakfast in the hotel and checked out, taking our luggage with us to the meeting. We would be flying home that afternoon. We went straight from the hotel to a highrise just down the street, where we were quickly escorted upstairs to a conference room. This particular conference room was an interior room. There were no windows, no view of the city. It wasn't dreary, but there was certainly nothing to get excited about.

Of course, the substantial table in the conference room was stacked with piles and piles of file boxes full of paper. I was rather appalled - there was no way to get through all that paper in a single day. However, we did our best. It was easy to quickly look through a file, determine if it contained anything of relevance, and then put it back. Lunch was brought in for us. We left the room only to use the toilet.

By the end of the day, we had pages worth of notes, and a few copies of relevant documents. Mark and I took a cab back to the airport, boarded our plane and flew home.

I have heard many times that Toronto is a beautiful, fun city, full of friendly people. I am quite sure it is. However, despite having BEEN there, I cannot attest to a single thing about the city, other than the fact, that the conference rooms should have windows.

Labels: Reflections, Travel, Work

I figured it out a while ago - I have moved over 25 times in my life. No wonder I hate moving so much! I find the whole process horrifying and traumatic. When I was 7, we began making plans for yet another move - and yet, a unique one for the specific reason that this would be the first time we moved overseas. My father was being stationed in Germany. The moving process, while still quite common for us at the time, was different too.

It also meant that, for the first time, I would need a passport. And so, I got my first passport. During our four years in Germany, we did a fair amount of traveling. We visited all sorts of places in Germany (I managed to learn to speak Hoch Deutsch ["High German" or "University German"] along with 6-7 dialects of German..and no, I don't still speak it. Sadly, after the many years since living there, I've lost most every bit of vocabulary I ever had). We also visited Belgium, France, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, East Germany (yes, there was an East Germany back then) and the UK. I enjoyed Girl Scout Camp in Pisa, Girl Scout trips to Switzerland and Austria, Swimming meets in Belgium, overnight train rides to Berlin. Four years worth of travel and seeing things from the innocent eyes of a child.

It was many many years before I'd leave the country again. We returned to the USA in 1976. I had the one-off trip to Mexico with my family in 1980 (a family trip to visit my aunt & uncle in Acapulco, along with other aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents). But then, my passport expired. I had no reason to get a new one, as I had no plans to travel internationally.

Finally, in 1994, I made plans to go to Italy for vacation with a friend of mine. It was an exciting prospect, as I hadn't been to Italy in many years and it seemed like a good destination for us. The exchange rate between the US Dollar and the Italian Lira was quite favorable for us. So, I ordered my new passport.

I was so excited when that silly little green book arrived, full of blank pages, waiting to be filled. I was excited to put that first stamp in it! Little did I realize that I'd have to add pages before I was done.

A whole week's vacation! I was working at Turner International at the time, in Atlanta. I don't think I'd had a "real" vacation since college (and those never felt like vacation). Although I had been there before, my friend hadn't, so when we planned our itinerary, we decided to include Rome. We flew in and out of Milan, headed to Venice, Rome and then to Bologna, before heading back to Milan for our flight home.

I had never been to Venice before, so I was looking forward to it. We went in March because it coincided with the local University spring break, and my friend was taking college courses. The flights were, as I recall, extremely cheap (about US$200-250 per person), although we had to fly through Kennedy in NY. Upon our arrival in Italy, we promptly hopped a train to Venice.

Venice was everything (and nothing like) I expected it to be. The canals were beautiful, the buildings old, the cathedrals majestic. The streets, particularly at night, were silent. There was no car traffic, no motor sounds. You could drop a pin in an alley and hear it land from three streets away. We found a room at a pension - sort of a cross between a hotel and a hostel. I had brought nothing of value with me, but some girls we had met on the ferry left some jewelry in their room when we went to dinner. When we came back, it was gone. Not a very good advertisement (you are forced to leave your key with the manager when you go out) for this particular place.

At once point, we saw a man painting water colors on the piazza in front of an old church. Some of the paintings were marvelous! I haggled with him for a bit and then we agreed on a price. I had my photo taken with the artist, holding the painting I purchased.

We took a trip out to Murano, Burano and Torcello, islands near Venice. Murano is famous for its glass making. Burano is famous for its beauty and lacework. And Torcello is famous for an amazing mosaic in the small cathedral there. I brought home a beautiful runner that I bought in Burano, and still, to this day, use on top of my great-grandmother's piano.

From Venice, we headed off to Rome. Now, let me just mention. If you head off to > Italy, do NOT do what we did. Don't go to Venice and then Rome. Save Venice for last. The reason? Simple. Venice is calm and peaceful and slow-paced. Rome is NONE of those things! Rome is loud and fast and crazy and polluted. It's FUN, don't get me wrong. But after Venice, it was a shock. Venice had no motorized vehicles, except boats and they were rather quiet. Rome has cars and busses and motor scooters. Oh, and the motorscooters - they thought nothing of cutting a bus off or a car. They drove like complete and total madmen! It was chaos!

In Rome, we spent 1 night at a pension that was not really in the area we were hoping to stay. And it turned out we had some problems there. I've long since forgotten what, but we moved. We found a place near the Termini - the main train station in Rome. From there, you can get most everywhere in the city. We were relieved that the pension had a room available.

The man at the counter of the new pension was very nice and got extremely excited when he saw my CNN baseball cap. Working for Turner, I got this sort of thing all the time. It was no big deal to me. So, I gave it to him. He was stunned and very excited. (Keep in mind, that through this entire exchange, I spoke no Italian, and the guy spoke no English. It's amazing what you can communicate without words.) A short while later, there was a knock on my door. Baffled at who it could be, I opened the door to find the man from the counter. He handed me a beautiful papyrus that had an Egyptian painting on it. He insisted that I keep it. And I have. To this day, it hangs on my wall.

There is so much to do and see in Rome, it's often easiest to take a "tour". If you take one of those coach tours, it would cost 50,000-60,000 lira. Someone suggested to us to take the "city bus" tour - it cost only 10,000 lira. We did and it was worth every penny. With the city bus, you get out at every major attraction. The bus driver plays the part of tour guide as well. We saw all sorts of things and left feeling like every lira had been well-spent.

Now, I have to interject here a couple of interesting things. First, if you ever go to Italy, don't bother with the pizza. There are pizzerias everywhere. But pizza was basically created in the USA. We tried pizza...several times. It was generally soggy, and rather gross. Certainly not what we expected or wanted. Second, the last time I had been to the Vatican, I was probably around 10 or 11, maybe even younger. the thing that most struck me about my return as an adult was that the perspective changed for me - substantially. I won't go so far as to say that everything looked "shorter", but I was certainly not looking "up" as much as I had to before to see everything.

Finally, we were on our last leg. We took a train up to Bologna. Now this is really an interesting little city. It is NOT a tourist city at all. We stayed in a beautiful little pension that looked across the red roof-lined streets of the city. There are two rather interesting towers in Bologna, including the Pisa-like lean that made the "Leaning Tower" so famous. One of the towers actually has a large portion of the upper section broken off. Apparently, two families were in great competition and built the towers. They each wanted their tower to be "bigger and better" than the other family's. One family built its tower a bit slower, with more thought. Ultimately, the tower that was put up faster (and higher) began to lean and finally the top section fell to the ground, making it the shorter of the two.

The other thing of note in Bologna is the food. Italians all recognize Bologna as being the best place to eat. The then president of Turner International was a native of Bologna. He had given me his card and he highly recommended a restaurant called Ristorante Diana. With only a single night in Bologna, we decided this was where we wanted to eat. The restaurant is near the old part of town and is very formal. We arrived to find out they don't take walk-ins, and reservations are normally made weeks in advance. Bummer. But on a whim, I whipped out the business card of our President and the maitre'ds eyes lit up. He said he could work us in around 9. So, we wandered the streets for a couple of hours before dinner.

Let me say, Ristorante Diana was fantastic. The food was perfect, by far the best we had had anywhere in Italy (and we had had some GOOD food before). It was the perfect way to end our trip, really.

The next morning, we had to get up before dawn to catch our train back to Milan and then our flight home. As we arrived back at the pension (quite late since we had sat down for dinner after 9PM), the proprietor was trying to tell us something. We couldn't quite figure it out until he handed us an Italian newspaper. Uhoh. Tonight was when Italy went onto Daylight Savings Time. We would lose an additional hour of sleep! It was a brutal trip home, as we had had too little sleep the last two nights before we left. Then, on top of it all, our flight out of Kennedy back to Atlanta was delayed by more than five hours. I was so tired I wanted to cry.

And so, my new passport was initiated.

Labels: Friends, Reflections, Travel, Work

I spend a good bit of time on the irc Freenode network. It has a long and somewhat interesting history that I won't go into here, but thanks to Sean for showing it to me. At any rate, Freenode has been headed by Rob Levin a/k/a "lilo" and "someguy" for quite some time now. He had a vision for the way irc should work and was implementing that vision on Freenode.

I just found out that on September 12th, Rob was out riding his bicycle and was hit by a car. He spent the next 4 days in a coma and eventually succumbed to his injuries, passing away today, September 16th. I know many will miss lilo. He had a great impact on irc and a great many people who use his network. Of course, he left behind a lot of people in "real life" too - he had a wife and child.

Several times, I spent a good bit of time talking to Rob. Not only was he an incredibly nice person, but he spent more time than was necessary walking me through how things worked, why they worked and generally orienting me to irc. We also chatted a few times on a personal level. I liked him and always knew I could go to him if I had questions or concerns. He will be missed by many, including me.

Labels: Friends, Health, IRC, Reflections

I got my new passport yesterday! My old, very used passport is now officially retired. Complete with holes in the face of it. However, its passing has spurred me to do a tribute to a decade's worth of travel. It would be much too much for a single post, so I've decided to dedicate a series of posts to a decade of travel - some work, some play, some fun, some not. So allow me to entertain you, bore you, or just generally talk to you about a decade in which some of my most important and interesting moments were spent traveling.

Labels: Reflections, Travel

Five years is a long time - longer than I've been married. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty six days. 43,824 hours. 2,629,440 minutes. I don't think I've met anyone over 10 years of age who doesn't remember exactly where they were and how they felt on the morning of September 11th. Never in history had such a heinous plan been executed with such success and such callousness - certainly not on American soil.

I woke up that morning to the horrific news. A plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. It was...shocking. It was barely possible to even comprehend such a horrible accident. I can't say for sure how long it was - I was mesmerized by the images on tv, the images the looked like they had come from the worst disaster movie Hollywood had ever issued - but before I realized what was happening, the second plane hit. This was no mere accident. Suddenly, our lives had completely changed. We no longer lived in a country that was isolated, safe from attacks from outside forces. Before this, the Oklahoma City disaster had been the worst on record - but it came from a source within our borders. A crazy person, basically, had perpetrated that horror. And of course, there was the Branch Davidian tragedy; again, a crazy person. But this. This was different somehow.

Two planes crashing into the World Trade Center. Another hitting the Pentagon. A building where my grandfather diligently worked for many years. The men and women in that building - they could have been my grandfather. They were just like him. Not only were the lives on the planes lost, but those buildings were full of people! The work day had already started. I was in shock, speechless, numb. It would be days before I could even begin to process, to comprehend what had happened.

Kirk, who I was dating at the time, was at work, and called me. They were under a high security alert and he was waiting to see what would happen. Eventually, they were sent home. He came to my apartment, where we sat, unable to leave the television. The images were poignant, both real and disturbing, and yet, somehow surreal. The questions were universal, "Why?!" "How?" "Who" and throughout New York City and beyond, "Where?" "Have you seen...?" "Have you heard from...?"

Something no one could have predicted or imagined happened. The towers, one at a time, collapsed. Mountains of steel, rubble, papers, office supplies, and people came rushing toward the ground, collapsing in an unrecognizable, jumbled heap. Very little was salvagable. Somehow the superheated fire dissentegrated much of what was once there - the structure that made the tower what it was. It wasn't until much later that experts began to reconstruct what happened and why. (I saw an interview with the buildings' architect - he was so completely traumatized by what had happened, by the way his buildings had collapsed under the strain of two planes full of fuel impacting them - it was clear he'd never recover). There was very little warning before the first tower collapsed. The second fell not long after.

Countless stories have been told of the people in the towers. People who, in fear of being burned, jumped to their deaths. People who were rushed down the stairs from upper floors, only to find themselves trapped above where the planes hit. People making last minute, desperate calls to their loved ones - many reaching only operators, or getting busy signals because the phone systems were so tied up. People who rushed down the stairs of the emergency exits, down countless, endless stairs, and emerging from the building just in time. Or not in time. Of firefighters and police men who rushed INTO the buildings, attempting to help whomever they could. Attempting to save thousands, innumerable, nameless faces. Many of those heroic men and women never made it back out of the buildings. The local fire and police departments were a mere shadow of what they once were - completely bereft from the loss of those dear to them.

Stories have been told of those on the planes. The first two had no idea, most likely. But the fourth plane - United Flight 93. We all know the name and number of that flight. We know, generally, what happened on board - how the passengers and crew staged a revolt, a coup, after realizing what had happened with the other planes that had been hijacked. We know how the plane, bound for a more significant target crashed in Pennsylvania. We know the stories of the heros on board. We know "Let's roll!"

We have heard endless accounts from survivors, although they are often harder to recall. We remember the tragedy. The dead. We remember the search, the endless search for survivors. The search that ended with so little result. We all remember the steaming, smoking mountain of debris that had to be carefully picked through and removed. It took firefighters and volunteers from around the country months to remove it all. A man in our church, George, was one of the first responders from Los Angeles. They almost weren't allowed to go, as all flights had been grounded immediately after the attacks. His story and the story of others who responded when called - they are etched in the memories of those who have heard them. Thousands and thousands of people who lived near what became known as Ground Zero were forced to temporarily (and some permanently) relocate to areas further away. Businesses had to do the same as well.

This tragedy was an American tragedy - it happened in a US city, on US soil. But was it really an American tragedy only? The entire world was affected by such an aggressive act. And the world responded. American embassies worldwide were besieged with flowers, notes, candles, visitors, all wanting to demonstrate their sympathy, shock and denouncement of the terrorists. It was a full 18 months later when Kirk and I were traveling in Vietnam that this became a personal experience. We were in South Vietnam, which had been US-occupied during what we call the Vietnam war. The proprietor of a restaurant thanked us personally for the USA's support during the war. He went on to say that he was horrified by the events of September 11th and had wanted to come to the USA to help. He didn't know what he could have done, but he earnestly desired to help the country that he had seen help when he was merely a young boy.

For US citizens, September 11th is extremely personal, disturbing. And yet, five years later, though we remember every detail of what we saw, heard and felt on that day, still it seems that in some ways perhaps we have forgotten. For months afterwards (and still today), airtravel was suddenly completely different. I had dear friends who got married in September 2001, in Kansas. They had been living in Europe for several years. He was from Spain. She was from the USA. But with little exception, almost all of their friends and family would need to fly into Kansas for the wedding - some from international ports. The wedding they had so joyfully looked forward to was suddenly marred by a group of men they had never met, seen nor heard of before September 11th. If I remember correctly, only about 1/3 of their original guest list actually came to the beautiful ceremony and subsequent celebration.

To this day, five years later, airports have a completely different look and feel. Procedures are modified with each new threat. If you even JOKE about a bomb or terrorism in an airport, you may find that you have traded your airline seat for a jail cell. Thanks to the "shoe bomber", we now must all remove our shoes when going through security. Thanks to the foiled plot coming out of the UK, even today, you may not carry on water, soda, hair gel, lotion or any other liquid or semi-liquid substance onto the plane with you. It must all be in your checked luggage.

We had a new president at the time - President George W. Bush. He had been in office merely 9 months when September 11th happened. The nation was in shock and looked to his leadership. He was quiet, calm, resolute. For good or bad, as a direct result of September 11, the USA is involved in two major conflicts - one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Hundreds of US military, Afghan and Iraqi militants, military and civilians have died. Many have called George Bush a war-monger. Many have forgotten what led us down this path in the first place. Right or wrong, the world we live in today is substantially different than the world we lived in 5 years ago. Terrorism is no longer something that happens only in the Middle East or Africa. It happens in remote locations like Bali. It happens in major metropolitan areas like New York City. It happens on airplanes, in train tunnels, on subways. It happens or could happen anywhere. Terrorism is part of our every day lives now. We have a hit television series that focusses on issues of terrorism (the show "24").

But how do we move forward? Do we live in constant fear? Do we change our lives so much that we are stifled? So paranoid that we avoid public places, public transportation, bridges, anything that could possibly be a target? Of course not. Fear is what they try to engender with terrorism. The target of terrorism is to produce and instill "terror" in the victims and the survivors. If we stop our way of life, if we live in fear or in terror, they have won.

Americans, if nothing else, are survivors. We may do a lot of things the "wrong" way. But we do still manage to DO things. Our nation has spawned such amazing organizations as The Red Cross, Samaritan's Purse, Habitat for Humanity, among thousands of other worthwhile charities. Can anyone say that these organizations have not changed lives? How do we move forward? We learn from the past. We look to the future with hope and optimism. We continue to focus on what is good, and right, and pure. We denounce terrorism. We embrace humanitarianism. The world constantly is changing, and we with it. But it is our responsibility to change the world and ourselves for the better.

Labels: Events, Reflections

I realized that as of today, I've been home exactly 3 years. It is hard to believe that after a year of wandering, exploring, full of adventure and excitement, that I've now been home long enough for it to have faded a bit to mere memories. Not even clear memories, at times. I've forgotten names of places, people, things we saw and did, words we learned of other languages. And yet, I find that I remember the odd situation at odd times. Something will trigger one of those memories and it's fun to think back.

Three years ago. I was exhausted from a year of traveling. I was excited to return "home" even though I had no place to call "home", to a bit of routine. I was excited to (eventually) have a bathroom IN the place I was staying - where I could get up in the middle of the night and go to the toilet without putting on a complete wardrobe. I was excited to eat some "comfort" food - to be able to cook in an actual kitchen. I was excited to retrieve and wear my wedding (and engagement) ring! (We had been wearing $20 travel rings during our one year away. I had worn both my wedding AND engagement rings less than that amount of time before we left.

I was shocked by the culture change. Even after spending a month in Europe before coming home, the culture shock was significant. We had spent a year living in tents, cars, $2 hotels, hostels, generally in extremely hot temperatures (from 80-130 degrees F) without air conditioning, and often with extreme humidity. We have shared toilets & bathrooms, often so disgusting that the average american (or human) would be appalled to have to use them but for the overwhelming need to use something other than a sidewalk or street corner. The cars in other places (if there WERE cars) were tiny, functional. We returned and found ourselves driving my sister-in-law's Ford Expedition. The streets were clean and absolutely packed with cars. There were few pedestrians, bicycles, odd vehicular contraptions. There were no cows or cow manure. You had to cross at cross walks, which we were no longer accustomed to. Running across as highway as a pedestrian was suddenly a very bad idea (wow, did we REALLY ever think it was a GOOD idea?!).

While we were excited to get back home to our own belongings (which were piled into a rather large storage unit and even a bit of excess into a smallish one), we wondered - how did we HAVE so much stuff..and why? We had lived for an entire year out of one backpack apiece. Did we really need so much more than that? We were determined to lighten our load when we started unpacking. Sentimental attachments, being SURE you'll use this or that again SOMEDAY - it makes it hard to get rid of things. You have to be in the right frame of mind. By the time we finally got into an apartment six weeks later, our convictions had faded somewhat. We still have too much "stuff".

Three years have dimmed the brightness of our memories, the vividness of our experiences and our convictions to change. Three years have allowed us time to fully entrench ourselves in the life we led before leaving on our trip. Are we still different? Perhaps. But not as different as we were three years ago, when we stepped off the plane. Not different in the same way. We are older, more seasoned and more settled. Perhaps its time for another adventure!

Labels: Reflections, Travel

We decided to drive down to Makawao for dinner. There's a nice little steak house down there that Kirk likes and it sounded like a good plan. It's about a 20 minute drive. Kirk was already starting to have pain before we left the hotel, but he wasn't supposed to take any vicodin without food, so we took one with us for him to take with dinner.

Have I ever told you about Kirk's "parking karma"? I'm not really a believer in karma, but it's a funny way to say - he ALWAYS gets the very best possible parking place. There could be 100 cars circling in a parking lot, and the second we drive up, someone pulls out of a front place spot right in front of us. Voila! Parking karma! Well, tonight was no exception. There was a spot (parallel parking on the street) right in front of the restaurant. He pulled right in.

In Makawao, the streets are quite narrow. Cars parallel parking are quite close to the driving lane. It's an older looking town, quaint, even. Very upcountry feel to it. As he was getting out of the car, another car came by rather fast (the speed limit there is 20 mph). Kirk looked at me, rather surprised. I never even realized what happened until he told me..."That car just clipped us with its mirror." Really?! He checked and saw no damage on our car. The other car continued on, so we went into the restaurant.

Kirk had a hard time getting out of the car. He was moving very slow and clearly in a lot of pain. Walking seemed to be painful even. We were seated and he told me in a low voice, "Let's try and get some bread right away" (so he could take his pain medicine). As soon as the waitress came by and took our drink order, she said she'd bring some bread. And she did - warm sourdough. It was quite delicious. We placed our order. Then, Kirk took his medicine, took two bites and then got an extremely odd look on his face. He was in so much pain he couldn't sit there. After several attempts to get comfortable, he got up and said he'd be right back, he was going to the car. He looked like he was near tears, he was in so much pain.

I watched for a few minutes, thinking. He hadn't come back and I talked to the waitress to see if it was possible to get our food to go. She said of course, after I had explained the situation. I walked outside to speak to Kirk, offered to take our food to go, which he agreed to, and went back inside. I was looking for our waitress to let her know and out comes a lady with two big cushy pillows. She introduced herself as Diane, the General Manager of the restaurant. She was extremely nice and helpful (all of the staff were). She gave us a referral to two other MDs in the event Kirk needed to see someone again. She offered to send us home with dessert (which, it turns out, she didn't charge us for). I was completely impressed with the service we received.

As I waited for the food to be packed up and to finish paying, I noticed Kirk had called me. I tried to call him back, but had no signal, so I tried sending him a text message (which often goes through even if a phone call won't). A couple of minutes later, I was on my way out the door with the food. I got to the door and Kirk was standing in front of the car. I put the food in the car and was ready to get him inside so I could drive us back to the hotel (no way he was driving after taking a Vicodin). Kirk stopped me and said, "We have another problem." He pointed to a car parked in the shadows about 4 car lengths behind us. There were 4 kids standing on the street next to the car. Apparently, this was the car that had driven by us and hit our car when we were about to head into the restaurant. The kids were apparently claiming that the undercarriage of their car had somehow been damaged when Kirk opened his car door. Now this, of course, is quite impossible. Not only because there's no way the undercarriage could have been damaged, but even if they were claiming damage to the lower portion of the car, the shape of the door on the Mustang makes that simply impossible.

Diane, the restaurant manager, happened to come out to be sure we were ok, and I explained what was going on. She went inside to get a flashlight, I gave her our telephone number and names (we were talking about leaving to go back to the hotel), then she and I walked over to the kids' car. They started claiming that Kirk had kicked the car (again, impossible - he could barely move) and that he had damaged the car - first, when he opened the door and they clipped us, and secondly, when he "kicked" it. We looked at every inch of the passenger side and there was not a single mark on it - anywhere. They then claimed that the damage was underneath.

Then, one of the young ladies (not the driver) said to Diane, well even if we weren't damaged, what if someone else had driven by and it was damaged? Basically, it sounded like she was trying to claim that even though we didn't damage that car, they were trying to punish us in the event another car drove by and clipped us some other time. Crazy. Besides the fact, that they were in the moving vehicle - I find it hard to believe that we would be found at fault at all in this situation if there HAD been any damage. Finally, the young man (the driver) told us he had called the police. The girl threatened us saying she had our license plate number. Frankly, it was an empty threat, given that there wasn't a single indication of damage on their car anywhere.

Well, with the police called, we really didn't feel free to leave. Even though we had left our contact information with Diane. Diane said to us that the kids were being completely unreasonable and it seemed as if there was a bit of localism going on. 'A bit', I thought, the surf breaks almost look tame compared to this. Finally, I decided to call the police myself. So, I did - the non-emergency number. Intially, the guy didn't even have a record of the call, but it turns out it hadn't been called in as a vehicular incident originally. I gave the policeman all of our information - the make of our car, our names, telephone numbers, local address, etc. The dispatcher, Bill, was very nice and offered to call an ambulance for Kirk. I explained that we didn't need an ambulance - we had already been to the hospital once today. I just needed to get him back to the hotel so he could take the rest of his medication. The dispatcher released us to go.

I didn't even speak to the kids - there seemed no point. I hung up, got Kirk settled in the passenger seat and then drove us home. We passed a police car on our way home - it could have been the one called to respond to the situation. But if anything comes of it, I am sure we'll get a phone call tomorrow.

One final note, despite the localistic tendencies of these kids, we have not found this to be indicative of the locals at all. Most everyone has been very nice, friendly, even inviting. Diane was fantastic, and even though the restaurant was a bit more on the high end of the price range, I'd go back there anytime - if nothing else, because they treated us with such care.

And thus ends my first full day in Maui.

Labels: Food, Health, Reflections, Travel

So, today is Veteran's Day. I don't believe I've ever had the day off before. But yesterday, around 2:30, my employer told me that we would be off today! Hooray! There is a temptation to just play around and have some fun.

But today is a holiday for a reason. For the last 228 years, our country has been defended by people who are willing to step up and sacrifice themselves, their time and their family for the ideals that this country was founded upon. Although Veteran's Day, specifically, was created to remember those who fought in World War I, it was later amended (after WWII) to just refer to "veterans", which now includes everyone from WWI to the current Iraqi conflict (although technically, they won't be veterans until they have left the conflict or the conflict is over). So, today, I will remember people like my grandfather (a former Brigadier General in the U.S. Army - he was in action in WWII, Korea and Vietnam), my father (a former captain in the U.S. Army - he was in Vietnam), my uncle John (also US Army), my father-in-law (who flew as a flight engineer in the Korean War), various other friends (like Wes Cochran, Julie Dietrich, Cameron Mandrake, John Schowalter, etc.) and family (like Chris Reid) who are currently serving or have served in the U.S. Military. It is so easy to focus on what's wrong with our military and/or policies (I hear this from folks daily). But don't forget what is right - the sacrifices these young men and women make to protect our nation.

So, I challenge you on this day to think of and pray for those who have served and are serving our country. I can't imagine that there would be any person out there who doesn't know at least one person who falls into that category. It's not about whether you agree with the policies and programs of our government. It's about remembering those who have given their time, talents and even their lives.

Thank you, Veterans! You are our heros!

Labels: Family, Friends, Holidays, Reflections, Work