Candlelight Campfire

Candlelight Campfire 

 I quickly feel the loneliness of the vast and empty rural land. So vast was the land, so empty and bland the landscape, sometimes it feels like the sky and stars is all I have. I lie in the brown grass at night, gazing at the multitude of bright stars, hidden to my eyes by overpowering city lights in my previous life. I wish I knew the constellations.  Instead, I make my own. I feel a deep energy reverberating through the land as I lay there. Was this how the Natives felt so long ago, when the sky was a canvas of stories to be discovered and told around the evening fire? Continuing my gaze, I let the stars speak their story to me.

Back at the house, the electricity was out. The small town grid in southeastern New Mexico could not handle the Christmas light overload. I filled a cast iron pan with candles, set it on the floor, and invited my housemate to join me for an evening of story telling around the evening fire.

We told stories of laughter and sorrow. We learned of each other’s histories and dreams. We then walked outside to continue our storytelling through the stars. Once again, the sky was a canvas of stories, yearning to be created and told. We looked for shooting stars. Surely one of them would be our recently passed hedgehog rolling around happily in hedgehog heaven. We connected the dots to explain the happenings of our day. We filled the Big Dipper with warm tea… and went inside to drink it.

Fast forward a few months, my landscape changes. No longer am I lonely in an empty desert. City lights reflect constant movement bustling in the alleys of Seattle. Street lamps, car headlamps, glaring LCD screens of smart phones and computers, neon bar signs, late night coffeehouses, refrigerators casting a midnight glow…. Harsh lights threaten and drown the gentle gift that belongs to all of us, the night sky. Instead of land, crude concrete interrupts the energy I once felt echo around me.  I trade the lustrous urban sprawl for a black trail in the wilderness and let my eyes and spirit adjust.  

Blanketed under a canopy of stars, watching meteors streak the night canvas, I fall asleep to the ancient rhythm of our Earth’s unfaltering dance .  Soon I am kissed awake by sunbeams that reveal a mountain adorned with wildflowers, their laughter echoing off canyon walls, filling the mountain basin, and gliding across alpine lakes fed from lingering snow melt in the August sunshine. 
  

Joined in chorus, beds of wildflowers carpeted the trail, their outer fringes reaching out over the dusty footpath. The concrete jungle was now far behind me as I continued to embrace the call of the mountains and the sky. The best things in life are simple and free. Open your heart and listen!

Winds of Change

International Hot Air Balloon Fiesta (Albuquerque, New Mexico)

The chilly morning air hugged my body with an unwelcome embrace as I shifted through the throng of people saturating the grassy field. Strings of pop-up tents glowed brightly in the night, vendors hawking their wares and food to the pre-dawn crowd. Pushing our way through the mass, we approached dark shapes bobbling on the ground. A fiery flare of light pierced the black, illuminating a colorful balloon. The flares continued, bringing to life a multitude of hot air balloons eager for a blind flight in the cold darkness. 

Hot air of desire rose within the balloons as they fought the imprisonment of ropes tethering them to the ground. Soon the ropes were released as the balloons embraced the freedom of the open sky. 

My ropes have been suddenly untethered here with my job in New Mexico by winds of change. I am sad my job did not work out. It is too easy to focus on that rather than the positive. I have a place to live and a part-time job in Seattle as well the hope job applications all over bring.

I feel the wobbling basket of fear that I am riding right now, confirmed by other voices echoing that I am weak or have made the wrong choices. However, I trust a balloon of faith as well as a personal determination to not let myself continue to go down. It is not easy ride.  I look forward to overcoming the challenges and embracing the joys this journey will bring.  I know I am not alone. There are thousands of other balloons, each filled with people with their own story. I am fortunate to cross paths with so many of you and learn your stories. Sometimes we share the same basket of uncertainty and bring encouragement to each other through a Skype call or text message. Other times we share smiles of love from near and afar.

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men, for the most part, experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”  - Helen Keller

Did you know that aerodynamically, the bumblebee's flight is inefficient. Instead it relies on brute force strength to keep flapping its wings, very much like a bicycle. A bicycle in motion will stay upright. Once it loses its motion, it falls. Be like a bumblebee... keep flapping with inner strength! :) 

Bitter Lake

I’m beginning to forget what the rain feels like. Sweet memories of summer raindrops soaking my skin overshadow the frustrations of plans being thwarted by the rain showers of the East Coast.  I feel the thirst of the land, a land void of life teeming on the surface. The brown landscape stretches for miles beyond the horizon. Under a blazing sun the earth is still, echoing the silence of caverns beneath the surface, proud with silent giants of stalagmites guarding the middle of the Earth.

I crave the sweet rain of intellectual conversation, of cultural diversity, of American Sign Language, of all these things and more that allow me to grow. But if I look deep inside, I will find a cavern is slowing growing. Stalagmites of building an experience as an Americorp volunteer in rural New Mexico crystallize to form deep caves of wisdom and knowledge.

Surrounded by an eternal brown dry flat, my body longs for water. Just a short little while earlier, I was living on the outskirts of Washington, DC in Arlington, VA where it had been raining non-stop for almost two weeks. I now found myself living in a parched landscape of rural New Mexico, serving as an Americorp volunteer to bring sign language to isolated deaf children, their families, and their teachers.

Could it be true? A dot of green and blue on the map? Or was the desert sun creating a mirage in my very hands? Straddling my motorcycle, I revved the engine in search of my mystic Holy Grail, the hot wind sucking me dry as I throttled the engine faster, desperate.

A brown sign grew larger in the flat horizon: “Bitter Lakes”. At last! I found it! My heart pounding with tantalizing visions of water and green , my motorcycle churned the dusty dirt road leading to the lake.

A sliver of water divided a brown landscape.  Salt deposits patterned the ground, enchanting shapes of my personal sirens beckoning me closer to the water trace. The temptation proved too strong; I found myself furiously stomping out of quicksand engulfing my feet.

An empty sign post frame outlined the beginnings of an abandoned trail, a mocking invitation to fill in the missing information map with the discoveries of my feet could bring, an invitation I accepted. The trail departed from the boscage and opened out once again to the eternal brown flat. A roadrunner stood still in the arid grass before me. Feebly attempting to chase it in an inevitable losing battle, I watched it dart away to a hidden stillness in the desert umbrage.  My energetic enthusiasm reduced to a dwindle as I trudged onward through the dullness. Dropping to my knees to release entangled thorns from my shoes, my eyes caught slight movements in the dust. Ants. 

 I scanned the ground for a mound; instead I found an inverted home of a hole in the ground; sitting in the dust, I watched an entire colony scuttling back and forth, a promising sign of life in this barren environment. Rising, I noticed a flowering bough reaching for the sky. Following its lead, I stretched my arms high and observed a whooping crane gliding across the sky.

My observations of the land were clouded by my own blighted hopes.  Once my eyes were opened, I saw the hidden beauty of life everywhere. I will be honest. I am struggling here in southeast New Mexico.  My heart wanders to the rolling blue hills of Appalacia I call home. Peering closer, I see a kindergartner’s hands slowly opening up to sign “mother” for the first time. I see a rural interpreter practicing role-playing with ASL classifiers in attempt to improve her American Sign Language with me. I see a grandmother learning how to ask her deaf grandson if he is hungry. I see a group of teachers giggling as they realize the American Sign Language staff classes after school are an effective and fun way to communicate not only with the deaf children in their classroom, but the hearing children who struggle to express themselves verbally. I see a deaf boy learning to read, opening up an entire new world for him.

I long for the rain, but until then, I must be the rain for those who have been parched for too long.

Moving (again) to Carlsbad, NM

Cisco the Lifeguard

You never know how much you miss something until it is gone.

 With barely a moment’s notice, I found myself living in the middle of ranches and farms of southeast New Mexico, just south of Roswell. The land goes on forever… a forever palate of desert shrubbery and dry grass, with the occasional cow wandering in the far outreaches of the free-ranges.  I woke up in the mornings homesick for the colorful, busy, and social landscape of Washington, DC and Virginia.

Looking up, the expanse of the sky envelopes you with spectacular sunsets and intense starlight. Sometimes I feel like the sky is all I have. Then I feel the loving caress of a dog guarding my dreams at night. I see the excited smile on my landlord’s face as my motorcycle rumbles into the driveway. I hear the clanging of pots and pans as an ever curious Siamese kitten discovers my dinner from last night. I read a kind note from a school principal offering me her car on bad weather days. I feel the sweet hug from a deaf child learning a new word. This warms my heart.

And just like that, all I know here in New Mexico is gone.

A change of plans in the Americorp hiring process is putting me on the edge of a new venture, even though I have barely even started the current one. I am currently placed to serve the Roswell and Carlsbad area. However, the requests for both areas have me feeling like too little butter on too many pancakes. As fortune would have it, Americorp found another person to serve Roswell, so I can focus on Carlsbad (instead of serving both, with hellish long motorcycle commutes in all sorts of weather).

I had a choice, but I chose Carlsbad. Why? I can rely on my bicycle 88% of the time. And yes, I made that number up.  One motorcycle accident was enough. I’m grateful my motorcycle suffered more serious injuries than I did. I’m thankful for the chance to reduce the risk.

I’m going to miss cooking with my landlord, snuggling with my dream-guard dog at night, the indoor pool, 10 acres of private land, a loving married couple roomates who offered to teach me how to paint, a piano in the living room, an awesome and fun case-load in Roswell…. But I am looking forward to an  even more challenging case-load in Carlsbad that will stretch me in ways I have yet to imagine, as well as being closer to the caverns, and rooming with a sweet older Deaf lady.

Life is unpredictable. Cherish what you have at the moment. The next moment it might all change. J And when it does, welcome it with open arms. Life is amazing!

Meet Otono!

Otono, the Honda Shadow Spirit

Leia was adorable. She had good gas mileage (65-110mpg depending on conditions). She was blue. She was simple. This Honda Rebel was the best a girl could ask for in cheap and reliable transportation.

Well, almost.

At 250cc, she was perfect for the getting between places in the backroads of Virginia and DC. As for the highways of New Mexico since there are no backroads? Not so much. Cars and trucks were flying past me, further driving my insecurity of feeling swallowed by the road. The miles seemed longer in the wide open spaces of the fifth largest state in the nation.

Logic and reason said to get a car. My volunteer “salary” with Americorp disagreed. So, I went into a motorcycle shop in Albuquerque to look at winter riding gloves to make my cold weather riding slightly less miserable. I got the gloves... and more.

A 2006 Shadow Spirit glimmered in the sun. To make a long story short, I negotiated a very good deal if I traded in my Honda Rebel. I gave the salesman a difficult time since the bike is orange with flames and my Joe Rocket riding jacket is pink with flowers. The fashionista in me cringed with horror. Guilt hung in his eyes so he made the deal even sweeter by throwing in a one year warranty with Honda.

Fellow fashionistas, cover your eyes when I ride by! I’ll be gone before you know it, roaring down the road on my 750cc motorcycle! I can pass trucks instead of being caught in the side winds. I can get out of the way of drivers who are in my way. People can hear me rumble from a long ways away.

The long lonely roads of New Mexico!

I have to admit. It feels good!

I know this is not a permanent solution. I still have my sights set on a car someday. At the right time with the right budget, it will happen. I promise to try my best. So many of you are worried. I know... trust me, if I had the budget for a car, I’d get one right now! I appreciate the concern. What I don’t appreciate is people nagging me for my “awful” motorcycle without offering a solution given my current financial situation. You’re not the only one who is nervous about the crazy New Mexican drivers. Instead of chiding me, just send me prayers for an extra layer of guardian angels. I’m willing to take donations for a car fund too :-)

In the meantime, I will rumble and roar on Otono. Otono, Spanish for “autumn”, seemed so appropriate of a name since I moved to New Mexico in autumn and the bike is indeed an autumn color :-)

Ride on!

Braking for turtles with Leia the Honda Rebel

Training Reflections

Street lamps illuminated the empty streets. The city slumbered as we drove through the night towards the airport. Only a few souls walked the lonely airport terminal before my plane glided through the black sky, under a full moon that seemed so far away.

And just like that, I was gone.

The scenes of night, blurred by both my tears and a week-long rainfall,  slowly melted into sunrise. A band of orange and red hovered over the East behind me as I sped West to a brand new day and a new life with Americorp in New Mexico.

I'm really enjoying Americorp so far in a land of eternal sunshine. During training, we are traveling to all of the different placement sites of the New Mexico School for the Deaf (NMSD) Americorp members. We have the opportunity to meet with the deaf children we will be serving, as well as their families, and their teachers.  The families opened their hearts to share with us their fears and joys. These parents want the best for their child but feel alone with a limited support network in the rural towns. That's where we come in.

Talking with them brought back a rush of emotions as I was reminded of who I was 20 years ago. I saw myself in those children’s eyes. I saw my own parents standing in front of me. I saw my teachers, not really understanding but obligated to help somehow.  I didn’t understand the frustration and the confusion. I didn’t understand why I was so different and why everyone (including myself) wanted to make it look like I was not. I worked so hard to put those feelings aside and become a successful adult. But seeing those families exposed a raw wound that has long since healed, a painful feeling that was necessary for me to fully embrace the work that has been cut out for me. These families are doing the right thing to be seeking help for their child. I am thrilled to be able to make a difference at the point in their life parallel to the same time when I needed it the most.

I’m enjoying getting to know the New Mexico School for the Deaf. The outreach program amazes me with their dedication to deaf babies and children.  NMSD worked hard to make it a law that whenever a deaf baby is born, the hospital’s immediate point of contact is  NMSD.. Hopefully, this will reduce the severity of language delays by ensuring babies have language before it is too late. The team pays incredible attention to detail to ensure deaf children have language and education, such as driving across the vast desert for a personal visit or organizing an incredible Americorp program!

I am proud to be part of a dedicated and successful team! I have so much to learn and do! In just a few days, I pack my motorcycle for the long ride to Roswell/Carlsbad area, a place I'll call home for the next year.

Moving to New Mexico!

Springtime in Virginia shows the beauty of new beginnings

The East Coast has been good to me. Very good. It’s a place in this world I call home. The lush rolling hills of Appalachia serenade the landscape with a sweet lullaby of love. Springtime awakens with life as the flowers bring jubilation to the land. Summertime soothes the soul with lush greenery. Autumn prides itself with a quilt of colors. Winter hushes the land under a blanket of ice and snow, only to melt and start the cycle all over again.

In between these hills, I have the extraordinary gift of friends and family. We have shared moments of joy and happiness among the trials and tribulations. Together we have discovered life and love.

However, it is time for me to follow the spirit of Americana, pack up my motorcycle, and head West. to New Mexico. I’ll be trading the green forest for desert shrubbery and the blue hills for wide open spaces.  Certainty will become uncertainty as I dedicate a year of service in Americorp. My job will be to travel to rural communities to bridge the language and education divide to isolated deaf children by bringing American Sign Language to the children, their peers, and their family.

Do I have regrets? Yes. I wish I could have spent more time with each of you. The seven day work weeks with multiple jobs have taken their toll. Please understand my apologies. My goal this year? To focus more on the people in my life and learn from the lessons the East Coast has taught me.

This is last minute, I know.  I don’t even have two days! In so many ways, this does not make sense nor is it a reasonable decision. But, deep down in my heart I know I need to do this. I need to use my talents and passions to make a positive difference in this world. I also need to something new to get myself out of this rut I’ve been in. I need to learn. I need to grow. I need to get out of my comfort zone.

I will continue to update this blog with stories of life, love, and adventure. I am thankful for those who have been a part of my life thus far, and look forward to being a part of more out West!

My family taught me to never say good-bye. Only say so-long. Please keep in touch!!

Hugs to you all!