One-Man Yak Train

You may have met Greg Mortenson, founder of the Central Asia Institute, in his previous book, Three Cups of Tea. The sequel, Stones into Schools, is the ongoing saga of building schools in Afghanistan and Pakistan, an adventure in which Mortenson is not main protagonist but storyteller. As narrator, he describes unforgettable characters, incredible obstacles, and spectacular local color.

What you discover in Stones into Schools is that Mortenson is an astute judge of individual character. When he meets Sarfras Kahn, “the man with the broken hand”, Mortenson recognizes enormous potential in a high school graduate who knows seven languages. Then, as you follow Sarfras on missions in earthquake torn Kashmir and the remote Wakhan Corridor, you realize that this man’s life experiences have made him a quick study on cultural nuance and a mastermind with logistical puzzles. Possessing a stamina that puts athletes to shame, Sarfras modestly offers gratitude that Central Asia Institute (CAI) has allowed him to become something other than a merchant of yak butter.

In contrast, an inn-keeper when he first meets Mortenson, Wakil Karimi is a product of twenty-three years in a refugee camp. Wakil becomes something of a pest about wanting a school in the town of his birth, 30 miles southwest of Kabul. However, his persistence pays off and he is brought on board as CAI’s Afghanistan director. Wakil turns out to be a visionary who starts a regional movement of women’s literacy groups and has the patience to untangle an unworkable bureaucracy.

Meanwhile, high up in the Wakhan Corridor, an area that is isolated for six months of the year by snow too deep to traverse, lives Abdul Rashid Kahn. A dedicated tribal elder, Abdul goes to enormous lengths to find and bring opportunities to his people. Having exhausted all his resources, Abdul finds in his imminent death a way to rally his people around a project that represents a new future for them.

Mortenson brings to light the heroism of these and other descendants of peoples who were once at the apex of Silk Road trade. These individuals are at the forefront because Mortenson is forced to concentrate on the fund raising opportunity presented by the popularity of Three Cups of Tea. He obviously misses the on-the-ground experience of directly enabling the building of schools and describes himself as nothing more than a “one-man yak train faithfully transporting the donations of ordinary Americans to the far side of the world.” The love and support of his wife Tara and his two children enable him to go from one stretch of 115 presentations to another of 118, then another and another ad infinitum.

Threaded throughout Stones into Schools are stories of individual girls/women who benefit from CAI’s network of schools. Mortenson shows both the enormous difficulties women face in Central Asia, but also their strength and perseverance. Stones into Schools is a delightful and inspiring way to learn about the geography, history, and culture of Central Asia. When laying it down, the reader experiences hope that this geographic region so plagued by war and poverty might actually tap into the DNA of its ancient intellectual primacy and play a new role on the international stage.

The Future of You

Mine was the only gray head in a sea of young people chatting, munching on cookies, opening laptops, and checking their cell phones. I was not where anyone, including myself, would expect to find anti-consumerist me. I was attending a lecture by, gasp, an advertising creative director.

Creativity, Media and the Future of You, the lecture’s title, had struck some chord in my being. Creativity has been my theme song for eons and I’ve been struggling for the last few years to grasp and participate in social media. But it was “the future of you” that cinched my decision to give up my favorite yoga class to hear Simon Mainwaring speak. I sensed that “the future of you” was profoundly different than “your future” and I needed to know what that was.

“The future does not fit the past,“ Mainwaring told these 19-20 year olds. Speaking with an Australian accent, he challenged them to reframe their thinking about the advertizing profession – to think in terms of cyberspace rather than Madison Avenue. With 560 magazines ceasing operation in the last year (prime advertising space) and people finding numerous ways to avoid TV ads, the industry is in major transition. There will no longer be large advertising firms to join, no career ladder to climb.

That being the case, “You are your industry. You must put your brain under new management." He suggested that they spend ten years becoming an expert in something while at the same time keeping the attitude of a generalist and the mindset of an amateur. "Be an agent of your own imagination by asking, 'What if?'”

"You are your own brand." Your brand is what you care about, who you work with, how you behave, how hard you work. You are what you value. You are the curator of your own content. As walking ads for your values:

• Define your purpose
• Identify your values
• Prioritize your values
• Seek work in sync with your values
• Serve with integrity – be consistent with your values
• Leverage technology
• Resist definition
• Be curious – do lots of things
• Be newer – something you weren’t before

Mainwaring described himself as being about the business of social transformation. He told these aspiring advertising professionals that their role is to listen to what’s going on, advocate for what they care about, amplify their values and add meaning to people’s lives. They were to be storytellers who understand emotions, use media, and give meaning to events of the day.

I came away with the understanding that “your future” is similar to a threatening rain cloud you can’t avoid; it’s going to get you one way or the other. But “the future of you” is something you create, something for which you are responsible, and something for which you are the primary agent.

On the Road in 2010!

Pilgrimage: Wonder, Encounter, Witness has been in process for over three and a half years. I'm starting to home in on the finale. In the last couple of months I’ve completed two paintings in the series. Completing them feels monumental.

I had started the Maliwada, India painting three years ago by putting several base coats on paper. That piece stood untouched at the back of my studio. Then last February I did seven small color studies, more than I've done for any of the other fifteen paintings that I’ve completed. That shows how anxious I was about trying to capture what this model village project in India means to me. The studies excited me but did not move me to action. Instead, they sat upon a shelf. Finally, in September I challenged myself to do the painting. It came together in about one month’s time. I guess three years of greasing the wheels of creativity finally got them to move!

I began the painting of Azpitia, Peru over a year ago, worked on it for several months, then set it aside when the section on Machu Pichu didn’t work. At the beginning of October, encouraged by completing Maliwada, I challenged myself to resolve the Peru painting. I spent four weekends putting in Machu Pichu with collage, removing a dark area, reconnecting with the Quechua writing that captured my imagination, putting in a vertical light line, glazing to match the shade of beige I had used in other parts of the painting, and making all the tiny adjustments necessitated by each of these changes. It’s done.

With Peru finished, there’s one final painting in this series: Oyubari, Japan. In August 2006, I did sketches and a study for this piece. I made an unsuccessful attempt at the painting over two years ago and quit. About a year ago, I had an idea for how to do the base coats, but didn’t attempt it. Now I’m challenging myself to complete the Oyubari painting by the end of November.

Why have I put this pressure for completion on myself? Because Pilgrimage is going on the road in 2010! Two exhibitions are scheduled, one in March and one in April-May. Five other sites are looking at shows in 2011 and 2012. And, it looks as though there may be a show catalog that shares both the paintings and stories that go with them. This new wrinkle came out of a visit I made last week to the gallery where Pilgrimage goes up in March.

The stories that accompany Pilgrimage have been evolving for even longer than the paintings. Two tales on my life in the village of Kendur, India were written in 1986. In 1990 I wrote a poem about my experience in the Philippines.  In 1996 I wrote a story based on my experience in El Bayad, Egypt. Last January I wrote anecdotes from Australia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Mexico, Nigeria, and Zambia. Now I’m working on stories from Hong Kong, Japan, Kenya, New Mexico, Peru, Sudan and Maliwada.

Working on paintings for the villages in which I have lived and worked has been like turning a sock inside out. My village experiences in diverse cultures have totally shaped who I am but I’ve always kept them on the inside, hidden from public view. As Pilgrimage goes on tour, my interior will be on the outside for anyone to see. That’s pretty scary, but I know that these paintings and stories need to have a life of their own. They don’t belong to me. They were gifts to me from the Mystery.

Family Food Fun

When Lily starts her brood of chickens, she selects their lineage with care. She wants those that will lay eggs during the winter so that she can keep her customers supplied year round. Lily is the nine-year-old daughter of Barbara Kingsolver and Steven Hopp and she has an entrepreneurial bent focused on chickens and eggs. She’s the character in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life who stole my heart. Her commitment, determination, excitement and downright love for her chickens make most adults look like wimps.

After twenty-four years of living in Tucson, Barbara Kingsolver returned to the area where she grew up, the tobacco growing area of Virginia. She and her family decided to spend one year eating only those foods grown in their local area, and most would come from their own farming efforts. The meals and recipes described in chapters such as Waiting for Asparagus: Late March, Zucchini Larceny: July, and Smashing Pumpkins: October are mouth watering. They go a long way toward convincing the reader that it’s possible to give up our petroleum-based food system and eat in a healthier and tastier way.

The major character in Kingsolver’s book is the family farm, a place overflowing with bounty of different kinds during various seasons of the year. To help us non-farm-based readers comprehend how the farm can feed a family throughout a year, Kingsolver invents the “vegetannual”, a mythical plant that bears spinach, kale, lettuce, and chard in April and May; snow peas, baby squash and cucumbers in June; green beans, green peppers, and small tomatoes in July; beefsteak tomatoes, eggplants, and yellow peppers in late July and August; cantaloupes, watermelon, and pumpkins in late August and September; and lastly the root crops.

One of my favorite chapters is Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast. It was cool to find out that husband Steven, who teaches environmental studies at Emory & Henry College, bakes the family’s bread almost every day, but  “What kind of weirdo makes cheese?” Well, it turns out that Kingsolver’s family members are those weirdos, treating the reader to some humorous moments in the description of a cheese-making class. In fact, the image of the whole family making mozzarella together, “all of us laughing, stretching the golden rope as far as we could pull it” is enough to make readers want to participate in all the fun.

Making cheese, canning tomatoes, baking bread, roasting turkey or lamb are all sources of delight for this family of four. Glimpsing their homegrown fun makes you wonder why we gave up all of this to pull a lever or sit at a computer all day!

Barbara Kingsolver authored most of this book, but her daughter Camille contributed great family recipes and short pieces on a young person’s reaction to all of this farm business. Husband Steven Hopp wrote informative sidebars on environmental issues. Only Lily, too busy with her chicken and egg enterprise, failed to pen any part of the family food narrative.

Encountering Living History

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I made plans to visit Washington D.C. with my two granddaughters, but I certainly never expected to be profoundly moved by live statues. “Live statue” is a Buddhist term that refers to statues that have been blessed and at which people have prayed. It means that the statue has acquired “living energy” that can be accessed by viewers. During last week’s visit to Washington I encountered the living history of the United States through many live statues.

Representative DeFazio’s office had arranged a national parks tour, capital tour, and tour of the National Archives for us. The parks tour began with the Washington Monument – an obelisk that provides a 360 degree view of the capital from its top. My granddaughter took the first picture above showing the WWII Memorial and the Lincoln Monument on one axis. From the Washington tower we went to the Viet Nam Veterans Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial and the Korean War Memorial. Next we proceeded to the World War II Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, and finally the four outdoor rooms of the FDR Memorial.

Many persons have spoken about the power of the Viet Nam Memorial and that is true. However, one of the most moving moments of the week was standing in the presence of the Korean War Veterans Memorial – second picture above. The 19 statues sculpted by Frank Gaylord are heroic in scale (7’3”) and made from a reflective material that makes them appear to come to life in bright sunlight. They are reflected in a mural wall that is engraved with 15,000 photographs of the Korean War, making a total of 38 statues, symbolic of the 38th Parallel and the 38 months of the war. Blowing ponchos on the figures convey the feeling of a cold winter wind at the backs of these soldiers. One could not help but feel the loneliness and suffering endured by those who have elected to defend our values.

What is striking about the World War II Memorial is that it salutes the entire American people. It honors not only the 16 million who served in the armed forces and the 400,000 who died, but all who supported the war effort from home. Pillars for each of the states stand in a circle around a reflecting pool – commemorating the spirit, sacrifice, and commitment that made WWII the defining moment of the 20th century. Here one feels the strength that comes from standing together – the fruit of Lincoln’s efforts to save the union.

Since in contemporary times presidential terms of office are limited to two, I have never really thought about the fact that Franklyn Delano Roosevelt served four terms. As we walked through the four stone rooms, each representing one of his terms, I felt just how much influence this one leader had on our nation. Certainly Washington and Jefferson laid the foundation for our free democracy and Lincoln guided us through a Civil War that could have been our undoing. But it was FDR who led us into the global era and shaped our response to global crises – the depression and World War II. Eleanor Roosevelt played a key role in forging the United Nations. These two people ushered us into the world as we know it now.

I was moved, nurtured, and inspired by the energy emanating from these live statues. I appreciate the power and purpose of memorials for the deceased – to pass their creative force on to the living.

Food Glorious

“What’s that?” I asked a neighbor, pointing to a large pot on her patio.

“Salad,” she replied with a smile. Sure enough, she had sown lettuce, snow peas, and a tomato plant into what would normally be a flower pot. On the spot, I fell in love with the idea of being able to step out to my patio and pick my salad. After arriving at the doorstep of my mind, the idea moved in and took possession. I figured if she could grow salad in a patio pot, so could I.

That was last August, too late to plant. Nevertheless, I surveyed my limited space, already flowing with hydrangea, lavender, jasmine, geraniums, two struggling little dogwood trees, weeping cherry tree and a newly planted quince. How could I make room on the patio for a salad growing box? Except for trees, I’m a committed container gardener. It’s so much easier to control the weeds, you see. What if I extended the plant patio I’d put in by the fence that separates my yard from other condo residents?

I confess that over the last year, additional bricks and pavers began inching slowly along the fence behind two vacant condos. As the days began to lengthen, I took a deep breath and approached the condo association about putting in a second plant patio, down at the end of the fence. With permission granted, I was ready.

Once the new plant patio was in place, I began my “salad” garden, starting with sugar peas in two black plastic pots. Then came a cherry tomato plant, appropriately festooned with a metal cage, followed by lettuce and melon in a planter close to my patio sliding door.

Then I turned my attention to my poor root-bound bamboo plant. Hoping to staunch the browning of its leaves, I decided to thin it. (I should have pulled it out of the pot and trimmed the roots, but being too lazy then I’ll have to do it this fall.) As I cut away, it occurred to me that bamboo sticks often come in handy. So I trimmed the stalks neatly and placed them in my storage unit.

When tiny green sprouts appeared in the two black pots, I realized I would need trellises for the peas to climb. “Ah ha, I bet I can use those sticks I harvested from the bamboo plant.” It worked. The resulting bamboo and raffia structures were not exactly Japanese garden quality, but they stood erect and had crossbars for the peas to twine around.

Now nutritious veggies are growing in my container garden, alongside my lavender, geraniums, jasmine, and primroses. I’m freezing blueberries and strawberries and I might even try my hand at making quince jelly.

Twenty years ago, in the middle of a financial crisis, I told myself that all I really needed was a basic shelter and a small plot of land where I could grow my own food. I suspect it was seeing so many subsistence farmers in countries all over the world that planted this image in my mind. Certainly there were no other agricultural experiences upon which to draw. Anyway, other solutions arose and I set aside the food growing option, until now.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t claim to be a farmer. I’m certainly not producing enough food even for my one person household. But what has happened is that I have a new connection to the cycle of life and a deeper appreciation for organic growers who till the soil day after day, season after season. I feel I'm participating with Great Mystery in the miracle of life.

It would be hard to overstate the pleasure and contentment I derive from an evening walk in the garden. After work each day I check out my plants to see how they’re doing. I go around deadheading the flowers, picking peas, pinching off lettuce leaves, watering if needed. Last night I harvested my first cherry tomatoes.

So you see, Michelle Obama isn’t the only person growing food! I am. I’ll bet you can do it too.

Gifts of Friendship

What does friendship mean to you? Is it the support provided by someone who picks you up after a medical procedure or brings you supper when you’ve sprained your ankle? Is it the solace that comes when you sit up late into the night discussing things that hold meaning for you? Or perhaps, the faith in one’s self that is regenerated by receiving a no-interest loan at a time of life transition? Or the sense of longevity that comes from staying connected to a childhood neighbor or schoolmate?

Having moved around as a child, I didn’t discover the gifts of friendship until I was a young adult working in the civil rights movement and later doing grassroots empowerment in developing countries. Now I’m involved in training administrators for our public schools. As a result of choosing this kind of personally meaningful engagement, I have met many incredible people who have become life-long friends.

These buddies came to my rescue this past year as I struggled with how to get my most recent series of art works shown. Among my allies I discovered those who were Brutally Honest Colleagues, those who were Resource Locaters, and those who were Coaches.

The Brutally Honest folks were communications colleagues who shot down my ideas for how and to whom to present the work. They showed me how I was off base and what objections I would face. They probed my intentions and examined my rationales. When tears of frustration glistened on my cheeks, they sent me home to plumb more deeply into what the series meant and why I cared about it. Unhinged by not having answers to their queries, I vented with friends who are avid readers and researchers.

These Resource Locators told me what they’d been reading and a couple of books threw off sparks. Made to Stick by Chip and Dan Heath sounded as though it would help me think through how to present my artwork in a way that captured people’s interest. The Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau touched on experiences that had given rise to the paintings in the first place. Indeed, reading those two books convinced me that “Pilgrimage: Wonder, Encounter, Witness” was a more “sticky” title for the series than “Lessons from the Village.”

The Brutally Honest Colleagues helped me see that Pilgrimage would be a non-commercial exhibition. Instead of approaching galleries I needed to contact public art centers and museums. I located a couple of places that might be appropriate venues, but cowered when I received their guidelines for exhibition proposals. Three months passed with me doing nothing with my “sticky” idea. That’s when my coaching associates entered the fray.

Coaches ask exceedingly practical questions: Have you made a comprehensive list of non-commercial sites around the state? How many do you need? How long would it take you to do that research? What does “20 images” mean? How can you find out? Do all 20 images have to be from the series you want to show? How many digital images do you have from the series? What’s your next step? By the way, is there any opportunity you can exploit?

The coaches weren’t posing the deeply profound questions that the Brutally Honest Colleagues asked. They weren’t stimulating my thinking the way the Resource Locaters did. They were trying to get me off my duff and into action in the world. They succeeded. My first Pilgrimage exhibition is scheduled for March 2010.

Friendship is like a favorite pair of shoes, comfortable and long-suffering. It’s a relationship that has withstood the test of time, the ups and downs of crisis and misunderstandings. It’s the camaraderie developed by working shoulder to shoulder.

As you peruse your network of friends, ask yourself what roles they play for you and you for them. Give gratitude for the priceless gifts they bestow on you, for their solidarity with your purposes and for their ongoing belief in you.

PLAY: An Under-Appreciated Need

The card in my office mailbox announced a sale – a 13” MacBook for $777 – to celebrate the reopening of the Digital Duck in its renovated space. Since that same laptop was close to $1500 a year ago when I bought my IMac, I took the bait and plunked down my dough.

Then buyer’s remorse set in.  “I don’t need a laptop computer. I have my PC at work and my IMac at home. I don’t need a laptop, so why did I buy it?”

A friend who’s a computer whiz came to help me install the necessary software. When I expressed regret that I had bought something I don’t need, she said that since I hadn’t opened the box, I could return it. I paused. For some reason I didn’t want to take it back. So I replied, “Oh well, if it turns out that I don’t use it, I’ll give it to one of my granddaughters. They’ll be going to college soon.”

I put the laptop in the bedroom and started using it for my morning journaling. It was kind of cool to be able to sit in bed and record my morning reflections, but that was certainly no excuse for buying it.

Meanwhile, I was feeling frustrated with progress on a museum proposal for my Pilgrimage exhibition. I’d stalled because I needed to submit 20 images of my work on a CD and wasn’t sure how to do it. With a nudge from a friend, I stopped procrastinating, selected the images and created 20 files. Then it hit me: no one will bother to open 20 separate files. I need a slide show.

I had never created a slide show. I checked with various friends whom I consider to be proficient on computer stuff. It became clear that to have something that could be opened on either a Mac or PC and would allow viewers to progress through the images at their own pace, I needed to create it in PowerPoint. I had never used PowerPoint. Panic. Pause. Stall.

Cut to me journaling in bed one Sunday morning. On a whim I start fooling with the laptop. I try out Pages for a while and think, “Why not open PowerPoint and have a peek?” Click. "Yuk! I hate templates. Oh well, here goes." I fiddle with a template that shows promise and sort of like it. I see a button for inserting a slide. Click. The slide template allows me to import a photo, so I bring in a scan of one of my paintings. "That was pretty easy!" I start playing around with how I want each page to look. Suddenly I discover I can turn off the background graphics, yeah! Then I find a whole passel of different frames for the image, way cool.

"Oh my God, I can do this!"

I save the file to my thumb drive so I can open it on the IMac where all 20 of my image files are stored. I run downstairs and in a couple of hours, the slide show is done. I am floating on the ceiling with excitement. I, LiDoña, a complete jerk with computers and software, have created a professional-looking slideshow, saved it as a PDF, and burned it on a CD. Totally remarkable!

In the days that follow I begin using functions in Word that I have previously ignored. Somehow by playing on the laptop, I have broken through a barrier. I have used all previous desktop computers as work tools and since not knowing how to do something frustrated my work objectives, I would freeze and call for help. For years, I’ve watched people fool around with one button after another until they figured out my issue. But not me - I might lose some of the precious work I’d completed!

Now I understand that I really do need my MacBook. I need it so I can play.

Food & Mood

Many of us have probably been fighting the dark days of winter by self-medicating with food 'stressors' such as sugar, caffeine, alcohol, chocolate, wheat-containing foods, additives, dairy, and some saturated fats. Now is the time to kick the sugar and refined carbohydrates. Want to overcome the blah feelings you may be experiencing as winter wanes?

Eat foods high in key amino acids
The two amino acids that matter most and most often affect mood are tryptophan (for serotonin) and tyrosine (for dopamine and its cousin adrenaline).

• Foods high in tryptophan include turkey, milk, oil-rich fish, avocado, pumpkin seeds and bananas.


• Foods high in tyrosine include meat, eggs, fish, milk products, beans, nuts and soy products.

I became interested in the “food/mood” connection when I had the opportunity to hear a presentation by John Bagnulo. With a Ph.D. in Food & Nutrition, Bagnulo says that neurologically we need omega 3s, vitamin D3, and vitamin B12. Study the lists below to figure out how to get them into your diet.

Omega 3 (anti-inflammatory)

• found in plants, walnuts & flax


• eat 4-5 Brazil nuts/day(grown in Bolivia and not in Spain) or ¼ cup of walnuts/day


• take fish oil supplements (arctic cod liver oil 3500-4000 IUs will treat full blown depression)


• eat cold water fatty fish such as Pacific halibut, sardines, or wild salmon 2-3 times a week (haddock & cod do not have omega 3s)
  enjoy those egg yolks or reindeer meat
  

Vitamin D3 (controls rate of cell division and is needed by everyone in northern hemisphere)

• need 5000 IUs/day (except in June/July/August)


• take selenium


• get 3000 from fish oil


• can eat seal liver or Shitake mushrooms dried in the sun


• eat 4-5 Brazil nuts/day


• eat dark green vegetables such as kale & mustard greens


• eat tempeh and tofu
  

Vitamin B12 (affects mood, energy, and outlook)

• need 1000 mg/day (a challenge for strict vegetarians)


• eat spinach, beans, miso, sauerkraut


• if not enough, there is a risk of dementia


• if in doubt, Honocysteine is a helpful test to find out your levels
  

When asked for overall recommendations on staying healthy and having a positive attitude toward life, Bagnulo gave the following tips.

• eat a low protein diet of fruits (apples, grapefruits, dark cherries) and vegetables


• to help prevent arthritis eat watermelon & pineapple


• to get iron: eat oysters (also great for minerals), spinach & beets (enhanced by lemon juice)


• anti-skin cancer: use sun block not sun screen, eat Brazil nuts, take selenium


• don’t overcook pasta or baked potato


• good to eat daily: beans, lentils, humus, tempeh


• eat steel oats, millet, quinea, kasha, wild & brown rice, not boxed cereal


• for help with balance and chronic pain - eat almonds, Black Mission figs, and oranges

In summary, give these food 'supporters' a try: water, vegetables, fruit, oil-rich fish, nuts and seeds, whole-grain foods, fiber, protein, and organic food. (Stressors and supporters lists from PCC Natural Markets.)

E to the 3rd Power: Life Without a Car

“I see that you don’t own a car,” commented a friend visiting from out of town.


“Yes”, I responded. “I haven’t owned one since 1964.”


“Why?” she queried. So I proceeded to tell her about my E to the 3rd power life without a car.


“Well, it started as an economic decision. It costs from $6000 to $12,000 a year to own and operate a car. That has always seemed like a lot of money to me, especially during the years that I was self-employed. If I didn’t have to earn $6,000 to $12,000, that meant I had more time for my passions of writing and painting."


What I didn’t mention was that the cities in which I’ve lived – Brussels, Chicago, Manila, Mumbai, Victoria, Singapore, and Sydney – all had public transit systems that seemed less of a hassle than finding (and paying for) parking. Likewise in the small city where I live now.


“Then,” I continued, “over the years, as I learned more and more about global warming and issues of environmental degradation, my economic decision became an ethical choice. I saw that not owning a car was a personal way that I could limit my impact on the environment.”


Again, I didn’t mention that on the occasions that I’ve borrowed or rented a vehicle to accomplish some task that was difficult on public transportation, I felt intensely separated both from nature and other human beings. I find that public transportation puts me in touch with a diverse population that I, as an educated professional, would otherwise not encounter – the poor, youth, immigrants, single parents, and the disabled.


Not that all of the characters I encounter on buses or trains are pleasant and agreeable. I’ve been known to avoid certain times and routes noted for having loud and belligerent passengers. But the truth is, my fellow passengers keep me connected to reality and to our common human suffering. They force me out of my comfort zone and challenge my limited perceptions.


“And now,” I concluded, “not owning a car is a major component of my exercise program. I take routes that force me to walk at least part of the way to and from work or to and from the grocery store. I’m the kind of person who has to build exercise into my everyday routine to make it happen. Not owning a car saves me a gym membership and gets me moving whether I feel like it or not.”


Of course, I didn’t tell her I also do Pilates and Yoga because walking and weight-bearing are just the beginning of what it takes to keep the whole body flexible and resilient. Or that my morning and afternoon walks keep me in touch with nature’s rhythms even as I curse the rain, snow, or blazing sun!


So there you have it: my life without a car makes good economic sense, delivers a low impact on the environment, and gives me ongoing physical exercise - with connections to society and nature thrown in for good measure.


In fact, I have so much invested in not owning a car, that it’s hard for me to see why anyone would want one of those clunkers – except, of course, when I need to lug a forty-pound bag of dirt or pebbles for the garden. Thank you to everyone who’s come to my rescue at such inopportune moments.

The Translator

The Translator is Daoud Hari’s story of individuals who risked everything to get the truth of Darfur out to the world. His principal character is the place, Darfur, a desert area of Sudan that is home to indigenous farming and herding peoples who are being systematically wiped out because they occupy oil-rich lands. There are spaces in Darfur where: “Mirages make birds sitting on distant dunes – birds no bigger than your fist – look like camels. Mirages make dry flatlands look like distant lakes … make the bones of a single human skeleton look like the buildings of a city far ahead.”

For Hari, his older brother Ahmed epitomizes the Zaghawa tribesmen of Darfur. As a teenager, the author planned to go fight with a charismatic commander in Chad. Ahmed found his younger brother and told him to use his brain, not a gun, to make life better. “Shooting people doesn’t make you a man, Daoud,” he said. “Doing the right thing for who you are makes you a man.” Hari returned to school where he learned English, a skill that would later afford him a means to assist his tribesmen.

After years of working abroad to support his family in Sudan, Hari returned home. He arrived as Ahmed was preparing their village to escape an anticipated attack by the Janjaweed. Moments before the assault villagers began walking to Chad. For the next three months, Hari and six of his friends scouted ahead on camels to find water for their desperate tribesmen. The seven men brought food from Chad; helped people find one another and safe routes; and buried men, women, and children who could not finish the trip.

Seeing the flood of refugees pouring into Chad, Hari began serving as a translator, leading dangerous forays back into Darfur. While accompanying Paul Salopek from National Geographic, the two men and their driver were captured, imprisoned, and tortured. Salopek gives a journalist’s report of that ordeal in the March 2008 issue of National Geographic. In The Translator you will receive a more graphic and gripping picture through the storytelling voice of Daoud Hari.

The Translator is a character-driven narrative. Into this ancient land of familial alliances come strange new characters: cell phones that save lives, friendships that survive under torture, and international journalism as a vehicle of truth. The characters exist in a surreal environment: “All trails are erased with each wind. … mountains are not to be trusted … the crunching sound under your camel’s hooves are usually human bones, hidden and revealed as the wind pleases.”

I highly recommend that you read this book, even though it will break your heart. Maybe your broken heart will lead you to participate in stopping the genocide in Darfur.

PILGRIMAGE

I’ve been working over the last couple of months on how to position my village series for presentation. My current thinking is to have an exhibition called Pilgrimage that would include all of the village paintings, but also others related to similar experiences. The paintings would be accompanied by stories that relay the encounters that led to the paintings. Below is a draft of my artist statement for this exhibition.

Artist Statement for Pilgrimage

To go on a long journey … to confront obstacles …to be grateful for kindnesses
What places in the world have beckoned to you?

To do penance … to pay homage … to find meaning
How have “off the beaten path” experiences transformed you?

To seek answers to one’s deepest questions … to find one’s self through testing
In what ways have personal quests shaped your identity?

To see the world … to know the world … to become the world
When have people from other cultures deepened your humanity?

The paintings in Pilgrimage are the product of forty years of wanderlust – a passion that arose at the age of seventeen when I left my blue-collar home in Midwestern United States and embarked upon a quest that took me to remote sites around the world.

Paintings began emerging sporadically, as various meaningful experiences bubbled to the surface of my memory. In 2006 I began intentionally developing a body of work around human and cultural encounters that have shaped my identity. Many of these pieces are based upon an aerial view of a specific village where I lived and worked. In addition to colors, symbols, architecture and/or fabric patterns indicative of the culture of each location, I have embedded my own personal symbols to express the impact the people of that place had upon me.

I hope the narratives that accompany the paintings will not only deepen the viewing of the exhibition but also elicit the viewer's reflection upon her/his own personal quests.