New Year's Eve

Well ladies and gents, here I sit. Primped and primed and ready to roll. I have a few different options for New Year's Eve tonight, but I have chosen the path of most resistance, because that's how I like it.

What is the path of most resistance? SOLO! For real, I will be leaving in.....5 minutes to head downtown and mix and mingle with a world full of strangers. We shall see how it goes. I suspect, like most things that I choose to do solo, this little experiment will turn quite interesting. Not having anyone but one's own self along for the ride allows for any twist and turn. Believe me, I have been on many a solo twist and turn and have found myself in some very strange places at the path's end.

And so, here I go, off into the void! I am certain that I will see familiar faces on this little excursion, as I have already heard that quite a few people I know will be downtown, but this experiment is all about fun and what might happen whilst solo. Allowing life to dictate your path is the grandest adventure of all. No matter how small the beginnings of any excursion, the end might just be brilliant. So, go ahead and play!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

Is there anything better than the holidays? I mean, aside from fresh crab and shrimp, a nice brew and a never ending supply of drinks with little umbrellas, whilst chillin’ on the beach, of course.

I sit here in this lovely TC home on the eve of Christmas Eve. A sweet little retro Christmas tree sparkles in the living room corner, the dogs are snoring, the sun is glistening off of the snow and a Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon is on A&E. Life is good today, folks.

Being back in the U.S. of A. has been an interesting transition for your’s truly. I now drive almost everywhere instead of walking. Money has, yet again, become a number one goal. I now carry around a BlackBerry. And self indulgence is EVERYWHERE!

This holiday has always brought me hope and joy. I have always enjoyed watching the gifts that I give light up the faces of others. Getting has always been fun, but it is giving that brings me the most happiness at Christmastime. Which is why, this year, I am a bit confused.

What is the deal with people complaining about Christmas shopping? When did the joy of Christmas turn into a stressed filled punch line? Every year, I take a day for myself, usually during the last week before Christmas as I LOVE the hustle and bustle of that time, and I go shopping. This year was a bit different as I am still rebuilding the savings account. But, the ritual remained. I turn the car radio to the all day Christmas music station, down a glass of egg nog and roll. Christmas spirit is thick in the malls and shops this time of year, but so is the whining.

I have grown tired of hearing all of the complaints about long lines, too many people, not enough time, etc. It seems to me that many people fail to realize that the vast majority of this planet’s population could not fathom spending a fraction of what is being spent by one Wal-Mart customer during the Christmas “shopping” season. Those that complain, as they load their carts and trunks, are failing to see the wonder that is happening before them. They can afford to buy and buy and buy until their list is finished. This is not something that should cause stress, nor should it cause anger or complaints. The gift that has already been given to the fortunate few who are able to fill the underside of a Christmas tree with needed and wished for treasures is something that that most people in this world will never have, many will never even be able to imagine it.

Furthermore, let us not forget what this season is REALLY all about. Christmas is a time of reflection, togetherness and joy. It is a time to ponder one’s soul and to share the spirit. This is the greatest of all holidays for so much more than just pretty paper wrapped around pretty things.

God willing, I will be spending my next Christmas in Florida or Hawaii or some other tropical locale (seriously). Yet, no matter where I am in this world I will never forget the lessons that have been taught to me throughout each Christmas of my life. Lessons of selflessness and giving passed on to me by parents, friends and those so poor that one mall shopping trip for me would pay for their entire family’s year of life, will be with me forever. I have seen the joy of giving and love during this season within the poorest of third world communities. Life is good, life is great. During Christmas, this fact can simply not be ignored.

Merry Christmas everyone! Now, if you don’t mind, I have some research for living in Hawaii to do (aka, I need to watch some more Dog, yo!) Aloha!

Long Absent

Hello blog reading friends! I apologize for my long absence from this page. Life has whirled and twirled your's truly and I am just now catching up with my feet.

I remain in Michigan. Technically single at the moment, but still madly in love with Steph (as she appears to be with me), I will be flying her to Michigan for her maiden voyage through this State's winter charms. She will be here in February and will remain for one week. I have high hopes for the weather (may it be lovely!), the events (may they be perfect!), the company of friends (may they be plentiful and in the mood to party!) and the relapse of togetherdom.

My writing continues to increase my bank account bit by bit. I am now a regular in two magazines and a newspaper. I have also returned to counseling mentally ill people in crisis. Now, when one thinks "mentally ill" all manner of stigma may enter one's brain. I assure you that the people for which I work are no different than you or I. There, but for the grace of God, go we. Their illness or situation is almost always new to them and terrifying. Thus is the climate with which I surround myself twice per week.

I have also come to some conclusions on living situations.

I am here, once again, a block from downtown. The snow is feet deep and the chill is diving toward zero. I am no longer a winter sort of dude. I will be here through this winter. I will then move into a more permanent home here in town with a good friend of mine. There, I will reside through Michigan's wonderful summer and fall months. But, before winter makes its all too soon return, I shall vacate this locale and escape to a warmer clime. This March will mark the beginning of a four month training course in which I will earn my Personal Trainer's certification. I will take this certification to Miami or some other such warm destination (Hawaii anyone?) and I will set up life anew there. The only cold destination that could conceivably win my heart would be my beloved Chicago. I could stand winters if I lived in that town!

Christmas is drawing near. It's spirit infects me now as it has so many times before. This Christmas, however, means a bit more to me. While I still only have the contents of 2 suitcases and one carry-on to my name, I am whole heartedly giving. My bank account is still rocking to and fro, about to fall, but I reach as deeply as I possibly can. For me, life is good! For those around me, life is great! Yet, people still suffer. This Christmas is my first since leaving Guatemala. I will work to insure that my awareness of human suffering does not end and what better time than Christmas to begin to put to the test Ghandi's adage "We must be the change we wish to see"?

One more resolution that has made its way into my life. I will preach. What will I preach? Life! Far too many people suffer from the delusion that life has them pinned. Far too many people think that they suffer because of what life has done to them. I will spread the message that LIFE IS GOOD!! One's own actions and one's own decisions dictate one's own life. If you want something, go for it! It shall be your's! The only failure is in the failure to try. Without the will to succeed, one will not. Success is SO easy to obtain. It is there for the taking, we must only claim it.

I leave you now with the promise that I will contribute to this little blog at least once per week. I am off now to shovel snow and jog amongst it!

Red Wine in My Veins

I am surrounded by the remnants of me. My day planner rests in its little spot, suddenly full of friends, work and fun. Mad little scribblings adorn the various scraps strewn across this desk, names of random papers and magazines grace each little line.

I am sitting in the office of a home that once left my life and now has returned. The owner, one of the nicest, most amazing people that I know. I am again on Oak Street, a mere block from downtown.

I have spent the day immersed in work. I met a man passionate about the planet and his trade. I met another passionate about humankind. I will write stories about these people and their work and I will write about many other things in the hours and days to come.

Life continues to be good to me. My full of work day planner is evidence of that.

I have just returned from a perfect evening.

The evening began with the donning of a coat, hat and shoes. I walked out of the door onto streets so very familiar, feeling as though I was lost in a dream. The lamplight’s glow wrapped me in warmth and ushered me to the next light, the next step, the next memory. I wandered past Northpeak, where oh so many memories have been made. I found my pace slowing as I entered downtown, the lights of the shops and the treasures within drawing my gaze and giving me pause. The comfort of a plethora of scenes played out on these very sidewalks, in this very place, brought a feeling of contentment to the forefront of my being.

Filled with this new, unrequited love, I entered a place I knew all too well at the side of a dear friend I had missed so very much. Mandy bought us tea and we relaxed in the window of the café. We spoke of writing, life and lifetimes past. We spoke of things to come and things yet unknown. The State Theater’s pulsating lights gave her eyes a life of their own and her smile only added to the brilliance of the new moment being shared in the old room. We laughed, we drank and we became a bit more energetic thanks to her Jasmine tea.

We exited and wandered across the road to the State, mistook a screen for a paper sign and discussed how the French had royally screwed up Made-Line. (insider right there!) We said our goodbyes in front of Horizon. As she walked away I slowly turned to enter the welcoming Mecca of books. That’s when it hit me. The glow of downtown, the company, the perfection of it all. Another moment, a moment in which I realized that I am truly living, a moment in which I knew that I was alive. Downtown sparkled, our laughter still echoed in my mind and one of my favorite destinations smiled down upon me, bidding me enter and continue my high! And thus, I did.

I wandered again through downtown on my return to this home. I stopped and scoped out menus, I listened to music, I smiled and felt fulfilled.

I now sit here, Diana Krall sings about me being a bit of red wine in her veins. That is perfection; for this night, the sights, the company, the strangers have all been a bit of red wine in my veins and I am pleasantly buzzed, yet again, on this wonderful thing called life!

Final Adu

The time has come for me to cease this foreigner existence. I have begun packing and playing in earnest. I have thrown away more of my meager worldly possessions as the phrase “baggage fees” does not mix well with the title “volunteer.”

For the past year and two months, I have lived the life of one who has slipped into an issue of National Geographic. Everyday I awoke to the sights and sounds of the third world. Bustling, crowded open air markets were my grocery stores, flamboyantly decorated buses full to bursting of people were my transport, a new and strange voice my only language and the knowledge that each day would hold a new adventure the likes of which I had never seen became the reason for my leap out of bed. I have walked two pairs of sandals into oblivion during this experience and my running shoes are paper thin thanks to the cobble stone streets and steep terrain. I have watched the sun rise over the black sand beaches of Guatemala’s Pacific coast and watched it set over the lava fields of Pacaya, one of Guatemala’s more than 20 active volcanoes. I have slept within mosquito netting deep in the heart of the jungle while being serenaded by the sounds of Howler Monkeys and Jaguars hunting. I have braved the urban jungle as well. I worked with Guatemala City’s most impoverished, walking amongst the trash with them, entering their homes and experiencing the hospitality of one who has nearly nothing to offer, but is happy to offer all that they have. I have seen violence, happiness, sadness, loss, gain, gratefulness and success. I feel as though I have lived 100 lifetimes in the time that I have spent amongst these Guatemalans, Germans, Americans, Mexicans, British, Africans, Dutch, Chinese, Koreans, Canadians and French. I have befriended people from every continent on this planet. The offers of places to stay and people to play with are now open to me in almost every country in Europe and many other countries throughout the world.

In mid-October I will return to Traverse City. I look forward to this homecoming! I can not wait to see the people that I treasure and the places that I love. I know of some losses, such as Mike Moran (who now lives in San Diego and will be taking the music scene by storm any day), but I have heard of so many wonderful things. The State Theater continues its brilliance, downtown will still be my most favorite of places, Amical and Northpeak remain open as do so many of the other perfect restaurants and businesses that I frequent when home. I simply cannot wait to return home and begin life in Traverse City anew.

With that happiness comes a certain measure of sadness. Those that I have met here in Guatemala have become so very dear to me, the thought of leaving pains me so. But, this country has been a rebirth, not a permanent exodus from life for me, as it is for almost every one of them. They all will soon begin their journeys back into “the real world.” They will find, as I am sure that I will, that this “real world” is completely changed in their eyes. One can not do the things that have been done or see the things that have been seen and remain unchanged. My love and care for humanity has increased ten fold. This human condition that we find ourselves in will always fascinate me and I will always strive to improve the conditions of those less fortunate than I.

And so, barring any acts of God, I will be “home” in less than two weeks. I have many things to do upon my return! One of my best friends just had a baby that I must see, I am about 150 Apple Martinis behind all of my friends and I have not hit anyone with a snowball in two years. A lot of catching up to do! Parking Patrol beware!!

Face of God in the Waves

I have bid a fond farewell to the ocean and witnessed the face of God.

Amid the crashing waves of Saturday’s 10PM hour I stood on a black sand shore. I have been to many “houses of God,” but in this house, I truly felt that I was in the presence of something grand. The black sand was my pew, the immense crash and roll of each wave my choir, the piercing moon and towering clouds my cathedral and rolling thunder of the distant storm my voice.

Each wave came in like the hand of destruction, blossoming out of a rippling sea to come crashing down upon itself mere meters in front of my person. The force of each wave shook the earth beneath me and the aftermath wrapped itself around me, oftentimes with such force that I was forced to dig in to the sand upon which I sat so as to avoid being swept away.

I stood or sat, depending on my bravery, watching the waves appear in the moonlight. Were I any sort of photographer, I would have been able to catch one of the myriad of moments that allowed me to witness a sword of lightning pierce the sky just as a newly born wave broke free from its under water bonds. Seconds after the strike, the thunder would roll through the warm night air adding to the majesty of the moment its own core rattling chorus.

The clouds were mammoth, towering beasts, holding God, no doubt, somewhere in their mighty midst. As I looked up at the sky I realized that no time, sweat or money need ever be wasted on a simple building ever again, not when God built churches such as this.

I looked up into the waves, the lightening and the clouds and said a simple thank you. Thank you for this moment, thank you for this time, thank you for this breath, thank you for the sight to see and the strength to follow that sight.

I leave Guatemala in one week. I said a thank you for my time here and I bid farewell to the waves, the heat, the smell of freshly cooked shrimp and Dorado. I bade farewell to the Reggaeton, the palm trees and the skinny little dogs. I allowed the ocean to swallow me up and spit me out and I turned and walked away.

This will not be the last time that I witness grand waves on an open sea, nor will it be my last time in Guatemala, but it is the last for this experience, this life altering existence that I have just survived.

I am not one to seek out God in a building, whatever its name may be. But, when the Creator shows Him or Her self to the land so very plainly, I will most certainly not ignore it. To be encouraged to experience every moment is part of the perfection of life. Would that all of us could experience every moment for what it is….miraculous in scale, mammoth in presence, perfect in my eyes.

Bloody Bumpers

Shall I weave you a tale of fisticuffs?

Birthdays remind us that life is precious. The more birthdays that one has, the quicker the next one seems to come. I have had 28 birthdays thus far. The years certainly do fly by now. I like to think that it is because I am having so much fun with life, for, as they say, time flies whilst having fun!

It was in celebration of the birthdays of Liz and Shannon that three friends and myself made the hour long trek once again to Cien Puertas in Guatemala City. Cien is in Zone one. This zone is not the poorest of Guate, but it is certainly nothing like one would see in an American city. The feeling of safety is not present, the buildings are all very Soviet in their design, the colors are neutral and adventure seems to be lurking just beyond the next ignored stop sign.

We arrived at Cien in a brand new pick up truck. A very handsome Mazda extended cab thing that Valerie had just bought the day before. The night began on a strange note. We found a parking garage that was not full. This truck is a long thing, and the tight squeeze that was necessary for the one spot that was open proved to be a bit more than the truck could handle. After backing into a large pylon and almost hitting 2 cars, the truck was finally parked.

We met up with 10-15 other people once in Cien and proceeded to have a wonderful time. We smoked the hookah, drank our litros, heard the newest arrival’s harrowing survival stories, then told of our own, met Ross’ one month girlfriend (meaning that he is leaving in a month and, having just met this incredible Spaniard, proceeded to ask her if she wanted to “hang out for a month” to which she replied “sure”), danced and had an all around great time.

This Cien is a perfect place to be. A number of bars line the closed to traffic block, there is plenty of seating and bebidas. The people watching is beyond compare here, as hundreds of people mill in and out of the various bars and walk and/or stumble down the road. Life is thrilling and fun here and it lasts until 1AM, Guatemala’s bar time.

After 1AM, however, things can get a little sketchy.

It was about 1:15AM when Steph pulled Carmen and me to the gate saying that Val had just left to get the truck and would be out front shortly. When we passed through the gate, Val was double parked, along with almost everyone else, on the overcrowded little street that teemed with cars and drunks. Steph, Carmen and I climbed into the truck as Val went to retrieve the other 10 people that would be taking a short ride with us, Guatemalan style (in the pick-up bed), back to the city house (what we call Shannon, Liz and Ross’ place, as it is in the city).

All was going smoothly, only a few little altercations here and there, nothing too grand. Then, all of a sudden, a fight that had only included two punches to the face for some stupid talking drunk just a moment before as we climbed into the truck, intensified.

The fight had been located in front of a taxi that was parked in front of the pick-up. But, as one faction pulled their fighting buddy away from the other faction’s fighting buddy, that 2nd fighter broke free and straight up attacked the poor little drunk right in front of the pick up. Before we knew what was happening, heads were being smashed into the hood, drunken punches were landing on drunken jaws and some moron was trying to find a head for his empty litro bottle that did not belong to a friend.

We all rolled up our windows and locked our doors as we half laughed, half gasped at the worsening situation just a few feet away.

There is an element of uncertainty that comes along with each fight in Guatemala. That element is the fact that, at any moment, someone might pull out a gun and begin randomly poppin’ caps. So, for a few seconds, we watched and hoped that no bullets would start flying. There were no cops anywhere, and if there were, they wouldn’t of done anything anyway.

After a few moments, we realized that these idiots were just a bunch of drunks, not one of them possessing a gun. So, Steph leaned forward and began honking the horn in an attempt to get the bleeding masses off of the hood. After a while, the horn worked and the fight continued further down the street.

Needless to say, the rest of the night went smoothly. We made it home alive. I cannot say the same for any of the drunks as one never knows down here.

Upon arrival in Antigua, we checked out the front of Val’s truck. Dripping down the entire front of her new vehicle was copious amounts of blood.

Well, that Mazda is now officially a member of the Guatemalan driving population. Every car has its own problems here in Guatemala, be it being hit by a horse or having the mirror ripped off by a falling drunk, it will be something, it will be often and it will NOT be a normal little thing!

The Search

The mountains are majestic, the trees regal. The water is smooth as glass. The snow on the mountaintops glistens, the water shimmers, the mountains, trees, grass and sky all gleam in the fading light. I never thought that a scene such as this could ever be so cheesy.

You see, the fading light is the half-dead glow of florescent. The gleaming, glistening, shimmering is the metallic paint. I am lying in a bathtub, my heel on a washcloth that I am using to plug the drain to make this bath possible. I am staring at this little "painting" trying to think as the humming, buzzing, popping of the light permeates my brain, thus blunting the thinking process.

I am in a seedy hotel. Upon entering my room, I took stock of my surroundings. Two small beds, two holes in the wall (probably hiding cameras), a 13-inch TV, a wobbly table, two broken chairs, an old corded phone, a 1970s plastic chandelier, faded pastel Kincaid rip-offs, dark pink carpet with what appears to be a large blood stain by the first bed, and a cracked mirror. I am home.

Here, in my little slice of the American vacation dream, I shall reside for the night, halfway between point A and point B. I will sleep in fear of my socks being stolen and who knows what else on my paper-thin sheets and cardboard-stiff comforter.

These rooms tend to have much more of a life force about them than do the higher-priced, more sanitary ones. What have these walls seen? What evil trappings must abound in their pages? An ex-mobster on the run? A senator trying to get away from his sham of a life? A poor sap who knows that there must be more to this life than small-town USA has offered? Who knows what secrets this room holds.

As I placed my suitcase on the bed, I was sure of one thing. The stories of this room, including mine, all share one common thread: the search.

"The search" is all encompassing in a place like this. The search for escape, the search for meaning, for answers, for adventure. Each weary traveler who has rested their troubled head upon that flat, lumpy pillow has been on "the search." People do not stay in places like this for pleasure; they stay because life dictates it, because it is necessary to go as far as possible in their search for whatever haunts them.

What haunts me is adventure. I seek it and, in that seeking, I find myself unwilling to spend money that could be put to better use as a tool for adventure.

So, I lie here in my lime-green bathtub attempting to snatch some of the knowledge of those who have lain here before me from the heavy air. I turn on the hot water (at least I have that) for one last re-heat before I exit.

A few moments pass and the popping in the light grows louder. Soon, there is a flash of white and a small shower of sparks. It seems that I am done with my bath whether I like it or not. I fumble around for a towel and step back into the room.

The TV is flickering, just as I left it. I realize that Brad Pitt is beginning his trip to Tibet. I grab my pistachios and water, lie down on the bed and become lost in a fellow traveler's tale; secure in the knowledge that tomorrow, thanks to my seedy little room, I will be able to embark on a journey that is just as interesting as this that I am now observing.

Strange, this room. It seems to need me as much as I need it. We are partners, the room and I. I will add to its lore my little wayside story, and it will enthrall me with its quasi-dangerous appeal, almost as if sleeping itself is part of my adventure.

Cigar Smoke and Yesteryear

Columbian cigar firmly tucked within my teeth, I look out upon the hills and valleys of this little spot in life. My “wine” holds pride of place within my grip and each sip brings a twinkle to my eye slightly brighter than the last. With each twinkle, my vision expands and soon I am soaring through my mind.

The smoke makes coat tails about my head, it chases away the mosquitoes and the useless images of yesteryear. The sights and scents of my little slice of heaven permeate my senses to the nth degree. The sun slowly disappears behind a bank of reds and pinks. The clouds, barely able to reach my height, skim across the treetops, appearing to be caught by the up reaching green fingers of each mighty elm and palm.

I dwell on my present and I dwell on the now. I think on the future and where I shall be. The packing rituals have begun, the ticket has been purchased and soon gravity shall have no claim over me.

Perfect moments, such as this and such as the night I spent before, have come fast and furious in this time of mine. Moments on leaf strewn pathways, surrounded by the fiery rainbows of Fall. Moments that have seen me in the midst of a Great Lake, surrounded by water and watercraft. Perfection has been found on sandy beaches, in towers of man made brilliance reaching to the sky, on mountain tops, in hole-in-the-wall bars and all manner of other locale.

This perfect moment, as with most others, catches me unaware. I have wrestled with decisions, but have always refused to deny their consequences. The consequence of my most recent life altering go at existence is perfection. What will be the consequence of leaving that decision behind? Abandoning it for yet another attempt at renewal? At rebirth? Upheaval? Only time will tell. Only time knows what I will bring down upon my head with this ticket that has been purchased and the flight from my norm that it, again, guarantees.

Belief is a state of mind that refuses to be put down. No matter the circumstance, no matter the surrounding evidence, belief brings with it an inherent ability to see that silver lining and turn it to gold. And so, my cigar long finished, my wine, long drained, I set forth yet again on a journey into the unknown. Less than a month and I shall fly. This glass that is my life is full and shall soon be full to overflowing.

To Hell With Things!!

Shall we speak of clutter?

Long before I made the decision to be independent of mind and even longer before I made the decision to move to Guatemala, I had a problem. Clutter.

Clutter of the house, clutter of the soul and clutter of the mind. A few years ago I made a move from a small beach town in Northern Michigan to a larger beach town. This move required the biggest U-Haul possible, two full sedans, one full SUV, a full pick-up and a full trailer. This was all for 3 people. After that move came another, this one by myself, to an apartment. I, once again, required the services of U-Haul’s biggest truck.

During my time in my perfect downtown pad I became annoyed with all of the clutter. I could barely move! What the hell was so very important about all of this shit?? And so, day by day, more and more of the clutter disappeared. I would open a box and see memories or garbage (oftentimes being the same thing) that no longer seemed at all necessary and thus, would haul the box to the dumpster. Each time I left, I made a point of taking something with me, never to be seen again. Slowly, my apartment appeared less like a storage unit and more like the home that it actually was.

I threw away pictures, dishes, clothing, horrid décor, Christmas junk and all manner of other unsavory and thus unwanted bric-a-brac. Then, Guatemala happened.

When I decided that I would be moving to Guatemala, I knew that I would not be taking anymore than 3 suitcases with me. And so, once again, I opened up my home to strangers and garbage men. I sold, gave away or threw away almost everything that I had. By the time that I moved into my last bit of temporary housing before my big move, I comfortably fit everything that I owned into my Chrysler Concorde. And then all of that was gone, including the car.

The more of “me” that I saw leave, the more free I began to feel. Fewer things defined me, fewer things held me down. Suddenly, I was a man with no home, very little possessions and the most at ease mind that I had ever experienced. That is when I became a fan of “minimalism.” I shall live by that little label for the remainder of my life.

Now, with exactly one month remaining until I leave Guatemala, I find myself minimalizing again. I will not board that plane with more than 2 pieces of checked luggage. This means that further clutter must be vanquished. I sit here in this office with a garbage bag full of things that, one year and two months ago, I thought I could not live without. My purging is not yet finished, many more things will be given away or thrown out before I leave.

This whole experience has taught me many things. Pictures of Chicago are replaceable, for one, I do not need the heavy frames or weighty memories attached. Also, one’s house is much like one’s soul. Too much clutter will make you feel as though you are suffocating beneath the weight of you. Free your mind, and the rest will follow, as they say.

With each garbage bag and free item, I feel that old weight lifting off of me yet again. My world is becoming lighter, more manageable, more maneuverable, more free.
This life is much like that small downtown apartment that I had. At first, it appeared as though I were some sort of pack rat, intent on living within my own filth. I let it all in, all of the thoughts and all of the garbage that came along with them. Then, I decided to change and with that change came peace, tranquility and a form of light that I had never known. I continue to shape and mold, I continue to throw things out.

Life is a series of transitions. Take my advice, leave the bags behind, start anew with each transition. Life will provide all that you need and more.

Journies

The road trip was amazing and the visit was grand.

Steph and I recently returned from an adventure that took us into the wild north of Guatemala. We saw caves, jungles, poverty and the most horrendous road that I have ever driven on. 38 miles literally took us over three hours.

We slept in strange hotels and in the midst of the jungle. Howler Monkeys provided the soundtrack to an amazing sunset over a perfect lake. Mosquito netting protected our beds and Gallo helped us drift off to sleep in the sweltering heat. It was one of the best road trips that I have ever had!

A very good friend of mine, Geoff, just flew home to Michigan today. He visited for almost a week. He stated a need to get away from it all and have a good time. I do not think that I let him down.

We partied in the city, partied in Antigua, climbed an active volcano and felt the thrill of lava flowing right at us, we hung out and reminisced about days gone by and spoke of days to come. We shopped and ate. In short, we lived. I sincerely hope that it was one of his best trips ever.

I have been doing a lot of living myself, lately. I have become desperate to live as much as possible in these, my final days in Guatemala. I accept whatever is offered, I tote my camera along to capture the memories. The idea of leaving this place and these people has caused me to panic in recent days. Time is not a friend at the moment.

However, I know that the future is golden. I know that life will continue on for me in my next journey and those beyond.

As I prepare myself for my upcoming change I can certainly rest easy in the fact that I have taken this experience and lived as much as I could of it. My desperation to live is causing my writing to suffer. I am constantly on the go, wanting to be out experiencing whatever. My patience for the keyboard and screen has waned to near zero. Yet, I feel that the need to write continues to be strong within me.

I have a second laptop, one that has crashed. On this laptop is the first three chapters of a biography. It starts at my ultimate betrayal, my low point. I watch my dog ride away in someone else’s car as the near Christmas snow falls softly around me. I am full of pain, full of doubt and full of something like hate. This story progresses to a dream beginning to come true. This beginning is where the stupid machine died. I will re-write these chapters and begin anew. This book of mine, one I thought none would ever wish to see, is a thing that I am quite eager to continue. The story it tells is enthralling and I can not believe that it is mine. I never would have thought that I would become what I am and be where I am.

Just like my lost, and soon to be redone, biography, I will set out anew for lands and situations unknown. I will re-write myself yet again. I will take up what life has chosen to hand me and I will live, as always.

Soon, I will be back in the States. Soon, I will have my own place, my own car, my own spanking new existence.

A smile crosses my lips now as I think of all the times that I have had my own “spanking new existence.” To be so free as to be able to start over and continue on as though this were the plan is to truly have lived and be living. I love this life with all that I am. I would trade it for nothing and will treasure it forever.

Stop To Feel The Lava

(Sorry all! I have just returned from the road!! It was awesome, amazing and jarring. Many blogs to come!)


Have you ever found yourself within a perfect moment? Did the world seem to stop, for just a fraction of a second, so that this perfect moment could continue on? Well, moments like these happen quite often to your’s truly here in Guatemala.

The latest moment took place this past Saturday. I was ready for my night of movie watching when a text came through.

“This hippie festival is awesome! Come up!” it read. I passed the phone to Steph and in no time we were out of relaxing clothes and walking toward Café No Se where we were to catch a shuttle that would then whisk us to one of the millions of San Cristobals spread throughout Central America.

One can learn a lot about life whilst traversing in a free shuttle. Things like: deodorant is a good thing, people really do think that they are brilliant when they are high, music is the gateway to the soul and an endless plethora of other tid bits. I have met many a new friend while sitting in a free shuttle on the way to some thing or another here in Guatemala.

We arrived at our destination, a house on one of the surrounding mountains that was now covered in people, immersed in laughter and song, flowing with beer and wreaking of fantastic food.

On the rooftop of this gentleman’s very own bar was situated a stage. From that stage emanated lyrics and music the likes of which one can find throughout Guatemala. Lyrics spoke of travelers finding themselves, of tall tales getting taller and of Bob Marley covers.

As surprised and awed as I was by the scene and by the plethora of friends present, my breath was ultimately taken away by the view. We sat on the edge of a wall that guarded a cliff. Nestled within the valley was Antigua, home. As the night crept in, the view began to twinkle and then to shine. Guatemala is covered in various shades and colors of light. I have flown a few times now and I have arrived in the dark. In the USA, cities appear white. Here in Guatemala, cities and towns are colored for Christmas. The orange glows turn a reddish color, the soft whites turn green. Slight blues mix in and one is transported into a different state of mind. We sipped our Gallo, ate our frijoles and tortillas and falafel and we allowed the music and the view to take us away.

The clouds began to roll in below us, causing the valley to glow. As I raised my glass to my lips, Fuego exploded in the distance, sending a tower of lava into the night sky that then rained down upon its distant slopes.

That is when time stopped. That is when my breath was taken away. That is when I fell in love with this world for the billionth time.

We are, all of us, citizens of this planet. Yet, far too often, we refuse to see its perfection. Every day, little moments take place all around us. If only we would stop and pay attention, life would mean so much more! Who cares what is happening or where you have to be. You could only have one go ’round in this life, why waste it?

I continue to insure that my show will be a good one! Join me, won't you?

Falling Into Thought.

I remember Fall.

I remember the drive through the leaves and along the lakeshore. I recall the sight of a road lined by trees encompassing every color in the spectrum for as far as the eye can see. I remember Alanis, John Meyer, Ani and all manner of other folk rock artists guiding my car along its way. I drove to spend a weekend in a Best Western with my girlfriend, I drove to allow the one in the passenger seat to let it all out, I drove to end the pain, love the infatuation, embrace the world. I drove with a car full of friends or completely alone. My destination was not important. In the trip was the magic.

I find myself in the midst of life’s turmoil. A relationship longed treasured may come to an end because of the necessity of life. Those tears of which I spoke, the ones that prove that this has been the best time of my life, have flowed. My smile has wavered, but it has not disappeared. This is a sad end, if that is what it shall be. But, be it the beginning of something new and even more precious? Do I not hold my friends so very close to me? Would I not lay down my life for their happiness? Their safety? Just to get them to laugh? Look guys! I’ll yell, I know you’re sad, so here! I have jumped into the path of this trolley! It has to be like 50 years since anyone has been killed by a trolley!! WHAT FUN! And they would laugh and my work would be done. Actually, that is pretty funny when I think about it. Taken out by a trolley, imagine the headlines! “Man’s Face Catches Red Line To Downtown.”

The point is, friendship is just as meaningful as love, sometimes even more so. There is, however, less sex, but that’s OK. Sex just screws things up anyway, especially between friends…….ESPECIALLY between DRUNK friends!

I stood today, in front of my mirror. After I had finished my best Peter Griffin impressions and lip synced a little to Michael Bolton, I asked my reflection this simple little question: “Brooks, wanna make out?” Then I asked, “Brooks, are you happy? Right here, right now, in this moment, in your jogging outfit, about to run your fat head even further into oblivion, ARE-YOU-HAPPY?” My reflection rubbed its go-tee in a pondering sort of fashion (since I do not have glasses to whip off and chew ever so slightly whilst I think, this will have to do). After a moment, it nodded, Silent Bob style. In my thoughts I heard, “Yes, I am happy, right here, right now. We may lose her as a girlfriend, but she is amazing, she will find someone who will make her happy and we will have her as a friend, BEST friend. We may leave this place, this wonderful land of wonderful people, but we will forever have it in our minds and we will forever have it to come back to. We may be moving back home to start all over again because YOU insisted on selling EVERYTHING, even the black velveteen art, but that just means that we remain free. Things will not hold us down like they did before. And when we have things again, there will be no hurtful memories attached to it. You will no longer find hair from your long lost dog in the couch nor will you be reminded of old times and unhealthy people when you sit down at the dinner table and see the various marks that were left behind. Yes, I am happy and I can see that you are too.”

Soon, I will be wandering the shores of Lake Michigan. The colors will be changing, the sweaters will come out (along with my uber sexy coat!), the Fall décor, the crisp breeze, the overwhelming urge to hop in my car and go enjoy it. I may be wandering that beach with friends, a new someone or all on my own. Right now, that matters not. Life’s journey continues on. Life’s choices bring with them life’s consequences. This is my time, this is my place.

Will this new vision come true? Will life completely turn around on me again? Who knows? All that is known for certain is that, day by day, I will live. Someday my life will flash before my eyes, my job is to make certain that the show is a good one!

Paris and Antigua

The next couple of weeks are going to be sweet!

Next week, probably Tuesday or so, Stephanie and I are loading up the little Tracer and heading out into the wilds of Guatemala. We will see places like Tikal and Semuc Champe (or however one spells it).

Tikal is most likely Guatemala’s number one tourist attraction. It is a Mayan ruin site, the oldest religious site, in fact. It is in the far north of the country. I am very much looking forward to seeing it. I am also very much looking forward to seeing the monkeys that inhabit the surrounding rain forests. There are a select few places to stay in Tikal, we’ll be sort of roughing it. Also, Star Wars filmed in Tikal. I can not wait! It will be beyond sweet! Near death stories will come after we make it back…..hear that fates??? NEAR death, please and thank you!

The week after next brings a visit from my buddy, my pal, Geoff of Michigan. I feel so worldly! I must tell people who he is and where he is from! Nice. He shall hang out here in Antigua with me for 5 days, I shall show him the sights and Shannon shall protect us. Awesome.

A very strange thing is happening at the moment. A huge crowd is gathered outside of Antigua’s best hotel, about three blocks away from where I live. That huge crowd is gathered hoping to get a glimpse of Paris Hilton. Not kidding. She’s down here for a reality show or something like that, who knows. I am not among the throngs. I love Paris, but I am no stalker. Welcome to Antigua! I bet everyone in the crowd has a flute that they will try to sell her……insider Antigua joke.

Everyday here in Guatemala is another adventure. Life comes at you hard and fast here.

Yet, I feel that anywhere in the world, from Antigua to Boise, life can be like that if one allows it. Is it not our own choice to sit on the couch and let the hours tick past? Is it also not our choice to instead spend those hours amongst friends or strangers allowing the next adventure to come to pass? One can not catch a dream if one is not in the path that it travels. Believe me, sometimes, being hit with a bit of the unexpected is the very best thing that will ever happen to you! Safe and secure is not the way life is lived. So, I say to you, hop into a car and go! Say yes! Be that person that everyone envies because everything cool happens to them!

That’s my little schpeel for the day, folks. I am now off to the internet to research adventure for the upcoming road trip!!! YES! WE WILL BUY SNACKS!!!!

Gander and Guatemala

What follows is an article I wrote about a Support Team that I lead while with Safe Passage. For those of you that have asked, this is a great example of what life is like on a Support Team!

Leaving a comfort zone for any reason is oftentimes the single most difficult thing a person can do. Leaving that comfort zone for guaranteed uncertainty in a far away land amongst an unfamiliar people makes the task even harder. Yet, in late April, 5 women did just that.

They left the familiarity and convenience of their United Church of Canada behind and ventured into Zones 7 and 3 of Guatemala City, two of the poorest, most at risk, dangerous zones in an already uncertain city.

For two of the five, this was their second trip and for the Gander Group leader, Reverend Stephanie McClellan, of the Gander Pastoral Charge for the United Church of Canada, this was her third trip.

Most would wonder why Rev. Stephanie, along with Lorraine Elliott, Marilyn Boone, Juanita Andrews and Lynda Manuel, would make this trip once, let alone two and three times. One conversation with any of these women will convince anyone that their reason was more than sound.

"The Gander Group," as they were known, went to Guatemala to offer a week of support to an organization known as Safe Passage (safepassage.org). Safe Passage works to break the cycle of poverty that is present within the community of the Guatemala City Garbage dump. For decades families have scavenged a living from the trash piles of this unregulated dump. They sort through all manner of household, business, industrial, medical and other waste trying to find items to eat, wear, sell and build their homes with. Safe Passage works with the children of these families, paying for their education, offering free medical and social care for the entire family, obtaining scholarships for higher education, providing a balanced diet and hygiene education as well as a plethora of other services. Their ultimate goal is to free the child from the cycle of poverty that has ensnared the rest of their family and allow the child to play, be educated and be free. This, in turn, allows the family a chance to break free as well. The success of a child often means the betterment of the entire family in Guatemala, where family ties are so very close.
"Every visit I have made has been life changing. As team leader, I am eager to expose others to this experience of poverty and richness, bleakness and joy, despair and hope," Rev. McClellan said. "My church asked me to lead a mission trip. I forged connections with Safe Passage and continue to bring teams down for the exposure and continued learning, growth and readjustment of my own priorities."

Many of the Gander Group Team members were moved by the Academy Award nominated short documentary "Recycled Life" (recycledlifedoc.com). This documentary showcases what life is like for a "Guajero" or dump worker.

"For a few hours a day the children are removed from the poverty they know and are loved, clothed and fed," said Juanita Andrews, reflecting on her view of what many call "the oasis," Safe Passage’s Guarderia, or pre-school program. This building is well landscaped, open and completely child friendly even though it sits on land that is considered within the dump.
Safe Passage is staffed by teachers and counselors, but its backbone is its volunteers. Safe Passage is a non-profit NGO with its headquarters in Maine, USA. For anyone to give of their time, whether that be one day, one week, or a number of years, is an amazing sacrifice that Safe Passage survives on. These volunteers are a special breed of people, as any visitor to the project will see.

"How wonderful the volunteers are with the children! Their dedication and passion for the children was awesome!" Marilyn Boone said.

"You could just see their self esteem showing through as the staff and volunteers praised the children with kind words and reassuring smiles," said Lorraine Elliot, expanding on Marilyn’s thought.

All five team members stated that they would love to return to Safe Passage and would encourage all that they knew to do the same.

"I believe more people should experience what I have. There is so much to learn from it about life," Marilyn Boone said.

"This certainly helps people see how skewed our priorities can get in our affluent culture. It has been amazing making a difference with one kid one smile at a time," Rev. McClellan said.

The Gander Group continues to work on behalf of Safe Passage. They have each spoken at their different churches and at other various engagements. They are also actively screening "Recycled Life" for friends and those interested.

"This is a very emotional experience. Be prepared to shed tears, share laughter and smiles. This is an experience that will stay with you forever," said Lynda Manuel, when asked what advice she would offer a new team.

For more information on all things Safe Passage, including how to build your own story in Guatemala, visit their website safepassage.org.

Brooks Vanderbush can be reached at brooks_in_antigua@operamail.com.

Two Months

I have often pondered what would happen to a mosquito’s social life should he or she ever be sprayed with “Off.”

Would it become a social pariah? Would it be shunned? Or, would it be praised as one who had survived the Great Starvation Inducing Scent?

What makes such drama so very interesting?

I sit here tonight in the midst of my massive domain. This house sprawls and echoes with its emptiness. Yesterday, there was a party, today there was just Steph and me. Tonight, there is only me. While I am a fan of solitude at times, right now it is a bit strange.

Two months, exactly, from yesterday, is when I will be moving on. Two small months. Two months from today I may be 3,000 miles away from this country, the people I have grown to love and the life I have spent over a year living. I do not know where I will be, but I am almost certain that it will not be here. The thought brings a lump to my throat and a smile to my face.
When I arrived in this country, over one year ago, I did so with much fear and anticipation. Would I fit in? Would I have friends beyond my amazing girlfriend? Would I have fun? Would I have adventures? Would I make a difference? Would this decision to drop everything and move to Central America turn out to be the right one?

I cannot answer that last question yet, but the others are obvious. Yes, I fit right in with these crazy bastards living on the edge of life, my fellow travelers, my fellow dreamers, my fellow citizens of this planet.

Yes, I have friends beyond Steph. I have friends that I have laughed with, drank and stumbled with, cried with, discussed the universe and how life is in Georgia (the country) with. I have played and I have played hard. The friendships that have grown during my time here have been fast and reckless. Some I have known for more than a year, some I only knew for a week or two. All have left an impression upon my soul that will never be undone.

Yes, I have had fun! Be it on my own or with my crew, I have had insane amounts of fun. The kind of fun that comes with a slight tinge of danger, the kind of fun that leaves one yearning for more! The kind of fun that permeates the soul and sets a fire within it, one that will never be extinguished. I suffer permanently from wanderlust and I shall indulge it fully until my dying day, be that tomorrow, December 21, 2012 or at an extreme old age, I shall practice my citizenship of this planet to its fullest extent!

Yes! I HAVE HAD AVENTURES! From the normal, everyday adventures that come from living the life of a wanderer in the third world to the kind that only come along once every now and then and include a dead guy, this life I lead has been enriched to the nth degree by my existence in Guatemala.

Yes, I have made a difference. From the children at Safe Passage to the bar counseling sessions with friends and complete strangers, I have reached out to those who have needed me and I have given my all to see them rise above their sadness, their pain to become the Phoenix that is so very often whispered of.

As I said, the last question remains to be seen. Was it wise to cut off a blossoming writing career and sell off a life’s worth of belongings, memories, things just to come and live on a shoestring budget in the third world 3,000 miles from my own, personal shining city on a hill? Hadn’t I just spent 4 years working my name into the writing game just so? Hadn’t I just started earning enough to save, play and enjoy life? Was it wise to throw all of that away?

No, it was not wise. However, the beginnings of most adventures are rarely founded on wise ideals. History is full of men and women who chose danger over safety, adventure over normal, unwise over wise. Perhaps this will turn out to be the grandest experiment of my life. I seriously doubt it, as that would mean that I would be settling down upon my return to….wherever.

I do not know if this decision was the one that should have been made, but it was the one that was made and I must live with the consequences of that.

Last night, my home was full of good friends, good food, good drink and good conversation. If that one moment, the moment where laughter filled my home, where music filled my space and where love filled my heart, be the moment to which I look for an answer to whether this is right or wrong, the answer is right, unabashedly so.

This life is unforgiving and ever giving. This life warrants living. This life, my life, is being lived. I decided, I dropped everything, I moved and I found a whole new way to be, a whole new side to this life that has brought me memories and happiness that will not soon fall away.

How a Broken Foot Relates to Life

I’ve been forced to slow down the last couple of days. A broken foot will do that for you.

It was on a jog a few days ago that I must have screwed it up. It feels like a stress fracture of some sort. I do not remember hurting it or doing anything that may have hurt it. I can only assume that it was my child like enthusiasm whilst running down the stairs at Cerro De La Cruz that did me in. I was Fred Astaire reincarnated! Either that or the moment that I broke it was so horrible that my mind erased it from my memory to save my already fragile psyche from further harm. Who knows?

I have gone jogging twice since the horrid, dull, makes me want to throw up pain began. I jog through the peak of the pain, ignoring the sensations traversing through my person, then it just goes away. I would be an awesome POW.

This hasn’t REALLY slowed me down at all. I’ve never been the type to allow something like pain to dictate what I will or will not do. My tooth hurts every now and then, but do you think that I will turn down chocolate just because of that? Hell no.

Life is a lot like that, isn’t it? Life hurts sometimes. Life makes you want to stay in bed, life makes you fear the slightest movement, because if it hurts so much right now, surely it will hurt even worse to go out and continue on, or, worse yet, move on!

Yet, there are some amongst us who, like myself, decide to ignore that pain, be it physical or emotional. We decide to climb up out of ourselves, become more than the sum of our being and trudge on.

I am in physical pain right now and it annoys the hell out of me. But I have been in “crippling” emotional pain before, too. Just like this stupid foot injury makes me fear throwing on my shoes and running out the door, my “emotional hurt” made me fear throwing on my game and putting myself back into the swing of things. I hated the thought of being hurt again. I hated the thought of being hurt worse than I already was. I hated the thought of any emotion passing through my brain as it all seemed so pointless.

Then, my 30 seconds of self pity died away and I put on my sexy shirt and joined my friends at the pub. Guess what? The pain went away. No, not because of copious amounts of alcohol, because pain, in any form, is a motivator. One has to live to be rid of it. I was hurt and then I lived and now I am so very glad that I went through that period, for it was that trauma, that pain, that transition that sent me to the heights that I inhabit today. The pain forced me out of my protective shell and into the real world where I found love, happiness, success and a life worth suffering for.

So, using that same mentality, I have thrown on my shoes and am heading out the door with Shannon to meet up with Val to get a liquado. I’ll be damned if a broken foot is going to keep me from good convo and a sugary drink!

Coke Heads Over For Supper

People say that the life of a wanderer is an amazing one full of adventure and last minute heroics. Well, I am here to tell you that the people who say that sort of thing are full of……correctness! They are absolutely right! One moment one is kicked back, watching a horrid movie, the biggest decision that they have to make is whether or not to stop the movie, the next, they are planning the proper security procedures (read: WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW??) involved in meeting a friend and making sure that her person stays safe and in one piece because drug dealers are chasing her down……AND SHE’S HIDING OUT AT THAT “ONE’S” HOUSE!!! Yeah, typical night in a wandering wanderer’s life! (For that “one’s” own safety, that is as far as that story will go)

For the life of me, I would not trade this adventure for anything.

I imagine that this life is only going to get more exciting, what with certain surrounding governments preparing for war with each other and elements within this very country plotting their own coup. There is a scene of myself that I sometimes see in my mind’s eye. That scene has me in front of a window, drink in my right hand, left hand in my pocket, standing in the midst of a debris filled bar room here in Antigua. The sound of bombing and weapons fire permeates the senses as the curtains flutter with each blast. I look out of the window to the panicked streets beyond, take a sip from my drink and ponder my next move very carefully. Maybe Angelina Jolie is there with me to…….HA! Just kidding. A strange calm has settled over me, one that comes from a year full of shock and awe. One that comes from a body so worn down by the constant need for 24/7 vigilance that it can no longer manage a raised eyebrow, let alone a frantic, screaming, flailing arms run!

As far fetched as that little scenario sounds to those of you in the US, to those of us here in the 3rd world, things can be like that in an instant. Life is truly lived on the edge in these parts of the world.

In a sense, I am already in a debris filled room sipping a drink and pondering my next move. If I could see into my mind, that would be the scene. The time to decide what my future holds is drawing near! I must choose between further adventure, big cities and Jaguars that are actually affordable! (I’ve always wanted a Jag!) “Further adventure” sees me staying here for a while longer or traveling to some other God forsaken corner of the globe to carve out an existence one day at a time with people that the world has left behind. “Big cities” sees me rocking out in Chicago or NYC, doing God knows what (hopefully writing, not whoring) and adding that ever longed for “big city” chapter to my life’s book. “Affordable Jaguars” sees me back in Michigan, buying a car, getting a few writing jobs (already mostly lined up) and living in an amazing spot for free (also already lined up), if only for a few months. Who knows where I will land? I would LOVE to do all three! Michigan would be perfect for me to regain some composure. Then a move to Chicago, where I feel life is most certainly beckoning me from. But, this life is unpredictable. I could be rubbed out by the volcano or coke heads. Who knows??

This life is a magic show! A trick and trade! A slight of hand rendition that shows me in the center ring and the 2nd ring and the 3rd ring. Which is the me that is real? Well, look behind the curtain and find out! Then, maybe, could you let me in on the trick?? I would really like to know! That is really how this life feels sometimes. A bit over exaggerated, a bit showy, but still my life and oh how I love it!

Saying yes to things has brought me trouble it seems. That is fine, no worries my friend! I am certain of survival, right to the bitter end!

Fly On

Fly on, little one,
Fly to heights as yet unknown,
Fly on, little one,
Life and love for you have flown,
This moment has been beautiful,
This matching, serene,
But for you, my little one,
Life has scripted,
Yet another scene,
Fly on, little one,
Fly to newer grander things,
Set aside the tears and sobs,
Force your voice to sing,
Even though the hurt,
Is so very huge right now,
Spread your wings and fly,
Flight will come somehow,
This perfect little place,
Was meant for a short time,
This perfect little place,
Is no longer your’s or mine,
Fly on, little one,
Be brave, be true,
Fly on, little one,
Life yet has plans for you.

Destiny's Key

Sadly, I have fallen behind.

Since my last posting (that was not musing) I have been to three amazing parties, have seen my girlfriend pull off an amazing event that was months in the making and have had my weekly haircut.

I say “sadly” only in jest. For, when one such as me, meaning one who loves nothing more than to write, falls so utterly far behind on his own life’s events, is that really “sad”? I look at my life and I see that I am living it. Every single day opportunities arise and I force myself to say “YES.” Last night’s fun, however, was almost a missed opportunity……..

Like most good stories, this one begins at a party and ends at one. The Quincinera is a right of passage of 15 year old girls in this part of the world. Think “Sweet 16” but with more responsibility. It was Stephanie’s job to create an amazing Quincinera for 20 Safe Passage girls that would otherwise have never of had one as a result of the abject poverty in which they live in. Steph did this AMAZING job with the help of one her Support Teams. The party was truly awesome!

During the gathering, I sat at a table that included Shannon (this seems to be a lovely habit forming wherein Shannon and I find ourselves somewhere near each other. I say this because Shannon is always the coolest person in the room and I feed off of that), Liz, Ana, Nellie and Carmen (all Safe Passage peeps). Liz informed me that the coming Friday would be Nellie’s going away party at their house in the city and that I must attend. Nellie fixed me with a devil’s glare and said “You HAVE to come.”

When the actual day arrived, I thought little of the coming event. My mind was fixated on the jog that I needed to do. I did it and it was good, all the way up to the cross overlooking Antigua and back. That is one hell of a run! After the run I was dead. I checked out Facebook and found that I had no ride into the city for that night. Slightly relieved, I wrote to Liz saying how sorry I was and how much I owed her for making and then breaking a promise. I then wrote Nellie and told her how amazing she is and how much it would suck not to have her around. I then went about the business of preparing for a laid back evening. About two hours later I received a call from Marielos (another Safe Passage peep) saying that we had a ride. I made some sorry excuse and went back to my solo-ness. Then Stephanie called me out on Facebook and I had the beginnings of a change of heart.

As I wandered to the video store I knew that I had a HUGE decision to make. I had Q200 in my pocket and that was all the Q that I had. I needed that money as a deposit to rent two videos. If I spent that money on videos, I would have no money to buy drinks and to give Jorge (the ride) a few Q for the ride in. If I didn’t spend it and bought drinks instead, I would not have money to change my mind and rent movies. I decided that I would go into the store and check out the selection.

“Four people’s lives collide in one night.” That is what the tagline is for a very entertaining looking movie that I was checking out. Then the thought hit me. Lives…..living. Why would I want to spend the night watching a movie about the very thing that I could be living? So, I put the movie back, bought drinks, called Marielos, found out that Yaelle (Safe Passage and completely awesome) was already counting me in and saving my seat in the van and went home to pass the one hour until the party bus arrived.

The party was amazing. The people were awesome. When the music sucked, Shannon and I escaped to the roof and chilled, discussing everything from break dancing to Canadian stereotypes. When the music was sweet, we’d rush back into the pulsating mass.

Thinking back on that night, I would not now miss it for the world. I had an insane amount of fun, some really embarrassing and stupid pictures were taken of me and life felt satisfied by my decision. Have you ever been in the midst of a decision only to have life whisper in your ear “You’re already there, just go.”

I realize that my mantra is quite obvious, that I seem to say the same thing. My hope is that through my example as well as those of which I write, others can open up and live life too. So many things depress us or send us into a comfortable little rut. They are so easy to say yes to. Yes, I will stay in this job for another year, I hate it, but what harm would that do me? Yes, I will watch a video and ignore that little tug in my brain to accept the invitation. Yes, I will just sit here nursing my beer because that is far easier than going and saying hi to that gorgeous thing over there. See what I mean? Yes’ are so very easy when there is no risk, no life. A yes to life is hard and it oftentimes involves risk. BUT, a yes to life is where an adventure begins, a friendship grows or a romance blossoms. The hardest yes’ yield the most amazing results. Risk is rewarded. Heed these words, my friends: My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.

And now, if you don’t mind, I have a highlight to watch. It seems that ARod hit a walk-off two run homer last night in the bottom of the 15th inning to lift the Yankees over the Red Sox. There is some overdo cheering needing to be done!

This Life of Hats

I have worn many a hat in my 27 years. Much like a child, I feel as though it is quite necessary to point out to you that I am, in fact, almost 28! In my, almost, three decades (GOOD GOD) of life, I have been blessed, and cursed, with the talents of a chameleon.

My first hat was dirty, void of proper language skills and quite prone to the dark side of the day. I speak, of course, of the restaurant industry. I waited tables at 16. I was privy to a million jokes and words that most 16 year olds would still attribute to a foreign language. I worked under chefs that would have been arrested were they not garbed in (formerly) white coats and tall, starched hats. The waitresses were of a completely different species of woman than any I had ever met and the preps were much more likely to be cutting up some random drug than the daily salad. I learned to be hard, to not take things so seriously, to laugh something off when every fiber within me cried out for retribution. I learned that hierarchy was more about how fun you were than how long you had worked or what your title was. One could own a business and still occupy the lowest rung on the "coolness" ladder. I picked up bad habits that will never serve me in the normal working world. Thank God I will never be in the normal working world. My short time in the restaurant industry opened up a world that one is better off knowing about. Some would say that it was a bit of a street education. I would say that it was one of the most fascinating times of my life. I decided then and there that I will forever love the human condition.

My second hat matched the sweater vest and green carpet that the stereotype carried along with it. To the outside world, I worked with freaks, weirdoes, murderers, drug addicts, alcoholics, the unwanted. To those that now inhabited my new world, I worked with what we were all a simple missed neuron fire away from becoming. I counseled the mentally ill. I began at the bottom, when I was 18, and I worked my way up. Through almost all of my future hats, I would still wear this one, be it secretly or out in the open. I saw crisis the likes of which I could never imagine. I held those that had no hope, trying my best to comfort the sobbing and troubled thoughts. With one hand I would stroke the back of the poor soul now leaning on me as their last shred of faith threatened to give way. With the other hand, I used every ounce of my strength to bear down on the bath towel, quickly soaking with blood, wrapped around the gaping wrist wound. My voice would be both calming and commanding as I assured them that everything would be OK in one breath and ordered an ambulance with the next. I watched as those without any care left in them came through our door, then two weeks later, they would leave, happy, healthy, ready to battle what life had to throw their way. I lost a few, those who chose to take a path without calling for help, but I saved so many. The human condition, of which I thought that I had learned so much, was on stark display during my decade of wearing this hat.

My third hat was tall, black and smelled of roses. My work with those in crisis caused my heart to turn to those that would need me most. My next hat brought me into the world of the bereaved. I worked for one year as an assistant funeral director. The beautiful home in which so many lives came and went became so familiar to me. I went to work with certain expectations, brought forth by TV, movies and books. I came home from work completely baffled, unsure of how the creators of those pieces of entertainment could have ever come up with those generalities. There was no pale, old, creepy skeleton of a man wringing his hands behind a dark window, sizing those up for coffins as they walked by. There was no crazy uncle who could put a lightbulb into his mouth and have it ignite; there was neither demonic horse nor ominous room full of unworldly instruments. There was simply a home, a mansion to be exact. Within this home worked six men and two women, none any scarier than the next. The owner was a warm and inviting individual, willing to give of the vast knowledge that life had brought his way. The mourning was real, but not unhealthy and the job was rather fun. I saw things that I am thankful for. I know the inner workings of a funeral home. I know that it is not as horrid as once believed. However, the car, I must say, is completely amazing.

My fourth hat was shaped as though it fell from a Picasso and it came with a set of wings. Throughout my life, I had marveled at the sky and at the steel birds that muscled through it. I had promised myself that one day, I too would fly. When I first entered the cockpit of a Cessna 172, I had never flown before in my life. Now, having never left the ground, I began the jog down the checklist, preparing to pilot this bird to over 1,000 feet. That checklist yet remains with me, hanging just there, upon my office wall. It is turned to its back, where the procedures for takeoff begin. Each time that I gaze upon it, I am reminded of the bolt of electricity that flowed through my being, striking my very core, as I gently pulled the stick back and felt myself escape the surly bonds of earth. I look at it and remember my first lesson in stalls and how much I loved them. Not engine stalls, mind you, those are supremely easy to handle as one simply becomes a glider. Wing stalls. A wing stall is when the plane is taking action that causes the wings to lose their lift and the plane comes falling out of the sky. We would do this on purpose, fighting the controls, forcing the plane to climb, climb, climb until the climbing stopped and it began to fall. Through a quick little set of movements, one is able to regain lift quite easily, but the feeling of free fall, however brief, is simply beyond description.

My fifth hat resembled my fourth in shape and shine, but this one came with a gun. As many young boys do, I toyed with the notion of being a cop. For two years in fact, I toyed. I saw humanity at its very worst. I fought, I arrested, I handed out tickets, I sped after, I crept up on and I was called every name in the book. For two years I dealt with the fact that whenever I arrived to work, no one, aside from my friends in blue, would want to see me, after all, does anyone ever want to see a cop? The job was exciting, tedious, nerve wracking and boring beyond all measure. I loved it and I hated it and I loved it some more. After a time, I began to grow weary of the fights, the names, the lies, the time wasted on hopeless cases. The novelty of being behind that big badge on the door and those flashing lights wore off and I moved on, unsure of where to go, but knowing that I was worlds stronger having spent that short time behind the star.

My sixth hat is one that I continue to shape daily. I draw upon all of my life experiences, some listed here, some not. I put pen to paper, the only thing that I seem to be good at, and went out in search of a story. Well, I found one. I was soon employed by three newspapers and a men´s magazine. My stories ranged from the local Christmas decoration competition to sitting down with John McCain and Mitt Romney. After a time that I thought would be spent picking up the pieces of a life shattered by chasing some damn fool dream, I continue to write, and I continue to put on new hats.

My story is not unique. I now wear the hat of freelancer and volunteer. At Safe Passage (safepassage.org) in Antigua and Guatemala City, Guatemala, every volunteer has a past that glistens with hope, opportunity and the vibrations of a good tale worth the telling. Life beckons us, be it from afar or screaming in our ear whilst twisting our arm. At Safe Passage, one can continue, or begin, their own story.

I imagine myself in a city. I am standing in my apartment high above the city streets. I am gazing out of my window at the night as the lights paint a canvas of perfect upon my retinas. I am old, not alone, loved and successful. I have my hands in my pockets and Sinatra on the stereo, or whatever music will be produced from then. I wear the wrinkles of a million miles and a billion adventures. My head seems a bit more shaped by the many hats it has worn since my days in Guatemala. My face is hard, but my eyes twinkle with anticipation. I still draw breath, I still control the road. I am thinking of Safe Passage, and the lessons that it has taught, the lives I have changed. I know that life is still out there, that many more hats have yet to be worn. I grab my coat from its post and head out to try one on.

Ferrous Doom

My girlfriend has saved my life.

Yesterday, Stephanie and I went to the fair. It is “Dia de Santiago” here in Antigua. Yet another excuse to play loud music, sell unhealthy food and blow each other up with fireworks.

We went with 2 goals in mind. Eat as much carnie food as possible and ride the Ferrous Wheel. Now, I have an obsession for Ferrous Wheels, notice I how capitalize the two words? Yeah, that important! From carnivals in Northern Michigan to Chicago’s Navy Pier, I have always loved Ferrous Wheels.

Upon our arrival at the market in Antigua, a lovely open air joint where a 6’3” bald dude is an easy mark for a tripled price, we were pounced upon by H2O. The down pour lasted for all of about 30 minutes. We waited it out in a carnie restaurant. This restaurant had 7 TVs and a HUGE sound system, for real, this thing was just off the Aerosmith stage! The TVs were hooked up to this sound system and they were all blasting Vincente Fernandez music videos. If you do not know this man, the dude is a Mexican…..romance?……singer. He wears HUGE hats, amazing gaudy outfits and has the corniest music videos EVER. Every song that he sings sounds like suicide is imminent and every song that he sings sounds exactly like the other 42 you just heard. He was in concert here not too long ago, it was a lovely show.

Once the rain ended, we ventured forth into the sea of bodies and mud. We began to take notice of the stellar safety precautions that we were surrounded by. Everywhere we look, taped, live wires ran through ankle deep puddles, fast moving machinery whirred just inches from kid’s faces and the Ferrous Wheel helper looked to be about a nose’s length from being bashed in the face by rapidly moving Ferrous Wheel seats.

I have been on many a Ferrous Wheel ride. I have never seen Satan in a Ferrous Wheel, but damn if the Red One wasn’t present in this wood and metal monster! The thing looked to be 1,000 years old. It had Christmas lights strung through it and the operator sat at what appeared to be a pick-up truck engine shifting through the gears, applying the clutch and brake as needed and laying on the gas a bit too much. The thing was a blur when it spun! I have never heard such screaming nor seen such terror from a Ferrous Wheel!

Steph and I stepped up, but we were informed that the tickets we bought were only good for a ride that was not working. Of course. This, I am ashamed to say, caused me to sigh in relief. The relief was short lived as Steph dug into her pocket for the necessary Q15 to ride. We loaded up. The helper put our lap bar in place, then stuck a rusty nail into the lock. That’s right, the only thing between me and the ground was a wobbling, rusty nail. Steph announced that the chair that we were in had no seat belt, upon further inspection, I noticed that she was correct. As the engine heaved us up to wait at the top of the Wheel, we cringed as the belts whined and popped during our ascent. They loaded and we slowly came back around. I took a little video and said some “hail Mary’s” as I was quite certain that we were going to either fall off or be struck by the ever present lightening which appeared to be hitting about 200 yards away.

It is at this point that Steph saved my life and my dignity. Steph took control then, she turned to me and said “We’re getting off.” She turned and gave the order to the operator and we were off.

I must admit, this was a huge relief for me as I had never been so terrified of a Ferrous Wheel in my life. We wandered around the carnival a bit more and stopped to watch as the ride began. It starts out slow, but then the moron on the controls cranks it up. The thing is literally a blur when he gets it going. I am so glad that we did not ride that thing! I would have been scarred by that Wheel forever as would it have been scarred by me, for I am certain that I would have wet myself on the journey!

I awoke today remaining very happy that we did not ride and die. I also awoke today with some choices to make.

At 10:30 this morning I had a meeting with Amanda from Casa Sito, an organization here in Antigua. I am to volunteer at their Music Festival this weekend. She wished to speak to me about PR, something that I am all too familiar with lately. Her enthusiasm was amazing, Casa Sito is a great project and I am thoroughly looking forward to helping them continue and expand their role here in Guatemala. That choice was easy.

My biggest choice comes in the form of "what am I going to do come October 14?" On October 14 the owners of the home that I currently live in will be returning to Guatemala. This means that I will need to decide what I will be doing with life. I recently discovered that my hometown newspaper has an opening for a reporter. I have readied my resume and such, but have hesitated. What if I get it? What if I get that job? That means that I have to go home! I do not think that I am ready to return to Northern Michigan. I think that life is outside of that place for me now. I just found a perfect job with a paper in New York City. Now all I have to do is find an apartment that I can afford there! What in the world?? There is an apartment on Craihslist that is described like this: “BEAUTIFUL studio in great location!” This “BEAUTIFUL” thing was literally a long closet with a tiny window that looked out onto a brick wall. They want $1300!!!!!!! PER MONTH!!!!!!!!!! Maybe per year, you idiots! WHAT IN THE WORLD?????

Anyway, Chicago is my home, but I have yet to find that perfect job there. I know that I will not be completely happy with a Michigan existence, yet I have been losing myself in fantasies of an Michigan existence lately. I found a 3BR house with a great deck and yard and 150 feet of sandy beach frontage for $1,000 per month (HEAR THAT NYC BASTARDS???? A BEACH FRONT HOUSE FOR A G!!). I began to allow myself to wonder what life would be like in a place like that. I enjoyed those fantasies, but something always felt wrong about it. Life has set up certain circumstances to allow for my return to “home.” But, life has given me a choice, go to the easy or stick with the unknown. That choice, my friends, is also quite simple. Unknown, here I come!

Random notes from my day:

I will not buy bread ever again from where I once lived in a homestay. I watched the lady bring the bread out, drop it on the floor, accidentally kick it under the oven, fish it out of there, pick it up and put it on the rack for sale. Nice.

What is the deal with the mullet down here?

The carnies were all better dressed than the normal folk.

“Stranger Than Fiction” is a great flick!

I love this adventure called life.

That is one huge bag of pink shirts, yo.

Tables Of Fury

Let me tell you about my first bar fight.

Life is lovely and…..slightly askew with Shannon (my gangsta Canadian friend). She does not care what she says or who hears, she dresses as she likes and has complete control of the radio at all times (always hip-hop/rap). She can throw so many gang signs, in fact, I am quite sure that she could probably offend everyone who is anyone in gang land! She is a very attractive red head that knows how to have a good time. In short, Shannon is my favorite person down here!

Shannon lives with other Safe Passage volunteers in a nice house in Guatemala City. She is a city chick, she loves the city life. She loves nothing more than good music and good company, especially when she does not have to wake up in the morning. Her and I wear our “fuck the future” attitudes proudly, living every moment as if it were our last!

It is in that spirit that she began going to what is now a Friday night tradition, Cien Puertas. Cien Puertas is a street that is closed to traffic. It is lined with doors, in fact, its name means “100 doors.” Behind each door lies a bar. Each bar is a bit different, most have that cool, kick back, loud guy and his guitar, screaming during conversation atmosphere that I have come to love in my pubs.

One, however, is completely different. That one is “Blanco y Negro,” (“White and Black). On Friday nights, some of the sickest (see Shannon? I am learning!) DJs in Guatemala spin their tunes to a crowd that is crammed in, using every inch of space in the relatively small bar. This, my friends, is an experience unto itself!

Now we come to the night.

Shannon had invited me to this Cien Puertas experience and, being the positive guy that I am, I completely agreed with her insistence that I attend. I caught a ride to her house, a huge group of us loaded into two VW convertibles and we were off.

We parked in an overcrowded parking garage, the kind where you will lose your car in the midst of others and if you wish to go home, you must wait until everyone else in the parking garage wants to go home as well.

We wandered the short distance to Cien Puertas and stepped through the gate. I was patted down by the heavily armed gate security because, yes, I do look like a gangsta who be packin’ heat. We attempted to get into Blanco y Negro right away, but, alas, only Shannon made it in as the rest of us were not possessing of her passion and ability to throw elbows. I went with some of the others in the crew to a great little sit down joint and ordered myself a litro. I have explained litros, yes? Yes, I did. Anyway, we talked, we drank, we laughed, we spoke mean, hurtful words about some of the people there and I was hit on by a dude. Typical bar night.

Toward midnight, Shannon came flying into where I was and grabbed me, we were off! I was quickly shown the fine art of making people move when there seemed to be no possible place for them to move to. I soon found myself facing Shannon in the middle of the dance floor. We began. I am a HORRID dancer and, personally, would not have been surprised if this story resulted in me getting into a fight defending my atrocious moves, but it does not. Shannon is amazing on the dance floor, so, I assure you, no one was looking at me! I turned away from Shannon to set my beer down…..and that is when it happened.

I thought it rather strange that a man should dance with a table, but the realization quickly hit that the man was wielding, not dancing, with that table. The piece of furniture quickly found its mark on the face of another dude, who in turn went flying and landed at my feet, literally face on my sandal. Being the slightly drunk person that I was, I pointed at this gent and said something like “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I quickly realized that my whole half of the bar was in a massive brawl, with me in the midst of it. As soon as this realization hit, a strong, straight gangsta arm wrapped itself around my mid section and pulled me back out of the ruckus. It was Shannon. She indicated that now was a good time to leave. But, as we turned to exit, the fight spilled over into her half of the bar. I made a feeble attempt at pulling her back just as she had done me, it worked and we both stood in the middle of a HUGE fight sort of chuckling to ourselves.

Yes, obviously I made it out alive. Yes there was blood. Yes, stuff did get spilled. Yes, the table did die. And yes, it was some of the most fun that I have ever had.

The DJs stopped the music, the security guys weeded out the morons and the fun started again. We finished the night gyrating to the beats of Guatemalan and Central American hip hop.

When in doubt, say yes, when in a fight, be sure to have a bad ass chick there to protect your moronic self and when in Rome, dance!

Non-Funny Reflection On The Dance.

I’m alive…..I feel stronger and more powerful and more beautiful than ever. I’d rather take a leap of faith than lose out on forever, I’m alive!

Life is grand, perfect and wonderful. Yet some allow life’s wonder to be clouded. They allow things that should never catch their step to send them sprawling. This is a habit that can become quite comforting, for lying by the wayside is a much better proposition than fighting one’s way into new territories. Life’s path leads us here and there. Some learn to create their own paths, some choose to stop at every snare in the road. This habit can become a faltering point, a point in which they loose everything. For, while they are lying in the path, those around them are moving forward with life and accepting its chances. Those around them move on to new things and new experiences. Those around them leave them behind.

I have encountered such people before on my path into life and I continue to experience such beings from time to time. I do not understand their insistence upon allowing themselves to be sidelined by life’s opportunities. I do not understand the way that they let life, and those living it with them, pass them by. Experiences they could of known waltz on without them in the darkness of their path, just beyond their reach, waiting for them to say yes, waiting for them to stop caring about the trivial. Chances run fast and furious on this path. Chances wish to be met head on. Opportunities, experiences, good and bad, love, loss, all of this and more await the willing. Time stands still for no one. Time has pity on no one. Time does not offer second chances, it does not offer repair or do-overs.

I see these apparitions at the edge of my vision, these people who choose to be bogged down in the menial and meaningless. They allow crutches to hold them in place, habit to dictate their existence, the fear of being hurt to hold them back from the chance, however small, of being completely happy. I spend but a moment weeping for them. I have seen the closest to me fall to these desires, this lack of passion for a real life. I feel for them, but I will not allow their sorrow, their pit, their inactivity to grab hold of me, to force me to miss life. I will not sacrifice my life of living for their lack of it.

And so, I move on. I grab a new hand. I dance to a new tune. My partners are many and my smile is infinite. I am alive. I will take any who wish to share it on this ride. I reach out to them even now. I waltz just beyond the darkness of their rut, reaching through the cloud, beckoning them to come and dance with me. I cry out to them as their chance nears its end, but I can not stop. Nor should I. Life is stronger and more powerful than even I. I will not end my dance. I am alive, anyone can be alive, anyone can love this gift of life.

Simply reach out and grab its hand! DANCE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! DANCE!!!!!

"What Up?" To The Baby On My Leg

I saw a deformed baby today. But let’s not talk about that right now.

Last night I went to a volunteer meeting at Le Pena Del Sol Latino, a great Antigua restaurant. The meeting was with an organization known as Casa Sito. They are running a music festival in a small village called Santiago Zamora. I am to be a volunteer! I suppose that I will be playing the role of stage manager for this thing. It should be quite fun and perhaps offer some pretty good contacts.

I came by this opportunity because of a “Yes” that I uttered when a friend of mine asked if I would like to get up at 6AM on a Sunday and go spend the day on the ocean. Seeing as how I had never even seen the ocean before my move to Guatemala, I decided that it was best for me to get as much ocean as I possibly can whilst here, thus improving my chances of being chomped by a shark before my return to the Great Lakes, where the only deadly hazard one must learn to avoid is some tanned head, white torsoed moron on a jet ski.

During this trip to the ocean I sat in the back of a lovely little VW convertible. The top was down, the sun was blazing (always great for the skin cancer farm that is my bald head) and the company was perfect. I spent the hour or so ride conversing with a lovely German girl named Esteema. By lovely, I of course mean she would fit right in at those fabled German hardcore rock concerts where everyone can kick my ass. She is tall with jet black hair, a muscular build and possesses a swagger that George W. Bush would be proud of! This girl sports a tattoo that runs the entire length of her back and covers fully more than half of it. She is hardcore, she could indeed kick my ass and she is one of the coolest people that I have ever met. Oh yeah, she is also a volunteer at Casa Sito, she is actually the one in charge of this whole festival thing. We spent most of the day chilling together and talking about various things. Thus was born the conversation of the music festival and the resulting presence of your’s truly at last night’s meeting. I am very much looking forward to this thing. It sounds like an insane amount of fun. It will happen on the 2nd of August, but we are all already working hard to get the word out. I have put up a poster at Dominos! As I stood waiting for the “Delivery Experts” to prepare my order I marveled at the power of my newly placed poster. Children called their parents to it, girlfriends called their men (and in one case woman) and families began their planning, all because I chose to chew off a few pieces of tape and stick a fancy sign to a wall. That’s right folks, I bring joy to Guatemalans everywhere.

I also wondered why all of the Dominos’ signage was in English. This is Guatemala, after all, one is shocked and amazed at anything in English. Seeing a sign in English is almost like seeing Jesus down here! People flock to it, hover under it because they feel at ease with it and speak of it for days to come.

Sometimes I just love where this writing thing takes me. From Dominos to Jesus in one sentence! Billy Graham would be proud!

On my wander home from the meeting, I conversed on the phone with Claudia (another friend from Germany, one of my favorite people in Antigua and a fellow blogger, see her here: http://claudiainguatemala.wordpress.com/about/). We set up a lunch date for today. Thus begins the tale of the deformed infant.

Claudia and I always meet in the plaza mejor (central park). I usually arrive early to do a bit of people watching, as I love that sport and the watching is always good at this park. Usually I am accosted by indigenous folk selling linens, flutes, bracelets, necklaces and drugs. Yes, drugs.
As a lone white dude sitting on a bench, I suppose that I come across as a desperate drug fiend looking for a fix. The game usually goes like this:

I sit for 5-10 minutes just chilling and looking around. Soon, I am shadowed by a rather grungy looking Guatemalan dude (never the same one, they must get whacked all the time). After about two minutes of pacing just outside of my comfort zone, the dude bursts my bubble of personal space and sits next to me. He then asks me what my name is, then where I am from, then how long I have been here, then how long I will stay, then if I like it, then he will list off all of the differing kinds of marijuana he has on him today. If I balk at that, he will list off all of the harder drugs that he has on him, because if I don’t want marijuana, surely I must want heroin. Usually I politely decline and he will move on (I say usually because sometimes I must be a bit rude with the decline before they move on, not because I sometimes say yes to heroin).

Today, there were the indigenous peeps selling their crap, but their was also a rather red neck looking Guatemalan chick with a baby in a trashy stroller. I first saw them out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to look at them, she pushed the stroller right up next to me, I mean, it was right there. She had the kid’s legs touching mine. She went into this well rehearsed schpeel about how she needed money. During this schpeel, she bent forward and lifted the shirt of the baby. The kid had some sort of hernia or something. A large red, moist, bulbous thing protruded from its stomach. The kid looked normal, happy, healthy, but for this……thing. The mother said that she needed money for an operation. I told her that I did not bring any money with me, which was true, unless the kid was also a credit card machine. She backed the stroller up and moved on to the next most foreign looking dude. The sad thing about this whole ordeal is that if I had given her money, it would not have gone to the kid. Curing that child would remove her only source of income. She would not do that. This is the way that many beggars make a living down here. They expose their deformities for money, never intending to use that money for hospital care, as they claim. This child will be 40, on the street with its mother, showing that thing off, no matter how much anyone gives her right now.

The best part of this tale comes from Claudia and my end of the day ice cream chat. This has become a habit with us. We will finish our outing with ice cream, people watching and talking at the park. This woman came back to me because of Claudia. Claudia’s face was one of pure shell shocked horror when this happened to her. The only thing she could muster was a weak “No gracias” which sent me into fits of laughter. Once her shock wore off, she laughed as well. She said no gracias, like the mother was trying to sell the squirt. Which, to be honest, was what I thought was going to happen when she slammed the stroller into my leg. To be fair, the only thing I could muster when this happened to me was a weak “What in the world?” after greeting the lady with a rather shocked “What up?”

So, as the cricket descends on my kitchen (I’ve got to find that little bastard) and the darkness begins to fall, I will leave you and go begin a movie. I am really in the mood for one. The day has been awesome and life remains good!

OH YEAH! I also bought another bottle of Arbor Mist. Perhaps they will read this and make me a spokesperson for their new “Manly Mist” line!!