Love is love is love is love is love is love...

It has been almost four days since the Orlando shooting. Four days in which my heart has felt heavy and my tears have been constant. I have been at a loss for words. I have been quiet. I feel lost. I am sad. Not the type of sadness you feel when your team loses a game or you go through a break up which can be extremely difficult, but an emptiness, like I don’t exist in my own body and I’m not sure when it will end. It’s indescribable, really.  A similar type of sadness I felt when I came out as gay at 17, and felt completely alone, like there was no reason to live anymore. I am deeply saddened by humanity and the direction in which this country is headed.

I am sad because there is an absence of love and an abundance of hate. It doesn’t and shouldn’t matter your race, gender, sexual orientation, or socio- economic status to feel valued. Love should be displayed by all and too all. Love is free. It is how most of us get by every single day. But the United States, the United States is forgetting what it is like to love. Instead of loving we are turning to fear and hatred and bigotry and ignorance. The land of the free, home of the brave, no longer feels like the land of the free. People are being shot down because of race, massacred because of sexual orientation, treated less equal because of gender, profiled because of religion, and marginalized because they do not fit a certain mold. Thank you to the Brave men and women who fought for our freedoms, and continue to do so. Now, what are we going to do as a society and as a nation to hold true to those values so that ALL men, women, people are treated equally? Not all, as in the ones you deem necessary, but literally ALL individuals in this country.

I have seen Facebook posts protecting and demanding that the second amendment NOT BE CHANGED BECAUSE IT IS OUR CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT TO OWN GUNS!  Yet, those same citizens support an orange-haired potato head, who shouts out that all Muslims and Mexicans should be banned from this so called great nation. Did these same people forget that the First Amendment also protects FREEDOM of RELIGION, and ASSEMBLY? I feel disheartened by humanity because the outcry is MORE GUNS and VIOLENCE. Not, more love, respect, tolerance and understanding. Many people don’t realize that these shooters, as the press repeatedly deems devout Muslims are actually not Muslims as all. They are terrorists hiding behind a mask they call Islam. I have many Muslim friends and know many others, and my heart aches because I know who they are as individuals, people, and U.S. CITIZENS.

   

I am also saddened and most affected by this particular act of terror because it could have been me. The Orlando shooting, an extreme act of hate towards a targeted group of people, I just can’t seem to wrap my head around. I am not angry. I am done being angry. I am extremely hurt. I feel completely empty. And I am even more saddened by the response of Americans. I read this article and I felt hollow. I couldn’t believe that such a large group of people could have the reaction that "they were just gays, he should be a hero for shooting the gays.”  A family member said to me, “I feel bad for the little girl who was killed and the news isn’t even covering her because of these 49 other people.” Does that sound as ridiculous to you as it does to me? Not only for the fact that it is an argument about which shooting should be covered on the news more, but also which death is more important a girl or these “other 49 people”.  Just 49 people? These were 49 mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, spouses and children who were massacred for being openly happy, loving members of society. This should help you get to know these people,but their life doesn’t matter because they do not fit what YOU want them to be? I am confused. I am saddened. I am disgusted. I feel empty. That could have been me in that nightclub. But, what does it matter? I’m just a lesbian, with a bleeding heart and a love for language, culture, education and people who are different than me. I would rather spread love into the world than hate and violence. What does it matter? It feels there is no place for LOVE in America anymore. A country filled with bigotry and hatred and such an absence for love and tolerance. It’s deeply sad to me.  “More guns", they say. “Get tougher", they say. “They should all be killed", they scream. "Give the teachers guns", they chant. As if that is the answer. Fear has never solved a single problem in my life or the lives of anyone I know. Overcoming fear, now that is POWERFUL.

The shooting that occurred this past weekend is so much more than LGBTQA lives lost. It’s about better understanding humanity and gun laws. Christians should learn more about Islam. Muslims should learn more about Christianity. White Americans should learn more about United States history and the struggle and oppression that all non-white Americans feel on a daily basis. Minorities can learn more about why White Americans feel so entitled and why their education is so skewed. Why rural Americans are more uneducated and how that shapes their views. Why people living in homogeneous communities are more racist or citizens living in cities are more democratic. Perhaps if we better understand America as a whole, the melting pot that we are, we can begin to better understand each other as a nation. We could become a culturally responsive, beautifully diverse, GREAT NATION that we are meant to be.

Otherwise, I have a feeling we will no longer be a liberated, free, and democratic country. And slowly, but surely we will take ourselves down.

I do have hope and see hope when I walk the halls of Chelsea High School and hear new immigrant students talk about opportunity and tolerance. I have hope in the middle school students of College View Middle School who question the media’s portrayal on homosexuality, immigration, and white privilege. I have hope when visiting the faculty, staff and professors from Northeastern, who discuss their travels around the world and the wonderful work their students are doing to make this world a better, more peaceful place for all people. I have hope in my little cousins and their confusion by acts such as these. I have hope when I receive a text from the mother of the children I used to nanny for saying, “The kids are worried about you and Jess as we have been listening to and discussing the heartbreaking news from FL. They said, ‘I wonder how they feel?’ And ‘I want them to be safe.’ We are so sad and we heart you.” I have hope in talking to Jess, my fiancé, who happens to be a woman and loves harder than anyone I have ever met. I see hope in the first responders who risk their lives and aid the wounded, in the Mosque leaders who condone acts such as these and reiterate that this is not how Allah views the world, in the Men and Women who fight to protect our country and our liberties. I have hope because these are acts of love and they have not given up. They have not succumb to fear. They are all heroes. They still spread love.  They understand that the United States needs more love. And love ladies and gentlemen is the only thing that is going to get all of us through.  

Before I sign off, I want to send my deepest condolences to the families affected by the horrific Orlando tragedy; I want to send love to my LGBTQA brothers and sisters. I see you, I hear you, and I know you are beautiful. I send tolerance and respect to the Muslim community, a welcoming group of individuals that I and many others understand acts like this are by radical terrorists not Muslims as a whole. We are with you. And lastly, to ignorant Americans who are looking for someone to blame, I send love to you and hope. Hope that you will look inside yourself and realize we all play a part in these tragedies. Hope that one day, you will see how beautiful this country could be with the acceptance of all.

Paz y amor,

Abby

Be whoever you want to be.

I felt inspired by a quote I came across recently, by the one and only F. Scott Fitzgerald.  It was a Saturday afternoon, chilly outside, gray overcast sky but the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven and an almond scented candle making the interior smell delicious.  Kendrick Lamar's Poetic Justice swiftly playing in the background, making it impossible not to sway back and forth, tilt your head back and rock to the beat.   

With 2014, being a transition year, and my "resolution," for lack of a better word, being: no settling, in jobs or in relationships, I read this quote and it spoke to me. 

I hope it inspires others... You still have time to be whoever you want to be. Don't be afraid to start all over again. 

Happy Saturday. 

"Always be hopeful. Sing and Story Tell."

Dear Papa,

All week I've been meaning to write a blog about Happiness.  You know, last Wednesday, March 20, 2013, was International Day of Happiness.  It filled me with joy knowing you were still here to celebrate and spread your warmth, and that huge heart you have to others. At school, I had my students finish the sentence "I'm super happy today because..." to which several responded, "...because God gave me one more day of life." Insightful. 

I'm sure last Wednesday, as you sat in your chair, watching television next to grandma, surrounded by so many grandkids and family members, you were doing the same.  Silently observing, smiling on the inside, thinking wise thoughts and shaking your head at all the interesting Spring break conversations that must have been filling that Arizona living room. I'm bummed I couldn't be there, but content knowing you spent your last days surrounded by happiness and an abundance of love. 

As I sat down to write trying to think of a title for this post, this quote, brought to you by a fifth grader from South Boston seemed to fit perfectly - "Always be hopeful, sing and story tell."  It seems to encompass you.  You were always filled with determination and hope. Always had a positive outlook on life and love.  And the story telling, you were a great story teller.  The stories, I will miss dearly but hold onto the memories you've created for me.  

In the next few paragraphs, I want to remember you!  I want the world to feel the HAPPINESS you've shown to your grandchildren, great grandchildren, brothers, sisters, and most importantly your wife and children, who were so lucky to have felt your love.  It's going to be a hopeful post, filled with story telling and life lessons I will carry with me. After reading it, from above, I hope you feel the rhythm that you've left upon all of us.   

I. A Story Teller

I want to start by going back to my sixth grade year when I was asked to do a report on a person who lived through The Great Depression and World War II. I remember hopping in the car, driving 30 seconds over the hill, my little knapsack on, filled with excitement, ready to interview my grandpa.  For some reason when you're twelve, age and time periods make no sense.  I went into the interview thinking you were about 30, during The Great Depression and had spent days rationing food and struggling to survive, when in reality you were about two.  You took it with ease and made the most of my interview, telling me stories about your parents and the struggles they faced. How they rationed and the war. You were very honest about not remembering anything about it and still helped me write a kick-butt paper. As a child, for how shy I was, you were excellent at embracing me and making me feel loved. That evening has stuck with me to this day.  Your gentleness has carried through into my life and has been a symbol for who I want to become.  I also left that night, understanding why us grandchildren were never allowed to leave the table until we licked our plate clean.  When times are tough, like during the Great Depression, we can't be wasting food. 

II. A Hopeful Fighter

Your positive outlook on life and work ethic is another facet you've shown to all of your grandchildren. Given a hammer and a nail and you could fix anything from a hole in the wall to a Dippin' Dot machine.  (Not many people can say they have touched a Dippin' Dot machine, much less operated one).  And with ease.  I remember being a kid and watching you make those Dippin' Dots.  The thousands of little ice cream balls would flow out of the machine and drop into bucket after bucket.  For long hours, through hot summers, you would work, never once complaining.  You definitely were an expert.  

Aside from that, there were stories upon stories about milking cows, the red barn, waking up at the crack of dawn to bale hay and complete the farm chores. Things we could only imagine you doing. But again, never once complaining. Your kids may have had some complaints along the way, but we'll let them off the hook this time :) 

You were a fighter.  For the entirety of your life.  Being diagnosed and living with Parkinson's Disease for the last ten years is a perfect example.  Slowly watching the disease run it's course also assisted me in realizing so many things about my own life; never take any day for granted. On my run yesterday Papa, I was thinking about you.  (I'm actually running a half-marathon in honor of YOU - June 2nd, you better be next to me cheering me on. I'm going to need it.)  All I could think about yesterday though, when I wanted to quit, was your strength and your will to keep waking up, hopping on that bike and doing those exercises to fight Parkinson's Disease.  I kept my feet moving and put one foot in front of the other and I finished my 10K.  All for you!  Because while you taught me many lessons... add FIGHTER to the list.  You taught me to never give up, to never complain, and to make the most of any situation. 

III. A Great Man

The best lesson I've learned from you is to LOVE everyone.  As I said in my Facebook post yesterday... "You're the rock, the glue and now the Angel who's watching over us all. WE LOVE YOU PAPA!! Rest in Peace." I meant every word.  Our family is close.  Real close. I contribute much of it to you and your peacefulness.  You are the glue.  You are the rock.  You have been there for weddings, babies, accidents, feuds and through it all you have wrapped that big smile (see above) around everyone.  

We received a message from your nephew yesterday and he could not have said it better, so I'm going to share it...

"I have nothing but really nice memories of Al - even when I had to help bale hay as a kid! (how unfair - I had to bale hay and we didn't have a fancy above ground pool!)

He was incredibly soft natured, and had a kind gentle way about him - in the few times I got to see him over the past years.

I like to think that we can gauge the value of our life by who shows up at our funeral and the words that people say about us after we are gone. I have no doubt you will hear my thoughts echoed 1000 times in the next few days."

Papa, he is so right! You exuded love. You exuded passion in all that you did.  I received messages, texts, facebook posts, and emails from people I haven't spoken to in years, sending messages of love and more stories about a man who made an impact in their life. YOU.  Right up to that last breath you took on Friday night, you had people smiling, laughing, praying, hoping and becoming better people because of you. 

You truly are a GREAT MAN. A respectable man. An honest man. And the best GRANDPA a girl could ask for. 

I love you Papa. Keep that smile glowing. And have fun walking, running and dancing again up there in heaven. You deserve it!

Xoxoxo,

Abby

Rainbows and Unicorns

They call it Minnesota nice for a reason. People you have never met will smile at you, say hello to you, ask you how you're doing and some will go as far as to compliment you on every element of your life, whether their assertions true or not.  To some it can be suffocating, but to many, especially those of us from Minnesota, it's comforting.  Feeling that sense of community and LOVE from people who genuinely have a lot of love to give.

It's a characteristic of the Midwest I have grown to miss. The optimism, simplicity and everyday happiness that you feel while standing in the middle of a corn field or laughing in your sweatpants over coffee, with a friend or often times someone you have just met while standing in line.

Moving out to Boston six years ago and jumping into the unknown East Coast community has proven to be quite different.  At first it took a lot of getting used to.  Not everybody smiles at you while you pass by, not everybody says hello to you just to say hello and forget it if you get a compliment because your shirt really is that cool.  Not that it's a bad thing, it's a different environment, with a different history and varying set of values. Neither culture better than the other, just different.

I'm currently in Arizona visiting my grandparents, all four of them. There is something peaceful about being the only one under 50 in this complex. It's an interesting dynamic to observe, unique conversation to be a part of with varying perspectives on life, respect and love.

This morning my grandfather found out a close friend of his passed away. His reaction was "God dammit, I just talked to him before I came down here. He was one if the nicest guys." Then, five minutes later "God dammit." While loss of his friends is getting more and more common in his 75th year, it was fascinating observing such a sad moment in my grandfathers life. There were no tears, no complaints, just an abundance of stories about this man that I had never met before but felt like I knew so much about simply by listening. I learned he was a nice guy, 'one of the nicest guys that lived'.  He would help anybody and he always had a positive outlook on his life.

It got me to thinking about my next blog post, this one. Why is it people have such a difficult time showing love, lending a helping hand or offering a simple smile to people they do not know? Not all people, but I would say more young people have this idea that love is this four letter word that can only be touched when this amazing-once-in-a-lifetime-person comes into your life.

I understand, as I've been told more than several times in my life that "it's not realistic" for everyone to get along and that I'm too optimistic and that that's just not how life is.  But, love is only a four letter word and showing someone love is as simple as a quiet good morning smile. It's as simple as a one sentence email wishing an old friend a good day or a genuine thank you to the person replacing the paper towel rolls in the bathroom at work. It's those little gestures that make a persons' day and spreads a little love where it may have not been before.

While LOVE does carry varying levels of meaning when used in certain contexts and is used by different people in many different ways, what is wrong with simply loving?  Loving your friends, your family, your significant other, the people you work with, or a stranger on the street you have just met?

I challenge you to tell someone you love them today.  Or better yet, show someone you love them with a simple gesture.  After the tragic Sandy Hook event that took place in December, members of the Facebook and Twitter community started spreading #26actsofkindness.  While, it was nice and thoughtful, why did it take such a tragic event for everyday people to start showing love?

Spread love today.  You will be surprised by the people you may meet.  It's amazing what that simple four letter word can do for someone. If that's too difficult I urge you to smile at someone today. A simple smile, it's free, beautiful, and can be a day maker for many.

Lets start creating a few more rainbows and unicorns in this world. Today. As Buddha says, "The trouble is, you think you have time."

So much LOVE,

Abby


This post was inspired by many little things that happened yesterday:

1)This video, which is awesome. You’ll Never Believe What These Adults Found In This Ball Pit

2)The song Hold On by Wilson Phillips, which came on my iPod at least three times yesterday. "Just open your heart and your mind."

3) And my grandparents, all four of them, who have taught me so many simple life lessons. 

What school is for some.

I just received the news that we have another snow day tomorrow. Nemo has really run it's course in Boston.  From little fish to big snow storm to say the least.

At first, I jumped with joy. Literally, jumped.  I was talking to one of my mentors/former employers on the phone and she said, "You don't have to work tomorrow, right?" I said I in fact did -but went on the school website, while we were talking and sure enough it said school closure - So I screamed, "No no, I don't have to work tomorrow, how did you know? Oh, I'm so excited."

She went on to explain, because I need your help. "Will you watch Lucas tomorrow? Daycare is closed."  

Backup to this morning around 10:00 a.m. I received a text from two of my students inquiring about school's status for tomorrow.  I assured them we do have school.  "See you tomorrow." The picture below shows my student's reaction. 

(notice the sad face)

For some of my students, the reaction they have to a school closure is dramatically different than mine, described above. They LOVE coming to school.  They like to be surrounded by teachers who care about them and their friends, whom they can have fun conversations and be kids for a few hours - an escape from reality.  

Working in an urban, low-income school district, has given me a new perspective on the importance of school and education. It has made me realize how many children in the United States, take school for granted.  It has also made me realize the impact one can have as an educator.  As an educator we are not just people who show up everyday to implant knowledge and information into students' minds or help them pass a test. There is an entirely other purpose for us to play in a child's life.  As an educator, we have the opportunity to be a stable wall for children to lean on, learn from and open up to when so many times they feel left alone in the world.   And, let me tell you, the world is a gigantic place, especially for a fourteen, fifteen or sixteen year old or even nineteen year old. 

It first occurred to me on Friday, when I walked into my seventh period class and announced "No School Tomorrow."  A handful of students erupted in cheer, a few just sat there, and more than I thought were disappointed in not having school tomorrow.  I heard whispers such as, "I don't like being at home." "I like coming to school miss."  "I'm sad miss."  Not the reactions I was used to.  Snow days,  when I was in high school, were celebrated, anticipated, and never questioned. 

School, for my students, is one of the only constants in their life. If implemented correctly and efficiently, a classroom can be a place for structure - consistency.  A place where students can experience routine and have a sense of power.  A classroom, is the one place, YOU, as an educator can create a community, where students feel safe, wanted, trusted and heard.   

So while for some, school is just a place to go, roll through the motions and use as an entrance into college, for others, it is a home.  It is that place where they can try to act out, where they can cry for attention and where they can begin to mold into a leader.  It is a place to test their limits, realize their potential, and reach goals that at one time felt unobtainable. 

It is a place my students can come and feel at home.  I will be back tomorrow, and the next day and the next day, to teach them again, listen to them again, provide structure for them again, lecture them again, give them consequences again, shake my head at them again, smile again, but above everything else, I will be there, for them, again.

A thought from the confused 23 year old...

23 is such an interesting age.  I suppose the early 20's in general is.  I'm turning 24 in three weeks and I have a feeling my thoughts and feelings will be relatively similar, accept I'm turning my favorite number, my golden number.

As a person in their early 20's I've found life to be utterly confusing.  I know it's probably only as confusing as you make it and when you analyze everything like myself... well. But, I do think, in general, it's a challenging time in life.  It's like all of a sudden you are thrown off this life boat with no flotation device and told to swim and to keep swimming until you find some land or something stable to stand on.

Our whole lives we grow up with an agenda.  It is a lose agenda for some but, for a lot of people, I know we have always been following this plan.  We begin to build our foundation in elementary school, stumble through our awkward "think we're adults," to cool for school, middle school years and then onto the top to prove to everyone we are the best.  After high school, many of the people I grew up with, myself included, knew we were going to go to college.  For me, it wasn't an option.  After college though, what should one do?  Get a job?  Go back to school? Move home or move in with the person they're dating?  When does one get married?  How do you know they are the one?  Can I go out on a Thursday, or will I be suffering at work on Friday?  Is this job really for me?  What if I never find anyone?  What am I doing?  Where do I want to live? Is it really this impossible to meet new people, or do I have something on my face? Should I move to a new city like all my friends have?

After college, we are cut from our structured society and forced to fend for ourselves.  But, how does one do that when they are unsure of what they want, who they want, when they want it?

Those are questions I think about a lot. I also know, however, that there is no complete answer to them.  As Emerson said, "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."  We are all following our own desires and carving out our own stories.

I have discovered though, that break-ups hurt a lot more when you're finished with your structured agenda, sleep becomes more necessary, and finding happiness in the little things is almost essential to everyday breath.

I have also uncovered a few other lessons this past year including but not limited to: love is going to come to you when you least expect it through friendships, family and perhaps even "the one".  If you're living your life others are going to want to join in and will be drawn to your personality.  "Life is so damn short.  For f$%k sake. Just do what makes you HAPPY."  Finding a passion brings your soul alive.  Listen to your heart because it's usually right.  And listen to those around you because often times they are teaching you a lesson. If you're unhappy change something, it's never too late.  Smile, even when you're sad.  Be proud of who you are and who you are becoming.  Never stop learning, questioning.  Love yourself because you can't fully love somebody else until you are happy with YOU.  Give 100% at everything you do. And LEARN TO LET GO.. because liberating yourself is usually the first step in experiencing true happiness.

Above all else.  Know you are not alone.  There are at least 24 other confused 20-something year-olds feeling at least 10 of the same emotions you are.

Glimpses of pure happiness this week.

Absolute Beauty.

Showing my students they CAN go to college. 

Pure Innocence. 

Keep your friends close. Real close. 

Check out my friends.

Click on the link below for a little life inspiration. 

"They teach us things that you only learn in high school."  Cute.  

Shout out to Sarah and Caitlin. Leading Americas youth every Thursday one book at a time.

Meeeeeeees Wagner

I see that my last post, written over a year ago, sadly, was titled Blogging in Boston.  Well, here's to inform all of my family and friends, who do not know, that I am, in fact, still in Boston. I've been here for a year and a half.  That's pretty much a record.  But, I must say I am happy and on this new, very unpredictable journey.   

It's time I start blogging again.  As a way to vent, positively, and relive the chaotic, happy and, at times, stressful moments that make up my current "very adult like" life as Ms. Wagner. 

I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be a teacher.  Growing up I wanted to be an actress, a lawyer, a housewife or a professional basketball player.   All the things kids typically want to be when they are, well, growing up.  Of course, with my lack of height, and the fact that I played forward a majority of my life, basketball never really panned out. Acting, I was way too shy up until about 10th grade and a lawyer... hmmm, that could still be an option I suppose. 

For now, I am a teacher.  Teaching students who just arrived into the country English.  Working in Chelsea, MA, an urban school, outside of Boston, with a very diverse student body has proven to be challenging yet, extremely rewarding.  I have been in the job for a little over six months and find myself learning new things everyday.  I mean, that's normal right?  There is the phrase, "you learn something new everyday."  I indeed do. 

I feel I have seen it all.  Most days shocked at the things I hear or even see take place and other days smiling from ear to ear at the progress my students are making not only academically but as everyday leaders as well.  

It seems like just yesterday I was in high school; trying to find myself, worrying about things that, looking back now, never even mattered, deciding who my weekly crush was, or who's house we should have a sleepover at that weekend.  Being the leader in this ever so unique environment, full of changing hormones, new cliques, teenage problems and a sea of 'young love,' has proved to be very challenging. Being only 3 years older than my oldest student and still very young, I find it difficult at times to lead, more so than I ever have before. 

I've never had to be the disciplinarian, or give orders, and gain respect to the extent I do now. Or stand up in front of a sea of glaring eyes pretending like I know 100% what I'm talking about.  This job has set me up for the challenge.  While there are days I feel like everything is going to fall apart and other days when I am so happy I could cry; it is my students with their funny comments, amazing talent and sometimes unpredictable ATTTTTITUUUUDES, that keep me going. 

Today was one of those days where my smile could not get any bigger.  This week and last for that matter, were those weeks where the sun could not shine any brighter.   And so bear with me while, I struggle to make this first post, in a over a year, comprehensible, because all I really wanted to say was I AM HAPPY. I LOVE MY JOB. MY STUDENTS. And, this week, being Meeeeeeees Wagner has never felt so good.  

Follow me on the rest of my journey, as teacher, mentor, friend, disciplinarian, normal 23 year old being and confused young adult. It outta be interesting... 

Blogging in Boston

I am blogging, although I am currently in Boston.  Interesting considering I have never blogged while being in classes but, I am currently enrolled in an Advanced Writing in the Disciplines course at school (Northeastern University) which has me thinking all the time.  It has me relating ideas and readings we discuss in class to almost every action in my life.  I have a friend who once told me, "Abby, you are always relating your life to something, whether it be song lyrics, books, stories, why?"  She advised me to just allow life to happen and let it be your own.  I would do that but I believe every event in life occurs because of some other force or current, which has probably happened before or to someone else.

For instance, last week in class we read a few chapters written by a woman named Deborah Brandt.  I love the way she writes and how she took the time to analyze literature and reading.  She conducted interviews on people ranging from all walks of life and asked them to think about when they first began to read and write.  She had them think about times in life when literacy affected them and about their parents and their literacy growth experiences.  It was fascinating to me.  

Looking back at my own childhood, I had a hard time remembering the first time I learned to read or write.  It may have been because it was always easy for me or because we never talked about it in my house but whatever it was there had to be some event that sparked literacy desires. I was read to every night, my favorite book of course, Goodnight Moon, but I was never asked to read out-loud perhaps because I was just expected to know how to do it.  First born child syndrome?  Who knows, but whatever happened it leads to a lot of unanswered questions now about how I process literature, the types of books I choose to read or even how I write. 

Back to blogging and back in Boston.  It's going to be a refreshing summer.

A few of the many reasons I LOVE India.

While at times I am angry at myself for not blogging more I realize I am also very happy with the experiences I have allowed myself to have and the amazing people I have had the opportunity of meeting, these last four weeks.  So while, I am disappointed in myself, there are no words to explain the love I have for this country, this city and these people right now.  I am so happy.  It’s a happiness I have never felt before.  I am so grateful. So grateful for this experience and my family and friends and Beth.  I am so thankful for the support.  I am so content with life and it’s possibilities and opportunities.

Here in Hubli, my mind is always flowing; changing directions, whirling thoughts ring through my head and my smile and eyes keeps opening larger.  I am having the time of my life.  I am learning Kannada, I am rocking the kurtas, I am devouring the food and I cannot get enough of the chai, children, puppies and conversation both here in India as well as from my friends and family at home!

I am going to highlight a few of these amazing experiences and incredible people, briefly below.  While my thoughts may be very scattered glimpses of the experiences, I hope you enjoy and have a chance to see how outstanding and unique this country is. 

Babu

Babu, our auto rickshaw driver picks us up every morning from our hotel and brings us to our room at BVB College.  He is the man!  He toots his horn, smiles from ear to ear, and wipes off our seat with his dirt-dyed rag as we begin to pile in.  Every morning he begins with “Good day madam, how are you?”  And we drive off, chitter-chattering along the way.  It is a lovely way to begin our day.

On one particular Friday, Babu picked us up, as we had to complete some errands, and had other plans in mind for us.  He was going to show us his home.  His simple, quant, modest home, filled with joy and love.  As we made the unfamiliar left hand turn Yasmine and I looked at each other with curiosity in our eyes.  Where are we going? About a minute later Babu’s beautiful wife greeted us.  A tall, elegant, hardworking woman, you could tell.  She greeted us with Chai, blessed us with the third eye and insisted that we have a seat inside.  The enclosed space was small yet very clean.  There was a picture of Ganesh hanging on the wall, pictures of their deceased family members, piles of clothes, waiting to be stitched and buckets of fresh vegetables sitting in the next room waiting to be prepared for dinner. The 6’ x 8’ space had a peaceful, yet busy aura to it.  As we took off our sandals to enter the home, Babu’s mother-in-law stepped in the small space and grabbed both our arms as if she was never going to let go.  Her squeeze was tight and welcoming. It was lovely.  As she smiled her half-missing mouth of teeth shined brightly in the sunlight.  She welcomed us in and sat on the floor, making sure we both had a chair.  It was an amazing moment.  Sitting, almost silent, just smiling and giggling and gesturing at this family and sipping our chai, imagining what life must be like every day in this house.  The living space floor doubling as a bedroom floor at night.  The kitchen doubling as a washroom. This family that has so little, yet giving so much.  It was such a different experience or feeling than I have ever felt in the U.S. A family so grateful for just having each other and the company of others to bless their lives with.

Leaving Babu’s house that day we learned that he is saving up to begin construction on a new home in 2012.  After hearing of his goal, we felt warmth and happiness because although we are paying him 50 rupees every morning ($1usd) for a ride that should cost 20 rupees, we now realize that we are helping him towards his goal.  And that little dollar we spend is nothing compared to what we already have.

Roopa, hotel greeter, friend, and yoga assistant

Roopa is one of the many incredible people who work at our hotel, Hotel Naveen.  She is genuine, helpful and an all around wonderful person to encounter every morning on our way back from breakfast.  Her smile, her dress, her curiosity and her opinions.  Her advice, her stories and her positive attitude. Every thing about Roopa keeps me coming back for more.

This week Roopa introduced us to her friend, the yoga teacher, Vasuda.  One of my goals this time in India was to become more educated on the history of yoga as well as more intimate with the yoga postures.  I mean this is India, origin of yoga, and home of the wise and spiritual.  Why not become a yogi? 

Before our yoga lesson began we met up with Roopa at her gorgeous home.  Why not become a yogi, but why not become a part of Roopa’s family first?  Yasmine, I, along with two other students all arrived not knowing what to expect.  We were motioned up to the second floor of a beautiful apartment complex and greeted outside the elevator by Roopa herself.  She was dressed in a beautiful red kurta and had her hair in an elegant pony tail.  It was the first time I had seen Roopa outside of her hotel uniform and with her hair not in a bun.  Her husband stood by her side, along with their thirteen-year-old daughter, who wore a short mini jean skirt and rocked a black button up.  I already loved this family and I had only laid eyes on them 10 seconds prior. 

After the four of us made ourselves comfortable on their modern furniture, her husband offered us a cup of chai.  He claimed he was the best chai maker in all of Hubli. He was correct.  The first sip sent my mind a cheerful glimpse of happiness.  Yum, just the right amount of sugar.  We all sat, sipping on chai, a common yet soothing experience in India, discussing life, our purpose, a potential dinner date, shopping and the typical question that always comes up, what are we doing in Hubli?  It was a funny conversation.  We laughed, giggled, and received some really great advice about where to buy a nice mask in Hubli.  Roopa’s husband is apparently the shopper, interior designer if you will, and he had the house pimped out.  They had tan, leather couches, with beautiful artwork to accompany.  There were hanging masks and tropical plants warming the kitchen and lighting that reminded me of my home in the U.S.  Mom would have loved it! The apartment was beautiful.  The company was even better.  After our short one-hour detour to Roopa’s on the way to yoga, we set off in search of our next memorable experience in India.  YOGA.  Because, obviously I am going to become a yogi by the end of this month with Roopa downward-dogging right next to me.

Inside Roopa's beautiful home with her lovely daughter.

KSV- The coolest school of music

I have never seen a school quite like Kalkeri Sangeet Vidyalaya, until today of course.  It may just be my next home, my next adventure because I fell in love. 

With its mission being to use music to empower children from socially marginalized and economically disadvantaged backgrounds, help them realize their full potential, the school is filled with beautiful voices and a lively harmony.

Upon arriving and receiving a brief introduction from Adam, a man who has now lived in Kalkeri -a rural village comprised of 2000 inhabitants- for seven years after beginning as a volunteer, we made our way around the campus.  We met Matthew and Agathe-the two founders from Quebec- and their four beautiful daughters, we met the 161 children who are forutunate enough to receive such a well rounded education.  We heard a famous Japanese Koto player perform and had the opportunity to hear the eldest students play their local music.  I was captivated the entire day.  In love with the music. In love with the children. In love with the wilderness that surrounded the song.  In love with the staff and their generosity.  KSV may just be my next volunteer adventure!

A glimpse of the campus.  The classrooms, the wilderness.  It was very peaceful, quite and serene.

A classroom!

Inside the classroom, the students were partaking in a math class.

Adam's home.  Built out of eco-friendly material.

Sabia and I!  A little rockstar!

The eldest students playing the local classical music.

My girls!

Photo compliments of little Laxmi :)

So although, there have been those moments that keeping me guessing and wondering, what the hell am I doing here?  It’s the moments and the people that I have mentioned above that help me to understand my place in this foreign society.  I have grown so much in the last month.  I have realized and am beginning to accept and give meaning to many of the obstacles I have encountered in life.  And I am comfortable saying I am falling in love with a place that 30 days ago seemed so distant and unrelateable to me.

“India, I love you!”  I repeat every night before splashing my clustered mind on the hotel pillow and falling fast asleep in my ‘home’ away from home!

No time for the minus sign.

I want to first get the negatives out of the way...

Last week I stepped in cow dung, a pile of it, nice and wet, on our walk back to the hotel.  I heard the squish with every step for the entire 15 minutes after that it took us to get back.  I felt the disgusting yet collected look on my face.  In the end all I got was an ugly rash on my feet and a pretty good story to tell. Not too bad!

This ugly rash on my feet.  Itchy, ugly rash.  A minor downer in my week but with a little Extra Strength Benedryl and a daily foot affirmation, all is well.

This morning.  Not entirely negative but rather a strange annoying encounter involving a group of men.  I would call them gentlemen but I'm not exactly sure they were gentle.  They didn't look it.  I arrived back from breakfast, eager to see the wedding that was about to take place at our hotel.  The bride was Slovakian and beautiful and the groom was a local man from Hubli and handsome.  It's a rare occurrence in Hubli to see a wedding involving a foreigner.  I opened my window shade to get a glimpse of the wedding scene only to find a group of about seven men standing outside my room, loitering.  The good thing about our windows is you can see out but nobody can see in.  Thank goodness as I was standing in  a tank top kurta.  As I sat with Yasmine, in the next room over, observing the men and their actions we became more and more entranced and at times violated.  Even though they could not see in our windows, it's pretty evident they knew there were two, white foreign, women in the room.  One of the men even had the nerve to open Yasmine's  door and peek his head inside.  "Hello!" she yelled.  And then another man grabbed the Do Not Disturb (DND) sign off my door and ripped it in half.  I was thinking hello, I saw that! As I walked over to my door to lock the dead bolt.  He put one half in his jacket pocket and through the other half over the balcony.  I still don't understand the point of that. Respect, sometimes Indian men really know how to violate it.  After several minutes of watching, and ragging back and forth Yasmine and I decided to move to Denise's room.  The men were now huddled outside her window and we wanted the latest dirt.  We climbed outside on the back balcony and crossed that way, holding on for dear life.  There was no way I was going out the front door so walking the back plank was the only other option. Three women trapped in three small rooms, only mobile over a balcony.  We discussed it, laughed a bit and soon after the men left.  Strange.  It was a strange experience.  And the thing that put the cherry on top... they were not even invited to the wedding.  They were government officials from Hubli/Dharwad that apparently think they can just drop in on weddings whenever they very well please!

I just shook my head as I looked over the front balcony and watched them drive away, one half of my DND sign in the exiting vehicle and the other sitting lonely by itself on the dirt floor below. It was an odd morning.  Definitely one of those mornings, weeks rather when I ask myself, what the hell?

I am back ... in Hubli!

I am in Hubli.  It is still surreal and we have been here for longer than a week.  I did not do any mental preparing this time before leaving.  Usually, it is a process, I must think about it, imagine myself plopped in the particular culture, think about all the positive encounters I am about to have but also be realistic about a few of the challenges I may face. This time, I decided to not over think anything though.  It was my first time traveling on a dialogue, not playing the role of student. It was the first time I couldn’t just dive in and try to be close friends with a particular group of students.  It has been a bit challenging for me at times. Then, I stop trying to sort through all the thoughts in my head, that can sometimes feel destructive, am I doing a good job, am I balancing my priorities, and I stop, take a look around and begin observing. I am here because I am here but why?

I am in India. It will occur to me, as I am jammed in the rickshaw trying to keep the massive amounts of dust out of my mouth and eyes.  It will occur to me as I am bobbling my head trying to get half off the inflated, foreigner rate.  One hundred village children will be running after me, speaking in their native tongue and I will reply, “Nanage Kannada BarOdilla” because I can not speak Kannada well and I am in Karnataka.

India is a fascinating place and being it is my second time here, for an extended period of time, I am trying to soak everything up.  I want to meet locals, go to bollywood shows, become a yogi, dress the dress, test my limits and devour as much of this amazing food as possible.  It has only been a week and so far I can really say, I have fallen in love.  Last time I left, thinking “I like this place but there is no way I can say I love it.”  And now, yesterday in particular, I was sitting on a jam-packed bus, thankful I had a seat, next to a woman wrapped in a beautiful, green, sparkly sari.  She had her nose pierced and decorated with gold jewelry, her ears encircled with gold chain and jewels, looking immaculate.  She was absolutely gorgeous.  Although, we had severe communication issues, I enjoyed her company.  She looked a young 68, stunning and so interested in my culture.  I had my camera out perusing though pictures of family and friends, replaying old memories in my head, in my own little world. She sat, so observant, and silent.  When she saw something she thought looked scandalous, for Indian status, she would lightly tap my right arm with the back of her hand and point as if I was being scolded by my grandmother for being out of line.  Then she would smile and show off her crooked, off-colored teeth and we would both laugh. Not a word was spoken but the interconnectedness was felt between the two of us, generations apart, from opposite sides of the world, yet sitting in that moment side by side. It are those little encounters that happen every day in this vast country of contrast and rich culture, with such a diverse array of individuals, that keeps me proclaiming, I LOVE THIS COUNTRY.

So although, I am taking in the India, as a whole; the food, the clothing, the dress, the customs, the religions, the dialects, all the people, the random foreigners scavenging through Hubli, the lack of internet, not having a phone, the smells, the dirt, the smog, the hand shakes, the questions, the list could go on forever, I am still at a crossroads as to what I am doing here.  

Licensed Childcare Center in Pictures.

The outside "play area" complete with a new storage shed and Sun Sails.

Close up of the Sun Sail, hung exclusively by women :)

The newly licensed early childcare center.  Doesn't it look fun?

The newly painted yellow plexyglass wall.  That is where the babies sleep.

The paint was dry and therefore time for the big reveal.  A little help from Wa Da.

Big hands, little hands.

Ta Da.  It's complete.

Peek-a-boo!

Each child has their own cubby with their name and picture.

Group Pic. Play time.

M.I.A.

I know it has been over a month since I have written.  Horrible.

I do not have an excuse but rather an explanation.  Work at the International Rescue Committee has been busy.  From fixing fences, to setting up classrooms, finalizing excel attendence sheets, confirming adult and intfant/toddler enrollment at our first ever licensed childcare center, to creating videos, beautiful images and many memeries; my mind has been elsewhere, everywhere really.

I have thought about blogging several times.  Thought about announcing our passage of the licensing inspection and how we now have the first ever licensed facility at the IRC.  Thought about raving about how Pae Pae finally wrote her name in English and wrote it over and over and over again. Thought about telling the amazing story of Leh Ler Si Htoo and how he finally jumped into my arms for the first time and smiled.  Then I decided I would wait.  I said to myself, I will write about each highlight separately so I do not miss a detail.

Following this brief comeback blog entry I will update you on the past month via pictures.  Many pictures,  highlighting our progress and success over the last month!

It has been said that a picture says a thousand words, right?

This has nothing to do with Co-Op.

And everything to do with mi familia.  I love my family.

This past weekend I took a much needed trip home to visit my parents, eat with my parents and hang with... my parents.  And my two wonderful, adorable and intelligent cousins too!

The older I get the more I realize that my family is THE BEST. I don't know what I would do without.  We have the best conversations together.  We laugh and yell (like in a talk really loud kind of way).  We smile and discuss.  Sometimes even tickle and tackle, all in good fun.

Now, that I'm older I'm able to socialize with my parents in a much different way.  We have real grown up conversations.  For example this weekend we talked about our well and the well water we drink.  We talked about pull tabs and even bought a few (we didn't win).  We talked about life, growing older, traveling and people.  I had so much fun basically doing nothing.  Just enjoying my wonderful parents.

On Saturday, we went to the Minnesota State Fair!  I haven't missed the fair once in 21 years. I definitely wasn't about to miss it this year.  The fair was filled with food on a stick, power washers and trailers, dippin' dots, dancing and my favorite, my cousins :)

Ella and Tate came to the fair just to hang out.  I have not seen them in sooooo long and it always makes my day visiting with them.  Joking with them.  I just love them.  Ella and I went in the haunted house.  Surprisingly, it was scary.  I have not been in the haunted house since I was about ten when I peed my pants.  Now, 11 years later, I sucked it up and tried it again!  I probably wasn't the best one to accompany my eight year old cousin.  I was most definitely more jumpy then she was.  Half way through she looked at me though and trembled, "Abby, will you carry me!"  I chuckled, imagining what I must look like carry this long, not so much a child anymore, through the haunted house.  It was soooo fun though.  The look on her face as we exited the haunted house made my night!  She was so proud.

After a few breaths, Ella, Tate and I made our way to the River Raft Ride.  The whole way there they joked with me saying, "Don't worry Abby. You're not going to get wet!"  Tate repeating over and over, "Don't worry Abby, you're not going to get wet!"  I only half believed them.  Tate got soaked on the first wave.  The wave hovered over him gulping him in it's attack.  He was soaked.  I was just smiling, thinking I made it out of this one.   We made it through the whole ride when suddenly we make our last turn and I get sprayed directly in the back my a hidden fountain.  I was soaked.  They were just laughing.

O, the fair.  The Minnesota State Fair.  The best in the nation.  With my family, cousins, and soooo much great food.  What a splendid weekend.

Ella, Me, Tate after our collapse!

Mi Madre con los primos :)

Me and Mr. Tater Bug

All Women.

This week the work at the International Rescue Committee (IRC) has been filled with hard, manual labor!  And I mean, not wimpy tasks, but what some might call a mans job.  I helped my manager put up a fence, like one of those silver chain fences, not easy. (Thank goodness for the rachets)  I built a shelf, with cubby holes, helped put up wall decorations, almost moved a small shed (keyword, almost) hauled old shelves out of a classroom, put up a shade tarp to cover a little sandy area that reminded me much of the movie holes and used a screwdriver and hammer babyproof a classroom.

A man's job, pffff.   Five remarkable women have been hard at work putting together a childcare center that is going to be built, decorated and designed with love.  TLC.  For the last month the IRC's First Things First department has been working hard to fill out licensing applications, restructure their curriculum for adults, put in place a more structured center for infants and toddlers and make the program the best in the U.S. or at least San Diego.  

The adult First Things First program is in place to teach refugee parents to learn English.  It starts with the very basics, like how to hold a pencil, what a piece of paper is, moving on to the alphabet and slowly but surely short phrases.  The program is phenomenal!  To make it even better there is a childcare supplement.  The parents can drop their children off while they attend school, that way their children are in a safe zone learning English basics and being looked after by the best staff evaaa!

Next week is our licensing inspection which is why this week has been filled with the real stuff.  Good, hard, labor.  And lots of laughs, giggles, stories, and sweaty women working together to complete the first things first.

Fro-yo to the rescue.

I just got back from Yogurtland because I had yet another craving for yogurt.  Fro-yo to be exact, my guilty pleasure.  While standing in line at the cashiers, I saw a young gentleman in a TC hat and an SDSU shirt.  Naturally, the first thing I thought was hmmm... this man must be from Minnesota.  I always get excited meeting a fellow Minnesotan in a foreign place.  Yes! California is still a bit foreign.  So I spoke up in a jolly mildly high pitched voice, "Hey, are you from Minnesota."  He awkwardly put his head down and whispered "yup."

"Me Too."

He didn't care. He took his change and rushed out the door. 

Weird.  Most Minnesotans are friendly to the extreme.  I just don't know what happened this time.

Nonetheless, my Fro-Yo was delicious :)

International Rescue Committee

A brief introduction to the organization I chose for my second Co-Op experience!  Very Very rewarding.

http://www.theirc.org/irc-a-glance

Namaste to all and to all a good night!

A love affair with Julia Roberts.

No. I did not actually have a love affair with Julia Roberts, but I bet it prompted you to read further :)

I just returned from watching the movie Eat. Pray. Love. Sad to say it, but that movie, the divine scenery and language of Italy, the serene peace and chaotic beauty of India, and the calmness and solitude in Bali have urked my hands, my mind and my soul into writing again.  Now my fingers move at lightning speed.  Thoughts bump into one another flying around in my head and my liver is smiling (line from the movie).  Not only my liver but my inner being is smiling because finally I found the passion to update my blog again.  It has been two months since I have written.  How sad!

I have been to Minnesota, Stamford, New York, through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Nevada and California in that time.  I have seen the Rockies, blue rivers, desolate desserts, sharp rocks, thick clouds and vast landscapes since then.

I am now living in San Diego.  I arrived here five weeks ago to begin my second Co-Op, thanks to Northeastern and my parents of course.   Surprisingly, this transition has not been as smooth as my other million.  In my time at Northeastern I have moved a lot.  Almost every six months for the past four years.  I enjoy seeing new places.  Diving into a different culture, lifestyle and routine.  San Diego has been completely different than all of my other experiences though.  I have struggled more, which I believe is good. Not necessarily to fit in, or meet friends, but more so to find peace within myself.

I do love it.  This city.  Don't get me wrong.

Now that I have seen this movie and began to reflect I am feeling a bit better and more ambitious.  I am excited for what life has in store for me and the new opportunities that I believe will arise.  For a moment or rather a month, I lost sight of the positive direction my life was headed and got wrapped up in well, other thoughts.

More to come, on my Co-Op job, life experiences, and the friends who are currently shaping my life!

This blog, writer, bloggest, friend, hija, chica, lady, amiga, or just Abby is back in action!

Still smiling.

I've been so caught up in my art project lately I have completely neglected writing about the little things.  The moments that have kept me smiling.

Let's meander back to Sunday morning.  It's 10:00 am, I had my tooth brush in my mouth, I was wiping off the counter and suddenly my phone rings.  My phone.  Every time my phone rings my ears perk up.  It rarely happens here in Spain and when it does, the sound echos through the room of apartment 3C. I ignored it assuming it was a telemarketer and continued on with my Sunday morning routine.

38 seconds later, the noise returns.  Who must it be?  Two phones calls in one minute.  I pick up my phone from my night stand, glance at it and smile.  Do I answer and suffer the bill?  Noooo. Skype.

It was John Paul Vaith.  The One and Only.  My bestie.  My brother, in another life.  I dialed him back, from my computer of course, as fast as I could and when he picked up I started cheering.  Yay!  John Paul.

It was this small occasion in my day that made my week.  We talked for an hour about school, summer, friends, girlfriends, love, family, new york.  We laughed, we yelled, we discussed, we didn't cry.  It was amazing.  We only talk a few times a year.  Not enough. It's sad.  But when we do it's like we've never been out of touch.  He is one of my best friends and always will be.

It was after this conversation, I started thinking about our time together two summers ago.  We hung out together EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. whether it was for five minutes or 24 hours.  We stayed up until sunrise reminiscing.  We went to Olive Garden or ordered it in at least twice a month.  It's thinking back on times like these that make me wish time would stop.  I wish life would allow you to see those you LOVE every single day instead of just once or twice a year.  The older I get the more I realize this will never happen.  The more places you go, the more people you meet but it's nice to know that your favorite people are just a call, text or skype chat away :)