Jet Boats? Heck, Yeah!

When I'm traveling somewhere new, I like to spend most of my time diligently immersing myself in the geography, history, culture, cuisine and especially the scenery of that place. I like to just wander around and see what I can find. It keeps me thinking. 

But y'know, sometimes, it's just fun to have fun for its own sake.  And boy, did I have fun the day I went jet-boating on the Dart River in New Zealand.  After a beautiful bus ride from Queenstown to Mt. Aspiring National Park, we got our gear and took a gentle walk through the forest to the water's edge, where we boarded our boat and got our instructions (which, essentially, were "hold on").

And hold on we did, as our driver whizzed through the shallow water, doing 360 degree turns (just because he could), and speeding perilously close to rocks in the river.

Jet boats can operate in just four inches of water, so they can take you places you could never get to in other motorized boats.

And because the river is fed by glacial runoff, the water is an unimaginable shade of blue.

I can honestly say that, for the 45 minutes or so that we were out doing tricks and having a blast on the water, I did not have a single constructive thought.  It was great.

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                          Whakarewarewa Thermal Village
       
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Now That's Inspiration

Two weeks ago, I wrote that my sister, my good-spirited friend Milinda and I (along with 30,000 other people) finished the San Antonio Rock 'n Roll half-marathon. As none of us had ever even thought of participating in an event like that, I can tell you that we were pretty proud of ourselves (as were our families, who had harbored some serious doubts about the whole enterprise).





But, so you don't think we have swelled heads, you have to consider our role model.  A few years ago, my dad--who had not participated in track since elementary school in the 1930s, nor ridden a bike since at least the 1950s--watched an 80-year old man running in the St. Petersburg "Meek and Mighty" triathlon.  Dad's reaction was simply, "I could do that."  So the next year, when he was 84, my dad entered and finished his first triathlon.

As he made the final turn, he heard the announcer tell the crowd to cheer for the winner of the 80+ age group.  He took off his hat, broke into a run, and crossed the finish line smiling.

I don't know which was more palpable: my dad's excitement or my mom's relief that he had finished.  The adrenaline was still flowing a few minutes later when he was interviewed by a camera crew from the local news station.  Asked how he felt, my dad said, "It felt like I just hit the winning home run and my best girl was in the stands watching."  Isn't that cool?

Oh, and by the way, he entered and won his age group the following year, at 85.  So, until this blog becomes 80+ and on the Run, he remains the family champ.


Related post: Rock n' Roll is Here to Stay
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Eat Some Ice Cream!

A  story:
A boy about 8 years old came into a diner and sat in a booth. When the waitress asked  for his order, the boy said, "How much is a hot fudge sundae?" "One dollar," replied the waitress.  The boy hesitated and said, "How much for just plain ice cream?" The waitress, a little impatiently, said "Seventy-five cents."  He nodded soberly and said, "I'll just have the plain ice cream, please."


The waitress watched as the boy ate every drop, scraping the sides of the bowl. He paid, said thank you and left. When she cleared his table, she saw to her surprise that he had left her a quarter for a tip.


Maybe I'm too sentimental, but I choke up a little at stories like that.  I very much wanted my boys to be like that boy. Over the last couple of weeks, I have posted ideas for "alternative" holiday gifts, such as microloans or livestock or medical care to entrepreneurs in developing countries.* Sometimes, though, people--especially kids--like something tangible, something they can see.

Several years ago, I gave the boys little treasure boxes filled with 25 "gold" one-dollar coins, with a card saying that the money was theirs to give away any way they wanted. They've had some pretty creative ideas over the years: way overtipping a waitress, buying all the newspapers from the guy selling them in the street, buying lunch for a soldier or a homeless person. Sometimes they gave it away all in one day, and sometimes over several days or weeks, when they saw an opportunity. They liked the idea so much that I've repeated it every year--and now I give myself a roll of coins, so I can join in the fun, too. 


I bet someone on your list would like this.


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Sunday Haiku IX

Wind chimes tuning up

For the concerto they'll play

When the front comes in

Related post: All Haiku

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Bad Job #1

Alert: if you are now in law school or are thinking about going to law school, read no further.  


If you are already a lawyer, you might as well go ahead--you know what I'm talking about.

I don't know what I'm going to do when (if?) I grow up, but I know for sure it's not going to be practicing law. However, I need to remind myself that I would like some jobs even less than that.

So, I'm keeping it in perspective.

Can you think of a job you would want to do even less than the one you're doing?

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Tropical Delusion

Pretty spectacular sunset over the South Pacific.

Actually, sunrise from my driveway the other day. 

But a girl can dream.

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11/24/11

Thanksgiving 2011

The turkey is roasting, the table is set,

The house is as clean as it's gonna get.

The potatoes taste great, though the gravy's from Heinz,

There's cold apple cider and two kinds of wines.

There's stuffing and yams, cauliflower and peas,

At the end of the meal, we'll have coffees and teas.

The cheesecake's homemade, but the pie's from the bakery--

I'm not gonna lie, 'cause I'm no good at fakery.

It's only a dinner, not a Hollywood show,

There aren't any prizes for "perfect," you know.

I sure used to worry, but nobody cares:

It's not what's on the table--it's who's in the chairs.

1968-ish

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The One Book You Absolutely Must Have

I know it's going out of fashion, but I still read the newspaper every day.  The kind of newspaper still made of actual paper. Mostly it's a habit, I suppose--one that goes with hot coffee and the Today Show.  Because of the internet, I generally know what is going on in the world before I turn the first page.  But still, I read it, and sometimes it pays off.


Sometime in the late '90s, I read a column by Ellen Goodman that struck a chord with me.  She was preparing to celebrate the first Thanksgiving since her grandmother had died, and she realized, suddenly, that she would now be the keeper of the family's "Thanksgiving Book."  Every year, her grandmother insisted that everyone in the family write a little note, or poem or wish in a blank book. After decades, there was quite a collection of books that chronicled the family's history--at least as it was revealed one day each year.

I wished my family had done that when I was growing up, but we hadn't, so I decided to start a Thanksgiving Book tradition of my own. I bought a small, leather-bound book (with acid-free paper, because I already had visions of my grandchildren treasuring it) and announced to the family that every year, every person who came to our house for Thanksgiving must write in the book.  Not just family, but anybody who joined us: friends, neighbors, spouses who aren't spouses anymore, and one time, airmen visiting from the nearby base.


I've been pretty bossy about it, and sometimes eyes roll when I bring the book to the table, but we all write something, and the Thanksgiving Book has become one of my favorite traditions. And, because I was so bossy for all those years, today I was able to pull the book off the shelf and leaf through it, remembering when the kids' handwriting went either uphill or downhill, but never straight. And how we felt the Thanksgiving after 9/11, and the first year without our dog, and the first year without braces (yay!), and all those damn poems I wrote.

I admit I'm the only one who has written poems, although I tried to get the kids to do it too. And every year I add a recipe or two, so that when I'm gone and somebody else is in charge of my Thanksgiving Book, they'll be able to re-create Mom's "sweet-potatoes-that-even-people-who-hate-sweet-potatoes-like." 


Go get yourself a book, and start a new tradition tomorrow.


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Turkeys Shopping for Turkeys

You know, I'm generally optimistic about human nature. But every now and then, something happens that makes my spirits just sink. 

Yesterday I finished my Thanksgiving shopping, and I was feeling pretty good. While I was waiting in the checkout line, I got a tweet that there had been an actual fight between two families at that same grocery store the previous evening. Who knows what they were fighting about: a turkey? a parking spot? a place in line?

Minutes later in the parking lot, I witnessed a well-dressed, bleached blonde woman snarling on her smartphone, complaining to someone that the store was out of Fiji water in the small bottles, while two bag boys emptied the contents of her two overloaded shopping carts into the back of her shiny black Suburban.

First world problems, people.

Related post: One Book You Absolutely Must Have
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And You Don't Have to Go to the Mall

Aren't those two great smiles? Boy, they should be! Between dentists and orthodontists, I estimate I spent about 100 hours of my life and about $10,000 so those handsome boys could have those handsome smiles.  While waiting, I read a lot of magazines. I'm pretty sure it was during one of those visits to the orthodontist that I first read about Smile Train.


If you've been following this blog, you'll remember that I promised to give you lots of gift ideas for your friends and families--gifts that require no wrapping paper, no bows or ribbons and (best of all) no trips to the mall. Here is one of my favorites: Smile Train.

Smile Train is an international organization which subsidizes cleft palate surgeries for children in developing countries. I bet most of us have met people who were born with cleft palates which were repaired when they were infants, usually leaving only a faint scar on their upper lip.  It's a fairly routine surgery in the developed world, so many people don't realize how devastating--even life-threatening--the condition can be.  Children with severe clefts cannot speak or even eat. In some parts of the world, children with cleft palates are considered "cursed," and sometimes even left to die.

More than 165,000 children a year are born with clefts. That's the bad news, and it's very bad. The good--no great--news is that with a subsidy of $250, surgeons around the world can repair those defects and give those children a chance at a normal life. It seems incredible, but for less than the cost of a nice video game system, a child's life can be altered forever. Pretty sweet.

A couple of years ago, I "gave" a surgery to those two handsome boys at the top of the page.  I wasn't sure exactly how much they would appreciate it, but I will tell you--it is one of the gifts they still talk about today, and I bet they don't remember what else they got that year.


I have no affiliation with Smile Train, except as a donor, but Charity Navigator says that over 80% of all donations go directly toward repairing clefts. In the past 12 years, more than 680,000 children have been helped.  After investigating, the New York Times said that Smile Train is "one of the most productive charities--dollar for deed--in the world."


So, if you're thinking that this year, you might want to give someone a gift you don't have to wrap, check out the Smile Train website and see what you think.


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Sunday Haiku VIII

Sunrise to sunrise

One rotation, mayfly, to

Live and love and die

Related post: All Haiku

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Don't Be Afraid to Be Afraid

Who do you trust the most? I mean really, really trust. Your mom? Your best friend? Jon Stewart? (oh, wait, that's me.) Your significant other? Wikipedia? 


They're all good answers, but I think one is missing: yourself.  Or, more precisely, your instincts.  With time and training, humans have learned to ignore our instincts rather than follow them. I'm not talking about learned caution that arises from the "this ain't my first rodeo" kind of experience. I'm talking about your inborn instincts, the kind that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up, or make your heart beat faster when you perceive a threat, or just make you vaguely uneasy.


I recently read The Gift of Fear, by Gavin de Becker. He gives a lot of good examples of how our instincts try to warn us of bad situations.  For example, have you ever been startled in the shower when someone comes into the room--that kind of gasp and jump startle--before you ever actually see them? "Oooh," you say, "you scared me." 


You hadn't heard anything because of the noise, and you hadn't actually seen anything yet, so how did you become suddenly and acutely aware that something was sneaking up on you? Your primitive brain--the one you would have needed thousands of years ago to avoid a cave lion attack--went into action a fraction of a second before your modern brain, with all its niceties and refinements, could even begin to warn your conscious mind of the threat.

We all have instincts that could guide us, but we often ignore them. Some situations make me feel uneasy or afraid but I go anyway because I don't want to be a chicken or a scaredy-cat.  I want to be brave and adventurous, because those are traits I admire.


Consider a woman waiting for an elevator; when the door opens, she sees a single man inside and something about him makes her a little concerned. What does she do? She ignores that instinct and tells herself, "Don't be ridiculous, I'm sure it's fine, and besides, he'll be offended if I seem afraid of him," and steps into the elevator with him. That's probably what you'd do too, right? De Becker points out that no other animal would ever willingly enter a small, inescapable space alone with something it feared.  It wouldn't question whether the fear was reasonable or fair; it just wouldn't go. 

Think of a grazing gazelle which thinks it hears a predator--she doesn't wait around for confirmation, she bolts away from the danger. If later the noise turned out not to have been a lion, she wouldn't castigate herself for being such a silly gazelle, and the next time, she would run away again.


Too often, I think, we are not alert to our instincts, or worse, we see "red flags" and purposely choose to ignore them.  Whether you are traveling or at home, if something makes you uneasy, there is probably a good reason for it. Pay attention.


30 Days of Indie Travel
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I've Heard of Pink Elephants

But this is the first time I've ever seen a pink crane.

Parked along side of the race course for the San Antonio Rock 'n Roll Marathon
(or in my case, the half-marathon)

I think this was somewhere around mile 7 or so. Would have taken better photos, but my buddies were going so fast, I was afraid of being left behind.

Related post: Rock and Roll is Here to Stay

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No Ribbon Required, Either

As I told you last week, this year I am not going to give gifts that need to be wrapped.  Instead, I'm going to give "gifts that give more." Here is another great gift idea for your friends and family: give them a Kiva gift certificate so they can be an armchair banker and traveler while giving someone else a helping hand. That's what I've been doing for a while now, and I assure you, it'll make a pretty great gift.

On the 15th of every month, I leave the country.  Not literally, although that would be cool.  No, instead I travel the world on the computer, being a "Banker to the Poor," as Nobel Prize winner Muhammad Yunus would call it.  The 15th is the day that most of my loan repayments appear in my account at Kiva, the world's largest microfinance organization.

Margarita Camana de Chipana, Zepita, Peru. Repaid loan of $375 in 6 months.

Microfinance, briefly, is the practice of making small, no-collateral loans to people around the globe who are too poor to get traditional credit. Even with determination, hard work and an entrepreneurial spirit, people cannot be successful in business without access to credit.

Peregrinas Group. El Alto, Bolivia. Repaid group loan of $4,650 in 9 months.

Krin Son. Kompong Cham, Cambodia.
Repaid $1,200 in 14 months.

Since it was founded in 2005, Kiva lenders have loaned over 241 million dollars to more than 625,000 entrepreneurs in 216 countries. And, amazingly, even though the loans are collateral-free, they have a repayment rate of nearly 99%, significantly higher than U.S. commercial banks.

I have made 126 loans, all in $25 increments, since becoming a banker to the poor in 2008. I have lent $3,175, but because I continue to re-lend the same dollars, I have only about $400 invested in Kiva borrowers. 

And this isn't charity, either.  I could choose to withdraw my funds instead of re-lending.

Stone Quarry Association Group. Mukono, Uganda. Repaid $4,275 in 6 months.

Check out Kiva for yourself.  Kiva loans pay no interest, but neither, right now, does my savings account.  And that account doesn't allow me to leave the country every 30 days.

Interesting concept, isn't it? Maybe someone on your gift list would like to be a banker, too.  

Related Post: No Wrapping Paper Required
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                         Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem (Peru)

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Rock 'n Roll is Here to Stay

Waiting for the starter's pistol--well, the starter's airhorn

Yesterday, my sister, our friend Milinda and I finished our first ever half-marathon.  That's 13.1 miles. Maybe not a lot for some people, but it seemed like a lot to us. 

A few months ago, (when I had this insane idea) none of us could have anticipated that a few hours after crossing the starting line with 32,000 others, we would sprint across the finish line of the San Antonio Rock 'n Roll half-marathon. Full disclosure and an overdeveloped sense of honesty require me to say that, while we did indeed speed across the finish line, we in fact walked the other 13.05 miles.

No matter, because between us we are over 150 years old and after walking a collective 40 miles, we were smiling like schoolgirls.  Still are.

Related post: Help, Help!

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Sunday Haiku VII

Sleep? Who needs to sleep?

Thirteen point one miles on foot--

Rock and Roll, sister.

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A Kiwi, a Kiwi and a Kiwi

I really love kiwi fruit. (I really like kiwi birds and kiwi men, but those are other stories.) It is sweet and tart and refreshing and juicy and--well--just delicious.

Until I visited New Zealand, though, I never really thought about how kiwi are grown.  To my surprise, a kiwi plantation very much resembles a vineyard.

Kiwi Bird

Kiwi Man

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Smoking in Xi'an

Everything in the world must be understood in context. What means one thing in one context may mean something else entirely in another.

Smoke, for example, is nothing more than the suspension of carbon particles in the air.

So why is it sometimes sacred...

And sometimes, so utterly profane?

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