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The Rain

I’m still waiting outside for rain,
hoping for sudden downpours from cloudless skies.
I’m wondering if she’ll join me when the first drops
start to fall and the birds fall silent.
She’s been delayed, I’ve told myself again,
or the rain hasn’t been enough.
It has never been enough
I’ve summoned more and more rain,
for over a year I’ve coaxed it from the air,
the ground sometimes swelling, saturated and marshy.

Brush Creek has filled to overflowing,
washing out parts of the road and clearing out
the debris of our distractions.
It has not been enough.
The Cimarron & Arkansas Rivers have been flooded,
swallowing homes and memories,
lives lost and inconvenienced.
Still she has not arrived.
I continue my incantations, calling for more clouds,
more rain — great hurricanes that try to find me,
creeping along the coasts, tied to the oceans.
Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, The Bahamas, Puerto Rico,
they may all need to be sacrificed in my efforts,
and it will be worth the loss because I will
no longer feel like I am alone.
I am listening for those first signs, the drips on the tin roof
and I am ready to throw open the windows,
clench my fists, and try to push my dreams into reality.
I know she will join me if I keep trying,
and we will sit together on the covered porch,
resuming what should still be.

Notes

Written 5 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “The Rain” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

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Cercis canadensis

When we had tried
putting ourselves together again
we’d used the wrong parts,
made effigies of ourselves
with the piles of distorted junk,
left behind scraps of a once-full life.
We went through the motions of people
spoke like them, practicing their accents,
but did not understand our own words.
We got the phrases wrong,
the tones, the memories.
Periodically, we’d erupt into full color
flowers growing from every part
and our days seemed alive with joy.
But we would catch ourselves lost in time,
eyes fixed on a long-abandoned walker,
a long-absent bed,
a long-neglected garden,
at the things we find so important now
and the flowers would fall from our bodies.
I gave up on trying to find the parts
of myself I missed most,
stopped looking for who I had been before. I’ve been more comfortable with discomfort,
waiting for others to finally leave the safety
of their beds, the safety of their tears.
And we’ve started to share ourselves again,
imagining Spring, redbuds flushed fuchsia,
grief removed from our shoulders,
sadness washed from our faces
by the showers of April and storms of May.
We will remember how to be happy
and how to be sad and how to be,
and we’ll see the long-forgotten remnants
and we will understand who we are.

Notes

Written 19 April 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma. Rewritten 5 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Cercis canadensis” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

 

Cercis canadensis

When we had tried
putting ourselves together again
we’d used the wrong parts,
made effigies of ourselves
with the piles of distorted junk,
left behind scraps of a once-full life.
We went through the motions of people
spoke like them, practicing their accents,
but did not understand our own words.
We got the phrases wrong,
the tones, the memories.
Periodically, we’d erupt into full color
flowers growing from every part
and our days seemed alive with joy.
But we would catch ourselves lost in time,
eyes fixed on a long-abandoned walker,
a long-absent bed,
a long-neglected garden,
at the things we find so important now
and the flowers would fall from our bodies.
I gave up on trying to find the parts
of myself I missed most,
stopped looking for who I had been before.
I’ve been more comfortable with discomfort,
waiting for others to finally leave the safety
of their beds, the safety of their tears.
And we’ve started to share ourselves again,
imagining Spring, redbuds flushed fuchsia,
grief removed from our shoulders,
sadness washed from our faces
by the showers of April and storms of May.
We will remember how to be happy
and how to be sad and how to be,
and we’ll see the long-forgotten remnants
and we will understand who we are.

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Dempsey, Oklahoma

Squash vines coiled
in and around, spilling &
tumbling over each other,
exploding with fruit,
filled with more water
than this place had seen
since May.
Those vines grew wild
alongside bindweed
in the garden that once
fed a whole family,
the jars lined up in the
dugout cellar —
apricots, potatoes, beans.
We used to play in those
places as they turned to ruins,
our historic homeland.
We’d take watermelon rind,
or cantaloupe halves out
for the overheated cows,
leave the fruit near the salt lick.
Our socks would be filled
with sand burs,
our teeth with dust,
and often my mouth would
still show the traces of chocolate
from a clandestine visit
at my grandma’s parents’ house.
The cows were traded in,
eventually the whole lot
retired to the comfort of town,
to the neighbors
with their cat stories,
and a garden bursting
with cucumbers,
a mowed lawn,
tiger-lilies.
I’d miss Dempsey then,
resigned to sit in hushed rooms,
watching my grandma’s mom
eat cornbread & milk.
She’d tell me stories,
talk about her daddy,
but I always wondered
about the cows
and about the apricot trees.

Written 29 January 2000 in Tulsa, Oklahoma & 23 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Dempsey, Oklahoma” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Notes

Original Version:

thirteen

Dust and saltlicks and fuzzy caterpillars. I loved the farm. I often complained about the heat or stickerweed or the heat — such incredible heat. I was secretly relieved and secretly upset when G, with her parents moved into town. Where in town was the garden full of overripe squash and where in town were the cows, anxious for discarded watermelon or cantaloupe rind for dessert. They moved to be close to a hospital — to make certain they would have a place near for death. Poor G, it broke her heart, and us kids would sit around making all kinds of noise and she wanted to cry. Cry now, G, cry. Were off making noises in our own places — we’re grown now. We know you need a little peace — we will be quiet now.

1.29.2000

part of the chapbook Studies In Loneliness

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David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you!

I’m a disciple, a child of your narcissism.
an inadequate acolyte of your worst impulses,
treasonous and suspicious, even in my reverence.
Love is wrapped in sarcasm, in mocking and making-fun.
I pray these are truths, and that you are as transparent as you seem.

I only see the Davids for who they are,
blind to who they want me to see, who they wish they were.
I only see you for who you are,
but I feel the person you want me to be
growing cynically inside.
Oh David, do you not recognize the idolatry in my loyalty?
Does my face not give away my desire to be looking at my own face
when I am looking at you?

The tears stay close, pooling in eyelids, fighting their impulse
to race down my cheek toward knowing I am fully myself,
and not who I am trying to be.
I am trying to be bold in the ways you expect,
no longer cowering in the corners where you found me.
I remember the safety of home, and the emptiness.
I felt safe in my denial, but I am liberated by your sacred teachings.

I grovel, prostrate myself before you,
foolishly and joyously feeding your need for attention.
David, you have shown me that you are more important than I am.
You are more than I am. You are existence.
I meant to steal the hearts of those around you,
meant to show them how much I had learned at your feet.
They exist, you exist, and I have revealed myself to be fragments.
You have reassured me, patted my head like a Lhasa apso,
my head cocked to one side as I attentively await praise.

Oh David, I have not been enough!
The fragments have betrayed me and revealed that I am not whole.
I’ve tried holding them together with glues and tape,
but the picture never seems real;
the other congregants have moved on, my failings insurmountable.
They have found me lacking and are uncomfortable in my presence.
Selfishness is a difficult lesson to learn; I am trying.

I’m still dwelling on my heartache, trying to release it,
unchaining my tongue and allowing bravery to escape,
to become the person I see in you, David,
or to at least to become someone whole, beautiful and brazen,
someone rewarded with love, sex, warmth.
I humbly bow, giving thanks for even a chance
to be blessed by your acceptance.

Notes

Brian Fuchs, “David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Written 17 March 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska & 7 September 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

 

Original version posted 17 March 2008

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I’ve recently done several things with my books — first, I ordered a few books I’ve been interested in reading (in spite of the dozens of books I have and have not yet read).  Also, I rearranged the books in the house to have rough categories.  I am hoping that makes finding a particular book I want to read easier to find, which is should.  Lastly, I unpacked two boxes of books I had stored away for a while and I intend to unpack all books from boxes over the coming weeks.  I’ve always had a large number of books, but it’s time to purge a few of those.  Purging is always a nice feeling, so I’m not anticipating any problems exactly.  If pushed, I could let go of at least half of the books I currently have out on shelves, so I shouldn’t even be terribly pressed for space.

Here are a few books I’m excited to start reading.  Some of these are new to me & some are books I’ve had for years and I just haven’t gotten around to reading yet.

Memoirs

These are some newer memoirs I’ve been excited to get into.  Even though I rarely keep up with celebrities, I do enjoy a good celebrity memoir.  Jim Grimsley is one of my favorite authors, and I’m very excited that he has released a memoir.  The subject is pretty heavy, but necessarily so.

Fiction

I have such an extremely long list of fiction books I want to read, but these are sort of queued up as the next ones on the list.  I have read books by Graham Rawle and Bob Smith before, but the other authors are all new to me.  I hope for some good things.

Novels by Raymond Queneau

I’ve really enjoyed the Raymond Queneau books I have read in the past, and I have a few others to try.

Poetry

Since I’ve been working on my own poetry, I’ve been into reading poetry more than normal.  I’ve read some pretty interesting stuff so far; these are the next three on my list

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Gertrude Stein (1874-1946)

A few days ago, while organizing paperwork and whatnot, I came across my writing journals from college.  It’s interesting to revisit oneself after 20 years.  It felt familiar, but not so much that I recognized the author.  I could remember writing the words, but the fact that I had done so struck me as bizarre.  For the most part, I didn’t like the person who had written those poems and fragments and notes.  He seemed silly, immature, and at times overly serious.  I wish I could go back and tell him the things I have learned on my journey.

That said, I haven’t been writing much lately.  I haven’t even journaled this summer for obvious reasons.  But I’m very much feeling the words gathering into lines in my head, and I am eager to write more poetry.  I’d been in a dry spell on poetry, but mostly that was due to the lack of quiet I had been dealing with.  Quiet seems easier to achieve recently.  That should help.

When I was studying literature, it was easy to fall for specific authors who I just connected with.  It wasn’t always clear why those connections happened, but it was this that introduced me to Galway Kinnell, Sylvia Plath, Frank O’Hara, Geoffrey Chaucer, & Tim O’Brien.  I latched on to these, and to others, quickly and they helped guide the type of writer I would be.  I was also discovering contemporary authors at that time in my life and their words would guide me as well — Jim Grimsley, Bob Smith, Gary Reed.  Gertrude Stein was one of the authors I discovered in class, having been aware of her for most of my life.  It’s odd how little one can know about someone who has such a well-known name.

Gertrude Stein wrote in several different styles, but all of it was filled with her characteristic repetition and rhythm.  I was especially interested in added that to my own work, and I gave it a try many times.  It’s something that still comes up.  A nod to Stein is a very common practice for me, and I thank her for being one of my muses.

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Blackjack Oak

Quercus marilandica ashei

Just outside my bedroom window is a rugged Blackjack Oak.  She isn’t fancy or flashy; neither is she demanding.  She takes care of herself and has a pioneering look about her.

When my parents moved to this property in 2006, most of the native trees were cleared from the areas where they would be living, being replaced with more pleasing fruit trees, crapemyrtles, and one Bradford pear.  Along with a few other trees, they did leave one small oak tree.  That tree offered a shaded spot to sit and enjoy the property, while being a fairly compact plant.  It has not stayed that way.

I moved into this place in 2015.  At that time, the once diminutive oak had become a little more of a presence.  The branches had arched and reached the house, occasionally scraping against the siding.  Ultimately it needed to be trimmed a little, but it’s increased size had created even more of a shaded area, some of its lower branches now no longer putting on leaves.  She had started looking a little bit raggedy.  It made me wonder about how long lived blackjack oaks are, worrying that she had only a limited time left and that I would need to think about  what to do when a replacement or removal was needed.

Blackjack oaks are a type of red oak common from New Jersey to Eastern Kansas and as far south as Georgia and Central Texas.  They are small and hardy trees, happily growing is poor soils and dry areas.  They don’t represent the prettiest of trees, consisting of crooked and twisted branches, many of which stop putting on leaves when those above them block the light.  It gives them a distinctive half-dead appearance that my oak now suffers from, but it does not indicate any sort of problem with the tree itself.  It does have a tendency to droop the leafless branches, making it hard to walk under and requiring annual pruning, but it’s a manageable problem.

These trees are slower growing, but longer lived oaks, especially the western subspecies in Northern Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas.  These individuals make up a significant percentage of The Cross Timbers, the oak savannah that bisects Oklahoma, separating the heavily wooded East from the arid West.  It’s a forest made up of post oaks, blackjack oaks, and eastern redcedars.  Blackjack oaks can live for more than 200 years, averaging about 80 years.  My fears of needing to replace my tree are unfounded.

No, this isn’t the world’s most beautiful tree.  It’s leaves even feel like they haven’t fully formed, as if they can quite figure out how to evolve into something clear.  The acorns are tiny, barely worth talking about.  The limbs are crooked and bare, at least the lower ones.  They don’t have the lush growth of most of the other trees that surround the house.  However, the tree is home to many birds and those tiny acorns are enjoyed by squirrels and even brazen deer who venture up to the house to graze on them along with the crabapples that grow next to the oak.  And it provides much of my house with shade, having expanded from a shady spot in the center of the yard to a defining feature of the property.

This tree has its issues, but I love her and I’m glad she’s here.

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Armadillo

I squish through
henbit and moist soil
under moonlight, slowly
taking the usual path,
intriguing cats who think
they might soon be fed
and startling an armadillo
digging for grubs or worms
in the yard, ensuring that
it will continue being soft
and moist.
She’s a frequent visitor,
nearly at times earning
a name, an honor not
even given to the cats I feed.
The distance increases,
nightly pulling, stretching.
The air is cold and heavy,
the armadillo a distraction
from the fear and frustration
I find myself falling toward.
I’m anxious to see Mom,
the path has turned to gravel
and the house seems further
than it was last night,
when the armadillo was on
the other side of the yard,
making a racket through
last year’s dry leaves
still undisturbed where
they fell, spilling out
around the trunks of trees.
One day, the nights
will be for sleeping
and everyone will be whole.

Notes

Written April 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Armadillo” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

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My History with Vegetarianism and Veganism

fruit+peach+vintage+graphicsfairy005b copy

As long as I can remember, I’ve had a strained relationship with food.  I don’t have many food memories stored up, but I remember loving pizza, fruit, cereal, and burgers.  I started gaining weight in 3rd or 4th grade.  It wasn’t so much that I craved food, but that I was eating junk.  I had no idea how to eat properly, and enjoyed chips and candy frequently. By 7th grade, I had repeated stomach problems so severe that I was taken to a doctor who told me to not eat red meat or fried foods.  Ever.  My stomach issues cleared up.  I was able to mostly eliminate red meat and no longer ate fried foods.  My diet was not actually improved; I was only doing the minimum required to not be in pain.  The candies, sodas, and other foods continued.

When I was in middle school I became friends with a kid from a family that was vegan.  He also didn’t eat wheat, salt, or sugar.  Eating at his house felt like being in a different country, and my parents certainly didn’t know how to feed him at our house.  Things were always awkward between him and most other people.  A lot of ridicule was thrown his way, and behind his back he was referred to pejoratively as “veggie boy.”   I defended him, but in my mind the family’s vegan lifestyle was akin to a minority religion.  He was always thin and short, traits that were attributed to his diet.  Vegetarianism and veganism were seem as extreme in Oklahoma culture.  The official state meal, adopted in 1988, consists of fried okra, cornbread, barbecue pork, squash, biscuits, sausage and gravy, grits, corn, strawberries, chicked fried steak, pecan pie, and black-eyed peas.  While one could make a strong argument for at least part of this being designated “Oklahoma Historical State Meal,”  as a current meal it definitely marginalizes plant-based lifestyles.

vegiscarrots-graphicsfairy009 copyI started to form my own opinions on eating meat when I was in high school.  Veganism didn’t seem right, or healthy.  My friend seemed to be malnourished, so I made the assumptions everyone else had made.  Still, the idea of eating animals seemed increasingly in conflict with my love of animals.  Love of animals is a misunderstood term, and one that has been a part of who I am for most of my life.  I liked to read about animal behavior in encyclopedias, National Geographic magazines, and in my subscriptions to National and International Wildlife magazines.  I was hooked on natural history and plastered the walls of my bedroom with images from magazines of the animals I liked the most — cats, insects, giraffes, gorillas, dolphins, peacocks, dinosaurs, and many others.  I was starting to see them as fellow inhabitants of the same planet and that belief made it harder and harder to want to see parts of animals cooked up for me to consume.  I wasn’t making a full connection.  It’s easy to forget what the thin round brown disc on a burger actually is.  It’s almost designed to prevent knowing.  I would go back and forth on my willingness to eat animals for a few years.  I found it easier in college; the student union offered a veggie patty that I could have with my Josta soda and I could get a bean burrito or veggie sub for dinner.  Feeding myself allowed me to eschew the animal foods that were generally consumed by other family members.  I still wasn’t terribly strict with myself, allowing myself to enjoy the McDonald’s where my roommate worked.

I drifted away from these values after college.  I have always been an eager people pleaser, and when I started spending time with a group of new friends, I didn’t want to seem odd.  Enjoying the meats they cooked allowed me to fit in better.  I would still try to be mostly plant-based, but did not turn down animal meals either.  I still had issues with eating the animals, but I was more than willing to trade in my personal beliefs to make sure my friends were comfortable.  It’s the only way in which I feel Southern.

Honoring My Values

In 2005, I took an opportunity from my dad to visit Alaska.  He had grown up there and I was eager to see it.  I was working on a novel based on his life at the time, so it seemed logical that I should go see where it all began.  A friend went with me for the first week and I would stay a full month.  My dad had found two places for me to stay, both at the homes of high school friends of his.  At the end of the first week, I had decided I was moving, and my friend was eager to join me.  She returned and orchestrated the move while I continued to stay and look for a job.  The second two weeks of my vacation were spent housesitting for a couple who are vagan.  Even with my history, I found it off-putting.  I would go through their pantry and cabinets looking at all the unusual foods.  It was not what I was used to.  And I didn’t fully embrace the experience, as I should have.  I took pleasure in buying fried chicken and eating it in the living room, a secret act of defiance.  I’m still sad about that situation.

h227BB420After a little over a year in Alaska, I was alone and starting to really reflect on the person I really wanted to be and learning how to focus on myself while I developed relationships with a newly emerging group of friends.  During that first year, I was eating meat at least once a day.  I didn’t feel right.  I was having trouble staying happy.  2006 was coming to a close when I had the epiphany that I could no longer eat meat.  I was eating lamb at the time and I could feel it in my mouth as I masticated;  it was no longer food.  The lamb had been alive, every bit as much as I am alive, and it certainly did not belong inside my body.  It should have been allowed to mature, to be free, to become a sheep.  I had been a part of that creature’s death, the demand that required it to be killed and included in my meal.  I could see its little lamb face in my mind.  It was adorable, to be sure, but I was more struck by the audacity of eating another creature because I wanted to, disregarding its family and community.  Don’t kid yourself, sheep have communities.  Cows have best friends and a matriarchal society.  Chickens organize themselves into a complex hierarchy, the origin of the term “pecking order.”  These animals aren’t sitting around waiting to become a meal.  They are trying to live full lives, as much as they can with what we give them.

It all came down on my and I cried.  I cried a lot and wanted the animal out of my body.  I have not eaten meat since.

I did just a small amount of research at the time.  I had been been going back and forth with vegetarianism for ten years at that point, so I felt like I had a handle on the facts enough to not dig much deeper.  I had made a partial connection, but I was blind to part of the story.

Making the Connection

black-beansMy roommate had become bored with the vegetarian meals we ate.  I tend to just stick to the same things over and over, but I went online is search of some new recipes.  I started on YouTube, searching for vegan recipes.  I chose vegan as my search term so I could make sure to not get fish recipes.  I assume those people still exist, so it seemed safest — or at least more efficient — to find vegan recipes and add cheese to whatever I found.  I watched a lot of YouTube videos.  I started with recipes, went into grocery hauls, “what I ate” vlogs, and personal stories about going vegetarian or vegan.  I had found a community of people who made sense to me.  These were nonjudgmental souls who seemed to strongly care about life.  They cared about other beings, about the planet, and about what they chose to put in their bodies.  The pieces of the puzzle started coming together.  I went further than I expected and chose to watch a few activism videos.  I wasn’t able to ignore what I was watching.

Being vegan, as was learning from these folks, was not as hard or restrictive as I had believed.  It seemed downright easy, and close to what I was already doing.  I had been one of those vegetarians who would defend myself by saying “at least I’m not a vegan,” a statement that did not really make sense.  I find the anger directed at vegans interesting and unfounded.  I’m not sure where it comes from, but maybe its insecurity.  Non-vegans may feel like they could be doing things wrong.  How is it extreme to not eat animals?

There is a fair amount of misunderstanding about vegetarianism and veganism.  I’ve already spent a lot of time explaining to people how I get my protein, if I properly combine my foods, and why I don’t like bacon.  I deal with the innocent taunts by family members who think its cute to wave meats at me or tell me I just don’t get how delicious it is.  They don’t get it.  They might never understand what I’m trying to do for myself, but in the case of the kids I just have to tolerate it until I believe they are old enough to process my reasons.  I was letting my family know that I had decided to go to a plant-based diet, a more palatable term, when my nephew said “as long as you haven’t gone vegan.”  I had, and said as much.  But I’m bothered by the implication.  He meant no harm, of course.  He is old enough to understand my arguments, and I may go into them at some point, but what bothered me is the acceptance of a plant-based lifestyle in one moment, and a dismissal of the same lifestyle once it had been termed as vegan.  It never wasn’t.

There exists this image of vegans as unkempt vagabonds whose privileged childhoods allowed them to explore themselves to their own detriment.  This person has spent time in the peace corps, not for altruistic reasons, has spent time panhandling in Amsterdam, and has taken on the spiritualism of multiple cultures, none of which they understand.  They have given up body care products, which they claim to no longer need in spite of that odor they seem to have.  And they have to gall to tell those around them everything nobody asked about the food they are eating or the clothes they are wearing.  These are the vegans who will always find fault with one thing or another, the milk or caffeine or leather… They will explain to you that you should eat organic, raw, local, fair-trade, and GMO-free.  They will understand none of these things.  They will point out how the company that made the shoes you are wearing also makes leather shoes and so should be boycotted.  These people are poor by choice — Mom, Dad, and the trust fund are only a phone call away.  They are obnoxious, self-righteous, and hypocritical.  And they are not typical of vegans, in spite of the stereotype.  They make veganism feel like such a struggle.

Only it’s not.

shutterstock_102426532-web-1031x675I am evolving because I have chosen to turn off the criticism I receive, real or perceived.  I’ve allowed myself to accept the education I had ignored before.  I have watched the documentaries, read the blogs, been horrified by what I’ve seen.  Ignorance was wonderfully happy, but it allowed me to excuse things I knew in my heart to be wrong.  Education is so important to furthering oneself as a human being.

I’m going to slip up.  I’m going to do things and eat things that others would not.  I’m going to feel weakened by the arguments of those I love and fail to keep up with what I’ve chosen for myself.  I know these things.  But as time passes, I know I’ll be able to stand my ground and develop my arguments more fully.  I’ve never been great with debate, but I’m going to need to find tools to help stay myself.  And I’m going to share what I’ve learned with others.  I fully believe that your convictions and beliefs should be challenged often.  If your mind is changed, then your values were not what you thought them to be.  If, in the face of the information I share, people do not feel compelled to change, then I will have done what I can.  It isn’t for me to force compassionate living.

December 27, 2006 I became a vegetarian.  July 27, 2016 I became a vegan.  I’m so excited about where this will take me.

But Wait, I’m Fat Too!

IMG_6184I’m overweight.  I’ve touched on that somewhat, but probably less than I should have.  The thing is that my decision to go vegan had nothing to do with my health.  My choices with regard to animals and how much a part of my diet they should be has never been about my weight.

Still, it is interesting that I managed to gain so much weight in just under ten years of vegetarianism.  But I wasn’t the model of vegetarian nutrition.  I love mozzarella cheese.  I could eat it as a meal.  I love potato chips, and fast food, and frozen burritos.  I have spent years eating to worst possible things for myself.  I was calorie restricting at times, but still eating junk.  I have failed at being healthy.  To be fair, I wasn’t really trying.

Veganism is a lifestyle dominated by compassion, not a specific diet.  There are many ways to be vegan.  I could, if I chose, consume a diet of only Oreos, Coca-Cola, and potato chips.  I’d be vegan, but I don’t think I’d feel very good about it.  I could also eat nothing but salads three times a day, crunching on apples as a snack as well.  I’d definitely be vegan, but I would not be healthy at all.

IMG_7402The plan I’ve chosen, and that I’ve felt so good on for the past week, is high carb, low fat.  It’s a mainly whole foods plan, and does not include oils.  It feels clean and abundant, as it is very important for vegans to make sure they get enough calories to be satiated.  To do so, I eat a lot more than I used to.  That is the part that I’ve found the most difficult; my vegetarian diet consisted largely of one or two meals with a lot of calories from fats, dairy, and eggs.  Those are not nutrient rich sources of calories, but they are easier.  Now I’m trying to get to at least 2500 calories daily.  I feel energetic.  I’ve got so much extra weight that this energy is hard to use efficiently, but I’m hoping that I drop some weight so I can start exercising vigorously.  I believe that this is the way to do that.  I’ve looked into studies done by reputable institution, watched lectures by doctors who have studies plant-based nutrition, and read testimonials by others enjoying this lifestyle.  The consensus seems to be that eating in this way will encourage the body to work toward its ideal weight.  It isn’t instant; it may not even be fast.  But if I stick with it I should see the results I want.  More importantly, I’d like to solve what seem to be compounding health issues.  I don’t want to be on medications for allergies or blood pressure.  I don’t want worry about headaches, backaches, depression, chronic fatigue, knee pain, heart disease, cancer, or any of the other ailments that seem inevitable in my future.

I’ve been eating 5 meals a day, following a fairly consistent pattern.

Meal 1: (around 6:00am) Early morning.  This is my when I like to have water and fruit.  It wakes me up, but doesn’t seem too harsh.  After this meal, I start a pot of coffee (yep.) and get ready for my day.

Meal 2: (mid morning)  Carbs!  This is a couple cups of oatmeal or rice with coffee.  Maybe a little fruit mixed in.  If I want something like a cake or bread I’d probably have it here.

Meal 3:  (noonish)  A big salad is perfect at this point, but I’m flexible.  I might have more fruit or some cereal or whatever.  If my rice was particularly filling, I might skip this meal.

Meal 4:  (late afternoon)  A can of beans plus a can of stewed tomatoes can be great in the afternoon.  Its filling without being too much.  Some pasta or a sandwich or veggie burrito is also great at this time.  I like vegan meat substitutes and this is where I usually enjoy them.

Meal 5:  (early evening) My final meal of the day is usually potatoes of some sort, maybe with a green salad.  I love potatoes in all forms.

Resources

strawberries copyDocumentaries

Forks Over Knives — Trailer : Website  This documentary makes the case for a plant-based diet from a health perspective.  I found this one life changing.  Usually available to watch on Netflix.

Dr. Michael Greger — “Uprooting the Leading Causes of Death” : NutritionFacts.org : Website  Dr. Michael Greger M.D. reveals the findings of many studies over several decades showing the beneficial effects of a whole food, plant-based diet.  “Uprooting the Leading Causes of Death” is one of his annual presentations on the newest findings in nutrition in which he discusses 14 of the top 15 leading causes of death in America and how they can be prevented, treated, and/or reversed by a plant-based diet.

Cowspiracy — Trailer : Website  This illuminating film attempts to un-silence the link between animal agriculture and the decline of the planet’s health.  Anyone interested in not living in a dystopian future, give this one a watch.

Earthlings — Trailer  Joaquin Phoenix narrates a difficult-to-watch, but important documentary on the suffering of animals for the amusement and feeding of humans.  It can be difficult to change the perceptions of superiority, but it is worth watching.

Gary Yourofsky — “The Best Speech You Will Ever Hear” full speech + Q&A : Website  Yourofsky is a skilled orator and makes the case for veganism with extremely well-framed arguments.  This is a must-watch for many vegans.  It is great, but I’d also watch a few of Yourofsky’s TV appearances.  He is so versed in his cause that he calmly dismantles those who try to debate him.

There are also a lot of fantastic YouTube channels:

Mr. and Mrs. Vegan – Nutrition, Recipes, Vlog, Weight Loss

The Vegan Corner – Recipes

Mic. the Vegan – Activism

That Vegan Couple – Activism, Vlog, Recipes, Nutrition

Hot for Food – Recipes

Freelee the Banana Girl – Nutrition, Activism, Fitness, Vlog, Weight Loss

The Light Twins – Fitness, Recipes, Vlog, Nutrition, Activism, Weight Loss

NutritionFacts.org – Nutrition, Weight Loss

Jon Venus – Fitness, Nutrition, Vlog

Guilt Free Vegan – Vlog, Recipes, Fitness, Nutrition

Learn Organic Gardening – Gardening, Nutrition, Activism

EdgyVeg – Recipes

Life al Dente – Vlog

Peaceful Cuisine – Recipes

Colleen Patrick-Goudreau

BananaTV – Vlog, Recipes, Activism

Jenny Mustard – Recipes, Vlog, Lifestyle, Nutrition

Sweet Potato Soul – Recipes

Mary’s Test Kitchen – Recipes

Running Vegan – Fitness, Nutrition, Activism

Bite Size Vegan – Activism

Cheap Lazy Vegan – Recipes

Healthiest Vegan – Vlog, Nutrition

Unnatural Vegan – Activism, Nutrition

Vince Lia

Handyman Bananas – Recipes, Fitness

Bananiac

The Vegan Mojo

The Butterfly Effect — Plant-Based Weight Loss – Nutrition, Weight Loss, Vlog

Reach4Raw – Weight Loss, Vlog, Lifestyle

Brett Cap

Vegan Gains – Activism, Fitness, Nutrition, Vlog

Potato Strong

Dr. John McDougall – Nutrition

and many, many others….

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Long day!  We woke up to a very good breakfast.  We traveled away from St. Malo and went to Normandy.  In one town we ate some lunch and had a very good time.  I could do this a lot.  However, some chose to go to a discoteque late the night before and Arnaud was very stressed.  I bought some cheese.  In Normandy, we went to the American cemetery and there was quite a downpour.  Everyone and everything was wet.  It was probably better because we got a better feeling of what it might have been like in that harbor at that time.  We saw the concrete structures in the sea that were brought to fortify the artificial harbor.  We also spent about 45 minutes at the place that was bombed and the Germans were called [Omaha] Beach.  Then after that we were off to Paris!  We were going and I woke up about one hour before we arrived in the city.  We went through many miles of trees and forest and the traffic started thickening.  The trees were very numerous.  We went through several tunnels and suddenly under one tunnel, we were there!  We ate at a very decent restaurant where the waiters were amusing when they tried to speak English.  After that we went for a lovely ride on a boat through the highlights of Paris from the Seine River.  We went around both islands and passed many gorgeous buildings and statues.  When we arrived at the hotel we were pleasantly surprised by the discovery of a shower curtain and refrigerator and microwave.  It was very nice.  Each room was 350 F for 1 night – 2 people.  Paris is a wonderful city.  We are not doing anything for the night but sleep!

» 26 May 2009

This day had a lot of important parts.  First, the visit to one of the D-Day beaches was really moving.  The heavy rain made it even more somber and I wished I could have just stood there all day.  While the history lessons on large boards were fascinating, they paled to have the impact of a field of white crosses.  It was beautiful and eerie.  The rain, the cold, and the sudden sense of sadness dealt a crucial blow to my impressions of Paris.  By the time we arrived, I wasn’t really feeling well and tried for a couple days to shake it.  Unfortunately, I only had those couple of days to enjoy Paris.  Under different circumstances, my feelings of that city might be better.

» 27 June 2016

The air is thick with an uneasiness.  Change seems inevitable, but whether that will prove positive or negative remains to be seen.  I have a lot of fears about the direction politics is headed in this country, in spite of the fact that I really do believe the US is not only the greatest country to be living in right now, but has been getting better and better.  Losing sight of our improvements as a nation is easy; the media finds very little interest in something as mundane as satisfaction or happiness.  The impression is left that there exists more unrest, more dissatisfaction, more strife than actually does exist, and that feeds into those problems.  I’m by no means saying that genuine issues do not exist, nor am I saying that the issues  people face are not important.  But what I am saying is that we are not worse off than we were before.  Part of the rhetoric of the current political discourse is that we have left behind an America whose ideals were so fantastic.  We have betrayed our country and need to work to get back to a former greatness.  That sounds good, and nostalgia certainly paints the past in pretty colors, but when viewed historically, no basis for such an idyllic time exists.  Sure, we’ve had moments of resolve, challenges we have overcome, periods of great prosperity and possibility, but often these moments are tainted with the uglier sides of our human nature: discrimination, greed, corruption.  In no point in American history have we seen as much equality for all citizens as we do now, even if there is still progress to be made.  And that is we have opportunities to shine.  Progress.  We won’t be the leaders of the free world anymore if we isolate ourselves and leave our allies to figure things out for themselves.

In 1776, France provided aid to the American colonies, likely allowing for the defeat of the British in the American Revolution.  On June 6, 1944 America was able to repay that debt and helped defeat the Germans who were occupying France at the time.  They were our first ally, and remain one to this day.  But that relationship was not formed and strengthened through isolationism.  How different would the world be now if the United States had decided that saving France was not its problem?  How different would the world be now if France had decided that saving the American Colonies was not its problem?  Foreign relations is not about maintaining friendships at arms length.  It never has been.  A large number of Americans have been steered into that way of thinking.  The media coverage and the conservative message have so blown up the problems that exist with “the other” that I think it is difficult to remember how connected we all are on this planet.

Visiting Omaha beach was moving, it still is twenty years later.  It is a reminder of our global responsibility.  Having a strong and proud national identity need not cost us our allies.

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0607 Mont St Michel7 is my lucky number!  It was a wonderful day.  Breakfast wasn’t all that great, but we soon travelled to Mont St Michel.  Mont St Michel is a beautiful abbey on a rock in the English Channel, just off the the coast of France.  The tide changes so much that it is possible to walk out to another island a half mile out and within the next hour be trapped for 4-5 hours!  We visited all the important places and there was a lot of climbing to do.  However, it was worth it.  On the way down we ate lunch and shopped.  I bought 2 berets at 60f each.  When we got back to the city of St Malo, we shopped for about 3-4 1/2 hours.  I ended up with one deck of poker cards, 1 deck of tarot cards, 2 smurfs, 1 tin-tin, 4 berets, and a word search book.

» 1 September 2007

This is what happens when you take children to somewhere so great and let them spend their own money.  They buy Smurfs.  I still have my St Malo Smurfs.  I actually love them still, but I wish I had found a more meaningful trinket from there or from Mont St Michel.  How was I to know that I would not be caught dead in a beret within a year of the trip.  Several of the berets and both decks of cards were gifts.

» 20 June 2016f1001 copy

I fell in love with the abbey at first sight.  I wanted to spend many hours there.  As we walked up to the top, I felt very alone — not in a bad way, but in a wonderful way.  It was as though I was the only person who existed in the world and I was seeing this place before anyone else.  Each stone made me happy; the sides of the structure were as beautiful close up as they were far away.  There were chains that I felt compelled to take pictures of, rock sculptures that were so beautiful I was deeply changed.  At the top of the abbey sits a courtyard lined in shrubs, perfectly maintained and trimmed.  There was a space where a block was placed over one shrub.  I still don’t know why, but it did complete the perfect lines of the rest of the plants.  I wanted to lose myself on the island in the distance.  The many other tourists around melted away in what would be my favorite place on the planet.  If you have never been to Mont St Michel, it is worth going.  It has such magic to it.

f9 copyThere is something so special to me about this place even today, but it’s interesting that I don’t have words for that.  This happens to be frequently; things I hold close are often the things I find the most trouble describing.

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0606 St Malo 3A rather boring day.  First, we got up and had a gloriously good breakfast.  The beverages were watered down.  We then drove about an hour and a half through rather flat country.  Many of the towns had “troglodite houses,” houses built in the cliff using it for 3 of the 4 walls.  We then arrived at a winery in Saumur.  They made a sparkling white which was actually champagne but not from the Champagne area.  It was wonderful!  I loved it.  … I guess my wine experience wasn’t over — just for red wine!  We then rode about 6 hours to St Malo.  The most beautiful city  I have seen on our tour thus far, sail boats lined the coast and the old city was gorgeous.  We had a dinner at which we ordered a white wine — I didn’t have any.  I am quite addicted to Orangina.  A few of us left at 9:30 for an evening walk in the old city.  All the stores were closed and the city was beautiful.  We bought some ice cream.  I had passion fruit.  It was quite wonderful.  We then “strolled” back to the Hotel Mascotte (where we were staying).  It was great.

{2007 Notes}

» 30 August 2007

I don’t know what I thought was boring about that day.  I could spend the rest of my days in St Malo, which I had figured out the day we arrived.  It was one of the greatest moments of the two weeks, strolling the streets of the old city.  “Old city” refers to the original city of St Malo, encased in a stone wall.  The city has outgrown this wall and now spills out around it into a rather large place.  I have no clue why I put quotation marks around the word strolled.

The drinks we had with breakfast were all very watered down.  Already, we had seen that breakfast includes coffee, orange juice, water, & milk.  It seems odd, but the portions are all very small.  The winery was interesting.  Making wine is a rather slow and uneventful process.

If I am ever in Europe again, I would like to spend my time in St Malo — or at the very least visit again.  It was my idea of heaven.  I think that explains why I was such a nerd with my descriptions of it.  I was 16 after all.

» 7 May 2016

troglodyte-1024x682My time if France was rushed; there was so much planned for us to see in two weeks that when I look back on it, I think of it as more like a two month vacation.  I clearly remember the moments I believed would be those I carried with me for the rest of my life, and I remember trying to dwell in them slightly more in order to create the memories I knew would be so important.  In many cases I was spot on, and those events are absolute stand out moments.  But rushing in a bus through the Loire Valley, I couldn’t know how the troglodyte houses would stick with me.  I think of those homes often, enchanted by the fairy tale beauty of little cottages stuck in the sides of cliffs, sprawling communities that resemble so much other villages in France, but with almost disregard for the rock structures around them, or rather in spite of them.  I wanted to go in the houses, see the rocky interior walls, experience how these people lived.  But we were only driving through, on to bigger and more typically touristy destinations. Saint-Malo, one of the most visited towns in France by those who do not live in France, was one of these places.  One of these places we were expected to be found and so had been placed.  Don’t get me wrong, I still hold Saint-Malo in my heart as the jewel of my time in France.  It’s the place I would wrap myself in if I could, live in, revisit, talk about.  However, twenty years on it seems like I might have missed out on experiences that would have stood out even more.

1ed242324b8d4ee5520e366dde685ebfWhen I was 28, at the time of the first comments made to this journal, I had not yet figured out how to own the things that make me… me.  I had not embraced the quirks, good and bad, that had always been a part of me.  I had not yet nourished the nerd inside of me that I love so much now.  I was so much of a people pleaser that I routinely changed who I was to be the person I thought the world wanted me to be.  I’m sure I’ll read this entry in ten years and think how immature it seems as well, but I feel so proud to have come so far in my own understanding of myself.  It’s one of those lessons that cannot be taught.  I may have described the city of Saint-Malo in ways that my 28 year old self found nerdy, but I’m glad I did.  I was genuinely elated at being there and I had not learned to deny my joys at that point, not to myself anyway.  That would come later.  16771006274_e68ae8466d_b

If I knew that the only thing I would be able to do on a trip to France would be to stroll through an ancient city on a warm Spring evening and enjoy an ice cream, it would still be totally worth it.

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ChambordOkay, the day is not over but feels as if it should be.  We have had a very busy schedule.  First, we had breakfast which was wonderful.  We then got on the bus and went to Chambord.  The chateau was quite marvelous.  The top was so intriquet.  There were so many places to go and many things to see.  I enjoyed it very much and ran into Mme Dobbs and one out of her group around every corner.  I started getting the feeling that they were following me.  At the next chateau, Chenonceau, the feeling was more free but more inhabitable.  There was a gallery which was in a long hall.  It had a very airy feeling and was free.  It was a much less eventful chateau than the first.  Next, we were off to Tours where we went to the Château d’Amboise.  It was very beautiful with several stained glass windows and gargoyles.  The windows showed many feur-de-lis, which also could be found throughout the chateau.  They also had a symbol on them which nobody knew what it was.  It was like a star with rays of light beneath.  After that we went to the Hotel de L’Europe where we stayed.  The lady at the desk was surprisingly kind.  The Evian machine was not working, but she helped.  I am spending $2-$3 on cokes because I really want them.  However, most are orange flavored sodas.  Par example, Orangina, Fanta Orange, Oasis, & two other ones that I have seen.  I am running out of money from coke — I may just eat a bagel for lunch tomorrow — I brought some.  I waited 20-30 minutes for the elevator because only one person would be able to go at a time.  The balcony is a 2-2 1/2 foot wide slab of concrete on which you can stand and a rail to hold you in.  Not real exciting.  We now must go eat and go to some show thing, but first, Arnaud.  He is very cool; he reminds me of Julien Gabriel.  I am just glad we didn’t get a courier who was very strict or was a complete airhead.  We ate at a very nice restaurant.  I never thought I would order from a wine list.  I had a red wine and it was aweful.  I hate it.  It was so gross.  I’ll never drink wine again.  The light show was relaxing.  We walked by one of the chateaus in the area.

» 28 August 2007

This was an extremely busy day on the trip.  The first chateau, Chambord, had an elaborate roof of many chimneys.  It was a beautiful building.  This was the first day that I felt really alone on the trip.  The rest of the group I had come with were hanging out together on the lawn and the Idaho group had continued on to look at the chateau.  I remember passing an open door where a man was doing some sort of work in the building while listening to Aerosmith.  It made me happy.

Chenonceau was rather boring, despite being beautiful.  It sits atop the River Cher and has a very unlived-in feeling.  I had more fun hanging out with Kamal, Arnaud, and a couple of girls from Cincinatti at the bus than I did at the chateau.

0605 Chateau d'AmboiseThe Chateau d’Amboise was lovely — my favorite chateau of that day.  Its massive gargoyles hang over the town below the chateau and the windows still have much of the original color in them.  The fleur-de-lis patterns were amazing.  It was at this chateau that I purchased a fleur-de-lis charm for my cousin.  As we were leaving, Arnaud pointed out (in passing) that Leonardo da Vinci’s grave was off to the side in a chapel.  We rushed over to the monument that had seemed hidden until pointed out and took pictures of it.  It seemed unreal — in fact it still does.  Unfortunately, the chapel was not open that day and we were unable to get any closer to the tomb.

I had taken bagels from home on my trip, which somehow seems wrong.  They did serve me well in those first few days though, saving money for future days when I would certainly need to eat.  That inital wine experience was rather traumatic.  I still don’t like wine or wine-flavored things such as coq au vin.  That was a great meal though — not the food, but the company.  Everyone was having a great time that evening.  It was nice.

» 1 September 2007

Julien Gabriel was the only other French person I knew to that point in my life.  I think Arnaud was very little like him, but as another French person I was reminded of him.  Also, they are the only two French people I have known in my life and I developed a crush on both of them.  Maybe it is that they are French… probably, in fact.

» 31 March 2016

As I said before, children should be educated in finances and budgeting.  If I had learned those skills before I went to France, my experience would have been more defined by the moments and experiences, and less by the things I bought.  Rarely did I give thought to what I was buying; I just threw my money at things and took them with me.  And did I need to waste so much money on orange soda?  No.  I remember feeling like I was exploring, discovering for myself those things enjoyed by the real people of France.  And at sixteen, I clearly knew everything about everything.  I knew far too much to ask for advice from those around me, deciding instead to do a trial and error test of things.  That is really a way of exploring that might be completely antiquated now.  With a smart phone, I may have done the research myself and found which sodas or stores or whatever were locally popular.  I still wouldn’t have better understood to not spend money on things that ultimately did not add to my experience.

0605 ChenonceauI wish I had written much more in my original journal than I did.  This was a huge day, full of history and beauty.  Each chateau could have taken an entire day of our attention, but we visited three different places.  I’m struck now with how different each experience was at each of the chateaux.  My immaturity at sixteen is to be expected, if disappointing, but I have previously annotated this portion of the journal and I find my lack of real insight or knowledge fascinating eleven years after the trip.  I’m not sure what I thought a revisit should be.  It seems fairly clear that I did not want to take away too much from the original by having too many opinions.  That was a mistake.  Brian at twenty-eight was thoughtful and poetic, none of which is reflected in these notes.

The hypothetical comes up often: if you could go back in time and do something differently, what would it be?  Of course, hindsight is such a convenient lens to view ones past through.  I think I’d probably tell myself to focus more on learning about history.  I was defiant when it came to history.  I found the memorization of dates and names to be absurd, I still do somewhat, but I wish I could tell my past self how amazing historical context can be to everyday life and how that can enhance everything.  It seems like I’m overstating here, but I don’t know if I’m even going far enough.  If I had known how interesting war can be, turning abandoned French chateaux into storage for art or into a hospital ward.  Visiting these places, things seem so peaceful on a warm June morning, but there were lives lived on the grounds, in the rooms.  These places were bombed, flooded, partially destroyed in fires.  These places were alive and after centuries of activity, rest quietly in picturesque villages, visited by tourists who will never understand them.

0605 Chateau d'Amboise da VinciThere is something so familiar about Europe.  European Americans have built for themselves a cultural heritage that really starts with the American Revolution.  It’s as though there had been nothingness and in the 1770s America sprang into existence.  Sure, there are a few stories of before (Plymouth, Jamestown, Roanoke), but they seem like myths in our infant culture.  250 years is still young, and part of the story is missing.  That story is one of the things I found in Europe.  I don’t know that I learned exactly what pieces filled in the gaps, but there was definitely a feeling that this country was a cousin to my own, a much older cousin.  Finding roots I didn’t even know existed, that feeling that these were at the very least the peripheral stories of my people, was a very interesting feeling.  I’m not sure I can even clearly articulate my feelings about it.

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France Journal: June 4, 1996

f6 copyI woke up and said “yes.”  That is what happened.  The man asked if I wanted breakfast.  We saw below — far below — what looked like land.  The lady who was seated beside me and who took 15 pills at each meal told me about some things and the anouncement to turn off personal electronic devices came on.  Upon landing we were bused over & got our luggage.  Going through customs I thought I would be checked.  Luckily I wasn’t.  Going on we were met by a 20 something plaid pants guy.  It was Arnaud, our courier.  We went to an airport café and waited two and a half hours for the other groups.  During this time I got to know Amanda and Jessica, two out of the Dobbs group.  Jessica was really very nice.  When the other groups arrived we got on a bus.  We rode an hour & a half to Chartes.  There we saw the cathedral and many little shops.  The cathedral was magnificent; it had many stained glass windows displaying the many stories of Jesus in vivid colors.  [It] was glorious.  The hotel we stayed in was the Hôtel Campanile.  It was a very compact hotel/restaurant.  The dinner was simple and not that great.  I have now grown quite fond of Orangina — the only good soda in France (I think).  Sleep sounds good — the shower is interesting.  It is a sit down type — no curtain — it was very difficult to keep the water inside to use.  Very interesting experience.

» 28 August 2007

They failed to tell us — or take into account — how much time we were losing during our flight.  We arrived after a full day of travel to a rather booked afternoon of activity.  This day seemed distant even the next day.  I was not refreshed enough to fully take in what was going on.

I had actually seen Arnaud a couple times before we figured out that he was our courier.  He was wearing red plaid pants, which I found strange.  However, I was taken with how cute he was.  He was slender and tan.  His hair was very short and he had a great confidence that made him very attractive.  I was rather excited to discover that we would be spending the first week with him.

The lady on the plane (with the large number of giant green and brown pills) had a movie ending to her story.  She was met by her male friend (husband, boyfriend, whatever) as she exited the plane.  They embraced and kissed.  It had clearly not been that long since they had seen each other, but they were still very glad to be back together.  I remember thinking how nice it was that she had someone.

If you find yourself in a Parisian airport for 2+ hours, have a book with you or just take a nap.  There is very little to do.  Amanda, Jessica, & I walked along the corridors to a newsstand and back quite a few times, while the others sat at the indoor café (meant to look like an outdoor café).

I find my sudden interest in Orangina interesting.  I ended up being wrong, but I really only found one other soda that I liked, Oasis.

» 27 March 2016

Memory is an odd thing.  I often find myself thinking about the lady I sat next to on the flight from New York to France.  I suppose it I had been older and more self-confident, I might have gotten to know her better.  But that doesn’t really sound like me.  Even now, I’m not demonstratively gregarious in general.  I enjoy the company of others, but I’m not outspoken and have little need of small talk.  I’m reserved, preferring to let others approach me or initiate conversation.  It’s not always the most successful way of being a person, but it seems an unchangeable part of who I am.  On this trip to France, that wouldn’t only inhibit my knowing more about my fellow passenger, but would keep me isolated from my own group and to an extent from the other groups we joined with.  It might have been nice to have learned different ways of communicating with people prior to this point in my life.

I’ve done some reading about the concept of the “Highly Sensitive Person” recently.  I’m starting to think that my reticence has much more to do with being highly sensitive than it does with shyness or introversion.  I don’t have direct evidence to support my self-diagnosis, but it makes more sense.  I am fascinated by evolutionary psychology and the idea that we as a species have various personality types as a survival strategy for us all.  It makes me feel far less alone to know that there exist so many other people whose temperaments are like my own.  It’s hard to remember that because the people most likely to share their temperaments are those with far more demonstrative extroverts.

Don’t misunderstand me, I really like myself.  And I genuinely enjoy the company of others.  I even wish for those around me to understand me and have a desire to get to know me.  But I do not have the ability to get past my own nature or to act in a way that seems unnatural to me.  I just have to keep finding strategies that make the nature I have work for me.  It’s funny that at 36 I have to continue working on the same issues that have kept me at arms length-from others.

Chartres Cathedral is extremely interesting.  It was built at the turn of the 13th century and remains a beautiful piece of architecture with a flair that makes it seems like such an imposing building in the city of Chartres, which at the time had a fairly modest population.  I had trouble appreciating much of anything on that first day.  I found myself so distracted by the amazement I felt just being in Europe for the first time that I had trouble focusing on the details of the one place.  The excitement was overwhelming.  It might have been nice to spend that first day walking the streets of Chartres, getting to know France in a more intimate way.  When I finally get a chance to go back, my experience will be much more about being present in the beautiful towns.  At 16, a day to wrap my mind around things would have allowed me to engage sooner.

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Saturday 3 June 1996

PB130146As I sit here in the warm plane, I just think how wonderful today has been.  I woke up at 6:30 and got ready to go.  I then watched Good Morning America.  At around 8:00 we left.  We stopped by Albertson’s and then to the airport.  It was great.  I had no idea what I was doing and Ann was no better off.  I got situated and we stopped for something to eat.  For eats we found a $3.00 slice of pizza and a $2.00 “deal” of fruit and 2 beverages for $3.00.  It was okay though.  About 10 minutes after getting our food, Stan shows up with some magazines for me.  He got People and US.  After a little bit, we went to the gate, located my group and after an embarrassing underwear question from Stan we were off.  I got on the sardine can of a plane and was a little nervous but as soon as we got going my fears had subsided somewhat.  Taking off was the most exhilarating feeling.  We were off — destination: Atlanta.  I could see nothing.  I was on an aisle seat.  We stopped and got off.  We had no idea how far we had to go but we caught a subway type vehicle which took us to where we wanted to go.  We got on; the plane was much larger.  It was a lot more fun but I was already used to it.  We had heard of some rain in New York, but what I saw was sunshine a clouds below.  As we descended through the clouds the wings appeared to be slick and then water droplets started on the windows.  When we got to the ground it was a messy rain, wet and soggy.  I noticed as I got out that luggage is treated very poorly.  Better bring souvenirs back on plane!  We got off and noticed immediatly that the airport in Atlanta was much prettier and had a larger Delta wing.  We just walked right to the gate and then went and ate.  I had breadsticks and a drink for $3.00.  We shopped at all the places and went back to the gate and waited for our flight to board.  There a lady walked up to us and asked if we were Mme Wright’s group.  It was Linda Dobbs!  She is the new leader.  She acts real nice.  We get on the plane and I am sitting next to a pro!  She goes right to sleep.  I sleep a little and then dinner is served.  It was a shrimp meal.  It was wonderful.  I never thought I’d like airplane food.  Wow.  And now I’m on my way.  In the morning we will have a continental breakfast.

» 27 August 2007

Mme Wright, our French teacher had very recently suffered an aneurism.  Everything had been planned and paid for.  After a meeting with all of the parents, it was decided that we should go on our scheduled tour, but be under the supervision of the leader of the group we were going to be with.  Even Mike Wright, Mme’s son, went on the trip with us.  We started the trip with 4 groups.  There was our group from Stillwater, OK, Mme Dobbs’ group from Caldwell, Idaho, a group from Wagoner, OK, and a group from Cincinatti, OH.  The Wagoner and Cincinatti groups were both on a one week tour; Stillwater and Caldwell would continue on for another week after that.

I was in awe of air travel.  It seemed so exotic to me, as I had never been on a plane before.  At the airport in Tulsa, Stan took the only picture of me that I would get on the entire trip.  That is one of the biggest regrets I have of my life.

JFK airport seemed dirty to me.  While we waited there, we were approached several times by “deaf-mutes” selling trinkets.  The entire place had a very grey feeling about it, as if nobody really wanted to be there.  The heavy rains blocked our view, concealing my first and only glimse of the New York skyline.  I could just make it out, like a Magic Eye picture, only if I relaxed my eyes and titled my head slightly.  And then, only the twin towers reminded me that this was New York City and not just a mound of something in the distance.  I felt cheated out of an experience, even though I was not really in New York and would not be going there; I still wanted to see it since I had gotten so close.

» 5 March 2016

19-vintage-photos-that-show-what-new-york-city-looked-like-in-the-1980sAs a kid, I always assumed I would end up living in New York as an adult.  It was just a part of the plan.  Maybe that assumption was a result of movies and TV.  There certainly is a New York / L.A. bias that runs periodically through entertainment.  Television in the nineties was certainly New York-centric, and that likely influenced who I imagined I would be.  However, my love of the city had definitely started earlier than that.  I particularly remember segments on Sesame Street featuring city workers and trucks, traffic and streets crawling with people.  If I was exposed to those videos for the first time today, I would focus on the dirt or the noise.  I wouldn’t care for it.  But at the time it felt magical, very different from my decidedly non-urban life in Stillwater, Oklahoma.

The reality would be that as of 2016, I’ve never been to New York.  My trip to France was my first and only time in an airport in the state, and it was so rainy I could just barely make out the city’s skyline.  What I failed to appreciate at the time was the gritty nature of the airport, a feature that wouldn’t last.  I say appreciate because it was a unique experience and I have always enjoyed unusual experiences.  As long as it isn’t causing me harm, I enjoy being in new places and in new situations.

I haven’t thought much about Atlanta, or hadn’t much when I was a kid.  Sure, I watched Designing Women, but that hardly shows anything of the city where it takes place.  It came as a complete shock when I first saw the size of the city.  It was a trial by fire as we were rushed from one plane to the next.  While we weren’t in Georgia for long, it certainly reminded me of one of those cartoons where a small guy holds open a door for someone and an enormous crowd piles in as well, leaving the poor guy startled and disheveled.  All of us from Stillwater rushed our way through the airport and onto the next plane.

stumblers_2

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