Freedom for 5 Deutsche Marks

Hearing and reading about the 20-year anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall has me feeling old and grateful. Like many American college students, I traveled Europe that following summer, in 1990 - the wonderment and celebrations still fresh. Unfortunately, all my photos from that summer are stashed away in my mother's house - I'll have to reclaim them over Thanksgiving.

The only evidence I have on hand is this worn-out t-shirt that I bought at Checkpoint Charlie. It depicts the form that residents of West Berlin had to fill out to visit GDR or East Germany. (GDR stands for 'German Democratic Republic' - oddly named for a Communist state.)

Though there are numerous stains and the armpits are yellowed, I can't bring myself to let go of this shirt. I remember exploring East Berlin and feeling depressed by the overwhelming amount of grey cement, mostly in the form of staid square buildings. I never appreciated how much color billboards and advertising bring to an urban landscape until then. Picture the opposite of Times Square and you've got a clear idea.

Later that same afternoon, I paid somebody five deutsche marks for a hammer and chisel (love the commie symbolism) to hack away at the Berlin Wall, which had been brought down only seven months prior. The now-famous East-facing graffiti had barely begun and it was still mostly colorless. I scored me a few chunks of that horrible wall but it wasn't a souvenir I was after. I just loved the idea of doing my own little part to tear down that evil boundary.

Somewhere else on that trip, I met two cute German boys on a train. One, a West German named Matthew, was traveling with his cousin (I forget his name) who had grown up in East Berlin. Many families were divided by the Wall so reunions were happening all over the place.

Matthew and I were talking and he, in turn, translated for his cousin, who sat and stared at me, wide-eyed. I was telling the boys about my life in Southern California, my school, my friends, my country ... when I suddenly noticed that the silent boy had tears in his eyes.

"Oh, no!" I said to his cousin, "I made him cry!"

Matthew put his arm around his cousin and explained. "Oh, don't worry. He is doing that so much. Every time we meet somebody new from another country. I think it is overwhelming for him. The freedom is still new."

Then, the teary boy said something in German to Matthew, who laughed and then translated for me. "You are his first California girl to meet, so he cannot believe it." Hey, at least I was blonde at the time.

I'd give anything to know what became of that young, emotional East German. I'm sure he's raising his glass tonight, celebrating his freedom still.

Happy Birthday, Gabe!

Okay, I'm slipping this in the nick of time ... only 26 minutes left of Gabe's birthday ... Ack!

So, here's the deal. I met Gabe when he was a tot and then a kid and then a pre-teen and now a full-fledged Teen with a capital 'T.' He is the son of my very adorable friend, Andrea, a high school pal who is now like family to me. I saw Gabe recently when I was visiting 'Dre at their new spread in Upland, California. I came to check out the new pad, peruse her cool doll projects and squeeze her sweet hubby, Barry. She also has four dogs and two cats - that was a big draw too.

When last I hung out with Gabe, he was all about the GameBoy. I was playing the Nanny role, helping to take care of Gabe and his sister, Samantha, during End of Trail - which is kind of like the Prom for cowboy types. While his mother was off winning cowboy action shooting competitions, I tried my best to entertain them. Samantha and I had lots of fun at the petting zoo but Gabe wanted none of it - just let him alone with the GameBoy. (I started calling him GabeBoy.)

Somewhere in my files, I have a great photo of a bucking bronco and a cowboy flying off the horse. In the lower half of the same frame, Gabe is deeply entrenched in the game, with zero interest in the live action going on mere feet from him. Such focus!

Flash forward several years and he has grown up, moved on and even offers hugs to visiting old ladies like me! What a delight! He even let me photograph him to my heart's content - what a sport!

At left is a photo I took that encapsulates the modern teenage diet: a glass of milk and a duct-taped cell phone. One might call it Breakfast of Champions.

The photo at right is one of my favorites. I'd asked him, "Can you please supply me with a typical teenage look? Something that says, 'I'm-so-embarrassed' or 'you-are-so-lame' or 'why-are-you-taking-my-picture, you dumb ass?'and he immediately obliged. Perfect, no?

Anyway, when I meet people like Gabe, who only just happen to be young, I feel a whole lot better about the future. Gabe is smart, kind, handsome, talented and most importantly, open-hearted. His family is strong, funny and behind him 100% - what more do you need? Maybe a GameBoy? I asked him about it.

"I cannot BELIEVE how much time I wasted on that thing," he said, covering his handsome face. "That was stupid."

Happy Birthday, Gabe! The world is your oyster, my friend.

BlogHer Cross-Post: Post-Rapture Pet Care

This marks my 600th post so I hope I'm not cheating by cross-posting from BlogHer. This thorny topic is a doozy - I got in way over my head. The post is also longer than most so I'm just going to excerpt the first chunk here. Happy Rapture!

It's a Saturday Night Live skit waiting to happen, right? Eternal Earth-Bound Pets: A service that promises to care for your pet after you have ascended to heaven to join The Almighty. Like the company's co-founder, Bart Centre, I laughed at first. Surely, this isn't real? After speaking with Bart, and a few close friends who believe in the Rapture, I stopped laughing and started thinking.

First, let's review: The Rapture, also known as "The End Times", is the basic belief (with varying tribulational differences) that Jesus is coming back and only taking His devout followers back up the Holy Elevator with Him. Evidently, the heathen losers "left behind" will be screwed. (Although it would surely strengthen the job market if 40-50 million Americans suddenly vacated …)

When I began my interview with Bart, he asked upfront, "Are you a believer?" I respond in the negative (to the Rapture, specifically) and we begin to chat. After hanging up, I realized the conversation would have been very different if I had answered in the affirmative.

Bart Centre is a devout atheist and is, in fact, the author of "The Atheist Camel Chronicles: Debate Themes & Arguments for the Non-Believer (and those who think they might be)" which is currently #6 on Amazon for atheist titles. Not bad for a self-published first-time author. "It's been quite an amazing ride," said Bart, who used the pseudonym, Dromedary Hump.

The book published this past June and a month later, his buddy, Brad, sent Bart a news link about a UK woman who promises to care for cats post-Rapture. They both have a good chuckle over it but Bart starts thinking.

One of his book chapters talks about the End Times and that looming Mayan calendar date of 2012. "I realize a lot of Christians are jumping on that boat," said Bart, "and asked myself, ‘What can I do that can help ease the concerns of Christians and make some money?'”

And so, Bart and Brad teamed up to launch Eternal Earth-Bound Pets USA in July. (Brad, a Minnesotan who doesn't want to use his last name, handles the Western US, while Bart oversees the East.) Bart believes it comes down to a Christian asking themselves a few questions: "'Do I believe in the Rapture?', ‘Do I believe my pets won’t go to heaven?’ and ‘Can I trust these atheists?’ If the answer to these three things is ‘yes’, then this will help."

Here's how it works: A prospective customer submits a contract via the site and pays $110, which covers one animal for a 10-year period. (An additional animal in the same household is an additional $15.) Bart and Brad review the contract and determine if they can truly execute the contract within 18-24 hours of the Rapture.

The company has 16 'representatives' located through the US, committed atheists who have actively blasphemed the Holy Spirit (Mark 3:29: “But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; he is guilty of an eternal sin.") and therefore, won't be going anywhere on Rapture Day. Bart or Brad will confirm with the reps in the region whether or not they would be able to adopt and care for the animal listed in the new contract. (Both customers and reps remain anonymous; no contact is allowed.)

Let's face it, for many of us heathen types, the concept is ripe for comedy. In fact, the first question on the site's FAQ page asks, "Is this a joke?" Bart confirmed that this usually the initial reaction:

"We’ve gotten about 4,000 emails through the site. The largest percent are atheists who think this is the funniest thing they’ve ever seen and also, they want to be pet rescuers. Then, there are about 10 percent Christians who also think it is funny but don’t believe in Rapture and wish us well. We also get a few Christians who are really, really angry and use some rough language …Then, there is a small percentage, about 1 percent, who take us seriously and confess that this has been on their minds. They explore it with us and see that we are for real. Considering that most Christians don’t trust atheists far as they can throw us, these are people who recognize that we will to exercise our contracts should the Rapture occur."

Still enraptured? Read the rest of my post here.

Postcard from the Past

I've been a scanning fool lately, digitizing so many images of the past for a Xmas gift project. Every now and then, I come across a photo that reignites golden memories ... and this is one.

In the fall of 1997, Michelle, Lisa and I went exploring in Boston and New York. I'd never been to either place so it was one big exotic adventure for me. I've known both women since first grade and so it felt kind of like an extended field trip, only with booze and nightclubs this time. Hard to believe it has been a dozen years since.

This shot was taken from the top of the World Trade Center and the view was unforgettable. Alas, the buildings are gone but the friendships remain.

Rocky Pumpkin High

A couple of days ago, before our first big snowstorm made everything white, my world was primarily orange.

I'd volunteered to help sell pumpkins at the corner of Alameda and Carr in Lakewood. It was part of the Jeffco Partners for Interfaith Action (which means a bunch of churches of various religions) to benefit Habitat for Humanity. It was a sparkly, sunny, chilly Monday and I had a blast.

I joined a team of three manly volunteers from Jefferson Unitarian (I think that's what they said) and they were pretty jolly. At one point I said that the only thing missing from the day was candy corn. Jim, the handsome dude at right (please ignore my finger), then trekked off to get me what I needed. Alas, no candy corn was found so we had to make due with M&M's and Skittles, my favorite!

We were pretty busy all day long and customers tended to come in clumps. It's the same in retail and restaurants ... I'm sure there's a Important Marketing Study going on right now that will explain this eventually.

But the highlight of the day came when Jim leaned over to me and said, "The people that are coming up behind you now - be sure to give them a big discount."

I turned around and saw at least a dozen young adults who live at a group home for the mentally challenged. Led by two sweet blond lady chaperones, one had a walker, a few had helmets and all of them had gigantic smiles. I could actually feel my heart expand just by looking at them.

"PUMPKINS!!!" they exclaimed.

They were not picky. Several chose the first pumpkin they got their hands on and decided it was the most perfect thing they'd ever seen. A few of them told me excitedly about how they'd decorated their house together.

"We put up spiders EVERYWHERE!!!"

"And kitty cats!"

"And scary witches!"

OMG, it was cute squared. Eventually, they all had made their selections (about 13 pumpkins) and I only charged the lady $20. "God bless you," she said, with visible relief. I'm thinking their budget for outings like this must be slim.

I helped carry some pumpkins to their little bus and the fun continued. While the lead ladies loaded up a wheelchair-bound fellow, I helped buckle seat belts and situate new glorious pumpkins on grateful laps. A big, fluffy Huskie dog named Tawny (she lives at the home) sniffed over each child, making sure all were accounted for.

When it was time to leave I said, "Happy Halloween everybody!"

And almost in unison, they replied in high volume: "THANK YOU NICE LADY!!!!"

OMG, my heart just melted and I couldn't stop smiling. Even now, typing this, I am tearing up. I can't believe how much joy I got from being close to these kids for only 20 minutes or so. Such a pure feeling.

I can't shake the feeling that these kids are closer to God than I could ever hope to be.

Getting in the Spirits

While everyone else is battling H1N1, I've contracted some sort of Martha Stewart disease where I feel compelled to cook things from scratch every day. My condition is exacerbated by the oncoming holidays and snowy Sundays with football games on TV.

I just returned from a super fun pumpkin carving party, a tradition held by the hosts, Doug and Edie, for 25 years. Despite the snowy weather, they'd set up the backyard as a complete eating, drinking and pumpkin carving station. Tables covered in newspaper, tarps to keep our heads dry and space heaters to keep us from freezing - oh, it was cozy.

Also, TONS of food, goodies and desserts. Doug is an expert chili man, always a good thing to be in these parts. He had giant pots of spicy green chili, mild green chili, veggie chili and red chili. YUM. I scarfed down a bowl and am now regretting that I did not have seconds.

But I did not arrive empty handed. In fact, despite getting home late (and a tad tipsy) last night from a dinner party in Morrison, I use some of the leftover juice to make Grape Ice Cream. That's right, a new flavor has been brought into this world and I am its mother.

It turned out okay except the next batch will use less sugar and no vanilla - too much getting in the way of that powerful grape-y flavor.

I also spent the afternoon making a batch of over-the-top Halloween cookies. I recently came across a bag of cookie cutters (ghost, bat, pumpkin, cat) in my cupboard and decided to put them to use.

Such fun! Any day you get to play around with food coloring and rainbow sprinkles is a fine, fine day if you ask me. The result was 16 beautiful, perfect cookies (and one disaster cookie I call, 'Insecure Zombie Kitty Applies For A Job') worthy of photographing, suitable for framing and ideal for eating. They were a hit at the party.

And though I was the last person to finish carving, I ultimately completed my version of 'Devil's Advocate.' Behold:

The Green Triangle

Beyond the scope of love, I realized this week why I like to stay in touch with old friends. Because they have witnessed the many versions of You and remain curious about who You are today. (See an earlier version of me at left, on the shores of Lake Malawi.)

This all dawned on me earlier this week after visiting with my old friend, Marie-Josee. (Skype, I love you!) Next week, it will be 15 years since we first met in Kenya. She was a 19-year-old, easily-bored girl who hailed from Montreal and thrived on risky adventure. I was 29 and had become too settled for my own comfort - a nice boyfriend, a great apartment and a swanky job as a food writer. Staring down the barrel of the big 3-0, I set out for the world and all its physical discomforts.

Once in Kenya, I met up with my overland crew and quickly realized I was the sole American. We gathered in a circle at that first campsite, Hell's Gate, alongside Lake Naivashu. Our roughly seasoned leader, Kevin, was giving instructions about Something Important. Unfortunately, his Kiwi accent was so thick, I couldn't understand one word he said. Something like, "Right, then. Grab ya mate, hack a sack and find some deht (dirt). She'll be royt (right)!"

All I could think was, "Uh-oh."

Next thing I know, people started pairing up, grabbing bright green canvas bags and wandering off. I didn't know what was going on. Eventually, I stood alone, save for one young girl who spoke to me in a heavy French accent: "Well, I don't know what he said but whatever it is, it's me and you." And just like that, MJ and I became tent-mates for the next three months.

Now, these were not the fancy REI tents that we all have today. These were very basic canvas tents made in the 60s, purchased from the German army who was probably going to through them out anyway. In real estate terms, they were 'cozy' and 'quaint.'

Sharing such a small space with another person under extreme conditions ... well, you get to know a person. (Not to mention the fact that your tentmate is also your cooking partner.) MJ and I came to lovingly refer to our home as, The Green Triangle. Just like any roomies, we laughed, we argued, we shared secrets and got used to one another's sleep talk. (Marie's was mostly in French, although one night she burst out in English: "My God, it's only a gun!")

The following year, MJ came to visit me at my wee beach apartment in California and we celebrated her 20th birthday. We have since kept in loose touch through letters and, eventually, email. I came close to flying to Montreal one weekend for her going away party a couple of years ago, but the planets did not align.

(MJ & I, with our porters, on the Zaire-Ugandan border, getting ready to track mountain gorillas. From our smiles, I can see that we have no clue how physically demanding it was going to be.)

Seeing her lovely face (see above for her classic 'I-am-bored' look) again and hearing that charming accent, it all came rushing back. Because MJ speaks something like five languages, her English phrasing is pretty hilarious. Some of my favorite excerpts from letters and conversations:

"You know how it is, sometimes life is black and other times it is pink. And other times, it is just nice having a husband with a house in the south of France."

Re: her divorce. "And dat was awful. Like washing machine stuck on spin."

"And den I left. I went to live somewhere hot."

My favorite, which came from out of nowhere: "And do you know what else I like about me?"

MJ is less impetuous now, more focused in her life and goals. She is working on her PhD in cultural linguistic history, or some such thing. She has lived in nearly every country in Europe but now has two rooms in Italy - one in the South and one in the North. "One for study, one for living," - typical MJ logic.

As our visit came to a close, I was unabashed in my affection. "I love you madly," I told her, and she squealed and laughed. She returned the love and we swore to visit again soon. And maybe ... just maybe ... someday... we would travel together again, perhaps with a bigger tent.