You know you were tired when you not only slept for 14 hours, but was completely unaware of a 15 year old boy’s sleepover upstairs!

I’m writing from a ground-floor hotel room. A stranger told me this hotel is never good – nationwide – but so far it seems great. Plus I have curtains in one of my favorite shades of green. And “relaxing” hand soap that smells lovely.

Sorry, not entirely lucid at the moment. I’ve been traveling since about 7:45AM (counting the drive to EWR) – and my body thinks it’s a quarter to midnight. Which, technically, it is. In New York, anyway.

Although I’m favoring an overly positive mood lately, so I maintain my comment about the curtains. And the soap.

The trip was amazing. Oh, for those who don’t know, I’m on the West Coast. First time in my life, actually. Pretty exciting.

But let’s clarify something. I haven’t been farther off the East Coast – within the USA – than Pittsburgh since I was 6 years old, excepting a one-night visit in Indianapolis. So just seeing Denver International Airport for the first time on stopover was new and pretty exciting. I saw several men and boys in cowboy hats. The floor tiles had pictures of dinosaurs and fossils in them. The bathrooms all served double-purpose as tornado shelters.

Tornado shelters. Imagine that.

My flight was delayed three hours, and the Internet wasn’t great, so I ended up talking to strangers instead. Note to self, I really need to stop frightening strangers. I’m slowly realizing that I am what is kindly referred to as a “radical thinker.” Actually, it pleases me – I’m really developing a personal philosophy and view of the world and I really believe in it. But it does tend to take people off guard. I suppose it could be a good thing, if I wanted to proselytize. Not so much.

So anyways there was much meeting strangers, particularly thanks to the temporary bonding that occurs over delayed flights. Was a bit ridiculous, actually – 2:45: “there will be an update in an hour.” 3:50: “Update: There will be an update in 15 minutes” … eventually it’s 5pm and suddenly we get an update: “you will board the 5:40 flight. Proceed to Gate xx.” Gate xx happens to be on the completely other side of the concourse. So we al run – I can no longer complain about not getting any exercise because I don’t want to leave my carry-on – and we wait…. the 5:40 flight is delayed…. but only by 8 minutes. (did I mention my flight to Denver was also delayed? But only by ten minutes… and it really made no difference)

On the plane I got a window seat – have I mentioned I’ve never traveled to the West before? As in, I’ve never flown over the mountains before? I’ve hiked interesting topography – one of my favorite places in Israel is Mitzpat Ramon, a huge natural crater – and flying to Israel, of course, you pass over some mountains. But from much higher up. And not like this. Not miles and miles and miles – seeming to be stained green with sudden sections of deserts and unexpected patches of snow. I was completely blown away. Now I really want to take a helicopter ride with a camera someday, like they do for the news.

We passed over mountains and streams and lakes and desert, all with the most subtle promise of the ocean at the horizon. We passed over some unidentifiable things that probably don’t officially exist, and miles of land that seemed almost totally unpopulated by humans.

So flying into California was something of a shock. I’m not even sure where the state line was – or, for that matter, which state we passed in from – but we were flying over tiny communities that seemed completely isolated – and large sections of land seemingly untouched – and then all of a sudden, houses and buildings that appeared crammed as tightly as possible – against each other and against the edge of the desert. The highways seemed oddly empty after NYC, where traffic certainly doesn’t clear just because it’s already 8pm. I wonder what flying into San Francisco would have been like – I flew into San Jose instead.

I enjoyed the flight for the strangers I met, as well. A mother and her two young daughters (with her young son across the aisle). She’s married (her husband didn’t come along for the trip) – trained in a field she loves (and that can earn a decent salary during regular economic periods) but is unable to pursue because of the economy. Until things improve, she’s working at Starbucks and the night shift at Target to make ends meet – her husband lost his job and hasn’t been successful in finding a new one yet. I enjoyed her daughters a great deal – the older one insisting on sharing music with me, the younger one climbing all over me.

It’s 9:30 local time…. 12:30AM EST. If I can make it a half hour, it’ll be a normal bedtime….

My holiday weekend could, arguably, have been very patriotic or completely lacking. All depends on the perspective you choose, I suppose. There was one outing – my sister’s friends wanted to go into Weehawken to check out some bars. Then over Shabbat I hung out with a friend from D.C. and we spent several hours arguing about Western culture and the American government. After Shabbat we watched James Bond.

Drinks and politics and some violent explosions. What could be more appropriate? (there were some fireworks, too, of course!) I capped it off with a trip to a new Farmer’s Market for some local economic stimulus.

I took some cooking inspiration from the 4th of July. You’re probably thinking red, white, and blue – maybe a patriotic cake?

Nope. I mean something more basic that shows up at nearly everyone’s holiday festivities. Can you guess?

Potato Salad

I haven’t made potato salad since I left my parents’. About a year ago, now (wow) – not sure if I’ve eaten it since then, either. A foodie friend sent me a list of what they ate at her family holiday festivities – and wow, the craving took hold.

I’ve been checking out all the local Farmer’s Markets – so far I’ve made it to Teaneck, Hackensack, and Tenafly. Thus far, Tenafly is the largest – although that’s not saying much – and the best. I was greeted by this great sign:

Farmer's Market Sign

One thing that interests me about the local Farmer’s Markets is that they all carry kosher products – not mass-produced products, but real local produce that is certified kosher. At the Tenafly Market, I got some organic whole-grain bread certified Chaf-K. At the Hackensack Market my nephew and I got pickles from a producer who had signs up to explain the kosher certification standards of his products.

But back to today’s trip – have you ever had whipped honey? I spent ten minutes talking with a very nice beekeeper. Whipped honey is regular honey, but has a more peanut butter type consistency – perfect for spreading on my organic whole grain bread :-p He also had different varieties – the usual clover, and the semi-usual wildflower, but also buckwheat, which tastes much deeper, less sweet (for a list of varieties and descriptions, go here: http://www.thenibble.com/reviews/MAIN/honey/types4.asp#varietals – I got to taste each of the three he had!). I also got some gorgeous broccoli. Seriously considered snap peas – and sweet corn is going to be there next week. I also learned about a BIG Farmer’s Market in Manhattan year-round. May have to check that out.

The Market was obviously a community affair – on a street dedicated to locally owned businesses (I passed a children’s book store – must return on a weekday when it’s open!) Several dogs, several children, couples and singles – everyone pleased to be out in the gorgeous weather. My only disappointments were being unable to find blackberries or spinach – both in season but the first not grown by any of the farmers present and the second “out of stock.”

But back to the potato salad. I bought carrots at the Market – a medium-sized bunch with the full leaves attached. The seller told me that the leaves are good in salads or soups. I’d already bought my potatoes – from the same seller – and the potato salad seemed like the perfect way to try out the carrot tops. Besides the carrot tops, I used fine sea salt and dill. It was great! I have lots more carrot tops, so I may try them in a soup next. I already use celery leaves in my vegetable soup (or, for meat eaters, chicken soup) – wonder how carrot tops and celery leaves might go along?

In case you’re wondering, I paired the potato salad with a spinach dish inspired by this site. It was basically a stirfry of spinach, toasted pine nuts, garlic, and a touch of sea salt. Quite good! A very filling meal.

This coming week is going to be devoted to preparing for an out-of-state interview. There’s a possibility of attending a jam-making class – really hoping I can, but it’ll depend on how the return flight goes because the class is that day.

Driving around the town where I grew up is a little odd sometimes. It feels like – well, I suppose it feels like driving around the town where you grew up, except that my memories of directions and locations are less conscious. I have flashbacks all the time. I was standing in Port Authority earlier today when I suddenly flashed to Mica’s face. Mica was my classmate in kindergarten. He was the bane of my existence, when I bothered to notice him, because our names were so alike. Kindergarten wasn’t too early for boyfriend jokes, and having a similar name with a blob of a boy made me a great target.

He lived in a large house that had a staircase on the side that went up to the second level. It was the first house I saw with that – I suppose it was a fire escape, or a second entrance. I only know because I went to his birthday party once (for some reason my only memory of that party is sitting on the side stairs waiting for my mother to pick me up. Hmmm).

My main memory of Mica is from kindergartan wars. The politics were horribly complicated – who claimed leadership of which team (conflict between me and Esther there), who defected (Batya taught the boys how to get to our safe spot – top of the monkeybars), when truces could be declared (playdates with Ariel, a boy from school)… and then there were the conspiracies. Like the time that I purposely got caught by the boys so that I could eavesdrop on their strategy meeting. I didn’t realize imprisonment would mean being squeezed between the fence and Mica’s back. The things we do for loyalty. Of course, later Ariel claimed that they had made up the entire strategy session just for me to hear. Like I said, it got complicated.

I’ve been driving around the area without a GPS for a fair bit. Some of that is from driving around with my sister, and some is from my memory-map of the area. But like I said, my memories of places and locations aren’t entirely conscious. I feel tugs sometimes- turn down this road, this is the right way. Which is how today, I got from the main street – down the road a former classmate lived – then down the street we lived on when we first moved to the neighborhood – and from there to the house we lived in until we left the state. Several turns, all without conscious consideration – just following the tugs. Drove down my old street. That’s the house where a family moved in the summer, maybe a year before we moved. They had an iced tea stand. It was the first time I tried Arizona Iced Tea. There’s the house with the curving walkway that I loved. That house didn’t used to be here – but that one did. I wonder what happened to the rock with our house number.

This time I knocked on the door, rang the bell. I wanted to see the backyard. I spent a lot of time in that backyard, and I want to see if the landmarks are still there. Our little garden. The cicada tree. The grapevine poles. I’d like to see the inside of the house – I’d like to see the hidden closets I loved when I was a kid, and see what memories spring from my room, from the spring kitchen, the hallways – but I don’t expect a stranger to be comfortable with me walking about the house. It was close to 5pm, but no one answered, and I didn’t want to be caught exploring a stranger’s backyard. Maybe next time, maybe over the weekend.

I have two main childhood memories of Port Authority, the central bus station in NYC, both of which have played big roles in my interests ever since.

The first is the kinetic ball machine:

Kinetic Ball Machine (not my photo)

Seeing that machine was the highlight of my trips into the City with my Mum. We had one at the Science Center, too, which reawakened the interest during college. When it was quiet I’d spend hours figuring out the machine’s system and imagining one I could build myself someday.

The other memory is more serious. Port Authority sheltered many homeless people. Rushing through, holding my mother’s hand, I saw the people wrapped in blankets asleep or holding handwritten cardboard signs. It was my first exposure to homelessness, drug abuse, and all that goes with them. There’s a specific visual image that comes to mind whenever I encounter homelessness – or pass a specific corner in Port Authority – and I still remember my mother’s explanations about why it’s better to give money to organizations than to the individuals directly. It’s a conversation I’ve had over and over again in the years since. About homeless people, and about other issues – the question has been a constant in my life: how do you balance reaching many with the need to help individuals?

The questions that started in that memory go further. I can’t work in an organization without looking for ways to reach the underserved audience. I can’t, and won’t, ignore the people who don’t have the resources to enjoy or utilize what an organization offers. I’m not sure I could work outside of nonprofits, but the questions exist even within nonprofits.

I have certain beliefs that I’ve never put fully into words, but that drive me nonetheless. There’s a quote by Sartre:

“Man is condemned to be free. Condemned because he has not created himself- and is nevertheless free. Because having once been hurled into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”

And another, engraved at Arlington Cemetery:

“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”
Robert Kennedy
South Africa, 1966

I believe in accountability and responsibility, and I believe we make the choice to uphold those values each day, each moment. I believe that we are a web of human interconnectedness, and that my smile to someone on the subway could through chain effect change humanity.

And I believe that one doesn’t have to be in nonprofits to help “save the world,” nor in nonprofits directly dealing with the core issues today… and there are so many issues, it’s hard to know where to start. But I still struggle with that question of how to best be part of the changes that need to occur.

I’m at a place right now where I have two avenues opening to me, and I may have to choose which one I pursue. And they both leave me struggling with the question: will I be able to create opportunities to reach those who are most desperate?

Went into NYC for the first time since moving – which is acceptable since it’s only been a week! I’d actually been planning to go in tomorrow, but a friend is in town and suggested we meet up at MOMA today. I got to meet her 9-month old daughter and we walked through most of the museum.

The weather was gorgeous when we got out – despite dire predictions of thunderstorms. So I headed to Central Park. I got maybe halfway through before deciding to turn back. My timing was good… as I got to Port Authority, the storm arrived. I made the bus with perfect timing (total luck – I still didn’t get a schedule) and was safely frozen inside the air conditioned transport unit when the first raindrops fell.

I got a call on my way to Port Authority – scheduling an interview for this Wednesday. The additional good news is that the job pays well, so I could easily get an apartment and keep up with my student loan payments. So…. we’ll see. I’m not getting my hopes too high, but it did make me feel better about being here, at least for an hour

I’m going to a social thing this weekend – beach, hike, jazz – so hopefully I’ll meet some people. Friends would also make me feel a lot better about being here.

I gave some thought today about alternate plans. I considered PeaceCorps and decided that a 27-month commitment, in a new country by myself (most placements are on your own), isn’t right for me, at least right now. If there were placements in Israel, then I’d consider it. If there were shorter placements, I’d consider it. Plus, it takes about nine months for the application process, which is a rather long time at this point in my life.

I did apply to a local AmeriCorps position, and will probably apply to more as I find ones accepting applications. I’d rather get a job that pays enough for me to get an apartment and pay off my student loans, but as a second choice, AmeriCorps could lead to some good opportunities and at least I’d have a job that will look good on my resume.

I’m trying hard to be patient – with finding a job, with making friends, with continuing my life. Patience has never been my greatest skill but I’m trying (as mentioned in previous post) to come up with little projects to keep me occupied around jobhunting – following the news, ASL, reading, etc. Today I went to the duckpond for an hour just to be outside and relax, and that helped center me.

I’m not sure if I’ll find my place in NJ/NY, and I sometimes wonder if I left my path behind in Pittsburgh. But we’ll see. There’s time.

My main challenge for the moment is filling my time. I need to give it a little while to see if I get a response from the job apps, and unfortunately there’s a limited number of openings to apply to. Until I get a job, I can’t schedule in long-term commitments.

I have, however, found a hospital hospitality house that does month-by-month scheduling and doesn’t (so far that I know) require a doctor form, so I’m hoping to arrange something there. And there are some exhibits I’d like to see, that have low admission costs. I can work on my ASL, learn my way around town. Hopefully the weather will clear up soon so I can spend some time outside.

I’ve been driving around this town, snatching for old memories in familiar places. Looking at faces, wondering if I’d recognize classmates.

I remember the older couple who traveled to the Pole every year – Arctic? Antarctic? Their house had curiosities that fascinated me, but I was careful to not overstay my welcome there. I remember the young girls in the house across the street, a house that seemed large to me, and their couch by a big bay window. And the boy I played with next door whose older brother smoked cigarettes. Up the street, the year we left, a family with young girls moved in – creative, imaginative, fantastic girls who made up fun games for all the kids on the block and made up a performance for the adults one Shabbat. And a little farther up, the girl who moved to Israel about the same time we did – she was quiet but sweet. And farther up, the family I waited at the bus stop with who lived in a huge house – I spent a fair bit of time with them, though we didn’t really get along.

I wanted to kill some time this evening, so I punched an old address into the GPS. The house sure doesn’t look like I remember it, and I can’t decide if that’s because it’s NOT the same house (ie they tore down the one I lived in and rebuilt) or if it’s just the trick of old memory and old perspective. But the little side driveway is still there, with the fence covered in honeysuckle. I didn’t try the gate, or knock at the door, so I don’t know if the backyard looks the same, or the inside. The church is still next door, and a few of the neighboring houses look the same. I drove up the block to find the houses of various neighbors I played with. (I find it an amusing irony that there’s an Echo in the driveway, since my first car was an Echo, several years later)

My babysitter and I went down fairly often, walked the loop. It was the funniest thing throwing bread to the ducks – especially when a piece landed on one duck’s back!

I decided to find the duck pond – one of my favorite childhood places. Got a little confused figuring out how to reach it, since my primary memory is “walk along the really long road or park by the tennis courts.” But I made it. I didn’t walk the full loop around – I’ll do it during the daytime sometime soon.

It smelled like books, which sat on shelves crammed into the space – just enough space to walk between the rows and pick something out. Even though space was tight, it was a cheerful room. I remember finding the book that one of my poems was published in, in the section of books for older kids and adults.

I’ve already been in the library – though only briefly. That was another favorite place, and it looks much the same. I need to walk into the children’s room, though, where I spent the most time.

I haven’t gone to find the first house we lived in here – though I have memories of there as well. And I’d love to see the inside of the second house, where I have lots of memories. As for the school, it’s moved so many times – though I always recognize the small building where we spent a year or two. I sometimes wonder if I’d recognize the homes I visited when classmates lived there – but I don’t know how to find those houses, don’t remember addresses besides my own.

And of course there are other places – my favorite restaurant, and the 7-11 I went to for Slurpees. I’ve been in Glatt, the supermarket we frequented. Not Shoprite though, yet. I haven’t gone into the City to find the small pieces I remember from trips with my mother – the kinetic ball machine in the Port Authority, the art store where I bought Pogs and design hole punchers, the building where she worked. I’d take my sketchpad and draw, or swap poems with the attorneys. I still have some poems they gave me in exchange for mine.

I found a few things to amuse me that are more of my adult consciousness, as well. For instance, a building shaped somewhat like a Basotho hat. For instance, a Starbucks where I can sit, go online or read, and generally chill when I want to get out of the house.

“Web 2.0″ was named the one millionth word in the English language: http://tech.yahoo.com/news/nm/20090610/tc_nm/us_word_millionth_life_tech

I mention this because of something I noticed today. On 9/11, I went on AOL Instant Messenger and read people’s reactions in their profiles and away messages.

Today, I went on Facebook. And there was a large group posting article links, reactions, and comments to the shooting at the Holocaust Museum, me among them.

Communication and information relay has changed fast. According the researchers, it will continue changing quickly. I worry that with the increase in “efficiency,” we’re sacrificing quality. But I also appreciate the sense of global community, and quick group support, that can happen on Facebook.

It’s an interesting challenge, how to balance true interaction with the benefits of more superficial online communication.

I have another post ready, but I need to find the USB to load some photos for it first… please stand by

Addition to Post: I’ve had several serious discussions on Facebook today on a variety of topics. I’m quite pleased that Facebook has proved itself a positive forum for doing so.