Honduras, It's A Rap

A rap by Emery Harstein and Maggie Bellino.

Hello from Honduras, saludos a usted,

we were going to write a story, but chose to rap instead

We'll begin by recounting our past few weeks at school,

A lot of which was difficult, most of which was cool.

We encourage you to look up all the words that you don't know,

Prepare, for this is Maggie and Emery's "Update Flow."

We don't know how your day starts, but we're goin' tell you about ours,

we wake up to a chorus of noisy cats, horses and a parade of cars. 

6 am breakfast consists of oatmeal and Mahonchos,

more than likely its raining, and we're grateful for our ponchos. 

school starts with a prayer, and a salute to the flag,

and ends climbing a huge hill with a heavy book-bag.

in between the two, our day is pretty hectic,

working with children that are, to say politely, pretty reckless.

now you may ask yourself,

"self? How is a high school and first grade teacher feeling the same way?"

But you would understand if you lived here just one day.

Attitudes are pretty synonymous for grades all around,

Each kid seems to think the classroom is their personal playground. 

Its hard to keep their attention, even in detention,

which inevitably leads to a detention-extension!!!!

First grade loses recess, and thinks its funny to stay in at lunch,

Tears flow whether they are taking a pencil or giving a punch.

A beehive in a classroom, seems to BEE no thing,

And yet we are not immune, even after the tenth bee sting!

In both classes we've experienced lesson plans a-crashin'

Which have successfully turned into discussions on compassion.

They may not be able to sit in their chair,

but they are learning that what's right isn't necessarily what's fair. 

They are expanding their boundaries, and for that we are proud,

we remember this when we can't speak because our classroom is SOO loud. 

one kid thinks he's a dog, another shoves himself in lockers

and those two aren't even our talkiest of talkers.

A pick-up game of soccer, to calm all our senses

our not far-away field is just a jump over prohibited fences

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Can Anyone Go Home Again?

story and photos by Richard Rossner

Life is slippery. Just when I think have it in my grasp, it slithers away like an eel. It twists, writhes and slips from my grip, leaving me empty-handed. And feeling empty in many ways.

That’s when I ache for some place of intense safety and familiarity to regroup.

The house where I grew up as it looks today.

Johnny Mercer wrote, “Any place I hang my hat is home.” I wonder about people who are that comfortable.  Frank Sinatra…George Clooney…the Dalai Lama (if he had a hat). They exude such ease with everything.  

I’m not on that list. I’m on the list of people who never feel at home. And I’m not talking about a geographical place. I’m talking about feeling at home in life.

Sure, I’ve accomplished some wonderful things, but it’s all been hit or miss with no mastery. In quiet moments I’m haunted by my sense of ineptitude at navigating something that seems so simple for others.

I recently had the chance to return to my state of origin. No, not the womb as a zygote. New Jersey.  

First, I went to the town where I was born. It’s been in an economic slide for decades. Sweet memories I knew of bright Christmas lights gaily strung down the main thoroughfare; the heady smell of popcorn and candy wafting through the glorious department store; summers of big-leafed trees and fat, fuzzy caterpillars; the sweet breezes off the Raritan Bay – they’re gone. Downtown is all bargain discount stores now. The place looks like a dump. 

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When Was The Last Time?

by Andrea Campbell

When was the last time you took 3 slow, deep breaths? The stress of daily life keeps my breaths shallow, and my stomach tight. Although I'm semi –retired, I still lead a busy  21 st century westerner’s life. I drive in traffic, surf the net, fight to get to the checkout in Trader Joe’s, pay bills, pump my own gasoline, yech! This summer things just weren’t working in my life. I had a disappointing love affair, my friends were unable to keep social plans, I was lonely, stuck with a property I couldn't sell, two-and-a-half years into a self -imposed five year austerity program. When I became aware of how tight my stomach was, I decided to enroll in a 10 day silent meditation retreat at Vallecitos Mountain Ranch in New Mexico to avoid a future diagnosis of acid reflux.

 

When an old master artist like Di Vinci decided to paint over a part of his initial composition, it was called pentimento, which means to change your mind. Life is just like that; sometimes we paint a composition and then change our minds. Thus, we alter our lives. I went to meditate on order to look deeply into my life composition and alter what needed to be altered. 

Set in a pristine mountain forest 9,500 feet above sea level, Vallecitos has nine ponds, flowered valleys, an old restored hunting lodge and private cabins for participants. I joined about 37 like-minded people from various parts of the U.S. and two teachers to explore 10 days of being with my own thoughts, feelings and sensations.  Here are some of the awareness’ I garnered.

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A Life Of Travel: Three Gifts from My Father

by Dan Sapone

I’ve often been asked, “How did you become so interested in travel? Where did you get your curiosity for the world?”

I trace my excitement for travel to three life-altering gifts from my father. 

 

A World Globe: The big picture

One Christmas morning when I was young enough to have written a letter to Santa Claus, I found a world globe under the tree. It wasn’t a surprise, because my letter asked for a “revolving globe.” It was more than a foot high and rotated on a tilted axis — just as I had expected. But as I lay on the floor examining the different-colored shapes, some surprises emerged.

I asked my dad, “Where are we?” Since the Christmas before, when I got my first big-boy bicycle, I decided that my hometown was huge. I could ride my bike for half an hour and not even get to 18th Street. So, I was surprised when my dad said, “Our town is so small you can’t even see it.” When he showed me that our town was half an inch from San Francisco and three inches from Disneyland, I was stunned.

I looked back at my globe with new respect and suddenly I was full of questions: “Where are the New York Yankees?” “Where does President Eisenhower live?” Then my dad opened my eyes to a new subject: “Let me show you where my father came from." To my amazement, he turned my globe to the other side and pointed to an orange shape that looked like a boot. “Italy, Reggio Calabria, down here near the toe.” I looked at the ‘boot,’ back up at him, then down at the ‘toe.’ I remember wanting to ask more questions, but I didn’t know what to ask.

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Thoughts on Happiness

by B.J. Stolbov

Living in a foreign country is an opportunity to learn about a different culture, a different way of seeing and responding to the world.  It provides an opportunity to immerse yourself in new customs and traditions, and to see what really matters and is important to people around the world. It is also an opportunity to examine, from a distance, your own customs and traditions and, most important, your own cultural assumptions.

I was born and raised and lived in the United States all my life, until I was almost 60 years old. Then, I joined the Peace Corps and was assigned to the Philippines, to Quirino Province in northern Luzon, to the municipality of Cabarroguis, to the barangay (barrio) of Zamora. There, I learned some things from Filipinos about happiness.

Eyes of curiosity, Luzon, Philippines. Photo by Daniel Peckham via Flickr CCL

Before I start telling you about my discoveries, I need to offer this disclaimer. What follows is full of generalizations. For the sake of brevity and for effect, I have purposely taken out all the “sometimes,” “occasionallys,” and “almosts.” You can add them and I won’t mind – almost. 

I believe that truth is circular, actually spherical, like the world. You can turn truth around, and even upside down, and still find some truths in it.  When I moved to the other side of the world, the truths that I was raised with, that I had always held dear, that I thought were the only possible truths, were turned around, especially what I learned in the last three years about happiness and success.

In the U.S., success is happiness. If you have money, a good job, a solid place to live, a car, a computer, a television, or a big-screen television, the latest electronic equipment, and a full-funded retirement account, you are successful. You can be happy, proud of yourself, of what you’ve accomplished, and of the things you own.

In the Philippines, it’s another way around.  Happiness is success. If you have good health, a good family, parents, spouse, children, relatives, trusted friends, supportive neighbors, pleasant companions at work, a community of people who like you and whom you like, you are successful. Happiness is who you are and with whom you are. Happiness isn’t something that you will get only in the future; and happiness isn’t dependent upon what you do for a living or what you own.

Happiness isn’t something you get after you get everything else; happiness is something you have before your get everything else.

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What Happened in the Wilderness

by Nancy King

On a cool sunny dawn, after getting up at 4 a.m., my friend and I began our hike into the Grand Canyon after agreeing that we would each walk at our own pace and meet at the rest stops. She took off and I followed behind, starting down the 14-mile hike on the Kaibab Trail, munching a protein bar and drinking the electrolyte-water in the bladder of my backpack for breakfast. As the golden rays of the sun highlighted huge stone canyon structures, I felt blessed by the beauty surrounding me.

Before we began the hike I was concerned about hiking back up the steep Bright Angel Trail, but it never occurred to me that going down could be a problem. I was totally unprepared for the widely spaced wooden steps and heavily eroded trail in front of me. Down two feet to a log step, then up two feet to the next log step. Down, up, down up, all the time moving down a steep incline. Still, I was contentedly making my way when suddenly I lost 75% of my energy and could barely control where and how I stepped. I began falling backwards as I tried to take a step. My body refused to move normally. I had no idea what was happening to me.

What I did know was that I couldn’t afford to panic and waste my waning energy.

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