Courage & Community

Today marks the 50th day that the 33 miners in the desert of Chile have been trapped underground. For those of you who haven’t been following the story, it could be until November before they get out. They receive food, music, medicine, and other necessary and psychologically helpful items via “palomas,” containers named after carrier pigeons, also known as doves (lovely, right?). BBC’s coverage is pretty good if you have missed the saga: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/special_reports/chile_mine/ .


My heart breaks for the families who are waiting hopefully but anxiously on the surface, and I am astounded by the strength and resilience of the men surviving in the dark, damp, hot mine. Several have celebrated birthdays underground. One has become a father (he got to see a video of the birth that he couldn’t attend). One is diabetic. The guys have formed three teams, and they rotate shifts to stay busy, make sure everyone remains healthy, and keep things running smoothly. I can only imagine the bonds that they are forming in such a uniquely stressful situation. It reminds me once again of the strength of the human spirit and, moreover, the power of community. I’d be willing to bet that one miner alone would be in far worse shape than these guys, who have formed a squadron in the trenches. I will continue to pray for them, and I can’t wait to celebrate with Chile when they are rescued.

As for courage and community closer to home, most of you probably know that my grandpa had emergency gall bladder removal surgery yesterday and was in pretty critical condition as of last evening. I was preparing to book a flight home after I got word that he was on a ventilator after the operation and that he didn’t seem to be doing well. The first words I heard this morning were my dad’s, who called at 6:30am (ten minutes before I woke up for my run, as it turns out—don’t feel bad, Dad!) and told me that Grandpa’s situation was looking much brighter. This afternoon, I learned that he is off the ventilator, joking with the nurses, insatiably thirsty, and his usually feisty self.


My biggest concern when I am away is that something will happen to someone I love at home; I know that Brittany shares these same worries and has had difficulty being in Spain during this ordeal. Still, every time something like this rocks my family, I am reminded to count my blessings in the same breath as my prayer for healing, recovery, or what have you—my family, in spite of (or maybe because of) our oddities, is a squadron in and of itself, and we are led by an incredible patriarch who never ceases to amaze me. Grandpa’s fallen on some hard times—a stroke, a bike accident, several miscellaneous maladies, and now this, all in the past couple of years since Grandma Pat’s death—and I’m awed by his Depression-era perseverance. In addition, I’m continually grateful for our small, tight-knit family and for the support that we’re able to give one another, across states, continents, and oceans.


I get homesick sometimes, but most of you are only a phone call, email, or Skype session away. And missing you reminds me to count you among my many blessings! Every day at work, I talk with people who are alone in the deepest sense of the word. Any family they might have is miles and miles away, struggling to make ends meet somewhere in Mexico or Central America. This week alone, I probably met twenty single mothers; one had five children, and when she told me what her monthly income is, I nearly gasped because it’s nowhere near enough to help those babies thrive. One of my favorite seniors (coincidentally, the one who reminds me of Grandpa) needed a doctor’s appointment once, and I asked him if he had anyone who could accompany him, possibly someone who spoke English. He has only his wife, a Spanish-speaker with her own health issues. They hang on to each other for dear life because they have absolutely no one else.


To have a community is a beautiful, beautiful gift, one that seems much easier to take note of during the darkest and most difficult moments when we rely on others the most (or notice that we are mostly alone). Living in community, in the JVC sense of that concept, is not always easy. We disagree. We probably annoy one another. We come from different places. We have to make sacrifices. But I understand 100% why a primary focus of this program is this striving to live in harmonious and supportive relationships with others. We need each other! Period.


Viva Chile! And hurry up and heal, GPa. I love you!


Amanda

Small World, Long Post.

Alright, I was having some serious formatting issues. Here's the post, without any fun pictures. Trust me-- I tried!

One day this week, a lady came in for help filling out some SSI forms. Her name is Sandra and she comes to our weekly luncheon with the cute seniors. She often brings her granddaughter, the one who calls me “her friend.” Sandra gets social security because she has a disability. The money she gets is somewhere around $600 and it doesn’t even cover her rent and other expenses, so she still needs to find assistance elsewhere and she’s usually just scraping by. Her son, when he can, helps her pay the rest of her rent. Well, social security found out about this and informed her that they would be revoking some of the “extra” money they’d been giving her since she had been overpaid for several years.

Sandra, of course, wanted to fight this because the money she was getting from social security was by no means being pocketed or used for luxury items. I asked her why she hadn’t reported her other income source as she was supposed to and she said that it honestly hadn’t occurred to her—she’d read the paperwork for SSI years ago and hadn’t looked at it since, and she didn’t remember or really understand that particular rule. She should have reported the assistance she was receiving from her son, but I still couldn’t believe I had to fill out papers for her because they wanted to take back the little money she was getting to pay her bills.

I began filling out the paperwork, starting with her name, address, phone number, etc. “Qué es su número telefónico?” I asked her routinely. She began telling me her phone number, starting with the area code. “Cuatro catorce…” I stopped writing for a moment and looked up at her and then back at the document on my desk and then back at Sandra again. In Spanish, I asked her, “Did you say 4-1-4? That’s a Wisconsin area code, right?” She nodded and told me it was from Milwaukee, where she used to live. I knew it was a Milwaukee area code, but I couldn’t believe the “small world” connection. We stopped doing her paperwork for awhile and chatted about Milwaukee. She told me that she used to live there, that most of her family is still there, and that she’d moved at least four times within the city.

Her last residence had been near the intersection of 16^th and Lincoln, very near the United Community Center where I worked this past summer. I asked her if she knew of the UCC and she said she’d been there once or twice. I told her I went to school there and that I had worked on the south side. Her eyes lit up when she realized I knew her neighborhood, but a sad expression quickly moved across her face. “That part of town has gotten really bad,” she told me, “I used to feel safe but I didn’t feel safe there anymore.” I told her I knew there were a lot of problems and that I was especially concerned with the public school system in Milwaukee. We had a little talk about MPS and my desire (though I’m not sure if and when I’ll act on this) to be a teacher in an MPS school or to just do something to lift that system out of the huge hole it’s in (along with most public school systems in this country). She sighed and smiled softly. “If there were a few more people like you,” she told me before we resumed her paperwork, “we could fix some of these problems.”

I know that there are other people who are dedicated to fixing our broken systems. The people at my work are beautiful examples of this each day. My supervisor is honestly amazing. She has a son and two foster children (with many behavioral and drug abuse issues) and she has A TON of work on her plate at our office. She’s been with Catholic Charities for a good 10 years and she is taking a break later this year because she is absolutely burned out. This is obviously a huge danger for people working in social services; after tirelessly advocating for marginalized people who come to our office, she needs a break. She’ll be going to Mexico with her family for three months this winter (which makes me pretty nervous about how things will work at our office!), and I know that she needs it.

Still, despite everything she has going on, she manages to smile and greet everyone in our office, give them her full attention during a conversation, answer numerous questions from me and the other new employee, and keep track of more things than I even realize she’s organizing. Today, right before lunch, she asked me where I was going to eat (since I usually go home or go to a park bench). I told her I thought I’d go check out the soup selection at a bagel shop nearby. “I have soup at my house! Have you had posole?” she asked me. I told her I had no idea what it was. “If you want to try it, grab your jacket. Let’s go. I got a new truck. I’ll show you my tomato plants. You’ll like posole.” I was caught off-guard but I grabbed my coat and left for lunch with her. Posole, as it turns out, is delicious—it’s a recipe from Jalisco, Mexico (where she’s from) that’s usually made with pig but is commonly made with chicken instead. I liked it a lot, and I enjoyed having lunch and chatting with her. She’s extremely approachable and supportive and has been an amazing mentor for me so far. Plus, her tomato plants really are something!

Another person at our office, Karen, is a weekly volunteer. She’s retired but commits to two afternoons each week at our office, helping with things like I do—translating, notarizing, energy intake, phone calls, etc. She’s a really hip 58-year-old who knows all about hiking and biking and live music in Portland. This week, she brought in a book called “100 Hikes in Northwest Oregon” and said, “This is for you and your housemates. And I’d love to have you all over to my house for dinner sometime soon.” We’re officially invited to have dinner at her house next month, and I think it’s so sweet that she wants to meet all of my community members. As further proof that the world is a very small place, I should mention that we recently discovered that Karen’s best friend, who lives in New Zealand, is the aunt of Colleen, who lives in my house!

Also this week, I went to a meeting about Youth Ministry, which is going to be my Wednesday night commitment from here on out. I’ll be working mostly with 8^th-graders, and the educational portions of each evening that I will help facilitate focus on topics such as social justice, making decisions, and personal spirituality, topics I’m pretty excited to discuss with kids who are at such an interesting point in their development. I will say, though, that it will be a unique and challenging situation; I’m leading the 8^th grade sessions with two retired folks, one extremely animated lady named Mary and another very serious, very professional man called Dean. The three of us are meeting next week to make a game-plan for October.

Mary’s goals include turning these children into “soldiers for Christ.” I would like to remind her that Jesus was nonviolent. Anyway, we’ll see how our generational differences mesh. Dean was mostly concerned with how to evaluate whether or not we are successfully getting the information into the kids’ heads, something I assured him that we will fail at for the most part (I remember nothing from 8^th grade). The most important thing, for me, is that these kids feel like church is a community that they will continue to come home to, get involved in, and depend on in times of joy and in times of sorrow. I want to see them making relationships with one another and with God. And I want to be a good mentor for them because I can tell you for certain that what kept me coming back to my own youth group was a combination of spiritual inspiration and faith sharing AND my wonderful youth ministers, many of whom are still very important people in my life. I think it’s a good experience for me to have to work with two people who are a bit older and who come from a different era, but I know that it’ll be a challenge at times. In college, I got used to a faith community that included mostly young adults. Eighth-graders and retirees are two new populations for me, but I think it’ll be refreshing.

In other spiritual news, I have found a potential spiritual director named Joyce Ann who sounds positively awesome. We’re meeting next Monday in Portland, so we’ll see how the pairing feels. One of our spirituality nights the other evening was watching a movie together, a film called “Religulous,” which was mostly about the craziness of fundamentalists of all sorts and the violence, hate, and exclusion that has been the result of perverted and extremist sects. It was incredibly biased against institutionalized religion, calling it something that we create only to make ourselves feel better, something that we would turn away from if we had any sense, something that makes us feel powerful because we pretend that we have a sense of certainty about things that any “reasonable person” would doubt.

I think that it’s possible to have faith and have doubt in the very same moment, and I didn’t appreciate the very narrow view of religions, although I do recognize that religious extremists have indeed caused immense hurt in the name of their Gods. Anyway, my community continues to give me food for thought, and I think it’s good; people of faith SHOULD ask themselves, “Why IS faith good? What does my faith do for me and for others? Why DO I believe what I believe” However, I have no plans to convert to atheism, and I am excited to be able to share my faith in a slightly less critical context when I meet with Joyce Ann. 

One more thing (because this post is a bit long): I must leave you with a small immigration rant. Let me tell you something about how our system works. When someone gets arrested and put in jail for something and when that someone has no “papers,” the criminal charges get taken care of first via the usual series of hearings. Then, he gets taken away by immigration, at which point he is given an alien registration number (A-number) that is akin to a social security number in that it’s kept fairly confidential. According to the immigration officer that I politely interrogated this past week, every detainee is given an opportunity to make a three-minute phone call to a family member or a friend. During that call, he can tell them where he’s being taken (which detention facility) and he can give them his A-number so that, from that point on, family and friends can track him as he is thrown around the system and they can leave messages for him. Without that A-number, it’s very hard to find out any information about detainees in custody. When the detainee makes the phone call, he has to write down who he called and sign a piece of paper. If he opts not to make a phone call, he also has to sign some sort of document. If he speaks Spanish, this is supposedly done in Spanish.

Well. Why do I get so many wives and sisters and cousins coming in and asking me to help them find out where their loved ones are being detained, when they have court, etc.? I asked the man on the phone how this system is failing my clients. Something is clearly not being communicated appropriately because I simply don’t buy the argument that all of these detainees have opted not to call the women in their lives and give them their A-numbers. I tried to help one such wife this past week, but we really couldn’t get anywhere. The one time I got lucky and got that guy on the phone to tell me someone’s A-number was a huge fluke, I’m realizing, because most immigration officials will not dispense that information—no matter how cute your voice sounds on the phone. So, we hit an all-too-familiar dead end when I asked for information about this lady’s wife and was asked if I had his A-number, which I didn’t because his wife doesn’t have it and hasn’t heard from him. She happened to come in a few days after he’d been moved from jail to immigration, but I had to figure out which center he was at. Something just seems so messed up to me, and it breaks my heart. I know we have a lot to work on when it comes to our immigration system.

I don’t think we should just “let in” everyone and anyone who wants to come to this country. I don’t think that building a wall is the best way to go about it, and I don’t think that streamlined deportation hearings are very humane or are serving as a deterrent for the desperate people who are risking everything they have—including their lives—to get to the United States. Something needs to happen so that the process of coming to this country is safer, is more regulated, and is perhaps less sought out not because we treat all those who attempt it with complete disregard but because we have worked to make their OWN countries better places to live. Furthermore, once these people are here, I would like to see their life chances improve. I would like to see 18-year-olds who came here as children and have completed their schooling here have a reasonable path to citizenship to pursue so that they can go to college as citizens of the only country they’ve ever known. I’d like to see people whose husbands and brothers are arrested because of legitimate wrong-doing tried humanely and given rights throughout the process. I’d like to see information better communicated and people in detention centers being treated with dignity. I understand that we need to secure our borders, protect American jobs, and take care of “our people” as well, for there is plenty of poverty across all ethnic lines. But isn’t there a balance?

My community members and I were talking about what would happen if someone told Americans they had to give up some of their creature comforts and relinquish some of their luxuries because the United States has decided to step down from our position as Superpower and try to level the playing field by allowing some other countries to rise a bit. I feel like this wouldn’t go over well. We’re part of a global community and until we realize it, I fear we’ll just keep messing up other parts of the world and then, when people flee those parts and come to our country to pursue the American dream, they’ll be met with a reality that is just another variety of harsh.

That’s your weekly rant from me. Thanks for tuning in. This experience is accompanied by a plethora of emotions, ranging from outrage to awe-struck joy. I enjoy sharing it with you, and it helps me process, and I thank you for your feedback and your support. Please keep the updates coming, too! I love hearing what’s going on with all of you, and I hope that your weekend is wonderful and rejuvenating.

Molly: HAVE SO MUCH FUN at the wedding! And on Mackinac Island. So jealous.

Thank you to all of you who donated to my Race for the Cure cause. The walk is Sunday, and I am honored to be a part of it and to contribute all of your support.

Sharon: My prayers are with you and “your vet” on your Stars and Stripes flight!

Chile: Happy Independence Day.

Love,

Amanda

Slow it down.

This is a quick entry, serving two purposes: one, to tell you that you can now view more pictures (in case these small doses are not enough) on my Picasa page, which some of you are already familiar with. Follow this link: http://picasaweb.google.com/amwolff87

Second purpose: to tell you that this weekend has been so lovely and peaceful! Lizzie came to Gresham yesterday and I showed her around (the sights include: the library, Café D, my work, my rooftop, and a climb up the Gresham Butte, which provided a BEAUTIFUL and clear view of the mountain). We went, with Jenna, to Portland to meet up with some other JVs at a bar on Mississippi Ave, which was really nice. I didn’t want to part with the $4.50 for a beer last night, but I liked socializing with everyone and I liked the heat lamps and the outside patio.

This morning, we went to Mass at St. Andrew’s, a really cool and really welcoming parish that reminded me of the Mass I attended (with some beautiful ladies) in San Francisco. I know I’ll be back. Then we walked around Alberta, a really fun, hip street with tons of cool cafés. We had tea—I got a delicious pumpkin spice chai!—and enjoyed the gorgeous, sunny day as we strolled back toward Lizzie’s place. We stopped at a farmers’ market where, surprisingly, we got SEVEN samples of vegan chocolate (my favorite was the chipotle chocolate) and some jam (loved the ginger rhubarb—try to make it, Mom!). It was an amazing stroll and such a peaceful weekend. I am now at home, hoping you had an equally restful weekend.

Check out the photos if you have time. Sending love.

Rob: Happy Belated 23^rd. You are old.

Retreat Leaders: I prayed for you. Set that campus on fire!

Grandpa: Happy Grandparents’ Day. (Someone pass that message along.)

Amanda

Cafe D probably thinks I have no home.

Another Friday afternoon at Café D. I must say, although this was a four-day week, it seemed a bit stressful and a little long. This is partially due to a cold that I seem to have caught. I’ve been congested and pretty sleepy for the last two days, but my spirits were lifted today by many of the beautiful women in my life (see the Kudos at the end of this entry!). I am not sure why I’m sick when it isn’t even wintertime, but I think that all of my worrying about Britt has been a contributing factor. I’m so happy to hear that her stomach is getting better and that she is in a new house with a nicer host mom. Now her FUN semester in Spain can begin! As I think back upon my own study abroad experience, I remember lots of wonderful times but also many “low” periods; it was during those difficult times that I think I experienced a lot of growth. Still, there is a such thing as “too much,” and B needed a break. For those of you who haven’t been keeping up with her blog, she faced a number of obstacles this past week. Apparently it affected me not only emotionally but also physically. I know this is the same for my parents. Hopefully now Mom can stop making beef stew at 3am and I can kick this cold fast!

The famous sign at Pike Place Market.

Pretty peppers in the market.

As for Seattle last weekend, we had a great time. We were happy that we left after work on Friday because we were able to spend some quality time hanging out at Cherry Abbey (one of the two JV houses in the city), where I caught up with Beth a bit. The next morning, we had a slow breakfast and getting-ready process and then headed to the busy Pike Place Market, where Jenna and I secured many a free sample and checked out plenty of beautiful things we couldn’t afford to buy. Afterwards, we headed to Pioneer Square, which I really enjoyed. It was a peaceful, smaller plaza with a lot of hand-made things for purchase and the vendors were incredibly friendly. I would have loved to purchase some of the delicious home-made soaps and the intricate and gorgeous cards for sale, but it was fun to just look at it all too. 

One thing about simple living: it takes a lot of pressure off. In a sense, you are all but forced to remove yourself [mostly] from consumerist culture. Whereas I’d normally stress a bit about what to buy, how many to buy, whether that was a good deal, etc. etc. etc., I go into the situation knowing that I am not going to buy anything. It’s fun to look at and admire the things for sale without a thought of purchase heckling me in the back of my mind. I was able to admire the handiwork and the craftsmanship but then walk away without feeling like I should or shouldn’t have bought something. Simple living, in many ways, is liberating, although it seems at first glance like it would be incredibly restrictive ($80/month for personal use). Also, it makes certain purchases—smoothies and hot drinks, for example—EXTRA special, and it completely eliminates impulse buying and makes all purchases more intentional. A good thing. I won’t lie and say that I don’t miss being able to “just grab Jimmy John’s” but there’s something to be said about having to PLAN your meals and PLAN your purchases and WORK/WAIT for special things. I purchased a Sufjan Stevens ticket for an October 29^th concert, which is requiring me to save $15 from August, $15 from September, and $10 from my October stipend. Really, $40 wouldn’t have been all that major to me before this experience, especially to see one of my favorite musicians. But I know I’ll appreciate and savor the concert even more now. Same goes for ice cream, good beer, chai lattés, books, and so on and so forth. 

At Colleen's aunt and uncle's in our matching tie-dye (sorry, Jillian!).

We were fortunate to have some familial connections in Seattle. We spent some time at Colleen’s aunt and uncle’s place, where we had a delicious dinner and some wine and conversation. They are both former JV’s, and he is a Marquette High alum, so it was a really pleasant conversation and a delicious meal. We then headed to Seattle Mercy House (the other JV house in town) for a JVC party. Many houses have parties that they host on an annual basis (for example, our house will throw the Cinco de Mayo party, in keeping with the tradition begun last year). Seattle Mercy always has the Labor Day party, and other communities try their best to get to these fun gatherings, though it all depends on budgeting. We were glad we got to attend, and we had a lot of fun dancing and hanging out with each other and other communities on Saturday night. I was excited to run into Tim, and grateful that he let me stay at his new home. 

I must say, although this might make me sound pretty lame, the party scene within JVC throws me for a bit of a loop. It just seems too much like college. Although most of us are only one year removed from that scene, I was never much of a party person. I always prefer a smaller group and some wine and a chill atmosphere, though I do like a dance party here and there of course! The thing is, I didn’t think that JV parties a) existed and b) felt so much like college parties. It felt strange to me—the excess consumption directly conflicts with the intentionality we seek in living more simply, and it inhibits the intentional formation of genuine relationships. Alcohol is a crutch, and I think this year is about eliminating unnecessary things like crutches and especially eliminating barriers to true relationships. So I had some wine and I danced for a bit, but something in me felt a bit off all evening. I enjoyed Seattle, and I loved seeing everyone, but I realized that this is fun if done moderately, as with everything else (in theory) we’re doing this year. 

I went to Mass with Tim, where I ran into Erin (from my house) and saw a few other JV’s, though most people slept in or had a relaxing morning at Cherry Abbey or Seattle Mercy house. I was glad I went to Mass. This is the other piece that’s hard for me: Mass has always been and will always be the defining characteristic of my Sunday, and I build my day and my plans around that to the best of my ability. I don’t seem to have someone who approaches their faith in that same way, which is fine, but I’m used to having SUCH a supportive and amazing faith community at Marquette; I took for granted the fact that I got to sit with some of my closest friends every Sunday at Mass. I am fine with using my Sunday Mass time as my solo reflection time (sometimes that’s really nice, actually), but what I’m realizing is that spirituality is going to have to be something I actively seek out. It’s not something that is already built for me now that the infrastructure of college and Campus Ministry is no more. And it’s not necessarily something that will be suggested to me or insisted upon in my new community; this is all well and good—I’ll just have to get creative. 

Jillian fit through the doggie door at Daniel's.

After Mass, we took the ferry to Daniel’s house on the peaceful and quaint Bainbridge Island, where we spent the rest of Sunday and some of Monday. The ferry ride was lovely, and we were all a little slap-happy on the boat (not unusual for us). Once in Bainbridge, we were really lazy, but it was exactly what I needed. We had lunch and then dessert at his grandparents’ (so cute!) and we spent the evening in, acting a bit like the Waltons—at  one point, Jenna and I were on the couch, reading books and magazines, Colleen and Erin were playing the piano and singing, and Daniel, Jillian, and Linds were chatting in the kitchen. I looked around and thought, “well aren’t we the cutest little family!” and it felt so warm. Daniel and Jenna made dinner on Sunday night and we were again the grateful recipients of free alcohol because Daniel’s parents had kindly purchased Blue Moon and some Pinot Grigio for us. I am continually amazed by people’s generosity. The “Volunteer Card” is actually a bit too useful! 

I have very little to report from this week, though I do feel that my first month here in Gresham went by EXTREMELY quickly. Last night, I watched some of the Vikings-Saints game (no, I don’t want to discuss it. Yes, we will win next time) alone in a bar here in Gresham—perhaps a bit pathetic, but it was what I needed to do. Tomorrow I think Lizzie is (finally!) coming out to G-Sham to visit us and hang out a bit. I’m looking to have a pretty low-key weekend. 

Trying to look tough in an old shed we found on Bainbridge.

My community continues to entertain and inspire me. Today marks the 8-year anniversary of Erin’s mom’s death, and she is very much in my thoughts and prayers today (please add her to yours). She is so strong and brave, but this must be a difficult day for her no matter how much time passes. Colleen, another one of my lovely housemates, recently learned that she is going to be able to switch placements, something she was really hoping for but getting pretty worried about; her current placement is simply not a good place for a JV to work, and she was coming home everyday from work absolutely drained and depressed. I am SO glad that she will be able to do something that will use her many gifts and give her more energy. It has only been a month, but my community is growing into a strong unit as we slowly but surely learn more about one another. It’s funny how quickly you catch on to people’s little “things”—for example, Erin has already dubbed me “Mama” (something many of you also call me) and has my “squealy voice” pegged. Pretty silly.

The old shed was pretty cool.

Alright, time to get going. I should go home and see what’s up. Some people are very interested in an 80’s Dance Party happening at the Crystal Ball Room downtown. I don’t think tonight’s the night for me to get my groove on, so I’m planning to hang back (hopefully not totally alone) and relax. I hope you all enjoyed the short week and have a wonderful weekend. A few shout-outs before I go…

Brittany: You have been in my thoughts constantly! I am so glad that your new mama is so much better, and I will continue to pray that your tumtum improves daily. I am proud of you and KNOW that this will (and already has) made you stronger. Be patient! I love you!

Fr. Anderson: You continue to impact my spirit from afar. Thank you for your words.

Molly Ryan: THANK YOU for another delicious baked goodie via USPS. You are too kind. The bread was delicious.

Thank you also to the ladies who made me smile today: Molly, who booked her ticket to visit me in January (!!!!!!), Jill, who sent me a beautiful and literally SWEET package (and the prettiest box ever!), Katharine, whose email brightened my work day, and Catí, whose beautiful reflections (all the way from Chile) touched my heart con mucha fuerza. You are all beautiful.

Erin and Colleen: You've been pillars of strength this week. Christ shines through you!

Mom and Dad: The way you love your kids is a sacrament in and of itself. I love you both.

XOXO, with much gratitude (and some naughty sniffles!),

Amanda

PS We stopped at the Tacoma house on our way home. I held a chicken. See below.

I don't think it went very well.

Cannons (a two-part special)

September 1st, 2010

Hello, everyone, and Happy September. It’s hard to believe that the summer months are over, though I hear that many of you back home are still in the midst of some serious humidity and heat. We’ve had some crazy weather these past few days—sometimes it’s 70 or 75 and lovely, and yesterday it was 55 and raining. This morning it rained again but now, at about 7pm, it’s much warmer and brighter. I don’t understand. The key, clothing-wise, is certainly layers. I was half-excited about the rain yesterday because I wanted to use my pretty umbrella, purchased at Milwaukee’s Bastille Days this summer, but I quickly realized that I was the only one shielding myself from the drizzle. I may as well have stamped “Transplant” on my forehead because all of the locals just put their hoods up and kept strolling. These Rain People are troopers. I must learn their ways.

The market happens every Saturday and Sunday. It's HUGE!

Portland: THE Bike City of America.

Anyway, this past weekend was packed once again. On Saturday, I had the great fortune of Skyping with Molls, which was refreshing and entertaining. I returned home to find my community ready to go to Portland’s well-known Saturday Market (which, incidentally, also occurs on Sundays). After a ride on the train, we landed ourselves at the market, which was MUCH larger than I’d expected. There were two distinct areas—one with quite a bit of “junk” and the other with some fine artisan crafts and a lot of really awesome art. Of course, we weren’t able to make any real purchases, but I did splurge and split a meal from one of Portland’s famous (and usually cheap—I think the prices were jacked up at the market) food carts. Yum. We meandered over to Stumptown, which is a coffee shop that apparently serves some pretty great drinks. I passed, saving my money instead for our next stop: Powell’s. The bookstore is seriously my Northwest Heaven. It goes on and on and on endlessly, room after room piled high with new and used books. They have everything and anything, and everything in between. I spent a whole $2, but I saw at least a few dozen books I was interested in purchasing.

A commonly photographed sign.

So pretty! Even on a chilly day.

We had a pretty chill Saturday night and then rose early on Sunday to drive to the Oregon coast, which is rocky, chilly, and gorgeous. We went to Cannon Beach, home to one of the most famous “big rocks” (see photo) in the country. It was lovely, even on an overcast day. The sun did emerge for an hour or so, long enough to warm me while I ate my lunch and chatted on blankets in the sand with my housemates. I loved strolling the beach and watching all of the families there. The beach itself reminded me a lot of San Francisco, which reminded me of parts of Chile. Conclusion: I like Pacific beaches.

Hilarious. Our faces are seriously hideous. Don't zoom.

I’ve come to believe that Oregon and Wisconsin are Sister States. On the way home, we stopped at Tillamook cheese factory, where we sampled all sorts of cheddars, some pepperjack, and a cojack. They were out of cheese curds (yes, they have those here!!) but we did treat ourselves to ice cream. I got a combined scoop of two flavors, Grandma’s Cake Batter and Huckleberry. Pretty delicious. We packed a lot in our weekend, as we have been doing lately, but that made it seem like Friday happened a long time ago, and I like that feeling! We had a community meeting on Sunday and then went to bed.

G-Sham, minus Linds (who was freezing and in the car).

Not cool, Tillamook. Not cool.

The work week has begun to feel shorter to me—or at least it has taken on some sort of rhythm now. Every Monday, an old man brings us pastry and bakery items to distribute to our clients. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Karen, our loyal volunteer, is usually around. I’ve learned that she, like me, enjoys staying busy. She gives me papers to translate or people to call, and I watch her do various notary actions. On Wednesdays, the seniors (the “viejitos”_ have lunch and social time, and I get to eat (and sometimes play “Lotería,” similar to Bingo) with them. Fridays we make calls or have meetings or get tasks assigned to us, like helping with case notes or calls for another program.
This Friday, I’m meeting with my supervisor to create a work plan for our energy assistance program. We’re going to get our fall funding soon, which marks the beginning of our “busy season.” I have a few other random responsibilities, too, like creating the list of appointments for our Legal Aid clinic each month and calling those clients who have been scheduled. I also order office supplies and help with intakes on the monthly Dental Van days. And I have a LOT of phone calls. Each day, I found out that more things are actually my responsibility. I have plenty to do now, which is good. An empty calendar makes me nervous.

I’m starting to feel like part of the EPH community. Today I helped with a Back-to-School event and a little girl, the granddaughter of one of our seniors who comes each week, spotted me and shrieked, “Grandma! That’s my friend!” because she remembered me from the previous week. At lunch, one of the viejitos--- an altogether too flirtatious sixty-something who wears his jacket unzipped and nothing underneath (a lá Disco Days)—called to me, “Hello Wisconsin!” And the elderly man I helped the other day, who, in his cute, but stubborn/negative/defiant way was like a Latino Grandpa Wolff, sought me out personally for his requests today, as if he had decided that I am the only person in our office he’s willing to tolerate. I’m still learning everyday at EPH, but it is sort of incredible how much I am already able to do and how fast my transition has been from a useless observer in a busy office to someone with several appointments each day. My job keeps me on my toes; I helped two guys with resumes today and mediated a tenant-landlord dispute (surprisingly, my angry and firm Spanish was rolling off the tongue as I advocated for a client who had been inexplicably locked out). Tomorrow I have an energy assistance appointment. I never know what to expect, which is pretty cool.

On a different note, I decided to talk to our dear support person, Crunchy, about being a volunteer for his youth ministry program at St. Henrys. Every Sunday at Mass, I hear him plead the congregation and particularly appeal to people my age who could share their faith with the teens. I waited to see what my schedule felt like but have decided that I can commit to the Wednesday night sessions youth ministry does each week. I am really excited, and so is he, so I’ll keep you posted on that.

Time to go. Crunchy and Margaret, our esteemed dinner guests, have arrived!

Special shout-outs to:

Beth Mueller: Happy Birthday! (And a belated one to Alex, too!)
Molly: for ripping open your cadaver. I’m proud of you, you B.A. Koala you.
Britt: Good luck on your first day of classes in Spain!
Aunt Peg and Aunt Vic: for your lovely mid-week emails. They brighten my day!

And love to each of you.

Amanda


Cannons (Pt. II)

September 3, 2010

I wrote that first part while on the roof before dinner on Wednesday, so I wasn’t able to publish it immediately. I thought I’d make this a two-part special and add a bit to this entry before I publish that one.

Today is Friday. Yay. We are leaving for Seattle after everyone gets home from work. We’re headed to the Northwest’s major metropolis for the weekend to celebrate Labor Day at another JV house, where we’ll also be spending tonight and tomorrow night (the evening of the party). I’m excited to visit Seattle again, especially the Pike Place Market, which I loved last time I was in the city. It will also be nice to see other communities. Beth will be there, along with many other JV houses from the area. We’re lucky that we have a car from our house headed there and were also able to snag two spots in Crunchy’s car because, as luck would have it, he and Margaret are headed that way too. We’re also staying on Baimbridge Island, accessible from the city by ferry, at Daniel’s house on Sunday evening. I’m also excited for that little detour. All in all, it sounds like a promising Labor Day weekend, and there’s always the four-day work week to be excited about as well.

Full house! Free show!

Anyone who knows me knows this made my week.

Last night after work, I rushed home to grab the pasta salad Linds and I had made the night before (after a long dinner with our guests annnd doing dishes because it was my night!). The salad was beautiful, thanks mostly to Mom’s delicious home-made pesto, which she sent to me! I grabbed the pasta salad, the polenta from the night before, and the watermelon, and I speed-walked to the train stop about ten minutes from our house and caught the blue line to Portland. There, I made my way to the waterfront park and found Jenna, Daniel, and Linds. We settled in, enjoyed our picnic, and were treated to a FREE concert by the Oregon Symphony Orchestra, complete with a
cameo from the Portland ballet (a “Sleeping Beauty” number) and the 1812 Overture as a finale, accompanied by cannons and a fireworks show! It was a beautiful, beautiful evening. I’m so glad I was able to make it to the city after work—and I’m so grateful for free shows in the park!

I’m on my lunch hour and it’s sunny and HOT outside, so I’m going to get out of this café and into the sunshine for a few minutes. I need my daily dose of Vitamin D while I can still get it naturally!

Have a restful Labor Day weekend!

Shout outs to:

Katharine and Diesel: I thought of you about a million times during the symphony.

Colleen’s mom, for sending us really delicious desserts this week.

Seattle: here we come!

Love,

Amanda