A quick round up of days gone by...

It's been a time--can you blame me, faithful readers, that I've been remiss in posting? Here's a quick round up of the days gone by...

March 22
Woke up, felt like I needed a change in my life to produce some much-needed momentum. And thus, I painted the ceiling in my office tangerine.

My face, post life-changing-paint-job

March 29
Feeling like we needed a short trip to a place outside our normal haunts, Alejandro and I headed out to CaSa, an old textile factory-turned organic paper workshop and library. Alejandro took the reins of the camera. So here are some rare shots of me doing nothing-remarkable-at-all (Alejandro said my parents would be happy to finally see some pictures of me--instead of just the places I go--on my blog):

Me walking up a stairway of cheese blocks.

Me laughing while overlooking the textile factory.

Me making a tiny "boat" out of a flower and setting it "out to sea" in the reflecting pool.

April 9
Laura, Caitlin, Alejandro and I head to a baseball game. The Oaxaca Guerrero's vs. the Campeche Piratas. The game: so-so. The stadium food and mildly-coordinated cheerleaders: FANTASTIC!

April 11
It was Semana Santa, the week proceeding Easter. Basically, the whole of Mexico shuts down to enjoy a little assassination and ascension of their main man. Since most offices are closed, there's nothing to do but join the fun. Thursday night, a small group of people in my neighbor hood observed the stations of the cross--marching from home to home, each marked by purple flowers and a tiny shrine to Jesus. When I left to go to the gym they were down near the cheese vendor's shop. And an hour later, on my return from spinning class, they had only reached a home four doors down.

Friday's the big day. From what I've observed the death of Christ seems to resonate a lot more with Mexicans than the ascension. Thus, Friday sees a giant parade down the main streets in town. See my pictures and commentary from last year for a detailed account. I even saw this article about an even more elaborate parade in Mexico City.

April 11
On Saturday, Laura, Caitlin and I headed up to a small town called Cuajimaloyas. Some of you might recall Cuajimaloyas from my hiking trip with Vicki last year. When Laura, Caitlin and I decided to abandon our attempts at making it the beach this weekend, we opted for a day trip to the mountains two hours outside of Oaxaca. It seemed a good idea to get a break from the heat, and push our muscles around a bit.

We hopped the early bus (8 AM) out of town, landing in Cuajimaloyas around 10.

Here's our late breakfast of enfrijoladas.

And here's what I did to it. Megan- 1, Enfrijoladas-0

It occurred to me as I was gripping my handle bars with immense fear, letting out small squeaks every time my back tire fish tailed, that this was my first time truly mountain biking. Down is scary! And while I firmly believe that scary is fun--I was happy when we hit some uphill. "Happy," you question. Yes, happy for uphill chugging. That's how scary the downhill was for me. (Case in point, when going to sleep that night, I drifted off in bed and found myself instantly on a bike in my dreams, where I hit a divot, vered off road, and woke myself by falling out of my bed. I am a powerful dreamer.)

We stopped for water breaks, and lung breaks. I fell twice (biking scars!). We took a spell in the shade of some trees beside a creek to eat apples and cookies. And when we finally made the long loop back to town, we hunkered down in a tiny comedor for some local river trout. Did I mention we found time to watch a basketball tournament between neighboring villages? There was a pretty stark difference between teams; the difference being, some could play well, and others had clearly just learned to dribble the ball. The day was capped by consuming four packages of cookies--there's nothing like eating junk food after exercise--and a dizzying and packed bus ride back into the city.

That seems like a fair summary of all things extracurricular. And what have you been up to?

Tireless and Magical

I am at home, utterly exhausted and with a deep, smoker's cough (despite the fact I don't smoke). Curse you, Flu! The exhaustion and respiratory challenges make tomorrow seem challenging. However, I thought I'd take a moment to jot down a few notes about how I spent the last three days.

Through a bit of friendly networking, I was recently contracted by a non-profit organization to act as a facilitator/translator for a field project in Oaxaca. The non-profit, WIEGO (Women in Informal Employment Globalizing and Organizing), runs a social policy dialogue every year. This year the conversation happened between Mexican researchers, policy makers and civil society on the one hand, and a group of international researchers and activists on the other, on the topic of social policy, informality and poverty. Before the actual dialogue, the program sends the participants mentioned above, along with their accompanying translators, to stay with host families in order to live and experience the lives and conditions of the working poor.

What does that mean? What does that look like? Well, Monday morning I found myself in the midst of a long lecture held at a luxury hotel. Around the table were various economists and academics, a smattering of people like myself who are foreigners doing work in Oaxaca, and several women from very humble homes, working in and around the city, trying to scratch out a living. When the lumbering Power Point presentations finally ended, and we were sectioned off into field groups, the real work began. I was paired with a French-born, West-African raised researcher who now lives and works outside of Boston, an Indian-born economist and now Head of the Comparative Economics Department at Cornell University in NY and a young Mexican woman, living and working at Harvard University for the WIEGO organization. We headed out to Teotitlán de Valle (very close to Yagul, in fact) to live and observe a family of rug makers.

It's hard to summarize all that I saw or thought in the last two days. And I'll admit that I was in the midst of recovering from a fever and cold--so some of it is a bit hazy, as well. Thus, I will share a few of the tidbits, in no specific order.

• Our group plods the seven blocks from the hotel to the bus stop just south of the baseball field. Ana Berta is desperately trying to keep her two girls (Daniella-9, Ana Cristina-7) within grasp so they won't run out into the loads of traffic they are unaccustomed to finding in their own village. Kaushik and Françiose struggle with their rolling suitcases and duffel, respectively; I'm wondering if someone armed with a rolling suitcase is prepared to sleep the night on cement floors.
• Conversation peters off as the city finally fades behind us, rows of maguey plants and tire shops whiz by.
• The López home is a long, rectangular swath of land, cut in two by a partially-finished cement block wall; Orlando and his cousin get along well enough to share a bit of space between their homes--the wall uncompleted so that the women can pass back and forth to gather water from Constantino's side of the property; but signs of family distress reveal themselves, as today two men are shoulder deep in the earth, digging and fortifying a new well squat in the middle of Orlando's home.
• The three young girls quickly dart their eyes between the strange visitors, casting their gaze down at the floor if someone takes notice of them. Their chin-length braids are cinched at the bottom with tiny, colorful rubberbands--one of them featuring the upright, jumping, Tigger.
• Ana Berta nervously laughs as we ask how we can help with her daily work. The truth is we can't. We're clumsy and awkward at everything she does. And though she is supposed to treat us not as guests, but as helpers (giving the visitors a chance to experience how her work is done), it is hard for her to supplant 34 years of acculturation that instructs her to treat a guest with kid gloves.
• Marcelina, Orlando's mother, wide and weathered, waddles back and forth between comal and basket--making large, bright yellow dough into Tlayudas for us to eat. She waddles back and forth between kitchen and loom-waddles back and forth between Castellano and Zapotec.
• Gathered around tall, straw baskets we break open dried ears of corn. The kernels are bright yellow, like Marcelina's Tlayudas. We crack them from their husks and toss them into a clean basket. We're preparing the kernels for tomorrow's batch of fresh tortillas. I shuck an ear from the leaves and a burst of fine, white powder covers my hands and forearms. "That one, that one," Marcelina points, "has gone bad." It must go into another pile. The spoiled corn will be fed to the chickens. Nothing goes to waste. The shucked leaves will go to the cattle and goats. The kernel-picked ears go to the donkeys. Pulling the hard, shiny kernels from the ears is near impossible when they're hard like this--and yet there is Ana Berta flying through the task with speed.
• It's time to card the wool. We each take the wooden paddles in our hands, the metal teeth facing opposite directions, clumps of red wool held gingerly between. Oh, this is hard. A few swipes and I've already cut myself on the knuckles. Back and forth, we rake the combs over the wool, trying to disentangle the fibers before spinning. My wrists hurt. My fingers sting. My legs are covered in tiny hairs. I sneeze. The tiny stool under my bum isn't big enough to offer much support. How do they do this every day?
• The girls hover around whatever we are doing. They giggle as we gracelessly shovel beans and tortilla into our mouths. They toss each other looks as we marvel at the two huge oxen brought back from the pasture that afternoon. We are strange--but interesting. They let us struggle through with Spanish. They let us pull some English words from them. They are the first (except for the tinniest one, Naiyeli) to feel comfortable around us.
• We lay three wide mats down on the cement floor in a spare room. We four strangers lie side by side for the night. I spend the bulk of the first evening concentrating on not coughing. I don't want to keep my "bunk mates" awake. So I stiffle the bursts and gasps from my lungs, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing all night long to keep my throat lubricated. I listen to the muffled sounds of Paola, Françiose and Kaushik each taking their turns at snoring. I suppose I'll catch up on sleep later.
• It's time to make soup. We separate leaves from chepil stems, tossing the herbs into a pot. The squash sits in water boiling as we saw the kernels from young ears of corn. Ana Berta takes them in a dish out to the kitchen with the earthen floor. She must grind them into a smooth paste on her metate--a long stone base with heavy stone rolling pin. When she wipes the sweat from her brow, embarrased at us watching her work, I ask if I can take a go at it. She hands me the heavy stone rolling pin. I studied her doing it. This time I will make an educated attempt. Oh, this is hard. She instructs me to keep the pin on the stone, not to lift and waste energy. The corn doesn't seem to be emulsifying at all. Kaushnik has a go. Then Françiose, then Paola. We're utter failures--and yet still high five each other. Ana Berta resumes. She's like a dancer--her short arms and squat, little hands gripping the stone. She sways back and forth over the task--her movements never a waste. Each pass is graceful. Each pass turns more kernels into a pale, smooth cream. She sloshes the water from a waiting bucket onto the metate then back into the bucket in one move--cleaning the stone service without losing much liquid. This is her ballet.
  
• Roberto, Orlando's unmarried brother, makes his way out in the late morning with a small army of goats and cattle. Kaushik and I trail in their dust. We each try our hand at Roberto's sling shot-like tool--used to hurl rocks at straying members of the herd. I release too late and end up spooking the tiny cow walking in front of me with the end of the sling. They leave us in their wake, at the edge of a river. The rest of the journey is another 2 hours to a distant grazing field. Kaushik and I opt to return to the house to spend the remainder of the day there--unsure our legs can make it in this heat.
• We're gathered around a tableclothed table at the luxury hotel again, with the our group of foreigners and the family. This is such a strange juxtaposition of people and place. The waiters seem flumuxed to have to serve this combination of visitors and humble families. The grandmother notes the service isn't so good--remembering they have forgotten to bring Paola her lunch. Roberto adds, "What a strange combination of foods on this plate." It's beans and bistec steak with a salsa; an oatmeal water to drink; the hotel's efforts at a "traditional" meal, that is also tourist-friendly, seems to fall short. We talk about earlier that day, when Ana Berta, stiffling tears, was asked to stand and speak in front of the group about what she thought of this strange experiment. She'd never spoken in front of people before; it overwhelms. The girls float between the nearby playground and the table. They reach up and touch our faces, testing that we are still there. Françoise, foresaking the translation, stumbles through, linking nouns and verbs awkwardly in Spanish and without fear--the family now experts at deciphering her sentences.
  

This family is tireless and magical. There is not one moment in which they are not moving and working. They start at 5, stumbling straight out of bed and to the loom to pass the shuttle between threads. They don't stop for breakfast--but hunch over a fire to flip corn disks into crispy Tlayudas. They shuffle to the school. They shuffle back home. They shuffle to the market to sell tortillas, and then again to buy produce. They shuffle to the bus to ride it into town to sell tapestries on the street all day to tourists, tourists who sometimes never come. They shuffle home--and take up the shuttle again, though it is 9 or 10. They spin thread from tufts of wool. They grind colored dyes from plants and berries. They sweep. They wash. They stir. They heft. By the end of the second day my knuckles are split, my lips are chapped, my brow is heavy with exhaustion. And they, they are cheerful--easy to laugh at our simple jokes. A smile breaks across each of their faces as we attempt to play a version of Duck-Duck-Goose with the children and their cousins. The smallest, and shyest talks easily with herself as she rocks back and forth on a hammock slung between two close-set trees.

This has been an exercise in meditation, much of it silent. Each task, and there are a million that fill their day, is a lesson in how to do something well and happily. When Paola futilely asks, "How would you like to spend your day, if you could choose," Roberto jokingly says "Laying around." But the true answer, the one we hear echoed over and over by each of them for the three days we are there is, "What else is there to do but work? What else is there for us? This is what we do. This is who we are."

I am at home, utterly exhausted and with a deep, smoker's cough (despite the fact I don't smoke). The exhaustion and respiratory challenges make tomorrow seem challenging. The reality of this family--and the days stretching before them make my challenges seem silly--and yet somehow, heavier. I feel heavier today. I'm not sure why.

I don't want to forget this happy family and the unselfconscious way they keep their heads down, and move forward, one task at a time. I don't want to forget their combination of joy and tirelessness. I don't want to forget their grace and generosity. But I feel heavier today.

My living room wall is on fire

Yagul: sun, suguaro, climb, hike

I am taking part in this 12-week workshop called The Artist's Way. I'm a little past the halfway mark in the journey. The author of the book that charts the course of the workshop instructs that we should find a time to devote a whole day trying something new--giving your creative brain space to soak in new material. So this past Monday I headed out of town toward the archaeological ruins of Yagul. I made a quick movie of my journey--which took me on a long bus ride, despositing me beside the highway for a couple miles' walk to the site. The weather was perfect, if a little hot. I shared the site with a couple of dozing construction workers, and no one else. When the sun was starting to fade to the west, and the wind picked up-- I knew it was time to return to the city. So begging off the ride offered to me from a van load of tourists who were turned away from the entrance (it was closing time) I hiked the 2 kilometers back to the highway and hitched a ride home (I know, I know, Mom & Dad. Don't worry, I don't hitchhike very often). It was an inspiring day!

Vuelta México

Back...and hard at work!

How about a quick recap of the month's events for those still linked to my RSS feed (oh you loyal followers)?!

It's been a busy month. While others may have been celebrating dead presidents, or enjoying the Oscars, I was in the midst of a month of meetings. The project I've been working on with my neighbor took more tangible shape in February, as members of The Hub in London came to Oaxaca for several weeks to conduct an analysis of the city as a site for a future Hub. The study was sponsored by Halloran Philanthropies, for which Mark (the neighbor in question) works. My role as node began.

Apparently, I got on a kick introducing people to one another, as in addition to connecting the London "Hubbers" to those I know in town (media people, NGO's, government henchmen), I also started formally setting up meetings between my government contacts in Oaxaca with some pretty stellar private companies that have social missions (like this one). If I can't offer something concrete myself to shape the betterment of Oaxaca--the least I can do is get the right people in the room together to see if they can! There's an exciting convergence of events taking place in Oaxaca right now. Here's a quick two for the list:

1. A small groups that works closely with the government have grand ideas about instilling proper urban planning to the city and state, fomenting sustainable markets in the greater Oaxacan valley, offering dignified employment and education to citizens. They are calling it Plan 2032--in honor of the year Oaxaca will turn 500. It's almost unheard of in México (especially southern México) for there to be any kind of long-term planning, let alone thoughts to sustainability.

2. There's private interest in encouraging social entreprenuers and innovators here in México. Halloran Philanthropies is just one of several organizations that have their eyes towards the emerging markets of Latin America. So the question is can those who are here get connected to those reserves and support?

So it's hard to explain my role in this--and how that fills my day. I guess "meetings & research" is what seems the most concise. You see, media will play a big part in getting people connected, communicating ideas, and trasnmitting and measuring progress. That's where I come in! I'm trying to prepare myself to expand my expertise and experience beyond merely radio. There's a real move in the world now to use narrative in interesting ways to educate, fund raise and inform. That can manifest itself in a number of ways--multi-media slideshows, regular podcasts, media mapping. The sky's the limit!

A têt-a-têt amongst friends.
Can you pick out my feet?

On that note, let me briefly explain a few of the personal projects I'm working on. The first is a youth radio course. It feels like I've had my head buried in this project for years. I was working with a colleague in Tlaxiaco on developing a youth radio course for kids in her village in the Mixteca. But when things got a little challenging, and we had some negative feedback from a local authority, my cohort lost interest. The project stalled--and I was feeling like I was back at zero again. So lots of February has been spent jumpstarting the project again by looking for other potential collaborators. I've met with Unitierra (an alternative education "university"), with the Red de Radios Comunitarios, with people from Casa Chapulin, with Radio Plantón, with volunteers through Amigos de las Américas, with Ojo de Agua (an indigenous media org), with media grad students...the list goes on. I've adapted a radio course curriculum that I wrote last year to fit with various incarnations of the project. I've applied for grants to support the ideas. And I've stared at my computer screen for more hours than I'd like to admit.

The second project is a media mapping idea I've been floating around in my head. Have you guys seen Google Earth? Perhaps you've gone and plugged in your own address so that you can zoom in from space, all the way down to a bird's eye view of your house? Well, Google Earth also offers some pretty amazing software that allows you to plot pinpoints on a map, and attach those pinpoints to media of any kind. I've thought for a while that I'd like to make some audio about the people who live in my own neighborhood--a pretext to knock on their doors with wild abandon, if you will. And then I became aware of some NGO's that are using Google Earth's mapping function to the tell the stories of the work they do. Here are a few I've taken a look at recently: charity:water, open sound new orleans and saving the sierra. The first stage of the work will be simple: map my neighborhood. I'll use Xochimilco as the ground for a pilot of the mapping project. I'm currently looking for a few photographers with whom to collaborate, perhaps a web/animator person, as well. Then we'll be begin telling the stories of my hood using photo essays, audio, mixing them both in slide shows, essays. What we learn from the pilot will serve us to launch a broader project in Oaxaca. One idea is to develop a class in different neighborhoods and communities in Oaxaca. Teach youth and adults alike to do the same in their areas. Another idea is to use the same mapping tools for the future Hub here in Oaxaca. It would be like an interactive database of Hub members. You could do a search under theme/topic and then watch 1-minute audio slide shows of said member. Or once the data was laid out geographically on a map of the city and state, you could hover over pinpoints to "get to know" the groups working in your area. The members themselves could use the media capsules (if they are audio or visual) to repurpose for their own internal use. Make sense? So first do the pilot; then pitch it to the Hub!

In other news, I've been keeping busy creatively. I painted my living room at the close of January, which was a true test in upper body strength. I've taken to playing my ukelele again. A composer friend of mine has been giving me some "lessons" over the last weeks. I can already say that I play with much more facility than when I took up the ukelele 6 years ago and attempted to teach myself over the summer. Now I can pluck and strum with a bit more agility. I have no idea of the chords still--so I can't actually place you a veritable song. But oh boy, could I wow you with some scales and finger picking! And of course, I've continued marking the days with delicious food and good company. I leave you with three recent culinary delights!

A Hub dinner "meeting" Colorful and delicious!

A nostalgic meal: peanut butter, honey and banana sandwich, with bread from the local Italian baker.

And my first crack at making the traditional dish of Entomatadas.

Shocking news from the world of BABIES!

It's been a while. There was Christmas, a quick trip home, the return to normal life and a monumental effort to "get back into the swing of things." That's my excuse, gentle reader. What can I say?

This will be a short one. Just a quick observation from my travel journal that may, or may not, be worth blogging about...

En route to Chicago I pick up the Duty Free magazine in my seat pocket and page through for kicks. And then I stop, shocked, at an ad for Barbie 4--a fragrance for girls. Here is, and I'm not embellishing this at all, a direct quote from the ad:

"The best selection of fragrances for all those children who wish to form their own personality; to feel and discover a beautiful smell in their tender skin."

Does anyone else find this ad slightly creepy? Why is it okay to talk about the tender skin of children in a perfume ad? But let's say I am babysitting and mention that someone's toddler has tender skin; I would be promptly fired (and probably sent down to police headquarters for questioning), right?

Also, I'm impressed by Mattel's progressive wording in the ad. Note how they leave it gender neutral, in case there are any small boys who like to add notes of "berries & candy apples" to his delicate epidermis.

When did we start marketing perfume to children? I thought babies (and frankly, children are just large babies) were supposed to smell naturally of clouds and giggles? Why must we ad the sticky sweet scent of chemically created liquids? Why? Also, who spends forty bucks so your little one can "form her/his own personality" in one simple spritz? Seems like cutting corners in the child development department.

Side note, when Googling "baby + perfume" a distressing number of alternatives to the Barbie 4 come up. Apparently, there is an actual baby perfume market out there. Shit. I'm not sure if Obama can save us after all...

You have your selection of the kiddie (and kitty) brand branching out to perfume...

As well as the more designer labels having their go at little tyke fragrances...

But note to those new to this burgeoning market: do not confuse baby perfume with Baby Phat perfume. Their ad seems to try to draw the line pretty clearly...

Words, Data and the Big Story

I've been doing a fair amount of pondering and research about how data can be utilized in different ways to better communicate. There's this vast amount of information available to us in the world. And yet, it's largely "unreadable" to most everyone. My neighbor has long been fascinated by the visualization of data or concepts. Thanks to him I'm adding books with bulky titles to my reading list.

For my part, I'm mostly interested in the story-end of this data. Let's imagine that you could store tons of data in one central warehouse--population size, export numbers, health and wellness statistics, earnings for employees at non-profits, whatever. And as a media maker, you could draw out this data and use different, set mapping tools to communicate it. For example, check out this site. You've probably seen **maps like this before that can easily demonstrate different world trends, like the world map according to population size, or land mass. But imagine if you can plumb different information stats to demonstrate something else. In honor of Christmas time, check out these two maps:


The first one is a map where territory size shows the proportion of worldwide net exports of toys (in USD) that come from that territory. (**net exports are exports, minus imports. When importas are larger than exports the territory is not shown.) And as you might have guessed on your own, the second map is where territory size represents the proportion of worldwide net import of toys (in USD) from that territory. Starts you thinking, right? The maps on their own tell a story. But let's say you want to go one further and create an even more elaborate narrative for these numbers--perhaps with a (gasp) agenda...



This video comes from the very talented crew at Good Magazine. They take the concepts from the maps above, and blow them out into a specific story about Christmas consumption, and the implication behind the places from which we get our goods. They don't exactly tell you what to think about the amount of Christmas imports from China--but they invite the viewer to be conscious that there's a story behind these numbers. You decide what that story means to you.

I don't claim to be any kind of numbers whiz; statistics...what are those? But as someone interested in telling stories about how our world is shaped--numbers, stats, data are all fundamental to my process. And I see it as a responsibility of media makers to help transform that "unreadable" data, into something intelligible and interesting for the larger audience. I'm trying to imagine right now how to train people who are not professionals to use the data to buoy their own storytelling purposes. If you've seen any interesting visualizations of data out there, please send them my way!

And as an extra bonus for you readers who held on during my hiatus, here's a pretty amazing video using words to tell a story:

More Life 101 videos at 5min.com

**I found that mapping tool while listening to a presentation given at the TED conference by the head of PRI (Public Radio International), one of the big distributors of public radio programming. The presentation noted the skew of news reporting in the U.S.. The visualization of the data was fundamental in her telling the story that Americans are highly uninformed about international news. Take a look here.

Things I like, a list

As the holidays approach, those in the U.S. (and some places around the world) are hunkering down to pour over their family and friends' Christmas lists, Hanukkah lists (Kwanzaa lists?) to pick out "just the right thing." Gift giving isn't as central to the holidays here in México. Most families with grown children don't exchange trinkets at all. And kids, kids can expect one or two minor things under the tree (if there is a tree) on Christmas Eve, at the most. The season seems to be more about meals shared with loved ones, decorating your house, and LONG vacations from work for government employees. It's a refreshing perspective.

So I've got my own suggestion for those of you still tied to your Lists this year. Rather than share with you a slieu of the things that cry out from my greedy shopper bones, I will make you a list of things I enjoy instead. I encourage you all to participate in this kind of list making in 2008 in lieu of a catalog of things you'd like to consume (sorry, waning economy--I don't think a retail surge will save you at this point.)


1. Potato chips doubled over on themselves.
Have you seen this? You reach into the bag and find that most chips are in the shape of disks, or triangles, perhaps. There will be the lone renegade in the handful that got folded over itself pre-frying. These chips are more delicious. It's true. The fold creates a perfect pocket with which to hold spices, salt, or dip (if you're dipping). And I love them! When I pull one out of a bag, it makes me happy.

2. An afternoon shower.
I, like most, take my showers in the morning because they revive me for a day filled with work. But on the rare occasion that my schedule permits me sit around in pajamas in my home office (which happens more now than before), I get to take an afternoon shower. When a shower isn't wasted on a half-conscious brain, nor rushed through whilst preparing to go out for the evening--it's somehow more fun.




I know, an evening shower's just not as fun, is it?

3. The window seat on an airplane.
I prefer a view to leg room. I say this knowing that I'm 5'2", so it's easier for me to enjoy. But I'll wager that there are some tall window seat lovers out there! For me, it's more than merely the view. It's also that the window seat affords me the opportunity to rest my head somewhere when needing to sleep; my own personal space, if only on one side; and distance from the drink cart knocking my elbow. Having a window seat on the plane is like hunkering down into your own little rabbit warren for the duration of the flight. (This also applies to the window seat on the N/R/Q trains on the subway in NY.)

4. A crumbly top.
Any pastry that involves a crumbly top is scrumptious. Eating a cinnamon/butter/brown sugar crumbly top with my blueberry pie the other day made me think, "Why don't we just put crumbly tops on everything? It is so good." And why don't we? I'm trying to figure out if a crumbly top perched on a Turkey Club Sandwich would be gross. I think not. Given the right salty ingredients, I think it could only enhance my experience. So, food inventors, get to it!

5. The feel of my sheets in the morning.
Right as I wake up in the morning, the nerve endings on my skin are kind of prickly. It makes everything I touch feel more of whatever it is. Thus, my lovely soft sheets (thanks, Mom!) feel that much more comfortable and smooth. I peddle my feet around the foot of the bed, moving between the warm spot left by my body heat, and the cooler pockets that went untouched throughout the night. It feels awesome, don't you think? And sometimes, it invites me to spend another 15 minutes supine, semi-conscious.

6. This open source map by Ben Fry.

It's so cool!

I kind of like to imagine what it would be like if every house in America had kids and parents gathering around the tree not sharing gifts, but lists with information about each other. I mean, you can't run out of this stuff. With more years, you just discover more things you enjoy in the world, right? And then your family, on top of knowing something about you, would also be a kind of Things-You-Love guardian. You know? Like they would then be on the lookout for those moments you love. They'd reach into a potato chip bag and just instinctively pass you the ones that are doubled over. It would be great!

So what's on your list?

**and for those still tied to buying something this winter, here are some great ideas for how to do that conscientiously.

Published Sound

A quick update to let you all know that I've just posted a series of my radio pieces to the Public Radio Exchange site. You can listen to some of my past work, from audio tour stops, to feature documentaries there. My most recent update is the series "Llegando de los Pueblos" (Arriving from the Villages)--which is the radio work I've built here in México for my fellowship.

So please go take a look and listen. The México pieces are in Spanish, of course. But I've included English-language transcripts so you can listen and follow along. Don't miss this opportunity to hear my embarrassing gringo accent in Spanish!

Here's the link. Feel free to leave comments/reviews on the site. It helps draw stations and programmers to my work. Thanks!

Postcards from the edge

I wrote a postcard to myself while on vacation in San Francisco. It just arrived:

"I miss the land of open vowel sounds and rolled R's. The words here in SF are truncated. The sign says, 'shark,' but people here say, 'TIH-burr-unh.' It gets caught in my mouth; it's so strange here."

Also, this is my new boyfriend. I met him at Bishop's Pumpkin Farm.

What if...

What if gestures and general facial expressions weren't universal? They aren't entirely, I know. Sure, sure, lifting a backwards peace symbol with your hand will illicit no kind of reaction in the States, but when you arrive in the UK, will be greeted with a black eye.

Certainly those little cultural differences exist here in México. Luckily, the kind people at the Fulbright Commission actually demonstrated some of them at our orientation. Like how one can answer "Yes" even if one's mouth is full, because it only involves your index finger:

Or how men generally greet one another by shaking right hands, moving right to embrace with two pats on the back, and then returning to shaking right hands.

Or the one that continually causes me trouble, is "thank you." Think of Vito Corleone raising a hand of thanks to one his Italian brethren, and you're close. In thanks, you raise your hand to eye level, palm facing inward. To me, this always looks like I am swearing at someone. So even though intellectually I know this, raising the back of my hand to a car that has kindly just let me cross the street, I cringe a bit, waiting for them to floor it and trample me.

Oh, then there is what I always thought was the universal symbol for balls. But here, means "lazy." Though, Kelsey Mulyk helped explain why: "The gesture for lazy is a cupped palm facing upwards, like you are holding something heavy. One or both hands can be used in this gesture. This is highly inappropriate because it refers to lifting "huevos" (which is Mexican slang for testicles). Basically the meaning behind this gesture is that the owner's "balls" are so big and heavy that he can't get up!" Ah, I see. So I'm not totally off.

The Fulbright Commission and I must not be the only ones interested in these gesticular dissimilarities--because there are a sizable collection of explanatory YouTube videos and websites; this being my favorite.

But I started thinking, these cultural differences aside, what if facial expressions were not shared in any way? How would you learn another language? How often I find myself using facial expressions and context to glean the meaning of unfamiliar words. What would I do if a confused face in Mexico, actually meant felicity here? Or if an angry face denoted hunger?

HELLOOOOOOoooooo!

It's been a while, blog friends, if you're still out there. I suppose I should do a little shout out to see if anyone's still listening...

HELLOOOOOOooooooooo!

So, I've gotten lax. But we all knew there would be some changes in me now that I've pushed into my thirties. One of them might be that I'm slower. AH! But let's not delay the passing on of information. Here's a quick two-month round-up:

1) I dug myself a mighty hole of virtual paper to swim in. That's right, internet research! I was pushing hard in the few weeks before mid-October hit to research grants and funding options for a youth radio initiative I'm working on here in Oaxaca. There was a bit of actual paper to swim in, as well, as I was writing up my very first syllabus for a radio class--which was fun to work on, that is when creeping doubt didn't crowd out my creative ideas.

2) There was a bit of shopping going on. When you head for the States only once a year, that comes with a steep price. Yes, the plane ticket. But also, the price of carrying gifts back and forth for loved ones. There's no showing up empty handed when you've been away from "home" for so long. I even had to hunt down a special suitcase to lug the many crafts and delicacies one can only find in Oaxaca. Note to self, when you pack 3 kilos of coffee beans, make sure to wrap them in plastic. The over zealous security guards at the airport may topple your bag, and thus, scatter those fragrant beans all over the inside of your carry-on. Second note to self, especially important when you also pack your bridesmaid's dress in that same carry-on ("Megan, pretty dress. Is that you who smells like...coffee...?) And the load back was no lighter. It's popular to become a little "burro" for your friends back in México.

little burrito

cat burrito

3) I went on a trip. Mexico-Scottsdale-Portland (OR)-San Francisco and back. I tried to post a little video. But until my neophyte tech brain upgrades to a better model--I'll have to wait to post it again. I think it looked just like still pictures. Oy!

So in lieu of a play-by-play, here are some moments:

• A quick stop in Arizona sees me sitting in a diner-like breakfast place with Grandma & Grandpa, where the cinnamon buns are pillow-sized, and my tummy cries out for salty and sweet; California Eggs Benedict with a bowl of fruit it is! And you know what my first thought is as I'm driving around on Scottsdale's pristine roadways...? "Where are all the poor people?"
• Portland is neither wet, nor cloudy when I touch down. LIES! Or perhaps I have a red phone straight to the weather man upstairs--because we are blessed all week, and the day of the wedding with blissful sunshine. I do score a monkey hair coat from Vicki and Mike that keeps me warm--since I'm ill prepared for cold weather. It seems that each furry green hillside is spitting out some form of waterfall or river. There's no such thing as a water shortage here.

• A take a stroll in Noe Valley, the neighborhood just east of Drew and Felicity's hilltop apartment in San Francisco proper. I shuffle around the colorful shops, and plop down eventually in a café for a bagel and a vanilla steamer. The table next to me is talking presidential election. I'm finding it more difficult to tune out English, than it is to do the same with Spanish. Can't a girl read in public in peace?
• I'm stunned by what Felicity names the Bay Area's "free to be you and me" philosophy on life which makes it allowable to have 3 different public transit systems in town, separately run, and without a unifying map for tourists. This is not American organization, people!
• Felicity makes killer sweet potato stew. Alaska Amber is tasty. Tiger ice cream with hot fudge and homemade brownies is worth crossing the border for.
• Kiely is a burst of blonde energy and cries for "babies babies babies!" She leaps from lap to lap, happy and brave to visit with everyone at our small dinner party. I'm so glad Sarah and Eric's little one wasn't past the stage where people other than her parents get to hold her.
• Roadtripping with mom down the Columbia River Gorge, stopping to marvel at the size and power of Multnomah falls, that has pushed a bus-sized boulder from the surrounding moss-covered walls.
  
• An afternoon visit to the beach in Alameda. A long trek from Embarcadero to the Ghiradelli chocolate headquarters. An afternoon of thai food with the girls.
• "I don't know what I'm doing," seems to work its charm on transit workers in the MUNI system when one is lost, or really just wants a bit of hand holding.
  
• A tiny cape hidden under a larger cape. Brilliant! I love circus jokes.
• Um, did I mention my first friend in Glenview got married!
  
• Ah, the Mission District--a tiny Mexico far from Mexico. There's no absence of Spanish here.
• My little red sweater gets left somewhere on the streets of San Francisco. I hope you are happy Little Red, whereever you are. If your new owner doesn't treat you right, you know where to call!
• A long climb up the back way to Coit Tower, takes me to now almost 80 year-old frescoes (a public works project form the 30s), that seem more relevant than ever.
• A visit to the country east of Sacramento with Jenny: pumpkin festivals, hay rides, a cool night wrapped in blankets by an outdoor fire, sipping some tea.
• A dash to wine country, taking in the quickly chaning colors of the landscape over shallow glasses of pinot noirs and cabernets.

I feel like I wondered into a redlight district. The two little pieces of ginger on this sign look like they are tangled in a very naughty situation!

• And of course, more food, oh, glorious eating: steaming pitas and hummus at Nicholas, stuff red peppers at the Ovink/Sindelar house, purple cabbage soup, Bob's for breakfast, Basil/Mint ice cream from an Indian store, a raspberry white chocolate shake at Ghiradelli's, a long hunt for Giordano's in North Beach--where they pile your cole slaw and fried right onto the sandwich, ginger molasses cookies at Grand Central, Tofu Sate with Peanut Sauce at a hole-in-the-wall in the Bay, Vegetarian Crispy noodles--Vietnamese-style, dinner at Q, complete with battered catfish in a corn/lime salsa and hearty mac 'n cheese, three warm chocolate chip cookies floating atop vanilla bean ice cream (oh how I miss you cookies!), freshly made biscuits drizzled with homegrown honey, buttermilk fried chicken and corndogs that actually taste good, carmel apples, sushi on a conveyor belt, and micro brews for miles! Oh my!
• Sit on some square of green just across from Pier 19, watching the day go by. The sun glinting off Alcatraz. The tour of people atop sidekicks. I talk to an Iranian guy with two GIANT German Sheppards about how his electronic store is tanking now with the economic crisis--but his frozen yogurt shop is doing fine. I guess there are some things that people can't, in fact, live without.
• Navigating the construction-filled streets of Scottsdale with Holly. Enjoying election results at Meg's. Pouring over old albums of Grandpa squashed into a 1930's car with his family, their luggage lashed to the sides of the car, for there was no trunk.

Oh, friends and family, I miss you! What a treat to get to see so many of you in one fell swoop. You inspire me in the distinct ways you each cobble together your jobs, hobbies and careers, and in the way you love.

4) I'm back almost a month now. We've got a new president on the horizon in the U.S.. That's exciting. The holidays are chomping at our heels. They've already started putting up Christmas decorations in the stores here. Without a holiday between Halloween (Day of the Dead) and Christmas here, they just have to march right on through and start the selling frenzy.

My head's down, and to the grindstone (ouch! bad metaphor). I've got to find funding, or a way to make this work. So I'm trying to keep all the plates spinning at once here. That finds me inside, at my desk, nose to computer most days. My bloodshot eyes tell the tale. But through it all I'm thinking it'll be much easier to be without funding and poor here in Mexico than the same in the States. So...

Thanks for hanging in there, readers. More from this side of the border to come.