Christmas Confession: I Made My Grandma Cry

One of the highlights of Christmas morning in our family is the silly gift - the one that leaves everyone in stitches on the family room floor. One year, we gave my scrawny 6-foot-130-pound brother a pack of wife beaters; he then posed, modeled and flexed for us in the tent-like tank top. Another year my three younger brothers got together and bought me Dating for Dummies. That was hysterical - for them. We still laugh when we talk about my dad's reaction as he unwrapped a Gandalf figurine from Burger King and giddily held up his cheap, plastic hero.

Just two years ago, my grandma opened a gift from my grandpa that I thought was hilarious. I have since succeeded at blocking out exactly what it was, but I do remember that it was a piece of extravagantly-decorated clothing. Whether it was "bedazzled," made out of fur, or hot pink, the bottom is that I thought it was a joke. It wasn't. It was something that she had actually picked out for herself. I don't know if it was because of my sugar buzz from the Reese's cups in my stocking, or if I was overcompensating for the two fun brothers who were missing that year, but I started laughing hard. Really hard. Other people chuckled, but no one laughed like I did. I laughed until my grandma walked out of the room crying.

It was like I had dropped a hydrogen bomb on living room: the room went silent and all its sweet, warm Christmasy feelings instantly vaporized. Mr. Bing Crosby had apparently missed the memo though, because he kept belting out his jolly tunes through the stereo. It would have been less uncomfortable if I had suddenly announced that I was pregnant. I followed Grandma to the bedroom where I apologized profusely. After she dried her eyes, we returned to the present-opening ceremonies. She said that everything was fine, and everyone pretended that she was right.

I could hardly wait to open the last present and choke down the last bite of the gooey-pecan-caramel-biscuits at brunch so that I could retreat in shame up to my room. But before I made it upstairs, my mom cornered me in the small damp garage, and began a well-justified interrogation: "What were you thinking? Have you apologized? Why do you treat my side of the family worse than dad's?" I put up no defenses, I made no excuses. Jack Bauer couldn't have done a better job at reducing his suspect into a state of such complete contrition.

I finally made it to my bedroom where I curled up on the floor and began to engage with my own over-wrought sense of guilt. I wondered what kind of 25-year-old makes her grandmother cry. I wondered how I - obedient daughter and doting granddaughter - had become Christmas' black hole. I could hear the faint melody of "Away in a Manger" still playing over the speakers downstairs and I thought about baby Jesus. The whole point of Christmas is to celebrate His birth, I told myself, and the whole point of His life is so that forgiveness can exist. But who could be forgiven for mocking the woman who bore and raised her own mother? Yet Christ's message, I argued back, is that I don't need to writhe on the bedroom floor for my mistakes. He can even erase my random outbursts of insensitivity.

Downstairs, I could hear family members laughing in the kitchen over turkey preparation. I started to feel like an unintentional Grinch realizing that I hadn't actually stopped Christmas from coming. My grandma has since forgiven me, and even though I don't think she has ever worn that unique piece of clothing, at Christmas I try to remember that it's possible to forgive myself too.

That's Gross

This summer while cleaning out old boxes, I discovered - carefully stored in a Ziploc bag - some of my original leg hair from the very first time that I shaved. I was apparently 10 years, 3 months and 4 days old when my legs first met Gillette, and when I first took scrapbooking to an undesirable extreme. I have absolutely no recollection of this archiving process. But I'm pretty sure I know why I did it: even as a 10-year-old, I was feeling nostalgic about growing up. (And maybe subconsciously sad about standards of beauty for a little girl?)

When I showed it (laughing) to my brother (gagging), I said, "Look how blond it was! I can't believe I even shaved."
"What?!" he replied. "That stuff was long. I can't believe you waited that long."

I am going public with this embarrassment because I am, characteristically, feeling nostalgic about my childhood nostalgia. And I think it's pretty hilarious.

The bag has now been properly disposed of, I promise.

3 Reasons I Love My Roommates

1. We had a hand-made Christmas gift exchange, and before we opened our gifts, we each said one thing we are grateful for and one boy we have a crush on. This is the first time I've been intimidated about making a gift - my roommates are practically craft professionals. Do you see that adorable hand-sewn doll in my hand or the black-and-white yarn that leads to a scarf designed like a crossword puzzle? Exactly. I dipped plastic spoons in chocolate and covered them in candy-cane-colored bits for stirring into homemade hot chocolate. (See the red bowl.) I'm not sure that even counts as a craft.

2. One night after dinner, we all put on high heels and danced to Beyonce's Single Ladies. If you haven't watched the music video yet, it's kind of amazing. Even after an hour of practicing, we couldn't get our hips to even pretend to move like that. I would like to be a dancer in my next life, and I would like my roommates to dance with me.

3. We had people over after a Christmas fireside for hot chocolate, and it spontaneously erupted into a Christmas-song-slow-dance-party that involved lots of snowballing. It felt a little like 8th grade, but wasn't 8th grade kinda fun? Afterward, we took this picture and each shared our favorite "boy moment" of the evening. I bet you wouldn't guess that all of us (except for one) are 27. Perfect.

Answers Anyone?

I just finished my first quarter as a social work student (only 5 more to go), and it was probably the most provocative, stimulating and emotional academic experience I've ever had. Here are some of the issues and questions that came up during the course of the last 10 weeks that I'm still grappling with. All attempts at answers are welcome!

• How have I benefited in life because of my race? What power and privileges to I have just because I was born White?
  
• How I have suffered disadvantage in my life because of my gender?
• Why is it that when Black teenagers are loud and annoying in a public bus, it reflects on their race, but when White teenagers are loud and annoying in a public bus, it reflects on their age or at worse, on their family? (I realized this after riding afternoon buses both in the Bronx and in Seattle. Same behaviors. Different races. Different public reactions.)
• When will the promises in the Book of Mormon about the flourishing and prospering of the American Indians be fulfilled?
• How can I fight for social justice and work a 9 to 5 job and have a healthy social life and take care of myself and my family? (As social workers we have a mandate to fight for social justice and to help repair the wrongs that have been perpetuated in our country for generations.)
  
• When students treat a female African-American teacher disrespectfully how much of it is about her personality and how much of it is about the students' ingrained racism and sexism shining through? (This was a huge and divisive debate in one of my classes where there was a female African American teacher whom no one liked.)
• What is a functional and practical economic system that can replace capitalism and create less inequality?
• How can I respond to the racist/sexist/homophobic/ageist behavior around me without being as disrespectful to that individual as they are being to that group in that moment? (At the election night party I attended, some guy I didn't know made some really inappropriate racial comments and I didn't know how or if I should call him out. I didn't, but then felt like I was being an enabler and a bad social worker.)
• How have I perpetuated microaggressions?
• How can I work to see people as whole, complex individuals and not as a set of labels like racist, liberal, gay, Jew, or Latino?
  
• How will gay clients respond when they find out that I'm Mormon? (Coming into the program, I was also worried about the repsonse of my fellow students, but they have been inccredibly open to and accepting of me and my Mormon-ness.)
  
• Is it bad to encourage and enable people to assimilate into the dominant culture? (I wrote a paper critiquing Jane Addams' for her patronizing view of immigrant culture even though her motive was to help them succede in the American system.)

Peanut Butter Tears

The last time I was at the airport, I felt anxious at the security check-point. Unlike the other compliant travelers, I hadn't put my toiletries in a Ziploc bag. I was instead sending my hot-pink-Clinique-free-gift-bag through the X-ray machine completely exposed. As it disappeared into the radiation void, I remembered that I hadn’t removed my fingernail clippers or my little scissors. In my head, I began arguing with the TSA officer about how it was obviously impossible to execute a hijacking with fingernail clippers and a pair of mini-scissors with rounded tips. Finally, my little pink bag emerged fully innocent. As I grabbed it off the conveyor belt, I saw the huge bin full of confiscated lotions, toothpastes and shampoos.

Then I saw the woman next to me. She had short hair, was wearing a trendy belt and looked - according to all my own preconceived notions and stereotypes that I am here confessing - like a law-abiding citizen. A uniformed TSA officer was standing in front of her holding out a large jar of Jiffy peanut butter.

“I’m sorry, but this is a gel,” the officer said.

“But I was sure that it would be O.K.,” replied the woman. Her voice cracked a little on the last word.

“Peanut butter is definitely considered a gel.”

That's when her tears started to flow. I don’t know why she had a jar of peanut butter in her carry-on; my best guess is that she was flying it to someone who was living deprived of the nutty gel in another country. I bet that she had carefully planned this gift and was so excited to give it. That thought made me start to tear up a little too. Now a government official wearing a plastic blue glove was not only thwarting her generous intentions, but also accusing her intentions of being dishonorable. To top off the insult, the neatly packed and personal contents of her suitcase were currently exposed to public onlookers like myself. I cried once when a heartless TSA official threw away my new bottle of Bath&Body Works raspberry-scented lotion. That was a little embarrassing, but certainly this circumstance called for tears.

The pathetic situation drew the attention of another officer who suggested that she check the bag. Between little sobs, she calculated that she would have time to do that. As I walked away, I felt resolved, and then ... silly. I just witnessed two grown women, myself one of them, shed tears over a jar of Jiffy. How did that happen? Was it the loss of its four-dollar value in the midst of an economic crisis? Was it the ex-pat's craving that would not be fulfilled? The assumed accusation? The stress of traveling? PMS? I decided that her emotions and my reaction were too complex to yield a logical explanation. There was in fact only one logical conclusion to draw from this situation: forget finger-nail clippers, the real threat to American air travelers is peanut butter.

Barack Obama is Mr. President!

I think that the wonderful and intense emotions of the past 2 days are best captured in a series of text messages that I received on my phone from friends and family all over the country:

Monday, November 3
4:51 pm
Phone banking. What you up to? - G.M.
6:02 pm
Sitting in stats class learning about the null hypothesis. - Me
6:27 pm
Grad school! You aren't sacrificing everything for the cause?! - G.M.

Tuesday, November 4
7:03 a.m.
I am so excited for today. I know that's it's all going to go well and that Obama will be elected. We'll have a party after the results come out. - N.A.

8:59 am
In a huge line to vote. Very exciting, very diverse. I am seeing turbans and yamakas, whites, Latinos and 1/3 African Americans. I love our country and L.A! - J.P.N.

9:04 am
I'm in the gym with my fellow voters - it's very emotional. What a tapestry. What hope! - J.P.N.

7:06 pm
Are you watching it? It could be decided...I am so excited. - K.K.

8:09 pm
Congratulations. You should be in Harlem right now. There is all of this music and drums and marching and helicopters. It's like the superbowl only louder and everywhere. - B.S.

8:15 pm
We did it. - G.M.

8:44 pm
A lot of people are honking horns and bangin pots; they're at the state house and screaming like crazy. - T.S. (former student reporting from Harlem.)

8:22 pm
I'm so happy I want to cry. - Me
8:51 pm
I did cry. This is beautiful. Oh Nuckols progress is possible. - M.V.

8:52 pm
Your boy dominated the nation. Congrats -- the next 8 years should be fun! - L.H.

9:11 pm
I've been weepy all day. -J.H.N

9:12 pm
OBAMA! YES WE CAN! AH JEN! WE DID IT! - E.N.

9:14 pm
This is a historic moment. It is amazing to live in a country that could elect someone that comes from a group that was a persecuted minority just decades ago. This is truly amazing. - J.H.N.

9:29 pm
Yes! - J.P.

Halloween Seattle Style

For Halloween, I dressed as a beloved famous Seattle landmark: the Fremont Troll. Fremont is a quirky little town within Seattle and their arts council commissioned the building of a statue under the highway 99 bridge in 1989 just for fun. People climb the troll, take pictures at the troll and camp by his gut. In his left hand, he is crushing an actual VW bug and one of his eyes is a hubcap.

We had a huge party at our house Halloween night and most people had to ask who I was, but once they figured it out, they were super excited about it.

Right before I went upstairs to the party, I saw that nytimes.com had a travel feature about Fremont, and the troll was one of the featured picture! Nice timing. Check the article out here.

Come visit me in Seattle and we'll take a pilgrimage there so that I can introduce you to him.

Special shout-out to Lee for helping me design the bridge and for digging through boxes in his attic to find the essential VW bug.

Surprise!

At 9:30 a.m. on my mom's birthday - Saturday, October 25th - I called her, sang happy birthday and said, "I have a surprise for you." At that moment, I flung open her bedroom door and ran into where she was standing, half-dressed, with her toothbrush in one hand and the phone in the other. "Surprise! I'm here!" She was so stunned and so happy. It was awesome. Only five days earlier, I found out that my dad was going to be out-of-town on her birthday, and since my parents are now empty-nesters that meant that she was going to be alone. Dad quickly agreed to sponsor me when I proposed the idea, so Friday afternoon I took my first flight out of SeaTac Airport and headed home.

My good friend Lee picked me up from the airport and we spent the evening exploring Coronado Island and gathering birthday celebratory items (balloons and streamers) at 24-hour pharmacies. He didn't drop me off until around 2a.m. because sometimes my mom stays up late reading when she's alone. Dad had hidden a key for me outside before he left and I snuck in barefoot - without even a moan from the dogs - and went directly up to my room. I was paranoid that she would hear me and freak out that someone was in the house; I didn't even flush the toilet.

I started calling the house phone at 8 a.m., but notice that I didn't actually get to surprise her until 9:30 a.m. I had been calling her intermittently that entire hour and a half, but she was screening all calls because there were window washers on the driveway and she didn't want to get out of bed on her birthday to tell them that she didn't want her windows washed. I would doze and then call her again and then doze again but even after an hour, I still couldn't get her to pick up. Then Dad started anxiously calling me from New York: "She never sleeps in this late! Is her car there? Are you sure she's still home? Has she taken the dogs for a walk?" If she hadn't picked up the last time I called, I was just going to go jump on her bed.

After the initial surprise, we had scrambled eggs and I worked on decorating the kitchen. We spent the rest of the day at a lovely spa where we enjoyed a facial, a loofah scrub, a steam room, a hot tub and a high-pressure water massager. It was quite glorious - although I did find myself recalling all the passages from my readings about privilege. Later that evening we dined at Chevy's, and Sunday was church, lunch and homemade dense, gooey, rich, chocolaty brownies: mom's ideal birthday cake.

I can't remember the last time that Mom and I had a "girl's weekend out" like that, and the undistracted bonding time was wonderful. I was grateful to be a part of, and a witness to, such a happy birthday weekend. Thanks to Dad and Lee for making it possible, and to Professor Conte, who let me skip our special Saturday class.

Last year, on Mom's 50th, Dad asked each of the kids to write a tribute to her. I wrote about her hands and in honor of another great year of her life, I'm posting it here.

Nice To Meet You, Rainier

When I got home from watching "Jaws" at 1:30 a.m. last Friday night, I had a facebook message from a girl in my program inviting me to go to Mt. Rainier the next day. It took me about 2 seconds to reply in the affirmative, and a few hours of sleep later, she (Mary), her partner (Lindsay) and I were heading down the 5. We basked in fall sunshine the entire two hour drive down there, only to encounter mist, clouds and fog the minute we entered Mount Rainier National Park. We didn't actually see the top of the mountain the entire time that we were on the mountain, but we did see a variety of stunning waterfalls, fluorescent red and orange plants that lit the cliffs on fire, and a dramatically rocky river bed. Lack of memorable vistas aside, it felt so good to be out of the city (even though where I live feels so much less "city" than what I'm used to) and out hiking. Rainier is cool because it's not part of a mountain range - it's just its own isolated mammoth self. It feels like a lonely and personal mountain that you can wrap yourself around. I figured the time that I spent bonding with him and connecting with the nature all around would accelerate the writing process on the paper I had to write that night. And it did ... kind of. On the way home, when we were about 30 minutes outside of Seattle, Lindsay gently aroused me from my car nap to have me look out the back window: there was the glorious top of Rainier projecting out of its cloudy lower half.

Outrage

Everyone knows that Native Americans were forcefully removed from their lands by the US government, but today in a really intense and moving class, I learned some of the horrific details. On the floor of Congress it was said that that the best way to exterminate the savages was through rum. They also employed germ warfare that involved the distribution of blankets contaminated with smallpox. The government promoted the hunting of buffalo as a way to starve the Plains Indians and force them off their land in search of other livelihoods. There are also numerous instances when American soldiers slaughtered unarmed women and children, like at the Massacre of Wounded Knee. Apparently, Hitler took some inspiration from the forced march of the Indian tribes from the deep south to Oklahoma along what is now referred to as the Trail of Tears, implemented as a result of Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act of 1830. The natives were forced to march during the winter and thousands died.

Later, the government's policy became more about ethnocide - the elimination of a culture - than genocide. For example, they forced Indian children into boarding schools. Their stated mission was to "kill the Indian, save the man." These schools were run by priests who were exiled by the mainstream church. (The Native community was apparently not surprised at the recent priest scandals.) Some children didn't see their families for 6,7,or 8 years. (Sounds a lot like Chinese Olympic athletes!) There was thus a generation of Indian children who hadn't been parented, who hadn't learned how to parent, who were possibly the victims of abuse, and who had no sense of their cultural identity. These children were being prepared for jobs as servants in well-to-do homes. Like African-Americans, American Indians were also used in experimental medication including practice eye surgeries, sterilization and TB experiments. In 1883, the Indian Religious Crimes Code made it illegal to practice Indian rituals or ceremonies under threat of withholding rations or imprisonment. That was the law until the 1978 American Indian Religious Freedom Act. Can you believe that it was illegal for Native Americans to practice their religion until 1978?! The professor whizzed through her presentation, and we she finished, we all just sat there, stunned. Today, Native Americans have three times the poverty rate of any other minority group, as well as higher rates of infant mortality, alcoholism, diabetes and shorter life expectancies. Such are the effects of cumulative disadvantage.

I had institute immediately following this class and the first scripture we read when I walked in was: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (Matt. 25:40)

Seattle makes me giddy

I moved to Seattle, Washington a little over two weeks ago, and I currently feel about living here the way you feel when you're just starting to date someone whom you're totally infatuated with: everything about this place makes me a little giddy. While I was in Asia in July, my dad emailed me saying that I had gotten off the wait list at the University of Washington's school of social work. I was only mildly enthused because I had completely ridden it off as an option, and I was pretty set on the idea of taking a year off to do some campaigning and other random "explorations." But UW doesn't allow you to defer a year, and it just seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up. As I started to work out the details of what my new life in Seattle would entail, all the pieces gradually fell into place and I became increasingly excited. Now I'm pretty much living in my equivalent of an utopia. Here's why:

The Social Work Program
"Social work seems like the perfect fit for you," said my adviser during our first meeting. We met for an hour-and-a-half and discussed all my academic and career goals. She's right: I feel so at home in the social work department. The classes are rigorous and stimulating, and they are a good balance of the historical/theoretical and the practical. (I'm taking: Poverty and Inequality, Intro to Counseling, Historical & Philosophical Foundations of Social Work, Local Policy and Advocacy, Stats for Social Scientists, and Cultural Diversity in SW. So much reading!) Even more importantly, the social work field spans the spectrum of all my interests: at the micro level, we study individual counseling, therapy and case management; at the mezzo level, we work with institutions on things like educational outreach; and at the macro level, we talk about creating systemic change through policy. We haven't gotten assigned our first internships which will start in January, but I'm hoping for something in the juvenile courts. The program also offers opportunities for research and for international social work.
There are 80 people in my program from across the country: predominantly gay and/or female, all have worked in the field for an average of 2 plus years before entering the program. Lots of Peace Corps alumni. Lots of Marxists. My religiousness is the element of diversity I add to the mix.

The Setting
Where I live feels "urbany" because everything I could possibly need (including TRADER JOE'S!) is just a bike-ride away, but it's "quiet pretty urban" because the neighborhood is made up of small old homes with trees and grass everywhere. We're a 15-minute drive north of dowtown Seattle, and a 7-minute bicycle ride north of UW's campus. A huge fruit/vegetable stand resides around the corner from my house, and Green Lake - with its 3-mile perimeter of bike and running trails - is a five minute walk from home. In a blessed act of mercy, my grandma gave me her '95 Honda Accord which she hadn't been driving, and it makes life so easy. Last week, I didn't get in it for five days, but having it there to run errands is ideal - like when I drove to Goodwill and bought myself a five-dollar dresser, and then drove to Home Depot to buy some red spray paint for it. The bike that I mostly use during the week is my mom's hot pink Schwinn that is almost 20 years old. I almost don't feel cool enough to ride it, but she gave it to me and I love it. The college town street, "The Ave." is also about 2 miles from my house and has used clothes stores, independent movie theaters and great Thai food. Oh, and there's a really intricate bus system all over the city and campus. And a 30-mile bike trail that runs past my house and along the entire east bay. And there's a stunning view of Mt. Ranier from campus...when it's clear.

The Big Pink House
If my current roommates lived in NYC, they're hip enough to live Williamsburg, minus the elitism. They're all in their late 20's, almost all have master's degrees and they've all painted their room funky colors. Individually, they are an art therapist, a Boeing interior design engineer, a high school counselor, a graphic designer and a marriage and family therapist. I gave into the peer pressure and painted my room a happy shade of goldenrod, which was kind of necessary because I have a basement room with low ceilings. There are actually 3 of us who live in the cave: me (Jen), Jill (half grey, half orange walls) and Julie (light fluorescent green walls). I lucked out and have the room with the biggest window which gets lovely afternoon light. We share a low-water-pressure bathroom, then Cassie is on the main floor off the living room and kitchen, and Megan and Kaylene are upstairs with their own bathroom and kitchen. The girls invite people over almost every night and this Friday we're celebrating Megan's birthday with a cat-themed party. We're taking food and decoration suggestions.

The Church
I got a calling as a Relief Society teacher my very first Sunday in the ward. Turns out one of my roommates is the RS president and she had been scoping me out for a job. There are 3 university singles wards and they all meet in the institute building. Each ward is pretty small, which allows for a nice family feel, but there are also a lot of other people to fulfill your mingling needs.
It has always been one of my nerdy dreams to have a real institute building. This one is only 2 miles from my house and just half a block away from the social work building. Institute classes are bi-weekly and meet in the a.m. or during lunch, and there are two full-time teachers. Every Friday the senior missionary couple makes us all a hot lunch for $2.25, and in the building there is library for quiet studying, a ping pong table (I've already taken down a few poor male undergrads), pool table, vending machine and even little frozen dinners in the freezer for purchase. It really feels like a homey community center; I love retreating there during the school day.

The Old Friends
Turns out there are a lot of people here whom I already know and love:
Jill Bodily Jensen was a freshman with me at Stanford and then my roommate junior year in the French House. She is surprisingly serving in my ward with her husband, who is a counselor in my bishopbric. They had me over on my very first Sunday, and today I just got assigned as her visiting teacher. (My companion is a Brasileira!) The Jensen's also feature prominently on my bike trip blog because they were our generous hosts the weekend we spent in the Seattle.
Amie Adams Spjut was one of my favorite girls on the mission and lives here now with her husband and baby daughter, and they've already had me over for dinner twice to share old mission stories and gossip.
Clara Wilkins was on dorm staff with me in Twain my senior year and she's out here doing a PhD in psychology. She's the woman who gave me my first pair of hoop earrings.
Moroni Benalli is another Stanford Ward alumnus who just moved here to start a PhD in public policy.
Abe Allen I know through a friend in Provo and works for Boeing now. He helped me to buy a bed.
Colin Drake was my RA my Sophomore year in Toyon, and he was also one of the other Treat Fellows with whom I went to Asia in 2001. We were together on 9/11 in Singapore. He moved to NYC before I did, and I have followed him to Seattle where he now lives with his wife, whom we always lovingly knew as "Boston Jen."

The Jobs
I got hired by two separate tutoring organizations, TeamUp! Tutors and Club Z, to go into people's homes and tutor rich kids one-on-one. Both pay about $20/hour and it will be nice to keep up my teaching skills and to create some long-term relationships with the families and kids. I haven't gotten any assignments yet, but I'm eager for that to get rolling.

The 2 Bad Things
1. It's already too cold here for me to wear flip-flops. Too bad that I hate wearing close-toed shoes.
2. NPR here seems to be lacking some serious funding because about 50% of the time that I turn it on, it's jazz music. Which is nice of course, but it's no All Things Considered. Come on Microsoft, step up your pledge.

If only I could love a man the way I love this city...

Why I Love Being Home

My younger brother Jeff got home from his mission in France a few days after I got home from Asia, and the past three weeks have consisted primary of playing in the waves, Bourne movies, sleeping in, Mexican food, road trips to grandparents, sit-ups competitions, Olympics mania and other fun nonsense such as this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE-FSCRxgUQ

patriotic?

When I walked through customs at LAX on August 1st and saw the large painted letters, "Welcome to the United States of America," I got a little choked up. Every time I've re-entered the country, the passport officials say, "Welcome home." I love that. Just a few days earlier, I had seen a picture of a George Washington in Boston at the Thai Princess' photography exhibit. It moved me.

Yet when I lived in France growing up, I was always a little disgusted by my American-ness. As a history major, I was confronted again and again with the U.S.A's evil mistakes. In college, expressing disdain for country was trendy and necessary to prove that you understood its weaknesses. It made you a good liberal.

While I can despise some of our country's policies past (thank you, Howard Zinn) and present (only 4 more months, GWB!!!) , the more time I have spent abroad since my mission, the more my love of country has increased. I love the vastness, the diversity, the land, the innovation, the history, the arts of this nation. I feel deeply grateful for the opportunities my family has had here. These were the thoughts running through my head as I got my passport stamped. (It's full now - I need to get additional visa pages!)

But as my cousin Emily drove me home, I was affronted by the consecutive miles of fast-food chains, the huge gas-guzzling cars only containing one passenger, the strip malls, the inequality, the empty excess. I could feel my warm feelings for America starting to dissipate. It's complicated.

Bangkok's Top 6

1. I almost ran into an elephant on the sidewalk! While deeply engrossed in a conversation with a Luce friend, I suddenly glanced up and saw that I was about to be trampled by a baby elephant. I yelped and my friend pulled me out of the way. Everyone else had seen it coming, and they got a good laugh out of it. Where else in the world can you run into elephants on the streets of a huge city?
2. No were not in a hotel room, but in a MOVIE THEATER. And yes, those are silk pillows and blankets. You can't see it in this picture, but our feet are propped up on the fully reclined foot rest. Before entering the theater, we got free drinks and cookies in an exclusive lounge. Tickets were only $15 and we watched the extremely entertaining "Hancock." This was the best movie-viewing experience ever.
3. Giant reclining Buddha. He gets to lounge on his side in his own temple.
4. Pink Taxis. Need I say more? (There were some combination yellow and green ones too.)
5. Adorable Pakistani tourists. I made friends with these two sisters on the hour-long bus ride back into town from the floating market. They had adorable Indian accents when they spoke English and got really hyper really quickly as we sang and played hand games. Their dad offered to let me take them home with me.
6. A Princess' photography exhibit. Like her father, the beloved king of Thailand, she is an amateur photographer. Her photographs feature her travels around Thailand and the world. One of my favorites was a pictures she took of Times Square with an advertisement for Thai Airlines' direct flight from Bangkok to JFK. They just discontinued that route, and a lot of my friends had to have their flights re-routed through Europe at the last minute.

LAOS DAY 3: into the waterfall

Two tourists died kayaking the day that we were hiking in the jungle. They got caught in a massive whirlpool and had untrained guides. We heard about it that night while we were relaxing in the village. We were scheduled to kayak the next day, but needless to say we were all kind of freaked out. (There's actually an entire page in the Lonely Planet book about safety precautions doing outdoor adventures in Laos. ) Laurel, Michael and I decided instead to explore the massive waterfall that we never found the day we went bike-riding. We spent a couple hours walking in, through, up and around the impressive body of water.

LAOS DAY 2: hacking through the jungle

For our second day, Laurel, Michael and I connected with an eco-tourism company for a two-day adventure: one day trekking, the second day kayaking, with an overnight stay in a Hmong village. Four other American had signed up as well: a lesbian couple from San Fran, and a couple from UNC, Chapel Hill. The six-hour hike was the most intense I have ever done. The difficulty wasn't the incline, even though it was steep, but the extremely muddy trail. Laurel was wearing converse and slipped and took a mud bath within the first 20 minutes. But all of us followed suit at some point. My Chacos were great until a thin layer of mud formed between my foot and the sole of the sandal, and I started sliding all over. (However, I was the only person who didn't finish the day with wet socks.) About an hour of the trekking was on an uncut trail; we pushed through undergrowth that completely enveloped us. We seriously needed a machete, but instead we all incurred awesome scrapes on our legs and arms. At one point, when I was on my hands and knees in mud and couldn't see the sky because of all the brush, I stopped and said to myself, "I'm done. I'm done trying to be hard core. I'm done putting myself through this type of pain." But I had to keep moving, and eventually it got more enjoyable. Check out the amazing view we had!

Because the last part of the hike to the village was on a paved road, our guide hired a tractor to take us the rest of the way. He said he wanted our trip to be "spontaneous." We were pleased to sit, until the tractor's tires started to spin and showered us in terd-sized chunks of mud. It was hysterical.

The tractor took us to a village where different families take turns hosting tourists for a night, and we were put in a typical home: cement floor, no running water, toilet hole for squatting. They did however have electricity and the family was watching a HORRIBLE Lindsay Lohan movie dubbed into Thai (Lao and Thai are extremely similar). Our guide prepared us dinner - right now all I can remember is the sticky rice - and we ate on a mat on the floor. Our dinner entertainment was watching the family cat play with a dying mouse. He (she?) flung it all around our mat so we were frequently jumping out of our seats.

Michael, Laurel and I all slept on one mat under one mosquito net. It was a hilarious night. At one point, I woke up in a panic thinking that a stranger was under our net, and frantically shined my headlamp onto Laurel, who was sitting up because she thought she heard a mouse. We of course woke up Michael, who cursed when I told him that it was only 11pm. Then there was a huge, loud and glorious thunder storm. In a sleeping delirium, Michael uttered, "Should we get into lightning position?" I was too tired to ask what that meant, but we spent the rest of the trip laughing about it.

LAOS DAY 1: lost on a one-geared bike

Our first day in Laos, we tried to ride 35 km to see a waterfall and ended up completely lost in the countryside. Our first problem was that we were too cheap to rent the mountain bikes for $12, so we rented the one-geared city cruisers for $5. Although I would have made all the hipsters of Santa Cruz proud, riding with one gear through the Lao countryside is not very effective: we had to walk our bikes up every single hill. Plus it rained continuously for the first hour. At one point, I thought that Laurel was going to stage a mutiny.

After about three hours, we weren't exactly sure how many far we had gone or where we were, so we started asking locals about a waterfall. The ladies in the gas station laughed at us and told us that it was up a steep hill made of chicken poop. Then, one smart-looking man in a truck told us to take the next right and that it was just 11 more kilometers down that road. When we got to that intersection, there was in fact a giant sign for a waterfall, so we turned down the unpaved, soaking, muddy road. We kept pushing our one-geared mechanisms up the road through the sludge and slush, and we kept walking up every hill.

After another hour of riding over the "chicken poop" road, we asked for directions again and no one had any idea about a waterfall. Then one girl said that she knew of a waterfall that was 100 kilometers further down that road! So starving and hopeless, we tried to catch a ride back to the city. At first we tried with these men who were loading a logging truck (an interesting turn in my relationship with logging trucks from last summer), but they were kind of dismissive. A few minutes later a young guy with a small empty pick-up came and we flashed him some cash and he threw our bikes in the back, put us in the cab, and drove us back to Luang Prabang.

We never reached our goal and our bikes were worthless, but the land we cycled through was amazing. The road was enveloped by hills of green lushness that, from certain vistas, rolled on for miles. At intervals between the jungle-covered hills were pristine rice patties, which are always so romantic to Westerners. When we weren't riding through dramatic slices of nature, we were in the middle of rural villages and all the half-naked children would come and wave at us and say, "Sabadee!" (My tansliteration of Lao for "hi!")

Greetings from Laos

I have a new traveling team! Now it's me, Laurel and another Luce fellow, Michael. The Luce conference concluded in Cambodia, so we had to bid everyone else farewell. I was really sad to say good-bye because they treated me like an honorary Luce and welcomed me excitedly whenever I showed up at one of the their unofficial dinners or hang-outs. A special shout-out here goes to Ed, per his request, for his probing conversation and his company as a fellow non-drinker. All of the Luces have such interesting life stories and such fascinating insights into the Asian cultures in which they lived; I will miss the fun and the intellectual stimulation of our sporadic encounters.

Here are some adjectives to describe my newest travel comp, Michael: lanky, curly-haired, half Mexican-American, generous, yogurt-consuming, Princeton grad, human rights worker, good-humored, Spanish/Portuguese/Korean-speaking, energetic, Brazil-loving, New Jersey-ite, modest, idealistic, cinnamon-carrying, powerful, analytical.

Laurel, by the way, is comfortably conversant in Thai after her year in Thailand, and since Laotian and Thai are extremely similar, she's been our official translator. It's great when people approach us to speak in English and she surprises them by speaking in their own language.

The three of us flew to Luang Prabang, Laos for some hard-core outdoor adventuring including bike riding through villages on unpaved roads, trekking through jungle and playing in waterfalls.

Random Pictures

Random Observations

• They are very few American tourists here. The large majority are European or other Asians.
• Every time I go into an internet cafe, ALL the tourists are on facebook. It's amazing.
  
• In Cambodia, they use dollars and you can only get dollars out of the ATM machines. However, they don't have small change, so they give you small change in their currency, riel.
• The elections in Cambodia are next week and there are large campaign trucks that blast down the streets, but apparently it's already clear what party is going to win and the other parties are taking bets on how badly they're going to lose.
  
• Here, but especially in Vietnam, there is construction going on EVERYWHERE. Like in Brazil, they use wooden sticks for scaffolding.
  
• Men relax in the streets by squatting on the sidewalks. Their knees are bent, their butts barely off the ground, and their arms hang at their sides.
  
• I bought this really cool original piece of art in Vietnam by a modern artist, and I left it in a bus. I'm very sad about it.
  
• Children flock everywhere around tourists thrusting their goods upon you and chanting, "You buy from me. Where you from. One. Two. Three. Maybe means no. You buy for your friend. Remember me." It would be annoying if they weren't so desperately needy.
  
• While I really like it here, I don't feel the same connection I do with South America.
• Partly that has do with the fact that the language IS SO HARD! The sound combinations and tones are really hard for me to get out.
  
• It's HOT!!
  

More Adventures with the A-Team

After my adventures with the sisters, I bused up to Siem Reap in Northern Cambodia, where I was reunited with Adam and Abe. Over the next couple days we:

- got up at 4:30 in the morning to watch the sunrise over some of the majestic ruins of Angkor Wat.
- hiked a mile up into the woods to see ancient carvings in a riverbed that extended over about 100 meters. (It's amazing that they lasted over hundreds of years of water flowing over them.)
- got full-body massages while wearing Thai fisherman outfits
- ate real ice cream (mint choco-chip for me)
- strolled around town with Adam wearing his new shiny, silky, flowery red tailored shirt
- went to the Mormon branch at Siem Reap. They came down to my room and woke me up at 7:15 Sunday morning "so that you're not late for church!" and we gave our tuk-tuk driver a little map that some missionaries had drawn for me. But he had a really hard time finding it until I spotted two young boys in white shirts whom we followed part of the way. The building itself wasn't recognizable but we were able to match the words on outside with the words on a flier that I had. (see photo)
- said good-bye forever as they left from church to go the airport home.

These sister missionaires are hard core

I had an unforgettable afternoon with the sister missionaries of Phnom Pen biking through ridiculously huge puddles, teaching English and eating stuffed frog. I got the address of the mission office from a friend whose parents have been serving in Cambodia, and went there within my first few hours of arriving in PP. The office elders were so great and so helpful, but I think a little bewildered by me, a single 27-year-old traipsing around the country partly on my own. ("You've been home from your mission 41/2 years?!" they said.) They kindly hooked me up with a map, a bike, a helmet and an appointment to meet the sisters in two days.

I met Sister Atkins from Idaho Falls, ID and Sister Kop and Sister Lam, both Cambodians, at the rented church building. I was relieved to see that my bike was just as ghetto as theirs. They all only have one gear, mine only had one working break, and they creek. We took off for an appointment down an unpaved road that was littered with bricks, rocks, stones and huge crevices. They road like animals, but I hung back a little, worried that I would hit a brick at a wrong angle, overturn or pop a tire. This experience confirmed to me that while I consider myself a pretty experienced road biker, I am definitely not a mountain biker.

Just when I when I starting to get a little comfortable with the protruding rocks, there was a sudden tropical downpour and all the unpaved streets flooded. But did that stop these sister missionaries? No way. First they bought me a little rain poncho and then they sped off through the puddles, kicking mud up onto their skirts. Until we reached a small lake. They paused, consulted, and looked at me, to which I responded, "If you can do it, I can do it." I'm not really sure why I said that because then we were riding through the lake, my gears and puddles were completely covered in water, I started to hydroplane and had to jump off my bike. The water came over the top of my skirt. I walked my bike the rest of the way trying not to think what I was walking on, and they waited for me at the edge of the lake. Oh, I forgot to mention that the Cambodian sisters wear nylons because they don't want their legs to get tan, and they all have to wear close-toed shoes. But not one of them complained about their sopping state.

Between the intense bike rides and downpours, we had some great visits. We taught a group of teenage girls, a woman who was baptized three months ago, and a grandmotherly woman who has had the first lesson. In each appointment, they either asked me to pray or to share an experience or to bear my testimony, and they translated for me. I loved it. (I also liked watching what they did when an appointment fell through; they always had a solid back-up plan.)

On our way back to their apartment to pick up a Book of Mormon, they took me to their favorite frog spot. There, they barbeque frogs stuffed with pork, fresh herbs and peanuts. There were no frog head or guts, just stuffing inside frog skin. I really liked the flavor, but had a hard time with the texture - it was full of crunchy bones and ligaments.

Finally, we headed back to the church to teach their tri-weekly English class. While they usually have 10-12 students, we only had 3 because everyone else was rehearsing for their Pioneer Day celebration. It was cute/odd to me that they celebrate that here. They had me teach the class and we worked on verb conjugations and a lot of pronunciation stuff. At the end of the lesson, each student gave me a little speech thanking me. The sisters have to be in their apartment when it gets dark at 6:30pm, so we said good-bye and I rode the 30 minutes back to the mission home partially in the dark.

One of my favorite details of the day is that it was Sister Atkin's hump day and to celebrate, they wanted to make her a chocolate cake. But no one has ovens in Cambodia, so they tried to make the cake IN A RICE COOKER! Ufortunately, even after four hours, it was still liquidy.

The day made me really nostalgic for my missionary days. I was almost ready to sign up for another tour of duty! There is somethng so fulfilling and divine about having every moment and every thought of your day dedicated to other people. Yet at the same, I was relieved when I got to go back to my hostel, get on the internet and put on pants. Interesting, I almost just wrote, "and do my own thing," which I realized would negate that I just said one of the great joys of missionary work is being totally focused on others. I guess that's the great paradox of being a missionary: being so self-less is what makes it so great also what makes it so hard.

Hanging Out With Deported Ex-Con's

There are no drug rehabiliatoin centers in Cambodia, but there is one NGO that is a harm reduction center for drug addicts, and Adam, Abe and I spent an afternoon there. The NGO is called Korsang and was founded by an American woman named Holly, a former student of Adam's father, who is a counseling psychology professor in Boston. We met up with Holly one night at an expat restaurant/bar where they were having a trivia night. (We did well identifying the buroughs of Manhattan, not so well identifying British pop stars from the '80's.) She invited us to go see the next day the organization that she has created.

The center is a safe-haven for drug addicts, a "home" where they can get clean needles, a warm meal and emergency medical treatment. There's an art room for art therapy, a classroom where they have lessons in English and Khmer (Cambodian), a music recording room and a break-dancing floor. The point of the institution is not drug addiction recovery, but lessening the dangers and the risks associated with drug use. These kinds of institutions can be controversial, along the same lines in my mind, as handing out condoms at high schools, but for this country at this time, I think it is such a blesssing.

Holly herself is a recovered heroin addict. She has boy-cut hair, wears baggy jean shorts, smokes like a chimney and has earned the respect of the thousands of individuals who have walked through her doors. She is totally chill and full of empathy. She's currently on poor terms with the Cambodian government because she took and published pictures of some current prisons that represent serious human right violations.

The Cambodian man who gave us the tour of the facilities had a perfect American accent. That's because he was raised in the States but was deported back to Cambodia after spending 12 years in an American prison, I think in CA. Almost all of Holly's employees are deported ex-con's from the USA. They were so fun to talk with and easy to spot because they dressed American urban style: saggy pants, oversized baseball hats. They seemed really grateful to be working with Holly and to be helping out their struggling countrymen.

Holly also had us watch 30 minutes of a documentary film abou Korsang that is currently in the middle of the production. If it does well at Sundance, remember that you saw it here first! You can watch the trailer and read more about it here.

I left there feeling really inspired and also with an increased realization that everyone has a job or a calling that optimizes his or her specific set of talents and life experiences. I realized that I would not, for example, be at all effective in Holly's position, not because I could't do it if I really wanted to, but because my life experiences don't lend themselves to it. I couldn't empathize with or relate to the struggling drug users the same way that Holly does. And there's so much power in that. I don't think those guys would take me seriously at all. My quest is to try to find the place in which I can do the most possible good given the life opportunities and experiences that I have had.

The A-Team Takes on the Chopstick Attacker

Thanks to everyone for their well-wishes - I am feeling much better. I'm not quite 100% yet, as evidenced by the box of Kinder chocolates that I've been carrying around with me for almost a week and haven't had the appetite to finish yet. But I definitely have a lot more energy, chocolate consumption or no.

It also helps that I am in love with Cambodia! I've had some amazing adventures here, almost all of them with my new best friends, Abe and Adam. They're the nice Jewish boys from Boston that I met on the bus in Vietnam and we met back up at their hostel ("guesthouse" in Cambodia) in Phnom Penh.

Adam is a hard negotiator - his first offer for any good or service is always a dollar. He can do strange voices and interpretations of different English accents, and he is great at entertaining hoards of pre-teen Cambodian girls trying to sell him souvenirs. He went to Vasser and is about to start med school up in the Bronx at Albert Einstein. When I first met Adam on the bus, I overheard him talking to his girlfriend back home saying, "No, Vietnam is NOT near Croatia!" He got teased for that the rest of the trip.

Abe spent the last six months in the Yukon where he milked squirrels and fell out of a 12-foot tree all in the name of research. He is a cellist and acted as our tour guide, giving interpretations of ancient carvings from a guide book that he bought - without negotiating - from a man with no hands. He went to Cornell and is looking for his next job/experience/adventure to last for the next couple years before getting a PhD in neuro behavioral biology (or something like that). They're both funny and thoughtful and adventuresome and generous, and I'm waxing nostalgic because they just flew back to the States and I already miss them.

One of my first adventures with the A-Team was confronting a crazy man who tried to attack me at a restaurant. We were calmly eating our rice on the outside patio of a restaurant when I heard some yelling and ranting behind me. Suddenly, something hit me in the back. It was a chop-stick thrown from the large European-looking man behind me. I smiled and laughed because it seemed like some kind of a joke, but then he started cursing at me and calling me a variety of offensive words for women with his unidentifiable English accent. I tried to ignore him but then he got out of his seat and rushed towards me. I jumped out of my seat and ran around to the other side of the table, A and A stand up, and some woman in the restaurant (we think she might have actually been with him) tries to physically restrain him. But he makes his way up Adam and threatens him - "You trying to touch me?!" - and a crowd starts to form outside the restaurant. He continues to yell and the woman continues to struggle with him and finally gets him to calm down sit back in his seat. I sat on the far side of the table outside of his line of sight, and we quickly finish our lunch and headed out without incident. It was a really scary moment, but I found out later that Adam actually has a triple black belt in Karate, so I was in good hands.

Why Laurel is Bored

I'm really sick. I've kind of been sick since I got here, but I thought it was jet lag at first. Now my glands are swollen, my nose is blocked and my body is all achy. I've been sleeping about 16 hours a day. I spent my second day in Hoi An in bed, but Laurel got to live groundhog day with the rest of the Luce's on the beach. However, the next day, the Luces headed off to Cambodia and Laurel was left alone with me at our cheap yet refined resort near the city of Danang. (During the war, Danang was "an American city" with everything from bowling alleys to movie theaters.) We've been here three days and I have spent most of those days on the white sheets in our air-conditioned room. I get about 5-6 hours of energy a day, but then I crash and can barely make it back upstairs to the room. Laurel has had to eat a lot of her meals with a comatose companion, and the majority of her beach time has been alone. Today, I purchased a Vietnamese version of IB Profun because I finished my whole DuaneReade bottle.

I couldn't really ask for better circumstances to be sick in, though, because we only intended to relax on the beach these days, and the Sandy Beach Hotel where we are staying is really comfortable. They even serve cesar salad in a parmesan cheese bowl. How can you not feel better after eating a Parmesan Cheese Bowl?! Plus we get HBO Asia and ESPN. The five-hour Nadal/Federer Wimbledon championship game was ridiculously amazing. It's a good thing I'm not a bigger sports fan, or I would have known that the game I was watching had actually happened a week ago. Also, I recommend the film "'The Remains of the Day." Beautiful and heart-wrenching.

Tomorrow morning we're flying to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and I'm optimistic that I'll be feeling better and ready to re-enter the world of southeastern asia.

From Luce to Luce

My travel companions motorcycled the 65 miles from Hue to Hoi An. I declined to join this adventure for two reasons: 1) please refer to my previous description of Vietnamese traffic conditions and 2) please refer to my last experience on a motorcycle in NYC. Instead, I climbed onto a bus with 9 pieces of (their) luggage, and they excitedly put their lives at risk for some great views of the Vietnamese countryside.

On the four-hour bus ride, I sat between two Canadian guys (one who asked if I was Canadian - I was extremely flattered) and two American guys from Boston. I spent the majority of the bus ride debating with the Americans about whether animals or humans are more interesting and if humans are inherently selfish. Unfortunately, it didn't bring me any closer to my goal of learning to love animals. These two young men, Abe and Adam, will probably reappear as characters in my asia story because we might travel together in Cambodia while my Luce friends are in their secret meetings.

When I finally landed in Hoi An with 9 pieces of luggage, I was not alone. Three other Luce scholars were there to meet me: Selena, Miles and Ed. I had been passed from one group of Luces to another group. They had been living groundhog day for the past 3 days and they let me right into their routine: renting beach bikes, eating chicken noodle with peanuts from a road-side vendor, riding 5 km to the beach, buying delicious ripe mangoes on the beach from a woman with a basket, and then settling down for dinner on the beach in the dark. Women and families set up mats with lanterns up and down the beach and they try to get you to eat at their "restaurant." They bring out menus, and then retreat up the beach, returning about half an hour later with plate-fulls of deliciousness. For the first time, I had squid that I enjoyed. Lounging on the sand amidst hundreds of flickering lanterns is an extremely peaceful way to eat. After staring at the stars of the Southern Hemisphere, we rode our bikes back into town. Thus ended groundhog day. The only difference that day was that we met up with the motorcyclers, who despite one break-down, made it safely and happily down the coast.

Have you ever tried to sleep on a sleeper bus?

"Bed" may not be the best word to describe the long padded sections of the sleeper bus that we spent 15 hours in from Hanoi to Hue. Each peron's "bed" inclined slightly for your head, and it had a little cave to put your feet in. (The foot cave actually created the incline for the head of the person in front of you.) The only problem is that these "beds" weren't made for Westerners, so when I extended my feet to the end of the cave, the inclined part for my head hit me about mid-back. When I squooshed down so that my head was in its proper position, my knees were bent up and hit the top of the cave. The best option I could find was to sleep on my side. For awhile, I had my feet on top of the cave, but then I accidentally kicked the head of the poor German man in front of me. Even if you could maneuver a reasonably comfortable position, the Vietnamese pop music made it hard to find complete rest. (I had a weird dream about incorporating international pop music performances into General Conference.) The bus itslef had 2 tiers of 3 rows of little beds. I was in the middle row, bottom tier towards the back of the bus and my Luce friends were in the neighboring beds.

After 15 hours, we made it to Hue. A shower and a rest in our hostel revived us enough to spend the rest of the day exploring the cool ruins of the Imperial City.