Travelogue 50, Glen Rose, TX: Smooching St. Francis in the Meadow

Wow! Number 50! Seems cause to pause, reflect, celebrate, eat cake or something along those lines, yet that's not what I feel called to do. My mind steers toward a quandry of the present...

Does it seem crazy to make a ritual out of running two miles every morning to a lone statue of St. Francis on a knoll, in a meadow, to kiss him awake and pet the dovekin in his hand?

Several are the reasons that I have committed to doing this:

1.  There and back takes exactly the amount of time I want to run. I’m more motivated to JUST DO IT, if there is a clear goal in mind.
2. On a less, but not totally un-practical note, you never know what might happen between here and there when running out in the middle of nowhere,
   
   which is exactly what I need, if I am ever to win that game where you are supposed to say 3 things that are true about yourself and one that's not, and then the other people have to guess what's the lie. I’m not good at fooling people, because I’m an excellent exaggerator, but a terrible liar. Let’s test it out, but in reverse... which one of these potential, real ranch-life dangers actually happened to me this morning on my run?:

a.      A skunk sprayed me

b.     A rattlesnake bit me

c.      A turtle peed on my brand new pair of REI running shorts when I performed the good Samaritan act of moving its slow poke ass out of the road so it wasn’t smashed to smithereens. It probably would have shat on me too, if it had seen the doubled-rear tire pickup with horse trailer in tow hauling tail right toward it. Nothing short of a miracle (i.e. me) could have saved it from becoming one with the pavement.

d.     A butterfly lit on my nose

See? I can’t help it. I know I don't have to tell you which one really happened.

3. It occurred to me the other day that I don’t know jack about being in a romantic relationship, because all of mine have either been so short lived, or so long ago, that I can’t remember how I kept the woman I had caught around for as long as I did. One thing I do know that helps is adoration and sweetness on a consistent basis. So, I’m practicing on St. Francis. Shortly after dawn, I arrive, cup the side of his face with my palm, say, “Buenos días, Señor Sweetheart St. Francis!” and place my lips gently on his forehead for .00001 seconds. Why so short a time? A big (I’m assuming from the size of the deposit) bird pooped right on Señor Sweetheart St. Francis’ head, which raises a question: Does the fact that I considered wiping it off with my new Solomon Activlite tank top, but didn’t, mean that I’m not there yet? I’m not ready for the sacrifices being in a relationship require? I mean, I guess I could have used my shorts since they had already taken one for the team and were soaked in reptile urine, but still…bird poop is so acidic...it will eat right through concrete if you leave it there long enough. Can you image the destruction it would reek on  polyester? Anyway, the bigger question is, would a girlfriend be hurt, if I brevied a kiss because she was pooped on?  (Yes, I am aware that I have again invented a word that's not in the dictionary, but needs to be)

The even bigger question than that is, am I single because I think too much? Probably not. It's more likely that to try to date me would be like trying to date a hummingbird.

As for the dovekin, I know you are wondering what one is. Far as I know, the only specimen known to humankind lives here on High Hope Ranch. The story is, when I did that radical uproot and got rid of ALL my stuff, I donated St. Francis to the ranch. Somewhere along the way, one of the doves nested in his cupped hands lost its head. Coincidently, the ranch manager had been given a ceramic chicken as a gift and one day it was knocked off a shelf and only its head remained salvagable.  "Match"! she thought and performed a head transplant. As a result, a new species of hybrid fowl was born, the dovekin.  

Speaking of matches, since I'm going to be in one place for the summer, I figured I'd mess around on Match.com just for grins. You never know....

You sure don't...know what the cat might drag in. One night, just on a whim, I see a picture of a woman that gets my attention.  I’m scooting down through her profile, looking for a point of entry and read her description of an ideal date:

“To have an engaging conversation in which the person does NOT talk about her ex gf.”

I don’t know. It was late, I was lonely.  I could relate to the experience of dating someone still hung up on her X. Hell, I’ve been that person. So, I fired off, without much thought: Ha! We can so easily cling to those people and experiences that have made us a victim.  What would engage you in a conversation?

Is it obvious I've O.D.'d on therapy and read too many self-help books?

She writes back: Hi I am not.sure I understand your message. I like talking about life,philosophy,nature and art. I don't think we have a lot in common though.

I was taken aback. Nothing in common? Are you on drugs? If I were to highlight all the commonalities we have that appear in your profile, it would look like a crime scene. I DID NOT say that, nor did I cut, paste, highlight and send back to her the self-description she posted as I am going to do here for you:

I am 40 years old, single, lesbian, Asian American (half Chinese and half Japanese). I am 5'5" average weight, long hair that I wear up. I am a professor at a state university and I have a Ph.D, and I also like to make artwork and create art out of recycled materials. I teach in south Georgia and then I go back to my house in Fort Worth, Texas for the summer to teach, then I move back to Georgia to teach during the fall and come back to Fort Worth during the holiday breaks. My life as a teacher has left me with no time to meet other women; so this is why I am here--- to seek a smart, compassionate lesbian to be friends or have a possible long term relationship with. I would prefer someone to be around my age but I am open to friendship with single lesbians of all ages depending on the maturity level. Hiking and kayaking are outdoor activities that I like to do in my spare time, along with visiting art museums, travelling and going to art and film festivals. I value intelligence, integrity and heart in a person's character. I am a professional career woman and I am looking for the same. My ideal partner would be someone who is independent, self-sufficient, and can communicate well. I don't want endless emails back and forth. I would like to make sure you are a woman first. Please be willing to voice verify by phone so that I know you are a woman at some point. I prefer someone around my height and weight, intelligent, thoughtful and considerate. Sorry, but I am not into women that look like men. I never understood why some females would dress and act like a man but it's not my cup of tea.

Nor did I heed the big, fat, blazing red flag those last four sentences hoist up, and thus responsed:   I like talking about life, philosophy, nature and art, and I also make recycled art, and  I do summers in TX and winters between Cuba and somewhere warm. I used to own a kayaking business and I hike whenever possible.We have much in common, but you seem a bit closed...

I can't help it. I plead Scorpio.  It's in our nature to say it like it is, even to strangers.

I not only got her attention, but made her change her tune. She writes back:  

Hi I apologize if I seem a bit closed. I work a lot of hours and I am under a lot of stress. What is your name? Perhaps we can meet for coffee sometime and you can talk to me more about your philosophy. My name is Cindy. Sorry I seemed closed-minded. Will you accept my apology?

Too intrigued at this point to heed the signs, I responded:   Sure, I'll accept your apology. Really, I only responded to give you a little something to think about. On a side note, stress is absolutely the worst thing for your health.

That response seemed to have ruffled her feathers and she spouts off:  Well the real reason why I I thought we had nothing in common is because I had bad experiences with Hispanics living in Texas and for a long time I did not like to hear Spanish I can't stand hearing people speak in Spanish and I try to stay away from a lot of Hispanics because of the bad experiences I've had it done and in your profile you said you wished you were latina in another life and you speak Spanish so that is why I feel we hav e differences.a mexican raped me when I was 13 walking home from school and it effected me for years. I cannot stand Hispanic music and you love the culture so I don't think I can get passed a lot of things.

 

Prudence would have had me just leave it at that and let silence reign, but I couldn’t help myself:

Wow. I'm so sorry to hear that and ask myself, if an Asian person had harmed me when I was young, would I write off the whole ethnicity? Hope you are able to get past it. We definitely aren't a "match," but for other reasons than you thought. Wishing you the best.

Ohhhhhhhh, that stirred her up like a lawnmower over a yellowjackets' nest:  I never thought we were a match. You aren't my type at all.

And then a day later she adds:  I am not even sure why you bothered to email me. It was such a waste of time for me to read and respond to your emails. I was being nice to you about meeting for coffee because I thought I hurt your feelings and I didn't even want to meet you. I never thought we were a match because I am attracted to women with dark hair and dark eyes and who actually say "HI, my name is....." in an email instead of some lame obscure riddle. Goodluck.

Lame, obscure riddle? Girl, I was just testing your depths, hitting you a hard, choppy grounder to see if you could field it.

As for why I included this dialogue in a travelogue, I don't know, other than, I find exchanges like these fascinating studies in human psychology. Perhaps you do too. And I'm talking about my own psychosis for writing what I did as much as I am her "intricacies," for lack of a better word. 

On another note, I had the most uplifting experience today in Whole Foods when I ran into someone I forgot I knew.  I mean to say she looked familiar, but I couldn't I place her. Turns out we had gone on a retreat together in 2009 and lost touch since then....or so I thought. I had no idea she was not only reading my travelogues, but was really inspired by them...so much so that she printed something I wrote and hung it above her desk. What a lesson in assumptions for me! I struggle so much with writing these because I don't believe they serve enough of a purpose.  I've so much work to do in the area of limiting beliefs. It is a tap root of my suffering.

Anyway...lots of work (of a different sort) tomorrow on the ranch, so I'd best get some shut eye. I'll leave you with a few shots of the sunset off the deck of the house I am sitting and other miscellaneous moments. The Universe continues to out do itself with the promise it made to me, "Stay the healing course, and you will be provided for."

Poolside show

My name is Lightenin'

Bodi taking a break from frisbee

Pop taught me how to trap and it's come in handy

catch

Release. (Pop would have caught and skinned. I'm starting a new generation of Austin animal policy)

Hope-a-Long hurt her leg and needed a lift back to the barn. Oh, how I have come to love the baby goats!

I again extend an invitation to come visit me at the ranch.  It's really cool.  http://www.highhoperanch.com/   My former neighbors came out for the weekend and had a blast.

Thanks to all who send me responses....and to those who don't....as I found out today, many more read than respond.

Much love, G

Travelogue 49, Glen Rose, TX: The Cuban Croop and Where I've Been

My Dearest Friends and Family,

                                                                                                                                               Wednesday, May 14, 2014

In addition to fond memories, I return from Cuba this time with Lord only knows what. Time will tell, or perhaps not, if I’m lucky, depending on how defensive my immune system is feeling. The young blonde trainee immigration officer that took my picture at passport control held in one hand a gold handkerchief, which she used as a nostril tourniquet the whole time she was processing me to sop up the nonstop snot flow dripping from her bright red nose. In the other hand she held my passport, which she used, first, to block a view of a marathon yawn, then a cough attack, then a mindblowing sneeze. “Just keep it,” I would have said, when she was finished, did my life, literally, not depend upon my global permission slip in her possession. Instead, I tried to minimize contact with whatever strain of Cuban croop she had by receiving my stamped documents with only the gingerly clamped pads of my thumb and index fingers. 

Here’s what I want to know: Could the shiny, waxed, still-sporting-the-inspection-sticker Winn Dixie Gala apple Immigration stole from my backpack when I came into the country be carrying anything worse than what she was sending me out with? I’m lying about them stealing it. It was confiscated in full view. I’m just bitter over the loss of one of my most powerful bartering tools while on tour in Cuba. Apples are a rarity on the island.

                                    Monday, May 20, 2014

A week later. Power of suggestion? Had I not written the above beginning to this travelogue, would my nose be unstuffed? My lungs clear? My throat humming a tune of healthful glee? I don’t know if giving it attention had anything to do with its manifestation. What I do know is my immune system was not feeling defensive enough; Blondie contaged me and I’ve been down for the count for days. (I’m aware that “contage” is not recognized as in official existence by the head Poo Paas of the English language, but there is a need for a verb form of the adjective “contagious” and I’m taking it upon myself to meet that need.)

Speaking of need, I need to write this travelogue….for lots of reasons, some of which I will wind my way to as this sharing unfolds. One is to get the rust out of the pipes. 5 months without a post!! I have missed you, and I have missed writing. Well, that’s not exactly accurate, because I have been writing, every single day. What I miss is following through to completion, sharing and hearing back from you. I’ve an extensive collection of starts. For example:

                                                        April 17, 2014

Of late my blog is inundated with spam comments, or perhaps it would be more precise to call them promises to enlarge our penises. I say “our” because they (the evil spammers) hope that you (my beloved readers) and I will see their offer, feel inadequate, and jump right on it. You can do what you want, but I politely decline. Even if I had a wanker….and I did want one when I was a little girl because I never saw the back of my brothers’ britches splattered with pee after a t-t in the woods….I wouldn’t let a mere mortal mess with the proportions  my creator deemed adequate at the time of my birth. Measuring in at 5’0’’ and 98 lbs, I am evidence in the flesh that size isn’t everything….well, what I mean to say is bigger isn’t necessarily better, especially when something important has fallen behind a half-ton dresser, perched on short, stubby legs, and needs fishing out.

Anyway, several times a week I receive an automatically generated email advising me that a penis promise is awaiting moderation. Yesterday when I opened gigiaustin.com to can the most recent spam, I got totally hooked reading my last post. “Dang,” I thought, “that’s a decent piece of writing that rings of truth.” It felt gratifying. Furthermore, I realized how my travelogues frame important events in my life. They are like pictures in an album or snapshots on a wall. They keep turning points alive and significant.

                             4:13 a.m. Wednesday, May 21, 2014 

It’s another day and what I was writing feels to have petered out. Something has me awake at  this Gawd-awful hour of 4 a.m. without an ounce of sleepiness at hand. I want to make good use of the time and set dawn as my deadline for clicking “publish” on this travelogue, lest it be added to the warehouse of starts in the “undone” folder and I continue to feel disconnected from you.  I’m stuck, honestly, about what to write next and pose to myself the question as a starting point, How do I catch them up on my life since “Travelogue 48, Uruguay: Flashmob Confessions”? How do I explain the silence? It’s not like you haven’t noticed.

 “Have you dropped me from your email list?” someone wrote a few months back, “I haven’t received anything from you in ages.”

Then another friend ended an email with, “Are you slacking or what? Haven’t gotten an update in a long time.”

Truth is, I haven’t dropped anybody nor do I consider the silence slacking. It’s best deemed a fallow period, a normal and necessary dormancy for any seed to sprout . And it has felt a little bleak, like a field in winter, and dense and heavy as if a hoe pulled a good amount of dirt up over the seed. I’ve been busy living, I suppose. On a list level, since January I’ve lead five trips to Cuba, hosted a friends’ visit to Uruguay and muddled through a seemingly excessive amount of downtime, mostly in a one room cabaña in the lower income, redneck section of Punta del Diablo.  On an inward level, I’ve been surfing the waves of my intensely contemplative Scorpio nature, as reflected in this travelogue start:

                                                                      

                           March 18, 2014

“I WANT to be FUCKING JOYFUL already!!!!” I screamed, palms splayed open to the Uruguayan sky, which on a clear, autumn day is about as close to a portrait of God as you are going to get. 

“What do you want from me!!??? What!? What!? What!? What!?”

Is that any way to address the Source that made you? The only Entity with any real power that might be able to assist you?   Would a tone like that put you in a helpful mood?  

I recognized my harshness immediately. I don’t know. God is probably tone deaf, like an infinitely patient mother whose mantra is “this, too, shall pass.” What I do know is that the frustration with which I delivered the question watermarks me as a bonafied human. It’s affirming. Sometimes I feel so different that I wonder if I was shipped to the wrong planet, but one temper tantrum like that and I know I’m right here where I belong, working through my shit like the rest of the herd attending classes at the Planet Earth School.

Bird calls signal the approach of dawn, so if I am to keep meet my deadline...ready or not, here I send! I chuckle at how I always get to the end of these and realize I haven't said what you most what to know: Where are you?? What are you doing? Where are you going next?

At present I'm housesitting on High Hope Ranch 

and it looks like I'll be spending most of the summer here. 

Now-end of July                 work High Hope Ranch, Glen                                                             Rose, TX 

 sometime in July                 trip to VA

Aug 7-18                            Vision Quest in Oregon

Aug 18-24                          Wake Up Festival, Estes Park CO

Aug 24-Sep 2                      Hang with friend in Oakland, CA

Sep 2- Dec 5                       Training/Trip to lead LeapNow                                                           group to Central America

                                            (Yes! I got the job and I am super psyched about it!    www.leapnow.org) 

Hope to see those of you who live in Dallas. Consider a visit to the ranch (www.highhoperanch.com). Actually, you don't have to be from Dallas to come for a visit. 

The sun, she peaks over the ridge and so I must go. Would love to hear from you.

Much love, G

  
               

Travelogue 48, Uruguay: Flash Mob Confessions

Dear Family and Friends,

I have shelpt (word?) along my computer on this 50 minute bus ride to the Brazil/Uruguay border town of Chuy for the sole purpose of writing you. It’s a big ass inconvenience to bring it, given that I’m on a shopping mission and my backpack is soon to overflow with 30 lbs or more of provisions. I could do without the extra weight and the bother of having to keep it safe. Too, I’ll have to walk about a mile and a half from the bus stop back to my cabaña in a 95F blazing sun, yet despite all that, I’ve brought it seeking relief from the nagging feeling of wanting to write you. Truth is, a day hasn’t gone by for over a month that I haven’t thought about finishing #48, but… I don’t know… it just hasn’t flowed. I start, stop, delete, restart, get frustrated, discard, wait, jot down notes, start again, stop, save with a promise to finish later and next thing I know Christmas, New Year and the first full moon of 2014 have come and gone. This need to write you has nothing to do with guilt. It’s a call turned torment, a desire devoid of inspiration, like going through 9 months of pregnancy with no baby inside. The problem, were I to be 100% honest, is the remnants of fear-based thought patterns around “not good enough”. I thought I was done with them, but alas, they raise their ugly faces. I’ve come to peace with the fact that they may never go totally away. My new approach is just recognize when they have wedged their way back in line, give them no energy and turn my attention toward mental activities that do serve me…such as writing this.

So, Giiit on with it! as my cousin Earl used to exclaim.

It would be a big fat lie to say the reason I haven’t written sooner is I was waiting to hear from Disney. Actually, I had forgotten about Disney until inquiries from several of you came trickling in (which by the way, means much to me that you remembered and cared enough to ask. Part of the “call” to write this is I love hearing from you).

The deal is, on Jan 2, the hiring coordinator wrote on behalf of the Disney family that, while they so appreciate the effort it took to fill out their 500 page application…..blhaa, blhaa, blhaaa….and endure a 40 minute phone interview….blahaa, blhaa, blhaa and to make time to come to the audition…..blhaa,blhaa,blhaaa…. AND, furthermore, they recognize my capabilities and talent as exceptional… blhaa, blhaa, blhaaa …., BUT, bottomline, they have selected other candidates whose background and experience more closely align with the qualifications and requirements for their 2014 guiding season. Blhaa. So be it. For the best, I’ve decided, in light of some self-reflection on the whole Disney experience.

In the midst of the excitement of such a huge name showing interest in little ole me, I totally lost sight of all I have done to remove myself from what Disney stands for: commercialism, consumerism, mass mentality and conformity. I left my career with DISD, sold my house, got rid of my stuff, left the U.S. and followed my heart to South America precisely because I wasn’t living aligned with what rings true for me. One email from Mickey and I was once again a puppet on a string stressing myself out to the max for fear of not measuring up…of not having what the American dream says I should have in order to be happy.

FEAR is the key word there. At the time I was freaking out because GCF had canceled so many of my Cuba trips and I didn’t have anything else lined up. I was afraid of running out of money, and of what people were thinking about me not having a steady job, and of my resume only reflecting experience with one tour company, and….blhaa, blhaa, blhaa.

Warning: the wisest parts of me are about to spontaneously bust out in a flash mob confession.

 Were I to accept a job with Disney, I would be “using” them. My heart would not be in it. I wanted their name on my resume. They are not about what I am about. When I step back and retro-observe all I did to impress them, to try to make them like me, I see so clearly that a former me had a knee-jerk reaction to seeking approval. It was about me trying to fit them, not them embracing the authentic Gigi that has emerged in the past four years. The whole thing was dripping with a drool of desperation and that’s no place to act from. The Universe has affirmed the truth of these realizations by providing the following opportunities, which I share under the heading of Good News.

1. I have signed a contract with Road Scholar and will be leading two confirmed trips to Cuba in February for them

2. LeapNow (http://www.leapnow.org/leapyear/ ---check it out…is it not totally me?) is moving forward with the interview process for the fall semester

3. GAdventures (love that name!!) wrote three days ago that based on my application they think we might be a good match and would like for me to send along my resume and cover letter. This would be to lead adventure/camping trips in the U.S. this summer.

See? Here’s what I say to the many of you who I know are unhappy in your jobs—get clear on what’s important to you, let go of ALL voices (including your own) that are not supportive of you taking a risk, make a transition plan, follow through, reevaluate what you really “need” to live, be patient and keep the faith. Exactly what you want will manifest for you, if you have the courage to let go of your own resistance and walk through the fears that keep you stuck in less-than-fulfilled. We make ourselves think that we don’t have a choice, but the bottom line is we do. It just comes with consequences that may initially be uncomfortable. With time, attention and perseverance all of it can transform into what you want. Amen. Aho. Hallelujah. Oz has spoken.

The main going-on with me right now is the detox diet, Clean (http://www.cleanprogram.com/), I started on Jan 8. I’m not gonna shitcha, I feel poopy. It’s day 12 of no caffeine, no refined sugar, no gluten, no alcohol nor lactose and my body is rebelling. I have a cold, I’m grumpy and my hoochie itches like a banshee (and don’t say “TMI”. I hate that expression. It is what it is, a bodily ailment, no grosser than a snotty nose)….all of which is “normal” when detoxing, because your body wants to get rid of all the accumulated crap it has had to work so hard to filter out and warehouse. Why am I putting myself through this? Principally, I’d call it stepping up to the plate. I’ve concluded that it just ain’t right for me to keep blaming God and telling her/him/it to fuck off when I have a depression, if I’m not doing everything in my power to prevent them. That would include not ingesting substances known to contribute to them. Second, I’ve struggled with an eating disorder since I was in my teens and I’m simply tired of it making me feel disempowered. It’s time I turned toward it and asked, what’s the deal? What’s this really about? In essence, it is some part of me that is in pain and wants my attention. It’s got it. So now it’s just a question of discernment and courage.

It just occurred to me that some of you weren't privy to that snippet of very personal information… the eating disorder. So, now you are. My hope is that my transparency helps others to let go of shame. I wasn't kidding last travelogue when I said Disney’s request of me to tell a story about my most embarrassing moment rubbed me the wrong way. Shame is one of the most destructive emotions we have. It has been, and continues to be, used to manipulate people into being “good.” The truth is that what it actually does is create self-hatred, which is the source, in my humble opinion, of all the world’s ills. I did a lot of reflecting on shame when I walked the Camino and I got down right pissed off about how much my teachers, parents, pastors, siblings, church community and society in general used it to make me be a “good girl.” I realized all of that was unnecessary. I was, and still am, inherently good. I would have turned out just fine, better than fine, without all that shit they put in my head. The harm I have done has all been rooted in a lack of self-love. I am 100% convinced that someone who has a loving relationship with him/her self has no need to inflict pain on anyone else. The only reason we do that is we feel disempowered. Anyway, after making that realization along the road, then I had to dedicate a few days of walking to forgiveness—forgiving those who used shame to take my power away and forgiving myself for allowing it in, believing it, and not defending myself from it.

This is starting to sound preachy to me. It’s not intentional…just what’s on my mind…the inner journey. Back to the detox. The other reason I’m doing it is timing. When I’m leading a trip, I’ve got to eat whatever they are serving my clients, which in Cuba is a limited selection. I’ve had/will have the whole month of January in my little cabana with a kitchen where I’m free to prepare whatever food I feel like. Given my lifestyle, I don’t have that opportunity often. I’m not pretending that I’ll never consume coffee, wine, cheese or bread again. I just wanted to hit the reset button, get in balance and then eat consciously for the right reasons.

I promised to write about the Camino. On Sunday I had an experience that is soooooo typical of the kind of serendipity stuff that happens around the Camino. A friend here in town who sells whole foods invited me to a nutrition workshop in Punta Ballena, 4 bus rides from here. I’m traipsing across the grounds of the retreat center where it’s being held and what do I see?



My heart lept. Just the mere sight of that sign brought up in me the glee of my journey on the Camino. Turns out that the woman who owns the center has walked it three times and written a book about her experience. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to talk to her about her process, because we had to catch our jeep back to the bus stop.



Meeting her, even ever so briefly, was a clear sign that I am to write about my experiences on the Camino….when the time is right. This moment isn’t it. I don't say that to jack with you. It's not a tease. It's what I really feel. 

Upcoming schedule:

now-Jan 29 Uruguay

Jan 30-Feb 20—two back to back trips to Cuba

Feb 20-25 Dallas

Feb 25- March 20—two more back to back trips to Cuba

March 20-? Uruguay

As soon as it warms to shortsleeve weather in the U.S., I’ll probably go to VA to visit the homeplace and my cousins. Perhaps a company will have hired me to lead trips June/July in the Southwest, U.S. A vision quest in Oregon in August looks to be brewing, which means visiting friends on the West Coast. That’s a sketch of the next 8 months. Who knows? 

I always love hearing from you.

Much love, G

Travelogue 47: Happy Holidays and a Camino Tease

Hello Loved Family and Friends!

Greetings from Punta del Diablo, Uruguay.

 New Year, new look:

My dear friend, Yoli, who is a gifted human beauty artist said, “Sit down in the chair and forget all of your past notions about what you think is an acceptable look for you. I’ve got a vision and it’s going to get you out of your box.” 

“I trust you 100%,” I said. “I’m ready for a change. Have at.” 

Four hours later she let me look in the mirror. Once my jaw muscles had regained function, I said, “Holy shit! I look fabulous!” 

That was yesterday.  I am as happy as I look in the photo.

One month ago I wrote to you from gate A3 of the Phoenix airport the following start of a promised travelogue about my experience on the Camino:

                                                                                                                      November 23, 2013

I sit returning the gawk of a three-month-old baby with what looks like a hot pink Loofah sponge the size of a grapefruit pegged to her temple. It is held in place by an elastic sweatband wide as any professional tennis player’s brow.  Poor thing. She is struggling enough as it is to keep her head from snapping right off. She is at that age. Now she’s got an obnoxious blob of chiffon thrown into the balancing act. Mom used to attach that extraneous, foo foo shit to me and I hated it. I’d pull it off within the hour, until she started affixing it with such fervor that we had to cut it out of my hair when she was ready for a ribbon change. My heart hurts for the little one before me. 

Anyway, enough random writing… Today is a travel day for work and I’ve done enough trips to Cuba now that I don’t have to spend it prepping, so I’ll see if I can whip out a report on the last two months.  I’m feeling fatigued, though, and a bit scattered, for several reasons, but if I start obsessing over cohesiveness, this will never get written. So, in the words of the dread-locked, West Coast yoga instructor I took a class with yesterday, “Thanks for flowing with me to the end, eh?” 

I’ve been scattered since last Tuesday when the invite to an all day audition in person for Adventures By Disney appeared in my inbox. The original date they gave me, Dec 5, at Walt Disney World in Orlando, FL, coincided with a coveted trip to Cuba (“Open and Courageous, Living the Values” has paid off, others are getting bumped to accommodate my behind on the schedule—yes! cha-ching!), so I had to go to the West Coast interview in California on Nov 20, which gave me less than a week’s notice to make a decision, make travel arrangements and prepare. Make a decision? Was there any question about accepting this invitation? Yes. Unlike Grand Circle, Disney does not pay for any of the expenses incurred to interview with them. Given that I was in Uruguay when I got the invitation, acceptance assumed a hefty investment of time and money.  

I don’t know. Something came over me. I was star struck and felt possessed. Out of over 1,100 applicants, I made it to the final few. Since I’m still in the initial stages of a new career, it seemed a prudent move. I went into autopilot and next thing I knew I was in Los Angles. That’s very much like how it happened with the Camino. I felt called to go and then, there I was. The between is a blur.

The whole interview process was nerve-racking. Before arriving, I had to make a video of myself giving a mock orientation meeting for one of the Disney trip itineraries. That required great extensions of unconditional self-acceptance and loving kindness toward myself, because I get all squirmy when I see me on film (especially pre-new look). 

At the interview I had to stand up in front of my fellow candidates and six Disney executives to give a 2 minute introduction of myself and answer an impromptu question.  Out of a list of 40 thought provoking prompts, I got the dud: “Tell us about your most embarrassing moment.” I went blank. I’m trying to eliminate shame from my repertoire of emotions. I’ve worked hard to not have embarrassing moments swimming at the surface of my psyche. I made up some clichéd bullshit about coming out of the bathroom with the back of my mini-skirt tucked into my panty hose and a two foot band of t.p. tagging along behind the high heel it was skewered on. Then I confessed to that being a big fat lie, because you are more likely to see a nun in a mini-skirt and heels than you are me.  So, I told an anticlimactic anecdote from my 8^th year, when I missed the cue that Dad had hushed the crowd to say the Christmas Eve dinner blessing and I blurted out to my cousin across the silenced room, “Hey Ronnie!! I hope Santa brings me a shotgun!”  That uneventful story provoked polite chuckles from my competitors, more to show off for the judges their social sensitivity to a floundering act on the stage than any authentic sign of amusement. 

The afternoon session was even more grueling. We “speed dated” the executives, spending three minutes with each one, role playing situations like, “One of your guests comes to you and points out that the local guide said it was OK for them to feed and pet the wild animals after you had said it was forbidden…What do you say to this guest and the local guide?”   

To the guest: “I don’t recommend feeding or petting the animals, but feel free, if you’ve had a rabies vaccine or don’t mind 20 injections in the belIy.”

To the local guide: “You dumb fuck , ignorant goo-lute, don’t you know that 1. most of the shit we eat isn’t fit for human consumption, much less animal intake 2. if we feed the animals they form a dependence on us and eventually become a nuisance 3. it endangers every being present, because if you give a Snickers to one monkey and not another, someone is going to lose a limb??????”

That’s what I thought, but didn’t say. 

But really, what stressed me out as much as the actual audition was FINDING SOMETHING TO WEAR. First of all, I H-A-T-E shopping. Second, I suffer from childhood mall trauma. Third, I live out of a suitcase. Do you really think I’m going to cart around, country to country, two pounds of fancy business wear that takes up six square inches of prime case space on the chance that I might need it? No. So, at 8:59 pm the night before the interview, my friend, Monica, and I are STILL in JC Penny, ignoring last register call, trying to find me some duds worthy of Disney. When they started flipping off the lights, out of desperation, I threw up on the counter a pair of black slacks, four inches too long, and a snazzy green blouse, one size too big. I hide the material overages best I could safety pins and a blazer and went on with the show.

 Anyway, the Disney Who-Ha’s said they will let us know yeah or nay at the end of December…which, according to my calendar, officially began three days ago.   

The more immediate reason I’m scattered is the piecemeal itinerary Travelocity rigged up to get me from one coast to the other on a last minute budget tix. Four connecting flights and a six hour layover don’t make for a well-rested Gigi. I spent last night in the Phoenix airport bedded down like a homeless person in the only corner I could find where there wasn’t a t.v. monitor blaring Drama, Doom and Destruction. I’d just experienced those 3 D’s, in 3 D (i.e. live), two hours before at the L.A. airport. Is it odd of me to feel disturbed by a swarm of helicopters circling the airport and four of seven terminals under lockdown?  I have to ask for a reality check, because things of this nature seem to be increasingly the norm here in the U.S., which is part of the reason I spend less and less time here. The “emergency” turned out to be a false alarm. A car smashed into a pole, backfired and it was mistaken for a gunshot. Of course, the whole thing was a knee-jerk reaction due to the real shooting last week. 

I feel like I am circling the Camino experience searching for an entry point from which to tell the story... 

Back to now, December 19, 2013. I continue to circle the Camino experience and apologize for it, because so many of you have expressed an interest in hearing about it. I wrote in my Pre-travelogue 47 note to you that I feel changed on an existential level and that continues to ring true, increasingly so. Something has shifted. If cornered to give “something” a name, I would call it self-empowerment.  Speaking of which, you know what? I’m going to make an executive decision right this second to let go of the guilt and simply ask for an extension. Do you mind? I want to write about my Camino experience. It is profound and, if shared, could serve others. The deal is, though, it’s looking to be an absolutely gorgeous day here in Punta del Diablo (sunny, 85F) and I want to be out in it, not tied to a computer.  I’ve already got Skype meetings with my current manager and the director of another organization that has offered me work in Cuba starting in February (cha-ching!). Then I’ve got to get ready to go camping with Yoli and my tent hasn’t seen the light of day since I moved out of the bush in 2011 (remember?). I would feel better if I sent this as is and saved for another day the Camino experience. Cool?

Thanking you in advance for the choral response of “Cool!” coming from many corners of the Earth and wishing you mountains of merry and heaps of happy for the holiday season.

As always, with much love,  G

Here are some pics

View of rising moon off deck of my new living arrangement. Check out my new set of wheels, too.

Inside

Playing translator and nurse during my first trip to a Cuban hospital.

Picture one of my clients from last trip drew for me as a gift.