Samaritan Inn

As part of The Washington Center, I am working on a Civic Engagement Project, specifically the one addressing issues of homelessness.

One of our volunteer opportunities was cooking dinner for a local organization called Samaritan Inns.

My team and I were responsible for preparing a dinner for the guests living at the Inn--an entree, a vegetable, a salad, and a dessert. The day beforehand, I realized that we should probably prepare something. After scouring the internet for a possible recipe to cook in bulk for 20+ people, I finally just took the advice of my sister and decided on chili.

My teammates and I got our ingredients at the grocery store and proceeded to lug our packed environmentally-friendly bags to the Inn. Eventually.

First, we accidentally went 6 blocks in the wrong direction after getting off the metro.

The humidity that afternoon was especially oppressive. I could feel drop by drop slowly sneak down my back. The sweat clinging to my forehead warned of future acne. I needed to frequently switch arms carrying my grocery bag. 

We agreed as a group that the building just had to be farther away than the four blocks that we had been promised. 

The promised land soon arrived however...annnnd the door was locked. We were about an hour early and no one answered the phone. One of our group stayed stationed at the door while the rest of us fled across the street to the gas station to get beverages.

 

I guzzled my entire gatorade in about 5 minutes flat. 

We were let into the building and set up camp in our new kitchen. 

At one point in the cooking process we needed to open the cans. Unfortunately we couldn't find a can opener anywhere. Befuddled, we couldn't understand how a soup kitchen could not be stocked with a can opener. We asked the Inn representative where it was and she pointed us at this large contraption attached to the counter. 

The chili ended up pretty dang good if I do say so myself. 

Bugs in Maryland: Update

I caught him in the act.

Do you see him? In the tub?

LOOK AT HIM. DEVIL FROM THE ABYSS. EATER OF SOULS. DESTROYER OF CIVILIZATIONS.

 AAAAHAGHHHRHWHGHIHWEIDHFWEIHFDHHFHDJDJ*chokeonownpanic*

EducationUSA

Per the suggestion of my boss, last week I "volunteered" with the annual DC conference for EducationUSA.

I got to wear a swanky red lanyard which identified me as an authority figure for the conference.

I use the word "volunteer" lightly since my primary purpose was to count heads. It was a pretty sweet gig: I got to sit in on all sorts of sessions where leading experts discussed various topics about domestic and international education. 

I was surrounded by professors, admissions officers, college representatives, state department officials, and all sorts of international experts there. The talks discussed such topics as how to prep your exchange students, what to know about certain regions of the world, and how to make your school/state more appealing to exchange students.

The guests came to share and to learn from each other. "Networking" is the scary word that DC uses for this. I never knew that a discussion could be so lively about state consortia. Heck, I'd never even heard of a state consortium before.

Food Trucks

The restaurants near my work close at 4pm. I discovered this one evening after a futile attempt to find dinner. It makes sense if you think about it, since D.C. has so many commuters.

To compensate for the large lunch demand, the local park fills up with food trucks.

It's an interesting juxtaposition, the business men and women lining up to purchase food from dirty, low-brow trucks.

I got Indian food.

I lunched away while scrunching my toes in the grass.

A Strange Encounter with a Stranger

Morning Metro Commute.

Public transportation is always an experiment in human interaction. Everyone knows the unspoken rules: no eye contact, no touching, no weirdness. I often wonder about who these people are, where they are going, what they want, who they know, who they love, etc.

But they are still strangers, separated from me by the Social Contract.

This morning's commute was business as usual. Every stop would take more people out, more people in. As I stared out the window at the dark underground zooming by, something caught my eye in the reflection. The young woman sitting next to me listening to her ipod.

I turned my head to confirm what I had seen.

She was staring head, bobbing her head slightly to the music and nonchalantly nomming on her headphone cords. 

As I stared at her tasting the music, she turned her head as well and made eye contact. 

There was a pause. And then the realization. 

 She quickly removed the offending cords from her mouth.

And shamefully continued staring ahead.

The Office

In the movies, "The Office" is always portrayed as this wasteland devoid of personality or warmth. Where dreams go to die. Where souls wither away.

Maybe it's still the novelty of it, but I love my office.

I love my cube. No one calls it  a cubical here, just cubes.

I love that my name is on the wall.

I love the kitchenette with the four microwaves and four fridges.

When I enter the office, I feel humbled to be a part of a major non-profit doing real solid work in the world. Excited to belong, to be welcomed by co-workers. ---The other day, business was continuing on like normal when ~BEEP~BEEP~BEEP~ the fire alarm went  off. All the floors of the building filed down the narrow stairs which no one ever took on  a normal day. It was a wonderful image, the entire building standing in the park across the street.

I love my office even when it isn't in the office.

Bugs in Maryland

The Good.

My first evening back in Maryland, I sat on my new home's front porch. The front lawn was Hobbiton green. Now that the sun had set, the temperature was pleasant, like a warm hug. A breeze tickled my toes and neck.

As I sat there reflecting on the adventures and challenges awaiting me, my eyes caught a twinkle in the grass. Then another, and another.

Fireflies!

I felt the grin pull at my face. I was watching a special welcoming dance just for me. Fireflies don't live in Seattle, at least not that I've seen. Rather, we have ants the size of...big ants.

Fireflies decorate those memories in which my childhood looks more like classic Huckleberry Finn and less like Lord of the Flies.

I remember evenings begging Mom for more time to stay outside as we tried to catch the critters and put them in mason jars. I would imagine creating a new home for them as my pets, only to feel guilty and release them every night. Trying to close my cupped hands so that they could not escape through the cracks in my fingers. Smelling my hands after they had flown, saying "ew," and wiping my hands on my shorts, only to go try and catch another one.

A special kind of emotion comes over me when I watch fireflies. I call it the goosebump feeling. An other-worldy recognition that this moment right here is special and cannot be kept. I wish that I could keep those moments locked away, the key close to my heart. That way, if I ever have a bad day, I can just open up my box of goosebumps and breathe in joy, serenity, warmth.

Instead, I have to take a deep breath, and go get ready for bed because there are things to be done and schedules to keep.

Welcome to Maryland. : )

The Bad.

The same green lawn is not nearly as hospitable during the day. The heat comes down so thick that I often feel as if I could grab hold of it and tie it into a knot.

My very pregnant sister was attempted to do yoga. Her very precocious toddler was attempting to knock her over. She asked me to take him outside.

Playing with my nephew is primarily pointing at objects an yelling their name in the most excited manner possible, with an obnoxious upward inflection. A ball is not just a sphere, it's a "BALL!! BALL! See the ball, baby?! Do you see the ball?! Look at the BALL! Look how ROUND and RED it is! Wanna play with the BALLLL??"

We were examining his toys, the plants, the bunny, the sidewalk, etc. Ever since he was an infant he has been able to point at things; this day he pointed at my leg.

Nephew: (pointing) dadblaggahalha
Me: What is it? Watcha pointin' at?

I looked down. A freakishly large mosquito was on my leg.

Me: OOOohhhhohoohholymotherofgodddd

My nephew had rescued me from one mini predator, but evidence soon shown that I had been ravaged in the yard that afternoon. Bug bites, red and swollen dotted my legs.

My very own welcoming love nips.

The Ugly.

My bedroom is in the basement this summer. This has many advantages. It's cool, I have my own entrance,and-- most importantly-- the residents upstairs cannot hear me scream. (Maybe I should feel more concerned about that?)

I got home late from school/work/whatever. Exhausted, I yawned repeatedly and shuffled my feet as I got ready for bed. I sat down on the toilet to pee, my glazed eyes staring ahead into nothing. Suddenly, something flashed in the corner of my eye.

I jerked my head.

There, on the white porcelain of the bathtub, was a demon bug.