After talking to Jared (Americorps member in Cali) regarding life, he mentioned that people were getting packages. Lots of packages and mail.
And while this type of overzealous nonsense was something I got over about year 5 of summer camp, I may feel lonely and forgotten in Denver without it. (Just kidding)
But if you'd like to contribute to the unnessary mail flow (well, package flow, letters ae geat, you can send it to:
Shira Kahan
Americorps*NCCC
3001 S. Federal Blvd.
Walsh Hall, Room 136
Denver, CO 80236
Monday, January 29, 2007
Mom is always right
For my last weekend at home, I vowed to see as many friends as possible while adding to the growing pile of "things to pack" that I have placed in my absent brother's room. On Saturday night, I thought it would be a fabulous idea to go ice-skating at the National Sculpture Garden in DC. My mother, horrified at the idea, began her comments with a curt, "No" and then proceeded to launch into a shpeel about how I didn't go ice skating enough to prevent me from getting hurt, an injury that would surely jeopardize my life in Americorps by way of a sprained ankle or severed spinal cord.
She's been getting nervous. I recognized this.
Fast forward to the next evening. In honor of my girlfriends who have been with me every step of the way, I decided to throw an elegant dinner party at my place. Since my cooking mostly consists of watching my dad whip up gourmet dishes, nodding as he explains "food science" to me and occasionally making really great salads, I decided to make the actual cooking party of dinner minimal. Table set and dressed to entertain, I returned to the kitchen to see my Dad squeezing some lemon over the salmon he had prepared for himself and my mom. "Oh!" I thought. "Lemon for the water, perfect."
I picked up the lemon, the knife, and began to slice.
But the lemon was tough. Tougher, in fact, than any of the 10 or so lemons that I have sliced in the years I have been allowed to handle knifes. So I pressed slightly harder.
"Slice"
With a clang, I dropped the knife on the floor and grabbed my fingers on the hand that had been steadying the evil citrus monster. After confirming that my fingers were indeed intact, my Dad soothed the situation with his kind words of reflection. "You weren't paying attention." Oh, the love.
My Mom, already exploding with maternal worry for the last child in the house, walked upstairs with me as I gasped. Sure, the fingers hurt, but in my bloody shock I had grabbed my cardigan as my Dad was yelling, "Put pressure on it!" and discovered two blood spots. My FAVORITE cardigan. I remained transfixed on the tiny red dots as I thrust my two fingers outward for my Mom to attend to.
I spent the rest of the dinner party with two gauzed and bandaged fingers as I cooked, served, and hosted my best. Luckily my friends weren't TOO grossed out.
So I hereby dedicate this post to my quirkily lovable parents, dinner party girlfriends, and of course, my first and second fingers on my left hand. Because for all of the above, I didn't truly appreciate the beauty they bring to my life until they take a hiatus.
She's been getting nervous. I recognized this.
Fast forward to the next evening. In honor of my girlfriends who have been with me every step of the way, I decided to throw an elegant dinner party at my place. Since my cooking mostly consists of watching my dad whip up gourmet dishes, nodding as he explains "food science" to me and occasionally making really great salads, I decided to make the actual cooking party of dinner minimal. Table set and dressed to entertain, I returned to the kitchen to see my Dad squeezing some lemon over the salmon he had prepared for himself and my mom. "Oh!" I thought. "Lemon for the water, perfect."
I picked up the lemon, the knife, and began to slice.
But the lemon was tough. Tougher, in fact, than any of the 10 or so lemons that I have sliced in the years I have been allowed to handle knifes. So I pressed slightly harder.
"Slice"
With a clang, I dropped the knife on the floor and grabbed my fingers on the hand that had been steadying the evil citrus monster. After confirming that my fingers were indeed intact, my Dad soothed the situation with his kind words of reflection. "You weren't paying attention." Oh, the love.
My Mom, already exploding with maternal worry for the last child in the house, walked upstairs with me as I gasped. Sure, the fingers hurt, but in my bloody shock I had grabbed my cardigan as my Dad was yelling, "Put pressure on it!" and discovered two blood spots. My FAVORITE cardigan. I remained transfixed on the tiny red dots as I thrust my two fingers outward for my Mom to attend to.
I spent the rest of the dinner party with two gauzed and bandaged fingers as I cooked, served, and hosted my best. Luckily my friends weren't TOO grossed out.
So I hereby dedicate this post to my quirkily lovable parents, dinner party girlfriends, and of course, my first and second fingers on my left hand. Because for all of the above, I didn't truly appreciate the beauty they bring to my life until they take a hiatus.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
2 days....
Unbelievable. Apparently I am terrible at being unemployed and have still managed to wait until the last minute to actually pack things. Sure, I've shopped, ran around REI with a pack on my back and getting unbelievably excited about things like microfiber towels.
I have bid a fond farewell to my high heels, long showers, and endless time to devote to reruns of "Arrested Development".
But with two days to go, the idea of being in Americorps is finally real. I've begun the process of saying my goodbyes, of copying down addresses and not telling my parents how many things I've managed to lose over the past few months.
The strangest part of the whole process has been the reactions of everyone else regarding my going. I have been so fortunate to have so much support behind me--everyone is thrilled that I'm doing such an adventurous thing. But with such high expectations, of course, comes the fear that perhaps the experience will not be all I've anticipated. I've found that whenever I've gone into a situation EXPECTING something (abroad in London, college in Ohio, Israel) the event isn't anywhere near what I've imagined.
So the challenge falls on me. To be true to myself and be aware of the yin and yang of each opportunity, that in order for the good to seem spectacular I must also experience the sadness, anger, and frustration.
Whatever this journey will bring, I'm ready.
I have bid a fond farewell to my high heels, long showers, and endless time to devote to reruns of "Arrested Development".
But with two days to go, the idea of being in Americorps is finally real. I've begun the process of saying my goodbyes, of copying down addresses and not telling my parents how many things I've managed to lose over the past few months.
The strangest part of the whole process has been the reactions of everyone else regarding my going. I have been so fortunate to have so much support behind me--everyone is thrilled that I'm doing such an adventurous thing. But with such high expectations, of course, comes the fear that perhaps the experience will not be all I've anticipated. I've found that whenever I've gone into a situation EXPECTING something (abroad in London, college in Ohio, Israel) the event isn't anywhere near what I've imagined.
So the challenge falls on me. To be true to myself and be aware of the yin and yang of each opportunity, that in order for the good to seem spectacular I must also experience the sadness, anger, and frustration.
Whatever this journey will bring, I'm ready.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
2 Weeks to Go...
Here we go!
Officially jobless, I begin the struggle of a lifetime. Packing for the 10 month long voyage that is Americorps NCCC. I now believe that this is the real task of the program. A way to slowly and painfully sort the real adventurers from those who merely are fantastic at pretending. How in the world does one pack for a year of work in which 1) they will be in uniform 90 percent of the time 2) they do not know where they are going 3) they do not know how attractive others will be and therefore, how much trying is necessary...
After all, I could be in a tent, on the floor of a church, in a dorm, in a hotel. It could be 70 degrees, 110 degrees, or -4 degrees. I could be skiing, swimming, gutting, building, digging, reading, and sorting. Dr. Seuss missed out on a great book opportunity.
But after many phone calls from my brother Jared, who's already on his Americorps adventure in Sacramento, I have to come to the conclusion that the above ranting is probably why I need this experience. After about 15 minutes in Americorps, I'm sure that I will quickly discover that it is the country, and not me (and especially not my packing habits) that really matter. That doing service trumps bitching about pretty much everything else.
I can't believe that after months of possible budget cuts and "meanwhile" jobs, I'm really going to be doing this.
Here's to giving back in the best way I see fit: doing community service for those that need it most while being clad in ill fitting kacki and grey. Or, as my "every two weeks" housekeeper Penia says,
"What, are you crazy? They are not paying you and you work for a year? You are crazy."
Everyone's got an opinion.
Officially jobless, I begin the struggle of a lifetime. Packing for the 10 month long voyage that is Americorps NCCC. I now believe that this is the real task of the program. A way to slowly and painfully sort the real adventurers from those who merely are fantastic at pretending. How in the world does one pack for a year of work in which 1) they will be in uniform 90 percent of the time 2) they do not know where they are going 3) they do not know how attractive others will be and therefore, how much trying is necessary...
After all, I could be in a tent, on the floor of a church, in a dorm, in a hotel. It could be 70 degrees, 110 degrees, or -4 degrees. I could be skiing, swimming, gutting, building, digging, reading, and sorting. Dr. Seuss missed out on a great book opportunity.
But after many phone calls from my brother Jared, who's already on his Americorps adventure in Sacramento, I have to come to the conclusion that the above ranting is probably why I need this experience. After about 15 minutes in Americorps, I'm sure that I will quickly discover that it is the country, and not me (and especially not my packing habits) that really matter. That doing service trumps bitching about pretty much everything else.
I can't believe that after months of possible budget cuts and "meanwhile" jobs, I'm really going to be doing this.
Here's to giving back in the best way I see fit: doing community service for those that need it most while being clad in ill fitting kacki and grey. Or, as my "every two weeks" housekeeper Penia says,
"What, are you crazy? They are not paying you and you work for a year? You are crazy."
Everyone's got an opinion.
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