Tues, Feb 6th
Finally, no more classes and seminars!
Today we headed out for our very first service project. The Fire Unit, consisting of about 70 CMs (Corps Members) and 8 TLs (Team Leaders) walked into what I like to call the Costco of food banks. This thing was HUGE. Room after room after room of huge packaged food. The warehouse was centered around the volunteer area where we could eat, break, and work our little fingers to the bone.
We all lined up around a giant roller belt and began making, packing,and sealing boxes of food for seniors and families with young children. I stood at the head of the line, taking the empty boxes and putting in two economy size cornflake boxes and sending them down to be loaded with veggies, milk, beans, rice, etc. About 4 fours into the project, I reached down for my millionth corn flake box and felt a tear in the small of my back.
Leave it to me to get injured on the first service project. Lifting CORN FLAKES.
I switched over to the less challenging station of canned green beans and have sadly been recovering from my back injury ever since. By the way, there are too many people who insist they can crack a back. Or fix it. This, I have learned, is not entirely true. After visiting the doctor, who told me to take advil, I'm heading straight to a pro. To the masseuse!
On a more concrete note, it was amazing actually working and seeing everyone's dynamics and work ethics as we manual labored ourselves for the day. I totally felt like Lucy in that episode of "I Love Lucy" where she and Ethel go and work in the chocolate factory. Only I had corn flakes. And no hairnet. And I injured myself. But besides that, it was great fun and I'm sure much more rewarding than any bonbon.
Bring on the service!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Top 10 Reasons why I Love my Uniform
Sigh. It had to come. The uniform. As much complaining as I've been doing, its really not all that bad. Well, it gets better daily as my deluted self continues to think that I look great in my high waisted cargo pants and tucked in shirt. (I'll post pictures for the full effect soon)
I made a list to help those that don't have to wear it appreciate it more.
10. The coveralls are totally mechanic chic
9. Steel-toes boots perfectly complete that lumberjack look
8. It's always fun to answer questions about NCCC
7. Male or female? Further investigation is needed to determine
6. It's easy to spot your fellow government slaves in a crowd
5. Concealing a weapon and unexpected pregnancies are no longer a dressing challenge
4. Pockets. So many crazy pockets.
3. You never know whats going on under there. It's a cold case.
2. Gaining weight is simply an excuse to billow your tucked shirt even more.
and the number one reason why I love my uniform...
Everyone looks equally unattractive.
I made a list to help those that don't have to wear it appreciate it more.
10. The coveralls are totally mechanic chic
9. Steel-toes boots perfectly complete that lumberjack look
8. It's always fun to answer questions about NCCC
7. Male or female? Further investigation is needed to determine
6. It's easy to spot your fellow government slaves in a crowd
5. Concealing a weapon and unexpected pregnancies are no longer a dressing challenge
4. Pockets. So many crazy pockets.
3. You never know whats going on under there. It's a cold case.
2. Gaining weight is simply an excuse to billow your tucked shirt even more.
and the number one reason why I love my uniform...
Everyone looks equally unattractive.
Happy Birthday to Me!
It is always a difficult situation to be born on Feburary 5th. Not that the day isn't great or it has a stigma attached to it or anything, but it's always an awkward time. In high school, it was about a week after we switched classes for the semester. In college, exam time. And in Americorps, it means that I've been in Denver, with brand new people, for approximately five days. Five days in which to form bonds and remind people with enough pushyness in order to even get my birthday remembered.
And waking up the morning of the 5th, I discovered just how great people here are. Outside my door was a pile of treats, stacking their way up to a poster signed by everyone (and I mean EVERYONE, including an odd "Get well soon" greeting). Despite the long boring/informative sessions we sat through, I had a fab day filled with greetings. That evening culminated in a pool/local watering hole outting after braving the trecherous street that is S. Federal Blvd. Hey Denver, one word. Sidewalks!
Much thanks to Mom and Dad for the amazing fruit floral arrangement and Jared for the odd but tasty popcorn. Loved the cards everyone!! Thanks for celebrating with me from afar!
And waking up the morning of the 5th, I discovered just how great people here are. Outside my door was a pile of treats, stacking their way up to a poster signed by everyone (and I mean EVERYONE, including an odd "Get well soon" greeting). Despite the long boring/informative sessions we sat through, I had a fab day filled with greetings. That evening culminated in a pool/local watering hole outting after braving the trecherous street that is S. Federal Blvd. Hey Denver, one word. Sidewalks!
Much thanks to Mom and Dad for the amazing fruit floral arrangement and Jared for the odd but tasty popcorn. Loved the cards everyone!! Thanks for celebrating with me from afar!
I Heart Denver
Ok, so it really doesn't stop snowing. And my long underwear is certainly coming in handy daily. But really, truly Denver is a very cool city. Each meal I'm greeted by a spectacular veiw of the Rockies, which helps to make the food more...edible.
We headed downtown during out first team's training to check out the city. Imagine everything you could want. Now put it on a single street. Welcome to 16th street mall. A great stretch of highway with free shuttles that will bring you everywhere from the Public Library to brunch served by drag queens to a three story worn in bookshop/bakery called Tattered Pages which I've quickly adopted as my downtown home.
Everyone that I've met has been out of their way friendly. Bus drivers, people on the buses, waitresses..it's quite a change from the DC metro system.
One thing that I will say Denver needs to get a hold on:the cab system. After waiting for not one, not two, but THREE hours for a cab until 4am in the blistering cold outside of what I believe is the only Wal-Mart not open 24/7, my friends and I FINALLY got a cab our first Saturday night out. And by cab, I mean an old car with towels over the appolstory and bobble head dolls of both Jesus and Buddah whom you payed "whatever."
Every day is an adventure.
We headed downtown during out first team's training to check out the city. Imagine everything you could want. Now put it on a single street. Welcome to 16th street mall. A great stretch of highway with free shuttles that will bring you everywhere from the Public Library to brunch served by drag queens to a three story worn in bookshop/bakery called Tattered Pages which I've quickly adopted as my downtown home.
Everyone that I've met has been out of their way friendly. Bus drivers, people on the buses, waitresses..it's quite a change from the DC metro system.
One thing that I will say Denver needs to get a hold on:the cab system. After waiting for not one, not two, but THREE hours for a cab until 4am in the blistering cold outside of what I believe is the only Wal-Mart not open 24/7, my friends and I FINALLY got a cab our first Saturday night out. And by cab, I mean an old car with towels over the appolstory and bobble head dolls of both Jesus and Buddah whom you payed "whatever."
Every day is an adventure.
Better late than never
First off, I sincerely apologize for my inability to access this blog on my fancy, dancy phone. Despite having all the bells and whistles that I requested, each time I go into press publish on a recent blog entry, the phone refuses to actually publish. Hence, the lack of witty info regarding my past few weeks here in Denver.
Americorps NCCC Training is, in a word, amazing. It's pretty much an endless day of classes, seminars, physical training (ultimate frisbee in the snow, ultimate football in the snow, hiking in the snow) and in general making friends and getting us all geared up for heading out on spike (where we do our projects.)
In the past few weeks, I've learned a lot. From the amazing people I've met here so far, the first thing I want to do is thank my amazing family and friends for the life that I have. Some people, to put it lightly, have had a pretty rough life. Whether the situation be foster homes, drugs, addition, family issues, poverty, abuse, there are a lot of things that I've never had to deal with and am learning slowly about just how diverse 300 people can be. I've met people from every state (including Alaska and Hawaii!) and a good (but not fantastic) mix of races, religions, and cultures. Apparently many of the applicants for the program happen to fall into the "white girl" catagory.
Its a bit like a mix of freshman year orientation and camp. But imagine coming in knowing no one, and unlike college, everyone is truly there because they want to be..the desire for change and good is electric. The trick to survival for the first few days is being overly friendly--literally introducing myself to every person I see and trying to start up a conversation--then following through when I see them later. This, during the first few days, is not YET considered stalking.
There are some people that I can already tell I'll be close with, others that I hope I'll get to know solely because they are outside of my normal comfort zone. I can't wait to see what develops.
Americorps NCCC Training is, in a word, amazing. It's pretty much an endless day of classes, seminars, physical training (ultimate frisbee in the snow, ultimate football in the snow, hiking in the snow) and in general making friends and getting us all geared up for heading out on spike (where we do our projects.)
In the past few weeks, I've learned a lot. From the amazing people I've met here so far, the first thing I want to do is thank my amazing family and friends for the life that I have. Some people, to put it lightly, have had a pretty rough life. Whether the situation be foster homes, drugs, addition, family issues, poverty, abuse, there are a lot of things that I've never had to deal with and am learning slowly about just how diverse 300 people can be. I've met people from every state (including Alaska and Hawaii!) and a good (but not fantastic) mix of races, religions, and cultures. Apparently many of the applicants for the program happen to fall into the "white girl" catagory.
Its a bit like a mix of freshman year orientation and camp. But imagine coming in knowing no one, and unlike college, everyone is truly there because they want to be..the desire for change and good is electric. The trick to survival for the first few days is being overly friendly--literally introducing myself to every person I see and trying to start up a conversation--then following through when I see them later. This, during the first few days, is not YET considered stalking.
There are some people that I can already tell I'll be close with, others that I hope I'll get to know solely because they are outside of my normal comfort zone. I can't wait to see what develops.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Mail Call!!
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
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
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.
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