by ellyn.

I was born in the wrong decade.

2009-05-01T14:58:00.000-07:00

I'm just putting on my finishing touches for my outfit for tonight's PROM!
I was in charge of planning my school's "Year End Event" (boring!), so it became Wagner Prom, complete with a Best Dressed 80s Contest.

I had no idea my hair could fluff so well. Watch out world, I've got a new weapon: Aquanet.

really?

2009-04-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

Unwanted creatures are a constant battle in New York. My roommates and I have occasionally had a mouse running around, and Andrew's apartment has been home to a particularly stealthy mouse for awhile now (he is able to eat the treats off of a trap without setting it off- we have fed Mickey an entire jar of peanut butter by now). At first I tried to think of them as little free pets, but pets that you love don't ravage TWO new packages of your favorite rice cakes overnight. Well, maybe they do, but anyhow, I've lost my patience with these guys.

Anyhow, my building recently posted this sign on the door leading to the garbage area, and I just have to say, "Really?" If you're trying to make people in the building NOT be creeped out, and NOT worried about rodents and the like, maybe DON'T post scary little pictures of them around.

teamwork!

2009-04-11T19:06:00.000-07:00

How long does it take Ellyn and Andrew to fold and assemble 200 invitations?

One suprisingly good movie.
Lots of pancakes with almost summer berries.
One cutely bottled wine.

That's how long.

We gave ourself hearty pats on the back for our teamwork. Team projects between the two of us sometimes end in a battle of strong wills, but we survived this casualty free, minus a few paper cuts.

welcome to the nealon's.

2009-04-05T14:18:00.000-07:00

Ice Glove, by Andrew.

Things I have cried about today:

My housing situation.
Andrew's housing situation.
The future Nealon's housing situation.
My lost school folder.
Burning my hand with boiling water.
Some pasta.

I know, it's ridiculous. But then Andrew made me an ice glove for my burny hand (I'm serious, see above), and it just killed me. I took a picture and decided that it's time to inject some humor, perscpective, and narcisstic rants back into my currently chaotic life. So, welcome back to the blog.

In the next 4 months I will/hope to:

Finish my thesis.
Graduate.
Move to Brooklyn.
Find a subletter for my apartment.
Travel to Oregon for 6 weeks.
Get married.
Go to Hawaii.
Find a job.
Move again, with Andrew.

All of this is making me a little crazy (see above list of items cried about before 2pm). But it's also pretty funny a lot of the time, and I want to remember this weird time in my life.

So, the new launch of "by ellyn" is going to be an exclusively newlyweds-esque blog about what it's like to be getting married, in Oregon, while living in New York, in 2009. No more political musings or weakly satirical rants. It's not like this blog was every Hipster Runoff, anyhow. So, my beloved readership of 4-5, brace yourselves. If married people gross you out, turn away.

Welcome to the Nealon's.

study break

2008-12-07T13:42:00.001-08:00

I am really bored of writing 15 million term papers, so I'm taking a break to say Andrew got me new glasses for my birthday! They don't have my perscription yet, but I am convinced that wearing them while writing makes me feel smarter, and thereby more productive. I also think that chewing on a pen=lots of brains. I think Andrew is watching me take pictures of myself when I'm supposed to be writing, so I'll get back to it.

In more important academic-related news, Andrew got into the New School to pursue a Master of Media Studies! I am so proud of him, I could just tip over, and I probably have.

Also, we will be in Oregon from Dec 18-Jan 5, by the way! We miss you.

Also, accuweather tells me the "real feel" outside is 17 degrees. Blerg.

love is...

2008-11-17T07:22:00.000-08:00

...having someone who will make you:

Scalloped potatoes and asparagus
Pumpkin ice cream with cookie crumbles
another cookies
maybe one more cookie
A giant batch of popcorn

In a one hour span.

And then still take care of you when your tummy hurts.

proud

2008-11-11T13:41:00.001-08:00

(thanks, bethany, for the reminder about what today is....)

The past week has brought up all kinds of patriotic feelings in me, but one strain of patriotism that I hope to always nurture, no matter who is in office or what we are engaged in, is incredible respect and gratitude for all of those who serve our nation in the armed forces.

So today, I want to say thank you to two of my own heroes:

My brother-in-law(-in-law) Ross Jackson, who has recently returned from Iraq. I met Ross shortly after he joined the military, and it has been amazing to watch this goofy guy turn into an amazing husband, father, and servant to our country. The Jackson family has truly put service first and made heart-wrenching sacrifices, with Angel staying home with little Ezra while Ross was abroad. Angel is an incredible woman with an amazing sense of perspective and a strength that I can not fathom. The Jacksons humble me, and I am honored to count them family.

Sam Jones, brother of best friend Amanda, and pretty much my little brother for most of my life. Sam used to wear a towel cape and red underpants and do Michael Jackson impersonations for us, and last month he became a First Class Private in the Marines. He is a young man with focus and determination far beyond his years, and while I hope his days of "Billie Jean" moonwalking are not quite over, I know he fulfilling a life-long calling in this service.

Honestly, thinking about these two men in my life brings tears to my eyes. The military has been a source of much controversy throughout America's history, but I truly believe that patriotism in this sense is transcendent. No matter which shade of red or blue I identify with, I hope to always reflect an overwhelming gratitude for those who have laid down their lives and continue to do so every day to keep America strong and safe. Thanks, guys.

yes we did.

2008-11-05T11:44:00.000-08:00

that's all for now.

once again, oregon is awesome-er

2008-11-04T08:33:00.001-08:00

(photo by my Oregon pal Davin Sweeney, taken this morning in the poll booth)

I woke up at 5:40 to go vote this morning in the school cafeteria next to my house. 5:40! And I still didn't get out until 6:30. It's been projected that some people will wait for up to EIGHT HOURS today. I will say that it feels fun to actually walk somewhere and participate in voting, and move levers and whatnot, but still: Oregon, with your vote-by-mail, you are awesome.

A soapbox moment (please vote).

2008-11-03T14:03:00.001-08:00

(I couldn't figure out how to mirror this picture. The sign says "O-B-A-M-A")

I don't get political on this blog very often, mainly because 99% of my life as a public policy grad student is devoted to politics and I usually only work it up to write about fluff in my free time.

But, somehow, after literally years of analyzing, newspaper reading, debating, memo-writing, the most important election of my life up to this point is about to take place. And I'm really, really excited.

I'll make this brief, two points:

1. Vote. Vote. Vote. Please. I don't care for who (really, I spent 20 minutes on the phone with my best friend helping her decide whether to write in Ron Paul or Chuck Baldwin). Just do it, ok?

2. In case you were wondering, I am voting for Obama. I've been involved in the campaign and spent this past Saturday traipsing about Pennsylvania talking to swing voters, so it's legit. I support Obama because not only does he inspire me, but I feel confident about his advisors and likely appointments, I agree with the direction of his economic policy, and I feel that a new move in diplomatic foreign policy is vital. As a Christian, I support Obama's consistent ethic of life: ending the Iraq war sooner, providing social services/contraception to make abortions less frequent, exploring environmental solutions, and seeking to provide equity to all layers and classes of American society. That's it. I could (and have) written a lot more and draw up all sorts of graphs demonstration his taxation policy, but I'll leave it at that for this blog. Mostly, I am proud to be a part of this election, and I am proud to vote for Barack Obama, and I am proud to be an American. And as a member of a pre-maturely very jaded generation, that's a pretty big deal.

i <3 gender roles

2008-10-04T16:45:00.000-07:00

Today andrew and I had a long, continuing discussion on the role of women in ministry (sparked by our membership session at our possibly new presbyterian church).

anyhow.

I just made andrew a sandwich! Girl points for me!

Then the dog* puked all over the place. Andrew took care of it while I surfed the internet and completely ignored said puke. Boy points for him!

Guess I'm totally fine with traditional gender roles!!

*I say "the dog" like he is mine, but he is just my weekend dog that I babysit. He looks like this.

it isn't easy being green

2008-09-24T08:51:00.000-07:00

I have spent the morning reading the Journal for Municipal Solid Waste Proffesionals website, and various city Solid Waste and Recycling websites. And I love it.

My new interest in all things Solid Waste (I want to say "solid waste" as much as possible in this post) is due to my recent assignment to my Capstone team (for our graduate thesis at Wagner, we complete a complicated project in groups, i.e. Capstone). Our clients are the City of Stamford, Connecticut (you might know it as the other branch of Dunder-Mifflin in the Office), and our project is to figure out why their new recycling program isn't working, which will involve all kind of nerdy awesome processes like program evaluation, needs assessments, best practice research, and recommendation constructions. I am sooo excited. There is no sarcasm here.

A lot of what I do at Wagner is very heady, often controversial and intellectually laborious political theory, debating issues, analyzing policy, etc. Which I love. But I am really looking forward to this very hands on project- we'll be going out and talking to residents, going on recycling runs, etc. And, if all goes well, we will be able get Stamford a little more green. I also think this will be a great notch in my belt for if I come back to Oregon and work in local government at some point.

I think a lot of my friends and family don't really know what I do in grad school, and I never explain it very well. But now you know- Solid Waste Management.

priss (?) in boots

2008-09-22T21:11:00.000-07:00

oh, my feet.

Tonight, I am mad at NYC streets. Walking here is like playing the old arcade game "Frogger" only the cars are RATS and Frogger is ELLYN'S FEET. I have stepped on crispy , flattened rats (in flip flops), barely missed still warm corpses (I'm sorry...but it's true) and dodged countless rabid furballs in the subways.

But tonight, crossing 2nd avenue, I kind of tripped on something, and I really think it was a pig's foot. I realize odds may be higher that it was, in fact, not a pig's foot...but it seemed that way, and New York has shown me anything is possible.

This pig had not been wearing boots like our friend pictured above, and LIKE ME EVERY DAY FROM NOW ON.

i enjoy being a girl

2008-09-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

My roommates, who I adore more than I can say, also moonlight as summer camp art n' crafts counselors, and the other night they surprised my with a whole wall full of Wedding Countdown swag. We now have a paper chain for the remaining 9 months, made of takeout menus from our block, and a "wedding message board," the current contents of which are not publishable for this blog (4 Christian girls + 1 impending wedding....things get out of hand).

Rachel, the genius behind the operation.
I'm going to be her business manager for Wedding Countdown Crafts, Inc.
She also makes peach pie that makes the angels sing.
And she does her dishes.
(p.s. That's a picture of Ken and Barbie she's holding...just to clarify. I do not want to lose my "G" rating on this blog!)

really, new york, really?

2008-09-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

From what I've gathered, in New York, the cool cache of pretty much anything goes up about a million points if you have to stand in line for it. I stand in line for Shakespeare in the Park!, Artichoke Pizza!, Magnolia cupcakes!, etc., etc.

But today I saw a new low...Trader Joe's is known for having a hellish line to check out (it wraps around the inside of the store and a checker stand at the end with a little "End of Line Here" sign). But today when I walked past, I noticed a line of people outside, going down the block. Just to get in. To get in the store. To wait in line again. For groceries. Are organic tomatoes really worth it?

life is a subway, and i'm going to ride it

2008-09-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

Well, well, well.

The blog has been seriously neglected this summer, but if you read the previous blog post, you will probably figure out why. Andrew is here, the sun is out, and life is gloriously full. Ikea trips, Central Park, 3 jobs, breakfasts at Egg, free music, every movie put put at BAM, fanatical attention to the RNC and DNC, cheap drinks with the girl contingent...blogging hasn't come easily.

But here I am again, because
-It is September.
-I am in school.
-I am supposed to be writing a paper on Congressional Activism as pertaining to Foreign Policy.

Bring on the procrastination!

The summer was legitimate.

I spent a lot of it here:

Williamsburg Bridge

I am really happy.

i can see clearly now, the rain has gone...

2008-06-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

(that sunshine is named ANDREW and those clouds are named LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP!)

Within 24 hours, ladies and gentlemen, the long distance relationship of Ellyn Canfield and Andrew Nealon, spanning countries, oceans, states, and highways, will be over and a new season will begin! To be fair, we will be on different buroughs, but that's all for the best (because his is way cooler than mine).

Andrew has put the petal to the metal, and will be rolling in tonight or tomorrow!

Now I just have to sit through day of work, trying to be interested in donor renewal letters. It's going to be pretty hard.

A big smile on my face, fingers tapping in anticipation- I. Can. Not. Wait. !

moving on

2008-06-03T20:38:00.000-07:00

I just watched Hilary Clinton give what looks like the last speech of her campaign. She gave it a few blocks from my apartment, so I waited out the 3.5 hour wait to see her. Bill and Chelsea joined her on stage, and while she didn't give her concession, the way she quieted the audiences chants of "Denver! Denver!" was telling. It was a goodbye speech- of thank yous, and a pledge to unity for the party and the country.

Regardless of whatever you didn't like about her, she took a courageous step for women and for this, as well as for her pantsuits, she will always have my admiration.

And it looks like my childhood dreams of being the first woman president just might still have a chance ;)

some travel in my blood

2008-05-31T14:23:00.000-07:00

Home again--home to sticky air, smelly streets, and a temperamental shower--but home, and home always feels good. I've feel refreshed, having shook the weight of finals and deadlines, having breathed the clean air of forests, friends, and family.

The trip was perfect, quite simply. I love New York, but it has a tendency to push my Type A strengths into frantic, desperate weaknesses, and I've discovered one way to combat this is to leave. And there could be no better leaving than driving through beautiful nothing with someone who has mastered living so well at a slower pace. It took me a few days of bouncing around, asking "What's next?" to catch on to the traveling pace, but I think I did pretty well. (You'll have to ask Andrew for the truth about that- but I bribed him pretty well with grilled veggies and scrambled eggs made in Pam's tiny kitchen).

You can also see Andrew's blog for much better pictures of our adventures together, but here are a few I took across dusty towns.

Denny's Wigwam- a treasure mine of dream catchers and cowboy vests.

I know. He's hot.

A common sight- miles of nothing and a lone, un-ironically vintage motel

And now, a trip behind me and a summer before me. It should be a fun summer- new jobs at BAM and Celebrate Brooklyn (I know, I need to just move there already), lots of rooftop dinner parties and free BAM movies.

AND (yes, yes, yes!!!) a trail of postcards that continues to grow as Andrew and Pam get closer!

oh geography's gonna make a mess of me

2008-05-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

thank, Thao, for the title.

I have been SERIOUSLY lacking in blogging, but in in the past 24 hours have finished grad school (along with countless papers, exams, projects, etc, that go a long with that).

In 5 hours I leave for Arizona, to meet up with Andrew, and will drive through New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado. Then fly to Oregon for Tiffany's wedding.

I love being busy.

I love seeing Andrew.

I don't love trying to fit all of my hair, skin, etc. products into one airport allowable ziploc bag! (yep , carry on only for the van leg of the trip)!

this is for you, chelsea

2008-05-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

Chelsea! You made me totally procrastinate by calling me out. You've always been so influential in my life. So, here it is!

And here is what I am taking a break from:

Four jobs I've had:

1. Baker- Jamocha Joe's

2. Senate Chairman- Oregon State University

3. Potato Chip Maker- The Chippery

4. Community Outreach Coordinator- City of Adair Village

Four movies I've watched more than once:

1. Wild Hearts Can't be Broken

2. High Fidelity

3. Wayne's World

4. The Wedding Planner (yes...the one with J.Lo.)

Four places I've lived:

1. Adair Village, Oregon!

2. Rome, Italy

3. Uzhgorod, Ukraine

4. New York, New York

Four places I've been:

1. Split, Croatia

2. Budapest, Hungary

3. Innsburg, Austria

4. Inverness, Scotland

Four TV shows I watch: (via Netflix)

1. Sex & the City

2. Project Runway

3. The Office

4. West Wing

Four people who email me regularly (doesn’t include blogging comments):

1. Andrew

2. The Wagner Gang (I think the current email chain is in regards to Chris's families propensity to shoot and consume animals.)

3. Kristi in Ukraine

4. Jose

Four of my favorite foods:

1. Avocados

2. Oatmeal

3. Grapefruit

4. Gorgonzola

Four places I would like to visit:

1. Argentina

2. Korea

3. New Orleans to see Sarah and Ohio to see the Freemans and Detroit to see Jordan and England to see Chelsea and Florida to see Sarah & Brian with Andrew.

4. This has been more than four.

Four things I'm looking forward to in the coming year:

1. Having a half of a master's degree in about 2 days!

2. Andrew arriving in New York.

3. Going on a bit of the road trip.

4. Getting married...well, that is a little more than a year away, so how about picking out a dress and all that jazz?

BACK TO WORK!

a holla to my boo

2008-04-08T17:38:00.000-07:00

Andrew has started his voyage (hurrah!) and I highly recommend his new travel blog:

http://sevenseparation.typepad.com/.

So while his journey might not hold quite the same meaning for you, as you won't be marrying him at the end of it, it's really neat to hear real American tales unfolding.

Sorry, this isn't really about my life, but right now if I talked about my life it would sounds like:
"blahblahblah the tax incidence of a consumer tax can be determined by calculating tax incidence of blahblahblah." No one wants to hear about that!

i'm working HARD.

2008-03-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

It's Spring Break, yes!, but Spring Break for the bleary-eyed grad students=papers!
I am currently typing away on a research project about religious rhetoric in presidential campaigns. It's super interesting, but ....c'mon- it's sunny out! Luckily, all this rhetoric keeps pushing me back to the grindstone.

A little taste, from Lyndon Johnson's Inaugural Address:

"We have no promise from God that our greatness will endure. We have been allowed by Him to seek greatness with the sweat of our hands and the strength of our spirit. "

Here I am, employing the sweat of my hands and the strength of my spirit, while taking a break to leap around the room.

I am in Amanda's apartment, babysitting it while she's in Europe, in case anyone was wondering how I got a TV, a coffee table, windows, and floor space all of the sudden.

the nanny diaries

2008-03-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

Well, this format is, again, a bit of a copy of b's blog, but I feel it's in order.

Kids are freaking funny. And despite the fact that SOMEtimes they make me a touch crazy, funny kid things are often just the thing to lift my mood out of midterms/cold winter/etc. So today I am more than a touch annoyed/saddened by a few things, some of them material and silly (macbooks in a coma and the hospital bill is OH so expensive) to sad and weighty (Andrew's Grandpa Norman, who is like, my grandpa now too, and it the sweetest man in the world is in a pretty serious state of declining health). So the world can be heavy at times, but kids manage to sprinkle the fairy dust that reminds you there's more.

So, I've taken up babysitting as of late, in light of the fact that living in the most expensive city in the US while not being employed isn't a great combination. Babysitting New York style is a little different, actually it's one of the highest paid jobs I've ever had. Huh.

Ok, here's what I've been getting at- Friday Night Conversations with Kitri (9) and Sylvan (4):

#1
(Sylvan is looking through a book of American Presidents, and I thought I'd rock her world a bit with a Civics lesson):

Me: Sylvan, do you know who those pictures are of?

Sylvan: Nope.

Me: All of the Presidents of the United States!!!

Sylvan: (bored) Huh.

Me: Do you see how all of those pictures are of men? Well, our next president might be a woman!

Sylvan: Right. Hil-ry Clinton.

Me: (after a moment of stunned silence) Yeeaahh.

Sylvan: But O-rack Oboma's gonna win. I just know. But, Hil-ry's won 2, and O-rock won's 1. 1 state. But he's gonna win.

Well, Hilary recently took 2 states, and Obama 1. Do they not make Sesame Street anymore? Do kids just watch C-Span? Apparently this four year old is more up to speed on politics that most 20 year olds, and is pretty savvy on the complicated electoral process as well. Cool.

#2:
Kitri: I have a friend at school, his name is Yo. Yo, like 'What's up yo, yo!' His sister's name are E, like the letter, and Jamba like the juice. His mom is a BIRD lady and she made a duck that talks to read ducks, and she brought it to our class. And they have like, two hundred pets, not the cuddly kinds, but like a toad and some rats. And Yo's mom? She built a rock climbing wall IN THE HOUSE out of seashells! Out of seashells! And...Yo wears girl pants.

Me: I want to be friends with Yo.

clean as a bean

2008-03-03T11:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I think I should get an award for how well I clean the kitchen. It is SPARKLING.

Also, I wonder if my roommates read this blog?

some pictures, many pictures

2008-02-27T19:39:00.000-08:00

Well, some of these extend quite far back, so consider this a picture book of the past few months.

Kate & I in Prospect Park on Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, really, I know!

Ok, more recent: My NY Birthday party. All the kids, post- karaoke.

Amanda rocking out as she does best.

Esparanto cafe on a snowy day. A good place to be with loads of reading when it's cold out.

I'm sorry, it's not even rotated. But look- how cute! Little monkey man, with his little monkey. And my brother all business in his engineer's hat.

Brad & Cami gaze on with admiration as Andrew & I blow the roof of with
"Total Eclipse of the Heart"
(Karaoke Birthday, PDX version)

Oh, old pals. Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver but the other, gold.
These ones? Gold.

Brad & Bethany at my birthday- what Brad lacks in photogenic-ness,
Bethany makes up for in charisma.

Mel-Belle and I have a meet up and a sum-up of our old hive.

Ash & I at the LowBrow. One of my most missed Oregon friends at one of my missed Oregon bars. $1 Miller High Lifes! The Champagne of Beers!

New Year's at the Oregon Coast! My sweet Chelsea- we live kind of parallel lives, give or take a few feet of boyfriend and a stretch of Atlantic ocean.

Now we move to New Year's weekend at the Oregon coast with the gang. Andrew blew me away with his skills at the casino arcade. It's sexy, I know.

Couples! Couples! Don't roll your eyes.

Kind of an odd one to end with, but two of my favorite boys who are dating two of my very favorite girls!
(Thom & Eric, Kate & Chelsea, respectively)

also, i love my nephews.

2008-02-27T14:58:00.000-08:00

Ok, I am stealing this from Bethany's blog, but I could not resist. I am so lucky to have an amazing family, and we are all blessed to have this little fashion fiend in our lives:

I'm pretty sure I've seen like 8 hipster girls in Brooklyn wearing this outfit.

happy valentine's day!

2008-02-13T21:14:00.000-08:00

i love andrew nealon.

talk to my agent.

2008-02-09T14:03:00.000-08:00

I think the sidewalks are so crowded in New York because everyone is trying to cram into a small patch of spotlight. While my "make it on the stage" dreams are now dusty on the shelf next to my highschool drama props , I took a break from the books this past weekend to try my hand at stardom.

First stop- the stage at the Brooklyn Art Museum's Opera House. Extras were needed for the Brookyn Philharmonic's production of the Pied Piper, and my friends Suvi, Rachel, and I beat out countless contenders (or, showed up on the first day) to get the parts. The parts? Rats. We were rats. The performance went smoothly, especially considering that we were scurrying around on stage in the dark, and the probability of actually breaking a leg seemed high.

The show was fun, but the paparazzi is getting old.

Rat-A-Tat-Ellyn, Rachel, and Suvi (I think Suvi's rat face is award-worthy)

Next up, I again eschewed my serious student role to weasle my way into a party for Chloe Sevigny with my fashion-connected roommate, Laura. The whole scene was too ridiculous for words (if you are terribly curious/bored- a video summary of the party can be found here). While a lot of the famous faces there were under my radar (or, I suppose, above), I did cut the rug for a bit with the boys from Project Runway, a show that kept me tantalized for my entire Jet Blue flight to Portland. I usually let my celeb sightings rest in peace, but...

Jacky Pants, K-Dawg, and uh, K-Bomb (we are best friends, can't you tell?)
No, really! BEST Friends!!

Well, it appears the spotlight is calling my name, but I think I'll stick to the books for now.

state of the dream

2008-01-21T21:47:00.000-08:00

In 5th grade, I snatched a blue ribbon at Speech Olympics with my rendition of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. While at the time I knew very little of diversity, persecution, struggle, and triumph, it has always stuck with me, and Dr. King is someone who has spoken to my life, my work, and my faith.

One line of that speech that has stuck with me is, "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

For me this dream has also come to mean that I will raise my children in a country where they are not judged by race, gender, or socioeconomic status. And looking around, I am pretty excited to see the leaders of our nation, who come from various racial, cultural, and economic backgrounds. Judge them how you will regarding their politics, but remember that this is the exciting thing. We can judge them, not on race or gender, but on the content of their character.

...

( a girl can dream, right?)

ahem, ahem

2007-12-25T23:25:00.000-08:00

On top of Mt. Tabor, amidst rain drops and tears.

chances are high that most of my trusty readers have gotten this news in some other form, but just in case:

The Big Hot News of Ellyn's Christmas 2008 is that Andrew Nealon took me to the top of Mt. Tabor overlooking Portland two days ago, and surrounded by Oregon raindrops, asked me to marry him. There was a diamond involved, so of course I said yes.

We have a few things on our ToDo list before the wedding (finish grad school for me, cross country road trip in the Volkswagon for Andrew), so we are looking at Summer 2009- date to come.

Andrew is a blessing beyond what I can believe. He is the man that God knew I needed, even when I did not. It is pretty exciting to feel like this is both the most wildly romantic feeling combined with the best decision I have ever made. And he drives a Volkswagon- what more can I say?

So suffice to say, it's been a marvelous Christmas, the best one ever in fact.

my state is the best state.

2007-12-11T14:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Oregon,

You and I both know my commitment to you has waxed and waned over the years. It's true, I've never been the most diehard Oregon girl - I've been camping what, twice? And the past few years have taken me away from you quite a bit.

But seriously, I miss you. And I talk you up like you wouldn't believe. I am a one woman tourist bureau, advocating your trees, your fresh air, your music, and your beer. Whenever I see my friend Daven, who's mom, you might remember, is the voice of your MAX system, we high-five in salute of you, our Oregon.

So my love for you was further renewed when I got that letter in the mail from you a few days ago. A check for $39.99! You remembered my birthday! And, you seemed to be suggesting just what I'd been hoping- I should buy that dress, shouldn't I? Thanks, Oregon.

Well, I will see you soon. Let's meet up first at American Dream, for a pint of Whit and a salad that doesn't cost $477. I can't wait.

xoxo,
ellyn, the oregonian

Christmas tidings/ A Serious Blog

2007-12-08T13:04:00.000-08:00

For all of you who just couldn't handle the sugary sweetness of my last post, here is something to chew on. It's a subject that is somewhat always on my mind as a Christian/Traditional/Progressive/Left-Leaning Independent/Ball of Confusion, and is very much on my mind today as I have spent 6 hours thus far in Bobst library working on a proposal to reform children's health care in Oregon. This is from a discussion between me and the beard on the other end of that picture, revamped a bit here:

Last night, in my policy class we were talking about democracy, kind of obvious for a policy class I suppose. But we were specifically talking about an article by Robert Kaplan, "Was Democracy Just a Moment," in which he makes the case that many things led to our democracy "working" and it is not a magical formula that can be applied to any nation. True, I think, but also somewhat depressing. Professor Kersh was visibly saddened when he talked about 40 years ago, a group of public service students like us would be excited by the idea of "spreading democracy" and now we see that as almost an evil. A long class discussion ensued, with many people bringing up examples in which an attempt to implement democracy has resulted in utter disaster.

This talk reminded me of church on Sunday, I think I told you about it- when John was talking about Caesar changing the world. He believed he had made the world "marble," yet for many people of that time, it must have felt like hell- massive bloodshed and tyrrany, opressive rule. Casar attempted to fix the world, and by some rubric (they had indoor plumbing!) he did, but clearly the world was not whole.

And then , Jesus is born, the one prophesied to the Savior, to have the government on his shoulders. I can only think that people who knew these prophesies must have expected someone more like Caesar, a dynamic ruler who would establish his power- someone who would establish justice by relieving taxes or stopping war.

And then, in an animal shelter, a baby was born.

I have been struggling with the tension of being someone who believes in government, and in turn, in people- truly believes that positive change can be made. Yet, I also believe that we are a flawed people, and our single-handed human attempts to heal will always be somewhat flawed.

And I guess that is where, for me, the hope of Jesus comes in , the hope of a different way, a better way. A way that sounds so utterly simple- to love, to serve, and to give, and yet is truly more revolutionary than Caesar's plans, and for sure my Policy 101 Health Care Plans. I'm curious, I think even if you don't think much of Jesus, it is hard these days to hold unswerving hope in government either.

But how does it tie together? Believing in the potential of a powerful nation and people, yet believing that true change must involve humility and a belief in something greater. How do We, as a people do this?

Well,anyhow. I think Bethany has made the point a few times that serious posts tend to merit little comments, so we'll see. Can we beat my record number of 7 for the junior-high-esque PDA?

babycakes

2007-12-01T17:37:00.001-08:00

I am going to escape the library in a few minutes to visit my new friend from Origins, Caroline, at Babycakes, the bakery she works at. I will eat a vegan, gluten-free, refined-sugar free, and actually just free-for-me cupcake.

I feel this picture goes along nicely with that idea. My own vegan cupcake. Actually, he's a vegetarian.

a rich evening

2007-11-29T22:00:00.000-08:00

Why am I crying at 1am after reading a speech written by my university president?

Well.

Tonight I had the incredible fortune of attending a dinner with Dr. John Sexton, the President of NYU. I was chosen by a lottery and really had no idea what to expect- I was counting on some decent food and a cheesy NYU speech from a suit perhaps.

I was not expecting a sweatshirt clad teddy bear of a man to hold a room full of grad students in rapt attention for an incredibly intimate 3 hour dinner. I could go on for awhile about the things this man said, his casual brilliance, and the experiences he's had. Just in the past week, he has been in Abu-Dhabi with the Crown Prince laying plans for the NYU campus there, and in a summit with the presidents of the 25 top universities and Bill Clinton discussing climate change.

He spoke of the winding path his life has taken, and urged us all that we can't plan life. "Your generations epithet will read, 'He kept his options open,; " he said. He spoke of his 15 years as a highschool debate team leader and his PHD in comparative religion and reminded us all that you can't plan life.

Throughout this conversation he used religious imagery reflective of his deep Catholic faith in a very moving way. Here is a man who wrote many of the Supreme Court decisions in protection of Church and State and is a convicted Seperationist, speaking powerfully of his faith and belief in religion's ability to do good in the world.

OK, but really- what moved me this evening, was that more than anything, all of his accolades and his adventures, he spoke the most about his wife, Lisa, who died very suddenly this past January. To hear him talk about this woman, who so clearly was and is the joy of his life, brought tears to my eyes. So many things he has done- but to have her to come home to was the thing that counted. To have her to share in the adventure with.

You can read the speech he read at her memorial here, and perhaps it won't move you like it did me. But then, I am just starting my adventure, and I have found someone to share it with.

how sneaky am I?

2007-11-26T16:23:00.000-08:00

I am in class right now, actually my very favorite class, the one that makes me want to applaud at the end of lectures (and sometimes we do).

Somehow I decided to pull my laptop out, which was a bad idea, as it's obvious that I am no longer taking thorough notes on the 4 Eras of Governmental Ethics.

My recent goal of being less distractable (word?) isn't going well.

What I really wonder it- do I look like I'm taking notes still? I nod intermittantly, and try to time my typing with important points that are being said.

This reminds me of Calivin & Hobbes, a strip in which Calving draws eyeballs onto ping pong balls and tapes them to his eyes. That is about how convincing I am right now.

oops...

2007-11-20T21:30:00.001-08:00

My night did not go as planned.

I planned on cooking a nice salmon dinner, then doing homework while writing a heartfelt post about the amazing show I went to last night, and how it made me miss my equally amazing boyfriend.

But I never got past the salmon.

It started innocently enough- I even googled how to cook it! I faithfully followed the directions and was reassured my roommate, Kate, when it started to smoke, that this was "normal."

Well, after two trips up a step ladder to turn off the blaring fire alarms, I began to suspect that something might be wrong. Kate, Rachel, and I cracked open the broiler door, and (I'm not exaggerating, I promise) flames leaped out.

What follows , in a mad flurry:
-Rachel flings open the door to let the smoke out, and somehow alerts all the neighbors.
-Kate starts pacing in circles and looking far too pale and is ordered to go sit in the other room by Miss Bossy Pants herself.

Meanwhile, the fire is blazing and black smoke is pouring from the oven.

Now the issue here is that we have a gas stove, and we all knew enough to be confident that we shouldn't put water on it. We shut the gas off, but it was still going strong.

After a quick google search of "how to put out a gas fire" yielded nothing helpful and a call to the Super ("What?" "Who?" "What apartment?") wasn't producing fast enough results, I did what any helpless gal would do (right?)- called the New York City Fire Department.

Now, I suppose fortunately, at about the time I made the call, the fire went out. We pulled my salmon out and even sliced it open - still edible. Unfortunately, my attempts to cancel the fire call were not successful.

Thus, in a matter of minutes, as soon as we heard the sirens coming, I trudged down the stairs to meet ... the fire crew. 3 firemen, in full uniform, carrying axes and masks and ready for uniform, being met by a red faced girl in sweatpants, telling them "it went out!"

They insisted on coming upstairs anyhow to "check the situation" and were very kind as we explained our panic-stricken phone call. We all felt very much the helpless girls, huddling around our burnt salmon while the dashing young firemen ask "What'd you burn for dinner tonight?"

Next, the gas company man stopped by and shut down our oven! Apparently (really, truly!!) it wasn't my fault, and there could have been much more dangerous results. So we are thankful for that.

The absurdity of the night ended perfectly when my four boxes of groceries were delivered just as our oven was condemned. Four boxes of hoped for thanksgiving feast...and unless we want a visit from our pals at the NYFD, no where to cook it.

This would only happen to me.

Oh and by the way- the salmon was delicious.

That little red tag means he won't be cooking for awhile.

a breif touchdown to the real world

2007-11-06T15:07:00.000-08:00

I do realize there has been a serious lack of updates and pictures, but life has been a beautiful whirlwind the past week!

Pictures to come, but so far highlights:

-Viewing the city from th 64th floor of the Rockefeller Center at my internship's fund raiser- free drinks, amazing food, funny old new york politicos, Mandy Patinkin (aka "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.") hosting, and again, the view...

-Having someone to steer me away from the taxis/people/buses that I usually nearly collide with. I've been fending for myself the past few months, and having a firm hand holding mine has been lovely.

- A stroll through Central Park and a great Broadway show (and the sweet thrill of victory from conquering the masses of Times Square and the discount ticket booth)

-A day at the MOMA, with a perfect blend of appreciation for Matisse, Warhol, Jasper Johns, Pollock and sarcastic ponderings at the special large sculpture exhibit that failed to move us.

-Coming home from class to find my clean laundry folded, flowers on my desk, and dinner and tea waiting...sigh.

Sorry about the romantic ramblings. Actually, no apologies. I'm one happy girl with one hella awesome boy.

Today is a good day

2007-10-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

5. I finished my LAST MIDTERM!

4. Rachel Roommate, Kate, and I finally decided on a church and we are meeting with a pastor on Sunday to talk about hosting a small group in our house. Our goal is to bring a little West Coast flava to the group. Did I just write "flava?" Yes. More on this horrible process of "church shopping" later.

3. The TimeWarner man fixed our internet.

2. It's my mom's birthday tomorrow. That's neat.

and the number one reason why this is a good day...

ANDREW IS COMING TOMORROW!

Unabashedly ecstatic. That's me.

you remind me of home

2007-10-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

The past 2 months (two months! really?) have been chock-full of Ikea trips, Home Depot safaris, and carrying many boxes, bags, and the occasional couch up our five flights of stairs.
But we have a home, and of last Saturday night, it has been warmed.

"Ah," says Kate, "It is so very spacious in our lovely home!" To give you a scale of size, you can see one wall (our "dining room") on the right, and the shadow on the left is from the other wall- our kitchen. And this is the apartment.
Oh, and I'm not sure if they have been formally introduced on here, but these are the roomdawgs:
Rachel- Esthetician to the stars as well as a liscenced NY tattoo artist. Hollaback.
Kate- Social work grad student by day, illegal rooster fight organizer by night.
Laura- Does something tres cool in fashion that involves getting me free L.AM.B. fragrance.

Truly, truly, they are a gift from God. The mice we just discovered- are not.

My room. Someday, when school is over, I will sleep on that bed. The tree is recreation of every single project I did for ART 101.

I was going to put up more pictures...but the internet is being spastic. Housewarming pictures to come.

a small victory

2007-10-19T07:08:00.000-07:00

This morning - the guys at my regular coffee cart knew my order!

"Large coffee? Black?"

Ah yeah.

I feel at home.

PS- you can all applaud andrew for the new picture of me actually wearing makeup instead of cheeto dust or goggle/sunglasses. Well, ok, Rachel did the makeup, andrew put the picture on my page. Did you really think I know how to put a picture up there? Please. I only passed "Women in Technology" with some serious help, aka completing rewriting of my HTML by the boy .

E to the X to the A to the M

2007-10-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

I am currently taking big gulps of relief, as I have survived my first exam of grad school.

The past week has been full of dates with the library and accrual based accounting spreadsheets and BOND valuations (the latter may have still gotten the better of me on the test).

My pals for the past week. The HP110 Financial Calculator (!) and Cheetos that my sweet roommates bought me in an attempt to quell my whining.

Anyhow, 2.5 hours of being hunched over with my mechanical pencil and calculator, and I'm done. For now. Microeconomics is next week, and judging by my propensity to daydream up New Year's Eve plans rather than listen during class, I'm in trouble.

To celebrate I bought this.Good old Eggers, and an intro by Sufjan Stevens- neat.

One exam closer to my MPA and the return of sleep at night.

Donkey Kong, Sarah Sullivan, and Chili Cheese Fritos

2007-10-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

Every so often in my child hood, certain events would coincide (perhaps saving up enough to rent, yes rent, a Super Nintendo or Sega Genesis, or later when Christmas had granted a gaming system of my own, then maybe a patch of bad weather in the summer) my childhood pal Sarah Sullivan and I would have a full-scale video-game-a-thon for a solid 3 days. I distinctly remember eating a lot of Chili Cheese Fritos (so delicious, although it's been too too long since I've had artificial seasoning covered fingers) and playing Donkey Kong into the wee hours of the morning.

So, I just found this post, and it made me smile. I've already wanted to see the space movie (pref. with Andrew so we can debate government funding for space programs), and I am now adding Kong to my list. I also like this guy's blog. Anyway, check it out.

Now back to work on the 8th floor of the beautiful NYU library. 3 cheers for accrual accounting!

Oh, and I saw a great play last night, starring a good friend (oh and yes, mom, I figured out- Jason Robards is his dad indeed) of Amanda's, and afterwards we got drinks afterwards with him only to discover Claire Danes at the bar. Weird. (I had to say that to make up for the fact that I fill up New York weekends with financial management spreadsheets).

oh, you're a visual learner?

2007-10-06T20:12:00.001-07:00

love me, do.

2007-10-06T19:52:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't been doing a good job at the blog, but as they both so often do, my sister-in-law and man have motivated me to be a better blogger through their own well-crafted and photographed examples. Plus, with my new knowledge of googlereader (thanks, my melissa), I am a blog stalker. I know what all of you are up to. So, I guess it's my turn.

I get mad a lot in the subway here. It is hot, and noisy, and my MO has been to bustle around connected to my i-pod, a little bubble of Iron and Wine in the midst of chaos. The other night I was taking the subway out to Brooklyn, and was agitated as usual when a man got on with three kids.

Him: "Good evening folks, my kids and I live in a shelter and we missed dinner tonight. The kids are hungry. Help us out if you can, please."

So, whatever. This happens every second here, someone shoving a clipboard, or a cup for change under your nose, and even people who are GOING TO SCHOOL TO END POVERTY, or something like that, keep walking with their i-pods in.

But the kids and the man launch into this wildly good rendition of "Love Me Do." These tiny kids are just wailing, beating out the percussion with wooden sticks. They had this incredible harmony, it was heartbreakingly earnest. I think I held my breath the whole time, just drinking in this sound.

I gave the kid who walked around with a plastic bag $2, it was my only small bills. The bag was pretty full, the kids were getting dinner, I think.

It was a moment full of exploitation and pain, of everything that is wrong with the world. But also, a thread of beauty and pulse of life. It was New York.

I've always like apples.

2007-08-31T19:04:00.001-07:00

I feel it is necessary to write a post, but I feel at a slight lack of words.

There is certainly much to tell:

The smell of urine everywhere I go.
Meeting Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords
Crossdressers on the subway. Tons of them.
$4 Indian food from the cart in Washington Square Park.
New friends.
Reuniting with old ones.

There is a lot. It feels pretty good, pretty comfortable. It's hard to fully enjoy things when I feel the keen absence of the bearded one by my side (no, not jesus...he is always with me...). But, planning our future weekends is a nice way to daydream away the long stretches on the subway.

So, anyway, I didn't do an A+ job of updating everyone on m life, but it is: I moved to New York, Manhattan, Gramercy, 23rd St between 1nd and 2nd, take the B to W4th, to be exact. Actually, don't take the B. Take the J? I don't know what I'm doing.

coffee in a mug, endless amounts

2007-06-11T09:26:00.000-07:00

I have been FO.SHO. slacking on this blog, but now I am oregonhome, and I find slightly less need to distract myself electronically (not to metion I can actually see many of you these days, and 3-D is just better than a flat screen, we all agree).

I shold prob be really dramatic about coming home, and it is blissfull to be sure, but at this moment, all I feel like reporting is this:

I am at my new job at Adair Village City Hall, and someone has, it seems, brought in their own role of cushy, 3-ply (Charmin?) toilet paper into the Women's Room. The stocked stuff in their is the horrible, industrial sort. But what is the etiquette here? Am I allowed to use this personal supply? Is it only for the person who brought it? They should label it.

my boys.

2007-04-30T04:28:00.000-07:00

this is from our last day with the Chaslivsti boys. We took them for a picnic, fed them too much pizza and soda and let them play soccer. For a moment, life was at it should be.

barometer

2007-04-30T04:11:00.000-07:00

This one should be read while listening to Sufjan Steven's John Wayne Gacy, Jr.. The first time Andrew and I talked about God, this song came up. We are flawed. But there is hope.

The sun is shining. I am sitting in my balcony, a cup of coffee beside me, and my macbook on my lap. An extravagantly blue sky fills my vision, interrupted only by leaves from the newly budded trees. In a few hours, I will go to an orphanage to make watercolor paintings with 10 little boys that I am absolutely in love with.

Life is seemingly perfect. The world is vibrant and relaxed. I am engaged in meaningful work, doing something that, on paper at least, smacks of making a difference.

And yet. Do you want to know what is going on in my head (as if you haven’t already been subjected to enough of that in the past few months of rambly columns)? I want to go home and eat a burrito. I want to spend the whole afternoon in the internet café emailing friends and looking at the Urban Outfitters website. I am feeling sorry for myself because my boyfriend didn’t call me this morning, and my roommate’s boyfriend called her.

Really? I am surrounded by kids who don’t even have parents and I am mopey about a very momentary lack of attention from my boyfriend (who, for the record, had a very good reason for not calling and made up for it with a long and fabulous email. Plus he sends me chocolate in the mail)? Yes. The secret, the deep psychological reasoning behind my current state of discontent is quite simple- I am selfish.

Now, I don’t always feel this way. There are moments, hours even, when I feel fueled with the fire of social justice, when I feel love flowing from my heart, when I am all smiles and peace signs and good intentions. Moments where a life like Ghandi, Barack Obama or one of my other heroes doesn’t seem so unattainable. And then I get out of bed. Or discover that I am out of strawberry yogurt. And I crumble.

Now, before I get too deep into a personal self-exploration for all to read, I must add something else. You are selfish too. Or, if you aren’t selfish, you are greedy, or perhaps prone to jealousy. To put it simply- you are kind of messed up.

Let me tell you about some kids I work with. One of my projects is to teach English to a group of students at Path to Life, an educational and social rehabilitation center for children with mental and developmental disabilities. During the Soviet Union, kids like this were either institutionalized or ignored, and services are just being developed for them. The center is pretty amazing really, full of happy kids making macramé and naming their colors; kids who 15 years ago would have been completely left to themselves.

I go to the center once a week to spend time with two teenagers, Vasa and Svetya. They have Down’s syndrome.

Each week I spend 30 minutes with them, generally teaching the names of the colors in English. Red, for someone reason, is not sticking. Other than that, it’s fabulous. To be honest, I was a little hesitant when I was first asked to work at the center. I took my “Children with Special Needs” class online, usually skipping through the videos to find the worksheet answers. I haven’t had a lot of experience with these kinds of children, and if you’ll remember, I don’t really like kids at all.

The work is painstakingly slow. Usually they forget what they learn week to week. I don’t know that we’ll ever make it past colors. But the look on Vasa’s face when he says “blue” at the right time? It’s everything you could ever want out of life.

Now here’s the part where I say being at the center makes me realize the folly of my selfishness when I have so much compared to these kids, yada yada, right? No. Here’s the part where I say something pretty politically incorrect. These kids are kind of messed up. They drool on themselves. The make animal noises during lessons. Many of them will never hold a job or live independently. They are flawed. They are just like me.

Now, before angry letters start pouring in, let me clarify. The special needs of these kids, the problems that give them their diagnosis, are clearly different from the crap we carry around as character flaws. I’m certainly not saying they are doing anything wrong by having these differences. But in the same way that their special needs hold them back in life, my own problems pen me in.

See, what I found so very refreshing about these kids is that there is no hiding their flaws. People have probably been pointing it out to them their whole lives; kids staring at their narrow eyes and slow gait. They are who they are, no apologies.

The rest of us try much harder to cover up our special needs. We disguise selfishness as self-protection, or we strive to mask it by wearing ourselves out with good deeds. We call apathy realism, jealousy wisdom, greed survival. We walk around, most of the time, so afraid everyone will discover we don’t really have it all together. We settle for safe, we stop taking risks. We know we’ll never learn to say “red” so we quite trying and hope no one finds out.

Well, I for one, am going to soak up as much as I can from Vasa and Svetya during my time here. The thing that makes them different is the very thing that makes me love them. And while I don’t think that my selfishness makes me charming or cute, perhaps admitting that it’s there is one step towards living life a little more openly.

i'm so sorry. sometimes that's all you can say

2007-04-17T00:56:00.000-07:00

I do stay a tiny bit informed on stateside news, and the Virginia Tech shooting was hard to miss. Reading the reports made me feel sick, and I was suprised, as someone who grew up on school shooting reports, to find tears in my eyes. There is enough sickness, poverty, and hunger in our world without the pain being added too. We are fallen.
But there is hope, and so we press on. Prayers and faith and good lyrics are the tools I am trying to remember.

And someday....we'll go dancing.

and after the bombs subside
and this campaign
calls it good for the night

we meet in the streets
will we meet in a bar's cold light?
we grip at our hands
we hold just a little tight

after the bombs
after the bombs
subside

and after the rockets calm
and the glimmer of fire
pretends an early dawn

we pinch at our skin
while we wonder how we
escaped harm

we forget all our trials
while there
in our baby's arms

after the rockets
after the rockets
calm

then we'll go dancing
won't we go dancing
yes we'll go dancing

-The Decemberists, After the Bombs Fade

Easter without Peeps/ He is Risen.

2007-04-12T03:25:00.000-07:00

This picture has nothing to do with anything, other than it is fabulous.
About to hit me is Igor- our v. good friend here. Read on for a report of me weekend spent in his village.

The blessing of the baskets- Orthodox faith at 1am.

My latest for the Barometer and my first attempt at being kind of (I'll admit it) Anne Lamott-ish, writing about faith for a secular audience.

Faith. A cliché, a controversy, a question, all wrapped into one tiny word. Hundreds of images come to mind, and I’m sure they are different for all of us. Some are fixed to a clear meaning of the word- the devoted fasting through Ramadan, a silver fish stuck to the back of a car, yellow stars stitched onto fated clothing. But there is something broader too, something more universally felt- new wedding vows spoken despite doomsday statistics, first votes cast in fledgling democracies, tulip bulbs planted in the dead of winter.

Ok, hold up. My devoted fan base (thanks, mom) is probably wondering just where this is headed. These pages alone have printed countless columns and articles on various aspects of the never-ending debate that surrounds faith issues. Provocative cartoons, abortion protests, evolution vs. creationism. This isn’t going to be one of those columns.

The fact of the matter is, I can’t help but think about faith right now. I have been celebrating Easter with Ukrainians for the past three days, and I am somewhat smitten.

While Easter passes by in the US with not much more fanfare than an momentary increase in Honeybaked Ham sales and church attendance, it is the most important holiday in Ukraine. You know all of those hardboiled eggs you dipped into pastel dyes as a kid? That tradition started in Ukraine. And let me tell you, their exquisite creations totally waste the splotchy ones I used to make from a grocery store kit.

Ukrainians celebrate Easter with a myriad of rich traditions, all of which I had the opportunity to experience firsthand when my friend Igor invited me to his village for the weekend to celebrate with his family.

I had already gotten an inkling of the magnitude of the holiday during the past 40 days as the majority of Ukrainians observed Lent by fasting from meat and eating only fish (I can hear you vegetarians protesting that a fish is indeed meat, but that’s what they do, ok?). It’s hard to explain how an entire town can smell like fish, but that has been the case in Uzhgorod for the past month. Fish hanging from strings in the market, swimming around in tanks in stores, staring up at me with beady eyes from an incorrectly ordered dish.

So despite the fact Easter is a religious holiday, and this is a country that was officially atheist under it’s 70 years of communism, I got the feeling that most people were celebrating. And indeed, in the 15 years of independence, Orthodox churches with their beautiful golden onion-shaped domes have been popping up as fast as strip malls in the American suburbs. Over 60% of Ukrainians are Orthodox Christian, and they were all undergoing mad preparations for the big day.

I got my first taste of the customs when I accompanied Igor’s family to the “blessing of the baskets.” Now, I grew up having a basket full of Peeps and jelly beans delivered to my bedroom door by the Easter bunny every year (again, thanks, mom). However, Ukrainian Easter baskets carry far more meaning. Every family fills a basket with their finest examples of daily necessities- bread, eggs, meat, cheese, and wine. The baskets are covered with beautifully embroidered cloths and carried to church at midnight. The priest blesses each basket, symbolizing a blessing over the labor and fruit of the family for the next year.

When we arrived at the small church, it was evident that nearly the whole village had turned out for the occasion, the mothers and grandmothers with their heads covered in scarves, children up way past their bedtimes chasing each other. A line of baskets, families standing patiently behind, wrapped its way twice around the church.

Those who could fit inside the packed sanctuary sat for a two-hour service of prayers and liturgy. I stood outside, a starry sky above me. A huge bonfire, built to warm the waiting faithful, flickered a few yards away, mirrored in the rows of candles that burned brightly in each basket. The musty, sweet smell of incense and the slow chant of Latin prayers drifted from the stained glass windows.

At last, around 2am, the priest emerged, led by a procession of young boys proudly bearing embellished icons. He began to make his way around the line of baskets, dipping a bundle of branches into a bucket of water and sprinkling each basket and family in turn. Faces shone as they received the drops of water and the “Khrystos Voskres” (Christ is risen). After each basket, every loaf of bread and hard-boiled egg, had been blessed, the priest made his final prayer, and the crowd began to slowly make their way along the winding dirt road.

For a savvy, post-modern, secular American, this event is nothing but superstition, folklore, and rote tradition. And at first, I found myself a bit conflicted as someone who prescribes to both post-modern thought and ancient Christianity. But something about that night, something in the intoxicating scent of incense and the wrinkled grandmothers carrying worn baskets through the cold night was mesmerizing.

For although, at that moment, masses in the capitol city were rioting over the corrupt government, these people were taking fresh steps into a new year as Ukrainians. Despite the fact that in the previous year it may have been a struggle to even put bread on the table, that night they carried baskets full of promise for a new year. In the face of constant hardships, their faith had been renewed.

Webster’s defines faith as “firm belief in something for which there is no proof.” Faith is a mystery, it is the hope of light in the dark, it is the promise of blossoms in the cold winter. Faith is people standing in the cold with baskets of food, and something inside them being changed.

So, here’s to faith. It’s a word perhaps overused by Lifetime TV and a concept we are perhaps too afraid of in our enlightened classrooms. But this weekend convinced me that it is something we all need. For as Americans, we may discourage putting all one’s eggs in a basket. But I think sometimes we have to do just that, and turn those baskets over to the beauty of faith. And perhaps something good will come.

let me explain

2007-03-22T05:08:00.000-07:00

Sushi in Ukraine? Alyona says "yes!"

I eat a lot of peppers. That's all.

So. I think I've mentioned this? My using my Hulk-esque strength to power through the door? Here is the result of my ferocity. We had to crawl through this hole for two days and I did not cut myself one time. Not once!

like a sore thumb

2007-03-18T07:38:00.000-07:00

Another article, and some fun facts of late:

-I got chased by a pack of street dogs while I was jogging a few days ago. Luckily, I have developed lightning speed, and while one caught my sweats, I escaped unharmed.

-Speaking of harm, I almost broke my shoulder...while shattering a glass door. So, our door get stuck a lot, and I got a little fed up the other day, and decided just to force it. I forced a little too hard, and now we have glass all over our entry and for two days had to climb through the hole to get in!

-I have started teaching English to a group of kids with Down's syndrome. We almost know all of the colors! Their sheer delight at laughing at my bad Russian is a highlight of my week.

I have never exactly been one to blend into the crowd. Take my height, for example. While at age 22, I can safely check the “average” box at 5’8”, this was not the norm in the sixth grade. That’s right, I was nearly 6 feet tall (ok, I realize that’s a bit of a stretch, but it sounds good) at the age of 12. I towered over my classmates, in a very gangly, clumsy, braces-clad, frizzy-haired fashion. I wasn’t even aware that males existed, as pre-pubescent boys were about 2 feet below my line of vision. It was as bad as it sounds.

In Junior High, when most kids are trying desperately to fit in, I decided to rebel by embracing my height (it was doing me no good in PE class) and adding to the spectacle with what I called “eccentric” fashion. This included Spice Girl-esque boots with 6-inch platforms and yellow Power Rangers shoelaces, lots of multi-colored pleather, and those 70s polyester shirts you can always find at Goodwill. Let’s just say, it’s really not a challenge to pick me out in group photos from this era.

While I have certainly toned things down over the past years (with the exception of one outfit involving neon green fishnets in Fall of 2004), I wouldn’t call myself a wallflower. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my excessive good looks combined with a complete lack of coordination garner me more than an average share of attention. However, during my time in Ukraine, I have discovered a new level of public scrutiny that has made me, even me, want to hide in the back row.

When packing for my trip to Ukraine, I thought I did a good job of prepping for six months of being a European. The white sneakers, star-spangled T-shirts, and oversized GAP sweatshirts all got left (ok, I don’t actually own any of the aforementioned, but if I did, per the instruction of Lonely Planet, they’d have gotten the axe), in went scarves, dark sweaters, and pointy boots.

Unfort, my daily uniform of jeans, tweedy coat, and the pointy boots, of course, still leaves me looking like something from the Zoolander “Derilict” dump-themed fashion show compared to your average Ukrainian woman. “Fancy” is the desired look here, and this means an ensemble of fur, feathers, some kind of fake animal skin, and lots of rhinestones, every single day. Despite the fact that many people don’t have daily running water, the girls always have immaculately coifed hair and dramatic makeup.

Needless to say, unless I start gluing glitter onto my track jackets, it is obvious that I am not from around here. Now, when I was quite young, my mom taught me that it is rude to point or stare at someone who looks different. Apparently the lesson given to Ukrainian youngsters is more along the lines of “when sighting anyone who looks slightly out of the ordinary, stop all business, openly gawk, and immediately begin gossiping about the alien being.” When I walk into any public place in Uzghorod, heads turn, and I catch the word “Americansky” repeatedly in the fierce whispers around me.

It gets tiring, all of this ogling everywhere I go. The constant cultural mishaps don’t help things. Public transportation here is via marshutka- which are basically hollowed-out Astro vans that people pack into like clown cars. The buses are rickety, the roads are horrible, and remember, I am clumsy.

One day, upon hitting a particularly large pothole, I flew forward, and tried to catch my balance. Unfortunately, my hand, or fingernail rather, landed directly in the eyeball of a small girl. The girl sobbed, people gasped, and I was left awkwardly holding my hands up in innocence and defeat while repeating blogodaruvas, which I realized later means “thank you.”

Sometimes people go beyond the usual stares to let us know exactly what they think. My American roommate recently decided to celebrate the first sunny day by wearing sandals. Despite the fact that it was 50 degrees and beautiful out, the Ukrainians were still swathed in full-length furs. While walking through the market, amidst people gaping at her bare ankles, a scarf-clad old woman grabbed Tiffany and began scolding her loudly. Her admonitions consisted of warnings that “wearing such shoes make you childless! You get sick! No children!”

Every day is woven together with anecdotes like these. I do not fit in here, and people are not shy to remind me of this fact. My seventh-grade self might have enjoyed all of this attention, but I find myself longing for the days when I could take a trip to the grocery store without making newspaper headlines.

Standing out is important in our culture. We are constantly being reminded to rise to the top, be unique, and make a name for ourselves. Well, I think at least for a few months, when I return home, I will be happy to go unnoticed. I am finally learning that sometimes, to blend into the crowd is a really good thing.

time is on our side

2007-03-18T07:37:00.000-07:00

de la barometer!

I like to be busy. I save old day planners the way some people save pad-locked diaries, and looking through the filled time slots and checked boxes gives me a deep, vaguely OCD, thrill.

I’m a product of a 90’s childhood packed with art lessons, dance class, and play dates. I’m happiest when I’m booked from dawn till dusk and I keep a Newsweek in my purse in case I accidentally get free time. You know people say, jokingly, to a friend, “can you pencil me in?” I do that; I pencil people in.

Ok, you get it. I’m a tiny bit Type A, and I like to keep it moving. All this is fine, even praised, in the hustle and bustle environment we live in the US. But it’s a recipe for some serious frustration in a culture that looks at time a little differently, such as- you guessed it- Ukraine.

Time is a concept that we ascribe value and meaning to, especially cultural meaning, in ways I don’t think we always notice. Our culture values rigid time keeping; time is money, right? And we are into our money here, yeah? But it’s true, we save time, we waste time, we budget time. And quite simply, we are on time to things.

Not so in Ukraine. We North Americans know that not everyone runs on our schedule. I’m sure we’ve all heard someone refer lightheartedly to “Hawaiian Time,” or a “Mexican Minute.” Well, I’d like to tell you about Ukrainian time. Time isn’t really the right word for it. It’s more like time-ish.

Europeans are, by stereotype and my experience, more laid back than their uptight kid sister, the US. Their society is aimed at enjoying life just a little bit more- no official legal drinking age, three hour long meals that start at 10pm, shorter working days. I guess that’s what happens when you have classical art and ancient architecture to gaze at instead of the blue wonder called Snell Hall.

So take those relaxed notions and multiply them a few hundred times, and you’ve got Ukraine. No legal drinking age? Boy howdy. Every street corner is home to a market or kiosk where anyone, young or old, can kickoff their evening, or mid-morning for that matter, with a 20 cent shot of vodka in into a plastic cup. Meals at a restaurant routinely take an hour or two to come, and no one is impatiently glaring at the waitress.

This was a shock to my high-strung system. My very first day at my internship in Ukraine, I was told that work started at 9. I arrived at 8:55. Alone. People trickled into work over the next two hours, and the workday sort of mosied to a start.
None of my Ukrainian co-workers seemed too concerned about this; it was business as usual. I, on the other hand, was gripping my day planner with sweaty palms and having heart flutters. This was only the beginning of long hours spent waiting for events that never happened and people who never showed up.
All of this has brought to mind a time theory that probably most of us studied in COMM 118. I think we learn it sometime after that day that Dr. Bushnell makes you dress up all crazy. As the theory goes, most people fall into one of two time-keeping mentalities- polychronic or monochronic.

The US runs on a monochronic system, meaning that at any given time, we have one activity affixed to it. At 9am class starts, and at 3pm you have a coffee date. For polychronic people, however, even if something is scheduled, there is a multitude of ways that time can be filled. What matters is not the label on the schedule, but what seems like the most important thing to do at that time.

In a monochronic society, the schedule is king. Your cat died, your grandma had a stroke, your car broke down, and you still clocked in to work at time? Power to you. For polychronics, however, the schedule takes a backseat to the needs and feel of the moment.

One morning, a few months into my time here, when I was finally learning to arrive at 9:30-ish, I found myself waiting longer than usual. We were scheduled to leave for the orphanage at 11am, and by 11:30, I was still the only one there.
In the afternoon, everyone finally came in, dressed up in their business finest and all smiles. Apparently, a former employee had given birth to her first child recently, and everyone skipped work to give their oohs and aahs.

In my monochronic head, this wasn’t the way things should be. We had something planned, and we didn’t do it. And at an orphanage, hello! (I love pulling the orphan card). But the feeling that afternoon was not all American/hectic/stressed, but rather one of celebration and joy over a new baby. Huh.

Maybe there’s something to it. It’s often been said by more polychronic voices that we miss the important in sake of the urgent. How many meaningful moments do we miss every day because our schedules are packed and we simply can’t afford to waste any more of the valuable currency of time?

So, because I’m being forced to for six months, I’m slowing down a little bit. I still write things on my day planner, but I often forget to check it. I’m trying to look at my watch less and the sights more.

But as nice as all of that sounds, I’ll be honest. It’s 1:33pm right now. I was expecting a lunch guest at 1. I’m freaking hungry. And I kind of wish we were on American time.

circles

2007-02-23T07:01:00.000-08:00

Today I didn't want to go the orphanage. I was tired, and it is Jenna's last day here.
The kids are in quarantine (oh, fun side note- we found out it is really common to get TB here- my peacecorps friend tested positive for it- yummy) , so I didn't think we would be able to, but of course, we did.

In a previous post I mentioned a little boy named Niko- he spit on my hand, we fell in love. Today, as I trudged in, he ran up to me and tied a little blue yarn braclet onto my wrist.

My cup runneth over.

yada yada yada

2007-02-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

Another Barometer column- I haven't had time for much other writing.

Instructions for reading if you are not a fellow Bleeding Heart Liberal: Roll your eyes, chuckly wryly, and say to yourself, "she'll grow out of this."

I’m a registered independent, I don’t support the war in Iraq, and I now regret using my first presidential ballot to vote for George Bush. There. Not so shocking, is it? Possibly even expected, coming from the pages of a, let’s admit it, teensy bit liberally-biased, college newspaper.
We live in a country (ok, well you do- I live in Ukraine, remember?) where we consider the right to disagree to be as much a part of our American makeup as apple pie and the Yankees. None of our many God-given, government-granted rights is as constantly flaunted about as our right to free speech. Set up a protest of just about anything in the MU quad, and I guarantee, within an hour you’ll have gained supporters as well as a counter-protest. And that is a beautiful thing.
Well, I don’t care for apple pie, and I’m still trying to piece together if the Yankees won the Super Bowl last week. I might be missing a few of my American genes, but I can assure you, my belief in the importance of the freedom to a loud and clear opinion runs as strong and deep as the Mississippi River.
Ok, look back to the first few sentences of this column. Change a few details- maybe “war in Iraq” to “USSR,” nix GW, add Gorbachev and switch the date to 1990 and location to Ukraine and you’ve landed yourself in jail or worse.
You see, Ukrainians are some of the millions whose political opinion was drowned out by the Iron Curtain from 1920 to 1991. A casual conversation with a neighbor regarding the fact, that oh, maybe you didn’t like the government-sponsored famines that killed 8 million people, might easily spell the end of things for you and your family.
The kids I hang out with here, while they may listen to Beyonce and sport Pumas like any American, grew up being shushed instead of encouraged to speak up.
Well, the curtain has been parted for 15 years, and voices are beginning to rise. Pent-up opinions that have long been restrained are finally being aired.
2004’s Orange Revolution brought the winds of change to a raging gale. Long, tabloid-y story short, the presidential election was proved to obviously rigged and the people stood up. Hundreds of thousands gathered in Kiev to protest and a new election was held. Victor Yuschenko was elected and the crowds rejoiced at the return of power to the people.
There was also lots of other crazy stuff in that election, such as a bona fide poisoning. Seriously -poison! Who still does that? Anyway.
The Orange Revolution was in many ways a catalyst for a new generation of political dissenters, or at least for those who might want to express an occasional contradictory opinion. Now, a table in a local coffee shop full of outspoken young Ukrainians looks and sounds just like a group of civically minded OSU students, only the debate is about a return to Russia instead of a retreat from Iraq (no, thanks and yes, please, accordingly, in my opinion).
I have sat amidst Ukrainians discussing the changes in their country since 2004, and watched as they took sides and raised arguments. Opinions flew back and forth, the current government was praised, critisized, supported and dissected. While voices rose, I stood back and just watched as the seeds of democracy began to sprout. It was a beautiful thing.
It is true that there comes a point when simply voicing dissatisfaction must turn to action, when protesting grows pointless by lack of follow-through. But watching these Ukrainians try out their newfound voices burns in me the utter importance of simply having the freedom to speak self-evident truths. As Voltaire said, “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.”
This past November marked the 2-year anniversary of the Orange Revolution. Recently, we honored Martin Luther King JR who will always speak to us the power of peaceful protest. We are surrounded by men, women, and movements, which attest to the sheer force of combined voices.
I am hopeful that Ukrainians will continue to speak, that they will ask questions and express opinions, and debate and defend. And I hope that we, with our birthright of free speech, never take it for granted. I hope that this paper continues to be full of critiques of George Bush, and alongside these, statements of glowing approval and support. I am sure that we will never be out of things to disagree over, and while change may be slow and imperceptible, we absolutely must continue to raise our voices in the rich and contrasting melody of civic energy.
So while apple pie, the Yankees, and the Superbowl, will probably always be exclusively American, here’s to hoping that freedom of speech is not.

Barometer- Small, Sticky People

2007-02-05T07:20:00.000-08:00

if anyone actually reads this- here is a treat: My column which will run TOMORROW!

I suppose my previous columns may have painted me as somewhat narcissistic, egotistical, even arrogant. So let me add this- I don’t like kids.
A statement like this might be acceptable coming from a grizzly hermit-type living in a hand-hewn log cabin in the woods, but it’s probably not ok for an HDFS major whose current primary duty is to teach orphans. Now, Human Development and Family Science sometimes gets a bad rap for the fact that our math course involves using wooden blocks, or perhaps because a disproportionate amount of our students are blonde and hail from Greek Row. But the fact is, our classes are largely populated by smiling, bright-eyed woman whose intellectual prowess as well as ability to craft a choo-choo train out of toilet paper rolls far surpasses our peers over in Kelley Engineering or anywhere else.
I have spent the past four years in classes with girls (side note- there are a few boys in the major. Like literally, three. Props to you, men) who show up to class, early, and take notes with 7 different colors of gel pens. End of the term PowerPoint presentations are full of snapshots of happy children in Bates Hall and renditions of "Itsy Bitsy Spider." So what am I, a disliker of children, doing here? I get nervous when I see a playground of flailing, sticky small people, and my brain goes a little bit numb when I have to read a Berenstain Bear’s book more than twice.
But here’s the thing. I may not be interested in spending my days kneeling on a patterned carpet playing with children, but I would gladly spend the rest of my life behind a desk fighting like hell for them. I am in HDFS because of my interest in social policy, and I think the only way to make a change in this arena is to get my hands dirty working with the kids I hope to make life better for. Insert here any completely cheesy but entirely true clichÈ about children being the hope of the future.
Ok, ready? Here comes my orphan story. It’s the day after Christmas and I am brimming with self-pity because Santa Claus got stuck in the mail. A phone call from a friend with an offer to deliver Christmas presents at a local orphanage coaxes me out of my flat and in a few hours later I find myself in the midst of a clamoring crowd of young gypsy boys. They are loud. They smell like rotten cheese and urine. They press into me with a fury I haven’t experienced since punk rock moshing. And I love them like crazy.
Take the lighthearted image of orphanages you have from Annie and erase it. There are no colorful musical numbers in the home of these boys. While conditions have radically improved at this particular orphanage, thanks in huge part to the Corvallis Sister City Association, the kids here have grown up in deplorable conditions. Overflowing outhouse pits, scant meals, ragged clothing, abuse from peers and teachers, and unsteady education are only a few of the problems plaguing them, and all of the orphans of Eastern Europe.
While I’m standing there, dolling out sticks of gum for the frantic kids, a tiny, gapped-tooth boy named Niko grabs my hand, staking his claim on me for the day. If I stop walking for just a few seconds, he shifts to wrap his arms around me in a desperate embrace. While holding my hand in a vice grip, he becomes very concerned about a pen mark on my hand. With a disparaging shake of the head, he spits on his dirty sleeve and removes the mark, like a mom rubbing her shirttail across a child’s soiled face.
It was a holy moment, standing there, with Niko’s saliva on my hand.
Niko represents to me why kids are so excruciatingly important. Looking into his dark brown eyes, I see so much hurt and fear. But I see even more hope, love, and the kind of concern that would lead a tiny boy to reach up out of his own filth to clean someone else. The potential in Niko and his pals is incredible, but the heartbreaking statistic is that over 90% of them will end up on the streets or in jail.
Children are indeed our future, and a great many of them worldwide are broken, starved, used, and forgotten. While politicians argue over semantics, sling bombs, and cut helpful budgets in favor of pork-barrel projects, these kids grow into a state of irreparable damage.
A story from the Bible tells of one of the greatest social justice activists of all time taking a break from his work to let little children sit on his knee, much to the dismay of the busy and important people around him. Imagine if more of our leaders took a moment to truly value children instead of seeing them as a photo-ops, statistics, or collateral damage.
So here it is- the predictable, inspirational ending to my Hallmark story. Take a moment, all of you, and let a kid sit on your knee. It doesn’t matter what field you are in, you will be impacted someday by today’s children, and you will be held accountable for your current response to them.
And take it from me, you don’t have to know all of the words to "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" to change the world, just a little bit, for the little ones.

Barometer- Patriotism, I suppose.

2007-02-01T03:53:00.000-08:00

Printed on January 23rd.
For the record, I do love my former highschool and the flippant statement about GWB is meant to be just that- flippant. And I despite any war views, I absolutely wholeheartedly support our troops, especially my brother-in-law, Ross, who I admire tremendously. Ok, I'm done with the disclaimers. Still love me?

I spent this past weekend in a small Ukrainian village with the family of my translator, Tanya. While at Tanya's home, I was treated with the kind of attention and care that would normally be reserved for a visit by the president, well, a president people like - not G-dub, of course. Anyway. My guidebook says that Ukrainians are known for showing their lavish displays of hospitality to house guests and this weekend did not disappoint me.

From the moment the rattly minibus dropped us off on the pot-holed dirt road, I was welcomed with open arms. Mama Nadya, as I was commanded to call her, plopped me on the couch and spent the next three days feeding me without pause. Homemade pickles, fresh bread, sausage, pasta, potatoes - I'm sorry, did you say this is liver? Just when I would work up the ability to move again, it was time for the next meal. While I lay around digesting various barn animals, Tanya's dad scrubbed and polished my muddy boots.

These are the things I remember from the weekend - the things that were important. Despite the fact that the standards of living in this village were quite different from American suburbia, I felt comfortable and welcomed.However, throughout my time there, I felt an underlying embarrassment from my hosts on the state of things in their hometown. Indeed, I have noticed this chagrin in many Ukrainians throughout the past few months. A few examples, perhaps?

Tanya noticed me eyeing a large jar of pickles next to the refrigerator and she explained that this was to hold the broken door closed. "I know it is not like this in America," she said. "In America you just buy a new refrigerator."

In Ukraine it is a faux pas equivalent to coming to class naked and to setting one's belongings on the floor. I have had kids in the class I teach get up from their desks to move my Balenciaga knock-off to a chair. When I asked why this was, I was told quite matter-of-factly, "Our entire country is very dirty."

While walking down a gravel road, post-rainstorm, I was having difficulties dodging potholes and puddles in my heels. My friend Roma noticed my gymnastics and asked, "In America, all streets are clean, yes?"

Moments like this generally leave me awkwardly clearing my throat and trying to explain that we too have dirt and broken refrigerators in "America" (I've long since quit asking whether people are referring to North America, South America, or perhaps Puerto Rico). All of this prods at my long-shaky sense of patriotism. This is the girl who once stood on a desk in her red-blooded-right-winged private school and declared that to be patriotic was un-American, in a na've but sincere reaction to my classmates' unflinching support of the early war in Iraq.

Needless to say, I have not always been proud to be an American. Far too many innocent lives, from Cherokees to Iraqis, have been lost in the conquest of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. As someone whose classroom time has been spent studying social problems, I cannot be ignorant of the millions hindered by poverty, lack of health care and access to quality education.

But, we have clean streets, yes?

It is true that my friends who bemoan Ukraine's woes have endured a checkered history that has left much of the country in a deteriorated state. The average Ukrainian survives on less that $100 a month and basics such as heat and potable water are difficult to come by for many. And I'm not going to lie - I almost lost a shoe to the mud surrounding my bus stop.

But it's difficult to accept the unchecked praise of my homeland from my Ukrainian peers when I am so painfully aware of my own country's problems.

Despite very different circumstances, I can empathize with Ukrainians in feeling shame and disappointment over the state of one's country. All of us, it seems, stand with dirty hands on bloody soil.

However, it is that very essence of the American spirit in me that I at times detest, which has given me the mindset that I should try to make a difference anyway. While I regret the United States' mistakes, I am grateful to be from a country that has raised me to believe that nothing is impossible.

It is pure American optimism that has propelled me to the orphanages of eastern Europe, and will one day, I hope, lead me to impact change in the U.S.And I think, for me, this is patriotism at its best. None of us, no matter what country is embossed on our passport, can be ignorant of the faults of our nation. However, it is our nations that have shaped us, and we must take what we have learned and try to make things a little better for everyone.

Barometer 2- The Truth About Christmas

2007-02-01T03:37:00.000-08:00

Printed in The Daily Barometer on January 16, 2007

Dec. 25, 2005 - Oregon: I am sitting in front of the fireplace in my mom's living room, which with its current Christmas trappings looks like the hip love-child of Norman Rockwell and Martha Stewart.Presents are spilling out from under the tree, most of which are for me, as I am the baby of the family and by far the cutest. The aroma of baking cookies and other traditional holiday fare fills the air, and my 2-year-old nephew is providing entertainment by asking everyone to "draw a poop" on his new Magnadoodle. Life doesn't get better than this.

Fast-forward to Dec. 25, 2006 - Ukraine: I wake up and begin my morning ritual of counting new mosquito bites. Seven. On my face. I shuffle to the kitchen wearing no less than nine layers to fend off the cold, and attempt to surprise my roommate by making pancakes. Unfortunately, my attempts at finding ingredients in the market were not successful, and the result is a far cry from IHOP.We have no presents to open, as the Ukrainian post is taking longer than expected, so we celebrate by watching the Cosby show on my laptop. Christmas in Ukraine isn't celebrated for a month (which is why it's OK I am writing about the holidays in January), so we spend the afternoon washing dishes while listening to Bing Crosby, making sure to skip "I'll be Home for Christmas."It doesn't get more... pathetic than this.

All that to illustrate that my life has changed a bit since hopping a plane to Ukraine. Up until two months ago, I was living the typical comfortable college life - decent house, good roommates, Winco, electricity, hot water - the works.I used to spend my days in lectures and shuffling papers in Snell hall, filling weekends with endless refills at the Beanery and documentaries at the Darkside.

Now, at my internship in Uzghorod, 6-year-old orphans chase me around an orphanage while I attempt to teach them English numbers.A Saturday trip to the open-air market to hunt for groceries usually takes all afternoon, and leaves me with nothing more than a cabbage, some mayonnaise, and a headache.I am afraid to send my mom pictures of my dilapidated flat, which neighbors a gypsy camp and is protected by a rowdy pack of stray dogs.I am fortunate to have heat and semi-consistent hot water - many people in Uzghorod have neither.

Ukrainians, as with many of the Eastern European counterparts, idolize American culture. Third graders who can't speak a word of English proudly sport Britney Spears T-shirts and dubious looking Tommy Hilfiger knock-offs.My friend Igor's room is plastered with 50 Cent posters, and he was the one to break the news to me that J.Lo used to be married to P. Diddy. Many of the college students I have spoken with put me to shame with their ability to discuss American politics. However, it's difficult for Ukrainians to get a visa to travel to even neighboring Hungary, and for most of them, visiting the United States will remain a distant dream.

All of this begs the question, why Ukraine?

Friends and classmates often posed this question to me before my departure, and I explained the ways in which living in a small town in Ukraine was not quite the same as hitting the nightclubs while backpacking in London.My family questioned my decision as they watched the girl who likes to change outfits seven times a day pack two small suitcases, most of which were filled with wool socks and Pepto Bismol, for six months. Ukrainians can't understand why I left the land of opportunity and SUVs for snow and orphans.

My simple explanation is because it's good.I don't mean good in a self-righteous way, envisioning myself as some Diesel-clad Mother Teresa, selflessly giving away my youthful years to care for the refuse of the world.I mean good in a way that it is simply a positive, and even necessary, act to leave everything that is comfortable and safe and find something different. It is good to be plucked out of ethnocentrism and misplaced patriotism and be forced to understand a different way of life.

Everyday our newspapers are full of tragedies that are often, at their root, the result of cultural misunderstandings. One group doesn't understand another, and bullets fly. We live in a shrinking, yet increasingly complex global society, where we interface with those from countless different backgrounds. Yet many of us have grown up in a fairly homogenous environment, content with a weak grasp on a single language. We have been raised with optimistic ideals of diversity and tolerance, but we have often not had the opportunity to practice these.

My hope - the reason that I plow through gray days washing my socks in the sink - is all of this discomfort will shape me into someone a little better prepared to operate and extend help in a global community. That for every English lesson I give, I will receive countless more lessons of patience and understanding in return. I hope I will break through my inability to introduce myself in Russian and be able to love children who grew up without hugs.Or, at the least, at the end of six months, I will know how to rid an apartment of mosquitoes.

Barometer,

2007-02-01T03:10:00.000-08:00

This is my first column in The Daily Barometer- January 9, 2007.

My brother Brad (everyone's favorite, let's admit it) was a columnist at the Barometer for over a year, so I feel proud to join his ranks.

I am a firm believer in journalistic integrity, so I'm not going to lie - I'm a social butterfly. I'm at my best in a room full of people I don't know, and I am always the first volunteer to jump to the front of the classroom to state my name and highlight from summer break. The truth behind my gregarious nature might be that once someone has known me for more than three days my sparkling personality becomes slightly grating, so I prefer fresh victims.

That said, traveling to new places has always been the perfect opportunity for me to showcase my talents. Give me an unknown person and I'll smile, nod, smile some more, do my best to greet them in their native tongue (I had been in Ukraine for three weeks when someone informed me that my attempts at introducing myself where an incomprehensible blend of Ukrainian, Russian, and possibly Vietnamese), throw in a little small talk and hearty chuckling, and voila - friends for life.

So it was with this confidence that I glided into the first day of my internship in Uzghorod, Ukraine.OK, so I might not be your typical American cartoon character, greeting the mustached foreigners with a southern-twanged, "Howyadoin?" and a hearty handshake, but I'm not far from it. When I was introduced to the room full of Ukrainians who would be my co-workers for the next six months I began my typical, chipper, getting-to-know-you routine. However, this time I was met with blank stares, furrowed eyebrows, and complete silence.

Reactions didn't change over the following week. I expected to have Ukrainians giving me cheek kisses as we passed in the hall, instead the attention paid to me was more along the lines of what I would expect to be given to a new coat rack - in the way, and mostly unnecessary. My nights were spent typing heart-wrenching e-mail to my boisterous American pals about the cold and unfriendly Ukrainian people.

Now, before you read ahead thinking I'm egocentric and overly confident, let me explain. I believe my assurance in my social graces is the result of my American upbringing. We are taught from an early age that first impressions are everything. Attend any interview preparation seminar in the MU and they are sure to start with the importance of a firm handshake and steady eye contact. We live in a society and economy built on networking, where the car salesman slings an arm around you and calls you "buddy," and a botched introduction is a possible business opportunity lost. It's upon these principles that this now grounded butterfly constructed her social skills.

My Ukrainian peers draw from a completely different background for their interactions. Ukraine is a former member of the Soviet Union where, among greater evils, promises were not kept and friendships not honored. Suspicion was bred in this society where people learned to carefully guard their words and only trust those whom they knew well.

Over the next few weeks I began to ease up on my genial attempts, and did my best to go about my business and work hard at my tasks. Slowly, a transformation began to happen in those around me. Icy stares were traded for, "Allo, Allan." (Yes, my name is Elly. We're still working on that). Once deadly silent lunch hours were now peppered with questions about my family and hometown. The cheek kisses even started (there was one instance of a full on lip-kiss from a Ukrainian woman, but this is a story for another time). Suddenly, I found myself in the presence of friends.

Looking back on my rocky beginnings, I see the error of my ways, or at least my cultural understanding. As often happens with those in a new place, I expected my American behavior to translate successfully in Ukrainian society and was frustrated at my failure. I see now that my coworkers were taking their time, evaluating me, and waiting to see if I was sincere. They watched to see that I was a responsible worker who seemed genuinely interested in their country and wasn't going to jump on a plane home at the first day of freezing temperatures. And then, only then, they extended the olive branch of friendship.

While I may not completely abandon my outgoing ways, I feel I have something to gain from the cautious Ukrainian style of making acquaintance. In our American culture, friendships are quickly formed and just as quickly discarded. You may feign interest in your classmates retelling of his drunken weekend antics just until you get the notes from last Monday, and as soon as the quiz has been taken he's far from your mind.

Not so in Ukraine. Friendships, while they may take a while to form, are for life and friends help each other out. Ukrainian friends have rushed to my apartment in the middle of the night to fix my lock, and brought medicine to my ailing roommate on a Saturday morning. And I know they expect the same level of commitment from me.

So, should you meet me on the first day of Bio 101 or some other new situation, you should know my tactics might have changed a bit. I might not blow you over with my Hulk-Hogan-handshake or pepped-out cheerleader greeting, but don't worry, the warmth will come. Give me two weeks of watching you make it to class on time and being polite to that inquisitive non-traditional student, and I promise you, can borrow my notes any time you want.

snow outside!

2007-01-27T05:24:00.000-08:00

I'm in Hungary, getting spoiled by the fabulous Mary Jill!

baby face

2007-01-03T11:30:00.000-08:00

In Ukraine, more than anywhere in my entire life, I am often told that I look younger that I am- people usually guess 18 or 19 (in case you somehow forgot, I turned 22 two weeks ago. Gifts are still being accepted).
Today I asked my friend Fila why one could tell by looking at me that I am not from Ukraine. I was expecting him to mention my large bag, my pom-pommed hat, or glasses. He thought for a moment, then said, "It's because you are more often telling your face how you feel," going on to explain that my face looks happy while Ukranians usually appear somewhat dour, at least in public.
My face is young and happy. There are worse things, I suppose.

visual update, part 1

2006-12-22T07:29:00.001-08:00

Getting a haircut from Sasha, the 16 year old who will be a "famous barbecue" one day.
Home sweet home! It may look sketchy, but don't worry- we are protected by a gang of rowdy street dogs.

(this is short, but ukranian internet is being problematic. More to come!)

borscht.

2006-12-04T23:51:00.000-08:00

I hope this finds you all enjoying Christmas decorations, Mexican food, and oh, conversations in your own language!
Really, it’s time for an update, and I know my last one was a little Debby Downer (but, seriously, I had over 57 bugbites. No exaggeration), so I’ll focus on some highlights this time.

Ukraine is a country where unimaginable, unusual, even unjust events frequently crash and juxtapose with everyday life in a way that makes them commonplace. Walking down a perfectly normal neighberhood street a few weeks ago, surrounded by nice homes and cars, I was not at all surprised to also find a woman, hankercheif tied around her neck, walking a goat. As my taxi pulls up to a stoplight, I am often not surprised to look over to find that a cart, pulled by a pair of horses, is next to me, a family of gypsies looking ahead with beaten faces and weary eyes. As people file into work in the morning, a few of them carry shampoo and wear towels on their heads. As many of my coworkers live in apartment without consistent running water, and in some cases, even heat and electricity, it is perfectly normal to take a shower at work.

So all of this might explain why it is really not all that unusual that tonight I write to you having just said goodnight to the 14 year old daughter of a prostitute, who 4 years ago was living on the streets, who only 5 days ago was legally given up by her mother and rescued out of a brothel, and is now sleeping in my spare bed. Let me explain..
Alla is the eldest of 3 daughters, all of whom were raised at times by their mother, but age 10 was found living on the streets, and was put in Domboki orphanage, where I teach once a week. Domboki is specifically for children who have learning or mental difficulties, and Alla tested too high to be there. So recently, she was returned to live with her mother, who lives in what is basically a brothel. The sex industry in Ukraine is large and rapidly spreading, and prostitution rings are one of the most likely destinations for girls leaving orphanages.
A group of Americans was here last week who have been coming and working with organizations here for many years, and they have taken special interesting in Alla in the past. When they were told she had been returned home, they went to visit her. In a miraculous and fast turn of events, her mother completely gave her up because she wanted a better life for her. Within a few days, her guardianship was legally transferred to Hope and Life, one of the organizations Tiffany and I work with.
And that’s where we come in. The goal is to put Alla in a family that can take care of her, in the mean time Tiffany and I are her foster mothers! She will most likely only live with us for a few days, but we will be spending a lot of time with her in the coming months, helping her adjust to her new life, and giving her just a little bit of the unconditional love she has been deprived of for so long.
The past few days have been at time like something out of a movie. We took Alla shopping (she came to us with a small grocery bag of clothes) and I watched her eyes widen as we zipped a bright red coat onto her. She kept shaking her head and laughing as we bought her socks and sweaters- things that every little girl should have, but which she has never had provided for her.
Alla is an amazing girl. I can not even comprehend what she has experienced in her short years. But her eyes are bright, and her smile is huge, and when she hugs me and says “Thank you very much” with a thick Russian accent, I understand why I am here.

So my days have been full- teaching English classes, attending my own Russian lessons, working at the social apartment, and oh yeah, mothering a teenage girl. Life is full, rich and warm like the borscht they serve at lunch. And, like the borscht, I’m learning to love it.

growing pains

2006-11-26T10:11:00.000-08:00

this makes us feel tough.

at last count, there was 56 bites. we are the only missionaries who fall asleep cussing. (well, missionary cussing. you know, nice words)

Tonight I write to you from a worn red armchair with fake lambswool accents in my (yes, my!) apartment in Uzghorod, Ukraine. I painted a picture for many of you of what I expected my Soviet apartment to be like, and I confess to you, I was wrong in many ways. First off, I was convinced I would be huddled next to the stove for warmth, surrounded by stark warm walls. Well, 24/7 government controlled heat garuntees that our flat is toasty warm all day. Really. Freaking. Toasty. Warm. SO warm in fact, that the news has gotten out to every mosquito and spider of Uzhgorod, and they are seeking refuge from the cold in our rooms. So I am warm, and for this I am more grateful that I can possibly tell you. Grateful enough that I almost don't notice the 27ish bug bites that are covering my arms and legs.

In more good news, we have hot water all day long, and we are on the first floor which is great news in Ukraine, because it means our water will (almost) always work. It seems that everyone in this complex really enjoys their water, especially the people directly above us. They seem to be using such copious amounts of this glorious water that it is currently raining through our ceiling into the bathroom. We will call the landlord as soon as we learn how to speak Russian.

Also, the apartment came furnished, which includes a bed, couch, chairs, half-empty bottle of red wine, toothbrush, and ashtray, along with the dirt and mold of the last sixty years. Tiffany and I spent our first Friday night like most hot young Ukranian girls- cleaning our apartment! Apparently it was too much for Tiffany, because she spent the next day throwing up. This meant I had to fend for myself in finding everything we needed for our new home. I returned with cheese, a colander, and a lemon. We went shopping again today, and now can add cranberry juice and salad dressing (we think) to our list of possessions. Fortunately we are neighbors to a gypsy camp, so I'm sure if we need to borrow a cup of sugar or some such, we can go knock on one of their shacks.

Ok, ok, so I'm being a little sarcastic (although everything I've said is absolutely true). The past week has been exciting, confusing, challenging, and at times, exhausting. But in the midst of the whirlwind, there are gorgeous glimmers of the good that is to come.

One such moment came in the first evening we spent in the Social Apartment. I told many of you about this program, as it will be one of my focuses during my time here. Girls who have moved out of the orphanages live here, and Nehemiah provides them with support in education, job training, and just general life skills. They agree to attend church, follow rules, and are under constant supervision. Nehemiah has had 18 girls move through this apartment, and they are all now living independently, and many have come to faith. This is truly a miracle, as most children who leave the orphanages at 16 end up in jail, on the streets, or for girls, in prostitution rings. Currently 5 girls- Tanya, Renata, Ilena, Natasha, and, Leina, are living here.

Friday nights are cooking lessons for the girls, and Vita, a woman from Nehemiah, took us to observe. We sat in the kitchen and laughed with the girls as we sorted through grains of wheat and peeled potatoes. A breakthrough came when I was able to chime in to the chorus of a Black Eyed Peas song (my summer of torture with the teenagers came in handy! Ok, those of you who know me well will know I was able to sing "My Humps" long before the teenagers…)! Despite the limitations of language, we were able to just be with the girls and take part in their every day life. After dinner we sat around the table, drinking tea and laughing even more. Tanya summed up the warm feeling in the room when she looked at all of us and declared, during a lull in the chatter, "All the sisters are happy."

Sisters, indeed. My heart beats faster when I look at these girls. They have lived through unimaginable horrors in their short lives, and here they are- going to law school, playing music, serving us tea. I can't wait to hear their stories, and then wrap my arms around them, and tell them they are loved, and they are safe.

It has been just a short time, but we are starting to settle in. Your prayer is appreciated, as I will admit, this is hard! Pray for Tiffany and I that we will develop strong relationships with our coworkers and those we minister to. Pray that we will find a niche in the overwhelming amount that needs to be done here in which we may bring glory to God. Pray that the work of Nehemiah will be strengthened and multiplied. And if you get a chance, pray, please pray, that these mosquitoes will leave me alone tonight….

the hopeful

2006-10-22T12:17:00.000-07:00

Tiffany and I sit on wooden benches, surrounding by the mammoth suitcases we have been wrestling for 4 long days, all of our hopeful expectations hanging desperately in the air. Neither of us is speaking the “what ifs,” although surely that is all we are thinking of. We have been traveling for days, preparing for months, voicing our plans over and over until all fear was gone, and here we are…. A barren train station, inhabited only be a pigeon that I half-joke we can eat if we have to spend the night. Where is the warm Ukrainian hospitality my guidebook promised? It seem to have passed over the two American girls with permanent looks of befuddlement plastered on their weary faces.
Ok, so it isn’t really that bad. We are tired, yes, it is 2pm and we have been awake since midnight. And we are carrying a combined 300lb (how much is that in kilos?) between the two of us. And no one, save the eager cabbies, is here to meet us. So here we are, in eastern Europe, 6,000 miles from home, no ability to even read the alphabet , much less speak the language, no local currency, no phone.
But things have a way of working out. From the helpful porter who catapulted each of our hulking bags onto the train (albeit he did demand some sort of reperation, although we weren’t sure judging by his hand signals if he wanted money or some of the Vitalis cereal I was toting) to the kind business man who got out of line to translate us through customs. It works out. We have picked ourselves up from one place to the next, and eventually, we will rest our heads on pillows which will be ours for the next 7 months. So we sit on these benches, and laugh a little, and eat our Milka bar, and continue to hope.