Couscous

Another recommended recipe: couscous and alfalfa sprouts. I love being able to construct what I eat.

Meet Lori, my roommate: So I’m making couscous the other day, and she looks at it raises one eyebrow and says, “What’s that?”

“It’s couscous,” I answer, “a type of pasta from the Mediterranean somewhere. It’s just small.”

“Like grated noodles?”

“Yup.”

“So it’s for like babies and old people who can’t chew?” Lori asks seriously.

“No, it’s just small. It’s used like rice.”

“Why don’t they just use rice?”

“I don’t know! Maybe they can’t grow it. Maybe they can just grow wheat, so they make couscous. It’s good.”

“Oh.
Okay.”

As you may infer, Lori is a practical, skeptical, logical, lovable roommate.

Good things

Like jasmine rice, black beans, alfalfa sprouts, fresh orange and ginger. The sprouts grown in a jar in my dorm. Good things like a conversation in Esther’s room, or in the van on the way home from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (another good thing, and my first chance to wear that seven dollar pea coat from Goodwill (another good thing)), or around the tables in the cafeteria. Good things like the gnome sitting in my spider plant, next to the aloe shoots shared by a friend. Like the complete works of Shakespeare, which will have all passed beneath my eyes by the end of the semester. Like a good beginning to this semester.

Phoenix, my own pictures

These are some of the pictures I took. I should be able to get more pictures of the rest of the week from other people. And my camera is working again. I think it just couldn’t deal with the drastic temperature changes every twelve hours.

in summary

We ate a lot of beans.
We said a lot of ‘quest,’ ‘coma’ and ‘intense.’
We talked a lot about smoking and dating.
We did a lot of hiking.
We biked a lot of miles.
We bought a lot of food.
We went through a lot neighbors.
We burned a lot of firewood.
We drank a lot of gatorade.

. . .

Now I am settled back in at Trinity, getting ready for my second semester. It is snowing gently and I can hear screaming outside, which means that life is normal and good and fun.
And my camera is working flawlessly again!

downright extraordinary

I never did climb that little mountain, but now I am soaring above them. I bit my lips during takeoff. As Phoenix sank below me I wished I didn’t have to leave.

From seat 16E, the seat I took in order to get out of the airport 1/2 hour earlier, I can see the snow on the taller mountains.
When I get home there will be a couple/few inches of snow. I hope I have time to go sledding before I need to return to Trinity.

The sun is already set. If we were still camping, we would be pulling supper together and gobbling it down. Or maybe we’d be washing dishes. Or maybe just sitting around the campfire talking about smoking, and first dates, and what we had seen today.

Today in the airport, while waiting in standby, I saw a Jewish family with three little boys as they also waited to get a seat on the plane. All with some sort of head covering.

The middle boy was counting airplanes (He counted almost forty that took of while we waited.) and his dad was telling him about airplanes. While their dad was busy taking a business call, the youngest brother, still wearing a pacifier, told the middle boy that he wasn’t allowed to count planes and that it was dumb.

So the middle brother went over and smacked the little brother. This was just as their dad came back. “But he said I wasn’t allowed to count planes!” was the boys excuse. They were both reprimanded.

Then the dad asked the middle brother, “Why did God make hands?”

“I don’t know,” middle brother whimpered.

“God made hands for helping, not for hurting,” his dad said gently.

If only everything was used for what God made it for. If words were used to build up, if land was used to be beautiful and to supply us with what we need. If work was for being productive, not for making money. If long flights were used for getting to know the person next to you instead of listening to music.

Just kidding. I’m just bored and a bit jealous. And I want more orange juice. My glass was half ice.

The turbulence is pretty crazy fun. Even while flying at a reduced altitude. It’s all black outside, but when we fly over a city, I can tell we are unusually close.

I hope that whoever comes to pick me up brings food. And I will use my sleeping bag to snuggle up in the cold of Illinois.

We went to the botanical gardens today. I loved it! Cacti of all shapes and sizes, and succulents that were even more bizarre. I wandered around dreamily taking in the beautiful weather and the green of the desert. (The desert fed with a drip irrigation system.)

Hensley said that, to keep a cactus alive, you should watch the weather, and if it rains in Phoenix, water you cactus. The man knows so much about the desert. He knows most of the flora and fauna, plus all the cool stuff about how they interact. How pack rats build nest out of teddy bear cholla. How birds can build their nests within the spikes of a cacti. How coyotes communicate across the desert. How saguaros kill off their nurse trees.

. . .

My pots and pans had to be packed with Rogers stuff, because they wouldn’t fit with mine. It is a good thing I didn’t fit them into my roller. It would have been overweight.

. . .

When I get home, I am going to take a long shower and qtip my ears.

. . .

Before I left, I didn’t have very many ideas for my parents to get me for my birthday. But now I can think of a few: a light to wear on my head, a thermarest and a camelback. And an ultra-warm mummy sleeping bag, except for that the one I have is quite new and I’m not planning on camping in thirty degree weather again anytime soon.

Funny how living (and even thriving) with less can still make me want more.

But this week has also proved that we humans don’t need lap tops to learn, and we don’t need houses to have heat. We don’t need a kitchen to cook, we don’t need computers to communicate. We don’t need to rest to relax and we don’t need a TV screen to see the world. I even discovered that I don’t need a camera to capture memories.

But we need people. I wouldn’t have survived this week without people.

I needed the moms, Sara and Amy, to have food ready when my aching muscles needed it. I needed Renae to share body heat with at night. I needed Aaron to give me water from his camelbak and I needed Michelle to go get my towel when I was naked and shivering in the shower.

I needed Derek’s advice and the smoke-free spot by the fire that Mike could have taken for himself. I needed Jason’s chipperness and Chris’s determination. I needed Josh to let me know it was okay to go sleep in the van.

I needed Hensley’s knowledge and Vander Weele’s coordination and Roger’s motivation (and the extra room in his luggage.) The people made this trip not only possible, but pleasant, productive, and downright extraordinary.

a continuation.

Life was great at Super 8. I took a long shower and put on one layer of clothes. One layer of clothes! Out here I’ve been wearing long underwear, three pairs of pants, a t-shirt, a long sleeved t-shirt three jackets, a hat, gloves, and two pairs of socks. What a blessing to fall asleep in comfy clothes in a comfy bed!

We were awakened at 7:30 so that we could start working on breakfast and laundry before checkout at 11. Some people did their laundry at the laundry mat. Derek, Josh and I combined ours and did it at the hotel next door, a motel actually, and the Super 8’s sister. Between the two hotels was a vacant lot of dirt, dry and dusty. Each step we took sent clouds around our ankles. The dryer took two cycles to actually dry, so we didn’t have time to go to Waffle House.

When we got back we had sandwiches and parted ways for road biking and mountain biking. I road biked. I was the slowest biker, which was okay. It would not have been okay if I were in one of my more competitive and stubborn moods. but I was just trying to get there and as far back as possible, and I did.

It was a good stop at Walgreens, but after turning around I felt like I was going to puke. A protein bar was stuck at the top of my stomach and the wind was in my face. Every time a car passed me, I could smell the exhaust. Sometimes four or five cars would pass me in a row. That was just too much. Sensory overload and an exhausted body.

I turned from Yuma to Citrus and hit the wind at a different direction. The protein bar began to settle. The traffic lightened up. So I kept going and going until I got sagged. Yeah sag wagon! I had biked about 30 miles.

We all got sagged that trip, except for Aaron. Even Michelle was forced into the back of the van. When we got back a taco supper was waiting. So delicious. Food becomes something entirely amazing when you are camping. Maybe that’s how the pioneers dealt with eating cornmeal and dried goods all the way across the country.

During the cold evening hours we sat in Starbucks to stay warm. We chatted and I worked on my journal and dipped my chocolate biscotti in my orange tea. We stayed until the minute it closed, then came back and went to bed. I slept well.

Since Dr. Hensley tore up his leg mountain biking yesterday, I got to mountain bike today while he sagged. That worked out well for me. I love tearing up and down those heard packed trails on a bike with a suspension fork and big fat tires.

Renae and I went around a big loop of the competitive track and then came back for chili dogs. We’ve been basking in the sun, nestled between the mountains and the tent and the clear blue sky, ever since. And so I have caught up in my writing, for now.

. . .

Here I am on a boulder. My back is to the sun and my butt is sitting in the cold rock. There are pebbles in my shoe. It is too late to climb the mountain, so I will just write about why I wish I could climb the mountain.

I wish I could climb a mountain because it would prove that I can. I wish I could climb the mountain because it looks pretty. I wish I could climb the mountain because last time I climbed a mountain was 1.5 years ago and it was a good experience. But at the same time, it was not a perfect experience, so I would like to move on in my mountain climbing career. I would like to climb that mountain because when I’d get to the top, I could look around and it would be beautiful. But actually, it would be
dark, so never mind.

recontinued.

After hiking back to camp, I was hungry for pancakes. And there was pancake batter on the table. And since the weather had been so cold, I wasn’t worried if it was spoiled. It was just crusty on the top.

I cooked it until it was no longer batter. Michelle said “gross.” Jason was jealous of my concoction, which made me feel better, like a chef instead of a garbage disposal. I enjoyed it. When I get home, I think I will make pancakes.

I am realizing now that I already wrote about this, back when I was in the van and I had just eaten them. But that writing was interrupted by a mountain biking excursion with Dr. Hensley, and I am finally writing again. The bike ride was good. More interesting than road biking, but less comfortable. I want to go over and try out the competitive track.

That night we made chili for supper. We scarfed it down before the sun went down and even cleaned it up. So we had a lot of time to sit around the fire, trying to stay warm as the weather fulfilled its frost warning. We went around the circle stating our favorite music groups, then the music of we grew up on, then our first concert, then our best concert. When we got to “What we would like Trinity to be in five years,” Josh said something about how whatever Calvin does, Trinity does five years later.

“That’s bullshit!” Professor Vander Weele promptly interjected. That caught us off guard and made us laugh. Oh Pascola, a mixture of seriousness and clowning. I think he was being serious right then.

That night was cold. I put on four pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, two t-shirts, and three jackets. A hood and a stocking cap attempted to keep the heat from escaping out the top. I snuggled as close to Renae as possible. The Renae side of me was okay, but the tent wall side was constricting in shivers. I knew I would not be able to sleep.

After hearing the van doors open and close, I decided to make the move as well. The van wasn’t much warmer and I slept fitfully until finally resting around 2;30 a.m. I was half awake the next morning when Chris came in and said “good morning beautiful!” I sat up and said “I’m not Josh. Josh is in the back.”

I checked my camera, which had been sleeping with me in the sleeping bag. Anything for its health. But alas, it was still sickly and seeing visions of things not real. Muy triste. Muy depresiado.

Apparently the weather had been in the 20’s. My internal thermometer was not surprised to hear that.

We had church in the van. A mixture of song, Bible reading and short meditations. There were only a few songs that all of us knew. Our faith does not overlap at the songs, and that may be just as well. It should come together at something more meaningful than that. Like what we believe and how our beliefs are so important that it comes out in our actions. But does it?

This is something I’ve been thinking a lot about. I’m trying to reconcile that my relatives (who can’t stand democrats, environmentalists, or smokers) and these friends of mine (some of them democrats, environmentalists, and/or smokers) are part of the same faith.

I feel the need for unity and the need for diversity. The need for rules and freedom, for protecting and fighting, for justice and mercy, and for love. I feel the need for acting on what we believe, whether that is by quitting smoking or loving smokers.

. . .

After lunch we went to SMOCA, the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art. A gallery of abstract art was fun and colorful. Then we viewed the Border Film Project, a bunch of snapshots taken by minutemen, coyotes, and illegal immigrants. Artistic and telling. Sad, confusing, and stirring. I wonder what needs to change to improve this situation, both for the U.S. and Mexico and countries further south.

One Mexican guy on the video was talking about why so many Mexicans are facing financial trouble and deciding to move to the states. He said he was making 45 dollars a week, but immigrants from Central America had come up and taken the job for 15 dollars a week. He felt that he needed to come to the states to support his family. I wonder what the Central Americans would say? I wonder if anyone has had to leave the states to find better paying work elsewhere because they couldn’t support their family because all the immigrants were taking the jobs for lower pay?

. . .

On the way back to camp we made guacamole. Yes, we made guacamole in the rental van. Then we ate it all and it was good. Then we made an expert trip to the grocery store.

Back at camp, I was trying to fill the water jug so we could make spaghetti (fettucini) and meatballs. One false move and I was splattered with water. As the sun pulled the mountains up to its chin, I knew this wetness thing was bad. I had to change. Even with that hurdle mounted my mind remained focused on staying warm.

We finally got firewood. Supper was served. So good. The fire burned, but it wasn’t hot enough for all of us and some went to warm in the van. When I thought about the night ahead of us, I felt scared.

Poppa Weelee came over and offered a controversial suggestion: hotel/motel.

Hot shower. Warm bed. Soft.

Giving in? Giving up? Succumbing to the wooing of civilization?

I didn’t see it that way, and I’m glad that we chose that option. I’ve seen what trying to be all tough and unneedy can do.

continued.

…that she was in a great deal of pain. Since I didn’t have a comb, I just tried to stay calm as Sara pulled the cholla from her skin. Big drops of blood sprung up in several places.

That was actually the main reason we turned around right when we did. Especially since there was still a spike stuck deep in Sara’s palm We made our way down the mountain and met up with the rest of the group. Even Josh, eventually.

Back at camp, the plan was pancakes. But that plan wasn’t working in the least. Our bellies were empty, and the temperature was dropping quickly. To prevent a mutiny, our fearless leaders took us to KFC/A&W. Good choice. We stayed there until bedtime, then went back and went to bed.

The next day was Saturday. We knew it would be cold. It was windy, too. We escaped up the Waterfall Canyon, all the way up the creek bed to the white tank, where the waterfall, if there were any water, would gush through, polishing the rock to a slideable, smooth, white. The tank formed where the water always hit the hardest was filled with water. Beautiful. The water was there for itself. No trees could force their roots into those rocks to use it; very little plant life could be found. But it was an oasis nonetheless.

Before mountain biking with Hensley

In the van right now. Sara snores. Amy and Roger both sleeping, too. The rest, write.

For lunch I ate the rest of the pancake batter by heating it until it turned from liquid to solid, than scraping it off the pan and shoving it in my mouth. Then I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich– my first. It was everything these sandwiches have been alleged to be, and maybe even more. Now I am in the van because it’s in the 40’s now, the coldest day so far, I think, and even with three layers, life outside isn’t very fun.

Yesterday was similar, so we went out to lunch and then to the Heard museum. The fish tacos and native American art both gave me a broader perspective of the southwest. I’d go back to Macaya’s in a heartbeat.

Sara and Amy both just woke up. I guess it was Amy snoring, not Sara.

Anyway, yesterday when we got back to camp, we decided to go for a hike. We ended up going up a small “mountain.” We kept getting higher and higher until finally we got the idea that we might just get to the top. So we kept going. Josh made it to the top, but only because he went by himself. The rest of us thought about the setting sun and turned back. But we came back after dark anyway, because we were good friends and waited for Josh to make sure he was alive.

Another reason we turned back was because Sara, while slipping on some loose rock, stuck her hand out and grabbed hold of a teddy bear cholla ball. The string of expletives that she loudly listed sufficiently explained…

You know what’s funny?

It’s pretty funny that yesterday was my birthday and no one knew until I told them at the campfire. It didn’t really seem to matter; it was another day, with good things (weather, biking, friends) and bad things (camera not working, waiting for my bike to get fixed.) But now I am 19, not 18, which changes something, I guess.

I am tired and cold. Tired because it just isn’t as easy to sleep when the wind is blowing the tent halfway over and my hip is digging into the ground. Cold because that same wind exchanged clouds for the Arizona sun. Now it is only as warm as Illinois was last week.

Yesterday I was taking a shower and washing my clothes when I started thinking about how I am in a desert, and there isn’t much water, and how all the water has to be piped in or drawn up from a shrinking aquifer. I thought “maybe I should try to use less water.” And so I did, if only to take a few pennies off the park’s water bill.

I wonder how the area farmers view water. In the midwest, they just hope they get enough rain, and if they don’t, there’s nothing they can do but pray. Here they are bringing the water in, like a commodity. It’s in a natural and continual state of drought, so they already have a system in place to deal with it.

. . .

The thing about being at home is that you feel settled, like you have systems and routines. A set-up for food preparation, meal clean-up, bathrooming… I am at home in my dorm. I am no longer as at home at “home.” I use a futon, laundry baskets, and a cosmetic bag instead of a bed, a closet, and a shelf in the bathroom. I have that same level of at-homeness (in that sense) here, except that everything is new.

. . .

I hope it warms up now.
I hope the sun comes out.
I hope that generator quits.
I hope my camera can be fixed.

rose petals

It is already Thursday, so we have just a week to go. I’m a little chilly, but I am pretending that I am not, because this is Phoenix and I am on vacation, and I am not supposed to be chilly. I knew it would be cold at night, but it would be nice if 4:30 wasn’t the beginning of it.

From where I am sitting, I can see teddy bear cholla, buckthorn cholla, saguaro, palo verde, compass barrels, the tree that smells good in the rain [creosote], sagebrush, mistletoe, hedgehog cactus, and a few other things which I forget the names of. I learned a lot of the names on the walk we took yesterday morning with Dr. Hensley.

Later that day we got the bikes back to the campground. So thats what we did that afternoon. We split up between the road bikers and the mountain bikers. I was on the road bike and I noticed right away that I am not very fast or in shape. But that was okay, because my bike still gave out before I did. The chain was too short to stretch from biggest gear to biggest gear, so it just trashed the de-railer. So we got it back, half riding, half walking, half driving. Which is three halves. Oh well.
But we got it fixed today. Which took quite a while and about $100. and then Roger and I joined the group.
I liked it that way because the group was all tuckered out and I was fresh, so I felt skilled for once.

I feel very relaxed. I feel very at ease. I feel very non-OCD, very flexible. I feel very at home. I feel very much like no matter what happens, it will be okay. That is what a vacation must be. That is how life should be.

Something that contributes to this feeling is the overall friendliness of people around here. Not only this group, but the town, the people at the grocery store, the people running the campground. Pretty much everybody except that guy at Surprise Cycling.

Maybe the people are happy because they have the opportunity to get rose petals blown in their face by passing cars. That’s what happened to me today as I was biking past a rose farm.

Quiet.
When I have nothing to say.
When rose petals are blowing in my face.
When life is a stand-still chase.
Quiet.

in Arizona for Interim

The following entries are taken from my journal that I kept while on my interim around Phoenix, Arizona. This was a “travel writing and ecology” interim led by English professor Dr. Vander Weele, biology professor Dr. Hensley, and biking addict Roger Stoub. As I enter these, I am changing the date on the blog to match when I wrote it. However, this date will still not match the date on which these occurrences actually occurred, because I was always a little behind in my writing.

(In the plane on the way to Phoenix):

Mom, the pessimist, wondered if I would be okay sitting around at the airport.

“Yeah,” I ‘of coursed’ “I’ll be fine.” Inside, I was thinking I’d probably get on the first flight, because a lot of good things happen to me.

So I went through security checks. They raised their eyebrows at my mandarin oranges and confiscated my water bottle. I proceeded to my gate. When I checked in, my name was third on the standby list and there were two unsold seats. I was quite nervous about the whole thing as I sat in the waiting area listening to a very nice lady talk about her upcoming trip to Hawaii.

I kept glancing at the standby screen and saying little prayers. The started boarding the first class passengers, then the priority passengers.

I was just staring out the window when I heard the lady at the counter say “Vander Witt” and I knew she meant me. I squeezed through the boarding passengers and she handed me my ticket. My beautiful ticket.

So here I am on the plane. I just drank two glasses of orange juice. I wonder what this optimist would have done if things hadn’t worked out optimally. I wonder if my baggage will arrive on time.

(in the baggage claim area):

I’m sitting in the baggage claim area, listening to the never-ending beeping, throbbing, buzzing and “the escalator is ending, please watch your step.” I couldn’t be any happier, truly. I’ve got my baggage and I’m here on time. Ahead of time. I’m figuring on about 40 minutes until I see some comrades. Six will be coming on that flight. I don’t know about the rest.
When I look out the window I can see a cactus and palm trees. I’m going to take my jacket off before I go out there. What a beautiful day. Well worth getting up for at 5:15 (A.M.)

. . .

I wonder when they are going to start having people verify that the luggage they take is really there’s. I wonder how often someone just walks in off the street and rolls a suitcase away.

. . .

I was rubbing my eye and someone just walked by and said “Wake up!”
Weirdo.

. . .

The air conditioning is on in here, I think. There are a lot of senior citizens here. This is a pretty small airport. That lady has a nice parka. I just changed my watch. The lady with the nice parka just smiled at my pants.

. . .

It’s quarter to three (an hour and twenty minutes since their flight got here.) and I’m still in the baggage claim area. Turns out his airport is bigger than I though, and they came in on a different terminal. They meant terminal four, not carousel four. But that’s fine, thanks to cell phones, except now there’s a traffic jam between here and there. So they have the big van rented and they are gathering people from all different terminals, except the road is really backed up. Maybe I’ll go wait outside. It looks really nice. Except for the cigarettes smoldering on the sidewalk. How fresh.