tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80249865541774119852024-03-19T08:41:22.918-04:00Sarah TrackerI'm on the go!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-90054921170296563812011-05-23T03:32:00.001-04:002011-05-23T04:26:50.364-04:00Self CallI wrote a little piece about the <a href="http://www.curatormagazine.com/sarah-overton/the-sorting-table/">2011 vintage in South Australia</a> for a publication edited by my gorgeous friend Natalie. Do check it out... the pictures are pretty :)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-14039604550244953032011-05-15T19:57:00.000-04:002011-05-15T19:57:58.110-04:00Back in the GameWell hello.<br />
<br />
I know it's been awhile. I'm embarrassed. I've also been bogged down and busy, and the inertia of non-communication set in. Let's not dwell on the past.<br />
<br />
A quick update: I've transferred to a new University: The University of South Australia, where I'm continuing on towards a Masters in Marketing focused on Wine. I've started playing basketball for the school team, my aim being to improve dramatically between now and the end of the season. I'm at a new job, a new winery, new people, nice wines. Future career planning has begun in earnest, I've published a couple little pieces, and I'm open to all suggestions. Life moves fast.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJIyQUCI-UH3O2KfQ_6SLTA6yPGPSqu9Y5ScWCiSaOD_C9Ih5vOuh9RPy1C84gD0TYFjKrrDW_cbtqJxvN9rptL2UF30YNjwNGN0YupHK64mSiIgF7nXeQX0n3rdVMc6Wqyd0KY3N2EYa/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-05-12+at+1.48.22+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJIyQUCI-UH3O2KfQ_6SLTA6yPGPSqu9Y5ScWCiSaOD_C9Ih5vOuh9RPy1C84gD0TYFjKrrDW_cbtqJxvN9rptL2UF30YNjwNGN0YupHK64mSiIgF7nXeQX0n3rdVMc6Wqyd0KY3N2EYa/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-05-12+at+1.48.22+PM.png" /></a><br />
Last night my basketball team won its first game of the season against my former university... very satisfying victory, personally as well as for the team. My South African buddy was kind enough to come along as the support section, and he's become pleasantly intrigued by the nuances of the sport. He didn't realize there was so much strategy! Next time an NBA game is aired here, we'll have to get some popcorn and analyze.<br />
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When my game was over, I sat in on the first few minutes of the men's game... also being played against my newfound rival school. In short order, one of our guys went for an aggressive rebound and accidentally came down with his elbow on the face of an opponent, breaking his nose. Blood everywhere.<br />
<br />
When I was about 14, an identical accident befell me in a high school game, so I felt for the guy. He didn't have a car and his teammates were obviously busy with the game, so I volunteered to take him to the hospital and sort him out. Turns out the guy is an American from New York, so we had something to chat about on the way to the Royal Adelaide Hospital where I turned him over to the good care of an emergency room nurse.<br />
<br />
Feeling chuffed with my "good turn," I was making my way out of the hospital into the drizzly cold night when I passed a young man who, from a distance, looked as if he was bundled uncomfortably in a white sweater. As I got closer, I saw both his arms were in full casts and his face was deeply lacerated, stitches around his eyes. "Hey if you can catch that old man I just talked to," he said, "tell him North Terrace is the other way. I thought he wanted the North Wing and I sent him in the wrong direction."<br />
<br />
I very nearly blurted out, "What <i>happened</i> to you?" but was able simply to agree and jog off down the sidewalk to catch the old man. From behind I noticed he was carrying an IV back attached to him by a tube and he was still wearing hospital slippers and a gown beneath a ratty red robe. Again, the night was chilly and wet; the man was entirely disoriented. When he turned toward me, I saw the whole right half of his face was red and stretched as if he had been terribly burned. I stammered out the directions, trying to look at him directly without staring at his bulging, unnatural eye. He mumbled thanks and shuffled around to change course.<br />
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It was hard to feel pleased at all with myself for this good deed. Well to be reminded of how lucky--and fragile--we are.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-661631878580978212010-12-19T06:56:00.004-05:002010-12-19T08:16:49.383-05:00The other side of the HillsSarah, how was your weekend?<br />
<br />
Oh, well something like this:<br />
<br />
Thursday Afternoon, 4pm: "Sarah, can you come up to the winery tomorrow morning... maybe 10am? We need a little help setting up a wedding." Sure!<br />
<br />
Friday Morning, 10am: "So, this is a 250 person wedding in the barrel room." "Oh, you mean in the space that three days ago was the retail space of our cellar door?" "Right."<br />
<br />
It's now 10pm on Sunday night. Between Friday morning and an hour ago, I have set up and broken down a 250 person wedding. I have taken out 15 loads of recyclable wine bottles in a hailstorm. I have set up another 20 person wedding. I have slammed my own wedding ring finger in a door. I have arranged 30 flower arrangements. Lovely ones, I might add. I have popped open 96 bottles of Veuve Cliquot. I have enjoyed one glass of Veuve Cliquot. I have located every power outlet in a 2,000 square foot space... hands and knees anyone? I have unpacked 30 cases of wine into ice bins, and dumped the ice onto them. I stepped in mud that went up to my ankles... while I was wearing ballet flats. It rained, it was sunny, it rained, it was sunny, the wind ripped shoots off the poor vines. I acted as a part-time babysitter. I have (in tandem with notable others) sold $10,000 worth of wine through a makeshift cellar door. The wedding was supposed to be over at 4, then maybe it would be done by 6, and then the bride and groom actually left at 8. I was the last (wo)man standing on a property on which I had never laid eyes three months ago.<br />
<br />
.... pretty par for the course, really.... <br />
<br />
Life skills. Sigh.<br />
<br />
The sunset, I should note, was stunning. All those billowing weather-laden clouds tumbling over themselves on the horizon. That lovely soft pastel of twilight. A single wide beam of golden light shooting upwards towards the heavens. The hills were like a painting, complete with round bales of hay on the rolling mossy green.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-83508318111461993422010-12-14T05:11:00.007-05:002010-12-19T06:57:21.533-05:00The hills are alive...Today I took advantage of some gorgeous sunny weather to go for a stroll in the Adelaide Hills, past farms that roll along grassy knolls, and cows that seemed as happy as I for the warm morning. I was mostly avoiding some pressing commitments, but I'm sure some philosophers would have been on my side. Leisure is not idleness. And this little jaunt was planned and unexecuted many weeks ago, left unfulfilled for long enough that I got antsy.<br />
<br />
And yes, I did sing... Julie Andrews ain't got nothing on me. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdUBe1CMeUc6mPzt7zyODAPvkELcwGmWvL9IYcP1nGoWHMGrmeeyEemWONqg9v-0bCYZeGeih9dGe9-dyEdto32EnldkJUfuu_XG_-TIMC_4SAgqSie1m7w2Ct1DW-JXGuU_Mh6lsq1zq/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-12-14+at+7.20.09+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdUBe1CMeUc6mPzt7zyODAPvkELcwGmWvL9IYcP1nGoWHMGrmeeyEemWONqg9v-0bCYZeGeih9dGe9-dyEdto32EnldkJUfuu_XG_-TIMC_4SAgqSie1m7w2Ct1DW-JXGuU_Mh6lsq1zq/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-12-14+at+7.20.09+PM.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs Scotland?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
There's nothing like a lovely walk to get the mind reflecting on things. My thoughts this morning spanned the usual crazy gamut, pondering, pondering... The last year has been a veritable roller-coaster, just when I was starting to feel like I'd gotten a handle on it all! There's certainly plenty of moments to rehash and analyze.<br />
<br />
Rumination is the thinking man's curse, only slightly less gnawing than regret. And I suppose regret is the worst feeling one can endure, if one lets it fester too deeply. I've generally thought it best to act and live with the consequences than refrain and live with the questions. But there are those who disagree with me, and as I grow older I am trying to understand and practice that difficult thing known as restraint. There's a strange, deep satisfaction in delaying gratification and mastering ones' emotions. The British are much better at all this than we rash Americans. Discipline or regret... our wild little souls suffer either way. Stiff upper lip!<br />
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I had a lovely chat with an old college friend (thanks to the earth-linking power of Skype!) who got on the subject of time vs. commitment. We agreed that as Americans, and particularly as products of a liberal arts education which forced us to think broadly and quickly, we are not well-suited for being static. Both he and I now find ourselves in the early stages of quasi-adulthood living for the first time in places where we are responsible to communities. What a difference this permanence makes! Suddenly Band-Aids aren't solutions and problems don't disappear with a new wave of people. We must cultivate and nurture, and grow ourselves. It's a new challenge, but the long-term reward is immense. I, for one, am loving the sensation that I'm working for something larger and longer lasting than myself. The question is no longer "if" I want to buy in.... but "how" and "where." <br />
<br />
Which circles me back to the subject of discipline, because only with measured actions can we hope to withstand time and trials. It's uncommon that I feel regretful about paths not taken... more often I lament things I did that I should not have done! Quick judgment leads to bad decisions, which lead to regret in the end.<br />
In the end I think regret vs. discipline must be a balancing act. There is a time for impulse and spontaneity... quick action and unfiltered words are sometimes the only thing that will do. They come from the heart, and that counts for something. Perhaps the trick is to be in complete control of one's thoughts at all times... that way whatever slips out in the spur of the moment is representative of the whole rather than a momentary spasm of emotion. <br />
Master thoughts and emotions... sounds very Buddhist, no? I think perhaps I should go back to the Hills and contemplate some more.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-66593205766977090782010-12-13T08:16:00.000-05:002010-12-13T08:16:39.228-05:00“The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance; the wise grows it under his feet.” – James OppenheimSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-70041936073665154302010-12-12T07:12:00.008-05:002010-12-12T18:53:04.410-05:00Kangaroos, Wallabies, Emus, Oh My!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABmIl8838dRMMeLye_fAV-b3nClsB-jpjBMVGrwmYrAD9ONvpvb4m6tWcq97Cm7p4ngWNkmtn9AGQTu2h5IAc_vCxtbE_k7MedY60cqj-Zvcd1jY_lE9QiCjLsY8UYV_l7XS3PGYumpKz/s1600/PC080135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABmIl8838dRMMeLye_fAV-b3nClsB-jpjBMVGrwmYrAD9ONvpvb4m6tWcq97Cm7p4ngWNkmtn9AGQTu2h5IAc_vCxtbE_k7MedY60cqj-Zvcd1jY_lE9QiCjLsY8UYV_l7XS3PGYumpKz/s640/PC080135.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our KI rental home</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Yesterday my two closest friends both departed Adelaide for holidays with their respective families. Chocolate does not taste as good today. I'm fighting sadness with memories of happier times.<br />
<br />
Time has flown since I last wrote. I was hunkered under a pile of academic work for a while, and then, relieved of that duty, have been indulging in a bit of travel, filling the rest of time with work of the money-earning kind. I've had two spectacular trips in the past 3 weeks, one to the Coonawarra, and another to Kangaroo Island. Let's do a brief rundown of each!<br />
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The Coonawarra is a iron-board flat strip of land about 80 miles from the sea on the Limestone Coast. It is famous for its Cabernet Sauvignon, a varietal which (in my old age) I am coming to appreciate as the king of grapes. Distinctive though it is, a good Cabernet displays a singularly wide range of aromas and nuances as it gracefully, elegantly ages. Just like a well-raised person, it is neither subject to fashion nor pleasurable to fools. Its best expressions require proper oaking and diligent care, and only in very specific spots (Bordeaux, Coonawarra, Stellenbosch, arguably Napa) does it ripen to the sort of perfection that results in a strong, velvety, developed, and thought-provoking wine.<br />
<br />
There are many wines that get me excited: muscled & sexy Barolo, pensive & earthy Pinot Noir, outgoing & dynamic Grenache... (this is just my homage to reds)... zesty & gritty Zinfandel... But Cabernet Sauvignon... heavens, this isn't just a wine you want to take home to mom. It's a wine you adore and want all for yourself, even as you want to share its joy with the world. It's a wine for now if impatience strikes, and it's a wine to cellar for 35 years and enjoy in old age. It only improves with age. In every bottle is the opportunity to learn more, grow into a deeper appreciation, and be inexpressibly happy with the tutorial. By my rough estimate, one really good Cabernet is worth ten bottles of lesser stuff, yet it does not need to be pricey nor flashy nor hip to earn its respect as a noble grape. In fact, what I liked most about the Coonawarra is the close-knit community and the sense that the winemakers there are just winemakers, the viticulturalists are just farmers with a specific passion. The terroir is perfect for Cab Sav, and so that's what they make, humbly as that. And, boy, what they make is brilliant.<br />
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Sparing everyone the details of the itinerary (I recognize that most people aren't as nerdy as I am about wine), suffice to say we tasted a whole heap of good wine, and were really impressed in particular by the vintage wine available for sale. Any day you're drinking wine older than yourself... that's a good day.<br />
The company was pretty spectacular too. Six of us piled into my roommate's big red Holden station wagon (affectionately called "Ed"), and with the exception of a flat tire on the return drive, we tooled around the region in real style and passable comfort. We rented a cute little beach house on the coast, and basically spent four days cooking one another good food and drinking good wine. Hedonism? Bring it on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHCZMWFao9pcWFd6UnyIJByxWd9Oqw4fWDFXNxUFOkcCMh8T7yV3Jy8Hd8L2TbbYqe8D311xc40pJD3aHSDq-MbvfryDie9lGuwDkg7OTP06Lg6AnD3R5vFvtaaXxU1lvCAnxCdL0jsJW/s1600/PC060124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHCZMWFao9pcWFd6UnyIJByxWd9Oqw4fWDFXNxUFOkcCMh8T7yV3Jy8Hd8L2TbbYqe8D311xc40pJD3aHSDq-MbvfryDie9lGuwDkg7OTP06Lg6AnD3R5vFvtaaXxU1lvCAnxCdL0jsJW/s200/PC060124.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remarkable Rocks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This past week I went to Kangaroo Island with three friends for a much quieter and calmer getaway. Aptly named, the 90-mile long island is home to lots of native and extremely cute Australian wildlife. We saw many wallabies, one big bounding kangaroo, sea lions, seals, and birds by the score. The major disappointment was the platypus, who would not emerge from his watery haunt to show us his beak and webbed feet. I suppose I'll have to go to the zoo... because I'll be bummed if I leave this place without seeing the world's most bizarre mammal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRQxNMWoX4W_K9HJBR3-j9e5Ej43SLPoJpeRGIoS0zqtxSC5nRkzq65l9Yu49RDZ-LyE0-JiAmteJ4FegmvWnVO5dKKgH2uu7BNmiWqBEaVLkQ6Dp_bE29Y8bYgHEbxmjazWuqLst51l5/s1600/PC060122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRQxNMWoX4W_K9HJBR3-j9e5Ej43SLPoJpeRGIoS0zqtxSC5nRkzq65l9Yu49RDZ-LyE0-JiAmteJ4FegmvWnVO5dKKgH2uu7BNmiWqBEaVLkQ6Dp_bE29Y8bYgHEbxmjazWuqLst51l5/s320/PC060122.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remarkable Danger!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
A return trip to KI is definitely in order. We checked off the tourist must-sees, including the Remarkable Rocks (see right... complete with obligatory fear-mongering sign), Admiral's Arch, and the sheep dairy. We had an awesome, butter-filled lunch at the Marron farm... marron are Australia's delicious little answer to Louisiana crayfish and Maine lobster. We tasted some small-production gin and liqueurs at the tiny island distillery. Wish I'd taken a picture of the copper still. We checked out Clifford's Bee-and-Honey operation, which I found utterly fascinating. KI is home to the world's only remaining pure strain of Ligurian bees, which makes it biologically special and important because Ligurian bees are prized for quality honey and a good temperament... It is now on my list to learn more about bees... absolutely fascinating creatures.<br />
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The evenings in KI passed in good company, eating good food (probably eating way too much, honestly), and then staying up late chatting about life and plans. My friends might say I've been inexhaustibly talkative on the subject of "<i>life</i>" recently. Lots to think about, lots of logistics and hopes and dreams to sort through. It's nice to feel as if I'm on the right track, however hard it is to stomach the reality that not everything is within my control. One lives in hope, and continues to work hard.<br />
<br />
That's a nice thing about this summer. I'm here, at the massive sacrifice of family time and traditions and comfort, in order to work... Working hard keeps the mind busy... and it's hard to do much heavy lifting with fingers crossed. So I'll just keep my head down and keep posting the good news! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcxEQBq0cjZELjGQI-SZUoZw2HbpBKzj8jRdSLkP07lPO7HPTcPvw_QNe4dTSBIw6GIfkCnmMJ2YqpdciJElKgGl4BITdPK9zLgAR22fxb_drIWeKZnPLHvYJKAHw_7yuGGDGBC-7CIuK/s1600/PC060130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcxEQBq0cjZELjGQI-SZUoZw2HbpBKzj8jRdSLkP07lPO7HPTcPvw_QNe4dTSBIw6GIfkCnmMJ2YqpdciJElKgGl4BITdPK9zLgAR22fxb_drIWeKZnPLHvYJKAHw_7yuGGDGBC-7CIuK/s320/PC060130.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">me, worried, in a rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-62248023373159953462010-10-31T21:14:00.003-04:002010-10-31T21:32:34.960-04:00Rally like it's 1969<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRocnboK8C-cf8qCOnopRgnWTqSBp9Ne4oxTlNLX4bbUBYcoW4YwDxSjfckHJgAfbupFpzhh9imTl0GXKScWoa7eY_29-8kIsfe1NN_GnrOBCKIqkqmcfHenfKcB7_qhjmR_nYE_f40BRZ/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-11-01+at+10.44.20+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRocnboK8C-cf8qCOnopRgnWTqSBp9Ne4oxTlNLX4bbUBYcoW4YwDxSjfckHJgAfbupFpzhh9imTl0GXKScWoa7eY_29-8kIsfe1NN_GnrOBCKIqkqmcfHenfKcB7_qhjmR_nYE_f40BRZ/s320/Screen+shot+2010-11-01+at+10.44.20+AM.png" width="320" /></a>I am a little sad I couldn't be in Washington DC this past weekend for Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Some friends have emailed with great reports on the big day out, and looking at the news coverage, I'm heartened to see 200,000 average Americans stood up and voiced the sentiment of the overwhelming majority: "Calm Down, Folks."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iwKB25cnHPBqxKoB5lEUPsBTVqHRSA311pXpss_DTV3Y2UcIW_Z9LPlyiBKPEXPCZNlulYlyBWUL-1kvejfP1Va4FT96fi14SHcRmjCB1pkpxrlmj-aDNcDndmTcz8bQz_eJ2nnJrXmf/s1600/Jesus+Says+Relax.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iwKB25cnHPBqxKoB5lEUPsBTVqHRSA311pXpss_DTV3Y2UcIW_Z9LPlyiBKPEXPCZNlulYlyBWUL-1kvejfP1Va4FT96fi14SHcRmjCB1pkpxrlmj-aDNcDndmTcz8bQz_eJ2nnJrXmf/s320/Jesus+Says+Relax.png" width="320" /></a>Perusing the <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-100-best-signs-at-the-rally-to-restore-sanity">signs</a>, which range from hilarious and random to poignant and eloquent, I think the rally-goers really did justice to the theme of the event. The sad, ageless fact is that moderate voices are--by definition--almost never heard. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(the squeaky door gets oil)</i></span> The brash and outspoken make news, regardless of their accuracy or representativeness. America' headstrong, abrasive image in the world scene is grossly unfair to the millions of Americans who keep their heads down and work hard, practice a personal and unobtrusive form of religion, vote as sensibly as they can given the information available. This rally was a humor-driven showcase of the moderate.<br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegBa3MR5l1L6l43kA9gooQVPitEHscmk7GvdWtAfL9i4OhxHqlumepdmxMvQ8kNWpgrr39NrLBNUldMzn0ZzxNpZw10b9QzTxv019MPNDfPpZkFHefIY5DIudMvxN3J0Fgwr4ZRyoiOtI/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-11-01+at+11.58.31+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegBa3MR5l1L6l43kA9gooQVPitEHscmk7GvdWtAfL9i4OhxHqlumepdmxMvQ8kNWpgrr39NrLBNUldMzn0ZzxNpZw10b9QzTxv019MPNDfPpZkFHefIY5DIudMvxN3J0Fgwr4ZRyoiOtI/s320/Screen+shot+2010-11-01+at+11.58.31+AM.png" width="210" /></a></div>Humor is key here. Mr. Stewart and Mr. Colbert are excellently informed, satirical entertainers, whose lighten-up philosophy is refreshing by contrast with the fear-mongering and loud commentators of traditional "news" stations. We citizens should not be misinformed or ignorant dullards, but likewise we cannot bring the high-stress of party politicking into our homes every time we switch on the tv, look at the internet, or read the newspaper. "Maybe I need to be more discerning," Mr. Colbert told Mr. Stewart. "Your reasonableness is poisoning my fear." My generation gets some flak for thinking Comedy Central is a source of news, but I think we're just looking to take the edge off news with a good laugh. As my dear friend <a href="http://natalierace.blogspot.com/">Natalie</a> once said, "If you don't laugh, it's disturbing." We know what's going on, or some of what's going on; as much as we care to know. And dwelling on it can only be painful or scary. See the humor, carry on.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8_H-Mkdgg_TmQfKpJAM-Q0sLlRmVs8Pn9AhXOQRmkIqRjW1hBLr0_pqsXPAiTX0Ow3xH0Jc1xixg3iCWaf566RkkADKb3t00Zfpz4OvFm4RkUU8ptUucOjdjen9I-82Q6OdmNrJa0h7A/s1600/I+like+turtles.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8_H-Mkdgg_TmQfKpJAM-Q0sLlRmVs8Pn9AhXOQRmkIqRjW1hBLr0_pqsXPAiTX0Ow3xH0Jc1xixg3iCWaf566RkkADKb3t00Zfpz4OvFm4RkUU8ptUucOjdjen9I-82Q6OdmNrJa0h7A/s320/I+like+turtles.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I'm very glad that the National Mall was chock-full of people standing for common sanity, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I hope it was a blow to the egos of men (and women) who have made their fame and fortune bloviating a very niche viewpoint to a very rabid, loud, and small constituency. We Americans, for the most part, are <i>not </i>those pundits or radicals, just as much as Arabs and Muslims are, on the whole, <i>not </i>strapped with explosives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmr_mM9XRqtwmoZ9meJWhSCAK3m6tCx0aG9uSDOoAF7Cnm0ZitJi6HzEmt1rD-8NMRwPg-CR0ooLKDOkFAIQLURUQWiwDz3fV85rAFHe1q58XMi-fYQqzCcL2Du367LZxdEajYedGzz_Dj/s1600/We+didn%27t+do+it.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmr_mM9XRqtwmoZ9meJWhSCAK3m6tCx0aG9uSDOoAF7Cnm0ZitJi6HzEmt1rD-8NMRwPg-CR0ooLKDOkFAIQLURUQWiwDz3fV85rAFHe1q58XMi-fYQqzCcL2Du367LZxdEajYedGzz_Dj/s320/We+didn%27t+do+it.png" width="282" /></a>Choosing a favorite sign was a hard ask. For timely humor and my personal bias, I was really enamored of the guy that showed up with a life-size stuffed coyote wearing a sign: "I am not a coyote, I'm you." He was poking fun, evidently, at Christine O'Donnell's recent "I didn't go to Yale, I'm you" campaign slogan. Which, personally, I found intensely offensive.<br />
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I also really appreciated the numerous people who pretended that they'd just sort of happened on the rally, and were confused about its purpose. "Is this the line to buy Justin Bieber tickets." "I came for the sex!" "I would like more tortilla chips with my fajitas." Non-sequitur humor as always appreciated. So is irony/logical fallacy: "I am protesting the existence of protest signs."<br />
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But the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear was not about being disoriented, catty, plaintive, or overly intellectual. It was meant to remind us regular people that there are lots of others like us, and we should be proud to band together as Americans under a different banner than the loud, visible, fear-mongering types who have co-opted the American brand. "We live now in hard times," Mr. Stewart said, "not the end of times." We should keep our wits about us and our sense of humor intact. In the end, I think the rally was summed up best by one sign:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60HzYlBiPYAQGQDkWJy4cLAnS3DKRGiKlAbz92KXB6U43l9f63TV-Zq5GGI-EqpFv8005s3QoIpxvBIGNeGPEoDJUzYG3xJFAcIbtD1cO2JZyrjncdjnT3KSnWBIaZjq_xnDem0wxxmjy/s320/We+Should+Do+This+More+Often.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">thanks to <a href="http://buzzfeed.com/">BuzzFeed.com</a> for posting the originals of these sign photos, and thanks to the witty people who walked around DC carrying them on 31 October 2010!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60HzYlBiPYAQGQDkWJy4cLAnS3DKRGiKlAbz92KXB6U43l9f63TV-Zq5GGI-EqpFv8005s3QoIpxvBIGNeGPEoDJUzYG3xJFAcIbtD1cO2JZyrjncdjnT3KSnWBIaZjq_xnDem0wxxmjy/s1600/We+Should+Do+This+More+Often.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-25260125541829129022010-10-27T00:13:00.004-04:002010-10-31T21:15:08.163-04:00Bragging? Maybe. Only a little.I am so very, irrepressibly pleased with the newest development in my life: a job at a gorgeous winery in McLaren Vale. For those of you tracking my progress, this means I have two jobs... both fantastic in their own ways... to keep me busy all summer.<br />
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The general theme of this blog has been not to name names or specify places (protect the innocent), so I'll follow suit here. I will however, show off a picture from the winery's website, just to emphasize what I mean when I say 'gorgeous:' <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuVTkIOG1i3ZkcWvCfgkvHzOGjPbstWtCRRcXX8sxblc5GM6cfELpcQrGRXGzz8j1rmRGRUmNv_vKNnHyFINVJpM6tIWvMEQpHtcWxqLy5sASnLcXOAZ-mjOUyvqkVbcLoXJ7i2_FO-pC/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-10-27+at+1.57.26+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuVTkIOG1i3ZkcWvCfgkvHzOGjPbstWtCRRcXX8sxblc5GM6cfELpcQrGRXGzz8j1rmRGRUmNv_vKNnHyFINVJpM6tIWvMEQpHtcWxqLy5sASnLcXOAZ-mjOUyvqkVbcLoXJ7i2_FO-pC/s640/Screen+shot+2010-10-27+at+1.57.26+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">It's such a great feeling to have a position for the right reasons, at an organization where the philosophy jives perfectly with passions I was already developing. The winery is very keen on sustainable development, organic growth (of the business and the vineyards alike), and honest creation of quality. And the wine is definitely quality.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The whole place resonates with a lovely purity of spirit and practice. Sheep and cows graze in pastures alongside the vineyard, cover crops grow freely between rows of grapes, fish swim in the reservoirs that provide irrigation to the property, a pile of natural fertilizer sits in the sun with its earthy rich stink filling the air. The winery dogs are as adorable and friendly as can be. The winemaking philosophy is a modernized, hands-off approach: wild-yeast ferments, natural malo, aged oak regimens. And there's a window in the cool, dark barrel shed that looks out across the vineyard, so it's impossible for workers in the cellar to forget that this product--which demands scientific attention and will be shipped to all points of the globe in glass bottles--this wine actually comes from a real place... right up there, where the sunlight is hitting the crest of the green hill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps I'm obsessing a little bit, but perhaps that's as it should be. I feel incredibly lucky to be included in this business and in this industry, and am thrilled to get to work. I've been pooling my talents, honing the resources for a good long while now, and finally I'm in the position to use it for a good cause! And there's more to learn! Always ways to grow!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then too, this position finally gets me on track towards a happy future that I've been blueprinting for some time now: working hard to cultivate, sustain, and promote a beautiful little piece of the world... (somewhere!)... hopefully one day adding in the blessing of my own beautiful family to raise, take care of, and proudly send into the world. Its a profoundly fulfilling and edifying dream. It's all about living in the now, for the betterment of what is to come.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't think it's totally crazy to think of wine as a savior against a robotic and soulless future. Really now: What better product than wine--with its hedonic peaks and scholarly valleys, its modern growth and ancient roots--to draw the everyday consumer into its nuances? A lot of people want to get geeky and proud about wine knowledge, but I think wine lovers revel in yammering on about wine because it's fundamentally a glorious, unanswerable mystery. Every vintage, every vineyard, every bottle offers a new opportunity to marvel at what nature has produced and man has harnessed for a moment. How is it possible to drink wine without honoring the grapes, the vines, and the land from which it is born? Nature--given her own way--never fails to awe those who are still, and quiet, and looking out across the landscape. There's a beautiful, inexplicable flowing continuity of life bound up in the land, and wine invites us simply to bask in it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or get nerdy about it, or pay too much for it, or share it with friends on the beach, or simply unwind. What a gorgeous, happy life!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-11931266907345908432010-10-24T09:05:00.003-04:002010-10-25T07:48:50.892-04:00An Update, for YouIn recent months, I have had the joy of stumbling across and spending time with a superb individual, one of those types I knew at hello would be worth keeping in my life forever. Such a rare and precious gem is a true friend: someone who makes the day bright with their presence, and--as the cocktail-hour line quips--knows me and likes me anyway.<br />
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I am flattered and heartened that this friend emailed tonight to remind I must update my blog. He knows, perhaps better than I, that there are other equally wonderful people in my life who are interested in my comings and goings, and I'm blessed to have a community that cares about me, however far-flung we all may be. Thanks for the love and the emails... let me offer up a slice of the current life Down Under.<br />
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I've felt happily busy here in the springtime of Australia, awakening as it were from a strange several-year-long slumber of directionless curiosity for life. Perhaps that was the post-college slump the books warned me about. Thank heavens I made such a picturesque adventure out of it, or else the time might have been maddeningly sad. I feel now as if I'm really getting my head around a path and purpose, and I'm invigorated for the next steps.<br />
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Are you in the mood for music? Check out Stornoway. I can't get this song out of my head.<br />
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<object height="295" style="background-image: url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/UoxFreQqp4Q/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UoxFreQqp4Q?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UoxFreQqp4Q?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="295" width="480"></embed></object><br />
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As for the updating...<br />
Today was spent in the glistening sunshine of a spring day, serving wine to people at a croquet "match" (if you could consider it that organized) at a beautiful spot in the Adelaide Hills. This is my new job. Or a component of it, rather. I'm working at the cellar door/tasting room for a winery, and my responsibilities range from pouring tastes and selling wine on gorgeous sunny days in a warehouse full of (filled) wine barrels... to fixing broken, leaking, hot-water spewing dishwashers during a 120-person charity dinner. On any given day, there are hundreds of 40 lb boxes to move here and there and back again, thousands of glasses to polish, sales quota to be met, wedding seatings to set up, crowds to control, cash drawers to reconcile, port wine to siphon out of the big barrels into the little one, the winery dog to tame, company politics to interpret, over-exuberant drinkers to calm, flower arrangements to maintain, dishes to wash, group events to oversee, complaints to field, driving directions to explain, local attractions to recommend, bathrooms to keep tidy, recycling to take out, bread to bake, cheese platters to make, small children to entertain, olive pits to clean up from the floor, inventory to track... all (preferably) in a skirt... though today I wore a flouncy white dress to fit the croquet theme. Yes, I enjoyed the flouncing.<br />
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The bulletpoints on a resume never really do justice to the nuances of a position held. Let it be said that the best hire must be able to maintain good humor and think on her feet. And be on her feet from now until whenever. It's a little like being a mom, maybe! <br />
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(Thank you, Mom)<br />
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I actually love the job. The work is exhausting in all the right ways, and days pass amidst the splendor of nature. There is no shortage of ways to make other people happy, whether with wine, a smile, or a reference to the pretty sky outside. What a blessed way to earn some money and fill a day.<br />
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When I'm not making money, I'm working. School this semester has felt like a grind, not nearly as thought-provoking as it could be, and demanding a lot of grunt work to get the grades. To what end? For the degree... for the job... for the resume... yadda yadda... I look at these academic pursuits as a means to a very agreeable end. I've also started attending lectures outside of my major, which have added a fantastic dimension to my little world, both in terms of people met and knowledge acquired. Truly I would implore my current professors (on the really really off-chance that they're reading up on my blog!) to step up their game and invest some dynamic thought in their curriculum. Perhaps I've been spoiled by a lifetime of dedicated educators. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for your investment in my schooling. Logic doesn't have to strain itself far to see the value of a high-quality education versus simply "going to school."<br />
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What else? I'm afraid I'm maybe rambling. School, work, life, the weather. Covered the basic bases. Events? Spent last weekend at a beach house with my group of mates. Revelry was had. Sport? It's been a rather focused couple of months. Things to come? Major assignments due in the coming weeks. Should call home more often.<br />
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Really the update is the usual, but in a blissful way. I have some fantastic individuals to credit for all the happiness with the "mundane" things. It's a good time in Adelaide. Thank God for friends.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-29293182848230638472010-09-16T23:24:00.005-04:002010-09-18T20:16:59.752-04:00Worth a Thousand WordsI've recently been batting around sad ideas concerning modernity and culture, specifically how technology interfaces with wine. I'm seeing wine--which I'm so heavily invested in studying right now--as a microcosm of the world at large. Perhaps something as simple, widespread, and as perennial as wine could be a useful touchstone in discussions of future. What makes a wine good or worth money? What do we consider to be an improvement in wine technology? Is it machine harvesting as many perfectly ripened and lab tested grapes as possible and producing as much wine as we can make bottles? Whatever happened to the honed generational skills of the farmer? What about terrior? Where does mechanization take the romantic--and indeed appealing--element away from wine? How much does the romanticism matter, so long as we have the convenience of inexpensive and well-made wine on our grocery store shelves?<br />
From the slow food movement to vintage clothing to handcrafted, biodynamic wine I'm seeing these reactionary trends within my generation that has seen so much technology advance so quickly. NASA is trying to start a "space tourism" industry, and we still can't grasp the genetic mutations that sometimes occur in grapevines. We're churning eggs out of chicken-powered factories, and can't wrap our heads around the fact of skyrocketing obesity and cancer rates in the developed world. It all seems too much too fast, at the expense of complex systems that have developed over millenia... and cultures that have been in place for thousands of years.<br />
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These thoughts swirling after a particularly aggravating viticulture class, I stumbled across this photographic essay on spiritual life in Bali, with commentary from the artist John Stanmeyer: <br />
<blockquote><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_I1m4YRt69CJ9xWRYWZQYnyg5IzI0J9WPtUZyK0Vu7x9fR951fVFGIWR5W8bCpeDfEO9QL_293wBQ873At_e8GDydFgv1lZaOScpZE6-DxkNKb5tPKjxYjV9SnDsHBFOu-Qw_nXbR5tP/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-09-17+at+12.52.52+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_I1m4YRt69CJ9xWRYWZQYnyg5IzI0J9WPtUZyK0Vu7x9fR951fVFGIWR5W8bCpeDfEO9QL_293wBQ873At_e8GDydFgv1lZaOScpZE6-DxkNKb5tPKjxYjV9SnDsHBFOu-Qw_nXbR5tP/s200/Screen+shot+2010-09-17+at+12.52.52+PM.png" width="195" /></a>"The Balinese culture is under severe stress from development and modernity. How much longer will the Balinese even be speaking their own language? How much longer will people be able to read the ancient Sanskrit texts? <br />
I’m intense and passionate about it because I do feel in some regards, around the world, we’re having cultural genocide. Cultures are vanishing. We’re homogenizing ourselves across the planet. We have language loss on an epic level and we have cultural loss on an equally epic level. And that I find to be tragic, especially when you have rich, ancient cultures that haven’t changed for so long but now are on the verge of a breaking point." </blockquote><a href="http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/09/16/high-balinese-ritual-low-holga-technology/">http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/09/16/high-balinese-ritual-low-holga-technology/</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And so, what to do? When is globalization a good thing? To what extent....Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-87866370751986390452010-09-14T11:03:00.002-04:002010-09-14T11:12:54.149-04:00Wow, Phil Davison. Wow.<object height="295" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IMgyi57s-A4?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IMgyi57s-A4?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="295" width="480"></embed></object>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-44765653685150722522010-09-08T10:34:00.002-04:002010-09-08T11:11:01.845-04:00This Haitian Life: Doomsdaying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf-DfRd7zcH5CmKdvcf68yQyPETg_U9B0xD22jik0qdWxFJ-1PrJg7PR4GhlrVOs1MNYHx7aSc9njq-xFktIA_wJD_6ts5NIMr9Uo_YceG6BA6iKhl06lLBQLHuMRJH9sYx3o6PXGfQMr/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-09-09+at+12.05.00+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf-DfRd7zcH5CmKdvcf68yQyPETg_U9B0xD22jik0qdWxFJ-1PrJg7PR4GhlrVOs1MNYHx7aSc9njq-xFktIA_wJD_6ts5NIMr9Uo_YceG6BA6iKhl06lLBQLHuMRJH9sYx3o6PXGfQMr/s320/Screen+shot+2010-09-09+at+12.05.00+AM.png" width="161" /></a></div>I'm a little behind on my podcast listening, but I am a devotee of Mr. Ira Glass, voice and brain behind an NPR show called "This American Life." Every week, he and a team of investigative radio reporters start with a broad topic and delve into the illuminating details of topics that shape our collective culture. Back in May, TAL ran an episode called "Island Time," which considers Haiti in the wake of the catastrophic January earthquake. How is it, they ask, that the small island nation has been floundering for half a century while 10,000 NGOs and millions in foreign aid have focused attention on the place?<br />
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There were some really interesting quotes, my favorites penned and read by an author named Ben Fountain, who went to visit a friend of his in Haiti in the immediate wake of the disaster....<br />
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<blockquote>1. <i>"I've noticed it's as if God gives you 205 years to do something with Haiti, and if you fail, He passes it on to someone else. The Spanish had it from 1492 to 1697. Two hundred and five years. Then the French from 1698 to 1803. Two hundred and five years. Then the Haitians from 1804 to 2009. Two hundred and five years. So what is coming next? Maybe revolution."</i></blockquote>The Mayans predicted a revolutionary shift to a new world order in 2012. The timing is getting creepy... plus the weather is nuts here, Guatemala isn't having a great week, and Christchurch, NZ is as flat as it's been in 100 years after the weekend quake there. In literature we call this "pathetic fallacy."<br />
<blockquote>2. <i>"I've been hearing how backward Haiti is for as long as I've been going. What about this? What if Haiti is ahead of the times? It seems to be on the leading edge of so many current trends: environmental degradation, serial ecological disasters, crumbling infrastructure, a population that exceeds resources, plus a skewed economic order that channels vast wealth to a privileged few while the great majority of people stagnate and struggle. By any objective measure, Haiti appears well advanced on the track that the rest of the world seems hell-bent on following."</i></blockquote>I don't want to get into politics. Just reflecting.<br />
<blockquote>3. <i>[observing the destruction of Port au Prince's cultural institutions] " 'Art is finished in Haiti,' he said abruptly. 'After what happened here, art has nothing more to say to us.' And he went on, 'The philosopher Hegel said that before the end of time there will be the end of history. And before the end of history there will be the end of art. Maybe this is what we're seeing here: the enacting of Hegel's theory. Haiti is leading the rest of the world to the end of time.' "</i></blockquote> Buy art. Buy books. Support your local chefs, bakers, farmers, and potters. Drink more fortified wine. Go back to the land, because --dear Lord-- when the ground itself starts to move underneath us, what in heavens will we all hold onto?<br />
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****I am unabashedly plugging "This American Life." Check it out and download the podcast for illuminating insight on subjects you didn't know were out there (ie. the competitive business of interstate rest stops.... pet life insurance... the hedge fund that shorted their own investments and made a killing just before mid-2008) One could find worse reasons to walk around the neighborhood for an hour with your iPod.****Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-39330480513958112352010-09-06T11:17:00.000-04:002010-09-08T11:26:27.573-04:00AHHHHHHHHH GROSS!When I woke up this morning, there was a centipede crawling around in my sheets. <br />
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I neglected to write last week about the sunny, beautiful morning when I woke up, stretched, looked happily out the window to the bright day, and was faced with the silhouette of a spider the size of my head. It had gotten between the screen and my (fortunately shut) window pane. I may never open that window again. I took a picture, but it's blurry. And then I tried to give the picture perspective by holding up my finger, and the disgusting beast jumped at me! I screamed.... it went and hid in a corner where I'm sure it still lies in wait to terrify me again. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGd2ZcFl_A7lDK-aBX17JxQQaNv3fI42Ecy4Sdsu4700Ow7SAGn_k63ZdddqWF3sbJWac7QSw5sMOqSB8y0PBOpx9CmVXN-kV5rDTHLxnolQ2tS7-yGLi0FgJySJi46KBUnignKmCwFrS/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-09-09+at+12.52.25+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGd2ZcFl_A7lDK-aBX17JxQQaNv3fI42Ecy4Sdsu4700Ow7SAGn_k63ZdddqWF3sbJWac7QSw5sMOqSB8y0PBOpx9CmVXN-kV5rDTHLxnolQ2tS7-yGLi0FgJySJi46KBUnignKmCwFrS/s320/Screen+shot+2010-09-09+at+12.52.25+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture is neither my hand nor my spider, but it gives some indication of the monster that is the Huntsman species. [expletive]ing huge. I'm getting the willies again just thinking about it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-7417815653570066212010-09-05T03:05:00.003-04:002010-09-08T11:15:22.558-04:00Spring Pushing Through the CloudsOnce again it's pouring outside. It was so lovely and sunny 30 minutes ago that I suited up for an afternoon jog. Now here I sit in front of the computer screen, all dressed up and nowhere to go.<br />
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It's been a wonderful week in Adelaide. At the sunny outset of the week, I was accompanied by great friends to McLaren Vale, the beach, and Barossa. There's nothing like beautiful days to relieve all sorts of anxiety. I finally feel like I'm getting a grip on the road that is unfolding for my life. I'm very privileged to have all sorts of options available, though there's a certain terrible stress in the background: "Don't screw up the opportunity!"<br />
I vacillate between extreme contentment with the blank book I get to fill and acute envy of friends whose path is set for them. Two gentlemen I know, for example, are next in line to run their families' wineries in South Africa. How empowering to live life with a sense of duty, directly tied to filial obligations. "Golden handcuffs," they say. I too feel responsible to honor my family, my college, my country.... but the "how" is so undefined. My commission is to go do my "best," whatever that means. It's not a quick and easy task when the whole wide world holds opportunities and places at which to excel. <br />
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We do the best with what we have where we are.<br />
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Yesterday was a memorable one. We headed up to the Clare Valley for some wine tasting, completely ignoring the crazy storm raging up the land from Adelaide. This has apparently been the coldest, wettest winter in two decades here, and the season clearly means to go out with a bang. A thunderstorm lingered through Friday night, and by Saturday morning rivers were running high and roadside ditches were threatening to overload onto the bitumen. But northwards through the fray we drove. By 2pm, the spitting rain was streaking sideways in blustery wind, branches were flying everywhere, and water was gushing from all corners of the earth to the lowest points it could find. We were sadly forced to leave the valley early because we simply couldn't turn off the main road or get to cellar doors. Rivers had washed over the side roads, over bridges, and into the fields, making islands of vineyards. I do wonder what effect all this water so late in the winter will have on vinous budburst and the coming vintage.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-87472666537742132152010-08-26T06:24:00.001-04:002010-08-26T06:28:41.926-04:00My ManeraOh boy, it's been a fun rainy day. I had absolutely nothing on the official docket, and after several hours of listlessly reading ("The Count of Monte Cristo" is a stellar book, if you're looking for a novel to read), I started playing around with technology. I'm very proud of my first go at a podcast... this may become a regular diversion from the print-method of conveying information. Give the link a click and see how you go.... comments immensely welcome. <br />
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<a href="http://sarahtracker.podbean.com/2010/08/26/my-manera/">My Manera</a><br />
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!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-28477365864315982682010-08-25T11:04:00.005-04:002010-08-25T11:33:17.158-04:00Family, I love youA friend and I were bantering this evening about our relatives. Or rather, we were one-upping each other with stories about how wonderful our respective families are. At some point talk turned to the subject of gratitude... The difficulty of expressing "thank you for raising me" and "thank you for loving me" puts such a barrier between us and the words we need to say to the people who need to hear it.<br /><br />Over lunch today (laksa in the central market!) a different friend sighed as she mused, "So few people are in touch with themselves, who they really are and what they want." And that deficit of self-introspective thought launches so much terrible turmoil between the non-mind-reading classes.<br /><br />And with these thoughts swirling in my mind, a quick, heartfelt shout-out is in order. Thanks, family (and friends, who count among family), for the emails and calls and facebook notes and well wishes. I've broadcasted some distress in recent weeks, and you have done much to remind me of the ties that bind me beyond the present, fleeting moment. In all honesty, I'm doing just fine, though I am ready for winter to end and resume a happy pattern of productive, inquisitive days. Australia has still got me scrambling through the liminal lifestyle of a non-committal ex-pat. I don't know how to do my taxes here, and I'm rather bored by the prospect of figuring it out when I'm just going to have to go back to America and figure them out there too. This is the same philosophy behind my refusal to learn how to work television remote controls. The day I figure out all the buttons and menus, they'll just update the damn things to new technology. There's always so much to be done, and it's irritating when life gets in the way of more important things (like... say... life? it's a vicious cycle).<br /><br />Much too philosophical. I should go back to storytelling...<br /><br />In light news....<br />This past weekend we all piled on a bus and went up to the Gourmet festival in the Barossa Valley. Silliness ensued. Much wine was bought and enjoyed. New friends were made, and deep conversations were had. Details are fuzzy. Highlights included the glorious sunshine, aforementioned new friends, and a piece of chocolate-shiraz-ganache cake. I've come away with an important message to my fellow Americans: drink more Shiraz! (look beyond $10.... there's some glorious stuff bouncing around in the $15-30 range)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-47656173355835252672010-08-23T09:12:00.006-04:002010-08-24T10:07:43.208-04:00blue.Do you miss me, or am I just imagining<br />that the rain keeps coming sweeping<br />from your heart across the sea<br />to streak my window<br />and make me melancholy sad?<br /><br />I've been laughing so much lately<br />that desperate, cynical laugh<br />of someone who has been<br />too long out of touch with home.<br /><br />We are not snails, it turns out,<br />so even if we turn our insides to mush,<br />carrying around our brittle shield,<br />we leave a slimy little trail<br />and everyone knows where we've gone<br />and they chase us with salt<br />and put an end to it all.<br /><br />If we cannot slither back one day, we're goners.<br />And so the will says "Hold on!"Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-32912860587576145142010-08-20T09:10:00.005-04:002010-08-21T03:16:48.209-04:00The Four Way Test...of things we Think, Say, or Do....<br /><br />1. Is it the TRUTH?<br /><br />2. Is it FAIR to all concerned?<br /><br />3. Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?<br /><br />4. Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?<br /><br />The maxims of Rotary International: keeping me on the straight and narrow. Good words for us all to bear in mind.<br /><br />Note: My dad, the single most upstanding and honest man I know, reads this blog from time to time. He astutely pointed out some things I might want to change for the general public (reputation and all), and I have dutifully done. He was probably in the right. Sadly at least two of the things I changed were lies in the first place. White lies. The line between fiction and reality is so blurry on the other side of the world, and I never intended to be a reporter, just a writer.<br /><br />Some timeless thoughts on the subject:<br /><br />"I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric -- and pure invention is but the talent of a liar."<br />-Lord Byron (1788-1824)<br /><br />"It's with bad sentiments that one makes good novels."<br />Aldous Huxley (1894-1963) <br /><br />"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."<br />Mark Twain (1835-1910) <br /><br />Mr. Twain, brilliant as usual. And, Daddy, I love you very much. Thanks for looking out for me.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-59323693888236759862010-08-19T05:09:00.007-04:002010-09-05T09:28:02.265-04:00My God, has it been a Month?!The teasing, mercurial weather-makers here! The day will dawn sunny, rain ten times before noon, then blossom as a gorgeous midday before deteriorating into a torrential afternoon downpour that clears for a stunning sunset to offset the full-on evening storm. My window is coated with sheets of water as rain blows sideways and whips around the house. It makes for a melancholy night, particularly given the oppressive continuing chill, offset by a candle on my desk and Pavarotti singing through iTunes. My roommate calls this season of unpredictable, frustrating, moody, and evocative weather "the female days."<br />
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The funniest anecdote of the week explains how I got two holes ripped into the seat of my favorite jeans. A few evenings ago, I spent the night on the couch at a friend's house. I woke up to find the house empty. My friends had all departed for work, locking the doors behind them. In a brilliant feat of fire-escape-prevention, whoever did the doors on the house installed deadbolts that require keys to unlock. Inside and out. The screen door? That too required a key. So, I opened every window in the house (upstairs and downstairs... not sure how the upstairs was going to help me) looking for one that opened wide enough for my head to fit through. The best I got was one of those crank-open things that creates a jaunty angle between the brick mantle outside and the interior window frame, which was about four feet off the ground. If successful, I would be standing in a flower bed in the front yard. If unsuccessful, I'd be a good story for the local fireman, and my back would be contorted in a brand new way. Ten inches to make my escape. I tried calling all three members of the household, but they were at work, forty-five minutes passed, and I needed to get to class. <br />
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The scene that ensued is eminently qualified for YouTube. After taking out the window screen, I took off all excess layers of clothing, did some rudimentary "I'm about this wide" measuring, and tossed my belongings outside in hopes it wouldn't start raining before I was able to collect them. I rockclimbed up onto the ledge, and--feet first--started to slide out towards freedom. I got stuck at the hips. I wasn't too big, mind you... it's just that between the odd muscle contracting (stabilizers engaged), and the sort of wedging of ass-cheek and pelvic bone while doing a full back bend and trying to support my upper body without pulling the top window down on myself... well, I was a little cramped. It was nothing that a little wiggling and thrusting and cursing couldn't supersede. Boobs got stuck too. That just took some jamming and gradual stuffing- inside to outside, like a medieval mammogram. And then I just did the limbo out the rest of the way, nicking the chin only enough to jerk my head back and whack it into the brick behind me. Freedom! And torn jeans! I do wish someone had taken a video so I could apply for my dream job with the Cirque du Soleil.<br />
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The rain outside has stopped. Stars are out... for now.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSYUCQroyxMknsZEmIJQFQZMyG6i3VkdA_L3_D0BxYhAgk70DGg9Vviyt8FiYUeos_OufQPN_GYvl94I1iZC-y0mnjBxAYEYlXtoai76Ns6j3eKWAAM6SycsEIAEQrrb_yn2jn1xm7zYV/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-08-19+at+7.20.51+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507056448030065554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSYUCQroyxMknsZEmIJQFQZMyG6i3VkdA_L3_D0BxYhAgk70DGg9Vviyt8FiYUeos_OufQPN_GYvl94I1iZC-y0mnjBxAYEYlXtoai76Ns6j3eKWAAM6SycsEIAEQrrb_yn2jn1xm7zYV/s200/Screen+shot+2010-08-19+at+7.20.51+PM.png" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 137px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-25439019698610859582010-07-19T15:42:00.005-04:002010-08-20T09:44:40.611-04:00Food. (or, A Weekend in NYC)I love New York. Even when it's July steamy--stinking, slippery wet with summer--there's this frenetic movement of people and ideas that make the place pulsate with cool. I love seeing how people are dressing themselves nowadays. I love how shoes can give away exactly where certain people will get off the subway train. I love that you can have a $16 cocktail in a gorgeous bar, then go across the street for steamed dumplings. Five for a dollar. I love how anytime I come back, every little thing has changed, but all the big things, the important things, like landmarks, intersections, and people are all the same. <br />I would guess in fact that little has changed since Nick Carroway wandered into a drunken revelry at the Plaza. Even as every facade adapts its outward appearance to keep up with the times, the City at its heart remains: distinctive, robust, gritty, and gorgeous, with a razor-sharp and enticing edge. When I am not in New York, I feel like I'm missing something breathtaking; it is something beyond the realm of mortals, for which real life simply must be suspended. <br /><br />And by "real life," I mean "normal diet," so bear with me as I recount the gastronomic exploits of the weekend... we did well for ourselves.<br /><br />We arrived at LaGuardia on Friday morning, and went downtown to check into the hotel. It is the first time I have stayed in a nice hotel in the city, so that in itself was a special treat, certainly an upgrade from my old East Village apartment or my friends' couches when I was back for visits. First stop on the tour was a rustic little eatery near Gramercy Park called "Friend of a Farmer," which uses exceedingly fresh ingredients and is intended to evoke country inns from upstate. I don't think I've ever eaten such delicious carrots. From there we wandered south through Alphabet City before heading west to Greenwich Village. I mused along the way at the new shopfronts and favorite parks. The Village is great for interesting doorways, which make a good distraction on walks. From there we meandered into Soho, briefly braving the Broadway throngs to go smell cheese in Dean & Deluca and looking for jeans in a couple boutiques. We stopped for a Masala Dosa snack on Prince St. Delicious.<br /><br />Friday evening was all set up to be spectacular. Back at the hotel, we decked ourselves out and took a cab up to Lincoln Center to see a fantastic staging of Rodgers and Hammerstein's "South Pacific." I was enthralled by the performance; lost in the music and I was transported back to my sailing days, melodiously nostalgic for those endless sunsets and the undulating blue upon blue.<br /><br />After the show, we went for wine and cheese at Caselula, one of my favorite little spots in midtown. They have an extensive cheese list, paired with an equally interesting wine selection. Each cheese arrives accompanied by a nibble of fruit or nuts or sauce or popcorn... an assortment of flavors to set the mind ablaze. Add a charcuterie plate with cornichons and more nuts, plus some bread... I was in heaven. We ordered a leafy salad to aid in the digestive process.<br /><br />Saturday we slept embarrassingly late in that luxurious, deep, feather bed. Around 2pm, we made our way to Chinatown and ended up lunching over mediocre Vietnamese food. The hardest thing about traveling in Southeast Asia is knowing that the Pho will never be as good again. I got stuck on a desperate, poorly-timed hunt for a dress, so after lunch we headed up Broadway trying to accomplish that. There are few things dumber than buying a dress (a) in New York (b) on a Saturday (c) in the summer (d) when you really need it (e) for that evening. In one store, to the beat of pounding hip music, I nearly succumbed to the multiple layers of wrapping and ties on a piece of clothing that looked devastatingly chic on the in-store model (possibly also the manager), but looked on me like a poorly-cut rag collection. Maybe I was just moving too fast because of the music, but I swear that thing started growing and tried to choke me. I emerged from the dressing room feeling like I'd snorted cocaine, had a seizure, and lost all my self-confidence. (nb. I know nothing about cocaine. I conjecture based on popular media interpretation.) As I exited, the statuesque dressing room attendant smiled condescendingly. "So, how did everything go?" Several hours later, we'd missed cocktails with friends (SH and RK, I am <span style="font-weight:bold;">so</span> sorry), and I was triumphantly sporting a new white frock... at a cost that makes me go as pale as the fabric itself.<br /><br />We did manage to make it to dinner with my friends John and Marina, and catching up with them over good food and drinks got me back in an amiable mindset. I also wanted to see an old buddy/colleague(?), Brian, who's now cooking at a wildly popular and acclaimed place in Brooklyn. He bent over backwards to make our experience deliciously memorable, and we sampled through a menu including a zucchini tart, corn salad, beets, duck-crackling (!!) encrusted tilefish, and perfectly tender octopus served with olives and cauliflower. Especially notable was the tender braised lamb shoulder, which had a spicy rub offset by a delightfully sour yogurt and a Greek-ish salad. The house-made pasta, which we tried both as a primavera and with a bolognese, was a great lighter plate, offset by the rare-cooked pork chop with cheese grits. Apparently the pork has been getting a lot of positive press, so much so that people don't venture any further on the rather eclectic and earthy menu. Their loss. Even on that busy night, our service was stellar, the wine delicious, and the atmosphere buzzing with conviviality. I felt like I was perhaps in some friend's backyard birthday party in France. And that was before the desserts arrived: chocolate cake, a heavenly bay leaf and blueberry (panna cotta? pudding? mousse?), and a crumble... <br />The whole situation was unspeakably flattering and generous. We left suitably impressed and thoroughly satisfied, and for my part I was beside myself with happiness to be in the company of old friends.<br /><br />After dinner we scooted into the Lower East Side to meet Matt, who was kind (and persistent) enough to procure a reservation at Milk & Honey, my favorite bar in town. It's a tiny little speakeasy with an air of reproachable cool, lit by candles and serviced by the most talented bar men one can hope to find. The waitress, perfectly hip in her own laid-back way, comes off as a bartender understudy. She's knowledgeable about the cocktails in the manner that a Civil War buff is conversant about personality traits of dead generals. This is not a place to order my usual "G&T." I was talked into a Sidecar, the holy-of-holy cocktails in a goblet as far as I'm concerned, and everyone else rounded out the orders with an East Side Cocktail, a Penicillin, Prescription Julep, and a Sazerac. Drinks for small sipping, particularly at $16 a pop. A couple hours later, feeling very posh and chic and cultured, cool, and broke, we traipsed out into the night for more drinks, revelry, etc. It's a city where anything can happen, and thank God, usually does.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-83118758057591703732010-07-14T20:27:00.006-04:002010-08-20T09:45:34.001-04:00The FarmBilly and I went this afternoon to see my Grandfather, George, who, rather unprompted, and much to my enjoyment, started in on old stories. He told us of the time back during the "war... the big one" when he was in flight school in rural Indiana, eighteen years old and geared up for an unprecedented weekend of leave from the base. He and his friends hadn't seen a town in months, and, anxious to get going, they happily submitted to the requirement for freedom. They had their wisdom teeth pulled Saturday morning. It was--he described--awful, performed under the thinnest veil of novocaine, but they made it to the partying anyway. The dentist who had performed the procedure hitch-hiked them to Indianapolis and they had a raucous good time. As my grandfather tells it, the ladies of Indianapolis enjoyed the Naval visit too.<br /><br />After Grandfather's, we drove through the countryside up to Chardon, by way of the Amish cheese factory in Middlefield. I am a sucker for cheese curds. We turned west onto G.A.R. Highway, which has seen significant development in the past 15 years, and soon came upon the family property which was the location of many happy childhood summer days (for me and for my mother before me). The main house is currently inhabited by a renting family, and is wrapped up in Tyvek plastic, so we headed down to the "Pig Pen," a little cottage built in the 1950s or so by a great uncle. <br /><br />The Pig Pen is overgrown with vines that curl off of a trellis that seems to grow from the ground itself, and I think it has always had a certain air of half-sleeping mystery. Each room smells distinctively of the house, slightly mousy and mothbally, with apples and wood giving it charm. Every surface is covered with dust and the grime of neglect. The renters say my Great Aunt Lyn (capitals required) will be there in a few weeks, but it seems like the house has stopped in time, no longer a place to stay. It has, as far back as I can remember, felt like a relic of the forgotten.<br /><br />It was a beautiful summer evening, and streaks of light made the place magical, though it was a phantom image of itself, untouchable and unreal with its spirit fled. I think the house was intentionally designed to evoke a rustic frontier, with South American flare. It has bare wood slats for walls, a giant chimney-stove in the center of the main room, ancient Madonna-and-Child icons scattered among Aztec pottery and Mayan masks. Only there does it feel somehow congruous to put side by side colorful paintings from Southeast Alaskan tribes and busty sculptures from African villages. <br /><br />In that museum of eclectic travels, lit by tin lanterns and glass-warped sunlight, I've always been entranced and terrified. The apple tree on the patio has been dying since I was eight. The frog pond is sicklied over with green, the same water that my brother accidentally tumbled into before he knew how to swim. But every once in awhile, a hardy frog skips across the surface...<br /><br />We wandered next through Sally and Helen's bungalow, I on a specific, hopeful hunt for one of the wooden jigsaw puzzles Helen used to make as gifts. That little white house with its expansive living room and porch is more of an airy 1940s summer house, simple and geared toward the enjoyment of company and games. We found some interesting pictures, and an invitation to Sally and Willis' wedding in 1953. I was named after Sally. She and Helen were always kind to my mother... I wish I had known her. I imagine she was both glamorous and solidly Midwestern. Savvy on the subjects about which she knew, and sweet to everyone. But these are just my conjectures.<br /><br />We walked as well down the field along the fence to where the path goes downhill to Skeeter's pond. The willow tree that used to stand on the island and trickle over the water like in a painting has died and disappeared. I was amazed, though, at how little has changed about the woods. We easily picked a path through the clearing--once the upper pasture--that took us over the creek where I used to hunt crayfish. From there we wound through the trees and back up to the hay field behind the barn. <br /><br />The summer evening light goes on forever, and Ohio sunsets are pink-orange glories. I remember falling asleep in the tiny sunroom of the main house as light blue faded on the horizon and stars began to prick the muslin sky. The spinning wheel was there, and that ship's lantern that I've always missed. Somewhere I lost my teddy bear, and there we raised a kitten into a cat who sat by us during Ruth's awesome pancake breakfasts. We had bonfires in the field, and played bocce on long nights fueled by a pony keg. I did not even think to go in the main house on this visit. A different family lives there now, not even owners or stakeholders in our collective memory. The outer wall is covered with plastic construction wrap, and they are installing central heating in walls that were meant to frame a summer home. The tenant's girlfriend was rocking in a chair on the back porch.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-59206596730571565442010-07-12T16:24:00.003-04:002010-08-20T09:45:59.617-04:00Whirlwind AmericanaJust because I don't travel enough, I figured I'd spend my July "winter" vacation zipping through as many States as possible. Here are some highlights:<br /><br />After the 4th in West Virginia, we drove north through Southern Ohio, Indiana (corn! more corn!), Chicago, and a torrential rainstorm to arrive in <span style="font-weight:bold;">Milwaukee</span>. Immediately upon arrival I was swept into the arms of Midwestern hospitality as my good friend Will and his devilishly funny girlfriend Kelly took us to the Brewer's game by way of some hardcore tailgating. Miller Park, the Brewer's home field, has got to be the cleanest, prettiest stadium in Major League Baseball. Its stadium seating rises at such a pitch that even in the nosebleed sections, you're looking right down at the field. They serve craft beers alongside the requisite lager. And everyone is just so darn polite. <br />We were humming along nicely when Billy disappeared to the restroom and returned with blood splattered across his clothes. The bathroom stall apparently has some sharp edges and one jumped out and bit him hard across his knuckles, gouging out a quarter-size chunk of thumb and sending us promptly to first aid. Billy protested at length, but the female voice prevailed, and we carted him off to the emergency room for seven very necessary stitches. I imagine he'd have still been bleeding a week later without them. For my part, it was intriguing to compare the first-world sterility of that simple procedure with my knee situation in Vietnam.<br />Milwaukee is also home to a number of Billy's family members, so a couple very pleasant meals were devoted to meeting and visiting with them... all lovely, interesting people.<br /><br />Between Milwaukee and Cleveland, we stopped off at the rollercoaster capitol of the world, <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cedar Point</span>. Since the 1970s, the park has been home to some of the biggest, fastest rides in the world, and it is constantly innovating and updating its offerings. Of special note: <span style="font-style:italic;">Millennium Force</span>, which is a deliciously fast, traditional coaster (no upside-downs) that reaches 94 mph during a 310 foot, 80 degree initial plummet, and whizzes along a sprawling track for another two minutes after that. <span style="font-style:italic;">Power Tower</span> shoots you 240 feet into the air (or you can drop, whichever suits your fancy), and it is impossible to refrain from screaming. And the absolutely killer <span style="font-style:italic;">Dragster</span> picks up 120 mph in a matter of seconds and... oh... just click the link and check it out...<br /><br /><object width="320" height="192.5"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LbN3NU4hIZg&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LbN3NU4hIZg&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="192.5"></embed></object><br /><br />Will and Kelly joined us for the amusement park adventure, which is important to note because Will was designated driver and--on his own insistence--designated car key holder. When we got up to that cheek-flattening Millennium Force speed, the track took a searing righthand turn, and a tiny little Honda key was liberated from its pocket home. Off it flew into the mire of God-knows-where, and we realized very shortly after the ride ended that we were in a bit of a bind. <br /><br />I must compliment the Cedar Point staff and their set-up for stranded motorists. They have a rather polite security detail that happily golfcarts around the parking lot as the park closes, and they are equipped and willing to pop open cars (upon proper identification, of course) as needed. If necessary, they will contact a 24 hour locksmith who can create a replica key (there's a fee for that), and you can motor on your merry way, almost as if you'd never been so optimistic as to put your key in a pocket without a zipper... and then get on a rollercoaster that goes nearly 100 miles per hour... (love you, Will).<br /><br />Back in our cars, we motored on our way to Cleveland, where we spent a rather relaxing week checking in on family and old haunts. It's always taps into a special sort of nostalgia to be in Ohio in summer.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-91971132145182022802010-07-06T18:55:00.005-04:002010-08-20T09:46:25.689-04:00Almost Heaven, West Virginia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NkZEzKq28fKfr8XdNWwQhqafhrCixTqgepEcEuLMT2lIpB3x69TG4_Pi4aADyvXYsPfbllGP0TS5xDeY7dl_dthC1tgQSF28tJPMjFE_pEZ33P69HfWTklTL1PSKnsjfsqIn7JhYwiIN/s1600/fireworks.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NkZEzKq28fKfr8XdNWwQhqafhrCixTqgepEcEuLMT2lIpB3x69TG4_Pi4aADyvXYsPfbllGP0TS5xDeY7dl_dthC1tgQSF28tJPMjFE_pEZ33P69HfWTklTL1PSKnsjfsqIn7JhYwiIN/s320/fireworks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490939555099666386" /></a><br />We drove south from Cleveland on the Fourth of July and arrived at the Greenbrier in time for cocktails. Perfect timing. <br /><br />Man do I love the Independence Day. It's a holiday dedicated to celebrating democracy through liberal use of grills, summery beverages, and explosives. There's minimal pressure, only a sense that fun should be had. For one brilliant hot day, America comes together to have some sort of barbeque, cool off in whatever way is available, and wait for the sky to light up in ecstasy. Forget turkeys and gifts; this is my idea of a fiesta. Even during my summer in India, I celebrated the 4th in Kodaikanal with a strawberry, vanilla, and blueberry ice cream cone by the lake. Of course, I was joined in succession by a well-fed cow and a gaunt beggar, and vowed that I would never again spend my favorite holiday out of the US. By extravagant contrast, BBQ ribs, a couple G&Ts, nice wine, and the Greenbrier fireworks (accompanied by the Charleston Pops Orchestra) rounded out a delightful evening.<br /><br />In fact, the entire vacation in the West Virginia mountains has been delightful, restful. The weather has been stunning, with soaring hot temperatures that are absolute relief from winter Down Under. We've gone shooting clay pigeons (watch out, Annie Oakley), played tennis, and had some lovely spa treating. The whole place is gearing up to host its first PGA tournament next week, so the grounds are teeming with extra workers bent on transforming the landscape. I was impressed on my 7:30am run through the golf course to see so many guys out planting begonias by every tee.<br /><br />The sun is setting late, and light lingers until 10pm. We've got a nice dinner planned, and then maybe we'll go check out the casino that just opened up at the main hotel... or maybe we'll just take a nice long stroll around the gardens. Summer is a welcome treat.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-5438858241449753782010-07-03T08:20:00.002-04:002010-07-03T09:23:16.441-04:00En Amerique!It's ironic. I left Cleveland in the dead of winter, thrilled to the core at the prospect of basking in the warm Australian sun. Two months later, Adelaide weather teetered towards the brink of chilly, and when I left on July 1 I had to scrape frost off my car to get to the airport. I've been salaciously dreaming about warm sunshine for weeks, and now I come back to Cleveland to get it!<br /><br />Do not let anyone tell you otherwise; the flight across the Pacific is brutally long. I highly recommend Virgin Airlines for their attentive service (even in economy! Singapore Air, take note!) and fantastic in-flight entertainment. But even the full first seasons of Glee and Modern Family, plus a partial viewing of Chariots of Fire (not a great plane movie) cannot stifle the fact that Australia-America is a long time to be sitting vertical at 30,000 feet. I went into the flight with severe post-exam sleep deprivation, and by the time I crawled into bed at 2am last night, I had been awake or napping in that sleep-like haze that happens on planes for 30 solid hours. <br /><br />It will be good to see friends and family. I'm mostly looking forward to a month of reflection. Adelaide has been rather unkind to me and my bank account. I think there have been some lessons along the way, but it's hard to see things when you're scrambling to keep them out of your face. Hopefully too, it should be a fun time. I'll be in Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, New York, and Jacksonville. If you're somewhere along that road, drop me a line and let's try to catch up.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024986554177411985.post-33031622404479806522010-06-22T10:59:00.003-04:002010-06-22T11:10:25.071-04:00Home SoonLast week I completed a 100-page report on the state of the U.S. on-premise wine market. Yesterday I handed in 15 pages worth of philosophizing on the economic morality of tort law. The day after tomorrow, I have a three hour accounting exam, which I pray to pass. Twenty hours after that, I sit for an exam covering the global wine industries. By conservative estimate, I have produced roughly 200 pages of academic writing since March. My grades are looking okay, but I wonder what all those hours in front of my computer really add up to. The degree is the goal.<br /><br />The truth is, I've been using the stress of academics as an excuse not to take care of more important things. It's been a long time since I called home. I haven't spoken to my brother in a month. Facebook, that glorious stalker's tool, offers a daily news feed about old friends and schoolmates who are getting married, getting pets, getting coffee with one another. <br /><br />It's not so exciting on this side of the world. Winter is upon us and the house has no central heating. The hot water bottle and I have become quite close. I look forward to being in the States in 10 short days... I can't spend the 4th of July abroad. And I think it will feel very good, very balancing, just to be a little nearer to the people I think of so often, across the span of time and ocean and latitude.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864647007897409972noreply@blogger.com0