Utopia Beckons

Fingerlings:
     As weeks turn into months and months into seasons, each passing day since being jettisoned from the workforce finds me curling tighter and tighter into the fetal position. It seems the further I find myself sliding off the gleaming Highway of Happiness, the more inclined I am to indulge my personal demons - increasingly ceding control to the bacchanalian forces residing within.

     While all this may sound unsavory, I assure you it is not without its shiny side. In fact, the introspection these raging forces generate is quite often productive. It beckons me to a place wherein I'm able to identify that which I care for, and that which I do not, with previously unimaginable clarity. For example, once all the positive aspects of my previous life circumstance - employed, worthwhile, productive, self reliant, etc. - have been weeded out, I find it much easier to identify those unpleasant portions of my universe that need excised; and in so doing, returning balance and harmony to my soul. 
     It is this borderline insane cogent, thoughtful reasoning that has always driven me to great heights. So enamored am I with the results, that I'm compelled to share with you my logisms. Hopefully, by identifying those pop-culture creatures unnecessary in my universe, you dear readers will be inspired to take similar life-improving measures in you own lives. As such, the following is an (admittedly) incomplete listing of celebrity flotsam that I intend to exile from my consciousness, thereby freeing up valuable cranial space for more worthy inhabitants.
     Let's start with my favorite whipping boy:
JUSTIN BIEBER - I know, I know; by now even I'm tired of my harangues about the Biebs. His lofty pole position <snicker> is due to his uncanny ability to make an ass of himself in hitherto unimagined ways. His latest: in a supersonic display of both cultural ignorance and pretention, he had his bodyguards carry him up the Great Wall of China! Only good form and my Christian ethos prevent me from further piling on <more snickers> this POS.

DIANNE SAWYER - I'm not quite sure why Lady D annoys me as much as she does; maybe it's her breathless delivery of every contrived narrative. Maybe it's her shameless shill of all things Disney/ABC/ESPN/Touchstone/Miramax. Maybe it's the forced ingénue image. Maybe it's just the collagen. 

CAM NEWTON/TERRELE PRYOR -  I'm incapable of separating these two self-smitten, albeit freakishly athletic pigskin squeezers. I'm viscerally repulsed by those who regard themselves as God's gift to anything. These two are the poster boys for self-absorbed, over-hyped, it's all about me athletes.  <Editor's Note: Seriously? Are there no mirrors in Speed's house? Physician, heal thyself.>

MUMFORD & SONS -  Their music can most charitably described as the day insipid met Deliverance. Included in this genre that celebrates toothlessness are the Avett Brothers, Dawes and Conor Oberst. All this makes me miss Slim Whitman.

CHRIS BERMAN - The apparent love child of Howard Cosell and Ethel Merman, Boomer (listen for 10 seconds, and you'll understand the nickname) is the audial equivalence of felony assault. This one trick pony has parlayed an otherwise unremarkable shtick into an inexplicably successful career - somehow, spinning straw into gold. Were it not for the high regard I accord chicanery of this ilk, I would have voted this buffoon off the island years ago.  

     These are but the tip of the iceberg; there are others, of course. I've banished Seth Rogan, Vince Vaughn, Adam Sandler, et al (players of the same character in every film), Donald Trump, Alex Rodriguez, Miley Cyrus, Ty Pennington, O. J., Barbara Walters (another favorite target of mine), and Ginger Z. They certainly annoy me, and I begrudge the space they occupy in my mind, but they represent those for whom further valuable editorial space shan't be further wasted.

     I urge you dear ones, to similarly sort out the junk drawers of your minds - purging those small, precious spaces to clear room for more erudite cargo, such as my next post, wherein I'll return to the blatantly populist "Mailbag Edition". There, at least now you have something to look forward to.  Sicut calidum non vis mihi boyfriend?

To There And Back

Constituents:

     Having just returned from my 5th trip to Sierra Leone, I was naturally super-pumped to regale you all with spectacular tales of adventure and missionary prowess. I soon learned that even I must buckle to authority from time to time. My schadenfreude notwithstanding, the current naval-gazing and self-inflicted government shutdown prevented me from communicating with all my Speed Demons. It's not generally known, but I receive a sliver of funding from the federal g'ummint; while this aids in underwriting this missive, it also temporarily prevented me from utilizing those funds in any way.
     Fortunately, my staff, comprised mainly of cowgirls and mermaids - working tirelessly to uncover a loophole (that's what they do) - has discovered a means by which I may continue my unsolicited musings, without running afoul of either our dear President or House Speaker. I have filed a brief with the United States Supreme Court, seeking an injunction, and immediate relief from this onerous prohibition. While I don't expect a speedy resolution at that level (or even an acknowledgement of my action), my legal team advises that I may proceed; as such, here we go.
<Editor's note: as demonstrated in Speed's disjointed opening ramble, this will be a long one; you may wish to take a bathroom break at this juncture.>
  This year's team consisted of 5 travelers, 2 of which were first-time visitors to Sierra Leone. This is CrossPoint's 7th mission trip to our village, Maboleh, in the north-central part of the country. While there, we typically focus on 4 areas: Spirituality, Education, Medicine & Economics; while we touched on all these areas, this year's main objective was to paint the village's primary school - inside and out, and gain an idea of what it would take to build teacher's quarters on land adjacent to the school. 

     The primary school, pictured here, was built sometime in the 1980s, and likely had not been painted since. Our plan was to purchase the paint and supplies needed, and hopefully enlist some local assistance with the painting itself. After several days of travel, meetings and planning sessions, we began the project. Our goal was to finish painting in 4 days and accomplish this within the budget we'd agreed to before we arrived.
     As everyone knows, selecting and obtaining the raw materials and tools for any project is the first important task. Naturally, I was placed in charge of this effort; with our driver Edison by my side (make no mistake, I was Tonto to his Kemosabe), we drove to the frenetic maelstrom that is the central marketplace in Makeni, our home base while in-country, and the nearest source for these items. While there, I essentially broke down and cried like a little girl, because I couldn't understand a word of what these folks were saying expertly negotiated the best possible price for each of the items on our list. I did however, make a life-long friend in Lamin, the owner of the "hardware store". He too, now knows me as Speed.

     Upon our return to the village, we immediately set to work. First, we had to mix the paint. Now, understand, it isn't the Home Depot we'd just shopped at. We had purchased a bag of colored "emulsion", which, when mixed with a generous amount of water, produces a thin broth of colored liquid. That wasn't the only difference however; we decided to forego paint poles and stirring sticks (hello, we're in the freakin' jungle) and simply crafted our own from the surrounding bush. The purchase of ladders was unnecessary, for the same reason.
     We also saw no need to spend extravagantly on paint trays - opting instead for large bowls that, when not conscripted for industrial use, serve as the family's food mixing/serving containers!
     Unsurprisingly, I dawdled as much as I could to avoid having to actually do any painting at all led the effort to begin painting. In short order, our entire team was equipped with paint rollers affixed to long sticks, submerging said rollers in the paint bowls, and painting the South end of the building, like we knew what we were doing. This action not only impressed the, by now, dozens of onlookers, who saw no reason to withhold comments, suggestions and critiques of our efforts, but also served as apparently the funniest thing they'd ever seen in their lives. Jocularity abounded.

     Thankfully, it wasn't long before the villagers took over and completed the bulk of the project. It was truly gratifying to witness their willingness to pitch in to complete a project that will ultimately benefit their children and village. Their spirit is infectious; <TRUTH ALERT!>I wish I could be more like that. The balance of that day, and most of the next was spent working and joking alongside these men, many of which I've known for several years now, and I consider my friends.
     I'm pleased to report that the painting project was completed in 2 days, and came in at about 75% of the budget we'd established for this effort. This included the expenditure for food and small gifts for those who helped with the work. The finished product looked far better than I'd though possible, given the tools and products with which we had to work. The school now has a fresh coat of paint - inside and out - and the children seemed overjoyed with this. The finished product is above.
     The rest of the trip, both before and after the painting project, was also extremely productive. We were able to come to an agreement with the Village Chief, whose family owns the land upon which the planned teacher's quarters will be located (pictured). We also arranged to have that land, as well as the school property surveyed, so a clear title (something that's a foreign concept to those living in the bush) can be established. We've also received preliminary cost estimates for the construction, that we've brought back to our larger committee for consideration.
     We also paved the way for the delivery of a hammer mill; this is a machine that the village's Women's Agricultural Project (WAP) will utilize to process the crops they're growing, such as cassava and ground nuts. Since the spring, the WAP has produced 8 large sacks of ground nuts, most of which will be used as seed for next year's crop.
     We were fortunate to be able to sample the first harvest of these nuts; man, are they good. The look and taste is similar to Spanish Peanuts. We are helping pioneer women's agro-economic efforts in the village and surrounding area. It's really neat to see.
 
 
 
 
 
     Other activities during our time there included a visit to the UMC Secondary School in Makeni, where we sponsor 14 students - selecting the best 4 graduating from 6th grade (2 boys, 2 girls) in the Primary School in Maboleh each year. These children and their families understand that the best way to raise the standard of living is through education. Of coeval impact is the focus on education female students; this is not a universally accepted concept in the third world. We also provided a laptop to the school's Principal, a donation from one of our committee members.
     A truly special moment came during our visit to the village's medical clinic, located at the furthest end of the village. This is a government-run clinic that suffers from a desperate lack of supplies, medicines, and equipment. We had presented the nurse with a suitcase of medical supplies and she was describing her typical day - which, that day, included the birth of the village's newest resident.
     The baby boy turned out to be the son of one of the guys in the village that I've become friendly with. We were permitted to see the mother and son, and told pictures would be all right - so here it is. Here too is a picture of my friend Abraham and his other son.
     There were many other things that we were able to accomplish, but none have the potential to be as fruitful as our meeting with the newest missionaries assigned to the Sierra Leone Conference of UMC. Kip and Nancy Robinson are veteran missionaries; having been posted in various other African countries, they have a great feel for what it takes to get things done there. They've already been of great help in organizing transportation and assisting us with our building plans. Their value to our future efforts cannot be overstated. They were kind enough to offer their vehicle and driver to assist our return to the airport, the day of our departure.
     While in Sierra Leone, we typically stay at a guest house. During our past 3 trips there, we have stayed at the Women Of Hope (WOH) guest house in Makeni. This is an organization focused on helping women with social, industrial, medical and spiritual struggles, providing whatever assistance is needed. They do great work; here's a link to their website: http://www.womenofhopeinternational.org/about
The manager of the guesthouse is Rebecca. She takes care of all our cooking, cleaning, and general babysitting while we're there. She's become my Sierra Leone wife (like I need another one?), and in addition to everything else, makes a mean hot sauce.
     Our time in Sierra Leone ended after 8 days, but we still had some adventurin' to do. We had about a 12 hour layover in Brussels, Belgium, so we decided to leave the airport, board a train, and go into Brussels to explore. What a beautiful old city. We got to see it wake up early on a Sunday morning; so naturally, we had a breakfast in a little restaurant that featured many delights - among them, a real Belgian Waffle. Wow! Now I know what my friend Special Ed was complaining about prior to our 'yak trip earlier this year (see previous post dated 07/03/13).

     Suffice it to say, I wish we'd had more time to spend in this city, but I'm certainly grateful for what we had. Sullenly, we returned to the airport, boarded our 7 1/2 hour flight, landed in D.C. and motored home - arriving about 10:00pm, a mere 36 hours (40, if you include the time differential) after we'd left Makeni to head for the airport in Freetown.
     So now, about a week and a half later, my jet-lag has diminished but my memories remain strong. Sierra Leone has a strong pull on me and likely always will. I hope to return as often as possible, but my recent spate of unemployment semi-retirement jeopardizes that. Perhaps I will be awarded a large out of court settlement by those in Washington, to forestall my near certain victory in the Supreme Court. Messrs. Obama & Boehner, the ball is in your court. Veni, vidi, vici......... 
    
    
    

Big Ole' Jet Airliner

Lichen:
<Editor's note: stay alert, this is a snark-free post; quite unusual.>
     In a few short days, I'll be joining with 4 other like-minded wanderers travelling to Sierra Leone, to visit our friends in Maboleh, a village near the middle of the country. Most of you know of my previous trips to Africa, in conjunction with the commitment our church made with our sister church in that village. This will be the 7th trip our church has made since 2009, and my 5th.
     In previous posts, you've learned of our activities there, including building a new church to replace the war and time ravaged building they had. Our commitment to this village and its people has evolved into 4 separate components: spiritual, educational, medical and economic. During each visit, we touch on each area but often focus on one special project/task. This trip is no different; our project this time is painting the Primary School that is situated on the eastern edge of the village. The school is a long, single-story structure with 4 rooms; it houses more than 200 students in grades 1 - 6. Classrooms are often divided into halves - one class facing one way and the other facing the opposite way; yet teaching and learning continues - amazing! In addition to painting the school, we will attempt to finalize plans to build teacher's quarters near the school grounds. The teachers (pictured below) do not live in the village, and making the commute from the nearest city, Makeni, about 7 miles away, often requires an expensive ride for the teachers - typically, costing more than they earn that day. We're also taking school and medical supplies with us, as their access to these items is limited.

     I'm anxious to get back and reconnect with friends we've made there. I love playing in the dirt. I'll likely not be in contact while I'm in country, owing to the still-decimated infrastructure and dearth of internet availability, especially in the village. You may expect a full recounting of our trip in my next post. Tempus volat, et sic facio.....
    

The Gathering Of The Tribes

Bunnies:

    

It has taken me several days to decompress - to come down from the high the past weekend bestowed. Yes, it's that time of year when the tribes gather, the clans meld and the prodigals return: PattiPalooza XII. This pagan festival that I've described again and again in these annals, was held in the hinterlands, on ceremonial land passed down through the generations. This year's iteration's attendance ebbed and flowed, as family units appeared, then disappeared, like Whack A Moles. A recap follows.
     DAY 1: As is its wont, the carnival-like atmosphere took some time to create. Of course, the Prince & Princess of the arboreal retreat, our hosts, were awash in preparatory fervor. As quickly as guests would arrive, they were immediately conscripted into service for the royals. None were spared, not even the infants who were utilized as insect bait, placed strategically about the grounds, so the adult revelers could enjoy their frolic without distraction.
     Naturally, much of the reverie in this bucolic Xanadu  took place near the placid reflecting pool that adjoins the main house. In addition to the aquatic pursuits for which it was originally intended, the pool also served as a pseudo-baptismal font, where both full and partial immersion ceremonies were conducted - to the delight of the assemblage and under the watchfully approving eye of Patti, the Princess for whom the festival is named.
     As darkness fell, the trial by combat competitive activities  commenced. The centerpiece of this year's Olympia, was the Bean Bag Toss Of Death. Of course, none were actually required to sacrifice their life; however, the hooting, cat-calling, heckling, jeering, hissing and raspberry noises that followed each unsuccessful toss, were enough to make those unfortunate enough to fail, seek relief in the morphine-like stupor that spirits often provide. The day ended with the rag-tag band of revelers trundling off to their respective nests, to lick their wounds and vow to be better persons tomorrow.
     DAY 2: It's not all fun and games at PattiPalooza - not all libation and liberation. No; it's also about the serious business of eating - an activity that all take to heart. The second day began with a spectacular array of culinary options, the likes of which rival any Comfort Inn. Breakfast lasted until lunch, lunch lasted until dinner, and dinner never ended. Unsurprisingly, I ate like a pig managed to control myself, in keeping to my life-long dictum that my body is a temple.
     Activities occurring that didn't involve either feasting or hydrating included more pool time, and lots of lazing around. As more and more guests poured in, rounding out both the family tree and necessitating the production of additional capacity. Folding chairs of all colors, shapes and styles, held attendees similarly described. As each troupe arrived, they were greeted by those already in attendance; this wolf-like display, where the arriver assumes a submissive posture until welcomed by the alpha male and female, is fascinating to observe. By evening, there was standing room only.

     As daylight evaporated, those spending the evening bade farewell to the day-trippers and settled in for what was to come. As the remaining hard-liners noshed, nibbled, sipped, slurped, gulped and generally tore through the food and drink like locusts in a Kansas wheat field, the happy throng joined in a centuries-old tradition. Generations of young'uns have learned the ways of their elders at the knees of story tellers since time began. This night was another link in that unbroken chain of relating oral history, one story at a time. These stories, some of them true, ran long into the cool night. Throughout the compound, sounds of laughter, words of admiration, calls of "Bullshit!" and other reactions to these tales were heard. Even the gathering storm clouds and occasional lightning flash couldn't dampen the spirits of the kindred. After that, when all returned to their beds, only the sounds of snoring and flatulence disturbed the quiet night.
     DAY 3: At first, I though it was acorns dropping onto the metal roof of the building I occupy during this festival. Years ago, I learned that bedding down by myself, in the UB (Utility Building) guarantees me both a more pleasant nocturnal experience, but provides me with the freedom to use the woods as a bathroom come and go as I please. However, soon enough, the freight train sounds of rain pouring onto sheet metal, became my wake-up call. Happily, the rain stopped about an hour after it started, leaving us with yet another day of promise.
     To the uninitiated, it would seem they'd awoken to Groundhog Day. With regard to both the solid and liquid nourishment, this day was indistinguishable from the previous one. When the passing of time can only be measured by meals (last, current, next) it's nearly impossible to pinpoint when exactly the highlight of the weekend occurred. For me, it was the appearance of the Ginja Ninja - a flame-haired apparition whose lithe countenance and cat-like gait seem to render him invisible. In fact, he was invisible for long stretches of time during the weekend. Hmmmmm.
     Naturally, all things good must end, and PattiPalooza is no exception. As the members of the 5 families <Editor's note: yes, there were 5 families - wonder why he didn't use an organized crime theme?> began their preparations to return to their homes, the inevitable pall this portion of the weekend suffers, set in. I felt it my duty to assist with clean up, so I consumed as much of the remaining food and drink as possible led the effort to return this charming slice of woodland, to its former state - prior to our arrival.
     There you have it dear readers; a blow-by-blow summary of the latest chapter in the saga of PattiPalooza. For the next several weeks, I'll be immersed in preparations for my 5th visit to Sierra Leone. I'm already beginning to feel the tug of the Dark Continent on my soul, and look forward to sharing that experience with you as well. You'll hear from me prior to my departure - oh lucky you... Youll deesset mihi quando egressus sum
      
    
    

PattyPalooza Redux

Thorn Birds:

     In today's fantasy, I find myself in Texas, enjoying the big, vast, open vistas - driving down the long, solitary winding highways in my shiny convertible, with my flaxen haired cowgirl by my side. As we drive along, singing together in perfect harmony, I am at peace with all the world. This often happens when I'm under-stimulated. Unemployment has dulled my razor sharp senses to the point that original, creative thoughts occur less frequently than usual; this nadir resembles the state that's best described for the rest of society as normal.

     Sadly, the by-product of this fallow season is a disinclination to generate anything new. Happily however, I am feeling the initial stirrings of anticipation; PattyPalooza XIII is on the horizon! Many of my faithful readers are aware of this tribal festival's hold on my soul, but I recognize there are newer devotees for whom this event has no resonance. So, the coeval forces of lethargy devotion and sense of duty combine to produce this, a re-publication of an earlier post, that details the genesis and legend of this great event. Don't hate me 'cause I'm on auto-pilot!

 

THE LEGEND OF PATTYPALOOZA

 

     Long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful Princess and her dashing husband, the Prince. They enjoyed a peaceful existence, blessed with 2 fine sturdy children, making their home in a bucolic setting, deep within an enchanted woodland. All was well. But then, inevitably, their children grew and developed interests outside their forest home.

 

       At first, this seemed a benign development; the empty nest had been a foregone conclusion to child-rearing, but somehow, the emptiness that enveloped the royal couple was palpable. This was especially true for the Princess - Patty. Whiling away the days with sundry employment and decorating tasks just didn't fill the void in her life that this natural progression had wrought.

     It was just after hosting the perfunctory family gathering, that the Princess had an idea; why not create an annual event for family and assorted townsfolk to enjoy? This would surely provide the missing spark and likely result in mirth and merriment for all involved. 

     

      She quickly set to the task, incorporating ideas and assistance from the farthest reaches of the kingdom. The resultant pagan festival that bears her name - PattyPalooza - was born. Over the years, the Princess and her Prince transformed their arboreal homeland into a theme park, of sorts. 

     Featured attractions, added throughout the years include: the slip & slide of doom, the duck regatta, fireworks (the real ones, not those dopey fake ones), karaoke, bean bag/washer toss tourneys, talent contests, awards ceremonies, and last years' crowning jewels, the pool and Tiki bar. Theme t-shirts were added over the years, some of which made their way to other lands, destined perhaps to inspire other fair-haired princesses. 
   

     So there you have it; as we prepare for this year's edition, the 13th, those fortunate souls holding the golden invitation tickets will surely rest their heads each night, their hearts full of wonder - anticipating what's to come. Of course, I'll provide a recap of the weekend's events, in nauseating detail. Of course, that'll be original thought. Sweet dreams meo daemonia.....