Channel the Yoda

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Ditch the B--! Chile Journals Dec 8-10th

December 8TH (Continued)
HOT WATER! We have to buy a gas cannister from these trucks that drive up and down the hills. Then we hook the gas to the hose downstairs. Then we go upstairs and turn on the pilot light and push this button until it lights up. And poof, HOT WATER!



Today felt more normal. More and more like a home.

DECEMBER 9TH
Today I climbed the HOP 3 times! Once drunk mind you.

My friend took me out to supper. It was so freaking nice to go out at night.

One thing about Valparaiso is that it’s not safe after dark, especially for a white girl. At first it didn’t bother me. But by the 3rd night I started to really get irritated. I was even having dreams about “I Am Legend” where they are waiting outside my door every night.


This wasn’t what I had expected… and since I just got away from feeling trapped in the states I do not appreciate feeling it again and so soon! I would’ve gone out by myself anyway but so many people had warned me not too and I promised my family that I would be safe or at least not intentionally put my life in jeopardy.


Oh! We have a gas leak. I did not realize this, at all. My roommate came home to find the whole apartment reeking of rotten eggs. Apparently I spent the night breathing in gas and honestly I felt fine. No headache. I’m a champ. Sylvia Plath look out!

Anyway when we got back from supper I took out my crotchet hook and my roommate his book and like an old married couple we ignored each other. Me at the table, him by the open window. Suddenly, he slams the book shut and crouches out the window. He yells for me to come over!

He hears English!


I dropped my hook and ran over to the window. Sure enough! English! There were people speaking English! I proudly admit that we eavesdropped on them all night long! It was great. Like television. Oh, cause we have no television.

At one point I wanted to fly a paper airplane down on their heads with “Hi” written on it.


I hear the dogs howl every night. Some times just painful screams—barking for food or over territories. One dog gives a high pitched whine—he’s either lost his food or a limb.

DECEMBER 10, 2009
I gazed at Valparaiso from the streets up high—standing on some crumbled stairs. There are cobblestone and dirt streets, steep ceros, crazy winding roads, collectivo’s whizzing up, down and all around, and I saw an old man sitting on a lawn chair on the sidewalk watching the world pass by. I smiled. He did too.


I watched where the ocean does meet the sky. And yes Rod Stewart, I’ll be sailing. Some day.


Gloomy sort of day but I find it beautiful and calming. Not every day should be sunny.


I really do wonder what the heck I am doing here… breathe.

We will see what happens. Come what may—but no more “I am Legend” BS. I mean, if I’m that afraid, go back to the States.


P.S.
Grocery shopping is hard… I can only carry 3 bags up the HOP without having a heart attack and that includes water, soda or milk… plus something is missing at the grocery store—actually maybe lots of things.

I can’t put my finger on it… the trail mix bars do taste funny—either they are stale soggy or overly crispy with no flavor.

The milk comes in a sealed, cardboard box that can last for over 2 years if unopened—BUT IT’S NOT DRIED OR POWDERED! It’s liquid.

I don’t get it, but I try not to ask questions cause no one understands what the F I’m saying anyway and even if they did, they would respond in Chilean Spanish and I would feel that awful sinking sensation of complete confusion and not understanding WTF IS GOING ON!

That’s my new thing—WTF! Since I’ve been saying it a lot, I thought it best to take the shortened route.

I can’t understand Chilean Spanish. Am I that stupid?

Saturday, August 27, 2011

I'm a Big Nincompoop.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Chile lately.

I fondly remember my first trip there—you know, the catalyst to my ditching the states and up and moving to South America.

The trip was a vacation from reality, an ugly just had my life blow up, reality.

Instead of facing the questions of where I was going to live, work, do, be… I got to run on the beach everyday and drink and dance all night. I even let myself relax and spend a night just watching a DVD box set and doing nothing else except lying on a bed.

It was awesome.

And when the time came for me to get on that bus to Santiago and fly home I just…didn’t want to go. In fact I may have cried a little. Don't hold it against me, even Dudes cry sometimes.

In Chile I found peace and calm AND I even wrote “I Would Do Anything for Love, Meatloaf the Musical.” I was only there 2 weeks.

Home, I suffered writer’s block, a certain melancholy from a recent loss, and a sense of frustration at my inability to commit to ANYTHING or anyone.

At that point all my worldly possessions were already downsized and fit not so neatly into 9 plastic tubs. All my books, my lovely books, my best friends, were stacked away to never be seen or touched.

I had nothing holding me back from just checking out of the world as I knew it for a bit, or forever, if I deemed fit.

I’m not going to say that moving to Chile just made sense, but I can say that moving to Chile made me feel good. I had no rhyme nor reason, just a desperate desire to be okay or at least smile again.

So I moved. To Chile. The country. And no, they do not eat Chili in Chile. In fact, Chilenos have no idea what you are talking about.

Ah.

But once there and the revelry of the situation wore off, bitter reality hit. Suddenly faced with no other than myself and my decisions, my brain screamed “What did you do? YOU MOVED TO CHILE? WHY?? Because you can? Well, now you have you big Nincompoop. What now?!

That’s exactly it. What now?

****So many in my shoes have wanted to ditch it all and run, so I thought it best to post my journal entries from when I moved to Chile. They are only touched up where repetition displayed itself or personal issues of others were discussed, otherwise they are exactly as I wrote them…sigh, a mess.

The first week was posted under “Ditch the B—Life! Let’s move to Chile.”

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Ditch the B--Life, Let's Move to Chile!

DECEMBER 5, 2009
It wasn’t until my last connecting flight that it hit me. I left my boyfriend, quit my job, said goodbye to all my family and most friends and moved to a foreign country; without a job and only $4000 saved. WTF?!


Luckily the nice Chileno boy next to me kept feeding me drinks, so it was more of a celebration.


Two days later I'm staring at a metal contraption covered in spikes and I'm betting it's not for the birds. This is our front door. Actually it's front door #1. Front door #2 is hidden behind. Broken glass is cemented into the walls. Graffiti everywhere. Pretty graffiti though. Dogs howling. Houses are bright colors. Old men and women walk slowly up and down the high hills.


Welcome to Valparaiso, Chile!


The apartment is not as fully furnished as promised. There is one bed, one pillow, no sheets and one blanket. No stove/oven nor pots and pans not that it matters without a stove. There is a sink, plates and glasses, and a fridge.


Esta bien. It is good. What did I expect?


One thing though, the city of Valparaiso is situated on numerous steep hills or cerros. We reside on Cerro Yunguy which I renamed HOP (Hill of Pain). At first called HIP: meaning my hips are going to fall out of place from this massive hike to mi casa.

I thought I was in shape but I'm a sweating monkey in sandals every time I climb it. Won't stop me.

RECAP (DECEMBER 7TH)
Yesterday totally desperate to shower! It had been 2 days and I could feel the stickyness. So I went into the bathroom. No towels!

And I think...how important is a shower? I looked at myself in the mirror. Oy. “Muy importante!” But then I thought, naw.


The next day we finally bought towels! I was so excited! Until I found out the hot water isn’t working. Cold shower it is. If Katherine Hepburn can jump in an icy lake everyday, then I can do this?! Correcto? Just keep telling yourself that, Nerissa.


At the end of the week the landlord finally brought over more furnishings; another bed, a table and two chairs which was supposed to be our sofa but I didn’t care.


My roommate and I've stayed up late each night hysterically laughing about our predicament!


No internet. No cell phone but who the hell am I going to call? Text myself with loving messages? But starting to miss contact with people. Texting, cell phone, and internet were my contact with the world.


Another thing my Spanish is spotty in the first place but my Chilean Spanish is totally bad. I'm spending a lot of time looking confused. It's super fast and their dialect is to drop all their "s" so instead of mas o menos, it's ma o meno and gracia. Like what?!

FOOD
Non spicy, mucho pan (bread), meat is for the rich or well off, queso is pretty cheap BUT hard to buy because you have to go to the "butcher" and have them slice it off and I don't know how to say half a pound in spanish. I get freaked out and just choose not to get the cheese. The yogurt is soupy too, which makes me miss, just alittle, the FDA. But fresh fruits and vegetables are super cheap!

THE HEAT
After 2 pm and before 6 just sleep. I've tried to beat the heat but I just become exhausted. It's best just to nap.

DECEMBER 8, 2009
HOP is just another day of hard labor. Bought cheap tequila by myself! So proud! Just drank cheap tequila, by myself. Not as proud. You can take the girl out of Wisconsin but you can’t take the Wisconsin out of the girl. I write this with my “Love from Minnesota” pen that my work “mom” gave me before moving here.


I took my first Collectivo which is a form of taxi that is shared with others—and the rates change! I sat in the Collectivo smiling because I said “Bellavista, Valparaiso por favor” and the driver understood me! One step at a time!

Bought my first cell phone! I feel so connected—I have no one to call but still! Even in Chile I can be glued to the stupid thing. I left the states to disconnect, yet here I am—staring at the phone—please ring—SOMEONE CALL ME. Damn, nothings changed. Someone validate my existence by calling me, please.

--Nerissa

Monday, August 22, 2011

HOLD MY LEGS!

2011

I’m sitting on the edge of the world. My feet hanging, kicking rocks down into the vast canyon labeled Grand. And that it is, a Grand Canyon.

My friend stands behind, nervous. I know he’s nervous because he keeps asking me to be careful and not slip and maybe it’s time climb off the edge of the cliff and back to safety.

Instead I tell him to take a picture of my feet dangling in the air.

Me? Get off the ledge? The edge? But why? It’s nice here. The view is beautiful.

He says the view is just as spectacular from back there. And, I think how would you know? But then, how would I know if I didn’t at least shuffle back, crawl up and gaze at the view from his perspective. Which I did. And he was right.

How was he right though? How did he know without doing it first? Is this a common sense thing that I lack? Or if I don’t lack it, than what is this deep seated drive to experience everything first hand? So many times fear is a very late second to, “Oh, what’s that?!”

2004

We are in a car driving back from Tahoe. It’s a long, bumpy, over the mountain and through the woods trip, and I’m a groaning, hurting, carsick freak.

Eventually we take a tourist break before I throw up in Aunt Becky’s car.

Immediately I dart from the car up this grassy knoll, over the train tracks and flee across a flat sandy surface. I have no destination in mind except freedom and fresh air.

I look up and I’m astounded! A brilliant orange mountain faces me! It's surrounded by a deep blue sky and I’m wasting no time getting there.

I should’ve paid attention. Heck I should’ve just looked down! By the time I did, it was too late.

I remember slipping backwards, trying to catch myself, grabbing at rocks and sand but they just ripped at my body. Finally I stopped fighting it and rolled with the tumble. Landing with a thud as a dust cloud rose over my still body.

I gazed up in awe and confusion. And there it was again, my orange mountain and deep blue sky. Excellent view but where the heck was I?!

I quickly sat up and saw I was in a hole the length and width of a football field, THAT WAS 20 FEET DEEP! A mine! It was freaking mine. I fell into a mining hole.

There are sunken tires and mining carts and other broken equipment half buried and lying around.

I hear noises from above as Jessica and Aunt Becky appear. Imagine their surprise at seeing my dust covered body lying at the bottom of this hole.

“How did you get down there?” asked Aunt Becky.

“I fell.”

Jessica laughs and says, “Silly girl.”

Aunt Becky on the other hand is full of questions. “How did you fall into a mine?! How did you not see it? Were you not looking?”

“Well in fact, I wasn’t looking for a mine. I was just running towards the mountain. And since I’m not from mining country it never occurred to me that there could be a giant hole or drop off and you know what, never mind. I have no good answer except that I was looking up which is a direct correlation of An Affair to Remember and we all know what happened to her.”

“Well, watch out for dynamite,” Aunt Becky bluntly states.

1999

“Hold my legs!” I yell to J.J. He looks scared. So I yell again, “Hold my legs! Please.”

Believe me, if he held my legs so I could lean farther over the cement barrier of this lighthouse I could get the exact angle needed to achieve the astounding photograph that is already visually burned into my mental folds.

So I yell one more time with feeling, “Hold my legs!”

I should mention that by this point I have crawled on top of this cement foundation/barrier and am already leaning back with only one heel wedged against the wall to hold me steady. If my heel lost its hold I'd be falling headfirst and backwards into Lake Superior.

Suffice it to say, he held my legs though he probably should've just dumped me in the water.

2005

I’m working at the 4th Floor of the Mall of America. I’ve been there for 5 years and for 5 of those years I have deeply pondered something…if I was held by my legs off the edge of the parking ramp would I be able to see into the next ramp level?

Now, this ponder was actually a long standing deliberation between me and many co-workers. Is it possible?

It would be best at this point, to not tell the rest of the story I fear. In fact, just know that I’m safe and can guarantee that I will not ever let someone dangle me over a parking ramp without a rope or any safety measure again…and no you can not see into the next ramp level.

There are many, many more stories that start and end with “HOLD MY LEGS!” or I fell into a large hole.  In fact, there is a story of a 4-Wheeler, large brush and an off-roading incident that I will save for a later post.

Maybe there is no common sense rolling around this noggin or maybe I’m just too filled with the now to think about the later.

I should marry an insurance assessor. But they would probably assess that I am too much a liability and write a “too dangerous to deal with” clause into the prenuptial.

Either way I can’t change the very foundation of who I am, I can only hope those who love me can deal with where it leads me, as well as themselves and most of all are strong enough to "HOLD MY LEGS" or tell me that is the stupidest idea they have ever heard of. Sometimes I just need to hear that.

No matter the time or place it’s never a dull moment in life with Nerissa. So I've been told.

THE HURT WON'T HURT

I pushed you off a cliff
Into the salty sea
That hopefully
Will take you
Far away from me.

I can tell…
By the look on your face
That you do not care
For this new found space.

I feel bad
In a suffocated way
It’s an ache
That’s been here to stay.

But we were wrong
Or at least not right
Though I get the feeling
You are prepared to fight.

I wish you won’t
You wish I did
It doesn’t matter
This is my final bid.

Goodbye to you
A love not true
That is walled off
For nil to few

So soak in that sea
Please think me vile
And with time
The hurt, won’t hurt
After awhile

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Who Fist Pumps while Prancing?

And today, a day of tiredness and slight confusion, I finally finished the book "Savage Summit, The Life and Death of the First Women of K2."

I've been prolonging this ending for fear of deep and aching sorrow. If I wasn't such a sap I would just say they lived, they climbed, they died...but I'm a quiet sucker for individualists and the path they blaze.

And these ladies, NOT ANGELS, followed their hearts which were firmly connected to the highest peaks in the world.

As I write this I imagine my mother silently shaking her head, worried that my impetuous self will take off to the Himalayas in search of higher and holistic ground. DON'T WORRY MOTHER!

That is exactly what this blog post is about. Don't worry. What drives me is not the mountains. I'm not about the hard surface of rock and ice. I do love the beauty of nature and the outdoors but I'd rather be fishing on a boat with people I care about than on the other side of the world freezing my butt off, watching my toes turn black in a tent with a climbing partner I'm about 3 seconds away from strangling.

Sigh. Yes, after a year of constant reading about Alpine Climbing I've decided...fine, I won't climb Everest or K2. Now in the last post I did write that I never had an urge to climb Everest, that was a lie. I didn't want my Grandma to freak out.

OF COURSE I'VE HAD THE URGE TO CLIMB EVEREST! It's Everest! Who wouldn't? Okay don't answer that. But after reading "Into Thin Air," "High Crimes," and "Savage Summit, The Life and Death of the First Women of K2," I realize I don't have the heart. Scratch that, I don't have the heart for 8000 meter Alpine Climbing.

But I do have heart, its just my heart is firmly imbedded in theater. It's a passion few can compete in my life with. And it's a passion that pushes me to my very emotional, mental and physical limits.

In "Bye, Bye Birdie," I was malnourished and exhausted, dehydrated, overworked and stressed; a train wreck in orange. But I wouldn't give in until everything was done that could be done. I wasn't going to stop until I reached the summit OR DIE TRYING! It's what I believe in. It's what I love. And when I love, well world, watch out.

Of course the 5 ladies who made it to the summit of K2 didn't all make it down. In fact only 2 lived to see another day of climbing. The others left their life on that Savage Summit.

If I was making a true analogy, I would be wondering does that mean that I'm going to drop dead on the BACC Theater at the end of a show? But really, I'm more of a hazard on the road after a 9 hour day of dancing on 2 hours of sleep.

So concerned family and friends, do not worry that I will Alpine Climb the highest peaks in the world, I would rather do jazz hands, while prancing like a pony, fist pumping to "Sweet Genevieve," than getting dragged down a mountain by a Sherpa because my eyes are frozen shut and my brain is bleeding internally.

My heart is here.

****On a side note, I'm not giving up rock climbing though. I can't lie.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Mt. EVEREST, A LOST ROMANCE?

I never had a strong desire to climb Mt. Everest.  But recently I've had an overwhelming interest in those who have, those who've tried, but mostly those who've died.

Is the 20% chance of death worth the experience of sitting at the top of the world?

To get there you walk into the "Death Zone" where your body is literally dying from lack of oxygen. Then drag your exhausted self to the summit with only aching will power driving you forward.

Most likely you are starving and dehydrated but are too disoriented to realize. Your mind will play tricks on you, believing you are seeing what was never there. And sleep, it rarely comes AND if it does, be wary that it's not your body shutting for a cold and icy death.

All the while stumbling around fallen climbers who have found their frozen tomb on the tallest mountain in the world.

The attraction to Mt. Everest in the last decade is less of a romance with the mountain and more of a snuff film. Reaching the summit is not only the top priority but for many, the only. It's not about how you get there, as long as you get there.

Sherpa's are heavily relied on to carry supplies, provide cooking and set up camp. Using bottled oxygen is the norm. And if or when you've reached the summit and arrive back to Base Camp IV, don't be surprised if your tent, with food supplies and sleeping bag, have suddenly gone missing (aka stolen).

But you can't walk to Base Camp III now. Most likely a severe storm has rolled in not to mention your brain is exhausted and still, at this moment, dying. You have no choice but to hunker down in your snowsuit or find a fellow friendly climber who will share tent and tea.

But of course that doesn't happen as much anymore either. When pushing for the summit, if you fall, lose sight, become disoriented or too tired, do not rely on your Sherpas, fellow climbers and sometimes even guides to help you down. Many will walk past, unwilling to lose their chance at the summit bid to help you.

It is every man for himself. You made the choice to climb knowing the dangers and possible outcome and that is how you shall die, accepting your choices.

Is that strength or selfishness?

I do not know.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

"THE ADVENTURES OF HENRIETTA JAMES"

Excerpt from "Poop, it's Just a Four Letter Word"

Every day I wait. Yes, it is a waiting game. Who is going to win? It would be nice if it was me today. Then I would feel better, finally. And everyone could stop worrying.

I could stop worrying.

It’s so simple. It should be at least. It’s why we have a digestive track. To digest. But yet mine prefers to be more a decoration than a useful tool.

Was it something I said? Did I do something wrong? Was I not nice or thoughtful enough? Did I not spend enough time with you? Do you want me to communicate more? Express my emotions? Cuddle and watch movies?

What do you want?! I wish you would tell me. I wish I could understand. I wish I knew why.

Of course I don’t know the when either. That might help.

There was an incident three years ago. A stint of non number two happening. Though looking back I can’t remember actually, you know, pooping. Does anyone though? Is it something that stands out?

I remember Dad sitting in the bathroom for an hour every morning.

I would desperately rap on the door with little hands. My pipsqueak voice yelling out “How long Dad? I really have to tinkle.”

“Go outside!” He’d bark. He didn’t like to be interrupted.

And I didn’t pee outside. What if a snake bites my butt?

Eventually the door would open and the noxious smell would fill the air, cling to the walls and quickly push us all outside.

I would still be holding my little bladder too.

Derek, my brother, was proud of the smell, not only of Dad’s but of his own. It was a competition. Who could stink up the house more?

I never played.

Is it because I was shy about my excrement or because I had no excrement to show and therefore no smell to be proud of? When did I stop digesting? How did it happen? I mean because I must’ve digested at some point? Right?! Otherwise I believe I would’ve noticed all the vomiting earlier in my life. I’m just saying.

It sounds stupid to you I’m sure. How can poo or not poo run your life, your thoughts, your every action? It sounds over dramatic actually. But you don’t know. You don’t know the pain and embarrassment. Above all you don’t know the fear that comes with not knowing what the heck is wrong with you. And something is wrong. Everyone has made a point of telling me that.

But no doctor can definitively define my ailment nor give me treatment if there even is any. I’ve been told I have cancer, aids, parasites, gall stones, kidney failure, eating disorders, depression, hypochondria and liver disease.

I hate doctors and doctors hate me.

I have been silent for far too long; hiding myself from the world for fear of judgment. I am not normal. This cannot be normal! But this is my normal and I open my doors to you.

Please make yourself comfortable because it’s about to get awkward.