O-O-Obama

I'm barely showered, spent the day in my sweats preparing for a class I am teaching at church on Sunday, and I finally decided to emerge from my apartment tonight to walk to a local pizza joint for a slice. I was bundled up, but didn't feel quite like a typical Madison Ave resident as I strutted down the street behind a rinky dink wiener dog wearing a cashmere sweater. But then again, the longer I live here the more I realize that even on the Upper East Side you can find every kind of person imaginable. I need to wear the sweats with pride.


It's been a big week people. I hosted an inauguration lunch gathering at my apartment on Tuesday and wept with a zillion others as the new guy got sworn in. If you haven't read/heard Lowry's benediction, please do. It is theologically rich and he prays a prayer that begins, "God of our weary years, God of our silent tears..." Doesn't get better than that. This guy had me at hello. By the way, I have been keeping track, and tonight marks the first time in over a week that I have opened the New York Times website to see a front-page article/picture dedicated to a story from OUTSIDE the U.S. Sheesh. I get tired of us!!

By the way, tis the season of fertility. Babies, babies everywhere. Babies in some bellies, babies at the breast, babies in the hearts and minds of barren women, and sometimes two at once. Twins are quite in fashion it seems and it is a gift to be witness to what truly is strangely mundane and miraculous. They cause problems, these little ones. They reveal much about us, they sap our energy, and divide the attention of lovers-now-parents. But as my friend Micke says, they have much to teach us if we would simply pay attention.

I'm waxing poetic about nothing right now, so I will quit. Wish I had some achingly beautiful pictures to share-- they seemed a dime a dozen in Zambia, but my eye feels hazy of late.

A Cold Day in Philly

It is freezing in this part of the world and everyone around me is abuzz with the upcoming inauguration. Obama left Philadelphia this morning about the time I arrived, so many twittering passengers joked about catching a glimpse of our next president. We’ll see if Barak will live up to all the hype, eh? I spent the day with my friends Becky and Andy who are expecting a little baby any time.

Lately it has taken me a long time to find inspiration for a blog posting, but today provided at least 20 interactions that I found delightfully share-worthy. Taught an older gentlemen all about the free use of computers and internet at the public library a little after 7 this morning as a golden sunrise and a cup of coffee thawed my hands. Passing along info about newfangled technology felt pretty good. Then I sat on the bus next to a girl that is studying to be a Rabbi and we were fast friends by the end of the ride. I think we are going to try to get together in the next couple of weeks to drink coffee and read Torah together. How cool is this!?

And then there was brunch at a Jewish-Southern diner in West Philly and rich conversation with dear chums. There is very little in life that is better than good food with good friends. By the way, I still don't know what a Jewish-Southern diner is exactly.... kosher BIG breakfasts that include potato latke and pancakes the size of the moon?!

A Typical Friday Night...

I've been slumming in my pajamas all day while working on a presentation I will give on Sunday. It has been fun to review video footage of life in Zambia and I was particularly caught off guard as I watched little old mamas make charcoal outside a shanty compound near my house. It has been months since I had seen these women and to be honest I had forgotten about them. Most of them are widows in their seventies who use the bark dumped by a local wood mill to make chunks of charcoal to sell in the market. I have to remind myself over and over again, "Work on the presentation Carmen" because I find myself enrapt in the material.

I went to the grocery store tonight and it dawned on me around 74th and Park Avenue that I was still wearing my sweats and tennis shoes and only looked slightly more put together because of a matching scarf and hat. I literally started laughing as I absorbed the world around me-- handsome men in wool suits and women in mink. I am such an NYC fraud... at times anyway. Actually, I love that people don't seem to be bothered about this one way or another. As I walked I came up with a story to tell if I was cued by a random pedestrian. "Why is a 30 year old single woman, barely showered, on her way to the grocery store in her sweats on a Friday night? Glad you asked. I am very important and cannot even spare a Friday night away from my important work." Erh... no one is going to buy this. :-)

I uploaded a video clip to Youtube... some images from a day in the life of Carmen in Zambia, but my stupid Mac is pretending like links don't exist. So, if you want to watch it, copy and paste people. Sorry!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b62VANDfSDg

A little ad campaign in England...

A wee bit of controversy, eh? What do you think?



This would never fly in the U.S. despite the fact we value free speech. Hey Brits, you gave us John Stuart Mill, one of the early political philosophers that flushed out this notion... full freedom to publicly discuss any topic as long as it does not bring harm to another (or something like this?! I have 'On Liberty' somewhere).

This would never fly in Zambia either.

According to this advertisement, at the heart of faith is fear... Stop worrying it says. Yes, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is true for many people. Fear drives some spiritual quests and recruits some followers. But that makes me sad.

What do you think? :-)

A rainy night

I walked home from yoga tonight on a slick pavement, cris-crossing the city blocks along the black licorice grid that evenly divides this city into neighborhoods and neighborhoods and neighborhoods.

This is not supposed to happen in Yoga, but tonight at the very end of class, the lights dimmed in this hot, packed classroom and my forehead found the mat as I slid into the comfortable "child's pose" and without warning, giant, fat tears began to roll down my face. No one was paying attention so I indulged them for a minute and let my whole body feel the blanket of sadness that curled around every inch of flesh. Maybe it was the acoustic guitar or maybe it was fatigue or maybe it was the picture on the front page of the New York Times of 3 young men carrying a dying classmate in Gaza...

I miss Zambia today. I miss my friends and colleagues and I miss the mangos and holding hands while we walk and eating with my hands and the birds that sing to us in the morning and the bats that lull us to sleep at night. I miss chetenge and singing and dancing and bartering in the market.

Tomorrow I preach at a healing and wholeness service, so I get to find comfort in the story of Hannah tonight as I prepare...



What a broken world. A sad, broken world.

A beautiful day

I have heard it said that "designer clothes are overrated." I say, unequivocally, that these people are wrong. Now, before you sigh a judgmental sigh of outrage, let me assure you, I am not an advocate of purchasing$1500 pairs of shoes. Do we need designer clothes? Blimey! No! But are the cuts and fabrics superior in every way imaginable? Yes. I decided to pretend for a couple of hours that I am above the American masses who rely on Isaac Mizrahi for Target to outfit my wardrobe and visit Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue (they are famous for their gorgeous window displays at Christmas). I carefully walked through 5 of the 7 floors and I admit that there was one little dress made by an Italian designer featured on floor 3 that I salivated over for a good three minutes. Picture a knee-length, navy Audrey Hepburn with a slightly more dangerous neckline in the most perfectly textured satin imaginable. Voila! Knock-your-socks-off beautiful. On my way out I chatted with some women selling purses and I think they were a little embarrassed for me when I laughingly told them that this store was out of my price range. One of the sales clerks had a fantastic Russian accent and I was curious to know how this woman with a stylish silver coiffure ended up behind the purse counter at Bergdorf Goodman in New York.

I passed lots of good-looking Italian tourists as I walked home and I think that Italians are generally fabulously good-looking people. At least the one's I have encountered. And they have one of the best languages/accents on earth. When I was in South Africa I spent a day with an Italian woman who recited a love poem she learned as a child and my friend Udo and I literally had to pause, gaping for just a moment, at the sensual words that easily rolled off her tongue. And just when my thoughts were lingering on beauty and my own shame for nestling back into consumeristic culture with far too much ease, I met an old woman on Madison and 59th who asked if I might help her across the street. I smiled broadly and offered her my arm and thought, "Do people still do this?!" Her pink cashmere gloves and the frail fingers beneath gingerly clasped my arm as we chatted about the sun and the wind. Her warmth melted my brooding and reminded me again, "O yes, this is beautiful. This moment just now." New York is full of surprises and full of beauty. The right kind.

Is there a broader juxtaposition between my world in Manhattan and Kitwe, Zambia?! I think not.

Yoga

This is my new interest. Yoga. I like that it is called a "practice." The teacher said at the end of class tonight, palms pressed together in front of his chest, "Thank you for allowing me into your practice." My practice?! I look around the room feeling pretty good about myself. This man, this intensely fit, serene man thanked ME for practicing with HIM. I like this.

We got into this head stand position tonight that reminded me two things: one, I have no core strength; two, I think it is universally true that we should all turn ourselves upside-down once in awhile to get a refreshing perspective on life.

Handel's Messiah

My friend Millie and I went to Handel's Messiah this week courtesy of our friend Andrew, the organist of this exquisite event. He kindly shared two comp tickets with us and we both got dolled up to go to the show. New York at Christmas time is magnificent for many, many reasons and tonight I was especially charmed. Perhaps it was the drunken Santa I took a picture with on the way to Carnegie Hall who was overly eager to have me sit on his lap. Or maybe it was the throngs of shoppers who still pause in awe of wonderfully adorned windows at Bergdorf Goodman. Or maybe it is the sacred choral music that pours out of every tall-steepled church in the city. New York knows how to do Christmas really, really well.

Tonight I bundled up after work for my “get-out-of- your-building-for-the-love-of-god” excursion. Very little snow here in New York, but the wind knows how to find every nook and cranny, every exposed piece of flesh, so I looked like a big, puffy marshmallow marching down the street. I fell into step with two people, about my age, that I immediately wanted to befriend. I liked the way they held onto one another’s arms as they walked. I liked that when they spoke of their friend that made a serious fool of herself after getting drunk and belligerent at a dinner party, they paused and sighed one of those perfect sighs of compassion. And just when I was thinking of how fantastic they were, I blindly followed them into a crosswalk and nearly got squashed by a furious taxi driver. Careful who you romanticize Carmen-- you never know who is going to get you run over!

Life is good. And this week should be full of amusing excursions. I'll keep you posted. Merry Christmas!

Christmas with Nate and Elaine

"Working Christmas" is tiring. The services at Madison Avenue Presb were absolutely beautiful-- if I weren't assisting in worship I would have wanted to burst into tears throughout all three services, but I'm not sure that this would have gone over very well. The schedule: Christmas Eve family service (picture a zillion kids acting out the Christmas story- angels and shepherds, Joseph, Mary, wisemen, and lots of random animals) that was charming chaos. Then dinner with 3 lovely ladies from the church before heading back for the 11 p.m. candle-light service (picture stringed instruments, professional soloists, carefully crafted liturgy, and bells tolling at midnight). Then a party at my neighbor's house and finally a Christmas Day service. After the service I ran back to my apartment to change my clothes and pick up a few things before heading to Penn Station to catch a train to Princeton.

Last year when I was feeling very lonely in Zambia (this must have been November when I was still terrified and confused) I made plans, 1 year in advance, to spend the Christmas holiday with Nate and Elaine. And that is what we did. Had a fantastic Christmas dinner, drank wine, and caught up over a game of Settler's.

Elaine and I traipsed around Princeton, went to an intense Yoga class (something I am excited to get into), and finished off the morning with a cup of joe at Small World. A lovely Christmas holiday indeed.

P.S. Please forgive the fact that these are exceptionally "newsy" posts rather than reflective one's.... Herein lies the irony: there is lots to do, do, do in NYC. Harder to be, be, be. Fairly easy for me to sneakily get around trying to make sense of the Advent season in the U.S. rather than in Zambia! But that will come, eh?

New York City at last

How does one make a graceful entrance into a new place? In a city like New York I suppose it doesn't matter. Manhattan proper averages about 70,000 people per square mile, so the comings and goings of one priestly girl on the Upper East Side matters very little, but this is the most fascinating thing about New York City. Brilliant and mundane events happen simultaneously at nearly every moment of the day throughout the city and most of us carry on completely unaware. This morning I woke up to a winter wonderland, my third Saturday living in the city. People work such long hours and tend to play hard, so the one sacred, quiet part of the week is Saturday morning. Even the taxi drivers seem to know the rule: less honking, less shouting, and a few moments of peace. I took a long walk in Central Park today and enjoyed the kiddos sledding and watching the most committed women carefully negotiating stiletto heeled boots on the icy sidewalks. I stopped by a Starbucks for a hot drink and absolutely loved the pieces of art that sleds and piles of coats and mittens made in various parts of the coffee shop. It reminded me of elementary school coat-rooms on snow days and for a moment I felt perfectly at home.















You may be curious as to my rationale for continuing this blog now that I have returned to the States. But as my quote from Pliny the Elder reminds us, “Out of Africa, always something new.” So there you have it, out of Africa, a whole new life to negotiate and while it might prove entertaining to you (this city is madness and full of good stories), it could prove life-giving to me.
These are pics from my apartment: a tourist’s dream by the way. My couch pulls out into a comfy bed, so pack your bags people. Come to New York for a weekend and we will be amused at mink coats and $600 pairs of shoes and go to the theater and eat exquisite food and try to make sense of this silly world together.


Highlight of the week: saw The Seagull with stunning performances by Kristin Scott Thomas and Peter Sarsgaard. Occasionally I forget just how good some Broadway theater can be. I wasn't mentally prepared for Chekhov and I believe Chekhov is one of those writers you must prepare for. A few summers ago I picked up a collection of his short stories and made it thru story number 6 before I needed to put the thing away for fear that I would succumb to a dark depression and find a hole to crawl into with a bottle of vodka and 50 packs of cigarettes. There was a point while reading I thought, "for the love of God, does springtime ever come to Moscow?" Sheesh. The performances were disturbing and absolutely enthralling. But tonight I found myself eating chocolate ice cream from the container, so perhaps I should lay off Chekhov for awhile.

I miss Zambia desperately and miss the pace of life in Kitwe. I continue to laugh at myself when there are moments that I still think I am there. When I "see" lizards out of the corner of my eye for example. Or when the litter on the sidewalk looks like packets of "Double-punch" (a cheap liquor sold in kiosks all over the compounds), but I am not in Zambia. I am living a very privileged life in New York City-- a life privileged enough for a great deal of brooding. And so there you have it: a warning. Some of these blog postings may be full of brooding. But the city is surprising and its beauty will force its way into these commentaries as well.