Latin Fest, Washington, D.C. September 2009

New HIV/AIDS Clinic in D.C.

The AIDS Healthcare Foundation opens it's first clinic in D.C.-where the HIV/AIDS rate has surpassed that of Largos, Nigeria and is the highest in the country. The treatment center is named after actor and AIDS advocate Blair Underwood.

Lessons in Life and Language

By Kate Sheehy

Syracuse April, 20 2009- With only stories of violence to remind them of their homeland, Werdi Mugaya and Zeytun Aden have made a connection with a new language, and a new life in America. Werdi and Zeytun were born in a refugee camp in Kenya after their parents escaped years of war in Somalia. They are now part of the close-knit support system of Somalians in Syracuse.

The brother and sister did not have the often have the opportunity to attend school in Africa, and when they did, it was less than ideal.

"If you were late they would slap your hands and make you do push-ups," said Werdi.

Culture Clash

Upon arriving in America the two did not know any English and barely knew how to read and write in their native tongue, Maimai (my-my). So they had to start from scratch. Werdi and Zeytun entered third grade at Grant Middle School. In a foreign environment they were scared and frustrated.

"I think I cried the first day," said Zeytune.

They were teased by American students, reminding them of the prejudice their parents suffered in Somalia. Werdi and Zeytun are Somali-Bantus, a minority underclass in Somalia that was first brought to the country as slaves.

"I felt upset and angry. It made me want to leave America and go back to where I came from in the first place," said Werdi.

It Takes a Community

They got help learning English and coping with social issues during a program organized by the Somali-Bantu community. At what they simply call, Saturday School, they are tutored by students from Syracuse University and other volunteers. Haji Adan is the director and very passionate about its purpose.

Haji tells the kids, “If someone is teasing you, don’t listen and focus on your own personal education.”

Somali-Bantus volunteer their time and donate what money they can, even buying snacks for the kids with food stamp money. Haji and other organizers have raised money from churches, government aid programs and have discussed their plan with the Mayor Driscoll. Their goal is to educate youth so that they can have a future here in America, that was not possible in Africa.

Looking Toward the Future

“When we first started the program I thought it would only be open for one or two months, but now we have 120 kids,” said Haji.

Haji hopes to have over 200 kids soon. Werdi and Zeytun want to someday take what they learn here, back to Africa to help others as they have been helped.

How Refugees Feed Their Longing for Traditional Cuisine

Kate Sheehy, NCC News

Food for Thought
March 26, 2009 Syracuse--We all can connect some type of food with a feeling or a memory; a favorite dish you ate with your family, grilling hot dogs and hamburgers in the backyard, eating pizza late at night with friends. American food is a mixture of influence from all over the world. Refugees living in Syracuse are part of this influence. They bring culinary traditions from home to remember the life they left behind.

A Taste of Home
Ayad Alnassiry and his family fled violence in Iraq and came to Syracuse almost a year ago. Ayad said he misses his friends and family, and the traditional food of his country. But his wife continues to make her own spices and cook many meals from Iraq. Ayad said they are able to get many of the foods they used back home, although not exactly the same, here in Syracuse.

“We miss the fresh greens we used to eat that don't grow here,” said Ayad.

A New Way of Life
The Donzos from West Africa are a family of 15, and all of them work to help with money. They were happy to find the African and Caribbean Store in Syracuse. They get a lot of the ingredients to make traditional dishes like Water Soup. Fanta Donzo said it makes her feel good to cook African food for her family. However, she said the way food is prepared and eaten in America, differs greatly from her African customs.

“In Africa we would cook outside, never inside, and we would all sit together and eat with our hands,” Fanta said.

She said she misses these customs and sometimes she feels weird eating with her hands here. Fanta said now her family is so busy working and going to school that they rarely eat together like they used to.

A Global Market
Driving up and down Eerie Boulevard or North Salina, it is easy to miss the small ethnic grocery stores. But they provide an essential need for refugees starting a new life in an unfamiliar world. Roselinda Abbey is from Ghana and owns the African and Caribbean store on North Salina. She said when she moved here in 2001 there was no store that sold African food, so she opened one.

“I choose the foods that I like to have in the store, but my customers tell me what they want too,” Abbey said.

Cooking food from home is one way refugees can recreate a significant part of their culture here in America.

“Food is the footprint of each culture, and each one is different from one another,” said Ayad.

You can see these footprints in Syracuse, just take a look.

Willing and Able

Refugees and the Workforce

Freedom

Syracuse, NY- February 19, 2009 Francis Murabi is one of around 500 refugees that have come to Syracuse in the past year to make a home. Refugees leave their homeland in search of freedom. A major benefit of the freedom they find here is the ability to work and support their families.

However many refugees, like many Americans, are losing their jobs because of the economy. Francis is now one of those without a job and a family of ten to feed.

Reflections of Home

Francis had been working in the cider mill at the Beak and Skiff Apple Orchard in La Fayette. He has been laid off for the winter. He says he loved working there because it reminded him of working with plants in Africa.

Although Francis does have fond memories of life in Africa, he faced many struggles before coming to America.

Francis grew up moving from refugee camp to refugee camp in East Africa. Originally from the small country of Burundi, Francis fled civil war between his tribe the Hutus and rival tribe the Tutsis. About 250,000 people died in this horrific fighting.

“Life in a refugee camp is a big, big problem, because if you are a refugee, you don’t have any rights. Here I am very, very free,” said Francis.

The adversity he has faced makes him all the more grateful for opportunities here.

Helping Hands

Catholic Charities helps settle many of the refugees in Syracuse. They find and clean up apartments for families to live in when they arrive. They act as the go between for refugees and potential employers in the community. Volunteers help connect refugees with services like food stamps, public assistance and ESL classes.

Francis has a wife, eight children and his mother and father to look after. Volunteers like Harvey Pinyoun are part of the support system that Catholic Charities provides.

“You want them to have the best beginning they can possibly have. So that’s what we’re trying to do,” said Pinyoun.

Commitment

Pinyoun said many refugees, like Francis, have large families to care for. Three of Francis’ children are orphans who lost their parents in the camps. Pinyoun said their perseverance and commitment to one another is admirable.

“They take care of each other and they make it. They do without, they do without extras that a lot of us live with,” said Pinyoun.

Francis is hoping for his job back at the apple orchard in the spring. In the meantime he will wait, he has made it this far.

From July at Cayuga Lake

Sitting out on a little dock, gazing out at the lake thinking-I am content. There is a thin haze shrouding the horizon. It’s a gray morning, but the lake is glistening, softly rippling. I do not feel homesick, sad, lonely, nervous, stressed or any of the emotions I have been feeling since moving to New York. I feel perfectly content with the sentiment that I am disconnected from what, prior to this, was comfortable to me. But, at this moment, everything feels ok. Actually, better than that, I am exhilarated and curious for what the future holds. Who else will I meet? Where will I visit?

I am here with these people who before this, never even knew I existed. It is the strangest feeling to think that these individuals have been living their lives just like me, sharing space on this earth, and now I am eating barbequed hot dogs and hamburgers with them, lighting sparklers on the 4^th of July and discussing the lives we have been living without having ever met one another.

With gentle ripples the water is moving, always moving. The water seems to know the directions the earth whispers. The water is flexible, shifting directions when a change in the environment is initiated.

Bye Bye Baby Bye Bye

I’m on a plane headed back to Austin from Syracuse, NY. Back to Austin, where I have a found a home away from my quintessential home in Northern, CA. Actually not really ‘found,’ so much as made, a home for myself. Although Austin is as welcoming and friendly a city as one can hope for, coming to call a place home is a personal process that is gone through individually. The strength and appreciation of self has been nurtured by this artistic and open community, as well as by the friends that have become extensions of my own heart. Wherever I may travel from here, they will be there too, just as the city of Austin will always have a claim on the woman that I am right now, and I will later look back on the joy I felt in being that woman in that place.

“I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul. Where I’ll end up, well I think only God really knows.” –Cat Stevens

Leaving is a sacrifice we make to pursue life’s adventures, and they are endless. They are also unknown, and for this reason a bit frightening, as the unknown always is. But again, this is a sacrifice we must make if we want to seek life’s many realities. The anxiety of being uncomfortable is not and cannot, be a reason to remain immobile; it is also impossible due to the general tumultuous nature of life. So you may as well jump on and enjoy the ride. Just try to remember to keep all appendages inside the cart and be aware that your heart may feel like it’s dropping into your stomach, kind of like when you hit a big air pocket while flying on a plane.

Syracuse, New York is not Austin, TX just as Austin is not Northern, CA and I had to adjust to that as well. I tried to remind my self of this while I was visiting, and I am trying to remind myself of that right now as I prepare to leave. But this is tough. I am going to miss everything about this place and these people. The rain storms, the simple peace of sitting on my tiny deck, the chaotic craziness that sometimes occurs when me and the girls are out on that deck, laying on my comfy couch, getting up in the morning to watch t.v. with Tenley, cooking for people in my tiny kitchen, walking down to the Bart Mart, walking the greenbelt to Zilker Park, the music, ah the music, chips and queso, Taco Deli tacos (all tacos), BBQ in Texas, S. Lamar, strollin’ S. Congress, exploring with Lindsey, all the local shops and restaurants(P.Terry’s chicken burgers), laughing and hugging so hard with Ashley, Alamo Drafthouse, dive bars with character, being a lady with Miss Michael, driving out into the hill country chasing the big Texas sunset; the list could go on and on. Primarily of course, I will miss the people, my friends, and the soul mates I found while searching my own soul. Without them, all the colors would look different. Perhaps not necessarily a bad different, but not the colors I have come to love. You, you all know who you are, have shown me magnificent shades of color that I have never seen, you have made everything brighter and more vibrant. You painted the Texas skyline with me, and in that way my relationships with all of you are my own small masterpiece. I feel accomplished because you are part of my life. I love you more than I can really, truly express. But I can say I feel safe leaving, knowing that you are all behind me.

The idea of home has changed for me while I have been living in Austin. My family and the smell of the home I grew up in will always be a home for me, but I have found a home within myself. Talking to my dad on the phone one day I told him that I had the empowering and comforting feeling that I AM my home. It was a surprising realization, one that comes to you when you are not really trying to figure anything out-this is the best kind. In the simplest terms I can describe it as just feeling strong, feeling that I have the capability to take care of myself in midst of life’s shifting landscape. Yes, I still need help from those I love and I am still scared-I don’t think that goes away, and I don’t really want it to truthfully. Connections are made in times of confusion and distress. Trials set the stage for the next obstacle to overcome, for the next time you must push your boundaries and know that you will be ok. At this point I have developed a sort of acceptance that change is inevitable and life is hard. In that same breath, life is magnificently shocking and inspirational, every nook and cranny harbors some jewel. It is almost always unexpected, and as I said before, I have come to realize that the unpredictable character of life often delivers the best discoveries. Instead of fighting so hard to control, it is nice to let go and let events happen to you-the universe seems to know what it’s doing in a chaotic and sometimes tough love way.

So I leave Austin with a full heart that creates a tightening in my chest and watering in my eyes, but I am excited and curious for the next turn in the road. Also, if I have carried any lesson with me from transition to transition thus far, it is that you do not lose what you leave behind, especially if you want to keep it. I want to come back to live in Austin someday, but honestly, I have no idea where my choices will take me next. That is the trick with life; you can’t say this or that for sure because that is usually when you find yourself contradicted. But I know that Austin is definitely a place I will find myself traveling back to. The city has a magnetic pull, and honestly, a spell over me. I am drawn to its power to bring all kinds of crazy beautiful people together and the energy that is emitted because of this. It is a city of misfits and musicians, cowboys and hippies, left and right, punks and gangstas, families and drifters, those mid search and those who have found where they will hang their hat for the remainder. For me, Austin is a place that provided a uniquely comforting and empowering setting that inspired me to learn more about others and myself. I could not have predicted I’d find a home in the middle of Texas, but I did.

"You must shut your ears to the roaring of the voices." - Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

Out of the Rubble

Like looking upon the remnants of Rome

Seeing the scars from bullets left on the Dublin post office

Tangible reminders of that day in 1916

Watching the implosion of a beautiful structure

What remains after the destruction?

Imperfections in elegant hunks of marble

Telling a story of what once was

At the same time proof of longevity and survival

You see it, glory days long since passed

Or glory days that never came to be

Thwarted at conception

Love and Beauty are found among this rubble

Devotion to what could be

If the next attempt does not fail

Pieces of myself scattered among the broken fragments

A life that has lost its center from the powerful onslaught of life

How quickly time passes, the present evolving into the past

Without warning, without time to prepare

Yet still the embrace

The small trinkets of joy found in holding onto to hope

Hope out of love for the future generations

Parts of the pillars left standing, although battered

It is still something for me to touch, wrap my arms around

Knowing the history of the struggle makes the embrace more precious

The shelter I seek from the surviving remnants

Amidst the chaos I am still part of this distorted legacy

It is the only truth I know completely

Truth through which I find myself

Saturday April 26th, 2008-Eeyore’s Birthday

Tenley, Mike and I made our way to the 45^th Annual Eeyore Festival in Pease Park. I had heard a lot about the festival last year, but didn’t make it. This year, on a perfect evening we parked our car at 17^th and Congress and hopped on the yellow school bus that would drop us off to say Happy Birthday to good ole’ Eeyore.

The good vibes began with our bus driver; let’s call her “Lorraine”, like the delicious quiche. She navigated the bus with a smile on her face and a welcome greeting for everyone who stepped on and a good wish for everyone who stepped off. Her warm nature was completely unconditional; she seemed to get ultimate pleasure in knowing everyone else was having a good time.

We entered the park in a daze of bewilderment that comes from the over stimulation of so much going on around you. The first thing that came to mind was freedom. As I looked around it all appeared like a blur of colors intermingling. People were adorned in costumes that did not necessarily make any sense, just a conglomeration of materials, paint and accessories of various types. But I also saw some familiar tributes to characters like Tigger, Where’s Waldo and…well really those were the only two I recognized.

I took pictures of this naked painted man, as you can see here, his backside reading “Kiss’…you would think ‘my’ but I can’t make it out…butt.” What you cannot see is that his front side was just as bare and just as painted. I apologize for not getting a picture of that.

Swaying next to one of the many drum circles is where we spent most of our time. Tenley and I took our shoes off and enjoyed the rhythm. Our friend Mike brought his Cajon drum and wailed away. He moved on to some random plastic buckets later, eventually breaking one due to his intense pounding. Playing this music was a good release for him.

It was such a great moment, taking everyone in as they moved about without a care in the world. That was the best part about this festival, no one seemed to care about what anyone else thought, and that is because no one was judging anyone else. People felt comfortable with themselves in the presence of so many other people. This is not something you see on a daily basis.

Tenley and I set off to do some hula hooping and ended up discovering another drum circle with some more characters soaking up the rhythm of the festival. There were two guys who had tie-died themselves and were executing some curious gymnastic routine. Once again, just free to move and be whatever they wanted. We also met Leo, a very, very tall man with dreadlocks. He was a nice man and he took our picture.

As we walked back towards the shuttle school bus to leave the festival, we were happy to see that “Lorraine” was once again our escort. She reciprocated the excitement as recognized the faces she had dropped off earlier. “Did everyone have a great time?” she wanted to know. Better than I could have imagined. On the bus ride we sat next to Jay and his guitar. We sang Beatles songs and a little Otis Redding. Also, in a rebellious childhood moment, we smoked a cigarette on the school bus. Lorraine did not mind as long as we were courteous to those around us and did not burn holes in the seats. It felt strangely liberating to be smoking that cigarette on the school bus, yet another manifestation of the sentiment that rules do not apply on Eeyore’s birthday.

I am thinking today, the day after, why it is that this gloomy character’s birthday from Winnie the Pooh is celebrated every April in Austin, TX in honor of spring. There may be reasons that the festival organizers came up with, but I have some of my own. Eeyore is the unexpected guest, the one whom the rest of the characters in Pooh Corner may be surprised to see show up with a party hat on. He is also the one who needs a little urging, some encouraging words to reassure him that his friends love him for who he is. But one of the best traits of Eeyore is that he doesn’t mind the rain or gray days. He may say “Oh woe is me,” but he accepts it as a part of reality that must be endured. So the festival is for the Eeyore in all of us, to remind us to shake the haters off and be who we want to be. It is also about the obnoxious Tiggers, absent-minded Poohs, motherly Kangas, little Roos, arrogant Owls and worrisome Rabbits that make our world interesting. We can find friends of various kinds to share our honey with. So Happy 45^th Eeyore, in your honor we once again welcome spring and diversity in Austin, TX.

Experience: A Work in Progress

I’ve been thinking lately about how we measure our experiences, or moreover, the quality of our experiences. I have been beating myself up for not having done enough, not being accomplished enough as I near my 25^th birthday. I know that many, especially those older than me, would tell me that I have no reason to panic. Yet I cannot seem to shake this impatient desire for what the future will bring. I feel like I am waiting impatiently to find the golden egg so that I may crack it open and secure the treasure that I seek. I am not sure what this is exactly, more an intangible sentiment of fulfillment, a materialization of my yearning for all of these visions that I cannot place my finger on. They are intense feelings more than anything else, scenes I visualize of places I’ve been or want to go, and I am chasing that sensation of discovery. For the first time in my life thus far, time seems to be slipping away. I am being carried along at a fast pace and I do not seem to have the chance to keep up-I want to say, “stop!” I am not ready. I need more time to accomplish something, anything. A line in Bonnie Raitt’s song “Nick of Time” says “Time is much more precious when there’s less of it to waste.” I have to ask myself, am I wasting time or judging too harshly what it is I do with my time. This reminds me that I need to slow down and enjoy each moment, no matter how small. Now you may think that this is just the whining of a young woman, still so inexperienced, and not patient enough to appreciate the simplicities of life. This may very well be true. This is why I seek the answer to this question, so that I can explore the winding road that is this never-ending story. So I ask, “How do you measure the value of your experiences?”

Looking back over the last six years since I graduated from high school, after all that is really when life as I now know it began, I realize I have done a lot, been many places, and met many amazing people. I have had the opportunity to travel abroad and to live in some inspirational cities, Austin definitely being one of them. I went to college, two different ones, and finished my degree in English. Not until the end of my college career did I realize what it was that I wanted to do, to be a journalist. In my last semester I began working as an unpaid, unofficial intern for a public radio station, which even further confirmed for me that this was the path I wished to pursue. Ever since this I have been trying to attain a similar position, to no avail.

Leaving the small college town of Chico, CA has made this a more difficult task. In Austin I have had the opportunity to work for a radio station as a remote coordinator, setting up broadcasts, but promises of training for news reporting have fallen short. I realize this is the nature of the business and the path I have chosen; it is not the easiest nor the quickest way to the top, and definitely not the quickest way to make money. During my last visit home, in an attempt to make me feel better as I expressed my jealousy towards my younger brother’s ability to buy a house (he’s a forest firefighter and works very hard), my dad told me he used to carry around a saying in his wallet that said, “you can either seek repose, or you can seek the truth, but not both.” I am, he told me, the type of person who seeks the truth; my dad, a self-employed musician, has embraced this restless, rambling spirit. He was not trying to demean the success or choices of my brother by making this comparison, but pointing out the differences in the paths we chose. My brother found a job he loves that also pays very well, but in doing this he has sacrificed getting his degree thus far, and he stayed very close to the small town in which we grew up. But he is happy; he is content. In comparison, I am happy, but learning to be content is an everyday struggle that I feel I may always be fighting for. I have a mind that never shuts up and is always asking “what if?” and “why?” This is something about myself that at times I value, and at times drives me crazy.

My life feels, at times, much like a roller coaster, a train journey that I am taking in which I am always getting off at random stops and changing destinations. Understand that I do not regret or wish to exchange this chaos for monotony; this inconsistency is what gives my life vivacity. All of these leaps of faith have developed a collage for me to look back upon, and I know there is much more waiting to be added, more pieces of memories. More colors, tastes, smells, looks, sensations, many more train rides heading in an unknown direction.

In this sense my experience is rich and I am so grateful for what I have seen so far. My bank account is low, I often feel I am chasing after a career that I may never get a hold of, and that biting restlessness always pushing me while at the same time weighing me down, making yearn for solace. I am constantly wondering, and wandering, Am I where I am supposed to be? Supposed to be…that is an interesting angle from which to view one’s life. It is like saying “I should have…” after the fact, after you made a choice out of many you “could have” made. It is like going out to eat, finishing off your meal, and then saying I should have ordered such and such. But you didn’t, so what’s the point? Your belly is filled with something different, that may be just as satisfying but you are too busy fretting over another choice you could have made. Who is to say that one choice is any better than another; each one carries with it a unique journey, a new perspective earned. Another quote from my dad “it is not a right choice or a wrong choice, it is just a choice and you take what you can from it and move on.” In other words, don’t worry so much about what you are supposed to be doing, as what it is that you are doing. This is not complacency, this is learning to live in the moment and appreciate what experiences are in front of your face at this very moment.

How do you learn to live in the moment while still focusing on moving ahead? This is something I am struggling with right now. I know many other people my age are as well. We want what we want and we want it now! Forget patience, life is rushing along without me, as I cling onto the back of it by my fingertips. There is always a reason to look back, to regret, to say, “I should have, or I am supposed to be…” How do we look at the experiences we have had so far as worthy, instead of as only stepping-stones to the “real prize” at the end of all this scavenging for bits. As soon as one accomplishment is met, we too quickly look ahead for the next event, forgetting the value of what we already have in our pockets. Are not these experiences weighed when considering success? After all, life should not be lived as a means to an end.

Are these considerations all arbitrary? I do not believe necessarily that money, or even a job, equals success. It is more akin to passionately working hard at what drives you, to love and be loved by the people and places that surround you. But this can happen in parts, it is a process, not just point A to point B. As I sit in this café and glance around at my fellow seekers, I consider how many of them are fighting the idea in their head that they are enough, that this moment they are in right now is enough. Yes, there are more goals to accomplish, but there is much to be appreciated in their lives at this moment if they really think I about it. If I really think about it…

Adventures in Docublogging

Last Saturday Lindsey and I began an adventure as docubloggers. Inspired by watching some an episode on the local public television station, KLRU, I immediately sent Lindsey an urgent myspace comment (the most urgent kind of message has to be transmitted this way) informing her that we were going to be docubloggers (she just didn’t know it yet.) The next day Lindsey wandered into my office ready for a helping of some of my crazy rambling. But this time I had a rational plan. Well, kind of. I didn’t know what I wanted to do exactly, but I was determined to do something. That’s the first step right? Throwing a few disconnected ideas around, Lindsey expressed that she had always been interested in the situation of homeless people in the city. This idea we decided to overlap with my interest in how all of the recent growth in Austin is affecting the local personality. Basically, I just wanted us to hit the streets and see what we could dig up.

Let me explain a bit about this docublogging stuff. According to KLRU “a docublogger is a video about a person, place, event, or anything else in your community.” And a docublogger is someone who not only enjoys watching stories about their community, but also wants to share them. KRLU is sponsoring a contest to inspire people to document a facet of life in central Texas. There have been entries on everything from sledding at Murchinson middle school during one of those rare Texas “winter” moments, to coverage of the writers guild strike’s affect on Austin’s stage and screen writers, to librarians from UT sharing their blog on celebrity recipes and make-up tips. Really anything is fair game, done with creativity and passion. One of my favorites that I saw was of two UT students conducting random social experiments. For example, for one they got a large group of students to all begin coughing at once in an area of campus utilized for public speaking events. They also did one where they gave a big group of volunteers cardboard paper towel rolls, split them into two groups, and then had them rush at one another and begin hitting each other with them while confused onlookers took in the scene. What I like about this is there is definite objective but to stimulate uncommon, or uncomfortable social situations and see how people react. An experiment in mass social psychology. You can use digital cameras, video cameras, or even cell phone pictures to document your project. This enables everyday people to enter the contest without any prior, or professional documentary/journalistic experience.

Although I had conducted interviews before, I knew this would be different. Equipped with my mini-disc recorder, a great camera and video camera and not much of an agenda, we embarked on a sunny Saturday afternoon to find our piece of central Texas to share. As we traveled down to 6^th street, enjoying the simple pleasure of the sun shining on our faces, we began to take note of various city scenes. Billboards and business signs that say more than they mean to when interpreted, beggars holding their cardboard signs on the side of the freeway, people wandering with the freedom a Saturday brings, tempting smells wafting from the doorways of local restaurants and then the almost haunting emptiness of E. 6^th street during the day, left trampled by the drunken crowds of the night before. Without the crowds and loud music coming from the open doorways of bars, the downtown streets become raw and truthful, left bare after the chaos of partiers. We are directed into a parking spot by “James Bond” as he is eating his pasta. James immediately offered me some of his pasta. I had to decline his offer, but I asked him if he would mind talking to me. “[I will tell you anything you want to know, as long as you don’t mind the truth because I tell it like it is. I don’t want to offend you],” he said. I told him truth was exactly what I wanted. As Lindsey photographed I continued to talk with James about APD being after him, his view on the skyscrapers going up around downtown and how he would be sad if one fell over and someone got hurt. He didn’t want to talk about his children or he would cry, and he believed growth was good, especially growth in the heart and the mind. We left James to his pasta and headed down 6^th street.

It was almost eerie walking along the grimy sidewalks, the darkness of layers of filth almost making a mockery of the bright sun, passing ranting street people, while naïve tourists rode the duck tours mobile blowing their duck horns at passersby. We spoke with a woman from the Black Cat Tattoo Shop, and then Dave. He had a sad, lonely countenance and spoke with open honesty that insinuated his lack of pride. He did hesitate to admit that alcohol was to blame for his life on the streets. He said, “I would enjoy living in Austin a lot more if I wasn’t on the streets.” When he smiled it was shy and childish, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to express pleasure in anything. He was completely lucid, and I believe he is trying to get clean as he said. Maybe that is naïve of me, but I want to have hope in Dave. I have to have hope in Dave, and the idea that people do get more than one chance at life. We all need that reassurance-it’s ok to fuck up.

A valet at the Driskill was our most intriguing, and unexpected discovery. Approaching him with questions about working at one of the most well known historical and sophisticated sites in Austin, we soon found that he had much more to offer as perspective. He had been a street kid for a significant part of his life until he decided to turn his life around. When asked why he chose to leave the streets he told us, [“street kids do not want to be part of the repetitive life of a job and structure, but living on the streets is repetitive. You get up in the morning, look for drugs and drink, and beg for money.”] Observing him work, his pride was evident and he was extremely attentive to every person passing through the door. He took Lindsey and me on a little tour, sharing some of his knowledge about the history of the hotel. Be fore we left Lindsey photographed him confidently standing with his peers of the Driskill valet team.

After wandering Congress and then running out of batteries for the camera, we decided we would have to call it quits for the day. It was interesting to both us how many transplants we had came upon, all coming to Austin for the unique environment that this city has to offer; freedom of expression, the abundance of artistic offerings, the beautiful green spaces and the friendly demeanor of its locals. But I think both of us were secretly wondering how long Austin will be able to maintain its incomparable personality, characteristic of its ability to offer local artistic flavor that has developed in the city over decades of being able to live by its own rules. Will these outside forces and influence of the influx of “transplants” alter what is innately Austin? How will this affect people like James Bond and Dave who may get further lost in the streets as they become overpopulated and buried by condos and high rise buildings. Is this to be the fate of every small city that draws people because it has something exceptional to offer, then ends being lost because of this allure?

But at the end of this Saturday in Austin, this unbelievable city to which I transplanted, the sun was still shining on our faces and people were smiling. Ben Harper was singing “Don’t let em’ take the fight outta you,” we drove over the Congress bridge and our hearts were full of the possibilities and voices of the people that this city holds in its streets.

The Return Home

Once I left for college, the holidays have never quite been the same. Obviously you say. Well, yes. However, it is interesting for me to note the increase in the sensitivity of my perceptions, as I grow older. The only thing we can absolutely count on in life is change. Although, often when people go home they say with a sigh of relief and often annoyance, “some things never change.” But they do. Even more so,change from being out in the world on our own. For most of us, our family is our initial influence and no matter where we go, we are enveloped by that presence.


When we leave home, we are able to gain an outside perspective. As independent adults we are exposed to issues of concern from which we may have been formally protected. Suddenly we begin to see members of our family for what they are, human beings. Human beings with faults, broken hearts, drug addictions, anxiety, eating disorders, loneliness and longing, with pasts that refuse to leave them alone. Human beings who are wonderful parents, husbands and wives, sister and brothers, adventurers, musicians, photographers, lovers; they are the backbone, the reason I am the way I am. That realization has been my favorite, and is to me the most precious. As a child I had a superficial idea of who these people traipsing around as my family were. I did not yet know the defeating complications that in turn truly illuminate qualities. Knowing a person’s faults and who they are despite them, makes them real, more accessible for exploration. I have been able to put together pieces like a puzzle, re-creating the people I thought I knew, but were really just fragments. I am repeatedly amazed at who these people are becoming to me, something more whole. It is intriguing to watch these complicated scenes of beauty come together.

Christmas Eve with the Sheehy family can feel a bit, or actually a lot, like a three-ring circus. Lots of finger foods, drinks, loud voices, bright lights, music, crowds, strange outfits, and even animals (usually marauding as little children run astray from their not so watchful parents.) There is never a lack of spectacles to look at, and the ringmaster (my father) is often just as distracted as everyone else. Therefore his fervent dedication to taming the gigantic crowd, a result of the Irish Catholic tradition of making babies, for Christmas songs is always the most entertaining part of the show. However, every year he succeeds, and Christmas Eve would not be the same without assignments being doled out for the Sheehy family’s “Patridge in a Pear Tree.”

While it is evident that the baggage of the past is carried into the future, the cycle of life continues, refreshing everyone’s insight. There are new lives, little baby faces that mirror the faces I grew up with. The faces through which I first identified myself and I still see myself reflected there. The Sheehy part of my Irish inheritance, a name I will never give up and always defend. The crazy Sheehys-the loudest voices and the biggest hearts heard reverberating off the pine tree filled mountains. Known as much for their triumphs as their mistakes. The music of my dad and his brother are my Northern California poetry. It is because of this chaos that I will always desire home.

One of the best experiences I have gotten to experience since leaving home is watching my younger brother and sister grow into adults. Now our differences make us respect one another for our unique personalities. I know it was difficult for my bro and sis to get a grasp on my craziness. Yes I still experience the confused, uncomfortable looks when I say or do bizarre things, but now I sense they realize these are my endearing qualities.

We too have become, or excuse me, are becoming adults and individuals in one another’s eyes-not just siblings. I am ecstatically looking forward to the road ahead and my many journeys “home” as we continue to develop our spirits.

The Foster family, my mother’s side, has a little lower volume. The quirks are still there though, and it has been so much fun to discover the characteristics of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

I often wish we were closer, and got to see one another more. Every time I see my younger cousins, I am taken aback by how much they have grown-and how short I am. Again, it is that experience of watching as these children evolve into adults with personalities independent of my aunts’ and uncles’ care. Being the oldest grandchild on this side, I have fond memories of holding my younger cousins as babies, giving them baths and reading them books.

My grandma and grandpa are growing wearier under their years. My grandfather once the center of all the energy gets tired often. This is hard to accept, but I remind myself of the wonderful memories I have. Basketball games, Chinese food, discussing politics and diving off the big boat at the lake. I know it is hard on him and my grandma to accept their aging as well, but I hope they know I see them in everything I do.

Being in Austin, TX 1,800 miles from my California home in the mountains, it is important for me to still feel connected to the family and friends that nurtured me long before I was ready to head out on my own. So are the changes I witness on my various homecomings primarily within or in the people I have always depended upon for consistency? That is not even really the point to be analyzed, because it is both. “The only thing one can count on is change.” Sometimes we are too close to the source to identify changes in the familiar, once we step back we see the layers. So at this point I suppose I do not feel relief or annoyance for the things that stay the same, but acceptance. Sometimes the changes I detect scare me, but they also make me feel a closer connection to the people and places I can rely on to comfort and inspire me. I am happy to be both a participant and an observer of the continual ebb and flow.

Oh, and the dogs are fine.

What will Blogging Bring?

Well after talking about it and thinking about it, I'm going to be about it. Having an innate fear and just overall incompatibility with technology, the act of blogging seemed way too far out in cyberspace for me. Just stick to pen and paper, were my thoughts. But now, after looking at the tools I have at my fingertips to express my own creativity-hopefully inspiring me to dedicate more time to my art-and seeing the influence others have had through their blogs, I have made the initial step. I gave myself a title, posting name, and web address. Thank goodness for great little template programs like this that make it easy for people like me to work online.

I have to admit, I am still a bit afraid. I have never been completely comfortable and confident putting my work out there for others to read. It seems so final to me in some sense when you put forth a piece of writing, as if once it is out there you have let it go, let go of anything you want to revise or delete altogether. Even though the creative process is a constant, where nothing is ever really finished, once it is seen by others it takes on some solidarity, some finality. But I will shrug off the concerns of judgement with the realization that if I am speaking from my heart, yes maybe it could be said better or more poignantly, but it is always true. The truth of my own perceptions anyway. I want to be able to share what feeds my soul with others. For me what "it" is all about-this life we are living- is making connections. Those moments where you look at a piece of art or read some writing that makes you sigh from the fullness of your heart, and think "yes." Even more inspirational is when you make this type of connection with another human being. This I believe is part of the essence of why we are here, to learn about one another, and I am all about that. Coming back to my point, I want this action I am taking to encourage me to be more willing to share; to learn more about my creative process, and to gain encouragement and criticism of my writing.

As always, even if I am nervous about the unknown, I welcome the ride. I hope you enjoy coming along with me.