Bon appetit!

I had cereal for breakfast this morning. After my run, I had cereal again for lunch. By the time the sun was going down, I had already decided on spending the evening at home, which brought up thoughts about dinner. "Hmmm... Shall I make it three for three?" No, no. I decided to kill two birds with one stone: I'd vary the day's food intake and partake in a fun activity. I would cook something!

Now, if you've known me longer than, say, an hour and a half, you know I don't cook. Period. One reason is I really do love cereal. This is a holdover from my childhood and I don't see this facet of my being disappearing. (Cereals of choice have changed somewhat though. And I made the switch from whole to skim milk years ago.) Another reason is prior to moving to Mission, I had a 300-square-foot studio apartment. My kitchen cabinets were used as general storage, so even if I had been culinarily inclined, there was no room for pots, pans, and other cooking accoutrements.

Which leads to this evening. I have a fully stocked kitchen where I'm living. So, I headed over to the grocery store for the ingredients for tonight's meal: penne pasta with sauce and garlic bread. I figured any moron can make pasta.

I had a conundrum right off the bat: The jar of sauce lacked instructions. Do I just put this stuff in a pot and wait for it to boil? I figured that was the case, so I did just that while my penne water was heating to a boil. It didn't take long before the sauce began burping bubbles. Is that supposed to happen? Adjustment made...

I got the penne in the pot and threw the bread in the oven. From there, it was just stir and wait. When the penne finished up, I dished some onto a plate and poured the sauce on top. And... It was really good! So good, in fact, that I completely forgot about the bread. Those pups were briquets. A plume of smoke rose from inside the oven, so I hit the button for the fan. That's when what looked like shredded wood chips rained down from the exhaust and into the open pot of sauce and all over the stovetop. I couldn't distinguish spice from wood, so adios to the sauce. A peril of living in an old building, I guess.

Thankfully, I'm not too good for plain pasta and parmesan cheese. After shoveling the penne down (I was hungry, evidently), it was time for dishes, an activity I've learned I somewhat enjoy. But I really wanted some bread. I fixed up another piece, placed it into the oven, and commenced dishwashing. The oven must have still been pretty warm, because it was black by the time I finished the dishes. I had even turned on the oven's timer. Oh well. It just wasn't meant to be.

Tonight's end result was two plates of penne in my stomach, half a jar of sauce and three pieces of blackened bread in the trash. Tomorrow, I'm going back to my cereal. And I'm heading over to LaCosta's for the Super Bowl and dinner. There's a chance the Bacon Explosion may be making an appearance, so no cooking for me. An angioplasty, on the other hand...

Now, I'm off to have some ice cream. That I can handle.

Becoming a familiar face

I wasn't planning to go to the grocery store during my lunchtime walk, so I didn't bring my green grocery bag with me. But I was right there, so I stopped in for a few things I needed. After I placed my items on the belt, the cashier asked, "Do you have your bag?" When I told her I wasn't expecting do to any shopping, she kiddingly chided me for not bringing my reusable bag.

It's not the same as Alma knowing my order by heart at the Valley Restaurant in Juneau, but I'll take this display of recognition any day.

Happy new year!

I knew 2008 was going to be a big year. I would be turning 30. I'd vest with the State of Alaska, both a milestone and an opportunity. And I was just generally optimistic. This year is a bit different though. It's more a year of settling in as opposed to one of change. The optimism is still there though.

Somehow, in my advanced age, I've become this idealistic, glass-is-half-full person the Brian of 10 years ago would not recognize. It's not that I was doom and gloom before. I think it has more to do with obstacles I've overcome over the past several years. Challenges present themselves now with only a shrug of my shoulders. It's been worse. Life will go on, because it always does.

So, how do I foresee 2009 turning out? Taking advantage of my time on the reservation. Making as much of an impact as a VISTA as possible. Maintaining relationships separated by distance, while forging new ones locally. Training for and feeling good after the marathon. Breaking even financially. And remaining optimistic.

I should have made the damn pancakes instead!

An article reporting USD's MLK Day of Service activities appeared in Friday's Vermillion Plain Talk. The accompanying photo was of three of my group's members cooking up pancakes at the Welcome Table. The photographer arrived early in the afternoon before most of the cooking had commenced. Otherwise, I just know he couldn't have passed up a shot of me, tongs in hand, fishing little smokies out of a crock pot. Next time, I guess...

Smokies anyone?

Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, of course. It was a "day on" for us VISTAs, not a day off. The VISTAs in the more populated areas of South Dakota (i.e. everyone but me) planned and attended events in their local areas. I, on the other hand, got to travel to Vermillion, about three and a half hours to the east, to participate in an event put on by the University of South Dakota.

Students and members of the community met at Vermillion High School's gym, where we were placed into random groups. After listening to two "motivational" speakers, the group leaders revealed the service tasks to be completed during the day. Our group was asked to plan, cook, and serve a meal at the Welcome Table. This program is put on every Monday night at the Methodist church in town. This free meal is open to the community.

Most of the folks in the group were USD students, some of whom had volunteered at the Welcome Table before. So, they were familiar with the setup of the kitchen, meals served in the past, and how the evening generally would progress. We decided to take a pass on popular meals like spaghetti, soup, and chili. Instead, we chose to cook up pancakes, little smokies, applesauce, and fruit cups. Really, can one go wrong with breakfast for dinner?

After half of the group returned with supplies from the Hy-Vee, there was some downtime until the cooking had to begin. Okay, there was a lot of downtime, which frankly sucked considering I had traveled so far to help out. In the meantime, the group got to know one another, while the two precocious girls in the group posed for the photographer from the Plain Talk.

Activity finally ramped up around 4:30 p.m., when the first pancakes were placed on the griddles. Then, we had a quick orientation with the woman who runs the program, who assigned tasks. This was the one part of the evening when I had to bite my tongue. She gave a brief overview of the Welcome Table for those of us who had never volunteered there before. She said the program's mission was to serve a meal to those who would rather not eat alone. Because no one like to eat by themselves, right?

Oh, it's times like this I admire my self-restraint. What I wanted to say was, "Ummm... Some of us are single and eat alone most of the time. And get this. Some of us actually like to eat alone. At restaurants no less!" But no, I kept quiet. Just another person who thinks solitude equals sadness and loneliness. I'm glad I have enough sense to believe otherwise.

Anyway, I digress...

I was assigned to the little smokie station. I would start a plate, put three smokies on it, and pass it off to Kristen, a USD freshman and my partner for the evening, so she could add three pancakes. (Kids received two of each.) And man were we movin'! The folks behind us cooking up the pancakes could barely keep up.

The Welcome Table is setup like a restaurant as opposed to a buffet or soup line. Diners remain seated at their tables and place their orders. Volunteers then run to the kitchen window (where I was located) to grab the filled plates. I really liked this aspect of the program. Between 100 and 300 meals are served every Monday, and I can see why it's so popular. Although the dinner is open to anyone (of course, with the mission of serving those lonely souls with no friends), most of those who attended were either elderly or physically/mentally handicapped.

Kristen and I remained busy for a good hour and a half before we were relieved so we could eat. Surprisingly, neither of us was hungry. I wonder if that had anything to do with the fact we would sneak a smokie or a pancake between serving up the plates. We decided we couldn't with a clean conscience serve folks deformed pancakes. (If I ever became a cook at a restaurant serving food I liked, I'd end up weighing like 1,800 pounds.) But we managed to scarf down our dinner plates anyway. Actually, it was more like dessert, what with the whipped cream and chocolate chips on top. I felt a bit sick afterward, but it was well worth.

The crowd started to disperse around 7. That's when we started putting together to-go boxes while the others cleaned the dining room and the dishes. Since I had a long drive ahead of me, I left a bit earlier than the others at 7, heading to Wal-Mart to pickup a few items I can't find in Mission and some celery for LaCosta. And I managed to stop at the Dairy Queen in Yankton for a Blizzard. My stomach had settled down by that point. Even if it hadn't, I just can't pass up a Blizzard.

I made it home at about 20 after 11 and quickly went to bed. I did get up bright and early for work the next morning, not so hard considering the commute. All told, even with the slow start, the trip was definitely worthwhile. Besides the whole service aspect, meeting students from USD was great. Everyone had good things to say about the university, which strengthened my desire to attend post-VISTA. And the group was fun. I guess that was never in doubt, since we were all there for the same reason.

Sunsets

There have been many occasions since arriving in Mission I've found myself running outside to watch the sunset. That's one thing I'll never get sick of. I live in a prime sunset-viewing location, with nothing to disrupt the view to the west. I woke up from my nap this afternoon to see a flaming sky out of my bedroom window. With camera in tow, I threw on some clothes and headed out the door:

The only other place I've see skies like this is the Texas Panhandle, one of my favorite areas of the country. How I love open country!

On that subject, I heard George Strait's "Amarillo by Morning" for the first time last week. Great song! Reminds me of my many drives up 287 from the Metroplex. I can still rattle off the names of the towns along the way: Wichita Falls, Vernon, Childress, Memphis, Clarendon...

Sigh.

Parched

Just thought I'd mention how dry it is here. This is by far the most arid place I've ever lived. And having resided in a rain forest the past five and half years has me always within an arm's reach of both water and hand lotion.

Granted, I'm west of the hundredth meridian. But it's not like it's the desert. The area does receive about 20 inches of rain per year. I'm having a heck of a time keeping myself moisturized and hydrated though.

And can I please tell you about my scalp? It is an obsessive-compulsive's dream right now. Itch, itch, itch. Last week's speakers mentioned how lice is prevalent within the schools here. After they said that, I couldn't stop scratching my head. That's just what I need.

I went running today and yesterday, battling a stiff northwest wind both days. Running headfirst into it and going up the hill along the Dump Road was a killer. And I could feel the wind scouring every drop of moisture out of my sinuses and throat as it sailed into my nose and mouth.

My delicate skin and I will adapt, for sure. And it'll be interesting to see how my running season progresses with the change in climate. I've run very few races in dry, sunny weather. The one that comes to mind is 2007's Apple Hill Harvest Run in California's Sierra foothills. I ran and placed well, even with a pretty significant hill. But I made a conscious effort to stop at every aid station, something I didn't worry about during the races in Juneau.

So, I'll stick with that plan. In the meantime, I'll continue to get myself outside running uphill into a 30 MPH headwind like a lunatic. I have to be prepared!

Some new perspectives

This afternoon, the college kids from Nebraska left for home. They were students studying to become teachers, elementary and special education mostly. They spent their days in local schools and their evenings here at Habitat. Some of them were able to squeeze in some time working on our homes; for the most part though, their nights were spent here in the building. They had speakers every night, and I was able to listen in on a few.

The most striking presentation was from a local couple. He is a supervising nurse at the hospital, while she is a social worker. The stories they told about their time here on the Rosebud were amazing and frightening. And they passed along statistics I hadn't heard about, like the fact there are 73 active gangs on the reservation. They spoke about 30-year-old grandmothers, the diabetes epidemic, physical abuse, alcoholism, teenage suicide, the lack of resources, and other local social ills. I'd heard about these issues before, of course, but it's different hearing a first-hand account compared to reading about it online or even in the local newspaper.

Listening to them speak so matter-of-factly about what they have seen and experienced really provided me with a new perspective of what life is truly like for a significant portion of the reservation. I did ask them what kept them motivated in their respective lines of work considering the challenges here. Surprisingly, I heard a lot of the same reasons from them that I have mentioned when I tell folks why I'm loving living in Mission: the sunsets, the sense of humor people possess, the wanting to make a difference, the landscape. That was reassuring.

I've made a strong effort to not only get myself out in the community to meet people and learn their customs, but to make this my home as well. But one of my concerns came up in last night's presentation by a teacher who taught locally for a number of years. She spoke about the ideas of and need for continuity and consistency in the lives of the children in her classes here. I look at this as not only a challenge for the youth, but for everyone here.

And that's where I come in. How do I build credibility in the community when there has been a pattern of people from outside the reservation moving to the Rosebud, staying for a few years, and then going away? Aren't I in the same position? I'm in a one-year commitment, which is by design. But I've been here two months already and before I know it, my time will be up. Yes, I'm planning to stay maybe six months longer, but the end result will be the same.

I can hang my hat on the fact I know I'm here for the right reasons. I'm a big believer in Habitat's mission, and if any population is in need of safe, affordable housing, it's the residents of the Rosebud. I want this affiliate to remain a presence on the reservation, which is a challenge in itself. And I have a sincere interest in learning what life is like for the families who have been here for generations.

Another positive result from this week's presentations was having my insistence on living on the reservation affirmed. The VISTA position I had actually applied for was on another reservation here in South Dakota; however, housing was only available off-reservation 20 miles to the south. The teacher who spoke actually lived in Valentine while working on the Rosebud. I asked her specifically how that dynamic worked, living in a mostly-white community and working on the mostly-native reservation. She talked about the misconceptions present on both sides of the border, issues I was concerned about. I think I was right in thinking I could build more credibility by living in the same community as my co-workers and the partner families.

That I'm thankful for, among many other things.

I'm getting married at Pizza Hut

Okay, that's completely hypothetical. And improbable.

Anyway, I just came across this article about a couple that just married inside a Taco Bell. Kind of quirky, but whatever. What made me laugh though was the Taco Bell is located in Normal, Illinois. Hardly!

I wonder where they'll honeymoon. Lord knows you can't just go to the Poconos after taking your vows in a fast-food joint.

This weekend

I went to Wounded Knee yesterday. It was a sad visit, not just because of what has transpired there, but due to the current state of poverty. Like here on the Rosebud, no matter what statistic one chooses, the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation is poor. One difference I noted between the two though was that Pine Ridge was visibly dirtier; trash was strewn everywhere. I don't see much of that in Mission or the greater reservation.

There wasn't much by which to remember the victims of the Wounded Knee Massacre. Part of this is probably on purpose, in my opinion. But there was a marker, placed behind a chain fence, in the small cemetery on top of a hill. Down below, the remains of a visitor center were still standing. And across the road, a large sign telling the story of the massacre stood in a small pull-out. That was it.

The remainder of the day was decidedly more upbeat. I continued west before heading down to Chadron, Nebraska. I stopped for lunch. (Skip Donald's if you're ever there. I would have been better off going to Pizza Hut.) I then took a quick driving tour around town and walked the core blocks of downtown. The town is home to Chadron State College, which gave it a decidedly younger flair, especially compared to my current stomping grounds of Valentine. The median age in Chadron is only 24.9, compared to Valentine's 40.1.

Speaking of Valentine, that was my next destination, heading east from Chadron. I did some quick grocery shopping before heading back to Mission. Groceries are a lot cheaper in Valentine, so I try to pick up my staples when I'm down there.

***

I was back in the Heart City this morning for a run along the Cowboy Trail. I was out for a good two hours and had the trail to myself save for a man and his two dogs at the start. What a great run! I've mentioned it before, but the Cowboy Trail is built along what used to be a railroad. The line went dormant, and it's now part of the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy. The trail runs parallel to a highway, but it didn't seem like it for most of the run. There was a decent buffer between the road and trail.

Because the trail follows the former railroad, the grade isn't severe. There was a noticeable change in elevation, however. This will serve as a good place to train for June's Mickelson Trail Marathon. That trail is also a part of the Conservancy.

One of the challenges running the trail, like the Dump Road here in Mission, is the long sight lines. It takes a different kind of focus running in this area compared to the trails I ran in Juneau. There, my main concerns were bears and making sure not to fall. As far as the latter is concerned, one look at my scarred legs should tell you how successful I was in that endeavor. Here, I can see for miles, which is great, but makes it seem like I'm running in place at times. Or, I'll think distances are closer than they actually are. Just a different set of challenges.

One fun aspect of the Cowboy Trail, on the other hand, was the cows and horses along the way. Granted, I didn't grow up on a farm and this is the first time I've lived in ranching country. But having a herd of cows stare at me as I ran past their field was pretty neat. And I knew they were watching! Back in town, the trail passes right by the Valentine Livestock Auction Market. The cows in there didn't seem as pleased as their brethren running free just a few miles away. I wonder why...

***

The first work group since my arrival at Habitat comes into town tonight. They're from a college in Nebraska. So, it should be pretty lively around here through Friday. I'm looking forward to it, considering meeting folks from across the country was one of the highlights of my trip to the Gulf Coast last April.

Overall, life is great for me in Mission, South Dakota. One can't complain with a weekend of temperatures around 40 and the sun shining. In January! And boy am I glad I'm not digging out under all of the snow in Juneau right now. Over four feet has fallen there just since the New Year. Yeah, I don't miss that nonsense.

A night at the museum

While thinking ahead to what's in store for me in 2009, I naturally started reminiscing about 2008. And that led back even further to the years I spent in Juneau. I could literally come up with a list of the top-100 moments (mostly good, but some bad) since May 2003 when I drove off of the ferry at Auke Bay.

That being said, one evening stands out. Maybe it's because it occurred relatively recently, but I think it's really because it represents a culmination of my experiences in Juneau.

The Alaska State Museum solicited entries for its biennial show, Alaska Positive. I entered on a lark, thinking I had as good a chance as anyone. Keep in mind though, although I typically respond "photography" when I'm asked about my hobbies (it always comes after "running"), I'm by no means an artist.

I've taken a lot of photos; many of them send me back mentally to the time the shot was taken: physical place, emotions, thoughts, stage in life. That's what defines a great photo for me. And sometimes I luck out technically with elements like the lighting, composition, and weather.

So, why not enter? It was more difficult than expected to choose the four entries. First, I had to actually like the photo. Second, it had to be unique. I mean, everyone in Juneau and their mother have taken a picture of the Mendenhall Glacier. And third, I had to picture it on the wall of a museum. I learned more about this aspect after the opening.

I enlarged my four selections, all of the standard 8"x10" variety. I then went and bought mattes and backing boards, put my pieces together, and titled them. Easy enough. When it came time to drop them off at the museum though, I had to price them. Okay, how do I put a price tag on what had seemed like an arts and crafts project? Feeling the pressure, I put them up for sale for 50 bucks. Each. It only took me until I walked out the door to think to myself, "What the hell, Bri? Fifty dollars???"

***

I was in New Roads, Louisiana, of all places, when I got the e-mail: "Congratulations, your entry into Alaska Positive was chosen by the Juror, Bill Owens, for the exhibit." I'm thankful Brandie was there so I could share the news with someone. It took some digging to first find out how many of the four had been chosen, and then which one was actually picked. 

I had e-mailed friends at home before returning to town. I was excited, what can I say? And then during my first morning back at work, after talking about my birthday travels, I shared my additional news. The opening was to take place during First Friday, just three days after I had gotten back into town.

One of the reasons this evening stands out is because it just seemed like "my" night. Don't get me wrong, I'm not delusional. There had to be at least 50 photographs on the walls, and it's not like I won anything. But someone decided my piece deserved to be up on that wall. That was enough.

But I will always remember that night mostly because of who was there. I've said before I really liked my job at the Department of Labor, and one of the reasons why was my co-workers. Yes, yes, it's corny. But it's the truth. And it was that night it finally hit me, "Hey, these people actually give a fuck about me."

But the flip side of that coin is that some people don't. Just like it probably shouldn't had taken me so long to realize the former, the latter didn't just happen overnight. (Now there's a life lesson I learned in 2008: Know when to cut the friggin' cord.)

The introspective shit was all after the fact though. Negativity was nowhere to be found on this evening. After the opening, I went to dinner with friends before calling it a night. All in all, between this and the previous two and a half weeks in Biloxi and New Orleans, I can't think of a better way to celebrate turning 30.

P.S. My fears about overpricing the photo were completely unfounded. Mine was maybe the third- or fourth-cheapest piece available. A bargain!

Casualties of winter

The games we play

Just before heading down to Valentine this afternoon, I took this photo:

I didn't realize until now that I had posed myself in front of the bookcase with the bibles and associated religious paraphernalia. When y'all come to visit, we'll have to play a round of Bible Balderdash.

No use crying

I had just enough milk to get me through this morning's breakfast. Since cereal is such a staple in my diet (I probably eat four bowls per day), there was no question I had to head to the grocery store before dinnertime. Even with the cold, wind, and snow outside, there was no way I was driving, with the store so close and all.

I bundled up and made the 15-minute walk, chose from the two remaining gallons of skim, and was back on my way. The uncovered parts of my face were frozen, yes, but I had gotten my exercise and made it back home without frostbite. But as I went to unlock the door, I dropped the milk jug, which cracked in a couple spots after hitting the ground. The milk, the sustenance I had trekked to obtain through the worst of Old Man Winter, splattered. To avoid an even bigger mess, I quickly grabbed the jug and threw it outside next to the wind-battered manger scene. (It looks as though the three wise men were mowed down by a drive-by.)

So, I have to go back. Later. I'll pickup another gallon after the TCHS basketball game this evening. In the meantime though, I guess it will be either cheese and crackers or Pop Tarts for dinner.

***Crisis averted. I picked up another gallon of milk. I'll be able to have my Marshmallow Mateys for dinner after all. (Those are faux Lucky Charms, for the uninitiated.)***

Please make the room stop spinning

Facebook is overwhelming. That's all I have to say about that. I swear, sometimes I think I'm living in the wrong century.