Taxes. 2006.

With Joanna first, and then Sarah's help, David has almost finished up the taxes. This shot was actually taken after most of the piles had been put away, though the paper weight "shoes" still linger.

Now, we'll have to start sorting 2007 stuff . . . .

You know, the WEEKS of time it takes every year to do taxes makes me favor some sort of flat tax or consumer only tax (with exemptions for the poor, of course). Something has to be better than the convoluted mess we have now.

Finding Treasure

I love the idea of finding treasure. If they didn't cost so much, I'd buy a metal detector (White brand) in a flat SECOND. There is a giant hole in the back yard to prove my belief that I will one day find GOLD. My brother Glenn (yes, genetic relation to me) has one and he found a (?)Civil War era something in my yard when he came to visit. It looks like a piece from an elaborate bridle, I think. And, his detector showed metal, could be GOLD underground in MY yard. I've now almost completely dug up a giant cement lid with a metal handle, about two feet under ground, and 4 feet in diameter. David does not want me to finish digging because he says the black pipe leading to it suggests that it is a sewer cover. But, because I no longer have the metal detector to show me if just the handle set it off, I don't know. I mean, there could be GOLD under there!

What better place to hide a treasure chest full of gold than in a septic tank under ground, right?

My treasure hunt is not limited to gold. Imagine the day I found my first arrowhead. We were on a shoot in rural Georgia, and I drove the director mad when I kept asking for "one more minute" in the freshly plowed tobacco field before getting into her car.


This week, after spending 4 hours cleaning out closets and file boxes looking for Zion's lost passport, I'm into identifying coin defects in the piles of change I dug up. David laughs at each day's coin stash next to the magnifying glass on my desk. I'LL be the one laughing my way to the bank when I find an extra tree on my bright and shining Minnesota quarter!

There is one area where I've actually discovered multiple treasures. I'm blessed with amazing friends. Friendships that deepen with age. Not only are old friendships that I've held close for years "treasure," but new friendships are gems I joyfully unearth every few years.
Laura and Emily are a few of my Gem friends. We met through Ethiopian adoption, and we might as well have grown up down the block from each other. They are funny and deep and emotional and caring and sarcastic and inspirational and thoughtful and smart, too. A few weekends back, we met, all three together for the first time. I was sick, but pretended to myself that I could not possibly be contageous, just because there was no way I could give up seeing the two of them together. It was every bit as fun as I imagined and I can't wait to do it again.

35,000 people die each day from poverty

I wrote about him here.

And today, I learned he died.

He was a sweet boy, just one year older than my son. His dad was too poor to take him to the doctor, so hope leapt from his eyes when he learned we would take his son and cover the fees.

The barefoot boy traveled bravely, and sat stiffly in the back of the old pickup truck. I was a tall, pale woman he'd never seen before that day, and I smiled as I sat next to him. He jostled against me over the rutted roads, and when the busy "city" sites came into view, he allowed himself to lean on me a bit. I put my arm around him, mentally promising his father I would care for him while they were apart.

Each day we visited. His broad smile when I entered the room lit my days. When he was better, I carried his IV bag as we took short walks down the hall and onto the flowered sidewalks. Before I left Ethiopia, he was well enough to go back to his village.

A few months later, I got a note from Dr. Ruth, saying he was back in the hospital. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, but I believe some people spoke to his father and it was decided that, since the father had no means to care for him, and since the hospital was limited in it's facilities, that he would go up for adoption in the hopes that a family abroad might give him what we rich Westerners have in order to share . . . hope.

But, the process it did not happen quickly enough for this young man and he spent his last days far from home. I bet he was brave. I can see him smiling at the other kids, and smiling at his nanny, and when he no longer had the strength to smile, I bet his eyes said, "don't worry." I picture that because it was the kind of boy he was.

And today, I hope Tadesse is looking down at his daddy in the Bombay village of Ethiopia and telling him he doesn't have to cry because he feels much better now. His little chest no longer hurts, and he can run and play with the other kids.

For me, I want to gather all my photos of this brave young man and go find his dad to pay my respects.

Easter

So much has happened lately. I look through hundreds of photos I've taken in the past month and lament my lack of blog time. Easter gave Alden and Zion their first egg hunts, at Grandma's house. Hanna was there, and I think it may have been her first hunt, too, judging by the fun she had. This cute photo was her idea:


Zion has an amazing eye. You can't keep an egg (or a tiny spider, or ant, or smidgen of chewing gum) hidden for long with Zion nearby.


Check out the adults. I call this relaxed participation.

Cooking Frenzy!

I can still hear my kitchen panting after all the action it got last week. Like me, my kitchen is desperately out of shape.

The marathon came about because my mouth is bigger than my brain. It started because, Hanna Fanta, an incredible woman who gives her life for teenaged orphan girls, was visiting.

We held a fundraiser for her girls at fellow filmmaker Lee Ann's house. I naively offered to bring Ethiopian food with us.


WOW, did I underestimate the prep time (and the FUN) involved!

My friend Mari Tyson was a LIFE SAVER. She grew up in Soddo, Ethiopia, very close to where my daughter Zion was born (on the same hill, in fact). On the way to get Hanna at the Charlotte Airport, Mari and I stopped at The Nile Grocery to buy injera (3113 N. Sharon Amity Rd. Charlotte, NC 28205, Phone: 704 531-6221). I'm including the address because this woman makes excellent injera! We were fed a lovely dinner, and bought some spices as well. We then wandered around the Charlotte baggage claim (becuase CLT never seems to manage to put correct or even close flight numbers on the digital read outs over the bags), and somehow managed to eventually find each other.


On the drive home, the two of them started talking about the meal. It was instantly apparent to me that I was ill prepared for what was to come. So, the next morning I asked my nanny if she would come early to help. Thankfully, Mary also offered to come. Four women, one meal. No problems.

Mary and Hanna ran out to get food, leaving Camille and I with instructions to dice onions as small as we could.

THIRTY onions!

We filled my largest mixing bowl, and sat down proudly. When the shoppers returned, they shook their heads . . .

nope, not enough onions.

We need at least 15 more.


The cooking commenced. We played Ethiopian music in the background and the kids stood at the open door peeling carrots.

More beri beri, yep, just a touch more because the meat takes the heat.

A little more beri beri . . .

Just in time, we finished four great dishes and headed to Lee Anns for a fantasic review of the days' work.



Check out Lee Ann's blog in a day or so to see her update about our wonderful evening. I'm convinced that the two of us will go to Ethiopia together and make a film someday soon, and I can't wait!!

How do orphans happen?

Here is a piece of another video I'm working on about orphans. It is the story of a boy in Southern Ethiopia.

Hanna Fanta

Hanna Fanta is with me this week. She cares for and mentors teenaged girls that have lost parents to AIDS. The stories she has told me over the past 24 hours are chilling, yet, her work leaves me with hope.

Here are some images of her organization, Children's Heaven, that I put together last night from photos Hanna brought with her. Hanna is the woman hugging the girl near the end of the montage. The neat thing about Hanna is that she maintains deep relationships with her girls, like a mother would. And though the overall need in Ethiopia is great, Hanna never wants to lose these personal relationships, and will guard against becoming a BIG sponsoring agency.

I hope the others copy her model of orphan care, because I believe that going deep may be more effective than going wide.


Maybe, if each of us does a little bit, we can change our world.

Today we will make Ethiopian food for a get together at my friend Lee Ann's house. Hanna will talk with our friends about her work in hopes that she will find some women willing to sponsor a girl. Tomorrow, we will do the same thing in Atlanta at Laura's house, then over the weekend, we go to Raleigh, where my mom is hosting another get together.

David's Surgery, OK

I have gobs of stuff to update, but no time to do it, sorry! But, here is an adorable shot of baby Mia that Jen sent to me to help brighten your day.

In short:
Sarah's gymnastic state meet was a fun chance to go to Myrtle Beach and visit friends.

David is recovering from surgery and is doing well.

Hanna, from Ethiopia, made it to South Carolina last night and we look forward to a crazy schedule visiting groups who want to know more about her work with older girls whose parents have died of hiv.

More soon . . .

My satisfaction

I saw this poem on my dad's blog and am wondering what (or who) motivated it?

Times are changing once again
The things we sought
When we were young
No longer satisfy the youthful ones

Since I'm rapidly closing on 40, I may not be the youthful one, though I imagine my life is different than what most people in the previous generation sought. My youngest brother, heading home from college today, could have kicked off the thoughts behind these words. I will ask my dad.

That is the nice thing about knowing the author, the ability to request clarification.

What do you think the next generation seeks?

Zion's mom

We got a package from Zion's birth mom.

In it were treats for everyone in the family, and a crocheted, happy, yellow blanket.

I struggle to express my emotions, the gratitude for this precious thoughtfulness on her part, and for my friend Ruth's gracious help mailing the package - which I'm sure was costly.

Meeting my child's birthmother was one of the most significant moments of my life. I hope some day to find words which convey what her relationship means to me.

Welcome UFOs

This is today's yard work.
So, should I go ahead and set up a camera to record time lapse so we don't miss the saucer landing, or just have one standing by so if we hear it, we can run and get good quality video?

He also is apparently digging a large hole. Hopefully not the proverbial hole . . . .

Need Seed

David walked in last night and announced, "You need to get the boy some seeds."

Alden was outside playing for quite some time when I checked on him and was greeted by this scene. Maybe it is a Chinese ritual, but I think it is more a desire to see things grow. I love it.

Today, the focus was on the circle. Beautiful, and no doubt meditative---until Zion came over to help.

Larry Norman

The week I didn't write brought news of two lights going out in our world. I heard them both the same day. Driving that morning, the kids asked me why I cried when I learned Larry Norman was dead. I tried to explain the ways a musician can influence your life, and how I felt I knew Larry though the honesty of his music.

David and I once drove to Florida for a Larry Norman concert--I think it was 13 or 14 years ago. It was in a theater-become-coffee house, and when he asked for requests, David yelled out a favorite, "do Six O'Clock News!" Larry smiled, then replied, "I don't think we have that kind of coverage tonight."

Here are some of the Lyrics, and you can listen to it at this link

I've got a ticket for southeast Asia,
I got my camera and press card badge
They only pay me to stay the weekend;
What if I never come back?

The flight was pretty rough
I got a room, took a sauna,
The bellboy gook put my bags on the bed,
He left without his tip.

Then I loaded up my Hasselblad full of film
And I stepped outside, I stepped outside.

I'm taking pictures of burning houses
Colored movies of misery.
I see the flash of guns, how red the mud becomes,
I've got a close-up view.

I'm the six o'clock news - what can I do?
All those kids without shoes - what can I do?
Military coups - what can I do?
I'm just the six o'clock news.

Larry posted this to his website the day before he died:

I feel like a prize in a box of cracker jacks with God's hand reaching down to pick me up.

We'll miss you, Larry. Thanks for leaving us some great tunes, Bro.

SC Film Incentives, part 2

Please see part 1 below.
This is sound guy and good friend, Tony. Love his shirt picturing the big fish made up of small fishes about to devour the fish who thinks he's big.


My final weeks at Commerce, when not on the phone tying to explain what was going on in SC to producers (previously) interested in shooting here, were spent analyzing details of money spent by films in SC. At the same time, Joe Taylor refused to approve an outside study analyzing the same numbers, saying he wanted to keep the analysis in house rather than at the University of South Carolina.

The research office was one floor up from my office. I went upstairs and asked the person working on the data if I could help decipher what it meant, as film can be a bit challenging to understand (i.e., what does a best boy electric do? why do you need C-47's in lots of 1000, do we have film makeup trailers in SC? etc). The researcher said my help wouldn’t matter, that Joe Taylor didn't allow him to do "real" research. If the numbers were not what he wanted to see, he said Joe Taylor would revise his question until the numbers were what he wanted. This researcher was burning up his vacation time looking for another, what he called "more ethical" job.

One of my favorite "results" from the Joe Taylor approved research was his claim to Governor Sanford that film professionals wages average $8-$10 an hour. This was far different than what I saw on the same spreadsheets his research department used, so I tried my hand at Taylor math.

Some film techs and production personnel work both pre and post production, some work only production proper, some day play. If you take all the film technicians, and all the extras (background talent) and the police officers that come in for the one day big scene and so forth, and assume they ALL work every day of the entire show, and then divide all those salaries by the number of days on the show, you may come close to that per hour salary.

Or, you might just sit back and say, hmmmmm.

When I told a fellow film technician about Taylor's average film wages, he responded, "I'm sure Sanford didn't believe that line, I charged him WAY more than that on his last political campaign ad."

I think rock bottom of the union scale for a film tech is around $22.50 an hour. There are at least 2 hours a day at time and a half as well. Double time after 10 hours, which is a normal shoot day, but many film projects go over. That doesn't even take into account retirement benefits, workman's comp, social security, golden pay on the sixth day and meal penalties.

In other words, our film industry is not in danger of being overrun by desperate, non-documented workers, unless it is SC film techs sneaking into Canada so we can find work.

Another Joe Taylor saying was, “I can fly over Columbia dropping money out of a helicopter and have more impact than these film incentives.”

Well, after weeks of refusals, Joe Taylor decided he better hand over the raw data we had been analyzing to the legislators requesting it. The data was analyzed by a group at the University of South Carolina. Their findings were announced at a press conference I attended last week. Here is a quote from The State newspaper. The photo shows Army Wives producer Barbara Del-I-can't-spell-asandro attending the press conference. Army Wives was allowed to maintain the intended incentive package. They shoot in Charleston.

At the height of South Carolina’s film incentive program in 2006-2007, seven movies created about $25 million in total economic impact for the state, according to a USC study released Tuesday.
South Carolina’s benefits from the financial incentives given to film production companies outweighed the costs to the state, the study concluded.

I want to be under that helicopter. With Joe Taylor in charge or our state’s commerce development, who needs the lottery?

To support the Film Incentive Bill H 4815, currently in the SC House, please contact your representative.

SC Film Incentives, part 1

More on Joe Taylor pushing SC's film industry off the roof.

Here is an excerpt from an article written by SC Speaker of the House, Bobby Harrell and printed in The State newspaper this past weekend.

In June, by using a loophole in the law, Commerce changed and reduced the incentives we offer film productions. The resulting negative impact on the film industry in our state was immediate. We have seen projects that were attracted to South Carolina forced to go to other states at the last minute because incentives originally advertised to them had been suddenly changed.

As a result of the changes that were made, we have seen a mass exodus of the film industry from our state. We have lost our competitive edge in an industry where tax incentives make or break deals.

I worked for Commerce last year, and left the film office as soon as it became apparent that Joe Taylor, secretary of Commerce, was manipulating the film incentive legislation in a manner directly opposed to legislator's intent. The incentive proviso with the unfortunate wording "up to" in front of the intended incentive amounts was the loophole he used.

Let me insert here that I lean far more toward Libertarianism than many in my field. However, though I generally oppose corporate welfare, I think it is unethical to try and thwart elected officials' promises to their constituents. SC legislators intended that the incentives listed in the film proviso be used. Those elected officials promised us they would try to lure film, at first with incentives, and later, when we establish a base of talented, well trained technicians, by other means. It was a five year plan that involved priming the pump with incentives. The booming Canadian film industry gave us a fantastic example of how successfully such a plan works.

Joe Taylor's arrogant decision not to honor this contract with the people of SC appalls me.

I drafted a letter to Governor Sanford, and had it hand delived to his office. The letter my concern over not only the bait and switch done to incoming films at the time, but also what I see as a brain drain at the department of Commerce under Secretary Joe Taylor.

Sanford never sent me a response.

My first view of Joe Taylor's bait and switch came to light the day we at the film office got a call from a livid film producer who had set up shop in SC. It was a low-to-medium budget production, primarily black cast. They came to SC because of the incentives we told them they would receive, set up an office, and began to hire crew. Bang! The incentives on their paperwork drastically changed from what was promised AFTER they got here - after they started spending money - and, as a result, their main financer pulled about 1/4 of the film's money, basically shutting them down.

Just what SC needed, to bring in a black film and then say, "HA, SUCKERS, we tricked you!!!" Some serious political string pulling got it pretty much back on track with the promised incentives. I almost wish it had gone public - just picture what the NAACP would do with that news. But, though the community at large may not have heard about it, you can bet Hollywood did. I was inundated with calls from producers wanting to know what was going on.

That is when I knew I had to leave. My reputation in my industry, whatever it's worth, was at stake.
Here is part two, if you want to keep reading.

Seeing an ocean for the first time

My parents have been going to Hilton Head for maybe 20 years, two weeks at the end of every February. Alden heard enough stories about the beach from Lydia and Sarah that he was READY.

Here is his first look at the ocean:

It is a pretty neat moment to share with someone.

Here is Zion's first day at the beach, two years ago, with Grandma. She was saying "woof" to the seagulls.

Back on line

Last week felt a bit like Genesis 1:2.

I seldom get depressed, thankfully, but the combination of the accident at ACS, my friend Ruth Dropper's wreck in Ethiopia, money woes, some medical stuff with the kids and more horrific news from Kenya, news that my friend Rod's son caught dengue, as well as the seemingly never ending saga with my computer, dimmed my voice for a few days.

Despite a frustrating episode of LOST last week, I'm back. Ruth assures me she is okay, and is resting in the Netherlands where I know she will be watched closely by people who love her. Jennifer's baby becomes more adorable by the hour, David and I have passed our 14th anniversary, Kenya has signed a power sharing agreement, and our guy at work is back with only a long scar on his head--no brain damage. Joanna is here at the house and we celebrated her 27th birthday at Hilton Head Island with my parents. Film legislation was introduced at a press conference I attended last week. If passed, it will help SC's film industry. Rod's son is out of the hospital. And, this weekend I get to see two of my favorite friends, Laura and Emily.

I think this week feels more like Genesis 1:3.

Oh, and I charged a new computer on my Am Ex. Sometimes, you just have to reach for the plastic.

Kenya, up close

I met this guy, Jack, when I was in the slums of Nairobi, and interviewed him telling me his story of growing up in the garbage. Parentless,he lived, literally, in the city dump. Then, some people from a local Assemblies of God church began to help him with clothes, shoes, food and a place to live. My church is building a dorm outside the garbage area for the kids there, and my project was to help church members see the life there and the need for the dorm.

Here is Jack singing in Swahili, accompanied by scenes from his neighborhood.

And this is part of an update I just received from Kenya:

Jack has a precious baby and young wife. He was barely able to get them out of their shanty in the slums when
the opposition attacked his home setting it on fire. He lost everything. He tried to put the fire out but they stoned him so he had to flee for his life. Though his home was a one tiny room mud floor tin roof, no water, no toilet dwelling but it was a mansion compared to the 13 years that he had lived in the city dump . . . He said "I lost my dishes, spoons and everything that I own."

They can't go back because this trouble could erupt at any moment. When he fled with his family his friend Moses also fled with him. Moses is from a different tribe. Those that were taking Jack wanted to kill Moses. Jack, thinking quick to save his brother [in Christ], said, "We must not kill this man for he can represent us to this other tribe and may come in handy as a go between. They agreed and Moses lived."

Though the media may be cooling on this Kenya crisis, the tribe-on-tribe violence remains terrible. Our friends are there, and Marigold, despite her recently erupted tumors, has just joined them. They are going to the worst areas and handing out food. Sometimes it is the first food people have had in WEEKS.

Forever Day

It has been a rough couple of days. Today was another round of computer frustration, but yesterday was worse.

One of the guys at David's shop, I'll call him T, had an accident. David called me, and at his first word, I knew something was terribly wrong. He explained that a barrel got knocked off a warehouse shelf and landed on T's head, knocking him to the ground, where he now lay in a pool of blood, waiting for an ambulance.

I wanted to be at the hospital for T's wife, though I don't know her. But, part way there I started crying and realized I probably wouldn't be much help. I know other people have worse stories, but I've also spent cold ER time wondering if my husband would live after a terrible wreck, and if my child would survive brain surgery for a head trauma. I knew exactly what her wait might feel like.

Both of us felt this sense of responsibility and dread, similar to the feeling you have for a child. How could this have happened to someone in our care? And a feeling of utter helplessness - we can't fix someone's body - we can't give someone back his daddy or replace her husband. I cry just writing about it.

There are many times when I'm proud that David's business provides a living for some really neat families. But, last night, we talked about whether we can handle the emotional risk of someone getting hurt. I've always imagined the horror of hitting a child I didn't know was behind my car - or being in the shoes of that poor guy, so stressed out by work that he completely forgot he had his sleeping son in the back seat and left him in the car on a hot day. I know that is what it would feel like if someone working in our business got badly hurt.

Thank God - really, Thank You, God - that T is okay. And thank you, those of you I contacted to pray yesterday, for your love and your time.

The other wonderful thing today, besides the news that T is all right, is Zion's Forever Day.

Today is the second anniversary of our first meeting with our new daughter. We actually met before this day, but she was not officially in our family. David and Alden celebrated Zion's Forever Day at Chuck E. Cheeses. She felt the life size "mickey mouse" was not to be trusted, but, aside from that, had a great time.

We are blessed with a wonderful family!

This man is amazing.

David stood next to me and kept asking the kids this morning if we looked 14. Maybe it was because I was up editing all night, but I could not figure out what he was talking about.

He had to explain. It's so sad, because I am terrible with anniversaries. I completely missed our first one.

Then, our second one.

I've probably missed more since then, but, I don't remember. I'm terrible with dates. I really do think about our anniversary during this time of the year, and I think it is neat that we've been best friends for 14 years, but the actual DAY never seems to register.

So, in honor of my long suffering husband, David, I thought I would post 14 reasons why we are perfect together.

14. We have complimentary understandings of physics. David's morning laws of space and time are unique. Prior to 11am, he is convinced that it takes 30 minutes to get up, take a leisurely shower, dress, get 3 kids fed/ready/in the car and arrive at church/school/work/the beach/Amsterdam on time. However, when he cooks at night, ALL meal segments appear on the table simultaneously. This magical space/time balance does not exist in my world.

13. We respond to suggestions of travel with the same two or four letter words.
"Honey, do you care if I go to Afganistan next week?"
answer: "ok" or "sure"

12. We have patience to support a dual platform household. He likes [virus ridden and annoying] PCs, and I favor [far superior] Macs.

13. We share humor that only we understand.

12. I support his invention ideas, such as the plastic freezer tester.

11. He supports my addiction to the Sitina Google group.

10. We call each other on cell phones, while in the same house. Often.

9. We both despise communism.

8. We dislike washing dishes and love that our kids fold all the laundry.

7. We like Steve Taylor's song lyrics.

6. We enjoy photography. I shoot for love and money, David for love and fame.

5. Somehow, in spite of ourselves, we ended up with 3 pretty neat kids.

4. We understand each other's unusual work schedules.

3. We favor booking hotels in close proximity to an IKEA.

2. We can discuss religion and politics and not get mad at each other.

1. He laughed when I surprised him a few years into our marriage by engraving his wedding ring -- with the wrong date.

I love you, David! Happy Anniversary!

A film I made

I found this on You Tube.

It is a short film I made a long time ago.

Wouldn't this make a fun Animation?

David has all these lists.

I used to watch each month, as he copied his lists from one Daytimer to the next. I have not seen him do it since he got a phone with a keyboard, so maybe he is doing them electronically now.

They are not to do lists, like mine, but rather lists of inventions, song ideas, top ten places he wants to visit, music he wants to buy.

Last night, he sent me this list with a request for your input. Some of these he came up with, others he heard. He thinks, and I agree, that they would make a fun animation script. I can see my brother Daniel doing it.

There was a song they sang at 4H camp with some of these. If you know it, please paste a link!

Descriptive artwork created this afternoon by the extraordinary Sarah and the amazing Lydia.


Have you ever seen a tree bark?

Have you ever seen a house fly?

Have you ever seen a cat fish?

Have you ever seen a shoe box?

Have you ever seen a star fish?

Have you ever seen a horse fly?

Have you ever seen a bell hop?

Have you ever seen a sword fight?

Have you ever seen a lunch box?

Have you ever seen a bacon strip?

Have you ever seen a salad dressing?

Have you ever seen a chimney sweep?

Have you ever seen an ear drum?

Have you ever seen a clam bake?

Have you ever seen a neck tie?

Have you ever seen an eye drop?

Have you ever seen a dish mop?

Have you ever seen a square dance?


Have you ever seen a pork chop?

Have you ever seen a beer run?

Have you ever seen a poster bored?

Have you ever seen a shoe lace?

Have you ever seen a tooth pick?

Have you ever seen a sword fish?

Have you ever seen a moth bawl?

Have you ever seen an eye lash?

Have you ever seen a yard stick?

Have you ever seen a beer mug?

If you want to draw a picture of one of these, I'll post it so we can all enjoy.

More thoughts on Brutality

Yesterday, I shared with Sarah some of the horrors happening in Kenya. She asked me why the US doesn't do something to stop the violence. She has a wonderful sense of justice and desire to help others. We talked about other areas of the world where tribal violence erupts, including Iraq. It really got me thinking about American reactions to the war in Iraq, and how many of us want our soldiers out of there.

Many of my friends talk about tribal violence as something we don't understand that can't be changed. I've always agreed that it can not happen quickly - and I think my ideas are backed up by theories that make sense, such as the Spiral Dynamics, which basically says societies progress in a linear fashion and can not jump from (what I will call) a "lower" mindset to a much "higher" one without the time consuming process of taking every step in between. But, I wonder, must we plod, or can we run up the steps of change?

Later that day, my close friend and mentor, Frost came over. Sarah is doing a report on Maya Angelou, and was asking Frost what he remembered about racial tension during his childhood. He told her stories of lynchings - of how a family would watch a lynching on Saturday, and then head to church Sunday. He also talked about the KKK coming after his sister, who was the first black ballerina on Broadway.

Frost was born in 1941. Today, 2008, we are close friends, and he will not be lynched for talking to me. It is also unlikely I will have a cross burned in my yard because my kids are not white. There are no longer billboards on the road from Spartanburg to Columbia advertising the Klan. They still have a presence here, but public opinion has forced them underground.

Our society has changed, though a river of innocent blood was shed to make it happen.

What do you see as our role in helping other countries overcome tribal violence and experience positive change?

Kenya, Brutality Update

I got another email today from our friends who are handing out food during the Kenya crisis. I have not been updating with each email, but suffice it to say these brave people risk themselves hourly to save lives with the food they deliver, and encourage the suffering with their words of love.

This email told the story of a family carrying the brutally murdered body of their relative to bury him. The car was stopped by a the gang who committed the murder, who asked what they were doing. The driver said:

"Taking our family member to be buried because those who normally do this are too busy with all the deaths".
The gang replied "say the last prayer, you are going to join them." When they had spoken this they poured fuel over the car and burned the family and the body down to the asphalt.

The letter continues with stories of Christian pastors planning to burn down churches where opposing tribe members have taken their families for safety.

This church is one of the Assembly of God churches we visited in a Nairobi slum. I am not sure if it has been burned. Can you imagine nailing shut the doors and setting it alight? Or, sitting on the floor, comforting your children as the enraged crowd gathers outside? Or maybe you are the pastor, finding spots for each family on the floor of the church - unaware that you are settling them into what will be their graves.

These stories of Christian on Christian violence remind me of a conversation I had in Ethiopia. I sat for lunch with the custodian of the hospital in Soddo and asked him how he ended up working there. He told me he had lived in Shashamane, the city where Jamaican Rastafarians live in Ethiopia. There, he worked at a university. He wistfully described his big house and nice job. Then one day, an envelope appeared, half slid under his front door. The letter inside informed him that he had one month to vacate the city. If he stayed longer, he would be shot. The local tribe did not want him or his family there.
"Were they Muslim?" I asked.
"No. They are Seventh Day Adventists."
We continued talking about the tribal issues, and I asked him if he wanted a coffee.
"I don't drink coffee," he said, "I'm a Seventh Day Adventist."

Barrio Politics, part 1

When walking from the T.E.A.R.S office to the barrio, someone in rubber boots kindly carried me across the 15 inch deep nastiness that used to be Number One street. The muck signaled the start of political campaigning.

About 10 years ago, someone running for an important office promised paved streets for the barrio in exchange for votes. No one believed he would do it, so he had curbs put in to show good faith. Though the edges are chipped, you can still see all the curbs as you walk through the dirt ruts between them.

This year, the promise is sewers. Sewers might even be better than paved streets, but the big holes full of grey gook will be more annoying than hanging curbs if they don't materialize.

Back during the curbed promise of roads, Rod let a guy buy his vote for 300 pesos. I agreed it was a good financial move for him since he is an American citizen and can't vote in the DR. Now, the price is up to between 500 and 1000 pesos for a vote. However, if you look at it in terms of the current exchange rate now (33:1) versus the exchange rate when Rod sold his vote (12:1), buying votes costs roughly the same as it used to.

It appears these proposed sewer pipes will empty out into the creek that runs down T.E.A.R.S property behind Rod's house. I wonder if the candidate doing this civic improvement is the same one who bought Rod's fake vote? Perhaps the sewer plan is an elaborate payback for vote selling fraud.




I went to my friend Tracy's ground floor apartment and had to climb a wall of dirt on Street Twelve to get to her front door. She told me she was surprised more kids weren't playing on the hill now blocking the corner.

On cue, two children appeared and I watched them play as the sun set.

Back Home

The family is back home. Mia did not appreciate her first car trip - she thought eating would be more fun, and let us know.

Luis took her into the grocery store under their apartment where everyone congratulated him and looked at pretty Mia. Jenn managed the stairs well, and has been settling in. They seem relaxed, and got to spend time talking to Jenn's family on the computer, holding up the laptop camera so everyone Stateside could see Mia asleep in her bassinet.


Tomorrow is my last day here. I'm missing my kids already, but, it will be hard to leave my new niece.

Mia, day two

This shot was taken when they brought Mia to Jenn to nurse for the first time. I should know in an hour or so if she is coming home today, or if she will spend one more day in the hospital. This morning she feels good, but she said last night was painful. I imagine the drive from Santo Domingo, then the two flights of stairs up to this apartment will be hard.

But, Luis is right when he says that Jenn will be happier home, where she can visit with friends and have help from people who love her. I can't wait to watch the faces of Luis' parents when they see Mia. They are so excited. The night before we left for the hospital, they came over and brought the most beautiful mosquito net for around the baby crib. It is all ruffles and lace, and makes the bed perfect for Princess Mia.

I've finally gotten Photoshop to work on the laptop, so I'm about to update the surgery post below with an explanation of why Jenn was not able to have Mia without the c-section.

One day old

Day one breathing air for Mia. Jenn's medicine had not worn off in the morning, so when I went back to the hospital to see them, she was feeling pretty good. The baby is perfect. She is nursing steadily, and she knows her daddy's voice.


I laughed last night when we turned on the tv in the Jenn's room. Mia's first sport on tv was cock fighting. Not something you see on tv in the Carolinas. They fought to the death, not like most of the fights I've seen on the streets where they fight until one chicken runs away, or a passing motorcycle breaks up the crowd, giving the roosters a chance to regroup. The owner of a "chicken" rooster might get his head thumped by jeering spectators. I have this on tape somewhere, I'll try and dig it out. It is something you should see to appreciate.

Mia Grace has arrived

Surgical delivery

I wondered if it would feel different to tape and photograph a surgery for a close friend, versus doing it out of interest, like this post from Ethiopia, or doing it for a client. In terms of shooting, it was a bit different because I was joking with Jennifer and Luis. And, I was more consious than usual about staying back because I really did not want to be kicked out.


A tripod would have been a HUGE help. With one, I could have focused on stills while getting video. Instead, I went back and forth, holding the cameras up high to see over the barrier between Jenn's face and her tummy. When I saw Mia's head, I thought I had somehow missed the doctors taking her out. I shot a bit of video, then switched to the still just as they pulled the rest of her body out. Missing that beautiful motion on video kept me awake last night.


Here it is in stills. Amazing, isn't it, that we live so perfectly in our mother's body? Simply incredible.



When the doctors pulled Mia out, they started talking in Spanish. I didn't catch what they were saying, but Jenn heard something along the lines of "wow, that's weird - no wonder!" Turns out, Mia's umbilical cord was less than half the length of a normal cord. Mia couldn't push down properly on Jenn's cervix and help the birth along. Here, one of the doctors shows us the cord, comparing it to the length of a normal cord. We are all glad Jenn didn't keep trying, as a normal birth would not have been possible.

Updates, more of them

Update, 6:45pm
Jenn is exhausted, but the doctor wants her to keep on for another 30 minutes. The baby, Mia, sounds good. She is not in any distress.

Jenn, Luis and Joy breathe together. Quick breaths for ten seconds, then a deep breath.



Vidal is on a new game. I forget he is watching because he has the sound off. Boston won, but now the Heat has to beat the Lakers. I’m having a really tough time getting internet, and things are getting intense enough that I don’t want to leave.

Watching this, I can not imagine what it must be like for young girls here to have their babies in the public hospital for poor people in La Vega. Their husbands and mothers are not allowed to be in with them. If they require a c-section, they must have brought their own suture material or send someone to buy some. Supplies at the public hospital are limited. People needing oxygen must stop at the hardware store to buy it or get a canister refilled. Seriously.

In contrast, this clinic is wonderful. It is almost like being in a room at home. The only other sound I’ve heard on this floor was a baby crying when we came in. Everyone is calm. No one comes in to boss us around and take a bunch of vitals, and no one seems stressed out like they do in the States. I can tell the doctor hopes Jenn can have a natural birth, and does not want to see her disappointed. At the same, she tells the truth about what is happening.
Before, I thought it was pretty crazy to have a doctor two hours from home, but, now I can see why Joy recommended her.

Update 7:25
Things are not as good as we have hoped. It has been 12 hours now since Jenn first lost fluid, and she is still only one centimeter dilated. The doctor says her cervix is still facing backwards, and the baby’s head is not where she wants it. Luis and Jenn have decided to go ahead with a c-section, and is now being prepped for it. She just got an IV. We will move to a new room for the procedure. Good news is that Mia will be here soon.

Jenn is not happy about it, and commented between contractions, “I’m going to be in some wretched pain for six weeks.” She is tired. I’m going to shut the computer down as we are moving.

Update, 5:50pm

Jenn has dubbed Joy her doula. Luis is timing, Vidal is water fetcher and backup timer. I’m on video. It is getting intense, with contractions less than 60 seconds apart. Doctor came in as I was leaving to update. She hooked Jenn up to some monitors and said the contractions are as strong as the machine can measure. But, she is still only at one centimeter. She wants Jenn to stay on the monitor for another 30 minutes.

Hospital Update

Joy and Vidal arrived and came up to the apartment. Workaholic Jen decided there was more to be accomplished before we could take off for the capital. Checks were signed, paperwork put into labeled bags and keys left with the proper people. Then, snacks were purchased at the grocery store under Jen’s apartment and we loaded the van. A man walked by and tried to sell me a child’s chair. I decided against it.

Contractions on the way to the hospital made it to one every 8 minutes or so. But, they were not yet painful. Joy accused Jen of being in denial when she said she felt like we were going on vacation.

A quick stop at Wendy’s made hamburger loving Vidal happy. Louis admitted he was feeling quite nervous. Trying to get from Wendy’s to the hospital proved challenging. All the streets were one way the wrong way. Vidal went into Dominican driver mode and ignored the lights and signs. We (finally) arrived at the nicest clinic in the country, a few blocks back from the beach road where Carnaval wildness would take place soon. Carnaval is not as crazy here as in La Vega, however, so it is good we got out this morning.

The people at the front desk met Jen by name.

Jen’s doctor was in mass, so the doctor on call came in. He is Lebanese, and friendly. Even though Jenn had to sit on a towel in the car, he was not convinced her water had broken. He did a fern test and determined that she is losing amniotic fluid, but from a small tear, not a full blown water break. She is not dilated, and her uterus and cervix are facing back. He says there is a 50/50 chance at this point that she will need a c-section. They will check her again at 4pm.

Vidal asked Jenn if she minded watching a little basketball, so now we’re watching San Antonio play Boston with the sound turned down.



3:30 update:
The contractions are beginning to hurt. The doctor told us not to time the light contractions, but only the strong ones. Right now, strong ones are about 10 minutes apart. A woman just walked in and brought us coffee in white espresso cups. I’m heading up to the roof to see if I can grab internet from a neighboring high rise.

4:15 update:
Jenn’s doctor just arrived. She is not pleased with the one centimeter dilation and gave Jenn Prostoglandin gel to induce her, says she will give her 8 more hours before considering a c-section. Going to look again and try to connect – there are a dozen networks within range, and I can’t seem to grab any of them, even though the computer says I’m connected. Joy is desperate for a cappuccino and is asking everyone and anyone for three 10 peso coins so she can use the coffee machine.



The contractions are getting much more uncomfortable. Doc is saying things like, “pain can get very, very bad – nasty, without dilation.” I’m sure Jenn finds those thoughts encouraging, but has been promised an epidural if it gets too bad. She doesn’t want an epidural, or a c-section. So, we help out by telling her it’s pressure, not pain. Got that line from a comedian we watched last night. The other doctor told her if he was a woman, he’d want a c-section. Joy and Jenn gave his comment full thumbs down, but I was completely with him!

Boston is winning, and Vidal is content. Louis is looking green again.
Hotel prices are insane because of Carnaval – double the normal rate, but we booked two rooms for tonight because it looks like we will stay here for sure until this baby breathes air.