I should be showered, in bed, dreaming of stealing BMW's and torrential floods like last night, desperately searching for my beach house??? What is this pathetic existence I lead? I shouldn't be publishing this.
I found this, entitled Amanda Barker:
Henry got me with child,
Knowing that I could not bring forth life
Without losing my own.
In my youth therefore I entered the portals of dust.
Traveler, it is believed in the village where I lived
That Henry loved me with a husband's love,
But I proclaim from the dust
That he slew me to gratify his hatred.
Poem by Edgar Lee Masters
I knew about this poem a long time ago, and had forgotten about it. After revisiting it...it's all becoming so clear
Henry gets me pregnant despite the fact that he knows I will die as a result...everyone back home things he loves me...I think he killed me because of his hatred? Is this a love story? Did he choose baby over me? Was he fulfilling the inevitable...or purposely ended my life?
quick bio on edgar:
Edgar Lee Masters (Garnett, Kansas, August 23, 1868 - Melrose Park, Pennsylvania, March 5, 1950) was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. He is the author of Spoon River Anthology, The New Star Chamber and Other Essays, Songs and Satires, The Great Valley, The Serpent in the Wilderness An Obscure Tale, The Spleen, Mark Twain: A Portrait, Lincoln: The Man, and Illinois Poems. In all, Masters published twelve plays, twenty-one books of poetry, six novels and six biographies, including those of Abraham Lincoln, Mark Twain, Vachel Lindsay, and Walt Whitman.
this poem sums up my life, doesn't it?
some connections we share...he died in pennsylvania...his wife's name was emma, and i was almost named emma, he is heavily tied to legal realism...and well...that one just goes without saying.
i will continue to investigate this, and i expect you to do the same. any rumors about him, i want to hear. something good. all these brief bios have been less than satisfying.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
More photos
http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=1724151007/a=47625438_47625438/
Alright folks, if you want to see these pictures, you've got to sign in. Use the email address ABarker1006@gmail.com and password amanda. If that doesn't work, email me! Happy photo perusing.
Alright folks, if you want to see these pictures, you've got to sign in. Use the email address ABarker1006@gmail.com and password amanda. If that doesn't work, email me! Happy photo perusing.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Pictures
http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=1490460007/a=47625438_47625438/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish/
La Playa!
Here I am updating again at a terribly slow pace. I am home searching for jobs on the internet. It all seems to irrelevant and stupid compared to my mentality while in Arequipa. I just reread my last entry, and realized I should clarify what I meant, towards the end, when I said that the information I learned in the nurse’s station in Puno would soon change someone else’s life. After 3 or so months of working every day of the week, I travel to Puno. The following Thursday, we are out listening to jazz music late at night. We all realize we have a free Monday coming up, and, one by one, we convince each other it is a good idea to escape to the beach for a few days. I am one of the last ones to be convinced in the initial group of people, Edwin, Leonel, Estiv, and I. After a mountain of organizing who will do what, when, and how we’ll get there...we leave the next day, Edwin, Leonel and I. This couldn’t be a stranger trio.
It’s only a few hours by bus, and the bus is pretty nice. The windows don’t open, which means there is clean, cool, dust-free air to breath. The windows are enormous, and I share Leonel’s music as I stare out the window for four hours watching the scenery fly by. I am thoroughly. We arrive in Camana, a small city a few miles from the beach. It seems just like all of the other small cities in Peru I have been to, only this one has sea food, though it’s winter, and there are no tourists. The three of us with our backpacks, sleeping bags, tents and a few bags of food and Pisco head off for the beach. We have to take a colectivo, or group taxi, to get there. We cram in the car with our packs. These people look at us like we’re crazy. When we arrive, there is only one restaurant open, and the beach is empty, save for a few fisherman in their underwear, and the occasional group who comes to enjoy the tranquility of the beach in winter. It’s not cold, but it’s not hot most of the time either. A few hours of cloudless skies during the day heat us up enough to go swimming. The water is some of the coldest I have felt.
We make a fire, eat bread and fruit for dinner, and chat away the rest of the night. Only this doesn’t seem to me to be an ordinary camp fire with ordinary people. These are two of the most passionate, giving and emotional men I have ever known.
We are expecting our friends in the next few days, but we have no idea when they’ll come. Leonel and Edwin’s phones are dead, and I left mine in a taxi...so we are completely isolated. So, the next day, we eat, swim, roam around the beach, sleep, argue over who will go back into town to get more food and Pisco...and make a fire in the evening.
At some point we meet two very interesting men. One is a young guy from Argentina who has come to take care of a friend’s hotel during the winter months, to relax, make some connections, and learn to fish with a net. We have a hard time communicating at first with his Argentine accent, but we manage toward the end of our trip to understand one another. The other man is the owner of the lone restaurant...Dudu, is his nick name. He used to be the governor of this little beach town, which, by the way, looks like the apocalypse has come and gone.
About 10 years ago there was a Tsunami that hit here...and no one was prepared for it. I suppose no one ever is, but it completely devastated the little beach town, and many are too afraid to return, and have left fallen down houses. Others have rebuilt, and close down or move out merely for the winter. Dudu has two penguins, and lives right in front of where we’re camping on the beach. A convenient bathroom and fried fish supplier. He only remembers my name, so when we order food, he screams my name, and motions for us to come in. He reminds me of a Peruvian version of my grand father a little bit, with his big belly, and big heart. Both Marco, the Argentine, and Dudu, are philanthropists after our own hearts. Marco works with street children in Argentina, and Dudu works with groups like Marco’s, networking his business friends to donate food and put on events and what not. Dudu offers to host our children’s intercultural congress in November at the beach, during a festival time, when he knows his friends will be here and willing to donate and help out. Leonel accepts his invitation. These kids are going to die of excitement to hear they get to go to the beach again, I think. Most of them never travel unless it is with INTIWAWA. Few of our children we work with on the weekends outside San Isidro, which is only an hour away, go to Arequipa. Some have never been. They only know one place. Most of these children have never been to the beach either. Only the kids from San Isidro had that privilege last year.
The second night, after Dudu and Marco have gone to their homes, it is just Leonel, Edwin and I again. We always have INTIWAWA on our minds, and talk about it quite a lot. Our hopes, dreams, frustrations and disappointments. We tell stories, and learn more about each other. We have all shared some difficult and trying times together, and this weekend seems like a culmination of this. Part of this trip was a going away and reorganization trip for my departure. We knew when we both Leonel and I left INTIWAWA, things would change. I told the guys my uncle’s story about his little fluffy white dog that chased an adolescent boy down the street. The boy, to protect himself from this ferocious pooch, jumped on a neighbor’s car, and dented and scratched the roof and hood. My uncle would have to pay the damage, and received a fine from the police for not having control over his pet. They laughed at the ridiculousness of it. I also told them my story about Puno, similar to what you’ve read in my blog here. Leonel was hearing it for the second time, but wanted me to tell Edwin. Edwin is the most cynical person I have ever known. He has no hope in adults what-so-ever because they are selfish and blind and ignorant. He only believes the future is purely in the hands of the children and that hardly anyone in the world wants to help. We had a nasty argument over this in the past, but managed to move on despite our differences. This time, things would change. When I told him that 25 of the 30 children at the hospital in Puno were receiving free treatment, he cried. He didn’t know, he told me, that there was help. He thanked me and hugged me and told me I had given him hope. I cried too. We must have looked like lunatics out there on the beach, just the three of us. I will never forget that night.
Our friends arrive, and it's nice to have the new faces. We play soccer, eat at Dudu's restaurant...swim, and play music with odd instruments we've created. Water bottles, rocks, pens...someone has the idea to read a paragraph from a book as the lyrics of a song. The rest of us sing back up or play instruments, others just watch. It was fun making music with friends...something I am not personally used to. Normally I am a spectator. I think that speaks to my how comfortable I was around these friends. I still won't sing solo, but at least I piped up a little singing nonsense songs.
For now, this may be my last blog entry. I do plan to return to Arequipa and INTIWAWA (though I haven't really left, still dreaming, worry, and writing to volunteers making sure they're alright and answering questions) as soon as possible. I hope to be one of the few who returns.
"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go
Will you won't you, be the one I'll always know
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around
You're the only one who knows, you slow it down" - the fray
It’s only a few hours by bus, and the bus is pretty nice. The windows don’t open, which means there is clean, cool, dust-free air to breath. The windows are enormous, and I share Leonel’s music as I stare out the window for four hours watching the scenery fly by. I am thoroughly. We arrive in Camana, a small city a few miles from the beach. It seems just like all of the other small cities in Peru I have been to, only this one has sea food, though it’s winter, and there are no tourists. The three of us with our backpacks, sleeping bags, tents and a few bags of food and Pisco head off for the beach. We have to take a colectivo, or group taxi, to get there. We cram in the car with our packs. These people look at us like we’re crazy. When we arrive, there is only one restaurant open, and the beach is empty, save for a few fisherman in their underwear, and the occasional group who comes to enjoy the tranquility of the beach in winter. It’s not cold, but it’s not hot most of the time either. A few hours of cloudless skies during the day heat us up enough to go swimming. The water is some of the coldest I have felt.
We make a fire, eat bread and fruit for dinner, and chat away the rest of the night. Only this doesn’t seem to me to be an ordinary camp fire with ordinary people. These are two of the most passionate, giving and emotional men I have ever known.
We are expecting our friends in the next few days, but we have no idea when they’ll come. Leonel and Edwin’s phones are dead, and I left mine in a taxi...so we are completely isolated. So, the next day, we eat, swim, roam around the beach, sleep, argue over who will go back into town to get more food and Pisco...and make a fire in the evening.
At some point we meet two very interesting men. One is a young guy from Argentina who has come to take care of a friend’s hotel during the winter months, to relax, make some connections, and learn to fish with a net. We have a hard time communicating at first with his Argentine accent, but we manage toward the end of our trip to understand one another. The other man is the owner of the lone restaurant...Dudu, is his nick name. He used to be the governor of this little beach town, which, by the way, looks like the apocalypse has come and gone.
About 10 years ago there was a Tsunami that hit here...and no one was prepared for it. I suppose no one ever is, but it completely devastated the little beach town, and many are too afraid to return, and have left fallen down houses. Others have rebuilt, and close down or move out merely for the winter. Dudu has two penguins, and lives right in front of where we’re camping on the beach. A convenient bathroom and fried fish supplier. He only remembers my name, so when we order food, he screams my name, and motions for us to come in. He reminds me of a Peruvian version of my grand father a little bit, with his big belly, and big heart. Both Marco, the Argentine, and Dudu, are philanthropists after our own hearts. Marco works with street children in Argentina, and Dudu works with groups like Marco’s, networking his business friends to donate food and put on events and what not. Dudu offers to host our children’s intercultural congress in November at the beach, during a festival time, when he knows his friends will be here and willing to donate and help out. Leonel accepts his invitation. These kids are going to die of excitement to hear they get to go to the beach again, I think. Most of them never travel unless it is with INTIWAWA. Few of our children we work with on the weekends outside San Isidro, which is only an hour away, go to Arequipa. Some have never been. They only know one place. Most of these children have never been to the beach either. Only the kids from San Isidro had that privilege last year.
The second night, after Dudu and Marco have gone to their homes, it is just Leonel, Edwin and I again. We always have INTIWAWA on our minds, and talk about it quite a lot. Our hopes, dreams, frustrations and disappointments. We tell stories, and learn more about each other. We have all shared some difficult and trying times together, and this weekend seems like a culmination of this. Part of this trip was a going away and reorganization trip for my departure. We knew when we both Leonel and I left INTIWAWA, things would change. I told the guys my uncle’s story about his little fluffy white dog that chased an adolescent boy down the street. The boy, to protect himself from this ferocious pooch, jumped on a neighbor’s car, and dented and scratched the roof and hood. My uncle would have to pay the damage, and received a fine from the police for not having control over his pet. They laughed at the ridiculousness of it. I also told them my story about Puno, similar to what you’ve read in my blog here. Leonel was hearing it for the second time, but wanted me to tell Edwin. Edwin is the most cynical person I have ever known. He has no hope in adults what-so-ever because they are selfish and blind and ignorant. He only believes the future is purely in the hands of the children and that hardly anyone in the world wants to help. We had a nasty argument over this in the past, but managed to move on despite our differences. This time, things would change. When I told him that 25 of the 30 children at the hospital in Puno were receiving free treatment, he cried. He didn’t know, he told me, that there was help. He thanked me and hugged me and told me I had given him hope. I cried too. We must have looked like lunatics out there on the beach, just the three of us. I will never forget that night.
Our friends arrive, and it's nice to have the new faces. We play soccer, eat at Dudu's restaurant...swim, and play music with odd instruments we've created. Water bottles, rocks, pens...someone has the idea to read a paragraph from a book as the lyrics of a song. The rest of us sing back up or play instruments, others just watch. It was fun making music with friends...something I am not personally used to. Normally I am a spectator. I think that speaks to my how comfortable I was around these friends. I still won't sing solo, but at least I piped up a little singing nonsense songs.
For now, this may be my last blog entry. I do plan to return to Arequipa and INTIWAWA (though I haven't really left, still dreaming, worry, and writing to volunteers making sure they're alright and answering questions) as soon as possible. I hope to be one of the few who returns.
"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go
Will you won't you, be the one I'll always know
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around
You're the only one who knows, you slow it down" - the fray
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