Some Time in "America's Finest City" and Playing the American Pastime

I can describe my flight back like this: s p a c i o u s.

The woman at the American Airlines check-in counter - the same airlines that crammed me into seats en route to Central America - noticed my height and asked, "Would you like an exit row?"

WOULD I LIKE AN EXIT ROW? Pshh, would Ben Rothlesberger like to go to a frat party?

The angel in American Airlines garb rearranged my seating so that I sat aisle seat, exit row from San Jose to Dallas while there was also no one in the center seat. Extraordinary. Then, from Dallas to LA, I sat first row of coach seating where there was no seat/wall/reclining asshole/nothing in front of me. Miraculous. It was arguably the single most comfortable commute of my life.

Uncle D (aka Unc Deez Nutz) picked me up at the airport igniting a glorious weekend of adult time. It was likely a much needed maturation period as I was on the heels of my alcoholic weekend with the New Jersey school teachers and needed to feel that I indeed was learning something beyond my beer intake abilities on this trip.

Sharing my stories and photos with my LA family was fantastic. I was able to continue my newly learned task of doing nothing, although the days never felt empty. I filtered photos and started exercising again. You know, not like constantly active, hiking and exploring a new town exercise, but rather good old fashioned tear yourself down to bring yourself up exercise. I tried running again and sat on runner's high for the first 10 minutes of a jog.

"I could do this forever," I thought to myself. Then reality set in and I knew that outside of 10 minutes/1.2 miles I was toast. It's going to be a long road back to recovery.

That said, there's really not much better than a run in beautiful weather and winter in Southern California is pretty nice weather.

Perhaps the highlight of my time in LA - outside of chit-chatting with the Aunt and Uncle - was filling in for Unc Deez Nutz's Temple softball team. The Emanuel Squad was sitting on a 3-4 record and the injury bug had really hit the team hard. I was filling in for Petzold. Mike Petzold that is. I played left-center field and batted 10th. Right behind Amanda.

Emanuel jumped on top early, carrying a 6-1 lead into the middle innings. From there, after a few defensive blunders and some sound hitting from the green opponents (I can't remember their synagogue's name) we headed into the seventh and final inning, tied at 9.

Amanda, our tenacious right fielder and 9-hole-slugger, came to bat with two on and no one out. After watching two close strikes whizz in, Amanda worked the count to 2-2. She then struck out for the third time that afternoon.

Which then brought up Petzold. Petzold had had a good game to that point, 2-3 with an RBI, but now was why they'd brought Petzold - a former college baseball player and All-State performer - to the valley: to win ball games.

With a 1-0 count, Petzold got ahold of one and drove it deep into the right-centerfield gap, a sure double if not inside-the-parker. One problem: in softball, there is no right-centerfield gap as there are four outfielders including a right-centerfielder. Petzold's drive was nothing but a long out. Mighty Petzold had failed.

But that's why baseball (softball) is a team sport. The ultimate team sport. You perform an individual task (hitting, fielding, throwing) for the good of the team. Emanuel had Petzold's back.

Another single and a green team error led to an Emanuel run and a 10-9 lead heading into the bottom of the seventh.

The green team promptly put runners on and tied the game at 10. With one out and runners on second and third, from left-center Petzold recommended an intentional walk; load the bases, create a force out situation where we could either turn a double play and get out of the inning or get the lead runner at home.

Thus, the green teams three-hole hitter came to the plate, bases-loaded, winning run on third, a tense situation.

Pop-up. Two down.

It was now time to face the green cleanup hitter, a monster of a hebrew who had already belted one home run on the day. The entire game clung to this moment. Minimal preparation and almost no blood, sweat, or tears had been expended getting to right now, the pivotal moment in a completely inconsequential game. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

After running the count to 1-1, the Emanuel pitcher looked in, got his sign (dramatic effect), and delivered.

Now, I wish I could sit here and write that Emanuel shortstop Don Spetner (aka Unc Deez Nutz) made a diving play up the middle, back handed it to second for the force, and we went home with a gutsy tie.

Or that there was a Luis Gonzalez-esque flair that Spetner made a running, over the shoulder, back to home plate, one handed snag of to send us home with a ballsy ending to a great game.

The reality is that the green cleanup hitter rolled the 1-1 delivery into the gap at short Spetner made a good effort to get to the ball and square up to it, but ultimately bobbled the ball in an effort to get the force out at third. The green team secured the victory with on the E-6. 11-10, Green Temple.

Emanuel took the loss well. We knew we'd battled hard and, by all reports, Green Temple had beaten Emanuel pretty soundly the last time they'd faced off. We consoled Spetner, who was in surprisingly good spirits, and reminded him that we wouldn't have even been in position to tie if it weren't for him.

I promised not to tell Unc Deez Nutz's children of the play. But, failure builds character and you're never too old to learn a lesson. Love ya Uncle D.

That afternoon I took the train to San Diego. It was an easy two hour train and I was greeted by a paternal sibling, Aunty Jon Lea.

San Diego was defined by long walks with Aunty, glorious weather, movies, and grand-er attempts at running. I had a fabulous time with my Aunt while I was there and enjoyed discussing the various, and sometimes down and dark, films we watched. We saw Greenberg which wasn't as funny as I'd expected, but had tremendous dialogue and very interesting characters. A well written movie, decent story. We also caught the Oscar Nominated Animated Shorts at the (possibly) historic La Paloma Theater in Encinitas. Those are worth checking out.

From San Diego I was off to Coachella, the three day Music and Arts Festival that was an absolutely amazing experience. I documented my time there at WC Homer and you can read all about it here.

Coachella was a microcosm of my adventures as I travelled there really only knowing one of the five other people attending. We left, however, a small family who camped together on a 10x30 plot for three days. Again, it was an experience best shared with others.

By the end, we likely smelled bad as the peak hours shower line was usually around 2-3 hours long and we were crammed in there with 75,000 other concert goers. We won the self proclaimed Green-ella Award by reusing melted ice water in empty water bottles for "brief showers".

And then it was back to San Diego, passing a little more time in America's Finest City before I was on the road again; this time en route to Frankfurt, Germany (more to come on that).

It was nice to be back in the States and with people I love. I miss my folks, I've seen all of their siblings though and it's been nice. The NBA Playoffs have not fulfilled my athletics appetite and I'm still reveling in the end of the Madness. But it's back to traveling again (sort of).

More. To. Come.

Costa Rican Photos

Here is a link to 125 of my 846 pictures from Costa Rica. You run the math, but that means I took 721 photos that were either crap or inappropriate. Enjoy, I certainly did.

http://picasaweb.google.com/103867330515943770058/GoodCR?authkey=Gv1sRgCPT06or1o4Picw#

Science Geek Alert!

Seeing as how I was “professionally trained” to create lab or scientific reports, I concluded that I would do exactly that for my Costa Rica Adventure. Here is my Lab Report.

A Visit to Costa Rica and the Subsequent Findings

Question/Hypothesis:

What is the Central American country, Costa Rica, all about? What does it look like? What does a month long journey through the country look like? How does an oversized uber-Gringo fit in?

Procedure:

1. Contact Costa Rican contacts (Tara Michelle Ruttenberg) and accept invitation
2. Purchase airline ticket
1. This process should take less than two hours
3. Obtain free tickets to basketball tournament
4. Board plane
5. Apply sunscreen
6. Speak Spanish
7. Take photos
8. Experience

Results:

• 25 days
• 10 consecutive days without underwear (boardshorts)
• 2.8 million grains of rice consumed
• 3.1 million beans consumed
• 6 ATM visits
• Innumerable bug bites
• 5 separate monkey sightings
• 3 species of Monkey
• 8 Naps
• Lotsa Pilsen
• 3 good hangovers
• 11 bus rides
• 2 rides in an original Hummer
• 0 phone calls (apologies to my parents)
• 846 photos
• 2 oceans
• 1 lake
• 1 volcano
• 2 cloud forests
• 75 total feet jumped off
• 0 shaves
• 5 Yoga classes
• Accommodations:
• 1 – Puerto Viejo
• Turquesa – Amatierra 1
• 3 – Hermosa 1
• 12 – Hermosa 2
• 6 – Malpais 1
• 4 – Malpais 2
• 18 – Monteverde
• 8 – Arenal
• 20 – San Ramon
• Amanda’s Room – Amatierra 2
• 6 different roommates
• 8 New Jersians
• 6 Angelinos
• 5 Texans
• 2 Baltimorians
• 2 Coloradans
• Many Ticos
• 1 Oregonian
• 2 Germans
• 1 guided tour with no one else
• 2 hours of surfing
• 118 falls off a surfboard
• 2 rain storms
• 1 sunburn
• 0 tan

Conclusion:

If green is your favorite color, go to Costa Rica.

Have you seen any Monkeys?

The first thing I saw once in the beach/surf town of Hermosa – after a gorgeous sunset over the Pacific Ocean (classic) – was a television that said, “Northern Iowa 69, Kansas 67.”

Our first night in Hermosa was spent getting me my college hoops fix. We jumped around to a few sports bars and reveled in the Madness; or rather, I reveled in the Madness. Tara was an uber-trooper and tolerated my hoops banter and even seemed to entertain it. After watching some otherwise boring, blowout games, we met back up with Bob and Jill who were attending a birthday party and had a few more drinks.

Retrospectively, drinking to the extent we did was a very poor decision seeing as how we were heading back to a hotel room sheltered from any breeze and without A/C. I managed to work into a full sweat during that evening’s slumber.

Luckily, the next day Tara managed to get us into a new hotel, two lots over, on the third floor with A/C. It was like a miracle. I think I cried. We settled into Cabinas Rancho Grande where I would live for the next five days.

Hermosa. This is a surf town and there’s really no other way to describe it. One afternoon, around 2:30pm when the surf is traditionally bad due to wind, I settled into a shady spot on the beach to read. I was the only person on the beach. There was not a soul in the water, sand, shade, no where. It was barren. Two hours later, as the winds died down and the surf picked up, the town made like crabs: sprinting out of their holes into the surf.

Day one in Hermosa was dedicated to living like an Hermosan. Tara woke up and surfed and I slept. This became a standard practice of our time there. After breakfast we lounged some on the beach then packed up the DP (DP = day pack which I have been mercilessly teased for naming such but has been the trip’s unsung hero) and headed to Esterillos, an even smaller surf community 5 miles up the road. Esterillos, you see, has gentler waves than the epic, heavy, unforgiving, rip current, swimmer sucking, powerful waves of Hermosa. In short: forgiving to a beginner, me.

I will forever be a beginning surfer and this attempt was no different. However, unlike my US Trials, I managed to gain some encouragement from locals. In fact, I was given pointers by a rather ornery, bad-ass looking dude despite nearly hitting him with my board as I wiped out (Worth noting: I say nearly because I cannot confirm or deny whether I indeed struck him with the board). We conversed briefly in Spanish; his dark, shirtless, tattooed body a stark contrast to my pasty, t-shirt draped, sun block painted torso. He was intimidating, but kind, to say the least.

After another failed surf attempt, Tara and I found a shady spot to relax on the beach and watch the Scarlett Macaws fly in to snack. When they arrived, the six birds settled on one tree to harvest its almonds. I meandered over for some pics. Shit. The gorgeous, rainbow colored parrots had chosen my volunteer surf instructor’s tree to perch on. He was barbequing when I arrived with my big tourist camera and timid, gringo accent. We head nodded to one another. The birds were beautiful and I got some decent pictures. I even spoke to bad-ass’ girlfriend when she came to look at the birds. Then he barked for her to return while he was holding a man-sized machete.

Then, as I was heading back, he barked again. I reluctantly looked up and, to my surprise, he was offering me a wedge-o-watermelon. I’d made a friend and scurried back to brag about it to Tara.

The next day Tara left and I had a few days alone in Hermosa. To once again sum up Hermosa I offer an anecdote. Following a Yoga class I stumbled across, I was asked, “Do you surf?” I answered “no” of course and the follow up question was asked with great confusion on the Yoga instructor’s face, “Well then, what do you do in Hermosa?” A great question but here’s what I did in Hermosa.

I met Nico. He became my roommate for two nights while Tara was home. He’s from Argentina and, as it turned out, is a great surfer. I woke up with him one morning at 5:45am to watch him and the others surf on the swell that had come to Surftown, CR. For a guy who slept from 6-to-6 and seems perpetually stoned, he sure is dedicated to his craft. He woke up at 5:15am to make himself a hearty breakfast of eggs and toast to fuel his big morning of surfing. While he did manage a joint between morning sessions the dude was good. I watched as he dropped into a wave and disappeared into the barrel. I’d previously seen him do this three or four times; each time with the barrel closing around him. But this time, as he disappeared inside the wave, he suddenly came shooting out the open end of the barrel. Triumphantly, he pumped two fists into the air. It was quite a site and I complimented him profusely back at our room. I was very impressed and he was very excited.

Another day’s activity in Hermosa was to bus down to Manuel Antonio. This is Costa Rica’s second most visited National Park and it is beautiful. There are some 20km of hiking trails, tons of wildlife, and terrific beaches to relax and swim at. I chose to navigate much of the trails and seek out wildlife.

My Manuel Antonio day began by catching the 6:30am bus to Quepos where I would catch another bus to the park. Also waiting at the bus stop that morning was the most gorgeous woman in Costa Rica who also spoke English. “But Adam,” you might ask, “How do you know she spoke English?” Well, I’ll tell you: she spoke to me, in perfect English. But soon before the bus arrived her gorgeous boyfriend also arrived and settled into a cramped bus seat next to a passed out sprawling sitter.

I hiked the trails and saw the sites of Manuel Antonio peacefully and primarily alone. I choose not to get into the details because I think you should experience the place for yourself. It’s pretty amazing.

This I would like to share. Towards the end of my hiking, I was heading down a trail when I was approached by a pair of men in capri pants and tight shirts. Now, I want you to read the next line in your best Hans and Franz voice, the weight lifters from SNL. Here it is:

“Have you seen any monkeys?”

Yup, that happened and it took everything I had in my sweaty, dehydrated body to not die on the spot due to laughter. Strangely, the next three groups I passed heading up the trail each asked the same question, but none were Eastern European. Note: I had seen monkeys.

Nico moved out when Tara returned and we were back to our old shenanigans of ridiculously childish games and rampant immaturity. We’d moved on to fake news reports as my generally unclean hair managed to stick very neatly into great anchorman hair.

We hitched our way to a hilltop resort where a friend and potential Ama Tierra employee was teaching a Yoga class. This was, by all definitions that I’m accustomed to, a 5-Star Resort. There were expansive and breathtaking views of the Pacific Coast at every turn of the resort. It was quite a place. The class was taught overlooking those views and we followed that up with another gorgeous sunset viewing.

And here’s where things got a little weird.

We watched with the other hotel guests at the hotel’s quaint amphitheater. It was a great venue and vantage point to watch the sunset. But the power ballad opera music they were blaring reminded me far too much Cirque D’Soleil – so much so that I suggested to Tara we put on a brief performance in the amphitheater – and was not fitting for a sunset.

Also, when the sun was gone, the amphitheater erupted into applause. Tara and I were dumbfounded. We had no idea what was going on. Had the hotel arranged this evening’s solar performance? Were we applauding God? What was going on? We were so shocked that we scurried out and forgot to pay our bill. Whoops. Luckily – or not – the hotel staff did not forget and we paid for our chips and guacamole.

Just as I was settling into Hermosa and the locals were becoming comfortable with the fact that there was someone there who was not surfing, it was time to go. Tara said that when you feel the comforting sense of home, the feeling that you just might belong, it’s time to go. Tara is a traveler.

First Class Time

Reason #332 I'm gald to be traveling with Tara: I thought our bus left at 9:30am for San Jose from Puerto Viejo. Tara knew our bus left at 9:00am.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the biggest frustration of that bus ride. There were 4 stops in the first hour and 3 ticket checks. It was hot, slow, and cramped. But we made it and were off to some first class livin' at Ama Tierra.

We arrived and immediately took a yoga class at the Ama Tierra studio. This is an open air studio that overlooks a valley of green that I'd never quite seen before. Everything was green! Except of course for the Tucans flying about. They were all sorts of colors.

The sun set and it was dinner time. Wow. We had green papaya picadillo, sweet potato, and seared, fresh tuna. It was an amazing meal after a few nights of very good meals. Certainly better than the Whopper I munched on at LAX earlier that week. Anyhow, dinner was excellent and I passed out after watching a movie.

The next day was an Adam day. Tara had work to do for Ama Tierra so I tagged along with some of the hotel guests to the local park, Turrubari. This is an old park, formerly a mango grove for a huge grocer in Costa Rica. He sold out in 1984 but kept and converted these groves into a park with hundreds of species of indigenous vegitation.

I began with the walking tour where I learned that above info. We saw all sorts of stuff. The highlights were the 4 or 5 different fruits we sampled while just parousing the forrest and the crocodiles they were rehabbing. These are some freaky creatures and best observed from a safe distance.

Following the expansive buffet where the fruit juice tasted like smoothies, I was off to zip lining. My fellow Ama Tierra guests had left early. They had succum to the heat. I was now joined by a group of fellow gringos in from all over that states on a cross-cultural volunteer project. The group of families and teens were building a basketball court at a local town. Evidently the operation had been a great success.

The gringos were good company as we zipped through the forrest. It was quite an impressive outfit they had there. Our longest "ride" was 720m. It was very scenic and fast although I'm not very good at going straight on that thing and I kept twisting all about. I suppose it wasn't too big a deal.

From zip lining I returned to Ama Tierra with Popo, the Ruttenberg's trusty driver. He and I spoke spanish all the way back. We covered everything from car honking theory to the Governator. He treated me to a local snack called Idon'trememberbutitstartswithaG and it was delicious.

Dinner was once again delicious at Ama Tierra and we relaxed for the evenning.

The next day was a mellow one where we didn't do much. I taught Bob how to use the iPod I'd brought for them from the states and did some internet-ing. We were taking off for the beach that afternoon and the Ruttenbergs were tying up loose ends for the night.

My stay at Ama Tierra was amazing. The grounds were beautiful and peaceful and was only topped by the hospitality and kindness of Bob and Jill and Kenny and the rest of the Ama Tierra staff. Kenny set up my park tour and managed to swing me a significant discount. Bob and Jill were so kind to let me stay there. It's a truly beautiful place. I'll have pictures up later but for now here's a link: Ama Tierra.

Another thing worth noting about Ama Tierra was that it had internet access and I was able to get some Madness scores. I was pretty amped to see the Pac-10 playing well and it looked like there'd been some good games.

We headed to the beach that evenning and I was excited to see the sun setting into the Pacific Ocean once again.

Arrival

First of all, international travel - or travel in general - is not made for 6'5" people, namely me. I should note that American Airlines was very efficient and kind and, most importantly, on time. Kudos AA. Beyond that, the seats were incredibly small and I was seated next to sprawled sleepers.

On my overnight from LA to Miami a sweet old man who appeared to be on his first flight had to go to the bathroom, from the window seat, just as I, from the aisle seat, was falling asleep. From that point on, I knew I would not sleep for the rest of the flight. The inflight movie was The Invention of Lying. Not good. It had become impossible to sleep and I didn't want to turn my light on to read because I did not want to disturb the able sleepers. My mistake.

Between the two flights (LA-Miami and Miami-San Jose) I managed to hit my head 4 times on the aisle located televisions. I also managed to sit behind seat recliners whom I hate. But when all was said and done, I arrived in San Jose.

And there she was. Tara Ruttenberg my host, guide, and - most importantly - my friend.

Reason #238 I'm thankful for Tara: she dominated the overwhelming and intimidating San Jose airport exit.

From the airport we bussed to a cab, cabbed to a bus, and bussed 4.5 hours to Puerto Viejo. I passed out twice on the bus after not sleeping all of the previous night while flying in. Once in Puerto Viejo we found a place to stay and I quickly - or as quickly as the humid weather would allow - got out of my damp, heavy jeans. I immediately put the jeans into a compartment of my pack where I knew they would not be accessed again. We found dinner then went straight to bed.

The rooster blarred at 3:44 am and didn't stop until I don't know when but he sure as hell started at 3:44 am.

Day one in Puerto Viejo was for biking. We rented beach cruisers from a guy who smelled like pot and called me "Adan Mantequilla" because Butler was spelled a lot like butter. Tara's bike was bright pink, mine was white and too small.

We were riding out to Manzanillo which we later discovered was 13km away. Initially, Tara announced that it was 20km away. Retrospectively, 20km would've been awful, but I digress.

Our first stop was Punta Uva. It's difficult to describe Punta Uva because there are no words to describe such a place. Instead I have invented a new adjective: postcard. Punta Uva was incredibly postcard. It's unbelievably tranquil and as the Palm Trees stretch over the water, it's easy to lose yourself in the lapping of the waves and the softness of the sand. For this, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, Tara was gone for a walk so I decided to let my primal instincts take over: I was going to get us a coconut. With my eyes to the sky I searched for the most ripe one. I finally settled on the perfect one. I shimmied up the 50ft tall palm tree to retrieve my chosen fruit. Noticing that I had a good angle into the ocean, I jetisoned myself off the tree and swan dove into the bay. I was later told by a Scandinavian onlooker that the climb, pick, and subsequent dive was a thing of beauty.

That is completely untrue.

Realty: I used a dry, leafless palm frawn to bat down a green, very unripe coconut. But I was able to retrieve it, crack it open, and we enjoyed the refreshing and tasty milk.

We biked on to Manzanillo which was a less postcard view but unbelievably gorgeous nonetheless. I napped here as well.

We returned home, showered, then ate. Again we were exhausted and found ourselves in bed and asleep by 10:15pm.

Day 2 on the Carribean Coast was for hiking. We were off to Cahuita in a bus and it became quickly evident that it was a fantastic idea not to ride bikes out to the national park. Pot holes, dirt roads, and erratically controlled drivers made it an intimidating and threatening bike ride, but an easy bus unless you're the driver. Not my problem.

Walking into Cahuita was quite a site. It was like entering a Disney ride. We crossed a small bridge and as we crossed, the landscape changed. We moved from a town into a park and the vegetation became incredibly dense in a hurry. The park was much of the same.

To our right was green on top of green on top of green. To our left was the Carribean Sea. It's relatively mind blowing. While hiking Cahuita we saw three types of monos (howler, white face, and spider), some raccoons, and an iguana holding on for dear life as he fell from a branch. Also saw a spider the size of my fist eating a bug. That was gnarly.

When we returned to Puerto Viejo to prepare for dinner, we first picked up an ice cream afternoon snack. It was an early sunset, about 5:45pm, and as we ate our ice cream we watched what I suppose was a sunset. The ocean was there but the sun was not. You see, Puerto Viejo is on the eastern coast of Costa Rica and, as we all know, the sun sets in the WEST. So, we watched a sherbert sky with no sun. It was quite beautiful but something I'd never seen before. I've decided all sunsets of an eastern ocean will be called "sets".

We also discovered that it was St. Patrick's Day. As they say, every town has an Irish Pub and Puerto Viejo is no exception. We decided to give it a whirl. After dinner we found ourselves a quality box of $2200 colones ($5) wine and settled in on the beach in front of the bar. Tara and I enjoyed the boxed wine as the local cover band, Atomic Pants, played in the background.

When the boxed wine was gone we headed into the bar. Only problem is we were both over boozing so we "settled" on ice cream. Chocolate and then passionfruit. This was ten fold better than rum shots or whatever you take down in the Carribean.

We boogied down to a mash of "La Bamba" and "Twist 'n Shout" and declared ourselves the world's foremost wedding/bar mitzvah dancers. The dancing was interupted for us as Atomic Pants moved into a Radiohead cover. While we couldn't dance, the local prostitute got low to "High and Dry".

The hike and box-o-wine began to take its toll and we decided that it was time to turn in. After a brief discussion, it was determined that it was 2:00am. We were pooped and leaving the next day for San Jose. Convinced it was 2:00am and we had to get to bed.

We walked back through town, St. Paddy's Day'd out. We got back to the room and I checked my watch. It wasn't 2:00am. My clock read 11:26pm.

Oh to be young.

In The Beginning...

In the beginning there was an ending. Or darkness, or stillness, or nothing. Depends on which book you're reading; but for now, you're reading my blog so I say ending. The statement, however, begs the question: where does one emotionally focus at the beginning of an adventure and the end of an era?

I’m about to begin an adventure of three months that currently has little direction beyond doing it. This is the first time in my brief life that I’ve been able to say something like that. I don’t have a plan and I kinda like it. I’m excited because I have no itinerary just three destinations: Costa Rica, India, and Israel. I’m fortunate to have this travel opportunity and I’m going to take full advantage.

I also just ended my job. It’s been a good job and a great experience. I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunities I’ve had there and perhaps more to come. But for now, it’s an ending.

So I find myself at the crossroads of bitter and sweet. Bitter to be leaving a nurturing and exciting job. Sweet to be embarking on world travels. But again, where do I focus? The bitter or the sweet? The beginning or the end? The chicken or the egg (the last is irrelevant but it just flowed with the series of questions so I ran with it, whatever)? Ultimately, I wont recognize how bitter the end was until something new has begun and I wont recognize how sweet the beginning was until it has ended. I suppose I’ll reflect on each in due time and not realize the significance of either until much later.

So for now I’ll settle on overwhelm because I still have so much to do before I begin this end or end this beginning.