Friday, November 21, 2008

WATER

What if you went around the world and asked kids from every level of society and from every continent in the world, "What does water smell like?" Some kids, like here in America, would say "that's silly, water doesn't have a smell." Because we have clean, clear, running water. Or kids in Switzerland would say "its smells like the mountains or nature" because even their tap water is like fresh, bottled, springwater. But maybe a little girl in Senegal would say "it smells like chemicals or gasoline," because she walks everyday to the river and carries water back in an old jug she found on the road. Or a little boy in India might say, "It smells like garbage and waste," because the water is so contaminated and there are no dumping restrictions. Or kids in the Favelas of Brasil would say "It smells like drainage," because they have streams running through their make-shift villages that are the drainage ditches from the city.
When I was in India, I saw poverty like you can't imagine until you are there. Beggars aren't asking for money - they are asking for water. "Tanda Pani, Dee Dee? Tanda Pani?" in Hindi means "Cold Water, Auntie, Cold water?" I will never forget all the precious Hindi babies surrounding me in the street begging, actually BEGGING for a drink when they saw me take out my water bottle from my bag. They stood all around me with their mouths open and their little hands cupped for me to pour it into their mouths. Little mouths full of sores, missing teeth, rotting teeth, cracked lips. I felt helpless after I had poured the last drop into their tiny mouths, but those who did get a sip were so greatful. And my heart broke into a thousand pieces.
Today I am thankful for water. When you take a drink today, what does it smell like?

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

today

I started on Saturday working for DKNY and i really like it! The dressers and sellers and designers are so nice! We get delicious catered breakfast and lunch everyday...mmm. But the days are long; i worked for 12 hours today in 5 inch heels! ouchie! BUt the clothes are amazing and the clients are from all over the place: Turkey, Russia, South Africa, all over Europe. I LOVE it. I'm just really tired and I can't seem to beat this sniffly cold.
I still don't have a cell phone, or an alarm clock, though. (Marco calls my apartment to wake me up in the mornings.
Everything is goin' gooood.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

smells when i was little...

Dad: ...like blue vinyl seats heated in the sun, sweat and lawnmower dust, sunscreen and baseball-glove leather, shaving cream and Dow's chemicals and car oil. But on Sundays he smelled like coffee breath, cologne and ironing starch.
Mom: ...like clorox and the sweet perfume that came in the little bottle with the dove on top, and like alcohol swabs and hairspray, black pepper, and basil. Like lotion and laundry detergent and plastic on her stethescope that pokes into you when she hugs you.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Beach Days:

Beach Days:
Running across the sand. The searing powder stretches out before me. Surely I am bleeding by now. I must reach the cool waves and quench this pain.
"Stop!" She yells. "Sunscreen!"
How can I stop? I can't go back, I'll lose my feet! I see the sea and feel this baking pain. From one foot to the other each sizzling in the sand. I imagine turning back on bloody nubs, my feet left behind like that broken bottle or that dead crab.
"Sunscreen!" She calls again.
I think I will die. The cool waves lapping, children laughing, my feet burning.
She's threatening now.
I know I'll lose my snow cone later. oh, how she tortures!

Owa! Its in my eyes! The stinging cream runny on my sweaty forehead. She slathers the coconut-y goo in my ears and down my neck. I love the smell of it. It smells like her and swimming lessons and picnics. It smells like heat and childhood.
"Aaand done."
Those magic words, the shot from the gate. Across the fiery, gravely beast and into the salty sea. Splashing, jumping, falling, waves knocking be to and fro. The cool water stings in every cut and shrivels my lips.
In the car going home I am a salty prune with sand in every crevice. Sitting on a towel, the radio humming me to sleep. She carries me and her voice is just a mummer.
Just another long summer day
.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Ah, Love.

Love feels like every dream I've had, or every childhood ambition could easily happen. It makes me feel like I will be a famous supermodel, and own a Tea Shop and a health food store, and teach yoga and ESL, and be a dancer on Broadway and a missionary in Africa while Marco goes to the Olympics and is an International business man, and a Pro Skateboarder, and we both are Ambassadors to foreign countries on the weekends! Because Love makes everything seem possible. But at the same time, Love also feels like, "well, even if all those things don't happen, thats okay too cause we can just stay home and watch a movie and play board games!" Thats the best part! If it all happens, or if none of it happens, I'll still be just as happy as ever, because we will still be together and still have love.
Of all the places I can dream of going, the best of anyplace I can imagine is right where I am, as long we are together.
It isn't foolishness, or maybe it is, but its happiness and glee. Its memories, and secret treasures and sunsets and swim meets. Its tears in an Airport. A silly fight over Chinese food. A box of notes and ticket stubs. Its a train trip to Lucerne, Lausanne, and a car ride to Louisiana. Its the smell of Chlorine and the smell of espresso. Its Marco -heart- Rachel. Its Love. Ah, Love.