Adell

I opened Facebook and among the notices and posts I read that it was Adell's birthday.  I opened her page to find she passed just a couple weeks before.  Adell and her husband Jay moved to Sadona a few years ago and I lost personal touch but there was always the occasional message back and forth.

The first time I met Adell, I walked into her classroom to do an internship in Community College Teaching.  I had no idea how she would impact my life.  She was kind and willing to teach me everything I needed to know and more.  She recommended me for my first class….Marketing.  I knew almost nothing about Marketing.  She said, “Don’t’ worry all you need to know is the 4 Ps and remember you know more than they do”.  The first thing I did when I left school that day was to research what in the hell the 4 Ps are!   I never told her that I had to look that up but I wish I had as I know she would have had a good laugh!  She was right, I did know more than the students knew even though I was only a chapter ahead during that semester.  She guided me all the way through my first classes and never stopped supporting me. To this day, thanks to Adell, I can tell you all about the 4Ps!

 

The day I left for Peace Corps the Los Angeles Times printed my story on the front page, Column 1. I was outing myself.  Barely anyone knew my back story.  It was too personal and too painful to share. But here I was giving the Los Angeles Times permission to print my story on page one!  https://www.latimes.com/local/la-me-karen27-2008aug27-story.html

I received an advanced copy of what would be printed.  I can’t remember ever being this scared.  What had I done?  My sons and Johns brothers had given their support for me to talk with the Times, but for years my personal life was completely hidden from my professional life as well as many of my friends.  I had to become a different person when I walked out the door in the morning and through the corporate doors for the next 8-10 hours.  No one at work knew.  None of my friends knew, except Adell.  There was so much shame and regret.  I married a really good man with a very big addiction.  Adell helped me work through it.  The day I was given an advanced copy of the article I took my dog, Barkley, to the dog park on 190^th Street.  I was in tears when I called Adell and it was obvious she wasn’t thrilled about the dog park, but she was there in a matter of minutes.  She read the article and told me it was all going to be ok.  She sat with me while I cried.  She was such a calming force.  I am crying as I write this memory, remembering how important she was in my life.

 

I visited her during a short vacation from Peace Corps.  She wasn’t well.  I was wearing a necklace.  It was a bullet casing.  Part of it was the bottom of the shell and the rest had been melted down and made into a leaf with the word “Life” written on it.  This necklace was made by a young woman who escaped the civil war in Liberia.  When she returned she found everything destroyed around her and there were thousands of spent shell casings on the ground.  She defiantly started this small business, Akala, to give back to her country.  Adell was intrigued when she saw it and then when I related the story she was taken back.  I gave her the necklace that day.  I gave it to her because she chose life.  She was such a strong woman.  She helped so many and gave back endlessly.  The message on this necklace matched Adell’s soul.

 

Finally, there was a message on her cork board over her desk at work.  A secretary had taken it when she was likely teaching a class.  It was a message from her husband Jay.  It said, “Jay called to say he is madly in love with you”. What a special relationship they had.

My love and respect for Adell will remain.  She was a force in my life!

 

 

DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER!

Years ago when I was a new Peace Corps Volunteer the Country Director came for a visit to see my village and to check on my projects.  After a walking tour around the village she said, "Karen, are you safe here?"  I was taken off guard.  Of course I feel safe!  It's a poor community but poor doesn't make it unsafe.  I come from Los Angeles where poor might equate with unsafe but this isn't Los Angeles!  What I determined is I had failed to really show her the village or that she failed to have the ability to look at it through a cultural lens.  She saw people liming (a term for hanging out), she saw a begger, and we walked by a few people smoking something other than tobacco.  When she saw this, she failed to see what was underneath.  She failed to see the caring people with which I was surrounded.  She failed to see the real village.  An example of "judging that book by it's cover".

I woke early today to walk to LaTille Falls.  Really early!  For me, intensely early!  I left the house at 6:30 . . . that's a.m.  Applause please!  By Saint Lucia time it is late.  People tend to get up very early before the sun rises to cook or clean or work in the fields or fish.  Getting up early to beat the heat.   And so it was necessary as the Falls is a couple of miles away.  It's 80 degrees and there's a nice island breeze.

Nigel and I walked through the village and I questioned her  about used tires.  One thing that is disturbing is that there is a lot of trash left strewn around the village . . . tires, plastic bottles, food wrappings and containers.  I wish it wasn't like this, but it is.  Every so often they have a clean up but it never seems to last.  There is no shortage of tires.  They are everywhere, some discarded and others repurposed. They use them to create barriers that hold back mud in storms.  Others are repurposed for flower pots.

On an island where it is difficult to get resources, people look at what we think of as trash or weeds differently.  These "weeds" might be passed up to the average visitor, however, this is what is used to make mats and baskets.

So we pass listening to the birds, seeing the poor old goat with one horn as well as a myriad of chickens, roosters, and dogs most in search of a scrap of food.  We say goodbye to the village and cross the highway walking just a bit to the sign that reads "LaTille Falls".

Walking up the road, I have left behind the hustle of everyday life . . . although compared to Los Angeles I find little hustle in Saint Lucia, but this is nature and the further travelled on this road, the more quiet and serene it gets.  I've been this way before and was excited to come up here again. There are small patches of land where people come to farm.

Making Charcoal

Pealing Papaya

As we enter there is a stack of wood and as I look closer I can see the pit where it is buried for the slow cook that transforms it into charcoal.  As I move down the road I see plenty of banana farms.  These are what made past farmers rich, but sadly not anymore; hurricanes and trade deals have moved the banana industry aside.  These small farms are used to process a small export business as well as a resource for the country.  It is a haven for me as the banana's in our stores are no match for a Saint Lucia banana picked ripe.  Nigel, always prepared, picks a papaya from a roadside tree and shares it with me.  Oh my gosh the fruit is so good here!

Small Banana Farm

Chicken Farm

Down the road there is something new and not here nine years ago...a chicken farm on the right and bags of chicken poop free for taking on the left.  Stinky, though it is, it is also a good fertilizer.

Very Stinky Chicken Poop

And now as I reflect during this peaceful walk, we have reached our destination.  I've been here on several occasions.  Once with our group of Peace Corps Trainees, once with children in the nearby village of MoPo, once with family members and I'm sure there were more times.  But I have not been here in nine years.

A new sign

Here's a shining example of "you can't judge a book by it's cover".  I remember when I was a volunteer people in the village would say, "Sly had so much to offer and he has wasted it.  He's a Rasta living in the jungle."  I was somewhat surprised when I first met Sly after hearing that comment.  He had a vision then and was creating a reality from it.  But who could have known how his vision would grow!  Yes, he was living in the jungle, but he was creating a sustainable environment.  Yes he has a lot to offer, but sometimes people can't see the vision right away.  He is an educated man who, then, was living in a small hut with solar-generated electricity.  He was creating a sustainable lifestyle, thanks to his knowledge of irrigation techniques and the abundance of water from his waterfall.  He was creating a lifestyle that would not leave a footprint on the environment.  That was then....

Fish Pedicure

LaTille Falls is a Saint Lucia gem and it is protected.  The government recognizes its importance.  Sly became involved in the Castries Tourism Council and connected with the incoming ships.  Passengers are now able to take a bus...sometimes 60 people to Sly's property.  And it is so much more than it was then.  He has a reception center with handmade items that locals have left for sale.  He has a fish pedicure pond ... I did this in Vietnam for a price and it was so much fun.  He has hiking trails and of course a trail leading down to the waterfall and pond.  There are benches and hammocks and cleared trails.  It is stunning.  And he teaches how to live off the grid.

Steps leading to waterfall

Peaceful Pathways

The Reception Center

A not so good picture of the waterfall

But that wasn't all.  He's made profit from the tour ships and some of that profit has gone into building an "Off-the-Grid" AirBnB.  It is complete with a kitchen, living room, electricity and plug receptacles.  It has a bedroom and a bathroom with an outdoor shower.  It is really amazing.  He has sights set to build another one near the river so that people can walk out their door and into the river.  Staying here isn't just a stay...it's an education.

It was such a treat to see this property after all these years.  It is an amazing success story! Sly is living the dream - he is living large!  

And now I need a nap after five miles in the heat.

THINGS I KNOW

It's July 2019 and I have come back to Saint Lucia...the place where this blog started during my two years with the United States Peace Corps.  This is the place I call my second home.  It's been nine years since I left.  I was concerned I may not feel I belonged anymore, but I shouldn't have.

One thing I miss is having the time to reflect on small bits of my life and write about it.  I have been to so many countries in my life, and I haven't found the time to write. So maybe I'll write a bit backwards while I'm here in Saint Lucia.

Right to left: Grandma Curci, my mother Pat Pettyjohn (Wegener), and my Great Grandmother, Grandma Cruz and then there is me.  I'm probably just a few months old

This blog is written for anyone who cares to spend the time reading it, but it is specifically written for my grandchildren.  When I was a young adult my grandmother wanted me to help her write a book about her life.  I never found the time for it.  Now that I'm older I wish I had.  I know she had an interesting life ,,, bits and pieces ... here and there.  I know she was married to a "womanizer".  I met him one time.  My mother hated him, likely because she was a child and didn't want to experience divorce, or maybe not.  Mom always said that when they got divorced he wanted to take her brother and leave mom to grandma.  I'm not sure that's the truth, but it's a story.  There are no pictures of him that I am aware of.

My grandmother lived in "sin" during the Great Depression.  His name was Dr. Orlich.  I know absolutely nothing about him, including how his name might be spelled or why he held the title of doctor.  They lived in a Chicago basement.  Grandma was lucky she had work.  She was a secretary in a meat packing company.  I remember one story she told.  All the men got raises and when she questioned why nothing more was in her paycheck, the boss responded "because men have families to support".  My grandmother was a proponent of women's equality.

She came to California and married my grandfather, Grandpa (Paul) Curci.  He was a bald Italian man who was always kind and loving to me.  I don't know much about him, where they met, or why he immigrated from "the old country".  I do know he had little education and was self-made and amassed wealth that carried him through life.  He hustled for work.  He bought and renovated homes, sold at a a profit.  He took old broken pallets, fixed them and sold them back to the farmers in Palos Verdes.  He liked to eat spaghetti and Italian bread which by the end of the week was hard, but was never thrown away.  Anyone who lived through the Great Depression never threw good food away.  In later life he spent his days with his buddies at the "used car lot".

Grandma waited on him as you might expect a woman to do in those times.  She wore an apron over her housedress, making sure she was home to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for him.  But she also worked in real estate sales and was fairly successful buying pieces of land and turning it over into a retirement fund.  Money was a contentious argument between them so they created a legal agreement to separate their financial lives.  Grandma supported herself.  She bought the duplex in Hawthorne where they lived.  She bought the land on Hawthorne Boulevard and built a home and apartment complex, later leasing some of the property to Chaffee Motors.  She did well for herself.  It is a conflict in my mind as to why she would be subservient to my grandfather, but on the other hand be a savvy business woman.  These questions could have been uncovered if I had found the time to help her with her book.  

And so, now I hope sometime in your life when you are older and curious you might pick up my blog and discover the person inside the grandmother exterior.

PERU 2017

I went on this trip by myself … well, sort of.  It’s a tour, but only three people besides myself were in the group.  My backpack stuffed and suitcase packed carefully leaving room for any wonderful treasures I must bring home.

The altitude is high.  Cusco is 11,000 feet.  My mountain home is only 6,500 feet above sea level.  I brought altitude sickness pills prescribed by the doctor.  I booked a hotel for a day to lay around and try to acclimate before joining the others.  The hotel is nice with amazing views of Cusco which was the original capitol of the Incas.

The next day Miguel is waiting at the hotel desk.  He is to be our host.  After taking a few pictures of the great views, we leave the hotel.  When I get into the car there is a woman, Stacey, sitting in the front seat.  She is one of the three people I will be travelling with. 

“Hi, I’m Karen.  Where are you from?” 

“Atlanta.” She responds without looking at me.

Oh great, this is going to be fun.

“What’s your name?”

“Stacey” she says, again without looking at me.

It’s a quiet car ride to Miguel’s house.

I immediately don’t like her.

There is a young boy waiting just outside Miguel’s house.  His name is George.  He and his mother, Katrina, are the other two in our small group.  It turns out Stacey and I became friends as will be demonstrated in Peru 2018.  She had little sleep and suffers from motion sickness while riding in cars . . . hence, her bitchiness-self is forgiven.

Peru is my favorite country.  Every new country is my favorite.  Well, okay, I love all the countries I’ve visited.  I love my Peace Corps Saint Lucia home and my Webster University Ghana home.  I began my interest in these countries when visiting my son Jay while he was Peace Corps Honduras.  Guatemala was amazing….I could clearly go on forever.  You must understand what I’m trying to say.  I like cultural differences.  Diversity is the reason I travel and I suppose the reason I’ve taken little interest in developed countries in Western Europe.

ME, KATRINA, GEORGE, AND STACEY

Peru began slow so we could adjust to the altitude.  There was plenty of coca leaves, coca tea, and coca candy.  A tour of Cusco which included us dressing in traditional attire…and, of course, a silly tourist photo.

We moved to Andahuaylas where Miguel and his family have what is affectionately known as the Farmhouse.  I’m not sure why it’s called that.  Stacey named it.  More about Stacey later.  They raise guinea pigs for food.  

They have geese which I think are there to annoy people because as you must know geese are not exactly affectionate.  But in contrast there are two stray dogs, Benjamin and Osa that will ensure safety for a small morsel of bread.  

THEY SAY THIS IS A FRUIT
SOMEWHAT LIKE A TOMATO

There are also vegetables planted in various nooks in the garden filled with beautiful flowers and trees and plants.  It is a place where dragonflies and hummingbirds are easily spotted. The farmhouse has rooms for guests, and can accommodate about 40 people.  It is equipped with a large kitchen and dining room.  It is a small village haven, peaceful and serene.

One day local women came and taught us to make traditional dolls.  We purchased some of their handmade items, which I bought for displays at the grandkids International Day.  Doll making is a nice experience and even though I am far from crafty, I love my dolls.  Another day we toured the ruins at Sacred Valley, a site where Incas lived and grew agriculture.

I became intrigued with the beauty of doors and cobblestone streets.  At home  workers poor hot tar and asphalt into the streets, and patching potholes has become job security.  The cobblestone streets which have been there for years look as beautiful as they likely were when first laid…but I must say they can be difficult to walk on.  So once again in a foreign country, I look down as I walk.

It seems any small reason becomes a champion for a parade.  We went to so many, some planned and some we just happened to come upon.  Villages each have a variation of costume.  They dance around squares with baskets of offerings.  Some parades have booths with games and traditional foods.  The trout was some of the best I’ve had . . . sometimes cooked in clay ovens and sometimes buried in plantain leaves and cloth.

Our evenings were filled playing games, doing homework, and making lanterns with local school children.

One day we went to a local boys home to make lunch for them.  We met volunteers who were painting a new facility and we interacted with many of the boys who were playing on the trampoline.  We toured the large vegetable garden, walked over to the chicken coups, and talked to the kind retired policeman who is trying to keep the facility alive for these boys.

PICTURE AT BOYS HOME

After lunch we drove to a local zoo, so to speak.  A man who is obviously an animal lover takes in animals who are injured.  He feeds them and loves them.  He has no funding and does this from the heart.  I can only imagine what he does to ensure they are fed.  There are alpaca, llama, monkeys, parrots, a sloth and even a condor.  Condors are quite sacred in Inca culture.  They believe when people die they must be put into a fetal position.  Left, they will be picked up by a condor and carried to the heavens.  We took pictures and donated money to feed these amazing animals.  I must say holding a sloth was quite amazing.  It was the most cuddled I’d been in my lifetime.

By now Stacey had warmed up and we were becoming friends.  This is when I began noticing that Miguel, our host, seemed to be taking an interest in her.  She had no idea.  She’s a last minute, put everything off type person.  She lives in the moment, leaving her job as a Physicians Assistant to travel and “find herself”.  She travelled to various countries, Japan among them.   Then she tried to travel to other countries, each presenting some difficult barrier, and she eventually settled on Peru.  This clearly would end in significant event.

One day we went to visit a shaman in the hills where he performed an healing offering.  We climbed up to a cave and all was well until we started making our way down.  That’s when Stacey decided to take a shortcut and tumbled down the mountain.  She had dirt and burrs and leaves and mud all over her but never lost her sense of humor.  One of the travellers was a doctor and immediately went into doctor mode but in the end all was well.

And on another day we went to a doll factory run by a Peruvian artist.

The two highlights of the trip came towards the end.  We rode horses to Rainbow Mountain, a spiritual site where weather and minerals make beautiful rainbow colors.  It is high and a difficult climb for me even with a horse.  There were many times when we had to get off the horse and hike because of the difficulty.  The last quarter mile was on a steep incline.  At an altitude of 17,000 feet I admit it…I was exhausted and wanted to quit, but did make it and glad I did! 

The second highlight, of course: Machu Picchu.  Although no one really knows it’s exact use, anyone experiencing the ruins can see it was a bustling community for the Incas.  There is evidence of a cultural caste system, study of the sun, farming, and a belief system of the sky, inner earth and outer earth.  They have symbols for each: the Snake sheds it’s skin and emerges to the outer earth where they gain the strength of a Puma.  When death arrives, they were placed in a fetal position where the strength of the Condor picks up the dead and carries them to the sky.  This is a circular process of rebirth and death.  It is common to see these three symbols throughout Cusco and its surroundings.

It was a nice couple of weeks and a beautiful country…another favorite.  Little did I know I’d be back for Peru Round 2.

And the reason I am a year late in writing this blog is this.  I flew home and called Brendan to come get me at LAX.  “Bring Barkley”.  He said ok and we hung up.  A few minutes later he called and said Barkley didn’t look good.  “Should I bring him to get you?”  “No take him to emergency.  I’ll meet you there”.  Barkley was on eight pills a day and suffered from congestive heart disease.  Three hours after coming home my precious, beautiful friend passed in my arms.  It was July 1, 2017 and I still cry everyday.  He was my friend, my companion, and my reason to begin each day.  He hugged me every morning when I picked him up and carried him to the kitchen for breakfast.  And then, a month later, my long time sister-friend died.  It was August 8, 2017 when Leslie, my friend of over 40 years left.  It has been a difficult transition for me to bare.

... and then there is one

John and I are sitting on the couch listening to music, talking and generally enjoying the soft breeze through the screen door.  It’s June 1971.  I heard someone knocking on the door and got up to find a woman with my cat, Rover, in her arms.  “Is this your cat?”

Just the week before we were living in a duplex in Inglewood.  It was a small one bedroom near Inglewood Avenue and Lennox Boulevard.   It was directly under the LAX flight pattern.  I could almost see the people in the windows of the planes.  I had enough.  John left for work and I opened the Daily Breeze to find a place to live far from the sounds of jet engines and the smell of fuel.  That night he came home and witnessed me packing. “What are you doing?”  He looked confused. We had only been married six months and he obviously misread what he saw.  I announced we were moving to Torrance.  “Torrance!  Why there?”  John was less than happy but followed my lead, relieved that he was coming too.  We moved into a small two bedroom house with two houses, side by side in the backyard.  We laughed about this years later and always said it was the best decision we could have made.

The woman introduced herself, “Hi, my name is Leslie.  I live behind you in one of the houses.  Your cat came over to my house.  She’s really friendly”.  That is how I met Leslie forty-six years ago.  A few months later Judy moved into the other back house and now we were three.  Judy died in 2008 (the link to that blog post can be found by clicking on "Judy".  And we have been two since then.

Leslie married Dennis a short time later.  The marriage was volatile and lasted only five years.  Judy was living with her boyfriend; a situation that was crazy and short lived also.  We were all broke and many nights scrapped up enough money to buy food for a communal dinner, we picked vegetables from our common garden, and always carried a tab at Bennies, our neighborhood market.  On warm nights we brought Leslie’s television out onto the porch and watched it while sitting on lawn chairs.

Neither Leslie or I worked.  Judy, always employed, was the more responsible one.  We spent many days playing cards, riding bikes and just hanging out in the yard.  It was a very happy and carefree time in our lives.

I suppose many couples have the same happy memories of those first years together.  I remember my mother reminiscing about the days when she and my dad first married and their struggle while he was going through college.  They were broke, living in a Quonset Hut in Tucson, but mom described it as their happiest days. 

When I had my first son, Jay, he was premature.  I brought him home at a couple months old.  He was small and fragile.  We had to wake him every two hours to eat and it would take him an hour to finish the 2 ounces in his bottle.  We were exhausted.  We set the alarm and put it in the kitchen so we had to get up.  Many nights Leslie would come in through the back door before the alarm would go off and feed him, then reset the alarm for us.  He was so tiny there were no clothes in the stores for him.  Leslie retrieved her crochet needles and made sure he had clothes that fit him.

Tonight I did a search through my emails to read her words.  I read her funny stories which reminded me of her crazy sense of humor.  I read about the pride she had in her daughter.  I read about her love for her new son-in-law.  

I read through our plans to meet at my cabin and all the food she and her husband, Ron, would be bringing.  Could she bring her 160 pound Rottwieler? Yes of course Leslie.  There were many emails that started with “I just thought of you today when” and then a situation was described.  These email threads demonstrated the commitment to a very old friendship.  In 2015, I wrote a short email to her complaining about how people were treating Muslims.  I found it unfair and wondered how so many people could be misguided.  She was the friend who had never lost her 60’s values, her sense of inclusion, and my connection.  She wrote back, “What you envision you create.  Hold a better vision.  That’s our job.  To create a better place.“  That short reply was exactly what I needed to hear.  True to this philosophy was her ability to take care of others in need.  When a young girl needed a home, Jenny was adopted and is family.

Over the years there were camping trips, a trip to Washington to visit her brother and sister-in-law, Michael and Ann and stays at my cabin in the mountains.

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When I returned from two years abroad in the Peace Corps, the world I left remained, but I changed.  During those years, I reentered my roots and remembered what was important.  I had two years to reflect on what I had become.  Working in a corporate environment, taking care of my family, and masking my identity had taken a toll on my soul.  When I returned I felt I didn’t fit into my old life anymore….but there was Leslie.  My old friend, who got me, who understood the values that we lived and are central to being.

Leslie and I lived in far different worlds but managed to stay connected on a spiritual level.  I often didn’t understand her world and she often didn’t understand mine.  But what we did have was basic values that created a bonding philosophy about life.  That philosophy was formed during the time Judy, Leslie and I lived in those three tiny houses on Border Avenue.

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As I write this, Leslie is living her final hours.  How can I describe losing a friend of forty five years?  I can’t.  And so, as I write this piece and reflect on our lifetime, I am acutely aware that shortly, there will be one.  I love you my dear friend.