Memory Zoo

Ayer -- finalmente -- yo fuí al zoológico de Buenos Aires. Lo disfruté mucho porque tiene el sentido de ruinas antiguas (estoy segura que eran fantasmas en al atardecer), y tambien porque hubo animales preciosos, excepcionales y -- lo más importante -- libres. Hubo palomas, patos, wallabys, y niños en libertad.

Qué lastima que no saqué foto. No obstante, después yo encontré muchas fotos desde otros tiempos. Juntadas, ellas son como un zoológico de memorias.












Yesterday -- finally -- I went to the Buenos Aires zoo. I enjoyed feeling as if I were circumnavigating the ruins of an ancient circus. The gloaming seemed to welcome an assortment of ghostly, ghoulish figures. Of course, there were also physical wonders to be enjoyed: an assortment of animals ranging from the precious and rare to the free and wild. There were ample numbers of free-ranging pigeons, ducks, wallabys, and children to be enjoyed by all.

Sadly, I did not take any photographs. Nevertheless, I came home and found an assortment of photos from other times. Together they create a zoo of memories.

The Right Questions

In law school I have learned the importance of asking the right questions before seeking answers. It is all but impossible to write a compelling legal argument without first identifying exactly what question’s solution you are in search of – and asking it well.

I have been trying to answer a question for most of my life. Today the contours of that question seemed to materialize suddenly. (Perhaps you can imagine: there are times when I am on my bike and looking over my shoulder every hundred feet or so. I will see no one to the rear and no intersections to conceal a body. Of a sudden, a cyclist – always so robust! – will pass me like a missed insult. This question was like a cyclist who fits himself comfortably into the interstices of the bike lane and comments happily about the weather.)

The question I have been trying to answer is this: Can love be wasted. Can it? On children? On lovers? On a beautiful flower? On a work of art? On a friend who doesn’t understand you? On a spouse who used to?

I had intended to *wow* you with wisdom by outlining my musings and describing my conclusions but I suddenly feel sheepish. Tonight, despite so much confidence, I can’t help but visualize a pile of wasted love heaped beside my pile of soiled cycling gear.

What do you think? Whether or not it’s the question I’ve been answering all these years, is it a good one?

Silent and Stout

Wow. Well. I'm not sure if it's the beer I just drank, my mood coupled with provocative music, or the Holy Spirit -- but suddenly I feel compelled to write. And I feel compelled to restrain myself from sharing something impressive. It's a rule of nature (my nature, at very least) that when I speak about impressive things simply because they are impressive, I am trying to distract my listener from some other pity-inducing thing. I have a deep distaste for pity in any form. (I am very much like Kafka's spineless man, "K.")

Tonight's noise is draining through a hidden sieve; a strange silence is approaching. As fond as I am of the big red tome by my side, it is less of an object than it is a reminder that it is not a person. Yet in its very object-ness, it takes on the human quality of a stout little person pitying me and pointing a mocking finger.

I have not said much since mid-August. Rather than say a lot, I will say this: I love law school. I delight in almost every aspect of it. Law school works for me and I for it. But as satisfying as it is to spend the bulk of my time working with material that works with me, I am still in danger of ostracizing that unruly part of me that works on its own. And as gratifying as it is to work for something noble, it comes no where near the gratification inherent in loving and being loved.

That Magical Place That Moves Through Space

Who, I have cause to wonder, is reading this blog? Dave K may be waiting for mention of answered prayers and David J may want to know if I am accomplishing my summertime goals. At one time or another, Meredith M may visit my blog to see if I have found another gentle boyfriend and Kim G may wonder if I have managed to construct a cogent explanation as to why I have left my favorite city. She may also subconsciously check for grammatical errors and literary devices that have been poorly brandished in an endearing fit of emotion.

This wonder confounds me in the moment when I erect a pen and prepare to update my blog. I have yet to fulfill my promise of recounting my transformative trip to Israel. Neither have I concerned myself with documenting my recent months in Guatemala while they sit fresh in my thoughts. My move from San Francisco and the relationships I have helped smith there are no less significant. From tonight's vantage point, the subject of Guatemala is too painful, San Francisco too private, and Isreal too complicated. I would most enjoy telling you -- each of you -- about last week's train trip from California to Denver.

The 36-hour tour de force was a unique experience. There is a particular breed of soul that enjoys coursing through a country in this steady, serpentine fashion. The train itself acts as a long, narrow stage upon which these people can interact and play together like career thesbians. Though I had hoped for 36 hours of uninterrupted Gracie-time, I was not loath to entertain, and be entertained by, the Others. I must say, the Bay Area rancher, the Colombian linguist, and the Native American historian were perfectly cast. I chose this mode of transportation for a number of reasons. At the end of this list, the final reason reads: "Get to Denver." All of my expectations were exceeded and all of my goals were accomplished, including my eventual arrival in the lap of Mr. Mile High: Denver, Colorado.

Back on my bike/ flowers in bloom/ living with a baby/ homesick.

Not homesick for Guatemala. Not even for San Francisco, but homesick for that magical place that moves through space more quickly than it does through time.

Why I Adore Scripture, In Part

Éxodo 23:1-9 No admitirás falso rumor. No te concertarás con el impío para ser testigo falso. No seguirás a los muchos para hacer mal, ni responderás en litigio inclinándote a los más para hacer agravios; ni al pobre distinguirás en su causa. Si encontrares el buey de tu enemigo o su asno extraviado, vuelve a llevárselo. Si vieres el asno del que te aborrece caído debajo de su carga, ?le dejarás sin ayuda? Antes bien le ayudarás a levantarlo. No pervertirás el derecho de tu mendigo en su pleito. De palabra de mentira te alejarás, y no matarás al inocente y justo; porque yo no justificaré al impío. No recibirás presente; porque el presente ciega a los que ven, y pervierte las palabras de los justos. Y no angustiarás al extranjero; porque vosotros sabéis cómo es el alma del extranjero, ya que extranjeros fuisteis en la tierra de Egipto.


Exodus 23:1-9 Do not spread false reports. Do not help a wicked man by being a malicious witness. Do not follow the crowd in doing wrong. When you give testimony in a lawsuit, do not pervert justice by siding with the crowd, and do not show favoritism to a poor man in his lawsuit. If you come across your enemy's ox or donkey wandering off, be sure to take it back to him. If you see the donkey of someone who hates you fallen down under its load, do not leave it there; be sure you help him with it. Do not deny justice to your poor people in their lawsuits. Have nothing to do with a false charge and do not put an innocent or honest person to death, for I will not acquit the guilty. Do not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds those who see and twists the words of the righteous. Do not oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be alient, because you were aliens in Egypt.

Just Give Me Some Music

Leave it to me to win a salsa competition during my first month in Guatemala. My partner and I are on the right. The informal competition was held in a popular salsa club. Our prize was 100Q in free drinks (about $13). Dancing seems preferable to paying for a gym membership, don't you think?

Settled in Xela

I'd like to extend an informal invitation: come and visit me in Xela, Guatemala! I will be here for another seven weeks, though I wish I were staying longer. I must warn you, however, that if you don't come soon, I may not remember how to speak to you in English. Xela, the indigenous appellation for Quetzaltenango, is Guatemala's second largest city. Antigua, traditionally the prime spot for Spanish language schools, is an old colonial town full of tourists and Ladinos. Xela, on the other hand, is known for its high concentration of indigenous people and the corresponding presence of humanitarian efforts and organizations.

And so many foreigners! I have been taken aback by the large number of "gringos" who have found themselves in Xela -- indefinitely. They all seem to want to get a master's degree so that they can do human rights work overseas. (All this time, I thought I was unique!) It seems that there are many of us who want to have our overseas cake, eat it, and share it with others too. But really: there are so many young expatriates walking about in their gypsy clothing and converse shoes, volunteering during the day and enjoying Central American entertainment in the evenings, all the while considering the best use of their pending graduate degree: just like me. This far, of course, has been challenging to my faith. I have to wonder what, exactly, makes me different, and what, exactly, I have to offer. Upon initial observation, it seems that many of the foreigners are suffering from feelings of helplessness in the face of injustice, a sense of deep depression, and a lustful desire to accomplish and impress. In addition, hang-overs seem to plague almost everyone. Though I am clinging to my faith as I seek to live a life of integrity, I have to admit to my own maladies: confusion, isolation, and greed.

My first six days have provided time for acclimatization. I connected with the non-profit I'll be volunteering with; found an excellent salsa teacher; discovered the perfect cafe for espresso, kombucha, and internet; and familiarized myself with the confused layout of the town. I am working diligently on my Spanish skills and making swift progress. I took a break from my studies (and from Spanish conversation) this morning for a challenging but glorious hike. Along with 18 other foreigners and 4 local guides, I hiked up a retired volcano to an altitude of about 11,000 feet. At the summit, we observed a more sprightly volcano erupting twice far beneath us. We also spent about two hours picking up garbage (totally 50 or so bags) and another three hours carting it back to town with us.

On another note: I just overheard someone saying, "My life goal is to visit one new country for every year of my life." I have had similar thoughts in the past, but they instantly seem so foolish when I hear someone else say them. Why on earth spend so much time and money seeing new places? WHY?! Just to say you've seen dozens of countries? Earlier today a fellow student told me about a big 2-day hike up the tallest mountain in Central American. I told her that the only thing that would compel me to go would be the ability to say to someone in the future, "I've climbed the tallest mountain in Central American," and that I didn't think that was a good enough reason to do something. She responded by saying that's probably the only reason any Spanish student in Xela does that hike, since it's so expensive and out of the way, and since there are so many other hikes that go undone.

Please, friends, please: hold me accountable to have good reasons for the goals I set -- reasons that benefit more than just me and my desire to consume and impress.