Slavery

http://www.polarisproject.org/

Last week I saw a movie called The Whistleblower, based on one woman's real life experiences as a Gender Specialist investigating crimes against women overseas, in the areas most plagued by the Serbian and Croatian wars: a Muslim woman brutally beat by a husband who hadn't been prosecuted prior, and the abduction of teenage girls for sale. Naturally it affected me, because it's such a powerful story about hatred and prejudice, but I returned the DVD to the library and let it go....or so I thought. 

A few days later, I went a couple of doors down to my favorite pizzeria in between cycles at the laundromat. I got into a conversation with the guy behind the counter. At first we chatted about pizza, cooking, the sometimes hilarity of so-called "diets", and then we talked about locales. He asked me if I was new to the area, and then I asked where he was from. He said "Kosovo", and I admitted it's an area I don't know much about, except for the worst news reports. He didn't dispel my notions outright, saying there's "nothing" over there. I mentioned the movie I'd seen, and at this point, all three men behind the counter joined in the conversation.

Turns out, the Super Bowl here in the States was Ground Zero for human trafficking, and we discussed how major world events can become natural cloud cover for illegal activities. It made me think about the Olympics in Sochi going on right now. God only knows what horrors exist right beneath the surface, out in the open, blind as we are attending these sports events, except to our own amusement. As one of the delivery guys showed me the news story on his smart phone, I scrolled down the sad, sick story. "How alone they must feel, like we don't care about them....like no on loves them", I said to him, reading about people sold like meat, killed after they're used, nameless and faceless to society, lost after their identities are obliterated with fake passports. And they're right to feel such despair, when we routinely ignore suffering that's so obvious around us every day, because it seems unbelievably horrific, or someone elses' problem. 

It seems so insurmountable: overwhelming, frightening, threatening. "Well, what can I do about it?" After all, no one goes to a ball game to cry into their expensive beer about some teenage girl unlucky enough to seek work in another country to support her family by answering an ad in the paper for maids in a hotel, somewhere "over there", far away from here. But we can do something. We can talk about it. We can publicize it. Just like the Super Bowl. Just like the Olympics.

http://www.thewhistleblower-movie.com/

http://www.cbssports.com/nfl/eye-on-football/24429762/fbi-rescues-16-juveniles-in-super-bowl-human-trafficking-operation 

http://www.nbcnews.com/id/20185681/ns/dateline_nbc/t/woman-rescued-human-traffickers/ 

Nature: The Hornet's Nest

Paper nest in snow.

I saw this beautiful paper wasp's nest on top of a frozen layer of snow, crossing a field one afternoon, and upon closer inspection, miraculous. After all, it's state has changed dramatically with the seasons. What was once a fearsome home in the summertime for fighter bees that stung ferociously upon invasion has become, in wintertime, yet another piece of flotsam and jetsam that can succumb to the elements at any time, long abandoned by those creatures who lived an entire lifetime in the mere speck of a few months to us as humans.

It looked so fragile and temporal, seemingly floating on the surface of ice that had hardened after a recent snowfall, and yet so firmly fixed in its' position. I touched it after taking a picture, and it revealed to me those dual natures under my hand as well: flimsy, light, papery, given to crumbling around the edges, but as a whole nest, it was also surprisingly hard and immovable, locked in it's winter home. I was moved by this, as I made my way to meet my own fates for the day in that sunny freezing weather, a day that was both cold and warm, hard and soft, beautiful and difficult.

Me, the hornet's nest, and a dog's tracks, at different times.

Around the Way: The Dessert Carousel

After Wayne Thiebaud

On one wearying and windy freezing day in downtown Brooklyn, when I was in town on some business I'd rather avoid (forever), I took comfort in the cheery pleasure that this diner's dessert carousel promised me after lunch. I didn't have the stomach to partake in it at the time, but part of me wanted order a slice of each beautiful, friendly, puffy pastry that swirled by, for me to enjoy at some later date during happier times, preferably while warm and safe at home over a nice cup of tea.

Poetry in Motion: Twilight

Bus ride home in twilight.

To the Reader: Twilight

Chase Twichell

Whenever I look

out at the snowy

mountains at this hour

and speak directly

into the ear of the sky,

it’s you I’m thinking of.

You’re like the spirits

the children invent

to inhabit the stuffed horse

and the doll.

I don’t know who hears me.

I don’t know who speaks 

when the horse speaks.

Stay Tuned....

For a handy, designing woman.

Hello, Dear Readers!

So where have I been? Believe me when I tell you that I've most certainly not gone away for good. In fact, the exact opposite is true! 
I've made a big change recently that's taken up a lot of my time. 
It's been exhausting, exciting, nerve-wracking, stressful, lonely at times, and also very worthwhile. Such is the life. Stay tuned for more words and pictures that are soon to come, and stick with me. 
You won't regret it ;)