Aches.

In high school, I was a frequent migraine sufferer. Retrospectively, I blame them on all the stress of teenage angst. If I was anything in high school, I was overflowing with angst. (Sorry about that, parents!) But I'd sleep 'em off in the morning and be fine by the afternoon.

These past few days, I've been getting headaches. (Also, a hurricane passed through the entire east coast, save for Roanoke.) They... the headaches, became more frequent, and then last night, more severe. I texted my on-call physician, a much-loved cousin who is in fact a legitimate doctor and far superior to Web MD, who told me to just sleep it off.

So I slept. I slept for 12 hours. With a pillow over my head. I awoke this morning to an eerily blue room since I had pulled my curtains down and they really just diffuse the light more than block it. I have never missed the awesome shades of Europe with the metal slats on the exterior of the window that block out EVERYTHING more than I did this morning. I still had a headache.

Here I am, a few hours later, and it's still there. However, after 12 hours of sleep, there's not much I can do. So the computer is set to dim, the shades are drawn, and I'll crank out some more job applications Edgar Allen Poe style. I have no doubt in my mind that this is how he wrote some of his best work - in leggings, old glasses and oversized sweaters in a dark and eerily silent room, save for the dripping of the leaky sink and the buzz of the cheap AC unit. It's how The Raven was written. Fact.

I was excited to see that Peggy Olson takes Excedrin Migraine. Should I do the same, Peggy??

I flee the state on Thursday for a much-needed escape. Virginia, you may be for lovers, but I'm not loving on you right now.

The times, they are a-changing

You better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’

Things at work have taken an interesting turn. After my training in Charlottesville, I began to think about all the things I had done wrong in regards to my grant proposals. This got me thinking about how we needed to brainstorm programs, which derailed my train of thought towards funding opportunities. For a solid grant proposal, one needs a good program. A good program will have some form of matching funds. For dependable matching funds, we needed to raise the bar on our fundraising.It all happened rather suddenly. The next thing I knew, I was bringing this up to my supervisor and now I'm hoping we've developed a plan that will force us to look at our own fund development program and how we can improve upon it. Proposal writing, while pivotal, is only part of the larger system. It may be a little late, but I'm glad the a-ha moment occurred.

In other good news, the government didn't shut down! AmeriCorps wanted us to come in even if they did shut down, and said they'd back pay us. To me, it sounded a lot like slavery. "Do this work! We'll pay you later.... promise..." -shifty eyes- But, hooray for dependable paychecks. Things would've gotten ugly had that gone down. Both for my bank account and, yknow, the country.

After spending last weekend at my alma mater, I am now done traveling for the month. With gas going up the way it is, I can't afford to see anyone anymore. That being said, I do welcome visitors! I know Roanoke may just be too intimidatingly happening for some of you - it's not for the faint of heart.

As my time here is drawing to a close, I need to start thinking about how I'm going to pass on all I've done to the VISTA that takes over my position. It's time to start thinking about finishing up.

Travels, Nonprofit Rambles, and ... I miss my kitchen.

Charleston was lovely and sunny and the perfect place for me to go. Driving back, I encountered a fair amount of traffic, allowing my weekend total of hours with Mr. Merlot to hover around the 16 range. I know I say I love my car, but goodness. Enough is enough. Wait Wait Don't Tell Me podcasts and gorgeous sunsets as I approached the mountains made up for it, though. Enjoy this photo of radiant South Carolina.... or, the French place Brother and I got brunch at before my departure on Sunday. Don't mind Brother's awkward stance.

Upon my return to the office Monday morning, I learned that our client with whom I had dedicated much time to would not be renewing their contract with us for another year. There are an array of reasons why this makes perfect sense for both us and them, but I couldn't help feeling slightly glum. Their Executive Director is a phenomenal woman with nothing but dedication to her job, and I'll miss working with such a great person. It feels oddly like a break up, though. Coworkers have approached me asking to return things to this client, others come up and ask, "Is it true??" Let's just make it facebook official already.

I now, though, have more time to focus on raising funds for our office, something that is definitely needed. One of the caveats of being a 501(c)3 which offers fundraising services to other nonprofits is that it gets awfully complicated to factor in time and resources to raise your own funds. I've gotten incredibly used to writing grant proposals for underprivileged children with an educational focus, and now I have to shift that focus completely. This is good, though. I've already begun a draft for a contract with a new client, and the change in material is so very welcome.

I've already learned so much at this job, and while I know I have so much more to absorb regarding the nonprofit world and development in general, these are all things that I never could have learned in the classroom. Years of analytical papers regarding the Helsinki Accords and international theorists was all for naught. Don't get me wrong - I'm all for higher education, but it's amazing how many things you can't learn from a textbook or a scantron.

That was very work-related. I could also write about the delicious duck confit corn hash I had this weekend, or my mussels, or the foie gras ... but that would just prove that I had a fat French kid's weekend with Brother. Although, good Lord, I missed fat kid French food something fierce. It's good to have it back in my arteries. Sometimes I wish I could've done AmeriCorps in France. (Yes, I know that wouldn't work for so many reasons...)

I haven't legitimately cooked in a while. Sure, some quiches here, some generic chicken dish there, but once I'm done with these ridiculous travels, I'm getting myself back to trying more exciting things. I have a ton of pork chops in my freezer, and suggestions are welcome!

Wanderlust be slaked, Resumes be damned!

First of all, my most sincere apologies for my last post written in a sleep-deprived haze. Moving on...

While the winter months were dragging on, full of cold misery, drafty windows and a lack of daylight, spring seems to be the polar opposite. (Save for the cold misery which is still here. Y'know spring, you gave me like 70 degrees for a week, and then went back to cold rain. You're a tease. I take back all the nice things I said about you. Now, please come back... you're pretty!)
Spring is far from dragging on. April begins tomorrow. I was in Charlottesville last weekend, have made the last-minute decision (was peer pressured...) into driving to Charleston, SC to visit my brother this weekend, and next weekend I'm heading to my alma mater for Relay for Life. Just thinking about it exhausts me. After that, I'm staying put in the 'Noke. After that, it's May. And in May, I am three months from being done with VISTA. In May, I must job hunt.

Wait, what?
Job hunt?
Didn't I just go through this?

And so begins. I have a folder on my computer called "Job Hunt 2010!" and soon another shall be joining its ranks, aptly named "Job Hunt 2011!" Unlike the previous job hunt, I have a better idea of what it is I want to do. However, much like last year's hunt, I still have no idea where I want to go.

I haven't updated my resume since last June. This is a process I truly abhor. For now, I shall just flee all responsibility and spend my weekend in sunny South Carolina. Adieu, Roanoke.

Blogging Past My Bedtime

I apologize for my apparent leave of absence. I wasn't aware one was really being taken until I realized just how long it'd been since I sat down in front of Maccy. Somehow, it is almost midnight between Wednesday and Thursday, and I find myself wondering where on earth this week went.

My workshop in Charlottesville was incredible; it was exactly what I needed. I had been getting frustrated with myself for not winning grants, and not knowing what to do about it. I now not only have suggestions on where to look for grants, but how to properly construct a proposal, along with all the other fantastic nuances that go with them. Overall, a very useful, very productive two day workshop.

Seeing my friend from college was excellent. However, since I have morphed into an old lady since coming to Roanoke, I am still feeling the repercussions of staying up past 11pm. Socializing and going out, however, I found to be things I genuinely miss. I miss moderately large groups of people my age... socializing. It's such a seemingly basic request, and yet Roanoke has trouble delivering.

It's too late for proper posting. I promise something better in the near future. Maybe something about networking, or the upcoming job hunt. Get excited! I'm going to say goodnight before the incoherence does more damage.

Off-Season Hiking

One of the wonderful things about living in a valley is that I am surrounded by mountains. Mountains, and hence, a large assortment of trails to hike. Sadly, I was only able to get two hikes in during the fall season before moving (Version 3.0) and cold weather no longer made it possible.

This week was unseasonably warm, and my sister came to visit for President's Day weekend. Due to the 60-70 degrees we were enjoying, I figured we'd explore a new trail. I had heard Peaks of Otter was a fantastic hike, so off we went on a spectacularly sunny Saturday.

The parking area was closed off, so we followed suit of the two other cars and parked by some rocks. The trail we choose was, I thought, moderately simple. It was approximately two miles up to the summit, but what I missed was the choice word up. I felt like I was rock climbing rather than hiking, an unpleasant realization for someone who has barely exercised in the past five or six months. Also, one must ALWAYS remember to factor in the wind chill when you find yourself on the top of a mountain in the middle of February with no foliage. It's also embarrassing when old men pass you, and then sporty looking high-school/college age girls give you false encouragement when they see you struggling.

My family likes to tell ourselves we're outdoorsy. I really don't think we are.

Upon (almost) reaching the summit, after being blown around by strong winds and humiliated by all those we encountered, we saw the piece de resistance; we saw a man in the middle of the trail, napping in his hammock strung up between two trees (see right). My mind immediately raced to the headlines: "Two Hikers Found Dead on Flat Top Trail - Interrupted Angry Murder's Nap." My sister, the elder and thus the braver, forged ahead, trying to be quiet as leaves crunched around this guy's camelback while we creeped on by. On our trip down from the summit, we noticed he was now cuddling with someone in his hammock. Both hammock-dwellers even said hello. At least Angry Murder was pleasant.

Fast forward to Day Two of Sister's visit. I'm itching to see Foamhenge something fierce, and by my awesome powers of persuasion, I convince both her and OfficeMate that this is a fabulous idea. Let's drive 45 minutes to see Stonehenge made of Styrofoam! There was a caveat, though, and that was that we had to do another hike while out there. Now, I was still pretty sore from my rock climbing/wind beating/creeping around potential Angry Murders from the day before, but one must compromise in life, especially to see Foamhenge.

Foamhenge was just as epic, if not more, than I thought it would be. Sadly, some people have defaced this dorky work of art, and it could go for a second spray of paint. Sister and OfficeMate were perhaps amused, but not nearly as enamored as I, with Foamhenge.

Once in the car, we researched nearby trails. One option was a hike I had done back in October, and another was by a lake. Similar to Smith Mountain Lake, Cave Mountain Lake claimed to be man-made, but on a much smaller scale. Wanting to diversify my hiking experiences, this is where we headed.

Similar to the day before, the entrance was locked with a sign that said, "Closed for the Season." Nature doesn't close for seasons, so we refused to acknowledge this suggestion. Again, we parked outside the gate, and walked in. Turns out, we were at a national park with campgrounds and everything. Just, no people, because it was closed for the season. We walked around, looking desperately for a trail to hike, to no avail. Finally we encountered something titled the "Panther Trail," and there was much rejoicing. This trail, because it is the off-season, was unkempt. At one point, I used my Hulk-like strength to hurl a tree (small branch) out of our way. Sister has photographic evidence. And then... and then we saw the lake.
Except, it was just sand. And mud. There was no lake. Nature, it seems, can close for the season. Especially when nature is man-made and drained when the park is closed to the public. This, I suppose, was our punishment for trespassing? It made for a most amusing hike, though.

We ventured past the dam which was stopping nonexistent water from nothing, and began to trailblaze. This was a mistake. Venturing off the beaten path while trespassing at a closed national park is generally frowned upon, I would assume. We crossed a stream via fallen log, and found ourselves in the forest, next to a gravel road. Handy iPhone helped find our location, but we soon noticed some rather shady houses with angry looking dogs locked in cages in their front yards. We retreated into the forest, towards the faux-lake, beyond the unnecessary dam, and back to the car.

Don't hike in the off-season. It's cold, humiliating, and potentially illegal.

It is, however, amazing. And I mean, really, this weather is begging for it.

Guest Blogger - Hermana Oso

As I hopped into the shower tonight after Glee, I was grumbling to myself about poor life decisions by fictional characters in Ohio and about how my iPhone has yet to reach me for an array of reasons that I won't get into today. Needless to say, I was insistent on being glum.

A few minutes into my shower with a head full of conditioner, my water goes ice cold. This happens on occasion, and I generally chalk it up to paying nominal rent. I stepped back and waited, as usual, for the water to heat back up. It didn't. At least not for a good five freezing minutes, complete with me stepping out of the shower, contemplating sticking my head in the sink, and wondering if maybe perfume in the morning would have been a better option than this shower.

When I was eighteen, I went to visit my sister who was serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ecuador. It's true, we're those obnoxious do-gooder sisters. Go go civil service! However, I recall showering at her house there and having to do jumping jacks prior to hopping into what was truly a freezing shower, with no hot water available. I skipped conditioner every day I was there, to avoid the very conundrum I found myself in today.

My sister used to send out mass emails to those of us state-side during her time as a PCV, to let us know she was alive and to keep us abreast of her adventures. I bring you her adventures on an Ecuadorian bus, circa 2007.

For all of you Peace Corps volunteers, past and present, thank you. Thank you for being solid representatives of us abroad, proving the importance of global citizenship. Thank you for all you've done, and all you continue to do. Thank you for your inspiration. (Sister, that means you!)

-------------
Written by: Hermana Oso

During my last day in Quito, I was able to meet up with Lauren from my freshman hall at William and Mary. Lauren is studying in Quito on a Rotary Scholarship, and it was great to meet up with her two years after graduation. The time absolutely flew by, and I am still waiting on her to call me up and announce she is coming to visit me in Cuenca (that´s a hint, Lauren!).

Also while in Quito, it dawned on me that I could request 100 PC Ecuador folders to use during the upcoming Anti Trafficking Conference. Patting myself on the back for thinking ahead, I joined the line to board the 10pm night bus back to my home in Cuenca, all the while toting my backpack that held the contents of three days of survival in the capital city, and lugging the 100 folders as well as a plastic bag of small candle molds I had inherited from the PC Office.

The bus line my friend Matt (or, here in Ecuador, Mateo) and I take from Quito to Cuenca is the Panamericana. Due to it`s lack of heat while taking on the frigid temperatures of the Sierran Panamerican highway in the middle of the night, ancient seats, and the lone TV from 1983 blasting such unknown American classics such as "Komodo vs. Cobra" or anything violent with Jean Claude Van Damme or Sylvester Stallone, we affectionately call this bus line The People's Bus. Don't knock the People's Bus, though. If you still can't figure out where the People's Bus´ more posh and expensive big brother bus line Flota Imbabura is located, The People's Bus gets the job done.

Imagine my surprise when trying to board the People's Bus the attendant stares at my innocent backpack and says: That needs to go under the bus.

I'm sorry, what?

That needs to go under the bus.

(Now, I have heard enough stories of peoples´ stuff getting robbed from underneath the bus that I know better than to trust this lady. Right, like I haven't been taking night busses for two years in this country. You think you're messing with your everyday gringa? Think again, lady.)

Um, well, I took this same bus line up from Cuenca and they let me bring it up top. Look, I know it looks large, and maybe I have been accused more than once of overpacking in my lifetime, but trust me. Don't worry, it fits in the overhead bin.

That needs to go under the bus.

(As I open my mouth to protest, she busts out with…)

We aren't letting anyone bring anything up because the luggage will block the heating vents.

Heating vents? On the People's Bus? I must have the wrong bus line! As I silently revel in my good fortune, I hand over my backpack to another attendant wrestling luggage from other stubborn passengers like myself. The monstrous bag of Peace Corps folders and candle molds, however, I sneak past the attendant. There is no way I am putting these under the bus, just to get to Cuenca to discover they have been abused and smashed beyond all recognition by the unforgiving curves of the mountain road.

Before I settle into my seat, I take in this new addition to the People's Bus fleet. This baby has comfortable, clean reclining seats, a flatscreen TV, and sure enough, the upper bin is empty so as not to block the heating vents. I take the lead of some other rebellious passengers and place my bag of cherished PC folders up top. Certainly one bag won't really make a difference in the heat circulation of this beautiful bus? I smile, pop a Dramamine, and, after thinking, ¨Maybe night buses aren't so bad after all¨, am off to sleep…

…until about 4 hours later (on this 10 hour journey) when we hit the major curves of the Panamerican highway and all I (and the other 44 passengers on the bus) can hear is the WHOOSH of the bag of my coveted PC folders as it slides back and forth, threatening to slide off the bin which is not really a bin at all but more of a ledge, actually. Each turn, each curve, is one step closer to impending doom for the passengers ahead of me. I can see the headlines already. Panamericana passengers injured due to PC folder injuries. Doctors save Quiteño from gringo paper cuts.

Maybe it was the Dramamine making me loopy, but I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. Do I stand up and try and adjust the bag's location? Then I´d be admitting the bag was mine. No, better lay low. It won't fall, right? As I try to ignore the whooshing bag and try and return to my pimped out People's Bus slumber, I suddenly hear a new noise. CLANK. CLANK CLANK. CLANKCLANKCLANKCLANK. Ah yes. It seems that the candle molds Irene, the friendly PC secretary, had regalar´d (gifted) me, were feeling rebellious and had escaped from their cozy bed of PC folders to explore the upper storage bin of the People's Bus. Again, picture the headlines. Well, you get the idea.

Admitting defeat, I arose from my plush People's Bus armchair to survey the damage. Expertly balancing myself against the swaying chariot so as not to be propelled into the lap of the man next to me, I did the best I could to stuff the folders and molds back into the bag, now torn with battle wounds from hours of Sierran highway curves. Hoping I had avoided catastrophe and that the 44 pairs of glaring eyes would forgive me and my funda of PC folders, I settled back into my seat and hoped that sleep would arrive before the dawning Equatorial sun.

But alas. Sleep was not in the cards for me that night, nor for my fellow passengers. The plastic bag, the folders, and the molds were not to be silenced. Twenty minutes later, they were at it again, robbing the Peoples´ Bus of precious slumber. It finally occurred to me to place the bag under my seat. Brilliant. I blame the Dramamine for not thinking of this sooner. That, or I was just too stubborn to give in so easily. While this solved the problem, I was so afraid of a bus uprising against me that I did not shut my eyes until we rolled into Cuenca at 7 am and I was safely in my bed.

There are now WANTED posters of me in all offices of the Panamericana. Next time, I´ll just take Flota . And put my stuff under the bus.

Backwards Booking

Americorps ships all us volunteers to a Pre-Service Orientation (PSO) in Atlanta a week before our service start-date. They are so gracious as to fly us down, put us up in a fancy hotel, feed us, and then fly us back to our respective homes before giving us a living stipend for one year.

About one month ago, I filled out the necessary forms online and sat back, awaiting the day they would email me my flight confirmation. This day never really came. PSO starts next Tuesday. So this morning, I called my supervisor. She did some magic tricks, and within a few hours, I had an itinerary in my inbox. How magical!

Except, Americorps booked my flight Atlanta to DC for Tuesday, and DC to Atlanta on Friday.

They booked me backwards.

I have called and emailed the necessary people. I still find it incredible that they were able to book me away from the city where the PSO is to take place. It's impressive.

That being said, this week brings the move to Roanoke, PSO next week and I finally can get into gear and begin my job in two weeks. It's all beginning to come together.