01/12/09
As my saga unfolds, I marvel at how differently Samoans and American view punishment for a crime. For me it is clear, you punish the person who committed the crime and hold him responsible. For Samoans it is clear too. It is the whole family that is held responsible and must share in the punishment. Thus pressing a crime against a Samoan is not as simple as one might guess, even when it is clear about the criminal action.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Another Low Point
01/11/09
That horned creature, dilemma, is in front of me. On one dag is my own dignity and self-respect for what I feel is right; one the other hangs disgrace and economic hardship, which may befall my host family.
Maybe making no choice is the best choice at this time and let the force be my guide.
That horned creature, dilemma, is in front of me. On one dag is my own dignity and self-respect for what I feel is right; one the other hangs disgrace and economic hardship, which may befall my host family.
Maybe making no choice is the best choice at this time and let the force be my guide.
A Bad Day
01/10/09
Some days are just bad. You just have to endure them. Such a day is today. The hot humid rainy weather is nothing compared to the agony caused by a delinquent child and having to witness the parent’s grief. Their grief is also mine for I am the victim of a thief.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Back Again in Samoa
01/08/09
Items missing from my house, a garden overrun with weeds, Samoan family members anxious to hear about Mary and wanting to see what fills my bags, along with the hot humid air greeting upon deplaning, all signal I am not in Minnesota anymore. My mind is foggy from jet lag, but I share the feelings of other Peace Corps Volunteers on the flight that it is good to be back, uncertain of the months ahead; knowing those left behind are well.
Items missing from my house, a garden overrun with weeds, Samoan family members anxious to hear about Mary and wanting to see what fills my bags, along with the hot humid air greeting upon deplaning, all signal I am not in Minnesota anymore. My mind is foggy from jet lag, but I share the feelings of other Peace Corps Volunteers on the flight that it is good to be back, uncertain of the months ahead; knowing those left behind are well.
BITUSA- My Sister, Christine
01/05/09
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My three day visit to Christine, my younger sister, at her home in Eugene, OR is a trip into the joy and energy of childhood tempered by experiences of life. You know your presence is something special when you can sleep on her Sleep Perfect bed under a level 4 down comforter for warmth after reciting endless stories about Samoa.
My three day visit to Christine, my younger sister, at her home in Eugene, OR is a trip into the joy and energy of childhood tempered by experiences of life. You know your presence is something special when you can sleep on her Sleep Perfect bed under a level 4 down comforter for warmth after reciting endless stories about Samoa.
BITUSA-Paul and Renee
01/03/09
How much fun it is to visit early return members of our Group 78, Paul Sylvester and Renee Moog, at their home in Portland, OR. Crab kiesh, olive bread, various cheeses, wine, Paul’s own freshly pressed cider, and home decor give no hint of their time in Samoa.
How much fun it is to visit early return members of our Group 78, Paul Sylvester and Renee Moog, at their home in Portland, OR. Crab kiesh, olive bread, various cheeses, wine, Paul’s own freshly pressed cider, and home decor give no hint of their time in Samoa.
Friday, January 2, 2009
BITUSA- Looking Ahead
1/01/09
Phase II of our Peace Corps odyssey, being apart, is probably more difficult for my wife, Mary, than for me. Her compassion for others includes not only her renewed connections in Minneapolis, but those left behind in Samoa, those who entrusted me to deliver their sealed letters telling of their love for her and pleading for her return. She carries the burden of those voices.
As we talk about how to cope with this transitional part of our lives from wage earning parents to retired empty nesters, we see no clear path ahead, which combines in a “meaningful” activity the caring demeanor of Mary with my desire to get things done. One could say that returning to college to complete her degree, voluntarily teaching English to immigrant children in the Minneapolis schools, and being an empathic friend are all meaningful activities, and they are to an extent, but they don’t have the excitement of getting the Peace Corps’ acceptance letter and the anticipation of what lies ahead for the two of us. She must redefine her Minneapolis life while I continue in Samoa.
Countless others face the same transition as Mary and I, probably with the same unclear vision of the path or the definition of what is meaningful. Yet we all somehow can look backwards and see clearly the road we have been following and the consequences of our actions. We are not lost. Our actions are not meaningless. We, as Americans, are just incapable of trusting tomorrow to destiny, but that is our fate.
Phase II of our Peace Corps odyssey, being apart, is probably more difficult for my wife, Mary, than for me. Her compassion for others includes not only her renewed connections in Minneapolis, but those left behind in Samoa, those who entrusted me to deliver their sealed letters telling of their love for her and pleading for her return. She carries the burden of those voices.
As we talk about how to cope with this transitional part of our lives from wage earning parents to retired empty nesters, we see no clear path ahead, which combines in a “meaningful” activity the caring demeanor of Mary with my desire to get things done. One could say that returning to college to complete her degree, voluntarily teaching English to immigrant children in the Minneapolis schools, and being an empathic friend are all meaningful activities, and they are to an extent, but they don’t have the excitement of getting the Peace Corps’ acceptance letter and the anticipation of what lies ahead for the two of us. She must redefine her Minneapolis life while I continue in Samoa.
Countless others face the same transition as Mary and I, probably with the same unclear vision of the path or the definition of what is meaningful. Yet we all somehow can look backwards and see clearly the road we have been following and the consequences of our actions. We are not lost. Our actions are not meaningless. We, as Americans, are just incapable of trusting tomorrow to destiny, but that is our fate.
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