B.L.O.G.

Language is a funny thing. It separates us (see British and American English), or brings us together, Lao in our family’s case. The U.S. Government determined that I should study Lao late in 1963, along with six other guys, who were all being shipped off to become the nucleus of what came to be called the Forward Areas Program. Considering the fact that there were never more than about sixty people who spoke serviceable Lao during the next ten year period, we seven were a little more than a tenth of that total; which probably accounts for Agency refusal to move some of us anywhere else until Asian hospitality wore out. We were to start off as community development advisors, something which apparently needed little or no training for the advisors in those days. Happily, that never bothered any of us. Those were the days when there was nothing an American couldn’t do, if setting “his” mind to it. [Digression: there was also no political correctness at the time either, and words l...

Once again I am back in France, visiting my brother-in-law’s farm; a farm built in 1904 in the middle of nowhere. Well it is in the middle of nowhere for a rural suburban American girl. Actually, I am in St. Vincent d’Autejac, in the county of Tarn-et-Garonne. You are going to wonder why I have my computer on while living in such a heavenly environment. As I said, I am an American, and we go everywhere with our laptops, cell phones, and IPods (I don’t have one right now, but probably will soon). In the morning, I get up with birds singing and playing, or more likely fighting amongst themselves outside my bedroom window; since the noises they make at times can be deceitful. I also met an old bachelor. They have a term in France, “un vieux garcon,” an old boy. He reminded me of an old Franciscan Monk with his white mane in some Robin Hood movie. He looks as if someone put a coconut on his head and cut around it. He and I walk three times a week from St. Vincent to Caussade; ab...

The view from my bedroom window in St. Vincent d'Autejac, France... This is what I see every morning when I wake up... Authentic Power: When you possess authentic power, your life is filled with meaning and purpose. You have no doubts. You have no fears. You are happy to be alive. You have a reason to be alive. Everything you do is joyful, exciting and you look forward to each day and each night. You are not worried about doing wrong, making a mistake, or failing. You do not compare yourself with others and what you do with what others do. You can experience authentic power caring for a child, or as simple as cooking a meal. You can experience it in a big project like building a house, or a little project like me, writing. It does not come from what you are doing, but how you are doing it. You can experience authentic power at work, at school, helping a child picking wild flowers, the listing is endless. External Power: Authentic power is not only different from extern...

Its winter in Madagascar, and summer in my outside world. Laure’s gone; and so is the noise, banter and general movement occurring around her. Sometimes it comes as a shock, though it shouldn’t after this many years, to realize that she forces life to whirl around us, when nearby. Things just happen. Now, almost a week after her departure for sunnier climes (France filled with Icelandic ash?) , here I am on a dreary Saturday morning in Antananarivo, with mist everywhere, shutting out the sun, which doesn’t appear to want to shine anyway. Ah well. Its still early, I generally wake between 4 and 5, and I have an hour and half before Solofo (this morning) shows up to haul me off to a quiet office building for a few hours. Then, maybe a pizza at Palladio on the way home. The sun may be out, and the French will be there by then. Last night, or early evening anyway, (Now, I leave the apartment as the sun rises, maybe; and get home around the time it disappears.) Laure’s gone, so it...

May 15, 2010 We went to a wedding reception of Colby and Ravaka. We arrived around 1:00 PM. No sooner had we arrived, when Colby flopped down in a chair next to me, put his arms around me and shouted, “I know you are married, and so am I, but I don’t care. I want this picture, and I want my wedding pictures in your blog, for the world to see.” Not sure what world, but Colby’s world in that particular moment. Colby was the happiest groom I have ever met. He was everywhere, he was three-sheets to the wind already when we took the picture, and he made people welcome. In other words, he was a happy drunk, and very happy to be married to Ravaka. My stay in Madagascar was a short ride, but a good one. Ending my stay participating at such an event was the highlight of my short visit to this country. I hope you all enjoy the wedding reception pictures as I did while taking them. Actually, since I am in most of the pictures, my husband took them. Lots of love going around. And oh yes, we walked...