Wedding Poem

pink city dirty

be teaching

wait here

on muddy water

Mississippi

yellow school bus

come riding

sit here

on green seat

next to me

white mountain

go climbing

abide here

on blue sound

near sea

gold round finger

is loving

stand here

on Red Apple Earth

between home

Poems from S. Alternative School

A poem I wrote for sweet T. One day, I was sitting on the desk lecturing, and the sun was in my face. I considered moving, but the classroom was cold, and the sun felt warm. After a couple minutes, T. put her hand in front of her face and said, "Ms. Kuhne, the light be bouncin' off you and hurtin' my eyes!" I laughed, and asked her if she was calling me white:

I came here, new.

Shining so bright, so white,

It hurt their eyes.

A poem I wrote about a classroom in S. Alternative School. I came home every day coated in chalk:

A podium of milk crates.

Pencils, everywhere pencils.

Air thick with the dust

of Sea Creatures.

Pretty self-explanatory. How I felt about the Bayou last year:

Bayou knows no gravity;

It rises, thick and wet

to pull me under.

double homicide

sweet, with a stutter

lashes a flutter

a brother, a father, a killer

he took not one life

but two;

two shots to the head

one for me

one for you

Hippy Dippy

A little more than two years ago, Caitlin, Joshua, and I went on a cleanse. At the time, Caitlin was working for a Naturopathic Clinic in Tacoma, and her coworkers were teaching her about the blood type diet, colontherapy, and nutritional rehabilitation. Essentially, the philosophy is this: our bodies are machines, and as such, what we put into them is directly correlated to what comes out of them. If our bodies are not functioning well, it’s probably because we are not treating them well.

A cleanse is like a tune-up for our bodies. Over the years, we have put all sorts of gas and gunk into our bodies, and by cleansing, we try to scrape off some of the buildup and begin again.

In Naturopathy, cleanses are closely linked to the blood type diet. The blood type diet essentially argues that our bodies have evolved in unique ways and they have unique needs, and our blood type can act as a roadmap to navigate gas and gunk. As a rule, meat and vegetables are great gases for O blood types, while grains and dairy serve as gunk. For A blood types, grains and vegetables act as gases, and meat and dairy build up gunk. The B blood type is more balanced, and there are many meats, vegetables, grains, and even dairies that serve as gases; however, corn and wheat still serve as gunk. Finally, AB blood types gas up on seafood and vegetables, but produce gunk with red meat, wheat, and corn.

In most cases, a cleanse can kick start the blood type diet. First, we provide our machines with the simplest and least harmful of gases to clean out our systems, and then, we gradually add other positive gases for our blood type. In order to find out which foods are good gases, we can either follow the roadmap laid out in “4 Blood Types, 4 Diets: Eat Right For Your Type: The Individualized Diet Solution to Staying Healthy, Living Longer & Achieving Your Ideal Weight,” or once we begin to add other positive gases, we can check our heart rates. If our heart rates go up once we’ve eaten a food, this serves as a warning that our bodies are struggling to metabolize the gunk we’ve just taken in. If our heart rate remains the same or even goes down, this means that the food is an efficient fuel for our bodies.

During a cleanse, we eat fruits and vegetables, olive oil, and either soy or rice milk. Berries, flax, and other sources of insoluble fiber are particularly desirable because they act like sandpaper inside the digestional tract by knocking and scrapping off gunk. Water, of course, is also an important element and is also used to flush out our systems.

On a typical cleanse day, I usually prepare a shake with two cups of frozen fruit (preferably berries), a banana, and rice milk for breakfast. Bear in mind that not all shakes are created equal: Kyle, Stacy’s husband, prepares the most epic shakes I’ve ever heard of, including soaked seeds, spinach, carots, carob powder, brewer’s yeast, flax, and lutein. Basically, if you can drink it (and it’s made of fruit, vegetables, soy or rice milk), then feel free to experiment with all sorts of terrifying combinations.

For lunch, I’ll fix a huge salad with spinach, carrots, broccoli, and onion tossed with olive oil, apple cider vinegar, salt, and pepper (apple cider vinegar, salt, and pepper are technically cheating, but otherwise I find mass quantities of fruit and vegetables unpalatable). Alternatively, I might bake, steam, or fry veggies. The same goes for dinner.

Cleanses can last anywhere from one day to seven days, and they are usually broken by adding rice, and trust me, rice has never looked nor tasted so good. The first two days of a cleanse are usually the hardest. Although you may be stuffed with carrots and lettuce, psychologically, nothing but that piece of pizza will ever make you feel whole again. For an extra challenge, try cleansing in a household full of ice cream, chocolate, and cheese (Joshua is a firm believer in comfort food, and he’s in his last three weeks of school).

I’m on my fourth day of my cleanse, and I’ve consumed approximately five carrots, six bananas, two bags of frozen berries, one carton of soy milk, one bag of edamame, one box of spinach, four heads of broccoli, two onions, one head of garlic, one cup of olive oil, one cup of apple cider vinegar, 6 gallons of water, one bag of grapes, and one grapefruit. Just in case you were wondering, that’s pretty much a meal every one and a half hours, or alternatively, eating and drinking all day long. When Joshua brings home his roast beef po’boy dripping in debris, I stuff my face with spinach.

If you don’t count salt, pepper, apple cider vinegar, and maybe the edamame, I only cheated once when I flavored my water with some horrible aspertame flavored crystals… To be fair, there was a pizza party in full swing and I was practicing some serious will power.

Ok, now for the truth: do I believe in this “mumbo jumbo?” First, let me acknowledge that this is getting pretty hippy dippy new agey for most people. Also, let me set forth a disclaimer: although most of my friends in New Orleans consider me a veritable flower child, a hippy in all her glory, this character summation is more of a commentary on this city’s absolute refusal to recycle, eat organic, and just generally hop on the green bandwagon. I’ve explained to a few that I am not, in fact, a hippy; I’m far too well-functioning. I have a full-time job. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa with honors in Art History. I’m married. I live in a house that I strive to keep clean. Most of my hippy-like tendencies can be chalked up to one thing: I lived in the Pacific Northwest for four years, and I fit in quite well.

With that disclaimer behind me, let me own up to those characteristics that perhaps lend credence to the “hippy in all her glory” assignation: I’m a big fan of body art, a Michael Pollan believer, a thrift store junky, and a bit of a ludite. Oh. And I’m taking the next six months off to travel the world. That too.

So knowing what we know about me, and assuming you still want to hear my opinion (it is my blog, after all), the answer is: sort of (how refreshing!). Do I believe in the blood type diet? Meh. Although the book was written by a doctor and is practically the bible for a whole school of medicine, I’m a bit disappointed by the cover graphics. I mean, the double entendre of the “4” is a little overdone, and kind of tacky. Also, I just can’t shake the word “Diet.” In general, I think diets are a bunch of BS, but I do appreciate that at least in this case, Dr. D’Adamo is talking about the “what we eat” kind of diet rather than the South Beach kind of diet (which, by the way, is the anti-cleanse). Also, I don’t believe in fasting. Period. Except maybe for Yom Kippur, Good Friday and Rammadan, but that’s it. If it ain’t religious, then it ain’t right. One more reservation: I am not a proponent of people starving themselves.

But, with all that hemming and hawing out the way, I’d say, “why not?” Is it really so hard to believe that our bodies are machines? That what we put into them is in direct correlation to what we get out of them? Is it even really so hard to believe that our bodies have evolved in such a way that certain foods act as efficient fuels and others clog everything up? AND that these fuels and cloggers might be different from person to person, blood type to blood type? Meh.

What I do know is this: I’ve tried it before, and I found a number of things to be true. First, during the cleanse you feel like poop, but you also feel more mindful about what you are putting into your body. Which is good. I think it’s important to stop using our bodies as receptacles for chemicals, grease, and nutrient-less foods. It’s also interesting to differentiate between desire and need in such a tangible way. I began to feel very Buddhist about it all. Desire is pain. I am renouncing desire. Ohm… No, but all jokes aside, I think that’s true too: the whole capitalist I want I want I want I want machine and all. Very true. Very insightful.

When you begin adding foods, you really do start to notice what makes you feel good, better, best, and what just weighs you down. For me, beans. Gotta love ‘em. Rice! The energy food! Fish: fresh and clean. Sushi! Yum! Veggies… The stuff of life. Fruit! A pick me up! Wheat. Wah-wah. Corn. Blurgh. Dairy: stuff me up and lay me down. Fructose corn syrup. A considerable fog. And then when you consider that pretty much most of what is sold in the grocery store is made up of like, 8 things and that four of them are wheat, corn, dairy, and fructose corn syrup… Aha. Profound moment of understanding.

Also, cleansing has become a way for me to process. I like to do things that mark the end and the beggining of something new. At the pizza party the other night when people were looking at me like the flower child they all know me to be, I joked that I was going on a cleanse to clean out all the sludge of the RSD. Which is true. I’ve been pretty unhappy for two years, and now I want to start over. I don’t just want to move on with all this build-up still inside of me. I don’t want to carry toxic waste with me wherever I go. And although this metaphor may conjure up unpleasant visuals of my colon and what's left in the toilet bowl, I’m ok with that. That’s just about hippy dippy enough for me.

Good Night Moon

Four days ago, I drove away from E. Alternative School for the last time. I took my keys out of my pocket, put them in the ignition, and rolled slowly out the gate. I took a right on Perdido, a left on Galvez, and then I drove home. I think Jimmy Buffet was playing. It was hot, and I was already sweating.

I’m thinking: what am I thinking? What am I feeling? What should I be thinking? What should I be feeling?

I rolled out of that goddamn parking lot as confused as I was when I rolled in. Shit if I know.

I spent the past two years of my life in New Orleans, Louisiana employed by the Recovery School District. I worked for two alternative schools designed to hold and theoretically rehabilitate expelled students. I came in with no idea, and now I’m leaving fortified with the knowledge that I really, really have no idea.

I took out my phone and texted everyone I’ve managed to maintain contact with in the past two years, which is hardly anyone at all. “Done!”

“Yay!” “Wow!” and “Who is this?” my phone beeps with each incoming text. In the face of probably one of the greatest anti-climaxes of my life, I got back in the car and drove to help one of my friends pack her UHAUL. The two of us moved everything she and her boyfriend own in two hours. I drank half a pitcher of lemonade, we ate lunch, and I went home.

I’m laying on the couch surfing the internet when Joshua comes home. He’s brought me a present of Ben and Jerry’s and a card, and he asks me how I feel now that I’m done. I tell him that I have no idea how to process any of this, and he suggests that we get drunk.

Instead, we watch the last episode of the last season of The Wire. Jimmy McNalty lays on the pool table of the policemen’s bar in Baltimore. It’s his funeral; he’s leaving the police. They tell him he was an asshole; he was a great police. Akeema forgives him, and he forgives her, and rather than have one last drink, he walks away. He goes home to his girlfriend and her two kids, and the game goes on. Marlow sells his connect, and Cheese is shot in the negotiations. Good Night Moon. Good Night Baltimore. Good Night Hookers and Thugs. Good Night Police.

Next, we meet up with Stacy, my freshman roommate from college, her husband, Kyle, and their dog, Mimi. We drive to City Park, and walk through the old golf course as dusk is just starting to fall. I talk to Stacy, and we try to muddle through our thoughts teaching, accountability, responsibility, and blame. We try to do head stands on the grass.

That night, Joshua and I go to sleep in our room in New Orleans. The floor is strewn with our washed and unwashed clothing. Oscar lies at the foot of the bed. Thibodeaux rests with her head on my knees, and the air conditioning hums us to sleep.

Medias Res

There’s this episode of Scrubs where Elliot discovers that a big part of what makes her so miserable is that fact that she never stops talking about her misery.

Although on some level, I believe it may be more honorable to muddle through your misery with quiet musings of immeasurable wisdom, I took the path better trodden.

For the past five months, I did what I actually do quite well by now: I grit my teeth, put my head down, and bore it. The sad truth is that I am not strong enough to endure both hope and despair at the same time; or, perhaps I am indeed that strong, but my already sapped reserves could not find the strength to speak and write about the hope I found living alongside despair.

As you can see, I’ve already been overrun by metaphor.

On a personal and professional level, I am coming to find that these past two years mean very little to my potential employers, and as you may infer from my last post, this has also been difficult.

I’m not sure when or where the stories from the past two years will come out, but I like to think that they will emerge once I am removed from the situation. While for some, writing is an act of catharsis; I usually find that for me, writing is an act of summation and understanding. I find it hard to write when I am confused, in medias res. I prefer the story: beginning, middle, and end.

With three weeks left of the semester, I am near the end, but still close enough to the middle that I lack the clarity to tell the story of my last five months. The story requires a careful balance of hope and despair, but for now, I will speak and feel no misery.

Dad asked, "What happens when the carpetbagger goes home?"

She leaves again.

April: An Itinerary is Born

April.

Week One: I discovered that I will not be able to enter the graduate program at the U of M next year. I will not be able to teach in the state of Minnesota without student teaching. In sum, I will not teach again until the fall of 2012, and before then, I must complete 15 months of coursework.

Week Two: Abject despair.

Week Three: Weeping. Abject despair. Bitter regret.

Week Four: “Hey honey, let’s travel for six months. We could go to Nepal,” says Joshua. The next night, we drive to Borders and buy the Lonely Planet travel guides to India, Nepal, Cycling Britain, Ireland, Spain, and Trekking in Nepal. Five nights later, we buy round trip tickets from Minneapolis to London; we depart on June 24 and we return six months later, on December 21.

The Itinerary (pre-natal stage):

Fly from Minneapolis to London on June 24, and spend ten days with family in the city. On July 3, fly from London to Dublin with Ashlee and spend the day walking through the city. For the next three days, walk from Malroy to Knockree, Knockree to Roundwood, and Roundwood to Glenmalure, staying in hostels along the way. On our fifth day in Ireland, return to Dublin, drink a Guinness, and listen to live traditional and contemporary music.

On the morning of July 8, board the plan and fly to Seville, Spain. Spend the next ten days roaming through Andalucia: Cordoba, Granada, Sierra Nevada, Almeria, and Cabo de Gata. Bathe in traditional Moorish Hammam, swim in the Mediterranean, and eat Gazpacho. Take the bus up the coast to Alicante. Visit salt flats and blue, green, and pink lagoons. See flamingos. Fly back to London on July 19.

Next, retrieve our bikes, and catch the train to the southern tip of England. Begin biking. For the next month, bike northwards. Along the way, see the Cotswolds, my aunt and uncle, Eric, the Lake District, my other aunt, and family friends. Eat cheese and bread and fruit. Keep biking. Arrive in Scotland, and again, keep biking. Bike north until we reach John O’Groats, and then stop. Turn around. Head south by train, back to London.

Prepare for the next leg of the journey. Store bikes. Divide baggage. Shave off all our hair.

Fly to Delhi. Once in Delhi, fly to Leh in the northernmost province of India, Jammu Kashmir. Trek through the Piedmont of the Himalaya. Walk through the still vibrant markets of the Silk Road, and eat Tibetan cuisine. Journey south by bus through valleys and over high passes. Arrive in Dharamsala.

In McLeod Ganj, or Upper Dharamsala, take yoga classes, hike through the surrounding mountains, and if we’re lucky, listen to the Dali Lama speak. Hop a bus to Manali, and then another to Rishikesh. Visit the Ashram where the Beatles wrote their White Album, stay in another Ashram for three days. Commune with monkeys, yogis, and gurus.

Next, the jungle. Ride an elephant and catch a glimpse of the rare Bengal Tiger. Keep moving. Catch the train to Gorakhpur, and then board a bus over the Nepali border. Head for Kathmandu. Stay two days, and see the Monkey Temple, pagodas, gompas, and mindar. From Kathmandu, ride a bus to the start of the Annapurna Circuit. Spend the next thirty days wandering through the high and remote villages of the Himalaya. Sleep in tea houses, drink traditional Sherpa beer, and bathe in mountain streams. Hike through the Annapurna Sanctuary to Annapurna Base camp.

At the end of the road, find Pokhar. Greet Nepali barbers, have a shower, and eat like kings. Head east.

In Darjeeling, sample teas from estates, watch the sunrise over the Himalaya, and roam high mountain markets. Board the Himalayan Railway. At Silguri, head west, stopping to take a boat ride along the Ganges and watch the bathing Ghats in Varnasi. At Ajantra, gaze at the Taj Mahal. Should time provide, take a safari on camel back through the Muslim desert of northwestern India.

Back in Delhi, ascend the minaret of the largest mosque in India, watch the Sufis chant at sunset, and see a Bollywood film in an outdoor theater. Fly back to London.

Celebrate Hanukkah with family. Gather our things. Fly home on December 21.