One day the Siren’s will let me go

Some times I want to plunge into the total bliss that can be melancholy- to let it wrap itself around my ankles, make endless circles of my mind, and then nestle softly deep in my heart.  To let the ghosts of past lives, past loves, past joys take hold and deliver me to the beauty of the not here and now.  A siren call from the shore of a life that seems so long ago beckons me to memories that are now warped with time and distance but seem like soft comforts of familiarity that I can slip on, if only for a moment.   Today I am lonely.  The ocean seems vast and cold- a caldron of salty tears that takes me farther and farther away from any semblance of my old self.  It’s her I really miss at times, the me of my memories.

A trip like this shapes and changes you in ways that are far out of your control and at times I want to set it down.  To lay the burden of knowing down- offer it to the world of the unknown and unseen- to undo some of these memories and let go of the haunt that leaves me so disconnected with those I have always held so close.

I find myself muted lately-  lost in the tumbling roads that are my thoughts while I replay fixated memories like loops over and over again.  While the world plays around me my mind is drifting through the streets of my life revisiting moments long ago passed. The present constantly being taunted away, seduced into the black and white film reel of my mind.

 

There are moments when I want to break the surface and breathe in that deep breath new air that my body so desperately aches for- to be able to combine my lives- present and future, to be freed of the burden of myself.

Pickeleze, A How To

Being in charge of all of the cooking on board can sometimes be a daunting task.  It is important to me that the food I serve is both nutritious as well as tasty and being far from home with ingredients that are foreign to me and the crew can be a work in progress.   Over my months at sea I have learned a lot from the locals that I have become close to and I have ended up adopting a lot of their recipes into my every day culinary repertoire.

Below is a recipe for a dish called Pickeleze that I learned while I was in Haiti.  It is a delicious side salad, sandwich topper, meat garnish, and goes with just about everything!  My favorite is to put it onto top of bbq fish tacos!  This is a great way to add crunch, spice, and flavor to a dish without adding almost any fat.  Cabbage is a great source for fiber, mangnesium, iron, and omega-3’s as well as sodium, zinc and copper.  Carrots are not only sweet and delicious in this dish but they add a good dose of Vitamin C, Vitamin B6, and folate.  Being that this dish is only “cooked” in the acids of the salad a lot of the nutritional content stays with the veggies.  I hope that you enjoy this as much as I do!

Ingredients Needed

Vegetables:

1 Head Cabbage

2 Scotch Bonnet Peppers (Closest to Habanero)

1 Large Carrot

 

Marinade:

2 Tbsp White Vinegar

3 Limes

1 Cube Boullion (Optional)

1 tsp Salt

Preparation:

In a salad bowl mix the Vinegar, Juice of 3 limes, Salt, and Boullion together.

(Boullion is packed full of sodium and can easily be omitted.  It adds a depth of flavor to the salad but can be replaced with ½ teaspoon of Poultry Seasoning)

Marinade

 

Shave peppers into thin slices and drop into the marinade mixture.

(This dish can vary from very hot to mild depending on the type and quantities of peppers you use.  Jalapeño peppers can be used as a substitute.  The spice of the dish is really mellowed out by the vinegar so don’t be afraid to try to use the peppers!)

 

Using a Cheese Grater shred the carrot and mix into marinade.

Marinade with Carrots and Peppers

Quarter the cabbage head, remove the heart, and shave into thin slices.

Add the Cabbage and Voila! Pickeleze!

(The thinner the slice the easier the cabbage will “cook” in the acid marinade.  This can be time consuming and the cabbage can always be grated on the cheese grater for the same effect!)

Mix the cabbage into the marinade and carrot mixture and let stand for 20 minutes.  Stir every 5 minutes getting the liquid mixed in with the cabbage, serve, and ENJOY!)

 

The No Names

Here in the darkened back room she sits like a stone- hands shoved under her small thighs, eyes fixed on the worn floor.  The muffled noise of the other children playing drifts in like waves through the slatted window– but in this room everything is still.  I sit with my hand on her back reminding myself that I am the adult and strong one here– it is not my turn to cry.  I watch as the tears run down her nose making perfect circles of darkness on her dirty pants.  “I just don’t like it when they look at me while I’m in the shower, but it only happened once”…”It mostly happens to the other girls”.  I hear this from all 6 of them….”The boys here hit us”….”we are worked from morning until night and I’m tired”….The room spins as I hold back the choking sobs that are clawing their way up my throat.   A knock at the door and a bidding from the house mother and she’s gone– off to the kitchen to prepare lunch for the 23 other orphans.  I watch as she pulls herself together, she is 9, she should not know how to hide pain like this.  All 6 girls have claimed abuse over the past two hours and here we are left – 2 shells left shocked into silence.  I can not show emotion, I can not allow the owners of this hell to see that I know what kinds of evil the night brings here.

Our allotted time is up and we are escorted out under a the watchful eyes of those in charge searching our faces for any sort of recognition “do we know?” “How much did they tell”.  The girls pull at my arms as we leave… am I coming back, when, when, when?  “Bye Sky, Bye Sky, when are you coming back”?  I can see the pleading behind their words… don’t leave me here, please don’t leave me here.  I promise them I will do everything that I can.

We get into the car unable to speak , unable to file away what we just saw and heard, left stricken by what people are capible of.  They will not allow me access to the girls, I asked to take them once a week– for the first time on this trip there is suddenly “proper procedures” that take months that have to be followed before I can spend any time with these forgotten no named little girls. There is no one for us to turn to.  A barrier put in between that has been so far impossible to traverse around– they are money makers who have been taught to shut their mouths for if they speak they are given up to the streets and the ugliness of the sex trade.  I have fought to see them, fought to come back… they have my phone number and they call still pleading asking for my return. At night I think of them laying stone faced in their pathetically pink painted bunk beds scared of any noise in the night and what it will bring.

This is the ugliness of humanity-  I see it as I toss and turn in my own bed- their hushed tones narrating the visions of their experiences haunting me into wakefulness………..

The Highwayman’s Heart

“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”

All Stanzas from The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

Noah and I on watch during the crossing from Jamaica to Roatan

Alone out in the middle of the ocean this stanza repeated itself over and over in my mind.  I was scared for this crossing—what I was leaving behind was not just the town of Petit Goave, but the me of before.  The me before I was witness to a country brought to its knees, before I had to leave a boy that I knew was being abused by his care takers, before I gave my heart to an orphan I called ‘Cheeks’, before 3 teenagers worked their way onto our boat and forever into our souls, and before we had to leave them sitting in their small canoe watching as our boat grew smaller and smaller in the distance.  I felt alone in the ocean- the vast expanse of open water echoed the void that all of those I left had filled.  The last thing that I said in Haiti was “ Moi Matrin es Tris”—meaning, my heart is sad.

How I will reconcile all of these experiences is still unknown to me.  I find my heart and head wandering around the streets of Petit Goave late at night now restless in the unknown.  I miss Haiti terribly.

Our time in Honduras has already been so productive- we are spread out between three clinics on the Island while also working as the doctor and medics on Aeromedical a helicopter that flies emergency victims to the main land.  I have already found my little boy love- his name is Oscar and he is a gorgeous 3 year old that suffers from Down Syndrome.  He is the most incredible and rambunctious little soul- unable to speak but communicates in a way that speaks directly to the heart.  It’s hard for me at times, I

feel his little body in my arms and can feel the same warmth and heart beat that was once my Cheeks.  And I know that one day I will be holding another little one and think of my time spent with Oscar– each of them holding onto a piece of my heart long after they forget the details of our time spent together.

Little Man 'Cheeks'

“Look for me by moonlight;

Watch for me by moonlight;

I’ll come for thee by moonlight,t hough hell should bar the way”

I wish that I could take each of them by moonlight- take them to a place where no pain or stigma exists- I wish that the my love would ease any burden- but I am honored to be the one that holds these little wonders, still so happy and full of joy no matter of the obstacles that lay in their way.  My heart, I hope in some ways, will always beat in time with theirs.

Smiling Oscar- melting hearts.

There are no safety nets in what we are doing- not for us, for our minds, and most of all for our hearts.  Each of the crew will carry the joys and scars of our experiences, we will carry those that are left behind with us until our hearts stop and our bodies are freed from the confines of this life.  I am lucky to have heard the laughter of children playing in the rubble piles of Haiti, to have felt the hands of a Honduran boy unable to speak grasp my fingers while fighting his way up a flight of stairs, to have seen the ocean glow green on a moonless night in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, and to have done all of it with the finest group of people I have ever know.

Understanding is my Common Language

Every night I find myself in the kitchen.  The generator is never on in the beginning so there are no lights in the boat expect for the last rays of the setting sun.  The crew is usually on the deck watching the changing sky and chatting about the day behind and the crossing ahead of us.  I love to hear the tones and vibrations of their voices above me while in the quiet and heat of the kitchen.  Last night I found myself fluttering around the galley cooking the things that two months ago were very unfamiliar to me.  Pickeleze hot sauce, Rice and Beans, plantains and bread fruit….  I have come to cook these with the familiarity of any dish that I have prepared for the crew in the states- peeling the plantains and washing the rice three times was once something that I fumbled through in my first few attempts, but now it is a mindless task.  While cutting, washing, frying, marinating and chopping my mind is allowed to wander up onto the decks above or out to the sea that lies beyond.  Sometimes my place here is rather undefined and my role can be confusing to me as I am not connecting to people through medicine, but through shared experiences and kindness.  I spend my days e-mailing and running our daily operation, playing with the children, talking with the women of the clinic, fund raising, and most importantly cooking.

This is what I have come to understand is my common language with those I meet. I always loved the times that I spent with my own family in the kitchen before holidays- cakes, marinades, roasts, soups.  Everything.   Even though I went to culinary school I never realized up until now just how much I love my time in the hot and sweaty kitchen.  Every night here I am drenched  to the bone in sweat- the galley is big for a boat, but in reality it is small and very hot.  For the past few weeks its been Meomen and I in there- once kind of awkward around each other struggling for the words to explain what we were doing.  Now it is like an organized dance between us.  We pass utensils and bowls back and forth sometimes wit out even a look.  We finish each other’s dishes or stir each other’s sauces without as much as a thought.  To me that is intimacy.  I know how to cook the food here now and that makes me proud.  It shows that we are not an organization that rents a beautiful house and pays people to cook for us.  We are in it.  I am in the market almost every other day, I know everyone at the local bakery by name, and I can use the local ingredients here as easily as I would at home.  

As we are readying for our departure my heart is heavy.  I knew that the day would come when we would have to say our good-byes, but I have never been good at this.  This one will be painfully different because we will never see many of these people again.  I will though carry them with me forever.  The laughter, pain, joy, and experiences in Haiti are burned into my soul and will always be with me in the food that I make.  When cutting cabbage for pickeleze I will think of the time that I had 3 Haitian boys- Bichal, Evynson, and Jonas- in the galley with me laughing at my techniques or the hundred of times that Meomen taught me how to wash rice “the Haitian way” will return to my mind whenever I am standing above a sink with a bowl full of rice. 

I am so thankful for the life that I am living and for how so far away from home in such foreign lands and experiences I am being reconnected with so much of myself.  I have always loved food but I had forgotten that I am passionate about it.  I love being free and didn’t realize how trapped I had been.  I miss wearing heels but didn’t remember just how great the feeling of wet sand on my feet is.

Good Bye Haiti.  I will love miss and cherish you.  You welcomed us into your culture and as a result you imprinted all of our souls. I hope that this is not Good Bye, but rather Until Next Time.

Honduras, 800 miles of open ocean lies between us but I am looking forward to seeing the sun rising over you and to hear the sounds that bring you to life.

Meyome

It’s interesting what the heart longs for when far away from home.  Past lovers, favorite foods, a drive down a familiar road… for me it’s my past career.   At 23 I went to dinner at Asia de Cuba, a high end and hip long standing restaurant in West Hollywood nested on the bottom floor of the Mondrian Hotel.  Dinner that night was filled with laughter and fabulous food and after we were done I sat on their beautiful patio with the lights of LA twinkling behind me and spoke with their Beverage Manager about his role in the restaurant- I thought to myself during that conversation that I wanted his job one day…. 6 months later I was Asia de Cuba’s Beverage Manager.  I worked hard to get the job- I was young and inexperienced, but my heart was 100% in it and Jan the Food and Beverage Director saw in me the drive.  He took a risk and gave me the position and with his guidance I soared.  My time spent venturing within the lines of their Wine List and the walls of their Liquor room became the anchor of my career.  I was around beautiful people and celebrations every night, I got to taste wine every Thursday when my vendors came in, I got to experiment with wine pairings, I had control on the Cocktail and Wine List, and my most favorite—I got to train my staff and be trained by them about the wine that we served.  Until 27 when I came to Florida the Culinary and Beverage world was my world – I miss it.  I will forever be thankful to Jan for taking the risk with me—to see past my youth, to see my passion.

During our first few weeks here there was a girl at the clinic that always caught my eye. She seemed to be involved in everything that happened at the center—from unloading the supplies to passing out the clothes that we brought- she was always there bossing people around and generally making my job easier. She spoke no English and I very little Creole but we formed a bond. Her name is Meyome. Language barriers were broken down little by little as we spent more time together I learned that Meyome was 20 and was living with her sister in one of the tents behind the clinic. She had been living with her mom and working before the earthquake, but her mother was crushed in the rubble and she lost her job. But here she was, still an amazing girl, still doing anything and everything she could to contribute to the world around her. In her I see me at 20. Young, ambitious, yearning to see more of the world and all that it has to offer. And yet she is in a place where poverty and access to work makes it almost an insurmountable task— this is my second heart break on this trip. By a fluke I was born into a family that would go to the ends of the earth to support and nurture me while in a country where anything is possible. In my early 20’s I got the idea that I wanted to go into a business that I had little idea about, and I did it. I see Meyome everyday teaching herself English, teaching me to cook, teaching me to do laundry by hand, tutoring the children at the center -anything to help others and herself. But where will this lead? I walked into one of the best restaurants in Los Angeles and started a career, where can she walk into? I would do anything to rescue her, to pull her into a life where opportunity is boundless. Where there is no rubble, no lost mothers and tents. I was told that there will be a time that you have to pull up the anchor and leave, but how, how can I leave a girl like this. I know that she will make the best of the situation at hand, I know that there are many people that have defied the odds and had wonderful lives. I understand the concept of “who am I to say what is best for her”. I don’t. But I do know that she loves the time she spends on the boat, she is interested in everything I do during the day… my computer, my blackberry…. And everyday she says. “Meyome alle avec Sky.” Meaning, Meyome goes with Sky. I swallow a lump in my throat sometimes as she giggles this.

One day soon I will lift our anchor and head west and it kills me. You cannot save everyone, but you cannot help but give your heart to some. Meyome has part of mine- always. For her I wish opportunity, a job where her brilliant mind is put to use, a man that loves her, a stand up shower, a new beautiful dress and pair of high heels— I taught her how to walk in them— and a life out of the rubble. I trust that she will make something amazing out of her life. I wish that I could do more—I can not. I can only give her my friendship, a bed with a mattress while she’s on the boat, one of my dresses that she loves, and the shared love and knowledge of cooking—the language of our connection. Meyome, thank you for the cooking lessons, the laughter, and making me see just how crazy lucky I am. What comes next?

The Patience of Heart

When I was 17 my heart belonged to one person… his name was Nick.  We met in our junior year of high school but it wasn’t until our senior year that we dated.  Like so many things in life we at first didn’t like each other very much, but after a few short days of being in close proximity we allowed those crazy young hearts of ours to be filled with one another.  The summer after our senior year was spent driving my dad’s mustang with the top down, sneaking kisses behind our parents’ backs, laughter, the drama that is leaving for college, and young love.  We celebrated our 18^th birthdays together and my gift from him was a teddy bear and dinner, but most special to me- a song played and sung by him.  He chose ‘Patience’ by Guns and Roses….

Now why other than nostalgia am I recounting this?  Well-  on Tuesday the Floating Doctors conducted our first Mobil Clinic in the fishing village that is on the beach across from where the boat is anchored.  Ben had gone over the day before with a man from the village that had asked us to come and help and decided where it was going to take place and to help the interpreter explain what we were going to be doing and how many people we would be able to see while there.  We worked at the regular clinic in the morning, came back to the ship to grab our medical “go” bags, and off we went to the beach.  When we pulled up there were already 50 + people standing in line—women, children, young, and old.  Being that it was only Ben and Rachel able to come we could only see 32 medical patients and Rachel was going to clean 12 children’s teeth.  As one can imagine the first moments were quite hectic while handing out the numbers and making sure that a riot didn’t break out… but we did it.  I obviously do nothing medical during the clinics, but what I can do is intake.  I sit at a table in the front with an interpreter and an intake form and I take the problem presenting and histories so that Ben is able to solely exam and diagnose.  This is great for the speed at which we can get through people, but it puts me right out in front, once again in front of a mob of people wanting to get seen and impatient at the wait.

Being that I am 5’3” and weigh just over 100 lbs  forty something people standing in front of me and yelling in Creole is a bit scary.  I was getting very frustrated trying to hear what the patients were saying (most of which were children that were scared themselves) while explaining to the crowd that they had to be calm and that we will get to them as soon as we could.  The men working security for us were doing the best that they could to keep people from crowding around the intake table but the need is great in the community and people were very eager to see the doctor.  I started to get a bit overwhelmed and was thinking of pulling us out—the people—the yelling—the intake information—the heat—the bugs… and then out of the noise was a very familiar guitar solo followed by Axel Rose’s one and only voice.  Patience.   In an instant I was no longer on a remote beach in Haiti, but sitting in a dorm room in LA listening to the then love of my life singing me a song about the patience that is needed in love.

It is so funny how life can be- I think that I actually nodded to myself.  Whatever it is you believe in God, Buddha, a Higher Power, a broom, whatever it is… mine spoke to me on that beach.  Don’t worry—be patient.  It is needed in love and loving acts.  I no longer was overwhelmed and saw then not 50 people yelling at me, but 50 people that have no access to what we posses.  They have sick children, Malaria, Abscessing teeth, worms and no one that is helping them. The rest of the clinic went very well—Ben and I stayed until way after dark getting eaten by bugs and doing exams by flashlight but finding joy in what we were doing.

11 years after that night in Nick’s dorm room he is married to a wonderful woman and they are expecting their first little boy this fall and I am off exploring the world and everything that it and I have to offer.  He doesn’t know it but I have the word “Patience” tattooed on my left foot—  I never connected my love of the word with that song—but life has an ironic way of coming full circle. This trip has already opened my eyes to so many things both in the present and the past that will stay with me.  Be Patient, Open your eyes to the beauty and truth in any situation—even overwhelming ones, and never ever forget the feeling of being young and in love while driving with the top down.

Personal Earthquakes

I believe that in Haiti you can see whatever it is you choose to see.  Before leaving the States we spoke to many that had come to Haiti before us and were told so many different things—that it is unsafe and that we will need guards at all times—that it is a beautiful country—that it is disgusting what the people of Haiti are doing with the AID that is coming to them.  That people will rob you blind and always take advantage of the situation– that the people will welcome you and are wonderful…. Ect ect ect.   We have now been in Petit Goave for 2 ½ weeks and I have come to my own conclusion… that being- what could we say about ourselves during our own ‘earthquakes’ in life?

There is a bakery in town that is about a 15 minutes motor taxi drive away from the boat, and almost daily I hope on the back of one of these motorcycles and make my way through town to pick up our bread.  Yesterday as clouds and a light rain rolled in over the hills that surround Petit Goave I began my ride.  Down the dirt road we went—past playing children, men gambling and laughing, banana fields, trash, dancing in the street, cooking, music, wild dogs and goats, shops filled with US AID food stuffs and clothes.  Through a town that is literally pulling themselves out of the rubble.  The sounds and smells overtook me and filled my head with the times in my life that left me devastated–  4 months later was I able to dance yet?

Every day I see people making the best of what they have had to face–  do they sell some of the donations that are made?  Yes.   Can I judge?  For me, no.  I choose not to see the bad, but instead I see the recovery. The stories that have been told to us as trust has been built are shocking.  Children with holes in their head still warm so soon after death pulled out of homes- bodies of family members in the street left for the dogs—children being kept locked away to keep them safe from sacrifices by voodoo practitioners, bodies crushed and frozen in time in doorways in windows waiting for removal .  What the people of Haiti have seen, smelled, and buried would be enough to make almost anyone give up and allow the horror to win.   And yet here they are—living their lives.  Not locked away, not choosing the dark that they have been witness to, not too scared to move—what I see is a town that is choosing life.  I only I hope that I will do the same when my earthquakes come.

The Eyes that Tie and Bind

I have never been the type of girl that wears her heart on her sleeve – I hate crying in front of other people and have always worked through my emotions very privately.  My emotions have always been mine to have and sharing them has never come very easily to me.  For the first few days here the entire crew was overcome with so many emotions- pride, humility, joy, sadness- everything that one would expect from us after doing what it took to get ourselves here.  I, on the other hand, found myself not feeling all that much. By almost 29 this doesn’t scare me as much as it used too… it is just who I am, nothing to be hard on myself over. I know that the time will come when (usually all at once) I feel.

That time came yesterday when the dam broke- I had spent all morning at the health center with Noah, Captain Riggs, and Nick.  We had been on the future site of the school planning out the specifics of how we were going to take this project on and what we were going to need from the Health Center during the process.  The four of us out there drew a lot of attention from the families and children that hang around the center and it was during this that he first caught my eye.  A beautiful 2ish year old boy wearing hot pink pants with the roundest cheeks and biggest smile I have ever seen.  He started playing hide and seek with me before I even realized what was happening.  He would hide behind one of the trees and mimic my movements until I turned to catch his eye which would send him laughing and off behind another tree or bush.  This of course took my attention away from the boys and my game with this little gem continued.  We played for a while outside- he loved my camera and looking at himself in the pictures that I was taking… his laugh was so infectious and genuine- a true joy.  When he got more comfortable he started to sit in my lap and grab my hands- what a delicious warm heart and my first real physical contact while here.  I could have stayed with him for hours but work called and into the clinic we went to organize the boxes of supplies that we had delivered.

The first thing that we did was pull out all of the boxes and bags of clothes that came with us so that we could hand them out to the families that live on the clinic grounds later in the day.  My job was going to be handing out the clothes to the children… a few hours later they sat me behind an iron gate with two security officers in front of me to keep the crowd of people in line and to bring the children in one by one.  They were going to start with the orphaned children.  The first little girl ‘brought’ in was stood in front of me with a mob of people behind her- she looked terrified.  She wore nothing but a torn and dirty turquoise dress.  I started digging into the piles to find dresses, shorts, and shirts that would fit- I held each one up to her the way in which my mom did when I was little.  She looked down the entire time avoiding my words and smile… I wanted to pick her up and carry her away from the mass of people swelling behind her.  Before long she was ushered out and the next child was brought in each equally as beautiful and heart wrenching as the next.  The time started flying by as the growing crowd outside became hotter and more impatient- the kids were getting brought in and shoved out almost faster than I could keep up with.  I couldn’t hear a word that was being said because the yelling behind the gate was getting continuously louder.  But time stopped for me when looking up after a very young and half naked boy was brought out- I looked up and saw the hot pink pants and chubby cheeks. Our eyes locked and he smiled and made a funny face at me.  It was as if the air had been knocked out of me and if it is possible for a heart to choke mine did.

I later found out that this boy and the little girl in the turquoise dress lost their dad and mom three months ago and have since been coming to the center every day to eat and play with the other kids. They have a grandmother, but she is to old and broke to help them and is looking for a family to adopt them.  I soaked all of this information up but was then off in the back of a truck headed to the local fruit market to get the first fresh fruits my crew has had in over two weeks.  Last night then was the normal flurry of activity the Southern Wind is at night… dinner and laughter, fishing and testy generators, computer work and stories shared of our adventures of the day.  Finally I was able to sneak down stairs to shower—the place where I do my best thinking.  As the cool water washed the day away my mind wandered back to the center and the children. And then there they were—the tears and overwhelming emotion of the past weeks.

All night the eyes of all of those beautiful children wandered around in my dreams…. My parents told me before I left LA that my heart would both be filled and broken during this trip.  Once again they were right.  I will forever be haunted and grateful for my experiences here- they will forever bind me to the people of Petit Goave.  Today was market day and off I went to gather supplies for the next week- but tomorrow I will be back to the center and hopefully to another fabulous game of hide and seek and unbridled laughter with a chubby cheeked little boy.

Sing a Song a Song to the Sea

Sing a Song to the Sea

Certain moments in my life are frozen in time in my memory— A moon bow over the oceans of Hawaii after a night rain viewed from the beach with my amazing Mimi—My red patent shoes, blue A line skirt, and white polo shirt that I wore to my first day of high school— A car ride through California with my dad who took me out of school to have the company— The tangerine sunset walk through Topanga State Park with my mom— Standing at the bar that I brought to life full of staff and patrons— A first kiss while standing in line at the circus.  And two nights ago-  The moon full over Petit Goave as we anchored here for the first time.  But out of the darkness came song.  It was on all sides of us…. Lap Lap Lap and then a low muffled song.  Ben, Noah, Capt Riggs, Nick, and I were speechless.  Here in the unknown that we have jumped into was moonlit water, silhouetted black mountains, and a moon song.  What a gift.  As the light began to grow we saw the source of this beautiful melody…. Small boats with a single man rowing while singing into the coming day.

Then several hours later I find myself in the streets of Petit Goave with Ben and Tania on our way to view the health center.  All around me is beauty, chaos, rebirth, destruction, laughter, yelling, cars, people, animals, and rubble.  After 7 days at sea I am overwhelmed at the life beat that surrounds me and packing my final galley supplies in Miami seem like a life time ago.  Since then I have swam in open oceans, seen seas very few people will ever have the honor of crossing, eaten fish that was minutes old, crossed the Gulf Stream.  I have been witness to sharks swimming all around, the dedication of our crew and boat during rough passages, and had the honor of seeing the sunrise and set every day.  And now here I am…. In the midst of destruction and beauty — in every sense of the word.  Ben has spent the last two days in Clinic while I have watched over our boat.  Tomorrow it is my turn.  I am scared at what I will see – the pain, the healing… the all of it.  But yesterday I was reminded by a dear friend that “Through all of the tragedy and pain and mistakes and heartache and disaster in our lives, love and goodness always triumphs”.  That is my moon song.