One man's trash is another man's abandoned teenager

Nebraskan parents are abandoning their teenage children in hospitals after the passing of a controversial law, as explained in this article. The law was meant to prevent parents from abandoning their unwanted babies.

You might be asking yourself, "Wait, a law that allows you to abandon your baby, to prevent you from abandoning your baby?" It's confusing but true.

The law is a protective measure that has worked in other states, to protect the lives of babies who would have otherwise been left in garbage bins and other equally depressing places. Many states have a law like this, but usually the law stipulates that the children must be under a year old. This Nebraskan law was expanded to include children up to 17 years old whose parents are unable to provide for their well-being. However, what Nebraskan lawmakers are now finding is that parents who are financially capable of caring for their children are now abandoning them for other reasons, and using this law to get away with it!

What I want to know is, why would any parent give away his or her child if they didn't have to? Surely the child is worth something. Teenagers may only bring in a few thousand dollars, but babies are going for millions of dollars on the black market. And these are white babies! Those things sell like hotcakes! In times of such economic uncertainty, why would any American turn away a lucrative financial opportunity? Not only are they refusing a chance to earn good money, but some Americans are even spending money to drive from nearby states into Nebraska to drop off their leftover kids!

Am I the only one who sees this obvious misstep?

"Write in recollection and amazement for yourself."

Standing at the bus stop outside of work I find myself gathering little piles of snow by scraping the side of my boot against the ice on the ground. When I get it about an inch high I smash it down and compact it back into the ice and begin again. It's 4:30 and the sun is almost gone. The sky is pink and yellow with a winding blue path, receding into the too-huge sky. I welcome thoughts of my old favorite writer, Jack, once again. It was the way he saw the world, and the way he went about exploring it that drew me in.

America, January nineteenth, two thousand and eight.
"...It occurs to me that I am America. I am talking to myself again."

That's not Jack, that's Allen. But they both liked to write about America. Allen started with his conscience. Jack came from the perspective of the land first and the road... and then the people, and he expanded from there. San Francisco was the "end of land sadness." His road west was filled with "verduous fields of prune and juice joy." Everything and everyone different. We've all got different experiences of America. Different ways of waiting for the bus.

The tone of this little piece is already wistful, and I feel like that's the mindset I have, looking around me and only now realizing-- Alaska... America. It's the dwindling nature of my time here, maybe, that's allowing me to appreciate it. Maybe it just took me awhile to see it and not resent it for being other than what I expected. In any case, wistful is the word. I've been crushed by the world's weight in beauty. It's a frustration I am happy to bear, having seen things that strike me with awe, that I had no part in creating and no control over... These things make me feel small, and my only relief is to share the feeling with someone else. I keep thinking of Lewis and Clark and their expedition out West, and what it was like to see all this America for the first time. Well, not Alaska, but you know what I mean. What an adventure this has been.

"We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked up at each other for the last time..."

I always end up writing that poem down (the one in the previous post). It's funny how certain things just stick with you. I didn't write it myself, but it's from a reading jack kerouac did. he's got a lot of good spoken word stuff... hearing his voice and the rhythm he assigns to the lines he wrote, it makes it easier to see and understand what it was he was writing about. and how rhythm plays a part in all of it. anyways. ANYWAYS.

I had a blister on the bottom of my foot from wearing my new sandals, but nothing will stop me from pretending my feet are warm. It's June and to me, that means flip flops are mandatory, despite the fact that I live in Alaska and it's raining. So we walked around all day-- it was Saturday downtown and tourists were filing out of large busses and into sandwich shops. Eventually we made our way down to park strip where the oceans festival was taking place. There were a few rows of booths underneath tents where craft stores had set up makeshift shops and environmental groups waited around for people to buy tshirts. One place was just selling bowls of macaroni and cheese. We wandered around and finally ended up in the beer garden, or really a section of the grass roped off by orange plastic fencing, where people and their dogs could drink locally brewed beer, sit on the grass, and listen to music. About five large rasberry wheat beers later it started to rain and most of my friends had left. AJ and I were at the foot of the stage where Sonvolt was playing. It started to pour but lots of people did not seem to mind, and in fact it sort of added to the whole wonderfulness of the whole thing, dancing around and jumping and spinning and getting all wet and not caring and feeling a little drunk. Some girl, extremely high or drunk or both, flirting with another guy equally gone, slammed her skull into my face while playing the air guitar with vehemence, and my lip began to bleed. I pushed her away and we stayed for awhile, until the band left and then we left too. It had stopped pouring and now the sky was breaking up... the grey was in pieces with strips of bright light slicing through. The sky, I keep saying, looks bigger here, more immense, and closer to the ground. It stretched out over the rest of park strip and I took a picture with AJ under a small tree with bright green leaves.

"I was traveling west one time
along the stateline of colorado-- it's arid western one
and the stateline of poor utah
when i saw huge and mast in the clouds
the great image of god
with forefinger pointed straight at me
through halos and rolls and gold folds
that were like the existence of a gleaming spirit
his right hand would sayeth
go though across the ground
go moan for man
go moan
go groan
go groan alone
go roll your bones
alone
go thou and be little beneath my sight
go thou and be my newest seed in the pod
go thou, go thou
die hence.
and may this world report you
well and truly.

Maybe I should write in this thing more often, and not be as concerned about writing something terribly prolific. It's just that when your day to day business no longer consists of wandering in and out of strange countries, you end up writing about what you ate for lunch or some crap like that, and I just want to write something worthwhile.
I could write about work, man I could tell you some stories about these guys, but I don't know if that would be violating people's personal stories. Basically I don't want to get sued. Maybe if I don't include names or tell people where I actually work, I could get away with it. Lawyers in the family have any input?

...I'm not sure that anyone even reads this blog besides Will Fischer.

I'll tell you something I'm thinking about today. A Salinger book that Carrie let me borrow, which I believe I kept, and which is now collecting dust back at my parents' house-- Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenters and Seymour. (sorry carrie) It was not my favorite of all his books but it had some of my favorite pieces in it. Like little chunks or ideas that I remember when I'm supposed to be working, or when i'm in a meeting. One of these is a letter that Buddy (JD himself) gets from his older brother Seymour (genius who killed himself). Seymour tells Buddy that he saw him write down his profession on a form he was filling out. Buddy wrote "writer," under profession, and Seymour thought it was hilarious, because "writing has never been anything less than your religion," he told his bro. The letter was written in the middle of the night by seymour when he was reviewing his brother's latest story and providing notes on it. he was giving advice and considering his brother's religion, he found the story was not up to Buddy's usual work, and got carried away in the letter. He started getting caught up and even a little cheesy and told his brother...Write with all his stars out!!! Thinking of a black sky full of stars, when you look up and you see all those little lights twinkling at you, something rare to a city girl, something rare for the sky anywhere, like it's showing off, (and don't you know that god is pooh bear?) and I understood exactly what he was talking about. yeah. write with all your stars out. and live that way too.

"You, yourself, as much as anybody else in the universe, deserve your love and affection."

That's today's message from the belly of Alaska. And it's the same one I keep learning over and over again.

There was much to be said about traveling alone. I wouldn't do it any other way if I had it to do over again, and I expect to do more in the future. However, some experiences and beautiful things, while they can be appreciated, mean nothing unless shared. I do share my experiences while I'm away. And not just through this blog, but I always take "home" with me. I could be alone on a mountain top and my Mom will always be a voice right beside me, reminding me not to leave wet towels on wood floors. i'm reminded of what chris mccandles wrote in the margins of one of his books before he died, right here in alaska. it was something to the effect of, "life is meaningless unless shared."


Anyways I remember thinking about how, at least for me, life is all about love. finding it and keeping it. i knew a feeling like that would not last, it was so small and precious, it was bound to slip through my fingers.
And it did, inevitably. But it is a great thing to keep rediscovering that.

http://www.sonymusic.com/clips/selection/fu/MasonJennings/KINK_01_01_full_100.asx

I went on hike up Flat Top, a mountain in the Chugach range. The first segment of the climb hit me pretty hard. My chest felt like it had knives in it, I think because of the altitude and because I'm out of shape, not having exercised much all winter. I brought my handkerchief along to warm my neck and was very glad to have it around when I needed it to block wind from my face. I looked like I was about to rob a stagecoach, but at least I was warm. LaterI tied it around my head to keep my ears warm. It was a useful thing to tote up the mountain.
A few of us fell behind, waiting for one of our guys to hump up the slopes. He was getting over a sickness and was really having trouble breathing. He looked like he was in pain. In any event, once we reached the halfway point, we ran into some real, experienced climbers. They had hundereds of dollars worth of climbing equiptment attached to themselves. I couldn't decide who were the silly ones-- them or us, in our cheap hiking boots, jeans, and me with my handkerchief. They told us that there were two ways to climb to the top-- the way they were going was much safer, but they were not sure we could do it without climbing equiptment. The other way, the way our friends had already begun to climb, was prone to avalanching, especially around this time of year, and had recently killed two people.
We would have followed these men right away, were our friends not climbing on the other side. Me, AJ, and Chris ran around the mountain to find them. Our friend Will, who was already halfway up turned and screamed at us from above. For anyone who does not know, loud noises can also cause avalanches, and what he did was not exactly smart. And just two seconds after his scream, Will came sliding down the hill on a wave of snow, not large enough to hurt anyone but fast, and surely frightening to everyone who saw. I don't know how much real danger any of us were in, but admittedly, it was pretty funny. If anyone was going to slide down a mountain on the cusp of a tiny avalanche, it was Will.
So we ran back around to the other side of the mountain and attempted to climb sans equiptment. I had to kick my toe into the snow of the mountain and use that as a step, and do the same with my hands. Occasionally I'd slide a few feet down and have to reclimb up. I felt pretty tough. It was not easy. Once we got to the top the wind blew so hard it was like a constant slap in the face. I could barely open my eyes, let alone stand up. It was at that moment when the two guys who had made it up were going to try to go higher that I became scared. We really didn't know what they hell we were doing. Luckily they decided against it, seeing as how they could not see anything through the snow flying in their faces. So we slid back down the mountain instead.

Another diary entry.

For as many stories of self destruction as I've heard recently, I still feel too bright and shiny to write a bukowski-wanna-be piece of crap. Especially right now, sitting in a coffee shop across from you know who. I just feel too giddy.
I work at a recovery and rehabilitation center. We've got recovering alcoholics, crack addicts, heroin addicts, schizophrenics, 60 year old men with dementia only now starting their lives over who unfortunately no longer remember how to spell their own names, men with liver disease and aids, victims of sexual abuse... we've got sexual abusers too, men who can't keep their hands to themselves, ex-prisoners and severely depressed people with suicidal or homicidal thoughts. do you have a plan? do you know how you are going to do it? do you have a target? and here i am, a twenty-three year old woman with big brown eyes and real compassion, trying to draw my lines where they need to be drawn, telling old men it's not okay to touch my shoulder and give me awkward compliments when we're in the room alone with each other. I need to be a parent to men twice or three times my senior, show them how to wash their hands to the tune of the birthday song, sit them down in an ugly white conference room with xeroxed handouts that explain how to create a budget. Me, the one who spent 2,000 dollars my freshman year of college on snacks and other things in the first few months.
The more I have to take care of people and help them along, the more I feel like the other workers who've been pushing me along and teaching me-- a responsible person -- something I've never considered myself to be. The more I work the less I feel like someone who needs to be taken care of, like someone knee deep in the muck of their own mistakes. But off the clock I'm still a hell of a girl. I still drink. I still want to travel. I still want my life to be anything but normal.
This is my 23rd year of life.

Except for the job, occasionally scraping ice off car windows, and a change in everyday clothing, I came to alaska to lead the same life i always have. I drink on the weekends and I care about what other people think, and I'm less than punctual and a little lazier than your average jane. Maybe it's alaska that suits me so well. Like santa cruz did-- a coat that fits. But anyways I like it. I like the scenery. Contrary to how it may seem in that past paragraph, I love my job and all the people wrapped up in that little maze. All those beautiful cognitively disabled jacks n jills. it reminds me of the santa cruz dorms.

While I haven't been writing a whole lot, I've gotten the chance to do some writing at work and have gotten some good feedback. I'm actually quite proud of myself. At any rate, I'll have my first published article up on the national website this March. Looking forward to forcing you all to read it.

-me

I regained something I lost, something I had in '02 while driving down the long sloping hill on campus, looking out over the entirety of Santa Cruz, California at the redwoods tumbling into the ocean there at night in a car full of hopeful excited youths. Away for the first time, flying down a hill in the dark, free.

"Somewhere along the line I knew there would be girls, visions, everything. Somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me."

Last night I listened to Van Morrison blasting through speakers in a busted ass car and watched a huge cloud roll in over snow covered mountains, which were still visible in the dark, and was straining to think of a way to express how I felt at that exact moment when AJ turned to me and said, 'it's going to snow tonite.'
The words filled me up; the ensuing feeling was painful, and it was perfect. There was no better way to express the forceful thrust and dizziness of the moment than for the sky to open up and deliver onto my eyelashes soft white flakes that would eventually cover the entire city in a blanket of white.
one soft flake, blanket white city.

I'm heading out of Anchorage for my first time this weekend to the peninsula (Seward). When I get back I'm hoping I'll have written something down to put in this thing. An introduction to friends, etc. Pictures still to come, one day, when I am less lazy.

It is currently 57 degrees in LA and 1 degree in Anchorage.

I'm in training with the VA Clinic yesterday and today. Yesterday I watched several hours of propaganda videos while locked in a small room with ten other people. Disorientation ensued, during which time I apparently voted republican, enlisted in the marines, raised a flag in the front yard, and ate a wonder bread and american cheese sandwhich, all of which I don't remember.
Today we have more informational lectures. Your typical VA employee supervisor will speak in military analogies and directly contradict what the person before him or her said. When one instructor was confronted she said, "welcome to the federal government," threw her head back and laughed.
My coworkers at VI are different though. Actually I have suspicions that all of ALaska is different than the lower 49. In the short time I've been here I've noticed that people here are on the job, or thinking about their job, 24 hours a day because they care about the people they're helping. And for that reason they also don't seem to get stressed out. They've got their "stuff" together. THey get the job done. They use cliches like the preceding two, and their motto is "Business as Usual... NOT!!"
As for me, I worry if I'll be able to help people follow the steps necessary to rehabilitate themselves when I'm still trying to grow up, myself. I wasn't able to put it into words before I left, but now I see that one reason I came up here was to rid myself of my youngest child tendencies-- letting others take care of me and prolonging my own development. If you always accept the help offered to you, you run the risk of never learning to take on life on your own. (or something like that). And it's no one's fault but my own!
So I decided to become the responsible person I've never wanted to be and as soon as I made this decision I promptly misplaced my phone for 24 hours and missed the bus twice. Merely setbacks. Today I have things generally under control again, and am on my way to... where i'm goin... one step at a time.

Will continue this later, back to training now. Got to find out which forms I need to fill out if I want to blow my nose.

New alaska quote:

"If you're going to be stupid in Alaska, you'd better be tough."

cold? what cold?

It's strange to compare what's real in alaska to the fake versions I've known my whole life. The trees up here, which I have been referring to as Christmas trees much to the dismay of everyone around me, are frosted in snow, and remind me of the fake frosted trees we used to get from the ymca during the holidays. That's one difference between LA and Anchorage. In La, snow comes from a metal tube attached to a tank, and here it falls from the sky and piles up in front of the door. And when I see children pulling sleighs through the snow I can't help but think, Wow! ...It's just like on TV. Haha. My street looks like a scene from It's a Wonderful Life, and today I went ice fishing (carhart suits and furry hats galore) followed by ice skating over a frozen lake. My only experience of all these things was previously a second hand knowledge gathered from books, movies, and other people's stories. It's still unreal to me to experience the world in such a different way. All I can do is take everything in one detail at a time, and appreciate how much a life can change from one temperature to another. A few examples:

If you are hanging out with friends and having a couple beers, there's no need to pop them in the fridge. You just leave them outside and hope they don't freeze, and run out as quick as you can to grab one and run back inside to warm up.

Every other store and restaurant here has either "bear" or "moose" in the name.

Sometimes, the bus just does not come, for no particular reason. (found this out the hard way.)

When you go out and are wearing jeans, it feels like you aren't wearing any pants. Really, just imagine walking around in your underwear. That's how it feels... the moisture goes right through.

People spin their cars off into ditches because of the ice and just abandon them all over the place. And when you drive along the highway it's kind of like going window shopping for used cars. "That one looks nice and seems to be in better shape, but that one over there will be easier to tow home."


It really isn't that bad in terms of the cold, especially when there's no wind and you've got the right clothes on. When I go out my cheeks turn a brighter pink than I've ever seen. I didn't know my face could make that color. It feels strangely good to sting a little bit. Men's beards grow icicles, to give you an idea of what my bare skin was feeling.

I've got to say my favorite moment has been the ice skating. The sun was poking through some far off Christmas trees and I could see the Chugach mountains hovering over me. I glided over the ice in my newly purchased, 15 dollar, used skates, wary of the cracks and holes, and searching for a dead body under the ice. (Like I said, I keep thinking of movies.) As I spun around with the little kids, I thought about TIm O'Brien's book, "The Things They Carried"... a very appropriate novel to ponder since I'll be working with vets.
He talked about life after war and the tangible and intangible items people, especially soldiers and post war vets, carry around with them... photographs, books, necessary tools, memories, hopes, and fears... He compared a frozen lake to the solid mass of memories, good and bad, that he was once drowning in. I wish I could provide the quote... something about double axles over the frozen past.
THe more I talk to people I'm working with, or the other americorps vistas down here, the more I realize that that's a huge part of everybody's life. Learning to skate and to live your life. I'm really glad that I'm here, I'm glad to challenge myself, and I'm especially glad to have the chance to help other people help themselves.

Hmm, interesting quote I've heard:
This one's from another americorps vista I hung out with last night.

"I used to be an idealist. And then I moved to Alaska."


Hahahaha, we'll see how this next year goes. Hopefully I get some writing done, and keep this updated. When I get my usb mailed up I'll add some nifty pictures of me and Buckley in the snow.

Love,
Kate