A Hand On My Heart

I was gasping for breath and my heart was pounding at an uncomfortable pace so I stopped for a minute by the side of the path. Surrounded by a quiet green forest, on the side of a mountain, the Himalayan peaks were no longer visible from where I stood. There were no houses, or fields, only a still forest, an empty path, and the heavy sound of my own breath. For most of the day, I had walked up hill, with with a 30 pound pack on my back. Three days' walk behind me was the airport up at Jomsom where I had begun my trek, and 4 days' walk below me was the nearest paved road that led to Pokahara in the Annapurna region of the Himalayas. I was starting to panic. The hikers that I had been tagging along with that day were far ahead of me and it was getting late in the afternoon. When the sun drops behind the mountain peaks, there is a sudden drop in the temperature in the valleys. Packs of wild dogs and the occasional leopard, might also be roaming around up there at night. Not wanting to be cold and alone in a completely unfamiliar place, I picked up my pack and started up the dirt path again.

I had intentionally let my traveling companion go on ahead of me. Neither of us was feeling well. She had a headache and wanted to get to a place to rest as quickly as possible. I knew that she would be alright with the trekking group that had adopted us. We were not part of their group, but their friendly group leader was a bit surprised to see two completely unprepared young women hiking alone in Nepal for the first time... or maybe he just thought we were cute. He encouraged us to stay close to his group.

I had some digestive problems and wanted a little privacy. There are no public rest stops on Himalayan treks--you just squat behind a rock--so I dropped back from the group. By the time that I reached that quiet place in the forest where I stopped to catch my breath, I hadn't seen anyone on the path for about an hour and I really wasn't sure how many hours I would have to climb before I would reach our planned resting spot.

The path led me over the crest of a hill and to a wide flat area among a very small cluster of mud and stone homes. Two boys, about 13 and 8 years old, were standing on a hill above me on my right. I hardly noticed them because I was focused on putting one foot down after the other. The older boy called down to me, "Please help my brother."

I looked up at the boys and saw the older brother with his arm around his younger brother supporting him. The younger boy had sliced his leg from mid inner thigh to mid calf. The wound was not fresh, but it was an angry red with thick yellow puss oozing out of it. I inspected his leg more closely and asked the boy if there was someone in the village who spoke English. The boy shouted for a man who came quickly. With paper and pen in hand, I carefully explained that the boy's leg needed to be washed, very thoroughly, with water that had been boiled and soap. Then I pulled a full course of antibiotics from my pack. In Nepal, anyone can go to the pharmacy and buy antibiotics. You do not need a prescription. The pharmacist often knows the normal dosage for your weight. For about $4 US, I had bought one full course of sulfa antibiotics, for myself, just in case I got into trouble on the trek. I explained to the village man to cut the pills in half and give them to the boy morning and night until they were gone. If the boy became more sick, then he should stop taking the pills and they should take the boy to the hospital.

As I was explaining all of this, a small crowd from the village formed around us. There was an old lady who repeatedly put her wrinkled hands to her eyes and then stretched out her arms to touch me and pull at my dress. There was a man who was limping and another pointing to his elbow. Everyone had a malady. Everyone needed help. I was surrounded by at least a dozen outstretched arms and open palms. I opened my pack again and pulled out a very large bottle of Centrum vitamin pills. Putting a few vitamins in each open palm, I pressed my hands together and acknowledged the god within them. Then I lifted my pack and continued on my way.

An hour later, I was climbing another steep hill. The sun had already gone behind the mountain and I was feeling very ill. I stopped, almost in tears, with my heart pounding out of control. Behind me a porter appeared. He was a member of the trekking group that we had been tagging along with. He was the 'sweep,' the last person who collected the straggling tourists. Strapped to his head was a 200 pound load of tourist gear. The man, who was only about 5 feet tall, reached up and put his warm callused hand on my heart. He smiled. Then he stayed with me until we arrived at our resting spot about a half hour later. He didn't speak to me, but knowing that he was near was all that I needed to take my fear away and to keep me moving.

*On another trip, my husband and I slept one night in a remote village hospital on the very same trekking route, because we didn't make it to our destination before nightfall. The hospital was no more than a large barn with no equipment or electricity. The beds had straw mattresses and no one came or left while we slept there. I still think about the boy with the wound and wonder if he was all right. Could I have done any better? I regret that I didn't give them my bar of soap, or money to pay for a donkey to take him the 4 day trip to the hospital. These things simply didn't occur to me at the time.

Dream A World of Good, Part 3

This picture is from the path that leads to the boy's home village in Dhunche.

In April I wrote about a dream that lead to a life time connection with a family in Nepal, 'Dream A World of Good, Part 1,' and 'Dream A World of Good, Part 2.' Many of you wanted to know what happened to the boys that I gave rings to. It has been a very rough six or seven years since I handed out those rings. The boys didn't always know if they were going to be able to get through high school because of the unstable government and the numerous strikes and violence. This morning I received a letter from one of the boys that we have been helping through school

.................

Dear Aunt, Uncle, and our brothers.
How are you all? We all are doing well over here and we wish that you are doing well over there.
Finally! Monsoon is here... Farmers have already planted rice in their fields. Some years back, maybe about 6-7 yrs, we had a different Kathmandu... Big stretches of paddy fields gave life to this once beautiful shrine. But now there are only patches of those just giving those memories some fuel. We had a very dry spell this year and farmers are worried that they will not be able to yield anything at all.

My brother has left for Dhunche today to make his passport. He is currently taking classes on IELTS and working in one of our uncle’s travel and tours offices. He plays football in the morning with his friends and spends his whole day working and learning. I am also spending my days learning and working... I wake up at 4 in the morning go for a nice morning walk and come back to spend one hour on yoga. In the day, I go to the shop and help father in his work and sometimes I manage to go to our uncle’s office as well.

Last week, I visited a youth forum. It’s called Today’s Youth Asia and I was delighted to see all these young people from high school discussing many social issues. The youth forum is making efforts to bring changes to the society... they already have two TV programs and some more programs in the pipeline. I suggested to them to use 'inter phenomenon' like 'Twitter' and 'YouTube' and TV programs like 'iReport' in CNN. I saw a different side of the younger generation of Nepal totally different from the youths affiliated with some political organizations of the past. They were there not trying to revolt but to be a part of the change.

Yesterday, I managed to watch Barack Obama giving his speech and I was delighted to hear his message for the younger generation. We all are an active part of our society and each and everyone can be a part of the story of change. Every time we watch him giving his speech he makes us realize our dreams.

Aunt, after a long thinking and working I have decided to pursue my further education in Bangalore, India. I am choosing Biochemistry as my major and I hope I will be able to pursue my Masters in the United States. My brother is now working for his application to US, he is looking for colleges and I am here to help him with his application. I have already started working on my application in India and I hope I will be there after a month or two. My brother is really good in mathematics and I hope that he will be going for Business as his major subject. When I joined my high school I already knew that I would pursue further education in biochemistry so I am really excited.

We don’t have any words to describe how thankful we are to you. Our cricket team is not active at the moment... some members are in the US and some are busy with their own life but they still have those rings you made for us and I don’t know how many have passed the rings on to other young people. We all love you a lot and there are no words to describe how much we are thankful to you. We all love you all.
Love from Nepal

...................................

I am so proud of these boys. They are full of hope and promise. As many set backs as they have had, they have always forged ahead. Both of the boys have taken an active part in their communities. If they couldn't go to school or work, they volunteered for the Red Cross and they contributed to the development of a new school in their home village.

I am planning on making the 'One Good Deed' rings again, so let me know if you would like to pass one on.

Peace!

On Pride and the Wisdom of Sameness

A groundhog being himself. Sorry about the reflection, I shot it through the back window.

When I was 11, in an attempt to discover the meaning of life, I picked up a the Bible and read it cover to cover. In the beginning, I wondered if my destiny was to be the next Virgin Jeri (My real name). Could I be good enough and devout enough to give birth to Christ's second coming? But, by the time that I reached the end of the book, I had decided that there were a few bits that I would have written differently. I won't go into details, but simply refer you to Elaine Pagels.

Throughout my life this search for purpose and meaning has been a recurring theme and has led me to some interesting adventures and explorations into different religions, but I am a real Jesus fan, and so I have always returned to his teachings as my foundation.

Recently, I was walking on the farm and looking at the sky and wondering about what my purpose in life was when a sign appeard in the heavens above me. It was a goose, and I had to laugh at myself. What a silly goose I am. I am so wrapped up in my own ego. The geese come and go with the cycles of the seasons. They don't spend time trying to be more important than other geese, they simply try to survive and care for their families and their communities. No time is wasted on wondering about God's divine plan made especially for them.

There have been times in my life when I have been stuck. I thought that if I didn't know my purpose I would not be able to fulfill it. Instead, I have discovered that all I really need is to decide what I want to do and what I am capable of and then go for it. My purpose is my choice and if I choose poorly, I can always try again.

Just my thoughts. I know some of you may think quite differently. Peace.

A World of Good, Inc.

This is the other part of my life. When I am absent from blog ville, I am usually selling jewelry and beads at trade shows. This is how I earn a living, it is part of my creative outlet, and how I help to support people in Nepal. These pieces are traditional Himalayan designs or abstractions of traditional designs. I do modify some of the designs to fit American tastes. Usually, I just have them shrink the designs for us. When I come up with my own designs, it takes a Nepalese crafts person to interpret my idea and make it beautiful. You can see much more including some very modern designs at http://aworldofgood.com/.

beadshows.com

I'm busy placing orders this week, but I will get back to story writing soon. Peace.

A Spooky Tale of Treasure

I had no photo so I made a picture for you.

After the death of Clark H. Van Dervoort, a paper which recorded the following incident written in his own handwriting was found in his lock box.

I was born in Clarksville, Ohio July 10, 1829, where my father Jonathan Van Dervoort, was a successful Merchant. During the panic of 1838 he lost his business and we moved on to a farm nearby. Soon after this my mother became helpless with inflammatory rheumatism and remained bed ridden for fourteen years before her death. My father and my brother, Jefferson, worked in the field and I did the housework. In the fall of 1842 we decided to move to Tippecanoe Co. Indiana where my Grandmother Ruland, my mother’s mother, lived. We had but little money, one team of horses, a small amount of household goods and one wagon. My brother Jefferson and I walked and drove sheep all the way. My Grandmother Ruland let us occupy one half of her double two story log and frame house, the old homestead. My Grandfather Ruland had been dead for many years. My brother Wilson and I slept in a trundle bed which was pushed under my fathers and mothers bed during the day time. About midnight on December 23 my brother Wilson woke me up crying. He whispered to me that grandfather Ruland had been talking to him about some money. I told him he must be dreaming and to go back to sleep. About five o’clock he woke me up again and said grandfather had returned and that I must get up and do as he said. So we slipped out of bed and went into the kitchen and dressed by the fireplace. Wilson said that Grandfather told him there was some money in a box under the last step of the stairway over the closet back of father’s bed and he wanted us to get it and give it to my mother. Wilson commenced to cry and said he was scared but I told him he must see me through. I lighted a candle and we crept into the closet without waking father or mother. After turning things upside down and moving some boxes stored there, we found a wooden box, it was quite heavy. Wilson was holding the candle and he commenced to cry. I thought he was going to faint. I took him in my arms and comforted him. He wanted to give it up, but after quieting him I told him we must do just as Grandfather told us to do. I took the box and we slipped into the kitchen. I soon had a good fire in the fireplace and started breakfast. I called father and he said it was too early for breakfast. I told him I had a special reason and wanted mother to have her breakfast with us as soon as possible. She said she did not think she was able to sit up but I took some hot water in to father and he gave her a warm bathe, and we carried her out to the table. We put her in a rocking chair with pillows around her and brought out the box and placed it beside her plate. We told her about grandfather appearing to Wilson and telling him where to find it. W opened the box and inside found two buckskin bags filled with silver money. Mother burst out crying and the rest of us were soon all weeping with her. We all wept for some time as there seemed to be such a strange presence in the room. After we quieted down father and I counted the money. There was $265.00 mostly in French and British coinage in the two bags. It was certainly a God send to us as we had less than $5.00 in the house, and a hard winter ahead.

Now I have told my story and every word is true. The last time I talked with my brother Wilson not long before he died in 1892 he said he still had the buckskin bags and the wooden box.

Signed, Clark N. Vandervoort

I found this treasure of a tale in my own grandfather's belongings after his death. Clark H. Vandervoort was my great, great grandfather. I did not alter the story except to correct the spelling.

Atlas Quest

These are our treasures!

Greetings everyone! I'm so sorry that I have been out of touch. In the past two weeks I have driven, with my boys, to Cape Cod, MA, and to Boston, then back home for one night. I dropped off one boy so that he could go to camp and took the other to Durham, NC, to do a show with me. In Durham, a friend introduced us to atlasquest.com. It is the perfect hobby for a globe trotting family. Much to our surprise, there are secret treasures hidden in parks and alleys under rocks and in tree stumps all over the US and in several other countries as well. They must be found by following clues, some of which are incredibly cryptic. We discovered 6 treasures in Durham. On the way home we found another in the Outer Banks, NC, and looked for one in Kitty Hawk, NC, but never found it. Then we drove straight up the coast to Rehoboth Beach, DE, and found one in a pedestrian through way. We found another near our home back in Lebanon, PA. And we accidentally found a, geocache, which is treasure that you find via GPS, in our local park. Treasure hunting is thrilling. The treasures that we find and leave are hand-carved stamps. You should check it out and see if there are any hidden near you.

I have been thinking of lots of stories during my journeys and promise a true spooky story of real hidden treasure when I return. I'll be working at a bead show in Newark, DE, this weekend and I have to leave in the next half hour. Peace.

Wagamama

Student pants with split toe construction workers shoes.

Here you can see the weird curve from thigh to ankle.

While I lived in Japan, the students wore uniforms which were very strictly monitored and which severely limited their self expression. The girls had certain hair styles that they could choose from according to their age or grade level. They were not allowed to wear jewelry or make-up. At certain times throughout the year, teachers would measure the length of their skirts to see if they were either too high or too low. The boys also had restrictions on waist height, cuff length, and so on. But it was the girls clothing that most annoyed me. As a teacher in Japan, I was disturbed that male teachers would have their hands on these girls legs measuring the length of their skirts. Why should girls be forced to wear skirts in the first place? Skirts are so limiting. I could go out and play hacky sac with the boys at lunch but not with the girls because they wore skirts.

There were no restrictions on the teacher's clothing, so I went to the student uniform store and ordered myself a pair of boy's student pants that pushed all of the boundaries of the school restrictions. It had the longest thinnest waist, the widest possible thighs, and the most narrow cuffs allowed by school rules. In this way I demonstrated my solidarity with the students.
None of the teachers ever mentioned my pants, but several of the students made sure to let me know they admired my outfit.

Wagamama is a Japanese word meaning something like, independent minded or strong willed. I did not get the impression that it is a positive thing to be called, but it seemed to fit me. I can not tell you how many times people in Japan told me the Japanese expression, "The nail that sticks up, gets hammered down." I guess it is just my nature to stick up.

This post was prompted by The One Minute Writer.

On the road again next week y'all. Go make some trouble while I'm gone!