Monday, October 20, 2008


Today is a historic day in Bolivia. More than 100,000 campesinos, labor leaders, miners, coca growers are converging on the city of La Paz to urge the Congress to approve a new Constitution. How not to get caught up in thousands of marchers who demand a new country!

In this new Bolivia -- the State guarantees food, education, public health, housing, and basic infrastructure -- water and sewage are basic human rights – limits ownership of private property unless approved by the State and guarantees self- determination for its 36 Indian Nations. This is definitely moving towards the socialist/communist spectrum and it will definitely change the country. Change is imminent – whatever form it takes.

The preamble to this new Bolivian constitution begins: “In time immemorial mountains rose, rivers ran, lakes were formed, our Amazonia, our chaco…our altiplano…valleys were covered in green and flowered. We populated this Sacred Mother Earth with different faces and we understood since then the plural nature of our being, our diversity of being and culture. That is how we founded our communities. We did not know racism until the fateful colonial times. Let us leave this colonial, republican, and neoliberal State in the past. We now assume the historic challenge to construct a new Social Unitarian State made up of a Plurinational Community that integrates and promotes a democratic Bolivia which will promote peace, development, and free determination of it’s people…..We complying with the mandate of our people, with the fortitude of the Pachamama and thanks to God reestablish Bolivia.”

It is a cry from the indigenous population that demands that the society adopt its cultural precepts: “The State assumes and promotes as moral-ethical principles of this plural society: ama quilla, ama llulla, ama suwa (don’t be lazy, don’t lie, don’t be a thief), suma qamaña (live well), ñandereko (harmonious life), teko kavi (good life), ivi maraei (earth without evil) y qhapaj ñan (noble path).”

The opposition, who believes they need to have more autonomy in their regions and wants less of what will be STATE intrusion came to the Congress over the weekend with their sleeping bags – try to picture your congressman sleeping at his seat in Congress. They came ahead of the marchers in case they were not allowed entry by these protestors. This had happened before during the last attempt to approve this New Constitution. Because the march is led by the President Evo Morales and they plan to circle congress and stage a hunger strike if the Constitution is not approved. The opposition actually is quite brave to do this.  Currently Evo does not have a 2/3 majority and he needs some of this opposition to accept his Constitution. Therefore the opposition may face some violence but appears to be making progress towards a concession that will benefit everyone.  

So far the marchers seem very peaceful. Opposition forces say the marchers are paid, but unlikely that so many people could be paid off to stage a march of this magnitude.

The cry for now is for a people who are not on their knees – “El Alto de Pie – Nunca de Rodillas.”

I watch with amazement as these marchers who have been walking for 5 days arrive and in the old fashioned way sacrifice a small white llama to help their cause.  I pray she brings rational informed democracy and peaceful transition.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008


Where’s Waldo almost got to visit “Brokedown Palace” yesterday. I had started out the day with this insane but full agenda of things to do – Pilates in the morning (Note: I’ve never had one single class of Pilates to-date even in the US), a visit to the American Embassy to legalize my birth certificate (see first blog entry for Kafka resume), lunch with my friend mother of Victor/Victoria and then off to my favorite pastime – a French-Bolivian co-production of the film “The Hunt for the Nazy Klaus Barbie” at the new Cinemateca Boliviana.

Like the mouse I am, the day went in some other direction. My Pilates class was cancelled because I was the only student, which was disappointing, but then they arranged a different class for me, which now starts at 10:00 instead of 9:00 and for which I am still the only student!

The drive in to the Embassy, which is in the city, was ecstatic because at every turn of the highway I could see Mt. Illimani which is always the gift of this city with its snow cap. though global warming is melting it yearly. They say it has 10 years of beauty left.

The American Embassy is a fortress with a flag that is bigger than the fortress and you are taken through triple gated security before you can even enter the building. Nothing we haven’t experienced before at the local Courthouse. While waiting I caught the plasma screen reporting these now routinely alarming 500 point drops that were occurring all over the world where now I am a distant watcher – the dollar has gone from 8 to 6 since I have been here and the “401K is now 201K” is being spoken of here as well.

The window for American Citizens was empty and when I told the clerk that I wanted to legalize my Birth Certificate which I showed her she told me the Bolivian government had imposed some new rules and that I would have to first go to the Civil Registry and have it legalized and then I would have to go to the Foreign Chancery to have it stamped for foreign parties and then and only then could they legalize it. The clerk was Bolivian and her instructions were just that “go to the Civil Registry and have it legalized and then to the Chancery for stamping.” I asked her could she at least give me an address so I could locate these things and she looked at me and said she didn’t know where they were. It’s the Kafka gene passed on internationally. Eventually we were able to establish the vicinity of these offices and I thought I could handle it -- go unaccompanied by locals to experience the “local flavor” of things plus I had my Video Camera. So off I went to the Plaza Venezuela in a trufi tax (cheaper taxi).

The Civil Registry was full of people in completely disordered lines with no idea of where to go and flowing out the doors. There were some handwritten signs posted letting you know where you could go and how much certain items would cost. Legalization of a birth certificate was $10. I also noted a sign that said:

Those people who are caught trying to submit false documentation or judicial testimony will be surrendered to the Special Forces Against Crime (FELCC) for having committed a crime of false and ideological materiality through the use of a falsified instrument, as stated in Article 198 and 203 of the Penal Code.

I distractedly filmed the sign and the madness in the place. I got up to window 11 and turned in the birth certificates (mine and my mother’s) and said I needed to legalize them. The lady behind the counter said: “These are false, you need to get new ones!” I told her my brother had spent months getting these documents after the death of my mother in 2004 and that they were not false, I had used them for probate purposes. She told me to wait a minute that she would verify what needed to be done.

Next thing I knew, a policeman and a man in civilian garb came and asked to talk to me. They took me to a room with a table – well imagine – the green of old government buildings in the 50s -- green walls, green table, couple of chairs, one lightbulb above the table. The man in civilian garb asked, “Can you tell me for what purpose you are using these papers?”
“I need these legalized for the American Embassy.”
“Well, madam, I have to tell you that the papers you have submitted are false and I must arrest you!”
Tears started popping out even though I was having that feeling that this really can’t be happening to me and I have to be tough I mean I have never been in a situation like this. The policeman stood by the door looking at me with stony ego-authority and I was not unaware of the large gun which rested in his hand.
“Why? Tell me why, would I show up here with false papers? First of all, I am a Bolivian, I was born here, I don’t need to falsify my birth certificate. I’ve been here a little over a week and I don’t have reason to bring false papers anywhere. I am here for a few months so I have time and I am doing this unaccompanied by anyone because I trusted that your system was not what everyone says it is – a bunch of corrupt thieves. I haven’t lived in Bolivia for 43 years! Tell me how would I know the difference?”
Of course I usually cry at the drop of a hat – so I am nothing but tears now – feeling stupid that I didn’t come with someone who knows the ropes and could offer these people a bribe or something culturally relevant and imagining myself pleading to EVO that I believe in the people!
The man questioning me finally says, “I believe you! I should be arresting you regardless. For now, we will confiscate the papers, forget you ever spoke with me and I will show you out the door. Don’t say you spoke with me to anyone because I shouldn’t be letting you go!”
He signaled to the policeman to open the door, ushered me out through a clichéd shadowed hallway and out an alleyway with an aluminum half door which I hunched through and I was back out on the street. FREE and with without my birth certificate!

Friday, October 3, 2008


Counting on a friendship when you are in a strange place is truly tonic. I happily, have one friend here in La Paz outside of my family circle who is of like mind – she is a jewelry designer and artist and very much in tune with the things I like and dislike so that visiting her is very freeing. I love my family of course, but a long visit to family is yielding your familiar world to their range. They know you as one thing and who knows how you grew or how different your notions of the world are – learning to be family again for a person used to no constraints is hard – they love 24/7 media and I prefer quiet meditative days filled with reading and dreaming.

I went to lunch at my friend’s house yesterday and perhaps the tone of this post will mirror the fact that I am deathly ill today from a bad lettuce. Things could be so much worse than a bad lettuce!

My friend is a pet fanatic! She has four dogs and two giant turtles in her garden. The dogs have their own fenced-in yard and each dog has their own separate house completely furnished. It’s like visiting the three bears since they are all different size dogs and their houses look like a little community. Even more amazing is that the yard does not reflect so many dogs roam there and the gardens were fragrant and amazing -- we picked a bunch of sweet peas for me. I adore sweet-peas and these were dark purple and pink! An interesting thing about gardens in La Paz is that they are all behind walls – you don’t see the gardens from the street. The homes are either hedged with tall pines or walled up, so that entering these gardens is magical because you have no idea what to expect. I think this makes for more interesting gardens because you aren’t particularly allied to matching the lavender of the next door neighbor and can do what you want with your own species of plants. The gardens I have seen thus far are all extremely personal and I like that.

What I loved most about my visit though was feeding Victor and Victoria – the giant turtles -- their fresh papaya/banana salad. These are well fed turtles! They live in their own HUGE home built to protect them from the cold with a bathing pond. It is always amazing to hear the lengths to which pet owners go to make sure their animals are well. Apparently Victor had a parasite last winter and only one veterinarian was willing to help Victor come back to life by giving him antibiotics. Of course you treasure the animal even more!

My friend also has an incredible collection of original paintings by renowned Bolivian painter Ricardo Perez Alcala who is a family friend and many of his paintings take their themes from her house. I’m sort of reminded of Frida Khalo’s blue house where what populates the paintings is in evidence in the house. I notice that there seems to be a trend (in the houses I’ve visited) to display antique sewing machines, old irons, locks, trunks, folding toasters . They are usually displayed in masses at the entrance – 10 irons, a couple of sewing machines – interesting sort of ties to the past. Perez Alcala in one particular painting in the house shows these antiques surrealistically lined up in space with a modern building in the background. The things we like to keep in our modern apartments are floating in the air and it is an interesting tie our modernity and our love of the old. The painting is extraordinary. The majority of the paintings are moody in color but are populated with surrealistic details that one might miss but in time after looking a while at the washed out colors one find’s oneself in a city falling off a cliff. So like this city. It is always definitely a privilege to see original art in a setting that is not museum. Hopefully next time I will have my camera and can take pictures of the garden, dogs, turtles and paintings.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

First Thoughts

Mennonites On the Plane

Boarding my plane in Miami it continues to sink in that I am going somewhere where life will be stranger than fiction. Half of the plane is a large U.S. Mennonite family –the women all in dark green flower print long and long-sleeved and the boys all in mustard colored small-check shirts buttoned up to the collar. They huddle sort of clumsily together heads bowed down but with these amazing straight backs. They are bound for Santa Cruz – the tropical part of Bolivia -- an extension of the Amazonian basin. What is unusual here though is that the girls are carrying giant shiny gold purses, wearing sexy sandals and dangly earrings more like a Britney Spears than a holy girl. I can’t help but smile at the way things become what they are -- they have become Cruceñas too --because women in Santa Cruz are known for their cult of beauty. It is a town of beauty queens and beauty pageants and why not – in the tropics amazing flowers fall on the ground and you can’t help but thread them into your hair and learn to take your day on like butterfly would.

The family is returning their farm after having been evacuated by the U.S. Embassy during the recent political dustup. They are worried because although they are returning to their home their home is no longer guaranteed to be theirs. They have been caught up justly or unjustly in the middle of the government’s decision to appropriate land from the “wealthy” -- while they have been working huge pieces of land (I’m not sure of what provenance?) they have prospered with their hard work and their ability to produce exemplary agricultural goods. Now there is also the fact that they are GRINGOS and as such well persona non-grata. Their land is being sought by the Morales government to be redistributed to poor campesinos. There are peasants and then there are peasants. It appears on the surface to be patently unfair – after all your work is your work and where is this truer than where you till the soil day in and day out.? But I don’t know the details of course, so the issue of who is owed what when begins to surface on the plane. It will continue through my journey where the first thing I am told to do is to stop speaking English because the “racial” problems are big!

My New Home
After my arrival I spend three days of headache and tomb-like sleeping due to altitude sickness and slowly return to normal breathing and activity. Some people take less time because they are in better shape, but alas not so for me. The time flies though because I am extremely well cared for and really could get super spoiled. I’m staying with my niece in her amazing 21st century home in the southern part of La Paz in a neighborhood called Achumani. Their house is built on a treacherous hillside and is super modern glass and wood – my brother who is an architect designed it –it has a striking view from every angle and at night the lights of the city shine on the hillsides and morning brings amazing light over these rock formations. Obviously I will be staying among “nice society.” Everyone has been supremely welcoming. I am also here with my little grand-niece and grand-nephew who are children and children give you reasons to be in the moment --- there are accidental bloody noses and comfort needed when they really ate too much chocolate or their shoes gave them blisters – things which I have been doing over the last few days. I’m not forcing myself on them, we are making a nice and easy friendship with each other. A few days ago a wounded bird appeared in the yard and it can’t fly – it’s not a pretty bird but it is a small life to care for. We decide to adopt it so that it can return to health and already it’s very accustomed to its water bowl and small offerings of food and I think its a lot like my being here – a little bit of a wounded bird who has been adopted by the loving tenderness that is a child.

Choir Championship
Saturday night we attend a regional choral championship which my niece is participating in. Eight choirs perform in the new Symphonic Center –once one of La Paz’ most beautiful movie palaces -- still under construction as the new home for the National Orchestra. We note that it will all be very beautiful soon, there are no fire breathing OSHA dragons about and the technical director is at work with an incredibly hazardous electrical setup right in front of us. The event is sponsored by Acropolis a non-profit organization whose noble goal is to create individuals who learn to be humane through art. It is an endeavor fraught with problems because it too cannot escape the taint of the political juncture this city is in. The director of the National Choral Program, a Bolivian-Japanese man, basically says so in his tone while delivering the results saying that it is a “judges privilege in our divided nation.” He asks how is one to judge what went on behind the scenes when there were schools with less resources and therefore had to do more with less? I can relate – as a poetry judge over the years it isn’t the easy fantastic children at Oyster Bilingual who make it hard to decide who is better but the kids at difficult schools who make it hard to decide which one even is good enough to count but you always end up with a shiny diamond somewhere and you nurture the rest to become their very best. Here too what you get is perhaps the fairest possible balance in this devil’s bargain– the top prize winner would have won anyway because they were the diamond -- had the talent and the style to take the room and beyond, beautiful tawny girls in skinny black jeans with bright blue scarfs singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” like a warm windstorm. The rest is a compromise towards mediocrity which left out the most privileged children – who performed an unbelievably wonderful arrangement of “All You Need is Love” with all the difficult harmonies and whose young hopes were running high and those with the least privilege who in their dusty smocks singing the “Our Father” were the face of those who are on their last shred of hope.

Sunday, September 21, 2008


I come the issue of trying to understand what is at stake in the Bolivian crisis late in the game. My hope is to bring an outside observer’s truth, my long-time experience of thinking out to the future and not just today’s expedient summary– which for those who haven’t worked with me is capsule of my eternal professional battle in the corporate sector. The situation in Bolivia is already way past go, and what I am reading and hearing is of such divergent reality that I feel like I will need to stay centered and rational. My own understanding of this culture – the understanding that comes from being born into an ethnicity that you cannot dissemble away from is still a child’s filtered by living a lifetime here in the US. It is my best friend and I walking over the Queensboro Bridge from NYC, through deserted streets on a Sunday – every Sunday in a certain August -- in the heat of summer to eat Salteñas at a Bolivian Restaurant called El Illimani that we had heard about – walking I don’t know maybe an hour or two in the reminiscing of great friends towards the taste of something that would remind us of those children we had been in that city called La Paz. That may have been the extent of my ongoing link -- that certain summer walk -- to a city now divided within it’s own periphery and from half of the country it is battling.

What will I find different from the great learned pundits of the BBC who while commenting on one of the most historic moments in Bolivian history intersperse their analysis with talk about the colorful “indigenous chola” with the derby and how they cured their altitude sickness with – gasp and titter -- “COCA LEAVES, we know what they are used for don’t we?” What can I offer that is going to be different than what you will read in simplification? The simplifications that are being offered up everywhere everyday like the simplifications we see daily in our own papers where the past few daily headlines read ‘MC CAIN VOWS TO FIGHT WALL STREET CORRUPTION! Below the headline is a smiling McCain/Palin nicely airbrushed for posterity. I wonder where is my candidate Obama? Why is he buried below the fold and why do I have to read the whole article to find out that what the paper was really saying was that McCain can’t fight corruption because he has been part of the system all along. I hope to help get myself to read the entire article and below the fold.

What is driving this revolution? Who is leading the people who want to derive their livelihoods from natural gas fields to sabotage their own infrastructure developments? How did the people who have nothing, I mean nothing, appear suddenly armed with machine guns when yesterday they were fighting with rocks? How can you vote for a constitution that will divide up a country into 37 nations and expect good governance while you ignore a historical dialectic that has been moving for 500 years – say like taking back DC for the Powtomack Indians to rule? How did you have a forced vote for a new constitution when a huge majority can’t even read it, when it says that you will no longer have the right to leave a legacy behind will that be incentive to prosper freely? Was this constitutional Communism fully vetted or voted on by fraud ? Is this just the same old same old the right --old wealthy white elites trying to tamp down an Indian movement before it can really blossom? Is this movement completely pure because it supported by my favorite NGOs and some lucid world leaders? If you have read this far you know it goes deeper and wider than that. What I do know is that so so much is at stake and it about so much-- it is about struggle for resources, ethnic understanding, constitutional rights, economic parity, geopolitical hegemony and so much more that it dizzies the brain.

Stay tuned because I am now confirmed on Tuesday out of DC after the U.S. evacuated non-essential personnel flights were cancelled and I have been on a hold pattern ever since.

Sunday, September 14, 2008


One of my favorite writers of all time hung himself on Friday night. Like a modern day telegraph I learned about it on Rick Peabody’s Facebook Status line. I am stunned at this loss, but I know from my own life how dark the curtain can fall and what one will and won’t do to make it go away. We fans don’t know the people we love most dearly as “real” people but we think they would like us and understand us – DFW was one of those beloved. I will never know what went on in those sad eyes daily and why he liked to wear that Bandana all the time! Hell, I would have asked to see his long hair more often!

Reading him was one of the most fun things I ever did – if you are a reader you know the can’t go anywhere now please leave me alone can’t let it go but how the hell am I going to understand this even though I want to understand it how does he know all this shit how could one person know all this shit and know what I am thinking EXACTLY-- reading Infinite Jest was one of the most incredible “reader” experiences of my life partly because of the sheer brain power I had to access to get through one of his great run on sentences and the time I would have to spend just understanding the endnotes and footnotes well like being in a GENIUS brain!. Like a school year that’s how long it took me and honestly I’m still not finished which will tell you about my pea sized intellectual pretensions! The people in his fiction or his own insanely funny real life exploits that he wrote about like the cruise ship or to the county fair were like me and my friends. Friends who are eccentric to a fault, have finely honed bullshit detectors and will shout that out, who are sometimes too brilliant to exist in normal time, who often talk late at night on how hard it is to fight off the even darker nights that come even to the most faithful. They like to live in the moment like we did one night in a river next to a graveyard at St. Mary’s College -- where we went swimming fireflies and phosphorescent algae and stars coming together and only poets could have made that up but it is a real place and real time and in that moment we were all happy and dizzy with life. I hope, David, you are somewhere safe like that

Recommended: Infinite Jest, A Supposedly Fun Thing I Will Never Do Again, The Girl With Curious Hair, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (I’m sure the stuff I haven’t read is also right up there.)

Saturday, September 13, 2008


 News bleary, I am tired and on edge over things that are really out of my control like Hurricane Ike, global economic disaster and continued civil unrest in Bolivia. I’m thinking about a conversation yesterday with a Bolivian friend preparing for a State of Siege.  She tells me her psychosis – the national psychosis -- is a permanent state of preparedness.  She is prepared for a nuclear war and every contingency in between.  

I think about how here in America, I myself have begun to act the way my mom did when I was a child and we lived with frequent Coup d’Etats. We were always ready for a revolution and curfew and periodically the two Peace Corps volunteers who lived with us would come home through the rooftops of the city rather than face anti-American violence on the streets. At the ready were 100 lb. bags of flour and rice and sugar. Big wheels of cheese and beef jerky would come from my uncle in the Beni who was a rancher. Baskets of grapes and fresh fruit in season would come from a friend who had a vineyard. We weren’t people of means, but had a network that we could count on. Nothing ever was lacking for us --even as I was acutely aware that somewhere very close people had so much less than us in their small mud homes and that the violence necessarily reflected a desire to change that equation. I was still a child and thought Superman's United Nations ideal would come to pass -- something I still wait for.

Plus ‘ca change. These days I have Costco and my favorite Halal meats and one extraordinary friend who likes to bake. I’m mostly preparing for inflation, because in my own particular circumstance I feel it. I’m deluded,  but I think today’s expenses will be valid -- my tomato paste won’t go to waste and I will be able to feed all the people I love to entertain with countless rice pilafs.  The worse will never really come because in some ways I have already faced some of the worse and was resilient enough to be here talking to you.

Yet, the issue of preparedness haunts me. I may by sheer luck of the draw be able to take my proscuitto along to the end of the world but that’s not guaranteed. As the struggle for global resources is intensifying and the “Mad Max” world may come to pass, the Bolivian crisis is a timely reflection of what is happening everywhere as we struggle to fairly share the resources of our planet.

The sages say to do what is within your reach.  Today I will take that advice and go harvest my fig tree, which I had been leaving to the birds and squirrels. I’ll make my famous figs in cardamom and see if a friend or two can come to share the bounty that through much grace is mine.

The revolution will come and I still plan to witness and act!

Thursday, September 11, 2008


Today is “Patriot Day.”
That first 9/11, I had rushed to my mom’s house after a distraught call from her about the 1st plane crashing. My little cottage was just a two minute drive from hers and as I walked in I saw that my stepfather had plugged in the portable TV in the kitchen and was blasting every communications device plus his five ham radios in that crazy way that was his alone. We watched dumbly quiet as the second plane came and then the towers crashed and people flew out windows like so many bits of paper and ash. We were a short way from the Pentagon and had heard the crash. I remember buckling down to the floor and crying the kind of tears that hurt your nerves and heart because all I held dear was under attack! Everyone did that. I thought we will make it through this– we were Americans and anything we put our minds to would be accomplished! America was strong we were American!

What comes next could never have been foretold – a story of hope deferred, of broken promises, of lies, of avarice, gluttony and greed, of just plain self-destruction and implosion. What more can come to haunt America for our lack of rightful action following that day?

Today of all days – coincidentally -- I find myself symbolically without a National Identity. Living a Kafka novel. I cannot enter the country of my birth because planes cannot land there and I cannot leave the country I chose as mine because I cannot prove I am a citizen!

I was supposed to take off today for La Paz, Bolivia, the city of my birth – where I am going to seek medical treatment because it is more financially viable – while putting myself in the path of impending civil unrest. No planes are being allowed to land in Bolivia today. The U.S. Ambassador, Phillip Goldberg – who had been assigned as Ambassador to Kosovo during the Serbo-Croatian war –has been kicked out as a persona non-grata and the five states in the southern regions of the country declared autonomy and are assuming administration of the public agencies while risking military reprisals. I knew some of this would come of course and that was part of the reason I was going, to see it first hand and see a moment in history that could prove to be definitive. What I had not counted on was that before I left I would find that a U.S. passport is no longer considered proof of citizenship when you have been naturalized as a citizen. Chilling thought -- the need to carry all the proof of who you are wherever you go in case of whatever may happen!

This is not a story of devious people trying to subvert my life; it is a story of bureaucracy post 9/11. It is the story of everywhere that you can’t get mad at a customer service person because ultimately all the hoops are not of their making after all they are just working at the match factory. I was asked to do some disability paperwork prior to leaving the country, which required proof of citizenship, so I’m not implying some foul play in requiring an “ORIGINAL” naturalization certificate. I am now just more acutely aware that more than ever in this world it becomes incumbent on every citizen of the world to not take your identity for granted and to understand your rights and privileges as a citizen. As a Human Resources professional, I have been complying with immigration (I-9 ) regulations for years and using passports as the one solid proof of citizenship. To my surprise this is no longer sufficient! Now I am faced with an endless nightmare of paperwork to prove who I am even though I have a valid U.S. passport!

I’m a child of divorce with a hyphenated name that belongs to both my father and stepfather and not my husband. Who I am is in those names. My mother remarried and took her citizenship with her new husband’s name. As an underage child I was according to the regulation of the day allowed to gain citizenship through her. In the 70’s you were required to submit your paperwork to the U.S. Passport office and the passport became your proof of citizenship and they retained the paperwork. I will have to do a lot of work to rethread my path – establish who am I?

Yesterday I went to the Federal Courthouse where I was sworn in as a citizen in search of the first threads. I carry one of those giant big hobo purses with about 20 lbs of stuff! I was asked to surrender my cell phone at the entrance and after a five-minute search I could not find it in the purse. I put the purse through the detector and next thing I knew a guard was almost arresting me for “lying” about my cell phone. “There are batteries here!” The phone had slipped into a tear in the satin lining! I walked back to my car 5 blocks to put away my cell phone and returned to a new guard who was so pleasant I forgot the five blocks and the other guard. People do make a difference, although I’m sure part of it was his comparing me to the woman behind me who teetered in 5” bright yellow stilettos and mini micro mini. In my all black matron outfit I was not a prostitute about to be convicted much less the unabomber!

I proceeded to the Clerk’s Office, an open area of cubicles with about 20 people literally doing nothing who looked at me and kept on talking without helping. I figure it was lunchtime with all the talk about deciding whether to go to Chick-Fil-A or Sushi Ko or their children’s games and homework discussions. Meanwhile. a behemoth “real criminal” was about to tear down the glass door with his 5-guard escort and was within two inches of my nose all in a rage at his lawyer. When he left five of the women came and sprayed the whole section down with Lysol hoping to get the “animal” smell out. 10 minutes later a flawlessly dressed woman in white finally came to the counter and told me I could I go into a room she pointed at and look for the record myself. I had forgotten my reading glasses and asked if I could have some help, she looked at me inquisitorially and walked away !

I have been working on a government contract since 2003 where paperwork is protected behind locked doors and no one without a pass gets through and believe records need protection. Here I was, alone, with the Naturalization records of every citizen in the last 100 years that took their oath here and not one person was watching me or seeing what I did. I found my mom and about four of her friends one of whom is a great Uruguayan poet. The cards were green file cards and their innocent little signature blocks swearing allegiance made me almost weep. Driving home on the GW Parkway, I passed the about to be dedicated Pentagon Memorial. It was beautifully lit, an American Flag was projected on the side of the Pentagon with an unusual brightness and coloration that must be some new technology and I thought like I have always thought this is a beautiful flag; our's is!

Once past it I had one of those very “American” moments – I desperately needed French Fries (you know I’m a potatoholic) and some consumer outlet! So I headed to Tysons Corner, where I spent five hours wandering the mall in a daze of fall fashion I want this I want that I can’t have that so I’ll have this! I have to return everything today!

That was day one….tomorrow I go to the State Department for Citizen thread number two….who knows where that thread will lead me!

Day Two:  I read in the latest BBC News feed that overshadows Sarah Palin for a moment -- Hugo Chavez threatens military intervention if his ally Evo Morales is overthrown.  "It would give us the green light to begin whatever operations are necessary to restore the people's power."  Meanwhile, the U.S. expels the Bolivian Ambassador, he has 72 hours to go somewhere but it won't be Bolivia because there are no planes landing there.  

Yesterday I was told that civil unrest was heating up and today it is literally exploding!