The Twins

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Reminders that you live in a Third World Country

Just a few things we have noted over the last few days we thought were quite funny...

1. A donkey will deliver your brand new refrigerator.
2. Some of the potholes are bigger then your bathtub.
3. Cars that should reside in a junkyard, don't.
4. Local fruits and vegetables are unrecognizable.
5. Dust, dust, and more freaking dust.
6. A simple errand can take hours. And hours.
7. The locals can't speak English but when they see your Martin guitar, they say 'Ahhh Martin'.
8. Yes means maybe, or yes, or no.
9. You can park anywhere you want. You can drive however you like.
10. Sleeping with a mosquito net around your bed is a necessity, rather than to have a stylish romantic feel.
11. You need to iron your clothing, even your panties, after it dries on the line outside to kill the bugs.
12. You can light a fire on the sidewalk to make tea in the afternoon.
13. You are encouraged to light your paper garbage on fire, rather then disposing of it.
14. You will not have an address, and will get used to drawing maps for people. No postal service either.
15. You may lost your routine parking spot in front of the office to a puddle of raw sewage.
16. People that make less than $10 a month can still have ocean front property.
17. The lights go our every night for a few hours, whether you want them to or not.
18. You will no longer wear your favorite perfume, as bug spray will be your new scent.
19. You will get used to sleeping to the sound of generators.
20. From now on, every time you get sick, you will not wonder if its simply a cold or flu, but rather if it's yellow fever, malaria, meningitis, or typhoid.
21. No matter how careful you are with drinking bottled water, washing fruits and vegetables, enjoying drinks with no ice...you WILL get travellers diarrhea. It hit me on just day 4 here.

To be continued.

Love to all,

Kelly and Rich

Welcome to Dakar

I suppose some would say that our homecoming to Dakar was the worst welcoming possible.

Despite the 2 hour wait on the runway at JFK, we managed to enjoy the 8 hour flight to Dakar with constant smiles and pure excitement.

Rich had carefully organized transportation from the airport to our hotel as he knew the Dakar airport experience was quite scary. He followed up with our hotel driver with numerous phone calls and emails to ensure a car would be awaiting us, and not vice versa.

Because of the 2 hour delay to our flight, our driver was nowhere to be found. Rich and I had 6 suitcases and a guitar between us to manage.

Immediately after leaving the baggage carousel, we were surrounded by 10 men who were touching our bags and wanting to 'help'. It's amazing, not one person spoke a bit of English, but all saw the guitar and said 'Martin' with big smiles. It was quite alarming to see all of these men touching our bags; Rich stayed calm and politely discouraged their help.

This went on for an hour and a half, and complete darkness. Please keep in mind, that I am pregnant (with ankles the size of watermelons), jet lagged, sick with a cold, and scared to death of the goings on at the airport.

Finally, as the sun began to come up, our driver finally appeared. All of the men began to run with us, trying to grab our bags....always touching them in some way to remind us they were the ones that were 'helping'.

Our driver's car was extremely old and full of dents and rust. The trunk had to be wired shut. This car would have been scraps in the US.

After we were all loaded, Siso, a local Senegalese deemed himself to be 'in charge of our stuff'. He was quite friendly, and we got a good feeling from him. He decided he would escort us out of the airport in the taxi along with us.

And that's when the yelling began. The men outside the car began to yell at Richard as soon as the engine started. Not able to speak French or Wolof, I could not understand a word. They would not let him, or Siso, shut the car door. The driver began to drive...slowly at first just to scare them away, then faster and faster.

Rich still could not close the door as these men were running with our car and hanging on to the car door for dear life. Eventually the men fell to the wayside and the car was able to slow down which I was quite relieved about as we were not driving on smooth pavement, but rather a dirt track. Dirt tracks are far different from dirt roads; they are quite bumpy, littered with rocks, wrecked from flooding, and full of pot holes the size of bathtubs.

There were 2 thing I prayed for in the cab after that. 1. Not to vomit. 2. Not to cry.

Resigned

Last week, I handed in my resignation letter.

That sucked.

I walked to the principals office twice before handing it in. Denial.

To most, it doesn't seem like a big deal. To me, it felt like it was the end of something truly incredible.

I was one of those lucky people that had a career that I absolutely adored. Being an art teacher at a public school in NYC is a dream come true. Making that dream come true of switching careers wasn't easy of course. Rich and I both made some temporary sacrifices that allowed me to get my masters in education to make this dream possible.

Teaching art daily to children under the age of 10 was heavenly. Not only do I have a thirst for art, but I adore children. They fascinate me. They entertain me. But most of all, they teach me.

Being a teacher is so much more than teaching a subject matter. Its about socializing children and showing them the human-ness in our world. It's about raising kids to be good, and being the best person they can be. Its about love, honesty, emotions, communication, and being a good role model to children.

On a daily basis I have helped children work out disputes, understand their emotions and behavior, helped children talk about familial issues, and encouraging friendship with each other. I have taught lessons not just on art, but about sharing, being kind, respecting one another, and communication.

During my years at PS 6, a beloved colleague, Eric Dutt, passed away. He was our science teacher, and was loved by all. When the students were told of his passing, grief and sadness poured through our classrooms like a tidal wave. All of us, were hit hard by this loss. The hardest part was consoling our children and trying to answer their many questions, while we ourselves were devastated and pained from the loss of our friend. The children were so young, and most had never experienced death before. The art room turned into a safe room, where students could come in and grieve, or talk about Eric and their feelings. As a teacher, I felt absolutely unprepared to help these children. They looked to us for answers with tears in their eyes.... There was nothing in a book, or an education class that could prepare you for this. Most of the time, a long lasting hug was the only answer we could offer.

My goal as an art teacher was to excite students about art and make everyone feel successful. My goal in the art room was to create a safe environment and a sacred space that encouraged creativity.

However, the thing that always meant the most to me...was for each child to know that I cared. When I told my 500 students that I was moving to Africa, a student raised her hand and said, 'But Ms. Valdmanis, nobody is going to love us like you did'.

I know now that I can't walk out those big red doors on Wednesday, knowing that I made a difference.

26.2

For 5 months, I have been banned from running. This may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but for me, it has felt like something in my life has been missing. There is nothing better, than waking in the morning and starting the day off with a nice long run.

My favorite runs were those when I was by myself, without headphones, with drizzle soaking me, and the repetitive sound of my sneakers hitting the pavement consuming me. My love/hate runs were those during marathon training seasons...squeezing in 22 miles along the Hudson was a long, straight, and boring run. Starting in Harlem, I would follow the Hudson along the west side of New York City, past Chelsea Piers, past Canal, as far as I could go. Turning around, I would retrace my steps and head all the way up to the Cloisters and home. Those runs mentally killed me but always left me feeling like superwoman after.

Running is my Zoloft. It keeps my head relaxed and makes me feel invincible. It is my therapy and keeps me sane.

Because I am a high risk pregnancy, running is a no-no. In fact, yoga and walking are my only escape. Anything that breaks a sweat is out.

After months of feeling sad about this 'ban', I realized this week why banning high impact activities during pregnancy may be a good thing. Thanks to the Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy.

1. Let's face it, no matter how much you exercise, you are still going to get HUGE.

2. Even though you may love showing off that baby bump, you will look absolutely ridiculous in your spandex to others.

3. The old expression goes like this, '9 months up, and 9 months down, NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO'. Hopefully that holds true.

4. You might endanger the pregnancy. In fact, I remember a friend of mine bragging about how she was 8 months pregnant and still took spin classes. Biting my tongue, I held back the word 'Idiot' that kept running through my head.

5. If something terrible happened to the baby after an aggressive workout, you will forever wonder if your desire to exercise caused it. This to me, is reason enough, to slow down and relax.

6. 9 months is not a long time to nurture this beautiful growing baby. You can give up anything for 9 months. So lets curb those addictions and think of that sweet little baby we are responsible for.

Last night, I dreamt of being a long run in Central Park.

Tomorrow, my Bob Jogger Stroller will arrive. Rich has 4 months to put it together.

Glamor-less

My sister once warned me, 'there is no glamor in the first trimester of pregnancy'. She couldn't have been more right.

For 13 weeks, I have vomited on most days, slept 12 hours plus a night, taken 3 hour naps, had zero motivation, and have struggled with a lack of appetite. In recent weeks, a 'not so sexy' beer gut has developed in my midsection. Today, I shopped for elastic band waisted bottoms as I have grown out of my pre-pregnancy bottoms. Elastic band? Uggh.

Before this pregnancy, I envisioned the first trimester food cravings to be eclectic, daring, and creative. I was so excited about the creative eating that pregnancy allowed. I imagined myself eating Doritos dipped in vanilla frosting, pizza and blue cheese dressing, and pickles galore. The only thing I could manage to stomach for weeks was pepperoni pizza, general tso's Chinese chicken, ramen noodles, Nana's pepperoni sauce, and ice cream. Fish of any sort was my trigger food...and by trigger, I mean if it was cooked within 50 feet of me, it would send me running to the porcelain Goddess. This was not ideal as my husband has a love for fishing and for the first time, has a residential lobster license in the state of Maine.

My first trimester is officially over. We have shared the exciting news of our pregnancy, and now, friends and family are touching and eyeing my tummy with excitement.

Whats even more crazy? I wouldn't change anything about the last 13 weeks. These unpleasant symptoms of pregnancy reminded me everyday of what was happening inside my body. Every trip to the bathroom, and the many days waisted napping on the couch, were all a reminder of what this all means.

Rich and I are going to have a baby! Better yet, we are having 2!

Goodbye New York

I remember when I would visit my sister, who lived in New York, I would always say to myself, 'I could never live here'. The crowded streets and subways always made me feel claustrophobic.Weekends were packed full of fun and adventure; the city was alive with constant energy. At the end of the weekend, I would always return to my safe haven in Portland, Maine with amazing memories and feeling utterly exhausted.

Then Rich and I found ourselves in a serious relationship. He too, lived in the city that never sleeps. After a year of commuting on weekends, I decided that I would move to NYC to pursue my dream of being a teacher and to attain a Master's degree. I remember my last day in Portland I was on set, working as a photographer shooting my last J.Jill shoot on a Friday, and then, the very next day, on Saturday I was sitting in classroom in NYC among 21 year olds. All I could think was 'what have I done?'

I told myself I would only be living in NYC for 2 years, and then we would be back in our beloved Portland, Maine.

This month is my 6 year anniversary of living in New York City. As frustrating as this city can be, New York is one of the most amazing places to live. What I learned during my time here, is that living here as a resident and visiting as a tourist are two completely different things. My vision of NYC as a tourist was that it was always busy, always on the go, always hustling and bustling without a second to rest. But when you live here, you realize it can be whatever you want it to be, or rather, need it to be.

On any given day you can visit world reknown museums, see a Broadway or Off-Broadway show, visit a street fare, relax or picnic in Central Park, eat any cuisine you want, shop in thrift stores or along 5th Avenue, or simply sit in quiet along the Hudson.

I have loved my stay here, and wouldn't change it for the world. Living in New York has changed me. It has opened my mind to culture, politics, religion, race, life experiences, patience, and many other things. As scary as it was to leave my quiet, small, and safe hometown, New York has made me a different, and if I dare say, a better person.

So, without further adieu, I must say goodbye. Thank you Harlem. I will miss you PS 6. Central Park you were my home away from home and my refuge. Miss you Village and St. Marks. Thank you Guggenheim. Chinatown and Little Italy I will miss you despite you wanting to expand my waistline. Soho you broke my wallet, but worth celebrity hunting. Brooklyn, I hated you for some time for commuting reasons, but grew to appreciate you. Midtown and Times Square, I loved you as a tourist but hated you as a resident. Thank you Riverside Park. Knitty City, thank you for your solace and your plethora of yarn. Upper West Side you were my home. And Montauk, beautiful, relaxing, quaint Montauk, I will miss you.

Goodbye New York. Your skyline is forever in my heart.