Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts

Monday, September 23, 2013

July 29, A Pommern Monday. Part 3.

Not written in my journal, but a couple quick stories. First, stool samples. Meggie and I did not witness one. We saw the slides, and we saw the specimens. They keep a couple formaldehyde jars of examples, either to impress visitors or to illustrate to parents the importance of treatment - or both.



Also, when urinalysis was ordered by the doctor, the man or woman had to give a sample. And what are you given to collect your urine in? A now-empty insulin jar. As pictured above (small ones on the left) with worms in it. Think of the size of the opening on those little jars. Have fun peeing in that! Oh and I'm sure hands get washed...

Also during our day, one of our cases negative for malaria, negative for typhoid fever, was an old woman - oh, probably about 300 years old. To my eyes. Her grandson was with her and he was in his late teens, so that would make her in her 70s at the oldest - if he were the youngest child of her youngest child.

The woman was asked to give a stool sample and when she left, Patricia engaged in a long conversation with her grandson. As an observer with no language, I relied on body language and tone of voice. It appeared like she was lecturing him. He didn't want to argue with her, he maybe even knew she was right, and he felt ashamed, but stuck. She showed him a Bible passage. Once he left the room, she explained to me. "He has completed his secondary school and it is time for him to go teach. To go away to a new place and to have a job. But every time he has made plans and found somewhere to work, she gets very sick. But no tests come back. Sick with what? Sick to keep him home? I tell him he needs to go; he cannot cancel again his plans and his life. Again and again."

Nurse Patricia:


The rules:


Wednesday, August 14, 2013

July 19/20, right around midnight - Dar Es Salaam

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only.)

Drive from the airport to the hotel... so many people out at 9 PM, running between speeding cars without any streetlights or crossings... the frightening lack of sidewalks... blowing dust everywhere, in our eyes through open car windows... little strip malls that remind me of San Jose, Costa Rica. Motorcycles have a surprisingly high number of helmet wearers - but most of them have no brake lights!

There are Karibu Obama banners on every pole (Welcome, Obama) from his visit two weeks ago. Then my Portland credit union debit cards works at the ATM! Yes! Digital travel alert win. Rebecca said to touch the ground when I land - with my feet or my hands - since it's been so long since I've been connected to the earth. I do so with my hands in sight of the Indian Ocean. I'm amazed the long transit was bearable; I am a little buzzy when I sit still right now to write, outside our hotel on the plaza. It's warm - 80s - but breezy. So many billboards are in English and we pass a huge mosque of praying faithful; it's Ramadan.

I have been glad about twenty times already that I chopped my hair off.

Meggie and I spent a lot of time observing a couple with two young kids on the plane. Incredible teamwork. I commented to her (the mom) on it when deplaning and they both sort of smiled, flustered, but at Customs we were standing by each other again, and she told us how much it meant to her to hear that, and it made her feel they were doing something right.

Waiting for my bag to come out on the carousel, I gasp. I left my beloved pink hoodie on the plane! I have no choice and no language; I rapidly accept losing it - only to glance over at a man walking by, who has it over his arm! I get it back from the older man, shuffling through the baggage claim, headed for Lost + Found.

Note from Future Me: This pink hoodie will be highly valued, I'll come to find out, as it will be much, much colder than anyone expected once we get to the village! 

This reminds me of the iPhone back at O'Hare in Chicago... I was sitting at a charging station and having my oatmeal, when a woman next to me continued to unpack her bag, increasingly frantic. She mutters that she can't find her phone. Digs more. Realizes she left it at the Starbucks and asks her kid to watch the luggage - aggressively asks - and goes over to the kiosk. She comes back and says to her kid, her neighbor at the charging station, and anyone in earshot, "Wow, the employee said it was not there, she was sorry. She was totally serious and then a customer in line spotted it on the counter! Tucked away! She asked about it and I got it back! What a sneak! I almost didn't! Can you believe that?" (Actually, I can.)

So there's a moment from hours ago to contrast how another person's possessions are treated in the U.S. and here. And I know that it can, and will, go the other way in a heartbeat. Because what does an old man need a hot pink hoodie for? An iPhone on the other hand would probably be welcome.

However, it is still my memory of welcome (karibu!) to Tanzania.

-- -- --

Two photos below of the view from our hotel room door, toward the ocean and toward the lobby. 

It's hot, humid, and smells of disinfectant mop water. We have air conditioning and a hot shower here. The hard and squeaky double bed was a welcome sight to us both! So happy to share it, and to dig out our toothpaste... but NO brushing with tap water we decided. 

Time to take our malaria pills on the new time zone; mine at night and hers in the morning. 

It's a nice hotel by Dar standards; the Western toilets flush decently if not perfectly, and there is slow wi-fi to use. It's in a very safe little public compound with shops, a grocery store, a restaurant, an ice cream parlor. We find out later that this was the first transition point to the village life we'd be in. The first night, we paid for our room and crashed into a bizarre, jet-lagged sleep. 

We awoke at 7 AM to construction outside the room; the second night was officially part of the Global Volunteers program, when all our food/water/lodging/transport was covered by the program fee.



Thursday, June 20, 2013

Sometimes I get emotional.

Like over there, on the fundraising website for my trip to Tanzania. It's an emotional topic!

So, one month from today, I will have traveled 27.5 hours by air (Portland - Chicago - Zurich - Nairobi - Dar es Salaam) and then 6 to 8 hours by car (Dar es Salaam - Pommern) to arrive in the Iringa District of Tanzania, ready (?!) to volunteer.

But in case you don't want to (understandably) sully your soul by visiting a fundraising website, I'll share the sentimentality here, too:


ONE MONTH! We arrive in Dar Es Salaam in one month. What are we doing to prepare? Well, we've both shopped for quick-dry underwear and hiking boots, we've stocked up on Bonine and Imodium and bug spray. But right this minute? Well, Meggie is in France with 30 parentless fifth graders, as part of her last week teaching her regular students. And Emily is reading Paul Theroux's DARK STAR SAFARI, as if it will prepare her properly for German East Africa, later called Tangyanika, later still known as Tanzania.
But to the real point... having reached the goal of $3100, we're stunned. It's hard to express at times to people who ask why fundraising is humbling, but perhaps this might explain it... 
By going away from work, and family, to do this trip, by attacking our bucket list with a BIG entry marked off, we could have financially set ourselves back a year, or more, of all disposable income. But insetad, we have your help. And your help lets us continue to have a life in Portland - it lets us buy baby shower gifts and buy a round of drinks for birthday girls; it lets us put a tiny $20 bill into the ROTH IRA this month, and lets us get takeout on an exhausted Friday night. It allows us to still remain a part of this daily world, the social and professional and personal, while ALSO scratching off the bucket list item, and THAT is humbling. It is not us alone in the world taking this trip; it is only with your help that we're able to go (literally) half way around the world to volunteer and immerse ourselves in a wholly new experience. YOU are letting us be in both this world, and that world, and you are helping us take it all in with our huge, patient, loving, very scared hearts. 
So - thank you. Thank you for sponsoring and thank you for considering it. It means, quite literally, the world to us.

Monday, March 25, 2013

You were right, you were right.

Who is right? Well, anyone who has told me that my standards of cleanliness are far above the average. Or far above the above-average.

Today, I brought our vacuum in for service. According to the 100-year-old vacuum store in Portland, a vacuum should be serviced once a year, to be checked for belts or filters or creaky parts - and I told the guy that our vacuum is 5 years and 4 months old (but it could totally be 6 years and 4 months; I just can't remember) and has never been serviced or had a filter changed.

He asked me if we use it. He asked me if I had just cleaned it. (No; I just dumped the bagless catchall area out but that's not exactly cleaning it.) He repeatedly asked me how long we have had it. Do we use it on carpet? On hardwood? Do we really use it? And in the end, he refused to perform any maintenance on it because it was too clean, too nice, in the "best shape" he has ever seen a vacuum that is five years old, and he'd feel guilty if he took my money for something I didn't need.

My cleanliness has now officially been documented and affirmed and truly admired by a professional salesman and repairman of an ITEM DESIGNED TO CLEAN OTHER THINGS.

I can die happy.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

20, 19, 18, 17...

I tip 20% without thinking. It is my standard. I may even tell you I think it should be your standard. In fact, I typically round up, so that depending on the size of the bill, I usually end up tipping 21% to 25%.

This is why I am truly sad, and sorry to relate, that as the years away from waiting tables increase, I find myself stopping to consider this tipping practice.

It's lame to bitch about bad service. It's for cheap bastards, it's for old people, it's for judgmental office automatons who have never worked a double shift on cement floors on Mardi Gras in a New Orleans themed restaurant. I don't like the idea of joining the leagues of these types of assholes.

So am I becoming an old curmudgeon who yells at the kids on my lawn? Or is it that I keep running into bad, bad, BAD service?

This past week: brunch in a very un-busy place where 25 minutes passed without a server checking in with me. And I define "checking in" as including a slow walk-by, where I can choose (or not) to seek eye contact. If I don't make it or don't need you, that's OK; you've checked in. You've made yourself available. The 25 minutes of side work you just did about 15 yards away was the 25 minutes in which I decided I needed neither dessert NOR another drink (both of which I would have ordered) and asked for my check instead.

On which I rounded down, to 17.02% as a tip. I felt awful about it.

But I didn't feel awful enough to not do it.

So should I tell servers to watch out? The times they are a-changin'? Or was this a one-time-super-cranky-weekend kind of thing?

Friday, November 18, 2011

Pro/Con

Just another reason I adore my husband? When contemplating what we'd do if we won the big Powerball lottery, he said, with glee and absolute seriousness, "I'd become a professional student."

"Oh, yeah?" I replied. "You'd finally get that Ph.D. in economics?"

"Yeah!"

"From where?"

"Well, I'm a millionaire, so the London School of Economics to start." I laughed and he thought about the other degrees and area of study he could devote his life to.

Don't forget, marriage is about pros AND cons.

For example, I said I'd become professionally awesome, and a professional taker-of-my-friends-on-trips. But based out of London to start, of course!

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

8.95 months later

Remember this? It was a trackback to an even earlier post, about giving a wedding gift to a relative and how long is too long for her to wait to cash the check.

Well, I wrote that check on May 27th and it was cashed today, a few days before the baby is born... the baby conceived on the honeymoon after the wedding for which I wrote said check.

A couple days shy of nine months is TOO LONG! It's official. And the saga is over, at least.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

5 Things I learned this week.

1. "Kumbaya" is a distortion of an old spiritual called "Come By Here", a praise and plea to God.

2. I can skip reading BlackBerry messages until Monday if they are identifiable by subject line as a thing I can only work on while in the office. This saves me an evening (or a weekend) of stewing about a piece of casework, for example.

3. Toothpaste can treat and heal burns, polish old tennis shoes, fix car scratches and more!

4. If you make $34,000 a year, you pay $10 a year in taxes toward public housing, 24 cents toward funding for the arts, $1,040 to Social Security and $11 to Head Start. You pay $46 in foreign aid and $230 toward combat operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.

5. This is the time of year for Delicata squash; go get yourself one, quick! They're incredibly delicious.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Married Money

The journey to FEEL like my money is John's, and John's money is mine, is a long, slow one. My family of origin handed down some real gems when it comes to beliefs about money, the value of work inside and outside the home, gender and what is worth spending disposable income on.

That said, John is much farther along in the "it's all ours" belief than I am... but much farther along should make you laugh when he told me where his 401(k) is at. I was delighted that he has saved and matched such a wonderful start to retirement, and said, "Well, mine's not quite as much." (Given that I've had benefits for about 8 months and he has had them for over four years.)

He responded, "Oh baby, all that money is ours."

Me: "Aww, that's sweet."

Him: "Well mentally it is. But also legally!"

Aaaand, goodnight!

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

$100

What if someone walked up to you on the street tomorrow, and gave you a $100 bill? What would you say? Would you explain how you're going to spend it, would you put them in your prayers of gratitude that night? Here in Portland, a woman is giving away $100 every day for the month of October, as a way to honor the unexpected inheritance she received from her mother's retirement account, upon said mother's death. I am eager, each day, to read her blog post about it... and I hope you are, too. Check it out here. If you want to read it along with me, maybe we can talk further about it next time we hang out?

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Remember This?

Two months ago today, I posted this poll question.

And we have an update! One check was a donation to a cause that had restrictions on when they could cash it; they cashed it as soon as they could, and all was well.

However. I am now resorting to public shaming, in the hopes that the second check will get cashed. It was a wedding gift for a couple who are now in their second trimester with the first baby! Shaming? Or blackmail, perhaps! No baby gift till the wedding check is cashed!

Now we wait. Will it work...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Harder, better, faster, stronger.

To quote Kanye, that is.

Among the very few Red State Republican reactionarys I know personally, I have attempted to calmly use this argument to sway them toward liberal educated elitists... I say, Well, do you want your doctor to be a pal? To be like you? *I* would rather my doctor be way, way smarter than me, even if that means he might make me feel stupid once in a while. I want him to be a genius. Same goes for my President; do I want him to be on par with me intellectually? No way! I want him to be able to solve problems I can't. To think through things that leave me winded.

It is in this vein that I cheerfully left a meeting with my investment rep (watch out, world, I have a few hundreds of dollars! holla!) yesterday who was a year younger than me, owns a home in Lake Oswego and runs an Edward Jones branch all by himself. He was PERFECT. I realize I can't erase the Republicans of the world because I will still always want one to manage my retirement fund.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

My father's daughter.

Courtesy of returned tee shirts, and used books sold to Powell's, plus the inability to find anything in six or seven stores that I liked... well, only a true-blue daughter of the Baron could go shopping, and come back $20 richer.

But Powell's wanted neither "Man Gone Down" nor "The World is Flat"! If you want either, let me know.
(The Baron is my father's very apt nickname.)

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A Convenient Inconvenience.

I have never locked my keys in the car. Knock wood rightnow, eh?

I have never locked my keys in my car... before yesterday.

I have great excuses! I do! I was at the mechanic and my new car has one key to unlock and another for the ignition. I jumped in with car with a friend, tossed down the unlocker and used the other in the ignition. Off we went.

I know, I know, shoulda just put 'em back on the key ring immediately. But what if I broke a nail? (That's so me, right, worried about nails? No, I was just focused on getting the errand done as soon as possible.)

Shut the car door (at Costco) and walked toward the doors, thinking immediately, hmmm. Where's that pesky unlocking key? Looked, looked, looked some more, ignoring the distant memory of tossing in the change dish, and then remembered that for two years, we've had AAA and I've never used it. Called, chatted with a very friendly dispatcher, did my shopping, got the automated "We are 5 Minutes Away" call, met the truck at the front door of Costco, unlocked it, and went on my merry way.

They say there is no such thing as luck. That "luck" is merely being prepared for the opportunity you want. I love this idea, because it means career and creative-life advances don't bump you on the head. (Glen Hansard... an overnight success 20 years in the making.) Someone might offer you a teaching gig, a book deal, a photo shoot for a catalog... but if you haven't gotten your degree, written that novel or kept your body in shape, then the opportunity won't matter.

So I feel this experience - - - could have been a $100 mistake and giant pain in the ass, but ended up taking about six minutes out of my day and not a dime outside of our yearly AAA investment - - - is a great corollary to the idea that there is no luck. Because it means there is no bad luck, either. I knew, despite all that knocking-on-wood, that I would someday lock my keys in the car. Having planned a day to exist with a AAA card and 45 minutes to kill inside Costco meant it I just had quite possibly the most convenient inconvenience ever. And luck's got nothing to do with it.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Put on your thinking caps...

.... because my husband John is today's Guest Blogger, The Financial Thinker With A Political Mind Guru Guest Blogger! Comments especially welcome, to be answered by the man himself, The FTWaPMGGB.

Enjoy!



38 years ago, when the United States unilaterally withdrew from the Bretton Woods Agreements, the gold standard was abandoned and the American Dollar became the world’s effective foreign exchange reserve currency.

This engendered a system of policies whereby those countries that could effectively compete with the dollar became increasingly self-sufficient, whereas those whose currencies that were weak had strong incentives to become net-selling trading partners with the United States, in order to grow their economy with dollars.

The trade imbalance between the US and China is a direct result of this system of incentives. The Chinese hold over $1.3(T) in US paper and unlike gold, the US government can create dollars out of thin air.

The US doesn’t make much of anything anymore. Anecdotally, the places I’ve lived in my 28 years have shared in common the trait of having manufacturing facilities closing down in favor of moving those services outside of the US. This outsourcing occurs when the places that manufacture US domestic goods and services share two traits: their local country lacks the protections afforded American workers and therefore have a natural competitive advantage in terms of labor cost (which is, in general, the number one expense contributing to the cost of goods sold), and they have an incentive to be paid in dollars.

Historically, the US government does not like high unemployment and will take steps to put downward pressure on this figure. But manufacturing, as a proportion of the whole economy, has shrunk from 28% to 12% in the past 56 years. The jobs shed in this sector are similar in that they typically were stable, full time, and career-oriented jobs with benefits that had minimum educational requirements to be filled and also had some manual labor component.

Is this what the US government means when it uses terms like “jobless recovery”? Are they finally saying “arrivederci!” to that type of labor in the US? Did the 250,000 manufacturing jobs lost from 11/2008-12/2008 alone, did they simply evaporate?

If there’s one thing the housing bubble achieved, it was a whole heck of a lot of construction - a significant amount of renovation, but a vast amount of new construction. But now we’ve found that construction boom to largely be the result of a lot unregulated lending practices coupled with good old-fashioned greed and a culture that promotes entitlement.

I wonder what a long term 10-12% unemployment looks like in the US.

I wonder if there’s much sense in continuing to invest in US dollars. Auditing the Federal Reserve should be demanded not just by the likes of Ron Paul. The Independent recently claimed that oil producing countries and their largest customers, such as China and Brazil, have agreed to abandon the practice of trading oil in US dollars in favor of a basket of currencies including the Yuan and Euro by 2018. And the Fed keeps printing.

In a way, it will be great when the US dollar is no longer the standard. Perhaps our national priorities will finally move us to self-sufficiency when we can compete individually with all other countries instead of having everyone simply compete against the US. Perhaps we’ll become more enlightened members of the global community.

For now, I’d invest in gold (I am not an investment advisor). It is negatively correlated with the value of the dollar, which looks a lot like the Titanic must’ve to some of those guys in the band.

Hand me a wig and a cane, because I will beat down the old dude that steps in my way of those lifeboats!

écrasez l'infâme!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Jeopardy.

I promised some fun facts about Panama. Now I've forgotten a lot of them. One thing that is great is the money. Their currency, the balboa, has nifty 1 cent, 5 cent, 10 cent, 25 cent, 50 cent and dollar coins. The paper money, though is familiar.

There are USA coins and paper, and then also Panamanian coins. But the "balboa" is the ol' greenback. How strange it must be to use money with some other nation's name, historical figures and symbolism on it.

More Panama trivia includes the magic of the words "Darien Gap". The Darien - where CAVU made a film - is the lush southern province of Panama, and the Darien Gap is where the Pan-American highway ends. There is just no more road. You can walk to Colombia, but it is not recommended. Isn't there just mystery and chills and perfection in "the famous Darien Gap"? (Darien = pronounced dare-ee-en.)

Also, Panamanian airport security is for real. However, while my bag was thoroughly searched and while every single piece of clothing was unfolded and removed - including underwear - my toiletry bag was tossed aside with a brief squeeze. Isn't that where liquids, gels, powders and more would be?

The Panama Canal dictates the size of ships built around the world. Some ships have less than a meter on all sides when they pass through the locks. How amazing is that? The world agrees on something at least, and works on it together.

I have seen a few Kuna people... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuna_(people) The beadwork is a sight to see, the molas, and I've read and heard that Kuna revere albinos. This does not mean the whiter your skin... they have a high incidence of albinism, and those people are treated specially.

Next up - for real this time - is the trip, from yesterday, to Casco Viejo. In the meantime, picture the Central America of your dreams. The architecture, the weather, the smells and the mood. I'll be back with some photos of it.