Project Repatriation

“Try using horsefood62,” Mum said.  Logging into the household wifi network was not working. That led me, less than 10 hours after arriving in the US for the next stage of my life, lying on the floor under my father’s desk trying to read the tiny letters on the modem while on the phone with customer service.  Moments later at 5pm, the phone disconnected and I realized it was probably time to have a drink, eat dinner and go to bed.

Lists upon lists.

Project Repatriation, not unlike Project Runway or Masterchef,  is a limited time process to set up the infrastructure of life in a new country.  In the early stages, it is complex and daunting, confused by jetlag and overall disorientation.

 I gave myself two weeks to get sorted out on multiple fronts: the business of life (phone, bank account,car, heavier clothing and new electronic identities), establishing healthcare (dental evaluation, Obamacare), learning to live with my parents, and staging for a new job (updating CV, Linked In, preparing networking lists and compiling a wardrobe).

Call it good or look for a whiter jacket?

I hate shopping. I rifle through the racks of clothing in the stores and malls, milling next to women who are shopping for fun, not determination. Seeing the range of countries from which these clothes are made, I am haunted by memories of young people in cattle trucks leaving their shift at the garment factories in Cambodia as the sunset red with dust. Within the pressure-driven environment to buy everything from socks to jackets, I really want to stay focused on simplicity.  I dusted off the fashion assessment that was done when I finished graduate school and decided to focus on establishing a capsule wardrobe. The concept,30-40  pieces that comprise your entire wardrobe for a season, provided structure to guide the process.

Not a fan. I liked the concept
of a Chia Pet better. 

There are so many options here in America. In the early days of my arrival, I stood in front of a cracker display and was stunned into paralysis. New items and trends that have evolved since I left.  I am internally aghast at the kinds of foods in people's carts: huge bags of chips, bulbous containers of sugared soda, strange colors in food.  The items on the shelves in the supermarkets here seem more boisterous and crowded than the ones I went to during my holiday in Australia. Certainly no comparison to the beleaguered items in my neighborhood supermarkets in Phnom Penh.

Indeed, the customer service experience contrasts with the practices in Southeast Asia.  Just yesterday, I was on the lookout for a device to transfer the 577 photos on the camera's storage card to my computer. I ventured around Staples (an office supply chain) and didn't see what I needed, so I headed out the door. "Can I help you find something?", the cashier said. "Sure..I'm looking for blah blah." She escorts me to the appropriate aisle and I absorb the inventory for a few seconds.  She radios her supervisor to help.  As I balk on the price of the coveted item,  the supervisor he checks the price on his device and offers me an 85% discount on the retail per the store's policy of an 110%  price match guarantee. Feeling my commitment to anti-consumerism wane, I buy it.

Oh, come on. 

The streets and character of Brunswick,Maine are a refreshing and start contrast to my past environs. The buildings are historic, well-loved and stately.  I remain giggly and giddy when traffic stops as I approach  the zebra-striped crossing zones on the street. There are bike lanes and the law requires 3-foot distance between car and bike.  Mum's 30-year-old bike has 18 speeds and I had to learn how to shift gears again. The last bit of belongings from Cambodia arrived this week, carrying my helmet that I first bought in Alaska.
The squawking of the murder of crows in the towering pines in the neighborhood here reminds me of the swirling ravens that rode the thermals over the electric plant in Anchorage. On an early morning car trip to visit with my sister and our cousin and husband in southern Maine, I counted the bodies of 8 small,woodland creatures on the roadway, picked off as they tried to navigate the highway. Also

Installation at the Curtis Memorial Library.

I drove my parents to the airport last week for their overnight trip to DC. There was a moment when we could have been surrounded by semi trucks zooming along in unison at 70 mph; our collective anxiety swelled in their force and absolute power. After a few days of watching my rear view mirror and seeing more than one person gesture in frustration, I have finally gotten oriented to driving in the US. That yield-on-green light thing was tricky.

Here we are, my two-week benchmark and I feel like I am beginning to get sorted out. It had ups and downs, but overall it was remarkably easy.  I am reminded of the onset of life in Phnom Penh, where I secured a modest, cheap apartment in 2 weeks and a contract job in the month following.

Got mum's Schwinn tricked out and then found a sweet deal:
a 2010 Forester with only 26,134 miles on it. It may be a
bit big, but it will be a solid ride for Maine winters. 

The psychological concept of "Flow" --a principle articulated by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's TED talk-- seems evident in this decision to return to America and be closer to my family.  Material elements have effortlessly unfolded. I take satisfaction in helping with the small chores, am absolutely grateful for the privacy and efficacy of my "penthouse"-- the upper-level level studio in my folk's townhouse. There will be strong challenges ahead, but at this moment I am creating a firm foundation for growth.

Now, the last part is finding the "right livelihood" to sustain me economically, and some friends. There are promising developments unfolding on both fronts. I am optimistic. While there are (and always will be) some anxious moments, in this first blush of repatriation I am sailing on sensations of greater forces, generating positive energy, making new connections and of being receptive to wherever this path will lead. So grateful for all the riches and comforts.

From Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's TED talk, linked above. 

The Long Journey Home

The skies opened with a torrent of rain and I was free. Cleansed in the patter rigorous patter of rain drops and clothed in swimmers and a brim hat, I stood on the shores of the Coral Sea and watched the tourists scurry to the respite of fan palms. There, under the full pummel of the brief shower,  I felt all the worries and travails of the past five years slip away.   I'd had the most awesome day already-- buffed by the swells of the ocean while snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef and just steps away from the oldest rainforest on earth.

However, thoughts passed over the young woman I'd met first thing in the morning as we were waiting for the pickup for our snorkel trip.  When she was given an extra thick wetsuit and I noticed her changing that the pronounced, fragile, malnutrition was revealed. The girl, traveling by herself, with ankles the size of my wrist spend the latter part of our snorkel trip hunkered, shivering,  into the skipper's warm jacket as the boat ebbed and swayed on the Outer Reef. I offered her some of my calories and she declined. She seemed frail, yet determined. But something was a little off.

Her physical condition mirrored my own travails with my teeth that I'd suffered in the latter days of my time at the Red Centre.  For then, ominously I noticed a swollen and painful lump next to my new implant.  I flashed back to the days when I was freewheeling in the US, the months after I'd left an intense experienced working as a street outreach counselor to youth , in downtown Boston. Thanks to  diabetes, questionable childhood dental braces, overeager Tufts dental students and negligent periodontal follow-up, I'd had that same symptom in 1991 and then lost my four front teeth.

I was not manifesting the cavelier patterns of my youth any longer. Early Monday morning, I called the dentist, mapped my route and went in. He did some intense cleaning, confirmed that the x-rays showed no bone loss and then I was on my way with antibiotics and a warning not to drink alcohol. I staggered out of the office, bleeding and vulnerable, but also confident I was doing the right thing.  But for this young woman, looking as emaciated as many of the Cambodian patients I left behind in Phnom Penh, there was no easy cure. She needed nourishment.

The next morning, she said hello again and complained that the night walk had gone on quite late and she was tired.  I asked her for a moment, and then asked if she was well. "Before you say anything else, let me ask you one thing first," she was strident and righteous."Do you think I'm anorexic?"   I knew then I was in trouble.

"It occurred to me, but really...." Before I could finish, she went on a tirade of stomach cancer and years of health problems, yelling as she walked away from me and retreating to her room.  "I was speaking from compassion!," I said as her door closed.

I did not see her again, but I think of her managing all that pain alone. Over the past five years, I've learned the tools of self-reliance and resilience.  I've polished my packing systems, sharpened my receptivity and defenses and at times wallowed deeply before rolling into the next wave.

There are some knowns about the future: my family and lifelong east coast friends await. There will always be a place for me. I'm confident about the job market for my skills. I'll need to spend some money to get things moving, but there is plenty of richness ahead.  I am strong and capable, bruised and gray but still relatively attractive and ready for a new adventure.

First-class Wilderness Architecture

This is a snapshot essay of the developments along the brand -new 3 Capes Track in Tasmania. Built over a period of 7 years, the track was a huge investment with legions of workers, over 15,000 helicopter cargo flights and 28 million Australian dollars.

I share the development instead if the nature because I was so inspired by the 

combination of function and design along the way.

This is the first interpretative bench. Hikers are provided with a booklet tbat provides safety information and trail details. Each bench/seating area highlights a specific natural and social feature along the way.  This bench looked out over Port Arthur, a prison community from the 1800's. 

First night's cabin powered by solar array and missing a small section of roof. The ranger joked about it, so perhaps the missing sheet is on the way. Or not. I'm not sure.  

Each common area had a library of interpretative materials. 

 Each night, we had a short orientation session with the ranger shortly after we arrived. These guys work for a couple weeks at a time. Our group was varied: 3 single people (me and a girl from Kuala Lumpur who shared a room each night, and an older single guy), Pensioners from Tasmania and other states in Australia with their 30-year old backpacks, newlyweds, couples and friends and families. 

A lot of the track is wood, here covered with chicken wire. Farther down the path seen in the upper part of the photo is Ellarwey Valley, named by a couple of 1970's Bushbashers who shortened it from "Where the hell are we."  

Alas, one of the members of our group knew one those explorers

 who died of Alzheimers Disease recently.  

With the helipad to the top right, you can see that these outhouses feature the flying poo, which is winched out to the edge of the platform for transport by helicopter.  

The shower at the Munro cabin, night 2.  You can add a little hot water to the 

bucket. Hoist it up and you are ready to go.  I declined. Too cold. 

Cooking gear and stoves are supplied. Look at all that gleaming steel.  

The hand pump is a great feature. 

Deck chairs, yoga mats and foam rollers for post hike relaxation. BYOB. 

Love these simple design details that transform function into art. 

Memory foam mattresses covered with a soft rubber covering. Oh hale- Alaska State Parks! 

Another particularly artistic interpretative stop that was called "Blood on the Velvet Lounge"

 featuring insights on  vicious insect predators.

These signs appear on the track every so often.  Goofy newlyweds helped illustrate the dangers. 

Wow.  The track follows the coast for most of the time. 

Believe it or not, most of the stones used in the trail

were flown in by helicopter.  There was so much craft involved in

this effort.  I found it illuminated and inspiring. 

The end the trail at Port Forescue. 

Selfie at the end of the trail down the blade.  One of the first 3,000 people down the trail!  

Start Again

Start Again, S.N. Goenka encouraged us.  I was sitting in a darkened room with 28 other people in a forest retreat center north of Hobart Tasmania. My eyes closed in concentration, breathing deeply, my brain highly engaged in scanning my body for any sensations. I was frustrated and distracted by the shooting pains that radiated from my inner thigh to the to the tips of my toes, which escalated in earnest on Day 4. It was  Vipassna Day, when we moved from concentrating on the area below our noses to the whole body. We were encouraged to sit motionless for two hours, under constant instruction for this pivotal moment in the practice.  This was the beginning of the practice of "Sittings of Strong Determination."

The Wheel of Life, part of the Universal
Law of Dhamma. An image often
associated with the
Vipassana practice. 

On the 5th day, I talked with the teacher about the pains and some of the thoughts that now passed through my mind.   "The sensations are your Sankara Ellen." She reassured me. "Like everything, it will pass."  Miraculously, on the second of 4 meditation sessions each day, it disappeared. It was always an unknown when it would come and go.

On the 8th day, I felt myself breathing through my pelvis and the sensation of my heart beating through my eardrums. I had those glimpses of the miraculous dissolving body, my entire torso vibrating in minuscule rhythms.    I was aligned with a universe that Buddhists have known for centuries. For for Westerners the rigor of a pre-dawn wake-up to the gong, not speaking for 10 days and absolving from food after 5pm is suggested to access the benefits of Vipassana meditation.  I left the retreat center pounds lighter: not worried about the future, lean and disciplined, physically and mentally cleansed.

Not to say that my thoughts stopped. They were not the usual circling tidbits of worry or conjecture that often populate my brain. Instead I was visited by people that I hadn't remembered for a while. Those who died, people I used to know well and now can't find (I tried again through Facebook when I came out) and the characters I have met all along the way.  "This meditation is a really good life skill." I thought to myself, "Something that could be used in prisons very effectively."

The course schedule was rigorous, but grounding. I found it
much easier to make it to the meditation hall at 0530, in the hour
before I would meditate in  my warm sleeping bag
 with my eyes closed
Food was excellent. 

In Tasmania, the country was populated by convict women.  In a ost-course field trip to the Cascades Female Factory, I learned that the convicts, often young women sentenced for petty crimes, were forced to remain silent during their terms.  Higher performing prisoners were parceled out to British leaders' homes as cooks and cleaners.  If, as a result of performing other duties, they became pregnant, they were deemed sinners and forced to return to the prison to give birth. The babies were raised in silence. The 10% who survived their first 5 years of life were completely mute, condemned to a life of asylums.  They never got to really start again.  If the mothers survived their imprisonment, they were often married out to seamen and began populating the country.  Now in Tasmania, 70% of all residents are related to the convicts.

There were times that the Vipassana meditation course felt like a silent prison. I was determined to serve my sentence, finish the course. Partly because I had no where else to go, but also because I wanted to finish and accomplish something tangible.  I was a little sad to break my silence on the 10th day.  I waited until the laughter of my fellow mediators faded and went to the forest.  There, a small group stood in the sunshine and compared notes.  I learned that the creatures I saw hopping around the Center were wallabies, not baby kangaroos.  I found that the the words coming from my mouth felt trite, meaningless. The mental process I had experienced was so deeply personal and individual-- yet also universal-- it was hard to know how to move into the new world.

S.N. Goenka, the teacher who moved the Vipassna meditation
technique from a temple in Burma to international practice.
The course is taught with videos and recordings of his teachings.
A special guy. 

I am now truly starting again. This isn't unfamiliar-- my transitions have typically lept from a stable environment into unknowns.  I think of myself as a bird-like pollinator, moving from place to place.

After I returned from the course, I prepared for my hiking trip along the coast of the Tasman Sea. On the hike, the views stretched out far beyond. The horizon faded to sky. There is an uncharted ocean of new experiences and relationships ahead.  The tool of meditation will be a great salve to cope with the uncertainties of my future: new job, new friends, hopefully new ways of coping with stress and the precarious financial future.

I know, after some experience, that things will always work out.  I am now reassured that there will always be people with whom I share the commitment to sit, with eyes closed, ardently and passionately pursuing the awareness of breath and body. Or a knitting group to join, or writers's workshops and classes.   One always has to be committed to starting again.

The 4 Winds Converge as the Sun Sets on the Kindom

The Four Winds Converge

Last month a friend suffered from high fever, vomiting, skin rashes, joint pains and extreme fatigue. After getting her test results back from an outpatient visit, her red blood cell count was low and  she was admitted to the hospital.  Further tests showed that she had an "unspecified viral illness", a common malady here.

A moving day in Cambodia. 

"Maybe it was the wind", my colleague said. For many Cambodians, ill-health and strong emotions are characterized like forces that blow through your body and impact your physical and mental health.

In the final week of my departure,  I had dinner on Saturday night with my noodle seller friend, Ratha, her parents and 2 other friends, a English-speaking brother and sister that help her with the 2 food carts she operates each day and night. We were set up at their evening soup stand location on Norodom, just up the street from my old apartment, which I had just moved out of that afternoon. Traffic whizzed by as the breezes were brisk and cool. We sat around a table filled with river prawns in lemongrass sauce, slices of bony duck and a pizza(my contribution).

Ratha looking relaxed at an enagement party in Aretkesat across the river

Ratha at the temple in Kampong Speu, when I took
the day off to visit on Buddha's birthday in 2014.

I became weepy as Ratha presented me with a braacelet she ordered from the local market silversmith: a chain with three blocks of etched letters across the wrist: Ratha Love Ellen.  I was now on a train pulling out of the station.

No turning back, buffeted by emotions: Relief, Sadness, Frustration, and Fear.

"What will you miss about Cambodia", the friends ask. It is mixed feelings,

A surprise going -away party. hosted  by the clinical teams of
my key projects.  Dr. Rin,(R) is the lead diabetes doctor.
Dr. Nara(L) is the lead for Women's Health. I raised over
$250,000 for their programs and am so rpoud of them. 

I will miss the plants and flowers everywhere, sheets of bright pink bougainvillea spilling off balconies. The sounds and sights of the street vendors: balloons and doughnuts sold from bicycles, push carts of  household goods and the line-up of banana leaf-wrapped roasted sticky rice packets. Monks: jammed into a tuk-tuk (monkmobile!) or walking the streets in the morning under their burnt sienna umbrellas, both resplendent and understated in their bright orange robes. One morning in my last week, a brief surge of emotion rocked through me as I heard their chants from a streetside funeral ceremony.  The groups with whom I found community: writers, stitchers.and friends.  I will miss the smiles of people,who I would often try to engage in traffic: a small wave, or a friendly hello. The spirit houses everywhere, bunches of incense and bananas as those offerings of gratitude.  Cheap everything.

Evening traffic at Independence Monument. 

There are many things I will not miss: the small piles of burning leaves and plastic bags that pepper the streets in the evenings, the stagnant, sticky and oppressive world of traffic at rush hour. After a long day of brain-jangling questions and problems, I would sit surrounded by heat and exhaust in the back seat of the tuk-tuk. All I wanted to do was to calm myself and breathe deeply, yet it felt so unhealthy and destructive to do so.  The sights on the streets: beggars of all forms, enormous cement trucks dwarf the toddlers squeezed in among their 2-3 or 4 family members as piles of sand and rebar spill over into th roadway, men peeing everywhere.  Texting or and talking while driving(a moto), near misses, frequent minor crackups. Last week I saw a moto swipe another and 3 boys on a bike went down, the youngest at the rear had his ankle pinned against the exhaust pipe. The burn, pale and large on the inside of his ankle as the boy wept and staggered to the sidewalk. His slightly older friend takes some icecubes from his drink.  I could do nothing to help.

Storming the Cyclo in early 2014 with co-conspirator
Monika. Stitch and Bitch reconnected me with knitting again
and even better, helped me make new friends.
Discussing specs with Monika and Glorianne.

The Sun Sets on the Kingdom

The last week is a blur of tippy tappy typing, deadlines, final connections with friends and colleagues, last meals at favorite places, sleepless nights and a numb adherence to my checklist. My colleagues and a friend join for sunset cruise that I'd organized instead of the hospital's typical expat farewell that is filled with speeches.  I am left without words, for if I start speaking my emotions will overpower my ability to speak. I can only suggest a few key messages: change is inevitable- and in change the only thing we can control is ourselves.  So focus, learn and grow, have the courage to try new things. Lean to positivity. We watch the small bundles of water hyacinth drift by as the sun is low and red on the horizon.

With Mr. Vanarith at the Khmer New year Party 2015,
who joined us asa volunteer for
 his first job out of college.
I taught him how to work. 

I realize then that leaving is easy. I am a little frustrated that I couldn't stay longer (the leaving date was determined by a retreat start date) and there is palatable fear around the fact that my replacement wasn't identifed before I left. There is a bit of relief, leaving before the really hot season begins and when I lose all ability for crisp and responsive action and thinking.  There is genuine sadness. I left a part of my soul in Cambodia, impact on friends and colleagues.  People asked me, "What is the plan?"  At this moment, I try to avoid the vast and expensive reality that will be repatriation.


I am leaving during a tumultuous time- for the country and for the organization. It would have been more courageous to stay, but the tremendous pull of the tide toward home is strong and will carry me through a whole new series of unknowns. My international experience over 4 years in southeast Asia was rich, transformative and satisfying.

Riverfront and the Royal Palace.

I board a boat this afternoon, crossing the Bass Straits over night. Tomorrow, afternon I will enter the Sangha of Dhamma Pabha, a community on the foothills of Mount Dromedary north of Hobart for 10 days of hard meditative practice-- and a nice hike along the shores of the Tasman Sea.

Sunset on my departing flight from Cambodia

Money in the Kingdom

“We cannot accept.”, the bank teller looked at me, her eyes meeting mine and then quickly averting to the counter. A glass window separated us.  I'd used a little sliding drawer to give her a check for some reimbursed work expenses. 

“ I want to deposit this check into my bank account,” I fumble for my ID hoping it will make a difference.

“Your name is different on the account. Our policy is that you cannot deposit this check.”

 Feebly, I try to explain. “The bank account has my middle given name, but in the Western custom we generally do not use it. So you can see that the names are the same except for the middle name.” 

I can feel my frustration mounting.  When one goes to the bank in Cambodia, one has to be prepared to wait. On this visit, it was 30 minutes of watching the tortuously slow progression of the numbers on the screen as they advanced to the small slip of paper in my hand. I tried not to watch the flat screen as it looped, silently, the same 3 minute advertising spot for the bank’s new property development.  The new luxury neighborhood featured the bland imprint of suburbia. The homes featured massive entry halls that were decorated in polished marble, stunning chandeliers and inspirational staircases. New cars entered the gates.  It all looked very expensive.

I’ve been thinking of money lately.  The city shuttered during the Chinese New Year earlier this month as the business owners spent time with family in the new Year of the Monkey.  I am realizing that I will intentionally not be generating income very soon.  In fact, I'll be  spending savings on traveling in nature while unemployed. The last time this happened was in 1993, when I took the winter off to travel in Costa Rica. 

With the upcoming transition,  I’m wondering about the legal reporting implications of moving my cash here in Cambodia back into the states and morning the loss of Cambodia's quite generous interest rates.  When I step foot in America, I will be throwing bills in the air as I get settled: car (and insurance and debt),  professional clothing, a phone plan, health insurance. The differential on expenses in the US versus Cambodia is wide.  At times, I wonder how the Asian and American attitudes, values and assumptions  around money are different.  As an example, during Chinese New Year the red envelopes appear.

Phnom Penh Post 3 February 2016. 
"Members of Sok Kong’s family hand out donations to police officers
yesterday in Phnom Penh during the lead up to Chinese New Year."

Philanthropy, as Americans and Europeans engage in it, is an emerging trend here. The culture of giving is often focused on what comes in return. Many Cambodians will hand out small change from the window to the people on the street: women carrying drugged babies, grandmothers and children with jasmine garlands, men with flip flops on their knees and the singing bands of blind people that play on the corners around town.   The very impressive fundraising efforts of the Cambodia Red Cross (about 13-14 million every year) are closely linked to the fact that the president is Bun Rany, wife of Prime Minister Hun Sen.  The Cambodia Daily reported in April 2015 that, "Legions of donors lined up to present Mr. Hun Sen with an envelope, bowing to the the premier as the amount of their contribution was read over the loud speaker."

In this country as is over the world, cash is king.   The women who sell all sorts of items on the street carry a fanny pack, filled with loads of bills in no particular order.  If they need to make change, they rummage through their purse until they find the correct amount.  At times the cash is also laid flat, 9 pieces of a denomination wrapped by the 10th.   One day, I watched an expat woman dressed in a vintage polka dot dress, likely a new arrival, as she pulled a large wad of the local currency from her purse to pay her motodup, as the others looked on, joking among themselves about rich white people. 

An old photo of the Nagaworld Casino next to
The Buddhist Institute.
http://www.bayonpearnik.com/

Both the rich and the poor think that the rich are lucky, born under a promising constellation.    Luck is considered to be a strong part of any success.  The local casino now overshadows the school of traditional Buddhism as nearby, the groups of tuk-tuk drivers hover over the cards, drink beer and wait for their turn. Here, without access to credit, many Cambodians rely on informal credit groups called tong tin, The credit groups are built on trust among the richer members-- who take some risk in having a loan not repaid-- but also have potential for a big payout if they keep their funds in long enough. 

Other schemes are the typical get rich quick frauds.  In the decrepit mall next door, a new store opened in 2015. It features expensively packaged serums and potions, supplements of questionable merit, and the promise of the wealth from vertical marketing.   In the months after, they opened a training center in the space nearby to demonstrate the eager riches that can be gained by taking advantage of others. This country feels ripe for predatory lenders, pyramid approaches and generally anything that involves making money on the backs of others. 

One step at a time. 

Would you put your money here?
www.insidecambodia.net

Just three  years ago, the World Bank reported that only 4% of people in Cambodia have a bank account in which they can deposit money.  Last year, for the first time, the Ministry of Education provided electronic transfers of the school budget to the District principals. In years past they would come to Phnom Penh for their annual school budget in cash before returning to the province to pay the teachers.  It's good to remember that the Khmer Rouge blew up the National Bank of Cambodia in 1975 and the local currency was only reintroduced in 1980, so it is no wonder that people value cash more than a deposit book.  Even in the days before the 2013 elections, there was a run on the ATMs and transfers of cash from the country were pronounced. 

Now, as I prepare to depart, my own cash transfers and the eventuality of the "Leaving Sale" comes into view. In months past, I've watched the "goers" will post their furniture and housewares on the expat websites and pages with prices and photos. $10 for a fan. $5 for a rattan shelf.  

I am taking a different approach.  I have a list of the special gifts, but really I am planning to give most of it away.  I want to trust in abundance and keep my own needs minimal, simple and cheap.  

2015 Year in Review