The Samplers

When I think back to the two people who stand out the most were Paul and Kit. Paul on Sunday morning would walk to the end of the walkway that lead up to the door of his apartment complex. He would pop open his lawn chair and plop down like a dumpling falling into soup. Stretching and crossing his legs in front of him, his heavy sliver bangs fell across his forehead he'd read the Sunday news. During the day, Paul did computer then spent his free time coffeehouse hopping and reading the newspaper. He could always be found in a nearby coffee shop in downtown Ann Arbor. Paul was soft spoken; his speech meticulous. Listening to him speak, time seemed to slow down with every word. His speech pulled the listener in. When I met him, he disclosed to me that he likes to travel, especially in Italy. While traveling, he found an old wheelchair, disassembled the wheels and attached them to his suitcase.

On Wednesday Paul would meet his friend Kit at the Amsterdam Espresso, where coffee refills are free. Kit was tall with brown curly hair, wild like lightening. He wore cargo pants and an army green flannel He never spoke in my presence. Kit used to be an artist, a sculptor,but he got struck by lightning and lost his ability to create with his hands. He liked to host gallery open houses and invite wineries to hold samplings, bringing more people in. This way he squeezed the most out of the event while boosting sales.


On Saturday Paul and Kit's favorite outing besides getting coffee is getting free food. Their favorite place to hang is Whole Foods. They enjoy going there for the free food samples the store offers. When Kit goes to Whole Foods he carries a crystal cylinder mug and sips tea. He moseys around the store and talks to the staff while sampling food. Paul by his side. But sampling free food occasionally is not enough for Paul and Kit. Their urges for free food become an adrenaline rush, an addiction, that they are unable to curb. It has become an everyday ritual. They hide themselves, behind support beams, pressed up as flat as can be, paper plates hidden in Kit's cargo pants. Just a few strides away from each other, clutching their plates, slowly creeping out with one foot. They make sure that nobody sees them. Each take turns dashing over to fill up their plates with free food. After each outing they returned to their hideout. Now I only see Paul around town alone. He visits all the coffee houses, but I don't know what happen to Kit.

My other half

Olive Garden, Easter Sunday afternoon. My 82 year old grandma is taking the family out to lunch. The family is in the lobby waiting to be seated. My brother is tall and thin like a bean pole, the name everybody calls him. His scraggly dirty blond hair hangs loosely around his shoulders. He is in his usual all black garb, which is a long sleeve hoodie that has been worn past it due date. The edging around the cuffing has torn and frayed and there are holes everywhere. Neither he nor his clothes have been washed in months. Instead of getting new pants, he adds another patch to the collage. This time the tear is in the center of his pants, the crotch.

With his legs spread wide open, sitting on the bench in the lobby; with a red piece of leather in one hand and sewing needle threaded with dental floss in the other, my bother begins to sew. Being completely mortified by my brother, I burst out “What are you doing? “ Com’ on Jeannine, everybody has a crotch. Don’t you have a crotch.? He says. He is undisturbed by what he is doing, not caring what anyone else thinks. It's Easter Sunday and I can not believe he is my twin.

Unspoken interactions and Knowings

A mother knows her son is struggling, possibly with a disability. He needs help, but she is too ashamed to ask.


In a store front, a women gets push down to the ground and beaten, by a man. Know one does a thing and this event goes unnoticed. Your heart races. Standing there frozen, shocked and afraid, you want to take action, but You're are in a country
where you don't know your rights, your a women, and in this country, you might not have rights.

Every time I see you. Your wallet flips open to a picture of your son. You don't know, that I know who he is. I want to ask, is he still in jail?

Your other life

The internet is suppose help us stay connected, communicated, be able to share ourselves with the world an in so letting us, the people of the universe mingle.. The computer simplified stuff and made getting information faster.

Face book and blogs made staying update and in the know about o my god, what going on, I gotta find out Now........... Super efficient and super cool, with adds on as wallpapers, fan pages, links, temples. But yet, none of this seems so simple or fast.

If you didn't already have a life, trying to create a cooler life on the internet. It got super complicated. Did face book and blog sites make it easier to add your personal flavor. No way

The amount of information you need to know, which none of these site make it easy to obtain, how you get the templates, add the fan or business pages. You mine a well spend a life searching the internet for "E how" and you tube videos. Once you gotten there, the instruction go on forever. There is a whole enycolpedia out there on just how make your blog cooler.

dun dun... Dont know what to say now.

Great Piece by Neil Donald Walsch's ????

You are living in a dream of your own creation. Let it be the dream of a lifetime, for that is exactly what it is.

Dream of a world in which the God and Goddess in you is never denied, and in which you never again deny the God and the Goddess in another. Let your greeting, both now and forevermore, be Namasté.

Dream of a world in which love is the answer to every question, the response to every situation, the experience in every moment.

Dream of a world in which Life, and that which supports Life, is the highest value, receives the highest honor, and has its highest expression.

Dream of a world in which freedom becomes the highest expression of Life, in which no one who claims to love another seeks to restrict another, and in which all are allowed to express the glory of their being in measure full and true.

Dream of a world in which equal opportunity is granted to all, equal resources are available to all, and equal dignity is accorded to all, so that all may experience equally the unequaled wonder of Life.

Dream of a world in which judgment is never again visited by one upon another, in which conditions are never laid down before love is offered, and in which fear is never again laid as a means of respect.

Dream of a world in which differences do not produce divisions, individual expression does not produce separation, and the greatness of the Whole is reflected in the greatness of its parts.

Dream of a world in which there is always enough, in which the simple gift of sharing leads to that awareness—and creates it, and in which every action supports it.

Dream of a world in which suffering is never again ignored, in which intolerance is never again expressed, and in which hatred is never again experienced by anyone.
Dream of a world in which ego is relinquished, in which Superiority is abolished, and in which Ignorance is eliminated from everyone's reality, reduced to the Illusion that it is.

Dream of a world in which mistakes lead not to shame, regrets lead not to guilt, and Judgment leads not to Condemnation.

Dream of these things, and more.

Do you choose them?

Then dream them into being.

With the might of your dreams, end the nightmare of your reality.

You can choose this.

Or, you can choose the Illusion.

I have said to you before, through the words of poets and leaders and philosophers: There are those who see things as they are and say, "Why?" And there are those who dream of things that never were and say, "Why not?"

What do you say?

Getting to Costa Rica

My first day of traveling was rather, adventures. My layover in FF Fl, began with a sandy grey hair man in a leather vest old enought to be my parent. I was sitting by the post waiting for my plane. I could feel his stare, burning through my skin. Meanwhile, darting my eyes over to the the food stand, a big women was wearing metalic pink spamdex pants, with sliver shoes that laced up the leg and a hot pink purse to match. I could not beleive, what a hitious sight to see.

Leather, Man let me know my plane was ready to bord.
Bording the plane, the flight attendant personal shared a kiss on the lips, and my heart skip as, this was a shock to me. When I got on the plane he was like, ¨we meet so soon again.¨

Stuck in a full plane, nothing was happening. No plane pèrsonalle infomred us as to what was going on. I sat, like everyone else, in a plane with all the power off. Waiting and waiting for over an hour. It was dam hot inside and the sweat rolling off of me.

Finally having enough of this waiting. I asked the flight attented people, why we were not going anywhere. There was an announcement, they said, that there was a chip in the wing and which was be fillied down. which, the truth was, nothing was ever anounnced.

After arrving in San Jose at the bus station, my Directo bus to Quepos was already full, meaning I would have to wait another hour for the collective. The collective makes stops along the way and take a few hours more then the Directo.


The ticket place for the bus refused to sell me a ticket, and a guy kept offering to take me to Quepos for $150 Aemrican.

Speaking not much Spanish, a velupsious women named Mary stood behind me waiting in line for the bus. I took out my change and she showed me how more I woull need for the bus. She helped me find a seat on the bus, which she sait with me and we have many long very conversation, with me not understand what ever they were about, we seemd to make do with hand lanauge and I shared My dired Mangos with her.

All this set me back about five hours and I arriived in the Mid evening to Quepos. Going out to get some food, but what more could happen. Powers goes out.... at the resturant..

Costa Rica

It is hot all the time and clothes never dry. Many things are very similar as to India, so I am not in shock. Money runs through your hands like water, and it is so dam expensive here. Trader Joe's looks cheaps and going shopping is worse then going to Whole Pay Check. It´s that expensive here. Nothing is affortable.

I went zip lining through the rain forest, seen a jelly fish, monkeys, several lizards and a strange animal that looks like a 30 lbs rabbit with short hair. A sloth. Plantains are very sweet here. The local drink servered with alcohol is very delicious.

The men.... The tour guys are full of puns, tons of them. Men are very forward here. The local people we were hanging out with, they saw us in the Car.. Chica, Pussy. The local women here, are not fun to date and are very borining in the bedroom... This is what I have been told. They drama ma ma's who like to fight.

Oppsite sex of friends kiss on the lips. Whoa. Even the airline people do it.


Everyone is very friendly here. Superhelpful, but spanish would be a skill to have.

There is a time limit.. Not much here for any creative writing... I wish the I was inspired to feel, see hear, touch, and smell costa Rica... Nothing comes to mind..... Seen it all before.....


The energy which I could feel right a way.. very peacful, calm... The first word that came to me was Simple...

The local income a year is 5,000 I was wonder how they live here as clothes and food are as much as America, if not much much more.....