There are planets you don't know and there are moons that you don't see

While we probably all well know that I am a big, big fan of Mr. Ritter's, this is not a song I am usually drawn to. It was in my head during this morning's pre-dawn commute under a very full moon...

Last month's full moon coincided with a rather big storm that we're only beginning to truly understand the scale of. A full moon high tide is responsible for minor flooding on a regular basis, even without winds and rain. I remember thinking about this going into the storm. Sitting down to lunch with the state climatologist a couple of weeks after the storm, he argued that the first high tide as Sandy and the full moon approached probably saved a lot of lives, scaring people off the islands as the water rose quickly well in advance of the actual storm. We all know that the various unprecedented factors of Sandy-- her size, her record breaking low pressure, her exceptional path, her combination with the second major storm front, her making landfall in the most densely populated part of the country, and of course that full moon-- made a serious impact on our landscape and our lives in the region.

New Jersey (and New York) won't be the same. The damages in NJ are almost as costly as the state's operating budget for the next year*. Trying to wrap one's mind around how much has changed is its own challenge. Trying to stay positive in light of many complicated questions about the rebuilding process is its own challenge. Trying to focus on other aspects of life and not be totally overwhelmed mourning the places and memories of my childhood is its own challenge. This has not been easy.

But then, there's this month's full moon. Many towns are still struggling with the aftermath and destruction of what happened under the last full moon, but the one I saw this morning on my drive to William Paterson was stunning and bright, and under this month's full moon, there was some joy. Julie and Matt welcomed baby Ryan to the world. Babies are neat, because they come without a care for things like hurricane damage or how the world around his has changed drastically since his childhood, because his childhood is ahead of him. He just gets to hang out and be loved. How peaceful and wonderful is that?

So, this morning, I'm thinking about the month between these full moons, and taking comfort in the little things, the good things, that come out of times like these. Life moves on, and today, that's a pretty reassuring thought. Welcome to the world, little one!



Edited to add--
*of course this has already been updated. After weeks of keeping numbers quiet, the initial cost of damages was released as being over $29 billion, which is nearly the $31.4ish billion budget for NJ for the next fiscal year. A revised number was released today: $36.8 billion.

Guardianing (Guardianship 101)

Saturday, day one: The 11 year old is still alive. Also, I already verbed "guardian". Success. (All right, she's about 1000% better than alive. We had excellent adventures, got some fresh air, ate some candy and a good dinner with friends by a wonderful fire, and had some good conversation in the car. She is now reading herself into a coma after brushing her teeth.) Spent the day at camp to offer some food and love and candy to our friends who are still without power. I did a soil science lab with two other kids in tow. It was good.

Sunday, day two: A relaxing day that involved a trip to Toys R Us to spend a birthday giftcard, and a lot of being lazy and hanging out. I got so much work done for school!

Monday, day three: Camp remains without power, so my backup (Ann and Lorelei) are still not really options, since we would freeze in our sleep and/or my leg would fall off (it has been 27 degrees up there at night-- they are incredible, strong people). Today, we drove from Cinnaminson to William Paterson, where at least she got to hang out with her brother for most of the day, and then to Mendham, where the amazing Hellriegel family welcomed us for trick or treating, dinner and sleeping over. Tomorrow we have to drive a long time again, because I cannot live with myself if I don't vote.

I stole a piece of her Halloween candy after she went to bed, because I assume that's one of my responsibilities as the parent figure, even if it's just a temporary arrangement.

Tuesday, day four: We drove. I voted. We hung out at my house all day with the zillions of dogs, cats and family members who are currently staying warm there. Sara became fast friends with my Uncle Don, teaming up to tell me how weird I am. We played the game of Life. We watched TV. We ate spaghetti. We drove to Harrison to stay with my superhero cousin and his super awesome fiancee (thank you thank you THANK YOU again for bailing us out of having to make the full commute this morning).

Wednesday, day five: So far, so good. Everyone's still alive, and she's not even totally sick to death of my company yet. We drove to school, where she hung out with her brother in the morning while I taught and met with students. 

On the way to school, I proved that I have what it takes to be a good guardian. I put the child before myself, and hid my pain. "Don't Stop Believing" came on the radio, and we listened to the whole thing. And I didn't turn it down or off. Major sacrifice.

After I was done for the day, we drove through the snow and the wind to arrive safely and warmly three hours later back in Cinnaminson. The rest of the week should be way more relaxed-- camp is still, very sadly, without power. I hope my friends there are staying warm and safe, especially as this new storm blows in. We are doing a good job of surviving the week, except for the shin splints I got while leaving the Paterson area (first gear second gear first gear second gear first gear second gear third gear first gear...)

Peace Corps Update, Part V

Part I
Parts II, III and IV

November 1

Dear (Recruiter 3),

I hope this finds you well. I don't expect you to receive this for a few days-- I know what that storm has done to my own hometown and county, and I understand Lower Manhattan is a mess and without power, too.

I am writing to you to withdraw my application. I've given it a lot of thought, and this just no longer strikes me as the right way to go about international service, in the context of my life. I want to thank you for being extremely helpful these past few months, always getting back to me, even when you didn't know the answer. You have been kind, honest, and patient with me, and I really do appreciate it.

Unfortunately, none of the reasons for my withdrawal have anything to do with you, but I don't know who else to share them with, as I have not had a productive relationship with your colleagues. That in and of itself it one of the reasons-- if the communication is so poor here in the United States, I have great concerns about being in the developing world with this organization. I understand through many RPCV friends that the experience is amazing if one can overlook the many flaws of Peace Corps, but I'm just not feeling entirely comfortable getting to that point.

In addition to lacking communication, some of it has just been incorrect. When my application was first withdrawn in February, I was told it was because of my lack of teaching experience and my lack of environmental studies, but by then I already had three years of teaching experience at the college level, and my BA and MS are both in environmental topics. Both degrees say Geography, but if the transcripts that I was required to send had been read, countless earth science, environment and development, climatology and human-environment interactions courses would have been noted. I was informed that these things rendered me ineligible for any environment-related positions, but then was nominated for exactly that several months later.

More recently, it was frustrating to receive no contact following the nomination for two months (save your emails letting me know that you didn't know any more than I did, and I thank you for those), until I heard from the Medical Services. They requested more information about a neurological disorder that I had already explained in the paperwork as being quelled; this is fine, I understand that it's something that most people are not familiar with. However, the paperwork I was sent was all related to Immunology and Rheumatology, which is just incorrect. The medical system is convoluted, and it was difficult to figure out which piece(s) of identification to include in my correspondence. I can generally overlook honest mistakes, but it has just felt like time and time again, my personal situation and information wasn't being considered particularly closely. Hopefully I am the only person repeatedly falling through the cracks like this.

At this point, the March departure is getting close. I have to pay my specialist, without insurance, to fill out the paper work regarding my neurological disorder; I know I'll have other general physical and dental exams to complete soon too. I've had to start considering my future too, which most immediately included making the decision whether to agree to teach another semester or not. I can't hold out hope forever and just not make arrangements to continue working. This is fast becoming an expensive commitment, and I haven't even begun to prepare for departure, since I know nothing about it. I'm not even guaranteed a final acceptance and placement.

The past year since I first applied to Peace Corps has been quite an adventure. At first, it was exciting, with a successful interview and a recruiter who was answering my initial questions swiftly and kindly. However, this quickly turned to a very negative experience. I don't expect Peace Corps workers to be my personal counselor, but a little compassion would have been welcomed-- weren't they in my shoes once? I was ignored for several weeks following the initial withdrawal, and then of course the incident occurred when I received a late evening phone message on a Friday, when he would not be able to respond to me for over a week.

This breaks my heart. I wanted so badly to represent my country and to bring my education and desire to serve to the developing world. I'm hopeful that I'll find another way to accomplish this that is less agonizing. I was told many times by friends in Peace Corps that if I could just get beyond the disorganization and bureaucratic nonsense, it was a worthwhile experience. I'm sure it is, but the organization doesn't seem too intent on getting me there, and I don't have the where with all to do it myself at this point in my life. I hope the overhaul of the system eventually lends itself to placing strong candidates in places that need them and providing an incredible experience to all involved. Unfortunately, that was not my experience.

Thank you again, (Recruiter 3), for all of your hard work for me. I really appreciate that you managed to nominate me and encourage me through this. Please let me know if there is anything else I need to do. Wishing you well.
Peace,
Colleen





Kind of insulting: after two months of virtual silence, I received an IMMEDIATE response from both Recruiter number 3 and the placement desk in Washington, D.C. that was allegedly handling my application, confirming my withdrawal.

FLASH OF GENIUS, re: Sandy. and sand.

FLASH OF GENIUS, EVERYONE. If all of the beach kids get together and vacuum out our cars, dump out our shoes and shake out our bedsheets, that should be at least enough sand to repair a few beaches...

Sandy Frankenstorm.

Well.



Miscellaneous interjection, but also my wishes for everyone right now. I hope this finds you well.

It's been an overwhelming week to say the least. I came home to Toms River ahead of the storm, and my family was fortunate enough to only lose power for a few hours, and barely experience any damage to our home. Less than a mile east, the Barnegat Bay flooded homes and ate away at the coastline. Less than five miles south, the Toms River rose, submerging downtown. Less than five miles east has fallen into the ocean.

I have wonderful memories of many summer days spent at Island Beach State Park. We had family picnics ever August in Normandy. I have Ortley Beach badges going back more than a decade, and more recently have spent a lot of time walking to the beach from my friend's house in South Seaside Park. Just a week ago, I drove the entire Coastal Heritage Trail to complete the Lighthouse Challenge for the third year in a row with three of my best friends.

I love New Jersey more than most people. This is heartbreaking. Devastating. Just... awful. But what's making it even worse for me is cynicism and negative attitudes. It's really hard to be optimistic in the face of the absolute wreckage, but focusing on stupid political things and how the power company hasn't gotten to you yet isn't going to make it better. Maybe that's easy for me to say because I haven't been without power, but I've been there before, honest. We went a week without power, water, phones and much of anywhere to safely go after Irene last year. The families who live on site at Johnsonburg are toughing through that for the third time in a year right now. Even still, I called to see if I could bring anything, and I was asked if they could do anything for my community.
 





Why not assume the best? Over three million customers without power is A LOT OF CUSTOMERS. I've read things about New Jersey turning away non-union workers, but maybe there's something more to it that we don't understand, and besides, they've gone on to help our neighbors in New York. Millions of people have power back at this point, and so many people are working around the clock to make that happen. And honestly, as inconvenient as losing power is, there are so many who have it way worse just a few miles away in a shelter because their entire home, power and all, is gone. 

I love this website because right now, I think being positive is more important than ever. My favorite thing about post-Irene? Thankfully heat was not really an issue, but we just spent time together. We talked. We laughed. We sang. We got a good night's sleep.

No matter how alone we feel, we're not. No matter how devastating this is, it's not forever. No matter how much it will never be the same, at least we had it in the first place, and other great things will come from this. Power will come back. Things can be replaced-- or maybe they don't need to be. But we still have each other and the great, great Garden State. Am I foolish in my optimism? Maybe, but I don't really care.