RUNNING DOWN A DREAM

I have had running a marathon on my bucket list for awhile now...I figured before my body deteriorates anymore I should DO IT!!!

Now this is no easy feat so I decided to be strategic about making sure I accomplish this challenging goal.


1. I picked a picturesque location (Maui) and promised myself a vacation there afterwards
2. I booked the flight and registered 6 months in advance to make sure I wouldn't back out
3. I am running for a cause. I am making this achievement about more than me, its about helping others. When I am on mile 24 with 2 more to go and I consider quitting I will remember that I would be letting down the people I am raising money to support
4. I am broadcasting my goal here and telling everyone in my extended network, which will enhance my accountability
5. I am tracking my training both from a distance perspective and writing about the experience.

With all these strategies in place I am confident I will cross the finish line on September 17.

WHY?

Oaxacan Wonderland

I recently made my 1st trip to the Oaxaca City. As I was leaving I knew a return visit was imminent.

The city overflows with culture.... a flood of art, food & drink, architecture, music, dance and so much more swept me up on an intoxicating ride... like a child at an amusement park I want to do it again.

There are treats sprinkled all over the city and its surroundings....Here are some of my favs from my visit

Trip to Matalan, The heartland of Mezcal and visiting the haciendas and tasting various mezcals the tranditional way with a chaser of orange slices sprinkle with spicey worm salt.

Participating in a Temezcal which is similiar to the native american sweet lodge: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temazcal

Stay in two wonderful places; The camino real http://www.camino-real-oaxaca.com/index.html which once upon a time was a convent and a b&b called las bugambilias: http://www.lasbugambilias.com/bugambi1.htm a wonderful oaxacan vibe and excellent service.

The Food!!!! Words cannot describe this culinary treats that are available. It is "the land of 7 moles" which is a sauce that includes 32 spices including chocolate, chapulines aka grasshoppers which are a popular treat, clayudas, a thin, crispy tortilla, spread with "special pork fat", black bean paste and sprinkled with cilantro, onions and crumbled Mexican cheese, then topped with various meats and so much more!!! From the food mercados to fine dining Oaxaca food scene is diverse and delicious.


Of all my travels throughout Mexico to pueblas, Oaxaca City sits proudly at the head of the table. It is a must for any avid traveler.

Return to India

It has been over 2 years since I left India and when I day dream about my time there I still smile in wonder.

This article does a fantastic job of painting an accurate picture of life there as an expat.

Living in India is like having an intense but insane affair, writes expat Catherine Taylor


http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/features/mad-for-mumbai/story-e6frg8h6-1225934717682

TONIGHT, as I waved my high heel in the face of a bewildered taxi driver, I thought suddenly: I am absolutely nuts in India. It's a thought I have often. Someone or something is always going nuts, and quite often it's me.
I was trying to get a taxi driver to take me home, a mere 500 metres away, but it was pouring with rain and my shoes were oh-so-high, and it was late. He, of course, was having none of it; no amount of shoe-waving and sad-facing from a wild-haired firangi was changing his mind, when suddenly I remembered the magic trick - pay more than you should. "Arre, bhai sahab, 50 rupees to Altamount Road? Please?" And off we went.
I have lived in Mumbai for almost three years. It was my choice to come - I wanted offshore experience in my media career and India was the only country looking to hire - and I wanted a change. I needed something new, exciting, thrilling, terrifying. And India gave that to me in spades. In fact, she turned it all the way up to 11. And then she turned it up a little more.

To outsiders, living in India has a particular kind of glamour attached to it, a special sparkle that sees people crowding around me at parties. "You live in India? My God, really? I could never do that. What's it like?" The closest I have come to answering that question is that it's like being in a very intense, extremely dysfunctional relationship. India and I fight, we scream, we argue, we don't speak for days on end, but really, deep down, we love each other. She's a strange beast, this India. She hugs me, so tightly sometimes that I can't breathe, then she turns and punches me hard in the face, leaving me stunned. Then she hugs me again, and suddenly I know everything will be all right.

She wonders why I don't just "know" how things are done, why I argue with her about everything, why I judge, why I rail at injustice and then do nothing about it. She wonders how old I am, how much I earn, why I'm not married. (The poor census man looked at me, stunned, then asked in a faltering voice, "But madam, if you're not married then… who is the head of your household?") I wonder how she can stand by when small children are begging on corners, how she can let people foul up the streets so much that they are impossible to walk along, how she can allow such corruption, such injustice, such A LOT OF HONKING.
But she has taught me things. She has taught me to be brave, bold, independent, sometimes even fierce and terrifying. She has taught me to walk in another man's chappals, and ask questions a different way when at first the answer is no. She has taught me to accept the things I cannot change. She has taught me that there are always, always, two sides to every argument. And she was kind enough to let me come and stay.
She didn't make it easy though (but then, why should she?). The Foreigner Regional Registration Office, banks, mobile phone companies and rental agencies are drowning under piles of carbon paper, photocopies of passports (I always carry a minimum of three) and the soggy tissues of foreigners who fall to pieces in the face of maddening bureaucracy. What costs you 50 rupees one day might be 500 rupees the next, and nobody will tell you why. What you didn't need to bring yesterday, you suddenly need to bring today. Your signature doesn't look like your signature. And no, we can't help you. Come back tomorrow and see.
It's not easy being here, although I am spoiled by a maid who cooks for me, and a delivery service from everywhere that ensures I rarely have to wave my shoes at taxi drivers. I buy cheap flowers, trawl for gorgeous antiques, buy incredibly cheap books; I have long, boozy brunches in five-star hotels for the price of a nice bottle of wine at home, I have a very nice roof over my head … on the face of it, it would seem I have little to complain about. But then, I am stared at constantly, I have been spat on, sexually harassed, had my (covered) breasts videotaped as I walked through a market, had my drink spiked, been followed countless times. I have wept more here than I have ever in my life, out of frustration, anger, loneliness, the sheer hugeness of being here. But the longer I stay, the more I seem to relax, let go, let it be.
But I do often wonder why I'm here, especially when I'm tired, teary and homesick, my phone has been disconnected for the 19th time despite promises it would never happen again, when it's raining and no taxis will take me home. But then a willing ride always comes along, and we'll turn a corner and be suddenly in the midst of some banging, crashing mad festival full of colour, where everyone is dancing behind a slow-moving truck, and I won't have a clue what's going on but a mum holding a child will dance up to my window and point and smile and laugh, and I breathe out and think, really, my God, this is fantastic. This is India! I live in India! She hugs me, she punches me, and she hugs me again.

Yet I know won't ever belong here, not properly. I know this when I listen to girls discussing what colour blouses they should wear to their weddings - she's Gujarati, he's from the south, she's wearing a Keralan sari. I know when my friends give me house-hunting advice: "Look at the names of the people who already live there, then you'll know what kind of building it is." (Trouble is, I don't know my Kapoors from my Kapurs, my Sippys from my Sindhis, my Khans from my Jains). I know this when my lovely fruit man (who also delivers) begs me to taste a strawberry he is holding in his grubby hands and I have to say no, I can't eat it, I'll die… I know I will never belong because, as stupid as it sounds, being truly, properly Indian is in your DNA. I marvel at how incredibly well educated so many of them are, how they can all speak at least three languages and think it's no big deal, how they fit 1000 people into a train carriage meant for 300 and all stand together quite peacefully, how they know the songs from every Hindi film ever made, how they welcome anyone and everyone (even wild-haired, complaining firangis) into their homes for food, and chai, and more food.

I've seen terrible things - someone fall under a train, children with sliced-off ears, old, old men sitting in the rain nursing half-limbs while they beg, children covered in flies sleeping on the pavement, beggars with no legs weaving themselves through traffic on trolleys, men in lunghis working with their hands in tiny corridors with no fans in sky-high temperatures. I've read heartbreaking things, of gang rapes, corruption, environmental abuse. I've smelled smells that have stripped the inside of my nostrils, stepped over open sewers in markets, watched a goat being bled to death.

I've done things of which I am ashamed, things I never thought I would do. I have slapped a starving child away, I have turned my head in annoyance when beggars have tapped repeatedly on my taxi window, I have yelled at grown men in the face. I have been pinched and pinched back, with force. I have slapped, I have hit, I have pushed. I have screamed in anger. I have, at times, not recognised myself.
I've yelled at a man for kicking a dog, and yelled at a woman who pushed into a line ahead of me when I wasn't at all in a hurry. When a teenage beggar stood at the window of my taxi, saying "F… you madam" over and over, I told him to go f… himself and gave him the finger; once on the train I let a kid keep 100 rupees as change. I am kind and I am cold-hearted, I am fair and I am mean, I am delightful and I am downright rude. I am all of these at once and I distress myself wildly over it, but somehow, India accepts me. She has no time for navel-gazing foreigners; she just shoved everyone along a bit and made room for me. She has no time to dwell on my shortcomings, she just keeps moving along.

And then, and then. I've been to temples where I've sung along with old women who had no teeth, I've held countless smiling ink-marked babies for photos, I've had unknown aunties in saris smile and cup my face with their soft, wrinkled hands, I've made street vendors laugh when I've choked on their spicy food, I've danced through the streets at Ganpati, fervently sung the national anthem (phonetically) in cinemas, had designers make me dresses, I've met with CEOs and heads of companies just because I asked if I could. She hugs, she punches, she hugs again.

In short, I have been among the luckiest of the lucky. She keeps me on my toes, Ms India, and I have been blessed that she let me stay for a while. She wanted me to succeed here and she gave me grand opportunities and endless second chances. She willed me forward like a stern parent. She welcomed me. And when I leave, because I know I will one day, I will weep, because I will miss her terribly. And because I know she won't even notice that I am gone.

In addition, this video shows the incredible contrast of India through the story of a young man trying to follow his dream:

http://vimeo.com/hd#22329918


I am not sure when I will return to India, but like anything that has made a profound impact on my life I carry it with me as I continue my journeys

From A Proud Nephew

Today my uncle Roger was inducted into the political consultants hall of fame by the American Association of Political Consultants in Washington, DC. I am proud of his accomplishments and to be honest surprised by many of them which is a testament to his humble nature.

Roger M. Craver

David Broder called him "a bomb thrower"... The Wall Street Journal claimed he was the "assassin" of all things right wing.

Many of the household names in progressive politics and movement advocacy were launched and built under his guidance: the first organization, Common Cause, in 1969, and then the National Organization for Women, Greenpeace, Amnesty, NARAL, Handgun Control, Inc. (now the Brady Campaign), the World Wildlife Fund, Environmental Defense and dozens of others.

Older organizations were relaunched by him: the ACLU, the League of Women Voters, the Sierra Club, Planned Parenthood and The Wilderness Society. In the fray of Watergate, he won a place on Nixon,s enemys list for his work exposing the brown bag contributions to CREEP, the Committee to Re-elect the President.

Roger, whose Washington watchword is "no permanent friends, no permanent enemies", designed and built the direct mail programs for the DNC, the DSCC and the DCCC. Despite these lucrative contracts, he shocked the consulting community by resigning from these accounts as a matter of principle. He left the DNC in 1986 over a disagreement with the lobbying practices of its leadership. In 1987, he left the DCCC over Jim Wright,s ethics challenges involving a book deal, and in 1992, he walked away from the DSCC over its leadership,s hesitancy to support Anita Hill and stand up against Clarence Thomas, nomination.

Roger and his firm, Craver, Mathews, Smith & Company, raised record amounts of money in the late ,70s for key Democratic candidates � Frank Church, George McGovern, Birch Bayh, John Culver. In 1976, he raised record amounts for the presidential campaign of Mo Udall and again in 1980 for Ted Kennedy,s and John Anderson,s presidential races.

In 1987, Roger and Republican consultant Doug Bailey founded The Hotline – today the preeminent daily online presence on American politics. The Hotline counts among many alumni Chuck Todd, currently the political director of NBC News.

A pioneer who wont quit, Roger founded Public Interest Communications, the first large telemarketing firm for advocacy and progressive politics, in 1975, then The Hotline in 1987. Then, in 1995, he founded New Media Publishing, the first Internet company to build websites and update them daily for clients such as WWF International, the International Red Cross, UNICEF and the Feminist Majority, along with 25 other organizations.

Today, Roger is the founder of DonorTrends, a company providing fundraising intelligence, predictive models and market research to the nonprofit and political communities. diMobile is his latest company, building mobile engagement applications for the next generation of activists and hell-raisers.

Roger publishes the daily blog TheAgitator.net, is a summa cum laude graduate of Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and holds a summa cum laude JD from GW,s National Law Center. Today, he is working on the organization that will elect our next president, Americans Elect

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AAPC — The American Association of Political Consultants

VISION

En Mis Manos..

I held peace, purity and possibility.

There is nothing like holding a newborn baby...

1st Stop In The New World

If you are interested in learning about Mexico City through its people and great stories, look no further. David Liga, an expat living in the DF for more than 20 years does a realistic and vivid job of helping the reader peel back the layers and get a peak into what makes this city such a fascinating place.

Monarch Mariposas

Normally when you see one or two butterflies it is a cool experience. They are such beautiful creatures and a symbol of transformation for many. Imagine being surrounded by thousands of them! This past weekend I was fortunate to go to a butterfly sanctuary where millions of the monarch butterflies migrate every year. We road horses up into the forest and there they were all nestled in the trees. There were so many that you could hear the sound of their collective wings flapping. Once the sun broke through the trees they started to fly around. It was one of the most naturally beautiful things I have ever seen. Breathtaking....

On the way out of the sanctuary we noticed there were police ushering traffic slowly down the
road. We assumed there was an accident. It turns out that there were so many butterflies flying around that cars had to drive super slow to not kill them. I stuck my head up the cars sunroof and soaked up the surreal experience. Thousands of butterflies flew around me and all I could do was smile and laugh at this unbelievable spectacle.




You really have to see this yourself to fully comprehend how incredible it is, however this video does a good job of giving an idea of the experience

MAXWELL EMERSON CRAVER

With joy flowing from my fingertips I am pleased to share that Max entered the world last night, January 16th @ 10:04 pm MST. He weighed in at 7 lbs 11 oz and measures 20 inches.Welcome to the world dearest Maxwell, Uncle Josh.

On the road...

Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way,
More attentive now
To the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad;
and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home:

How you unexpectedly attune
To the timbre in some voice,
Opening in conversation
You want to take in
To where your longing
Has pressed hard enough
Inward, on some unsaid dark,
To create a crystal of insight
You could not have known
You needed
To illuminate
Your way.

When you travel,
A new silence
Goes with you,
And if you listen,
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing:
Make sure, before you go,
To take the time
To bless your going forth,
To free your heart of ballast
So that the compass of your soul
Might direct you toward
The territories of spirit
Where you will discover
More of your hidden life,
And the urgencies
That deserve to claim you.

May you travel in an awakened way,
Gathered wisely into your inner ground;
That you may not waste the invitations
Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,
And live your time away to its fullest;
Return home more enriched, and free
To balance the gift of days which call you.

-John O'Donohue

Less is More

Many relationships in my life have changed this year. One in particular was my relationship to stuff. Backpacking through Latin America the year before taught me great lessons about how much we really need to get by.





I learned less is more and simplicity is a pillar of happiness.



However, over the years I had accumulated many things. Part of this was due to the fact when I moved twice in the past I put things in storage and vowed to return and claim my precious keepsakes.

That time came this year in a serendipitous fashion....My things from two different chapters of my life all collided in my cozy loft. The places I have lived in the past had been about 3 times the size so imagine only having space for 1/6 of your stuff. Saying that I was overwhelmed when the movers unloaded all the boxes is a serious understatement. The process of sifting through my things was draining. Everything had emotional triggers. Pictures, Books, Handicrafts, Letters, Clothing, CD's and so on...

I avoided the process for a few days and then slowly began to decide what to keep and what to let go of. As the process progressed it became easier and easier. In fact about half way through I found the emotional weight of things I thought I wanted to keep was gone. I ended up giving away or selling 70% of my belongings.

At the end of the process I felt incredibly light and liberated.