Happiest of Holidays from us to you

This year finds us thankful for happiness, love, peace, adventure, support, kindness and patience embodied in our friends and family.

We began this year looking forward to a change from our digs in DC and couldn’t have imagined the fun we’d have along this unexpected path we took to closing our year out on the opposite side of the country in Portland, Oregon.

DC babies

For three years we called Washington, D.C. home. We’ll always have mad love for Chicago (Midwest may be THE best—but it’s also just much too cold) but we created our first home together in DC. That little apartment in fussy Glover Park was home. Though our daily respective commutes to Maryland and Virginia didn’t always leaving us feeling fulfilled, the friends we found there did. SHOUT out to the DC homies-we miss you guys! In the end, we knew it was time for a change of pace as well as a change of scenery. The East coast treated us REAL well (with the exception of 1-95 and the beltway—we never liked you and we don’t miss you). NYC you gave us plentiful eats, treats, and drinks and field trips with friends both local and from afar. Philadelphia provided an easy retreat north to see our extended family on the Secouler Farm. But then the opportunity to run away to Uganda came up and so, we left.

If you’d have told us in January that we’d be spending our summer in Uganda we would have laughed at you and shook our heads in silly disbelief. What business did we have in Uganda? A lot, apparently. Doing a small part in helping to empower bad ass ladies in Uganda with humbling skill sets and the drive to accomplish anything was one of the best experiences of our lives. That we got to experience this together was simply a gift.

The next chapter found us jetlagged and feeling a bit nomadic upon our return to the states. Our adventure has been grand. And whilst we have every hope of continuing these adventures to far flung corners of the world, I think we may just take a pause for now. And, what better place to take a pause, and breathe it all in then that sweet city of bridges where the hipsters roam and everyone’s stuck in the nineties, than Portland? Thank you, Portlandia for providing such apt insight into our new home. But really, we’ve been East. We’ve been South. We were raised Midwest (REPRESENT). Now it’s time for the far West, more specifically, the Pacific Northwest. We may have left our family and friends scattered throughout this GREAT (driving across the country affords one a whole new appreciation for the sheer amount of space and size the USA occupies) nation but that’s why we got a two- COUNT EM!!! 2!!! bedroom apartment y’all! You buy the flight we’ll provide the hospitality. How can you say no? We move in to our new home in January.

Happiest of holidaze to you and yours!

Love!
Jack & Marjani

p.s.

please kindly accept this electronic communication in lieu of a holiday card this year. life got in the way of our usual card productions, operations will resume as usual in December 2014.

So much wiser now

Red or green?

If you’re lucky enough to be the recipient of this question then you shouldn’t feel obligated to make a choice between the two. A simple “BOTH” will do.

New Mexico lauds itself as the “Land of Enchantment.” After a brief, but inspiring 24 hours here I’d have to say we agree.

Though we  flirted with international roaming charges and border check points due to our close proximity to Mexico please be assured we are NORTH of the border, but man the cuisine here would have you believe otherwise. Enter La Posta de Mesilla. Enough red and green chile love to go around for all in a compound originally constructed in the 1840’s, complete with insanely delightful Christmas decorations, talking parrots, a Toucan and what I’m sure is the best food in the town state northern hemisphere. Check out their menu here: http://www.laposta-de-mesilla.com/html/menu.html if ever your travels lead you this way. Fun fact: Back in the day this place used to hide Billy the Kid.

Las Cruces is quaint.

And then, White Sands happened. On a recommendation from a good friend in Austin we detoured 40 or so minutes out of the way, over the mountains and through a VERY active missile range and former test site for the atomic bomb (yes.) and on to White Sands. Over 275 miles of glowing, pristine, white desert sands housed in the Tularosa Basin- said to be one of the “world’s greatest wonders.” The sands make up the world’s largest gypsum dunefield and mirror the landscape on parts of Mars. Our very own mini Sahara desert nestled just North of the Organ Mountains. Every definition of the word “bliss” will suffice to sum up our experience at White Sands. “Complete happiness, spiritual joy, a stage which is above any emotional state that is characterized as peace or happiness…” We’ll let the pictures speak from here.

857 Mile Markers

Tennessee looks wide, the topline border of Wyoming looks longish on the map, but Texas is flat out enormous. We knocked this drive out after waving hello and goodbye to 857 friendly reminders of the never-ending length of the Texas highway system.

Austin provided our brief respite from the road and a reunion with friends who showed us East 6th, Two step, and good times. Austin essentially is a respite from much of Texas culture. It’s weird and the bumper sticker slogan wisdom is spot on. Austin is full of hills, hipsters, tacos for all meals of the day, bats (the aerial mammals, y’all), winding roads, and stone cold liberals. Flip the previous sentence and the reflected image is the rest of Texas. We identify and have to stop and wonder if that makes us weird everywhere. Late twenty year olds have that phase. A personality re-adolescence where questions about life spring up throughout normal daily activities. Am I the only one who does push-ups while watching Colbert Report? Is it cool to go shopping for frames now? All these activities, hobbies, and mechanisms of life are analyzed and distilled to make us who we are and accelerates momentum towards who we may become for the next decade and beyond. Either way the road rolls on and here we are only part of the way through Texas.

One commonality throughout Texas that we checked out while in Austin was the barbeque. Carolina, St. Louis, and others lean heavily on the sauces and vinegars to set their over the fire grub apart. Texas leans on its bulls and they oblige. Whatever grading system you want to use its top of the class. A+, Carne perfecto, or AAA (I did see a 5-A ranch roadside so maybe AAA is obsolete?!). Salt Lick BBQ is the King of Kings. Just outside Austin, an old stone pit stocked with hickory wood and a mop for basting is all that’s needed. The spot is BYOB too, as if they needed extra credit to get a perfect grade. Go there and ask no questions. The emptiness of our plates and lack of ability to speak full sentences afterwards was like a second Thanksgiving.

We abided traffic laws and skipped the drive through liquor stores and headed out of town. Back roads to highway ten nabbed the hybrid from DC plenty of looks. The state bird, whatever that is, should be changed to a F-150. If they can get secession on the ballot this should be a political landslide. Lyndon Johnson is apparently from small town Texas and his presidency has yielded acres of land for a state park in his name and hundreds of billboards, commemorative rocks, windmills, and smoked sausage with his namesake.

Our dangerous proximity to the border meant AT&T texted updates about international roaming/data rates and two checkpoints from U.S. Customs. Texas ended with a pop up shop of suburban sprawl. El Paso is ripe for anthropological study, if anthropology majors want to also see 857 mile markers that is. Interracial couples, the lengthy tentacles of corporate ownership, and the affects tireless heat have on people are just a few doctoral topics for the picking.

The road curved, oddly, northwards alongside the Rio Grande and extended straight out through the desert again. We waved goodbye to green sign number one and the chilies on the New Mexico state welcome sign foretold more tasty times ahead.

Our Modern Oregon Trail

Social media has a way of deflating bits of news and events, which may make this blog, seem a step behind. Facebook holds the pictures we deemed most worthy and Twitter has been geotagging our movements south then west. So for this blog, and others along the trail, we’ll raise the curtain on some of the footnotes and anecdotes. Each of these cities rest stops, and hours upon hours in the car holds more than 140 characters. The road west is a symphonic jazz of cultures, peoples, food, smells, coffee, food, feelings, and stories we don’t want to keep just for ourselves but share with everyone we love.

When we left Uganda there was an image etched for us by the women we worked with. They stood, arms waving, backlit by the setting African sun on the steps of Veronica’s house alongside the main street through Namatala. It was so poignant and fitting for the richness of the time we had together with them. They were preeminent hosts and stand-in families. The similarities extended to Atlanta as we backed out of the house on Mountain road. Ron, Karen, Kaliya, and Kool gave us the wave off, the pink bubble assurance, and the tears of knowing our temporary social experiment was over. There was little to talk about other than the memories of a special moment in all our lives. Memories, of course, pockmarked by the usual familial squabbles and necessary deep breath meditations of survival. Love you guys.

Georgia to New Orleans is a quiet road sidelined by boiled peanuts and endless falsities of Cracker Barrel. The marketing team for CB has the country twang and “come get yer food and eats, aww shucks, puttin’ some more gravy on it, yes I’ll have cheese on top of that” down to a science of phrases with no more than five words. “Home sweet, home food” and “Made Fresh” and “Grits & Biscuits” dance through our vocabulary and a vividness of the dull brown on every single sign.

Down below sea level we were waved into the Easy with a fully latitudinal sunset. A pumpkin sky, wispy eraser mark clouds that helped make the cruise along the bridge bereft of chatter except for the words of the Commodores to bring us in. We posted up across the street from the casino and Marjani managed to lose a whole .85 cents (sarcastically speaking: Gambling is our favorite pastime). Even after a day full of ranging emotions and hours in the car we footed to Bourbon street, ate some Po’ Boys and Gumbo and dropped some dollars in street musicians’ buckets. Talent occupies the street corners in Nawlins’. Psychics and trombones create a pairing that flat out works for the casual strollers, overstuffed foodies, and heavily imbibed.

Speaking of imbibed, New Orleans lays partial claim to the invention of whiskey. Kentuckians shipped the “White Dog” clear liquor down the Mississippi to satisfy thirsts across the Bayou. As demand went up they had to find new barrels to make the shipments so they scavenged old barrels and casks, burned the inside to prevent flavor fluctuations, and filled them up. Over the Mark Twain joy ride the liquor took on the flavor of the burnt casks and colored the liquor to reddish bourbon brown. So the claim is that New Orleanians’ demand was responsible for modern bourbon.

The one and only

Despite the look of glee, take and go beignets in the car are NOT recommended.

Café Du Monde, Café Du Monde, Café Du Monde. The quintessential spot for coffee, beignets and a morning siesta. For us the jump out of bed, shower sleepwalk, and out the door is much less preferable. We like the casual stroll, sit, stare aimlessly, soft music, French doughnuts style much better. It’s like the difference of between a Keurig and French Press. Speed and efficiency is fine, but take the extra moment to embrace the feelings of the morning and the flavor crescendos perfectly. Nobody should miss Du Monde and no person is immune to powder sugar diving into the threads of their pants after just one bite. The other institution, Commanders Palace, lives in the Garden District and feels just like a perfect NOLA restaurant should. The nutty Victorian Blue building is embedded in the neighborhood and seems no different than any other house. Except the food! Lunch has never been so grand. Both must stops in our books.

The trail heads west across the Bayou from here. The engineers who make this city exist deserve special note here as driving on roads surrounded by lakes, lowlands, swamp water, gators, and stringy moss makes no mathematical sense. It seems like some architectural improvisation that keeps shifting and moving to find the right note. It’s jazz. No wonder that’s the music they play here.