The Mystery of Life and Death According to Me

I try to wear as many hats that fit and live up to any title that may be given to me when I am in Belize - including the less flattering ones. "Persistant mujer gringa" even has a hint of positivity and possibility. However, it is the title of "child whisperer" that tickles me most.

Yesterday, as I walked through town, I was reminded of how much I love this place. I sometimes think that when I am back in South Dakota, I may romanticize my feelings for the island and its people. Nope.  It's real. I am most alive here. The abundance of blue - skies to sea - make me want to physically be better. I eat smartly with an abundance of fruits and fish. I love the sweat that I get exercising in the Caribbean heat. And, as Audrey Hepburn said, "Happy girls are prettiest."  May I dare to say that I feel pretty here.

It is the refection of the people, especially, the children that make me happy. It took me 5 hours to walk 4 miles - it was a little like HyVee before a snowstorm. Administering hugs, admiring growth spurts, and exchanging news takes time. My favorite is when a students says, "Miss Kim!  When did you get home?"

As I walked by the high school, I saw many of my students, who are now freshmen, leaving for the day.  One of my girls was sitting on a dock holding hands with a boy. She saw me and went to wave. Quickly, she decided to turn away knowing that explaining him was not how she wanted to begin her weekend. Braces, inches and a sense of cool had all found their way to my first Holy Cross graduate class.

I do not take for granted the respect and love these kids give me.  It didn't come overnight either. I had to earn the right to be part of their lives.  There is a lot to be said for showing up on a regular basis. I am reminded of an experience that happened to me last May.

Because I always have children with me - holding my hand, asking to carry my bag, on the back or basket of my bike - many adults think I am either a child psychologist or some type of social worker. Belize has its issues like any other country or community. A feeling of abandonment is palpable with some children. A lack of respectable father figures combined with less than superior health care creates some of the void, Also, it is not uncommon for a parent - mother or father - to leave a child behind in order to make a living elsewhere.  Then, there are senseless acts.

Tristen is a the 5 year old son of a friend of mine on the island. He comes from a wonderful and loving family of present men and strong women.  In May, his uncle and Godfather was shot and killed by a random thug in the middle of town. As with any family, it tore them to pieces.  This family reminds me a lot of my own.  We don't miss each other's events. Weekend get togethers are probable.  In short, this entire extended family is tight.

Tristen's mother asked me to talk to him. He had been unconsolable since the shooting, and she thinks it would help if I spend some time with him.

Ummm....what? She knows that I am just a teacher - 26 years of high schoolers and university students doesn't amount to any sort of degree in analysis. This is the second time she has done this.  The first was when she plopped a 9 year old on me whose father had died the night before (she did not know that my own father had died just one month earlier). Ethan, that boy, taught me more about grace than any words I could think of to console his heart. Knowing that I probably had something to learn here again, I reluctantly agreed.

Tristen was angry. Some of it - I am sure - was mirroring the mourning of his relatives. They were vocal in asking for justice and calling out those who witnessed the act and didn't react. It turned out, that a lot off Tristen's anger was pure fear of the unknown.

I had his mother and him meet me at the beach. She said, "Spend time with Miss Kim today.  She is a nice lady with boys too," before jumping in her cart and burning sand.

First of all, I hate the word "nice." Nice is not going to answer this boy's questions or reason him into happiness. Secondly, I may have raised boys, but that, by no means, makes me any sort of expert.  Ask my sons, they will tell you that growing up with me was a daily lesson in foibles and faith.

Tristen and I splashed around a bit until I finally said, "I am sorry about your uncle." He responded stoically, "They killed him."  Yeah. Sigh. Where do you go from there?  I decided to forgo the obvious and just dive right in to one the most difficult of subject for any human.

I asked, "Where is Jeffery now?" He looked at me like I was the dumbest American he had ever met. "He was dead in the street and now he is in the ground." Fair enough.

At that moment, I realized that I had a few Magic Sponge Capsules rolling around in the bottom of my backpack. I bring a lot of these little toys as they are super small and easy to tote, and the kids seem to dig them. This toy looks like a large pill. When you place it in the water, the hard plastic shell dissolves and a small sponge character emerges - they are anything from safari animals to dinosaurs. You never know what you are going to get.

I took one out and explained that Jeffery is like the Magic Capsule.  Our bodies - head, torso, hands, and skin - are just the shell of the person, and yes, in the ground we don't see that anymore. However, there is a surprise - his spirit - that is stronger than the shell, and it will emerge. The spirit is so big and mysterious that it and can stay with us in our hearts and go to heaven. I had no idea where I was going with this. I just trusted that the Holy Spirit had a plan.

I said, "Let's see if it works!" We took the toy and buried it in the sand close enough to the water so that the tide was hitting is softly.  We found a stick and marked it just like a tombstone.  Then we just sat there on the beach watching the stick. I was mentally preparing for having to perform my best Mary Magdalene impersonation when we go to find the little creature later and discover that an under tide had moved it. I certainly was not holding my breath waiting for any angel to show up and give me hand.

As we sat there on the dock, watching, with our feet in the water, I should expected his next question. "What is a spirit?"

Oh, Norman Greenbaum, where art thou? Google it.

I continued blindly, "Tristen, what is your very favorite fish in the ocean?"

"The shark," he stated as confidently as if I had asked him his name. He went on to tell me everything - and I mean everything - he knew about sharks. The kid was a Belizean encyclopedia. I, personally, am a stingray girl, but I respect a 5 year old's right to chose.

What came out of my mouth next, would make any theologian cringe, "Only part of your heart stops working when you die. That part that moves your blood around so you can be alive with your family.  The other part of your heart lives forever in Heaven with God.  So, all the love that Jeffery has for you and his family, all the funny stories he told you, and even all the things you did with him stay alive in his heart."

That sounded pretty good, but could I leave it at that?  Oh, no.  I just kept talking, "and every time you see a shark, they are there to remind you of all those things.  Jeffery is like the biggest shark you have ever seen. He gets to float with the beauty of God, like a shark floats in the beautiful sea. He never has to worry, or feel sad, or get angry or be frightened because he is a shark."

Yep. That is the mystery of life and death according to Kim Bartling. You are welcome, and I am sorry.

I knew I was out of material so suggested we check on the "spirit capsule."  The toy had shifted, just like my shaky spiritual explanation.

As always, the Holy Spirit did have my back.  True to its promise on the back of the Magic Sponge Capsule package the shell had disappeared. What was let loose was a bright yellow sponge shark.

Europeans Coming - Belizeans Going

It's Not What You Know; It's Who You Know.

(This is dedicated to every student I have ever taught.  If nothing, I hope I introduced you to the importance of networking, being kind, taking risks and a lifetime love of learning).

Name dropping. It has always been a delicate balance between wanting to share what you know and where you have been and the Midwest sensibility of no one really cares.

A year before I quit my life where I worked under others, one of my superiors called me to his office. He wanted me to know that "many" of my colleagues were tired of hearing about my friendships with political individuals such as the mayor and governor. I have to say that I did appreciate his choice of the simple adjective pronoun "many" during this occasion.  In the past, when he found something on which to reprimand me, he was typically fond of using the phrase, "a parade of people have voiced a concern," when - in fact - it was a disgruntled freshmen girl who - for someone reason - he gave audience.

Here is what happened. I had been asked by The Good Shepherd Center of Sioux Falls to give the address for their spring luncheon. As a non-profit that focuses on the homeless community, they wanted me to share my story of Valerie, the "baglady" I befriended in NYC and relocated to South Dakota.  It was to be a brief 20 minute presentation and - I thought - in a private environment with their board of directors. When I arrived, I discovered that is was a much larger event. All three television stations were there, the audience included over 150 people and the Governor of South Dakota was going to introduce me. As a professional public speaker today, I learned my lesson on not doing better research on my engagements.

I excused myself, stepped out, made some quick edits and prayed for support. Here's the revised opening, "Greetings and thank you for having me here today.  I must confess that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. Last Friday, I was honored to have written and co-hosted the Sioux Falls Night of the Arts program with our fine mayor. Today, the governor is my warm-up man.  I am totally expecting to return to my office and have a voice message from President Obama asking what my calendar looks like next Friday."  It got a laugh.

That afternoon, at rehearsal, I shared my miscalculation and response to my small cast.  Again, it got a laugh. I never repeated it. On Monday, I was called into the office; "many" had complained about my bragging of knowing the mayor and the governor. I was assured that nobody cares who I know. Evidently, one of my students thought my story was funny enough to share. Another professor overheard it and beelined to administration. She became "many."

Over the years and as a theatre director and woman on faith, I have traveled to many places to learn and grow as an academic. Upon returning from a university sabbatical, I begged to present a colloquium on my discoveries while working in the New York theatre scene. It never happened.  When the mission group of 19 university students - that I led - returned from Belize, we asked to present on how God moved our feet, hands and hearts. It never happened.

The calendar was never open to this storyteller. Some may say that I talk too much and giving me a platform to do so, just encourages my enthusiasm and makes others uncomfortable. I hope that this oppressive attitude made me a better teacher and advisor. When students would return from a semester abroad or from studying at the film institute or from their concert trip to Italy, etc, I invited them to present to their peers. Their travels and tales inspired us all and fanned the flame of wanting to see more, do more, know more.

My father never wanted to hear about my trips or work in places like New York or Belize either. I believe it was because if he affirmed the stories, it made those places real. If they were real, I may move there. This was his unspoken fear.  He just wanted me near. This I understood. However, why others chose to rain on the parade of one's adventures instead celebrating their experiences is something I will never understand.

My first teaching job was in Arlington, South Dakota - population under 1,000. I taught sophomore - senior English and speech.  I was the oral interp coach, the one act play and musical director and the cheerleading coach. I applied for the job hoping to be the basketball, cross-country, or track coach, but upon learning I had seen a play, they changed my obligations.  Lowell Gilbertson, the principal, was tough. He was hard on this me and the entire young faculty that he assembled in the late 80's.

My second year, I was frustrated with my lack of experience with play direction, so I applied for a couple of days off to attend a one-act play festival at a nearby college. He denied the request. I was quite upset. I said,"You just want to keep me stupid so I stay here forever!" I felt terrible afterwards as I loved teaching in that little town; I didn't mean to show disrespect to the community, students or him. In fact, I still believe all teachers should begin in a small school because you must learn how to do it all!  That rural school taught me what teaching should look like.

Years later at a college basketball game, I ran into Lowell, Principal Gilbertson, at the "confession stand" as my children always called it. I could not hug him hard enough. His initial tough love lessons could be found in every one of my classrooms since leaving his small school. He reminded me of the day I was so angry and (as he remembered it) stormed his office. Through our laughter, I apologized. He responded, "There is no need.  You were absolutely right. You were hungry for knowledge, and I knew we were going to lose you. I have watched you all these years, and that hunger has served you and your students well. It has been a joy to watch your journey."  At his memorial - for a death that came way too early - I reminded us all that he had a great gift to create educational leaders. Of that young faculty in the late 1980's of approximately 15 people, many of us went on to be college professors and educational administrators. We have Lowell Gilbertson to thank.

Today, as I am on another trip with my sister, I am reminded about how much I love to learn. Specifically, as I write this, I am am on the corner of Chartes and Toulouse in New Orleans' French Quarter enjoying a cup of corn and crab chowder watching the world go by from a upstairs veranda. Just down Toulouse is Hotel Maison de Ville, where Tennessee William's finished "A Streetcar Named Desire" in his favorite Room #9.

My dad always said that I would be happiest if I could figure out a way to have someone pay me to go to school the rest of my life.  Simply, I am most productive as a teacher and artist when I am learning. In history, a patron of the arts was one paid by royalty for their creation of art. A poet, playwright, or musician could "do their thing" all day being subsidized by the court as long as the art itself was dedicated to the royal individual. Let's bring that relationship back. Hey Sanford Health Systems, Citibank or Vern Eide Motors, looking for an artist in residence?  I know a girl.....

So, here I am in New Orleans soaking in the sounds of blues and jazz and the spirits of historical ghosts, and feeling the need to finally purge my stories of elbow rubbing, amazing teachers/mentors, lovefests, and totally true tales. The following names won't be recognizable to everyone; but whether you are a television junkie, movie buff, music enthusiast, theatre geek, sports fan or book lover, there will be at least one name you recognize.  Some of my stories are brief encounters and others are friendships that last to this day; most are pretty funny.  All of them have had a hand in molding all of the "me's" but especially me as a teacher.

However, remember, these are my truths. After reading one of my stories about growing up in his house, my father made a grunt and said, "Well, if that is the way you remember it...." before he walked away. This is the way I remember it.

Michele Pawk
Neil LaBute
Raul Esparza
Mel Brooks
Tom Stoppard
John Stewart
Edward Albee
Idina Menzel
Kevin Spacey
Slava Dolgatchev
Mario Fratti
Rachel Maddow
Steve Buschemi
John Malkavich
Branford Marsallius
Alan Cumming
Robert Cohen
Arthur Miller
Gabby Sibode
Liza Minnelli
Mike Nichols
Julie Taymour
Woody Harrelson
Kathleen Chalfant
Anne Bogart
Sutton Foster
James Earl Jones
Phillips Seymour Hoffman
Joan Jett
Dick Cavett
Tony Danza
Tom Brokow
Sam Rockwell
Douglas Hughes
Lou Diamond Phillips
Jane Fonda
Eve Ensler
Roger Ebert
Aidan Quinn
Cherry Jones
Seann William Scott
Chris Noth
Laura Linney
Emily Mann
Paula Vogel
Romulus Linney
Terrence McNalley
Alphonso Soriano
Joe Torre
Tracy Scott Wilson
Tracey Letts
Lee Blessing
Deborah Copaken Kogan
Amy Bloom
Ed Helms
Christopher Durang
Joyce Carol Oats
Gabriel Barre
Paulie Shore
Michael McGowan
Jarrod Emick
The women of "The View."
Many who are regulars on Law and Order including Bruce McVittie, Lucy Martin and JoAnn Merlin

I am currently proud to be watching a couple from the cast of Wapato - the show I assistant directed in New York that are shining on Orange is the New Black - Kaipo Swabb and Dale Soules

If you are reading this and remember one that this middle aged brain has forgotten, please remind me. I am also hopeful that the list will grow as I will never be done traveling and learning.

Three Generations of Mother's Having Their Day

Home Sweet Home

After the heartbreak of discovering that the family had been deceived so horribly, I woke up Sunday and decided God and I needed to regroup. I attend Sagebrush Church on the island and so many of my dear friends and female prayer warriors are at the core of this parish. Kara, Lydia, Elvi, Merla, and Sabrina (and their families) are my confidants, my cheerleaders,  my supporters and my inspiration. Not only were these women vigilant in reassuring me that they were ready to actively support me, the service's message was amazing. It was exactly the words I needed to hear.

The rest of the day I spent in and on the water. I was baptized Presbyterian. I have been an active congregant of the Lutheran denomination since I was 10. Twenty-two of my 26  years of teaching were in Christian education (love those Catholics and Baptists).  I have used the phrase, "It's a God thing" most of my life to define the people, situations and even art that I have been blessed to be in the cross hairs. However, it has always been on, in, under and around water where I feel God the most. From my childhood summers on Ottertail Lake, to my friend Janell's Lake Herman Cabin to the Caribbean Sea, my Christian spirit has always been strongest and happiest with water. Sunday I  - literally - needed the hope of baptism in that beautiful, blue ocean.

Snorkeling is my quiet time with God. For over 3 hours, I heard only my deliberate breath, rhythmically move me from one God thing (an eagle ray) to another (an almost transparent jelly fish). A nurse shark developed a curiosity (or as I would like to think - a crush) and followed me most of the afternoon. A trigger fish, an angel fish over a foot high and an entire school of squid were just three of my new discoveries on this dive. However, it was the light of the Belizean afternoon that really spoke to me. There was the strong western light that permeated the turquoise, and - inexplicably - another strong eastern light piercing the water.  I was being told to "just keep swimming" through this crucifix of light.  Like a water kaleidoscope or a maritime stained glass window, this light was a crucible of prayer and the silent power of God.

I have always known that I need water to be healthy, happy and creative. Now I know I need it to breathe life.

When I woke up on Monday morning, I warned the Devil that he should be thinking, "Crap, she is up." I was a blonde with a mission and a plan.

For the next part, I am going to make the long story as short as possible. I rode my bike all over the DFC neighborhood (the area close to the kid's school). I found a few - very small spaces - that would be a healthier option to my family's current situation.

Just to make it clear, my family of 6 was living in a 14 x 8 feet room built on garbage and feces. They have lived there for 8 years. There is no bathroom but instead a bucket. They share an outdoor shower with all the others on the "compound." There is a lot more detail of these women, their families, their plight and their environment.  If you ever want the whole picture, please ask me. They have been cared for by an old Belizean fisherman, who is the patriarch of one of the oldestand wonderful families on the island.  He truly cares for these women and their children. Unfortunately, the area also draws deviation on every level,

Back in DFC, I found a couple of options. From there, my superhero friend Cara loaned me her cart. Esperanza (the mom) and I picked up another friend of mine Merla and headed to down. Merla was a great addition. Not only could she translate, but she could address Esperanza as another Belizian mom.  I had given her prompts about our roles as mothers - we do what we must do to make sure our children are healthy, happy and safe.  However, after living in the same place so for many years and not having to worry about paying for housing and food because of her physical commitment, Esperanza was scared.

She decided on a rat trap. I negotiated the price based on the fact that 30 hours from that moment, the space would be totally cleaned and refurbished, and I would pay cash for the first 2 months.

The next morning, Esperanza went to court to confirm the restraining order against the father of her youngest child (we started that process the week before), and I went to work. I showed up at the house with a gallon of paint, a bucket, a hammer,  Ajax and the will to work. Around 9 am, a local man showed up at the house on his motorcycle. Kyle and Cara had sent him (and another employee) to help me for the day - their wages had been paid. It's was a God thing.

In 50 years of life, I have never worked physically harder. While the guys built a new porch, I rid "the yard" of years of garbage. Old, soiled diapers, bags full of food, and broken bottles were just some of the the things I could identify.  We could hear the rats and patched over 50 holes in the walls. The dirt/spider webs hung from the ceiling like Tim Burton movie vines. The bathroom required an acid wash in which I had to wear goggles and a breathing apparatus.

Then, we painted.  After Esperanza bravely attended court to activate the restraining order, she came to her new home.  She was a trooper. We painted and painted and painted.

Around 8 pm, their items from the compound showed up in a truck. My sweet, 14 year old Erick directed the entire move from the other end.  I don't know what you were all doing at 14, but I was not even curling my own hair in the morning. They didn't have much other than some clothes, a small stove, a dorm fridge and a some bike parts.

Around 10 pm, we began laying the new floor.  The children were exhausted. One by one, they took a shower in their first ever bathroom. In the chaos of luggage, they found pjs. For the second time that day, I fought back tears.

The first? When the kids got out of school, they were instructed by Principal Migel to go to their "new house."  I would lie if I said the children coming home was helpful.  They just wanted to explore and play.

I was taking a break and sitting on a log in the yard, drinking another liter of water. Eight year old Moises had just scouted out the work on the house. Without a word, he plopped down next to me on the log. There we sat, looking at the garbage free yard and new porch.  The smell of paint, bleach and acid oozed from the front door. He then stood up, looked at me and kissed me on the cheek. He sat back down  - a little closer - and put his hand on my leg. We just sat there holding hands silently for a long, lovely time. I don't know who loves who more. His ability to say thank you - without one word - was truer than I have ever experienced.

Other amazing moments - Principal Migel stopped by the house on his way home from school to congratulate the family on their beautiful new home (that is a great educator). Some of my friends on the island sent a table, rugs, bed sheets, curtains and even art to make the house a home.  The laughter Esperanza and I shared throughout the day as we cleaned and painted - she with no English and me with no Spanish - was rich. Miss Elvi stopped by to welcome this new family to her neighborhood - meeting an treating Esperanza like any other working mother of the 21st Century; it was a lesson in grace.

When I left around 11:30 pm, this family had a home. I rode my bike slowly back to town with my hammer and bucket. A shower had never felt better. The prayers on my pillow morphed from "Help Me" to "Thank You."  I will never clean the blue paint off my flip flops, as it is the color of new beginnings.

My flight the next morning was a 9 am. I rode my bike back down to their new home around 7:30. I do have this on video and hope to share it soon, but when the door opened, Nardo jumped on me yelling, "Miss Kim!" like he had not seen me in years. Moises said simply, "It's so pretty." They were dressed in their school uniforms and ready to walk the 3 blocks to school. All were well rested and safe.

There is a God, a Father and a Holy Spirit. Frankly, they all exhaust me, but in the most amazing way.  If you have not had a conversation with one of them lately, you just need to listen.  I promise, they have something to say to you that will change your life.

If you would like to know what you can do to help this family or any of the other children that I work with in Belize, I am not shy to tell you how. My cell is 376-8440 and my email is Kim.creativeconsulting@gmail.com.

Too Many Streets Smarts is Not a Good Thing

I have seen Christian selling jewelry on the beach the last 3 years. He is the man of a family and primary money maker as he is the "face" of their jewelry selling business. I have observed his grandma, mom and aunt wait for him at his school at noon in order to make him work the beach during his lunch hour.  Since arriving on the island, he has a new "pitch." He has memorized, "Hey, sexy lady would you like to buy some jewelry? A beach sandal will make your foot look sexy." It is by rote, and more than disturbing coming out of a 7 year old's mouth.

The 3rd time he approached me and recited his spiel, I was done. I made him sit down and told him that the tourists do not want to hear "Sexy Lady."  Instead, I told him that if he just said, "Hi, my name is Christian, and I am 7 would you like to buy some of my jewelry?" people would be more apt to buy his wares. I know I cannot stop his families' exploitation, but I will do my best to stop the tourists'.  Next, I had his mother and grandmother sit with me, and I tried to explain the same thing to them. They assured me that most women found it "cute." My last tactic was to threaten contacting the authorities   if it continued. It was said more to scare Christian as the women in his life are beyond teaching ethical practices.

Please keep little Christian in your thoughts and prayers. He is a sweet, little boy. All children should be allowed to be just that - children.

Red, Yellow, Black and White; They are Precious in His Sight

"Jesus loves the little children, all the little children of the world. Red, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world."

The Seventh Day Adventist 11 am service was just beginning, and these were the words spilling out their open doors onto the beach. I have now been singing it for an hour as I stroll the white sand and take in the sun that has been missing all week on the island.

Earlier this morning, I had to grab a taxi to help haul my laundry into town.  I enjoy my time with the local taxi drivers. Each ride provides a story. Historical Belizean facts, political tirades, and radio sing-a-longs have been at the most informative and at the least entertaining. However, it doesn't seem to matter if I am going 5 or 15 minutes, I always get their story. Many times, their wives are riding along, but rarely do they offer extra commentary.

In the last 24 hours. I have had to take a taxi 3 times. I learned the history of the student $1 cab fair. The taxi drivers are all committed to picking students up who are walking far north and south of San Pedro town to their perspective schools and cannot ask for any more than $1 (.50 us). I won't offer all the details, but this particular driver was very proud of his involvement in making this service a reality for "all the little children of world."

Driver Horatio and his wife were quite curious about me. It seems they have seen me numerous times with a variety of children "red, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight." When I asked them if they had children, Horatio responded, "No, but we would love one. Do want to give us one of your's?"  He was teasing, but the sadness in his voice real. He then reached over and touched his wife's hand. This couple was beyond its years in the hope for children. The fact that some have more than they can care for and other's ask for so little is an universal unfairness. I assured him that the children that they see with me are claimed and loved locally, but that my 23 year old son in the States was up for grabs. They smiled politely at this old joke.

Dionicio is a taxi driver who has been working on the island for 14  years. He has three children (the oldest is a freshman in high school) who all live on the mainland with his mother. He told me that they had spent their Christmas vacation on Ambergris Caye, and it was difficult to send them back. However, it is too expensive to live and go to school here. Then, with a little chuckle added, "I need to find them a new mom, before I could move them here."

I asked where their mother was. She left years ago and has a new life in the north corner of the country. We drove about a minute before the feminist in me went out the van window. I confessed, "I don't know - as a mother - how I could just leave 3 of my children to begin a whole new life." Dionisio just said, "I don't ever say anything bad about her. It is difficult enough for them to not have her in their lives. I does no good if I say vexed things about her." He went on to say, that as parents we have the responsibility to look at all the good so to teach our children to do the same. Also, we must do whatever possible to provide God, love and security in their lives. "Jesus loves the little children of the world."