Theory of Dakotability

The working name of my writings is Theory of Dakotability. I have to give credit where is credit is due. My dear friend Mary Garry introduced it to me years ago, and like any good artist, I have borrowed it ever since. It is the truest of theories with which I have experienced. Simply, when the rest of the world is playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Separation, in the Dakotas, it boils down to One Degree of Everyone.  It usually begins like this, “I know someone from South Dakota.” I follow with, “Who?” We are a state of family names.  Especially since I was an athlete, I know all the players and names. Are you a Daily or Allard  - Jefferson/Elk Point.  Webers are from  Bridgewater.  Glanzers are Armor or Freeman natives, Kings are Lyman County and Knights are Beresford all day long. By the way, I am the same girl that can name the mascot if you give me the South Dakota school.

I could probably dedicate a chapter of this work to each time I have experienced this theory, but I want this to be a short book of musings and not an encyclopedia of experiences. Let’s just say that the Theory of Dakotability has been proved true as I have traveled the world.

Ambergris Caye, Belize

·         A college friend and her daughters booked a room next to my house on the beach. As I ran by with a group of my favorite students, I heard, “Kim is that you?”

·         Someone saying, “Aren’t you Kim Bartling?” as I walked out of an ice cream parlor with an entourage of children. This person was wearing a SDSU Jackrabbit t-shirt.

·          “Hey Bartling!” from 2 former students as they climbed on a boat to leave the island as I was walking on the beach to work.  

·         A tap on the shoulder by a young woman behind me in line at the famous Thursday Chicken Drop line followed by, “I think you taught me junior English.”  This former student just happened to be vacationing with my father’s oncology nurse, so it was a double wammy.

New York City - more times than I can recall, but here are a couple of my favorites…

·         After the production of Cabaret with Alan Cumming, I waited by the stage door.  I loved AC, so I waited.  Also at the stage door was a lovely group of young college students on Spring Break from Boston.  They were discussing as to whom was going to take pictures if – in fact – Mr. Cumming would pose. I finally said, “Ladies, give me your cameras, and I will take the pictures with all of your cameras.” They looked at me with a combination of hope and fear. It was a great solution, but they were in NYC and had been warned that everyone was to be feared.  I finally said in their obvious hesitation, “I am from South Dakota. I am not going to steal your cameras.”  To which one girl said, “I am from Sioux City, Iowa.”

 I retorted, “I am from Sioux Falls. What high school did you go to?”

 “Heelan,” she said. I shared that I taught at O’Gorman.

 She confessed, “I went to prom with Jason Grenevitch.”

 “I was his advisor and teacher of sophomore English and speech.” Done, done and done.

 

·         Mike Capps. After the Broadway production of Doubt with Cherry Jones and Bryan O’Brynn, I had questions for Ms. Jones.  It was a extraordinary cold evening and despite the success of the production, the weather kept fans at bay – with the exception of me and a gorgeous blonde that oozed of class and money.  Frankly, she just didn’t look like the type who would stand by a stage door and wait for anyone.  We struck up an immediate conversation. She lived in the Upper West Side, worked in marketing, had three beautiful, successful daughters. She was married to her second husband, whom she met over a crime scene in Texas as each of them was covering it for separate media houses. It was a fun story.   

Once the two of us had our time with the cast and asked out questions, we walked one another down the street – me to the subway and her to called car. I said, “I am excited to get home at a decent hour as I can still catch the last innings of some spring training baseball games.” She simply responded, “Oh, you and my husband would get along great.  He is a baseball announcer during the actual season.” I stopped, processed and said, “Is your husband Mike Capps?”  Seriously?  “How do you know my husband?” I assured her that it was all legit and that my brain just did the math for me.  They were from Texas, husband left the city after 9/11, he worked for CBS sports and announced baseball.  I know a guy named Mike Capps who used to be the announcer for the Sioux Falls Canaries that met all of those criteria.

 We decided to go out for dinner together and dial Mike once he got off the air at 11 pm.  She called and said, “Hey honey, I have someone here who would like to speak to you.”

“Mike, how about you and I road trip to Fargo this weekend to announce a Redhawks – Canaries game and make fun of all the ‘I give up’ outfits the local women wear?” 

“Holy shit, Bartling, how did you get ahold of my wife’s phone?” 

It is the Theory of Dakotability baby!

It has happened to me outside the Vatican,  a train station in Germany, spring training in Mesa, the Sundance Film Festival,  and at a minor league baseball stadium in New Jersey. Even my sister who lives in Baltimore has had an episode happen on my behalf. A man stopped her outside her house because she had South Dakota plates. Turns out, that his wife was my stage manager when I directed Steel Magnolias at the Sioux Empire Community Theatre in 2008. Yep…..Theory of Dakotablity.

 

Love is an Action

"Love is not a feeling; it is an action." I just caught the end of Dan in Real Life as I changed from my morning to my afternoon swimsuit. "Love is not a feeling; it is an action" is the catch phrase from that flick, and I like it. In the past three weeks, it has been difficult for me to find time to process my tales with my sister, let alone, my feelings and/or actions online.  Here is what I know....a partner in crime on the island resulted in more fun, more spending, more love and less time.

When we first got here, it was a lovefest of introductions. “This is my sister Jenn,” should have just been a t-shirt that I wore. As a side note, for the past two days, every other person I run into – from the Rastah guys on the beach to the taxi drivers on the corners to Thomas who owns the hotel  to numerous children ask, “Where is Ms. Jennie?” or “Where is your friend?”

Jennie and I immediately introduce ourselves as sisters, because we have been mistaken as a lesbian couple numerous times. These stories used to crack our dad up.  I blame Jenn’s hair and the fact that she drives a truck. In truth, we are both typically reading sports biographies poolside and, well, our shapes and take no prisoner energy lend to a stereotype.  In short, it did not take long for my sister to need no introduction in this small community.

Not having the students in session for school was odd for me. To assuage my mother’s fears that I would make a habit of Christmas in Belize, I can confidently assure everyone that I missed my pattern of going to school everyday. I do not come to Belize for the sun and Belikans; I come for children and renewal of water. Many of the kids found us immediately, like heat seeking missles looking for the warmth of hugs and attention. Seeing them “out of uniform” of their assigned school dress code actually took away my ability to see each of them specifically – a familiar facial expression or a favorite smile became lost in the homogenied modern fashions taken from their culture of the north. 

Playing BINGO on Friday night’s at the Lion’s Den is one of the high points of my week. The Lion’s Den is a facility in the middle of town ran by mostly expiate Lion’s members; this place hosts everything from BINGO to Sweet Fifteen parties. It is a great night to meet locals. I sit with my regular posse of women who come with their mothers,  children, dogs and sometimes even a husband or two.  The BINGO shark is Busy, who just happens be the most popular and successful “girlfriend for hire” on the island.  She is just one of the town’s colorful personalities. Jen and I had luck only one Friday, winning just enough for pay for the night’s expenses of playing.

I had heard that Santa was going to be at the Lion’s Den the next day.  So, Jenn and I rounded up our usual suspects and headed into town. We sang carols the entire way.  They prefer Rudolph and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Also, as we walked past the cemetery, I asked the boys, “Do you know how many people are dead in the gravesite?” “No,” they said. “All of them,” was the obvious answer. After that, every time we walked by Gloriel would say, “Do you know how many dead in dere?  All of does!”It never got old.

We discovered that we were really early for Santa Claus. Also, there are different rules about seeing Santa here.  Turns out that families bring actual gifts for their children in advance.  Then, when Santa calls their name, they come up, sit on his lap, get  pics taken and given the gift. It was then that Operation Lion’s Den went into full love action.  We sent the boys off to play for a couple hours and we booked it back to the hotel.  We both had brought Dollar Store and gently used clothes and toys from home.  Also, while back at the hotel, I asked Carolina (the housekeeper) if her daughter Emiline would like to accompany us when we returned.  She came back asking if the babysitter and her kids could come too. Sure - the more the merrier.  Suddenly, finding shirts and toys for 3 boys evolved into a gender mixed group of eight -  ages nine and younger. We wrapped dresses and toys making sure names were spelled correctly on the packages as Santa never misspells your name!

Santa was on Beliezan time. The event was suppose to begin at 3. At 4:30, he was just arriving. During the 90 minute wait, children were coming in off the street asking, “Miss, does Santa know I am here?”  Jenn and I would ask, “Were you nice all year?”  Of course all of them assured us they had been.  So, I would hitch a golf cart ride back to the hotel and pull another used promotional frisbee that someone had donated.  Also, each kid that came in to see Santa had to  pay $2.50, which got them a paper bag full of treats and a juice.  After about the 4^th kid straggled in, I just looked at Jenn, we both just smiled and nodded.  Yep,  whatever the cost, we were in.  On a couple occasions, Jenn had to step away as it just because too emotional.  When these kids heard their names called they sprinted to Santa.  You have never seen happier kids to receive a used Frisbee.  Had it been a new ipod, they couldn’t have been more excited!  Jose told Jenn on the way home, it is the first Christmas present that he had ever received.  We thought that the day before where we stood on the top of Lamini to say "Hello" to our father on anniversary of his death was “the best day EVER.”  We were wrong; this one was.

On Christmas Eve, Jenn and I donned our Santa hats and headed out to deliver gifts. Ivo’s family was our first stop before heading to Gloriel’s family for the actual Eve celebration.   These wacky Belizians begin their celebration at midnight with a large meal. We had turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy but they served it all cold. Also, they served this with sandwiches. The desert was cake.  There are fireworks and by the time it was all done, we rolled into bed around 4 am. To be welcomed into the ____ Family is one of the precious gifts I have received since coming to the island.

Christmas morning we got up in time for Christmas Mass. It was a beautiful mass with less than stellar singing. Jen and I belted all of our favorite carols out  - with love and volume.

On Christmas Day, we waited until late afternoon to put on the Mr. and Mrs. Claus outfits that I had brought.  We borrowed a sleigh aka golf cart to go to the poorer areas of the island – clothes, toys, shoes, books were distributed. The miracle was that we had just enough for every child and family we encountered. Love is an action.  The love we received was palpable.

Christmas night, Jenn and I invited Gloria, Mishelby, and Gloriel to go to Cocoblanco, the 5 star restaurant that Shelby and JR had just began working.  We knew they would not be able to share the evening unless we went to them. Also, we knew that they would never be able to afford to eat in the restaurant unless we took them.  So we got all dressed up and took the water taxi.  I don’t know who was more proud Shelby when his family walked in or Gloria to see her husband and son working is such a beautiful environment.   It was a fantastic way to celebrate Chistmas.

 

Hello Dad - From Your Brown Eyed Girls. We Miss You!

From Lamini with Love!

The Beginning - Not The End

The talk about this trip with Jen began over a year ago.  Since dad died on the 21^st of December and - one year later - was the “brouhaha” about the end of the world as the Mayan Calendar ended on that same day, it seems only logical that we be on top of one of the tallest and oldest Mayan ruins on the one year anniversary of Dad’s death.  Also, I kept teasing Jenn, that if the world did end, we should be as close to Heaven as possible so Dad could reach down, and I could push to ensure her admittance.

Despite a year of planning, in typical Schetnan fashion, nothing ever goes down as planned. We booked our boat with Reef Adventures directly and then had our hotel double book us with the Searious tours just to make sure we were covered.  I stopped by RA and confirmed with K-del on Thursday that we were all set.  He assured me it was all ready to go and to be at the end of the dock by 7 am. Cool.

At 7 am the next morning, we watched as the Searious boat (of which we were double booked) drive right by the dock. Not Cool. No worries, I assured Jenn many boats leave for the mainland at this time and our boat is probably coming shortly.  By 7:30, we were calling Searious.  They had no record of us. We moved quickly down to Reef Adventures to see what the heck happened and demand they take us personally, but they do not open til 8. In the meantime, I am lamenting to Jiggi (a friend from trips past) and his buddy as to what happened.  His friend said, “At this point, the only way to go to a ruin today is to fly. The last plane leaves at 8.”  It is now 7:55.  So, in Amazing Race mode, we book it to Tropic Air.  They are boarding the final Lamini flight. It is about $100 more per person to fly which was NOT in these unemployed budgets.  I looked at Jenn and she was tearing up….this is exactly why God created credit cards – what the heck!  I said, “Ok, book us.”

When I pulled out my wallet, I found no credit card.  I forgot that I had given it to Jenn 2 nights before, and it was still in her jeans. Unfreakingbelievable. I looked at the agent and said, “Listen, I work regularly at Holy Cross.  I promise to pay you upon return.  We are going as a is a tribute to our father.”  She handed us boarding passes.  Jenn did not even have an ID on her! 

Because of the date, all the ruins were expecting a huge surge of people.  In fact, some of them even hosted parties and camping the night before. Because we flew (and landed on a road that Jennie described as reminiscent of the gravel road leading into the Sherman church), we beat most of the crowds. After the amazing trip up the Belize river, we went right into the forest and Lamini < http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamanai>.  When we got to the high temple, there was actually quite a crowd.  Our guide told us to wait a few minutes and then climb. He had our backs. When Jen and I got to the top, everyone was just leaving.  For a good 5 minutes, we were the only two on top!!  How does that happen?  The Holy Spirit!  We prayed, we spoke directly to dad, we hugged and then we just sat quietly and held hands. Dad was laughing at us – we heard him!

Crusing up the Belize River - Monkeys, Crocodiles, Anteaters...Oh My!

Belize Meet My Sister!

It has been a week and I have not found time to write.  Maybe it is more accurate to say that so much happens each day that I am not sure that I can adequately describe the Miracles on 18.0139° N, 87.9310° W latitude and longitude with words.

Before I left, someone back home asked me if it would be weird having my sister join me on this trip. I was confused. They went on to say, “Well, you have your own life and passions there; will your sister cramp your style?” That individual did not obviously understand the code of the “I’m In Girls.”  My sister is not only my best friend; she is my favorite travel partner in crime. I could not wait to introduce someone in my blood family to my families on Ambergris Caye.  so far, the only problem I have with her here is a lack of alone time to write.  Together, we just want to go, go, go.

The first couple of days, it was all about introductions – landmarks and people. People are fascinated by Jen as she “kind of” looks like Ms. Kim, and seems to know them before they even meet. As Jen has said numerous times, she is really enjoying putting breathing bodies to the stories and pictures.

Thursday night, we attended the famous Chicken Drop at a local watering hole. Basically it is chicken poop Bingo.  If the chicken drops on your number, you win.  And win we did – we left $50 richer. The center of the city was crawling with locals as a huge Mayan Celebration began around 8 pm. Dance groups, civic speeches, singing etc. continued until – I was told – until 5 am when the new Mayan Epoch was to begin. As I had already invested in a return ticket in January of 2013, I had faith the world was safe from any media manipulation that suggested the contrary. I needed to get to bed as 12-21-12 was a day that my sister and I had been planning for throughout the past year.

Ps...The Yankees Do Not Suck!

Thursday afternoon consisted of beating the hell out of the chairs that I bought so that I could distress them with paint. Thursday night I wanted to watch the Yankees/Baltimore game, so I finally showered for the first time in 4 days and went into town with Teake. He did laundry and I went to a restaurant that had the game on. The evening was going well as I enjoyed a delicious meal. On the top of the 8th inning, when the game was tied 7-7, a local couple in their 60's bellied up to the bar. Three minutes later, all the TVs changed as the A's were to begin their game. I asked the bartender if there were seriously going to change the station, and he apologized profusely as he said, "Yes."

The older couple was totally amused by question and muttered, "Yankees Suck." I ignored them politely and kindly reminded the bartender that I had asked if I could watch the game when I initially arrived.  I ordered food and a couple of beers. I was told that the couple were die hard A fans as is everyone in Guerneville, and that they had priority. Did I mention it was 7-7 in the 8th? I quickly paid my bill and hustled to another spot that he recommended. As I left, the couple yelled, "Go A's. Yankees Suck!" An hour later when I called Teake to pick me up and was walking to the corner of Main and River Road, the couple saw me and stepped out onto the sidewalk to harass me with continued chorus of "go back to the East Coast" and of course, "Yankees suck." So much for the laid back welcoming attitude of Guerneville.