I want to thank you

sunrise:  7:12          blog time remaining:  1 sunrise

Tomorrow I'll wrap up my thoughts about a year of sunrise. Today I want to express my appreciation. To all of you who have followed along through this year, or part of it, I want to say thank you. This electronic system of communication and connections has its pitfalls, but the benefits are great as well. The reinforcement of hearing back from people all over the country and the globe is enormously encouraging. It truly kept me going during a few times when I felt hard-pressed to do so.

I wish to everyone a sunrise inspiration, now and again. Please link to the sunrise blogger, where I will carry on with occasional visits to the dawn and the blogosphere.

****I also invite sunrise submissions. ****

I hope to collect dawn photos and reflections from as many locations around the world as possible.  This new blog, I hope, will be more of a group exercise than a solo one.  Join me.

******************

My dear husband had been up for 36 hours straight yesterday evening when he finally got home from work, ate dinner, and sat on the couch with a magazine.  He had told N and boyfriend M that he would play one of our new games with them before he went to bed, since they are leaving today.  His is an indomitable spirit, and he doesn't like to disappoint.

"I'll play, but it needs to be immediately or I'll fall asleep," he said.

About 60 seconds later we were all in the room, and J was completely out, unrousable on the couch.

Perhaps more than anyone, my hard working husband has been my undying supporter through this year of sunrise expeditions and morning writing sessions.  I think he will celebrate the disappearance of daily dawn alarms even more than I will, but he is, was, and will remain my favorite editor, cheerleader, and general provider of inspiration.

And...sorry about the barking dogs.

 

newcomer to adulthood (guest post)

sunrise (Maine):  7:02          blog time remaining:  21 days        
5 degrees Fahrenheit!

2 photos from here in Maine today:

With the publishing of this post my blog now has a guest entry from each of my four children.  The others contributed on June 9th, June 22nd, and Oct. 4th.  I am very grateful to all of them, and pretty proud of their contributions, not just to my blog, but to the wide world.

sunrise in Denver (yesterday): 7:09

GUEST POST FROM A:

In January, the idea of getting up to watch the sunrise was, at best, horrifying. I was still living the life of a college student: working until 1am, sleeping until 10am. Or 11am. So when my mother asked me to do a guest blog post, I wasn’t sure that it was going to happen. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I called my mom on the way to work: “What are you doing up so early??” She asked me. I looked at the clock. 7:00am. Just like every morning since I started my Americorps position as a reproductive health teacher. That was when I realized that getting a look at the sunrise in Denver wouldn’t be such a difficult task. I had been unknowingly watching it rise most mornings for the last few months.

It’s funny how our lives can change so quickly without our awareness, or consent. Of course, it was a chore the first couple of mornings to get out the door by 6:45 or 7am, but after those first couple of days, the weeks and months suddenly fly by. I guess I’m learning what it means to be an adult: someone who does the same thing every day.

It’s not so bad, really. I used to wonder how my parents had gotten so old – I mean, how does that even happen to a person?? I feel like I’m starting to understand now, but I think that part of understanding what it means to grow up is also accepting how little you can know what it will be like 5, 10, 20 years from now. I feel as if I’m standing at the end of a familiar path, looking ahead, but for the first time in my life I have no reference for what the next few steps will hold. I just have to keep walking.

I’ve included a few pictures of the Denver skyline, which might disappoint a few. The mountains do not dominate in the way that we East Coasters imagine. They are there, in the background, slowly changing with the seasons, from brown to white.

"poisoning pigeons in the park"

sunrise:  6:37

Here is one peek at my own backyard sunrise today.

nice to be home.

***********

I have delayed publishing this guest post by 9 days, given all my traveling, but here is T's sunrise blog post:


Poisoning Pigeons in the Park
sunrise 6:34

For some inexplicable reason, some of my friends and I ended up staying up all night
last night. We didn’t party; we didn’t go anywhere all too interesting. We stayed
up, “just ‘cause.” By the time 5:00 rolled around, I thought, what’s the point? I’m
practically there; why not watch the sunrise? I brought it up to my friend, K, and
she said she would stay up another hour and half to watch it with me. Once we had
a reason to stay up, it was much harder to stay awake. We knew if we went to sleep
at all, we wouldn’t get back up in time, so here we are struggling through that last
hour:

Somehow, I’m finding the energy to write this now, before I finally go to sleep.
I’m realizing that that’s kind of how college is going to be: going until Complete
Exhaustion and then going some more.

Here’s the glow of the moon with the glow of a streetlamp (thank you pigeons for
your wonderful timing to get spooked by something).

College is the social scene I never had. During high school, I contented myself with
having a few core friends and leaving it at that. I was in too much of a guarded shell to let more people in. My job this summer broke that shell (because my job was
largely to talk to people) and now I have more friends than I can ever remember
having. I was worried at first that it was just because we were all in the same boat,
with no friends at all, but I’m quickly realizing that many of the people I’ve met thus far are here to stay (and I don’t just mean because they live here).

 K and me with the Boston Common behind us.

Granted, I do like my alone time. I struggled with that when I first got here. I really like my roommate, but when you’re sharing a room with someone, getting time to
yourself is tough. I just want some peace and quiet sometimes. Yesterday morning,
I discovered the solution: I was feeling really sick and I had an early meeting for
the school’s TV channel. I got up, went to Emerson’s café and bought an orange
mango fruit smoothie drink thing (I thought the Vitamin C might help my gross-
feelingness). It was a really hot day so I went and sat on a bench in the Common
and just looked around me. Everything was so chaotic, but had a rhythm to it:

the cars zooming by, the Massholes honking at each other for no reason, the pigeons
waddling about, once in a while flying up together in one, big Whoosh! (something
that always takes me by surprise because I can never tell what makes them all do it
at the same time—kind of like the way I can hardly ever tell what the heck Guster is
barking at—maybe the same thing freaks him out that freaks the pigeons out)…it all
fits into a lively rhythm that can be pretty cathartic.

The poor pigeons probably never get any alone time the way they travel in flocks.
I’m glad I’m not a pigeon.

Here’s a pigeon looking at a homeless person.







Sometimes the pigeons are intimidating. They travel in gangs and the pigeons
in Boston are by no means afraid to tell you how they feel. During my school
orientation, my assigned group was meeting in the Common and we sat down in the
grass. Halfway through the meeting, a pigeon waddled up to a boy in the group and
angrily flapped its wings at him. It reminded me of when squirrels scold you if you
walk too close to their tree, but the pigeon was much more forceful. The unprovoked
attacks and unpredictable take-offs characterize the pigeons here. They make me realize why the satirical song-writer (and amazing pianist!), Tom Lehrer, would write a song like "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park."  He is from Massachusetts, after all. Maybe he had some experiences in the Common with some of these audacious pigeons.

The pigeons are pretty ruthless with each other too; here they are fighting for a
piece of bread.

Unfortunately, in the city, it’s a little hard to get high enough to actually to see the sun rising without getting on the roof of a building, but we get kicked out of our residence hall if we do that. So I didn’t see any sun. I might not have seen it anyway because this morning was very hazy and overcast, but I still managed some nice
photos.

Here’s where the sun would have been.

It’s weird getting used to how different everything is here. I mean, I’ve lived in
Maine for 8 years and before that, I didn’t live in any more of a city-like place than Maine.  Slowly, I’m having to learn what to do and not to do here, how the
subway system works (I hardly ever have to use it anyway because everything is
so close), and all sorts of city things. I love it. I’m really glad I’m here (despite the violent pigeons).

guest blog - Argentina y un techo para mi pais (and a baby deer)

 sunrise:  4:50

My 21 year old son sent in a guest blog from Argentina - a sunrise outing and an amazing day.

But first ---- I include one photo only for its suggestion of my episode in the back fields this morning.  I COULD have taken a photo of the 20 pound fawn that I held in my hands after screaming at the dogs to get away from him, while his mother huffed and bleated from the woods.  But I was too caught up in the moment.

Clara flushed him out, all three joined the chase.  I was much slower to catch up and saw Guster making jabs at the poor thing, but at least they finally backed off in response to my hysterics.  Little guy seemed paralyzed, but after I lifted him to his feet he ran off.  I hope he's okay.

Here they are.  All wet and panting and wishing they could go back for more hot pursuit.  Guster is bound by a belt I had on.

I'm wet and panting too.  Time to get in better shape.

Well - vamanos a la Argentina -- Gracias S!

 **********************
 Report from Argentina - courtesy of S.

Inspired by my sister’s guest blog a few days back, I finally decided to take the plunge and get up to watch the sunrise at…8:00, the wonderfully not-so-late time that the sun rises here in the southern hemisphere.  I actually got up at 6 on Sunday, just as I had on Saturday, to bus out to one of the many poor suburbs of Buenos Aires and build a house for a young, impoverished family.  We worked with Un Techo para mi País (A Roof for my Country), a wonderful non-profit organization that fights poverty by building simple, but sturdy, houses for families that could not otherwise afford a decent roof over their heads.

Unfortunately, this meant that I had to watch the sunrise from a moving bus. 

But that didn’t stop me (as my girlfriend T. will attest) from doing everything I possibly could to capture it on camera.  Here’s a (very) small sample of my efforts.  I apologize in advance for the photo-heavy blog.

T. wasn’t really paying any attention anyways.

I loved how sometimes the blurred billboards and wires and buildings would almost seem to become transparent, allowing the impressionistic sunrise to glow right through them.

A halfway-decent job – certainly nothing like the stunning pinks and oranges of N.’s guest blog (even though I did start watching a full 40 minutes before official sunrise time), but some nice images nonetheless.  It got especially beautiful as we approached the poor neighborhood, right around 8:00, and I could shoot straight out the back of the bus (much more effective than the side)…

And because we had to travel so slowly over the dirt roads that I could snap quick shots of side roads like this one:

The barbed wire has an ominous effect juxtaposed with the glowing sunrise.  In any case, I think that a bus on South American highways may prove to be one of the more unique sunrise locations featured this year. 

****

By the time I finally caught a glimpse of the sun, so long obscured by buildings and billboards, we had arrived.

On Saturday, we had dug holes (pozos) and put posts (pilotes) in them to support the floor,

as well as moving all the prefabricated walls (paredes) and floors (pisos) off the truck and through winding passageways between crumbling structures to our lot.

When we arrived on Sunday, we had nothing but a slightly-raised platform.

Over the course of the day, we would transform it into a house that would provide 20- and 18-year-old Germán and Daniela, along with their 10-month old baby Jessica and their tiny puppy Cucaín, with a sturdy, dry home for at least the next ten years.

I loved how the Techo program was designed – we spent the entire time with the family as we built, drinking mate together, eating meals together, and even building the house together (Germán was a machine).  Unsurprisingly, the unbearably cute Jessica and “Cookie” were a constant source of distraction for the workers all weekend long.

Although it was difficult in many ways, the two days I spent building that house were two of the most rewarding days of my life thus far.  I had a lot of fun with the other kids in my program, and loved spending time with the family and the Techo folks.

Also, although the lack of high-quality building materials or power tools made the job slow and frustrating at times, I was thrilled to rediscover a love for construction work in this simple job – a love for simply working with my hands.  It’s something that’s been lacking in my life while I’ve been away at college, as well as in my last two summer jobs, and it was nice to recapture that a bit.

All that was secondary, though, to the inspiring experience of attempting to make some small difference in the lives of these people.  Meeting this young family and seeing all that they had already had to struggle with in their short lives was overwhelming.  I was unbelievably excited for them – I couldn’t wait to watch them enter their new home at the end of the weekend.  But I was also filled with sadness when I realized that this was but the first step, that they had a long, long way to go before they could escape the slums that were constantly pressing them down.

We encountered some difficulties at the end of the day putting on the roof, with some wayward insulation and problematic corrugated tin,

but we were able to finish with plenty of time to spare, leaving us with a little time to just hang out in the house that we’d built and enjoy the moment.  The family is in the near window.

As the sun set, we hurried out of the poor barrio, no place to be at night.  On the way out, I caught a nicer glimpse of the sunset than any look at the sunrise I’d gotten that morning.

I turned around and got one last look at what we’d done.  In just two days, we had built a house, one that would soon become a home.  I felt a wide range of emotions – excitement for Daniela and Germán, sadness that we were done, pride that we had succeeded, disbelief that it had been possible, and maybe above all the rest, a strong desire to do it again someday soon.

guest blog: a day of getting up to meet the day

sunrise: 4:50

Here are a couple of photos of today's sunrise in Maine, since I can't help myself.  Following that is an offer I couldn't resist.  Middle daughter N. got up to see the sunrise on Sunday, June 6th and was inspired to take photos and write a few things down.

Today's title came from N, and I happily reproduce her pictures and inspired thoughts:

Today I spent my first sunrise of the year outside. I’m not exactly sure what made me actually do it as opposed to the other times when I’ve yanked down the shade, ignored alarms and happily returned to slumber, but I think I picked a good spot to begin. I could hear the waves before I left my bedroom and I didn’t really know what to expect. When I first saw it, it was only a strip of pinks and oranges, and I thought, breath-taking. Little did I know it was just beginning. I couldn’t shake my companion into the waking world so I braved the beach bugs alone. I figured I had to get at least a couple authentic shots without the give away glass reflection in the corner of the photo.

It all looked like some sort of cheesy California movie, with the white froth splashing at just the right moments over the rocks. It’s a shame that that steals my mind space even on the very not-movie coast of southern New Hampshire. It’s overcast, which I am hypothesizing makes a pretty picture, as the light has a medium (the clouds) to reflect its colors off of. And the whole sky was pink for awhile; even the water was pink. I wonder if all the little fishies wake up when their entire home turns to grapefruit juice. Finally all the colors got sucked back up into a ball of condensed life, and the sun was visible for just a bit in its natural form. I think the evolution is the coolest part.

It’s cool when you see other life forms, especially humans, outside at a time like this. But there were about five! All maybe for different reasons – a runner, a couple, a man with his dog (that wasn’t paying much attention to the glorious display), and an almost too late man armed with a camera. Someone should have told him all the pretty colors come first. Good thing I have a crazy mama who is out there for every one. And now I know why she writes. I wonder if she knew how fitting it was when she began. Or if I would have had the sudden irresistible urge to find a pen as I sat deliriously staring at the sky even without her project in my mind. Either way, the serenity and the colors, the general atmosphere and idea of the moment seemed to call for thought and reflection and written words. Thoughts about my stomach that feels sick, being forced awake way before it wanted to. Thoughts about family or friends or decisions or lack of decisions or peacefulness or love or anything like that. But mainly just about sunrises and water and clouds. And about me as a part of it all, at least for this one time.