mostly ramble.

It's well into my second week as a volunteer at the Missionaries of Charity in Kolkata. I had to escape to the cyber cafe to run away from the humid sauna our apartment has turned into. It is so unbelievably hot, it feels like your body is boiling inside and bubbling up through your skin. Gross, I know. All I can think about is standing under a waterfall and drinking a cold beer, or floating down a cool silky river on an inner tube. It's amazing the things you start to miss once you don't have them anymore.
Again, for lack of words, I'm just going to add a little of what I have been writing in my journal so bear with me...

I wish I could take a photo of each of their faces and hold in my memory; as a reminder of them and their unknown struggles, and as a reminder of this place in time in all of their lives, and in my own life. Sometimes I have to escape to the rooftop to hang laundry out to dry, like I did today. As escape from the sticky hot air distilled with disinfectant. I can stand there and watch the streets below, busy as bees swarming on a hive.
Meena passed away yesterday and today I saw them carry her body away. Encased in a white wrinkled cloth, she lay on the stretcher made of thin wooden rods, covered head to toe in white. Her body was so small, so frail, so lifeless. As if they were just carrying a tray of feathers. She will be cremated, and according to Hinduism her body will be reincarnated in 13 days, when her soul can finally be freed from her tired body.
She died of malaria, and here I am, reluctantly scratching away at the maze of mosquito bites running down my legs. She died of malaria, a treatable disease, and there was nothing anyone could do. This is India, and there is nothing anyone can do most of the time, at this 'Hospice' where we work.
25-4
Shundar, she is 30 years old. She had a life one time. She had a family one time. She was married to a husband, one time. That husband, he stole her life away, and now she sits in Kalighat, day after day in tormenting pain, outcast from her family and friends, alone. Her husband, in all is glory, poured acid over her. He poured acid over his wife's body, drenching her skin from her neck to her waist. From her neck down, her skin is pink, red, open flesh, blistering slowly as it begins to heal. Her head cannot move from side to side but is stuck looking straight ahead, slanting down towards the floor.
Her hair, black as night, is cut closely to her head, and her skin is the color of dark chocolate melting on a hot day. Her small child like hands have begun to turn white at the fingertips, where most of her nails are missing. There are splattered white spots running up to her wrists as if someone spilled milk on her hands and it danced from her fingers up her skin. There are open holes, scars, in her ears and nose, where jewels used to live; a token of prosperity and marriage. She is only adorned now, in a brightly colored flowered Salwar (Indian style long shirts) frock, with a delicate tie laced at the back of her neck. Her small wrists hold a few bangles, like many of the patients; they clink up and down clapping together as she moves, slowly, slowly.
Today the sisters were put to task to re bandage her wounds, a daunting duty brought forth every few days, and only to those with the skills, patience, and compassion to complete it.
I want to tell her that I could kill her husband. This kind of thing, tragically, happens often in India, in Nepal, and as far as I know around the world. How can we live in a world that permits this kind of thing to happen to women, and as if the woman did something wrong, like Shundar, she is discarded to the streets like a limp rag.

I will leave it at that, and if you are still reading then I applaud you. Sometimes it seems only the truly shocking things are worth putting into words, when really, there are some beautiful and amazing things happening every day all around me. Maybe since I am no doctor or nurse, the wounds and pain I witness every morning truly were shocking at first, but like anything you must build up a shield over time that allows that pain to float away, and the healing to set in. Who knows, but at least I have narrowed out one field of work, medicine; definitely not my thing, it's official.
If I mentioned all the diseases that run rampant in this country, it would be as if we were back in time on the Oregon Trail, or during the Civil War, when people died of incurable diseases like TB, typhoid, cholera...and now AIDS, malaria, scabies, and other unmentionable conditions I have never even heard of. And now, this ungodly thing called 'swine flu,' is this really happening. I left the dark ages of Nepal which had suffered from bouts of the BIRD FLU a few months ago, to now reading of the swine flu, potential 'pandemic' spreading around the world. That is some scary shit.
Even though some of the women live with the most grotesque and disturbing wounds I have ever seen, the most shocking realization I think for many of us volunteers, is the age of many of the patients. They are our age. A new patient that came in a few days ago is 19 years old, with a body smaller than an anorexic model, and tuberculosis. We have our entire lives ahead of us, and there are women and men whos dreams have been dashed in the muddy waters of Kolkata. It's hard to grasp now, but the intense feeling of gratitude and appreciation for the lives we lead at home, is to say the least, indescribable. We have everything at our feet.
One week to go, I'll keep you posted.

Kalighat.

I got yelled at by a nun. Yes, that's right a nun scolded me, really? Is that even possible? Sister Mary Katherine Francis, I admit I don't know their names, they are just sister or Massy. This whole volunteering thing is really a bit more like diving in the ocean. Diving in the ocean with no oxygen, no mask, and no flippers and just sinking sinking sinking. You either drown, or keep sinking until you hit a cave illuminated with light. I think I just barely made it into the cave.

Every morning the patients get their medicine, so the other day, I was handed some pills in a little plastic cup and a glass of water. i was told to give the medicine to number 16, all the women are assigned numbers in order to keep things organized and with over 50 women in a room it is rather hard to remember their names. most of which are something like Rani, Shefali, etc. These days with my even broken English, it's pretty hard to remember names in Bengali.

So I approached 16 cautiously, but with grace I might add. This woman, along with a few others, is literally a walking, breathing skeleton. One eye is clouded over, gone blind; teeth are missing in all directions; her limbs are nothing more than taught skin stretched over protruding bones;I can hold her head in the palm of my hand, feeling the rough stubble of her missing hair, and the shape of her skull. She is in terrible shape. She can sit up on her own, but the cringe part is when you actually have to lift them up yourself; it's like grabbing onto a skeleton, and it feels like the bones might break under any pressure.

She reluctantly swallowed the first pill and syrup, but was having trouble taking down the last pill. She dipped the plastic cup into her water glass trying to mix the two to make it easier. Still no luck. After several attempts she decided to give up and feebly lay back down. What was I to do, force this little orange pill into her failing body? It feels like I am walking with the living dead.

I asked another volunteer to help me, but she somehow did not understand so immediately went up to a sister and questioned her. Word gets out, and this crazy Korean nun starts yapping at me, 'it's your responsibility, you made a big mistake.'

Obviously, I understand, this is peoples lives. But, with no direction, no organization, no experience, and my first time in a room with dying people, really nun, can you give me a break for a second? I wanted to ask her what would Jesus do, but I thought that might be inappropriate.

So coughing back a few tears I let it roll off me, and continued on my way. So most of our duties at Kalighat, literally the Home for the Destitute and Dying include; maid service. No joke. Even the doctor and nurse volunteers, all of us who have travelled from around the world to be here, admit they feel a little useless. With a lack of supplies and medicines it really is hard to do the correct treatments. Regardless, I suppose at the end of the day all we can really do is try to have a little compassion for these women; channel our positive energy into making their day just a little better; basically just trying to be nice and give them some kind of recognition. I feel useless most of the time.

There was a women with AIDS, she lay in the corner, secluded, alone, dying. I will never get her face out of my mind. Her body is nothing more than bones, again, wrapped up tightly in her skin. He head was completely bald, and she lay underneath her kurta buried in the folds of fabric draped around her. She lay there so completely helpless and in pain, all we could really do is put ice packs on her feverish body, and hold her hand giving her some human touch. On her neck the lymph node was swollen to an unimaginable size. Elena, another volunteer, came over and sat near me as I was sitting with this woman, looked at me and said matter of factly, "AIDS," just nodding her head in confirmation. I knew this was probably the case, but saying it out loud is like throwing a stone through the window.

Yesterday the head nun told me to cover her in a sheet. Later in the afternoon, the sheet was pulled over her head.

Not to be so dramatic, but I thought I should share at least something from the volunteer aspect. Otherwise, everything else is great. Kolkata is starting to be my favorite city in India, ironic that it is the last Indian city I will visit on this epic journey. It feels different. So for now, I will just keep on being baked by the sun-by far the hottest time in India, and hottest city yet-and keep on being a secret spy in the Catholic Missionaries of Charity, that's how it feels sometimes.

Not to mention, today I moved into another apartment! It's only for two weeks, but so much better than the shit hole dorm room I was staying at. We have our own little global community going on, the American, two Dutch girls, and a Parisian. Sounds pretty good to me.

There are just so many things to share, it's hard to know what to write, what to censor, and what to leave for home. Regardless, I can't wait to just sit down in a room with people and disclose all those things I have been leaving out. Trust me, I have enough stories to spend the next three years writing a book.

Lastly, thank you heaps to all of you who have responded in some way to this blog. Your messages and encouragement are really what keep me going, and its always really nice to hear that people actually are reading, so keep em coming.

day 299 on the road!!

peace.

what to say.

Calcutta. Where do I even begin with this one. I am pretty much at a loss for words you guys. I'm nearing my 300th day on the road...and I still have over 40 days left. Whaatt?!

So rather than try to decipher anything, really, I will just post a little something from my journal because I don't think I can possibly try to reiterate anything more than that.

April 14th, Day Two Kolkata.

The sunlight illuminates everything in the morning, lighting up the streets, the chai-wallahs, rickshaws, women walking proudly in saris, Muslims greeting passersby. The sticky heat is refreshing in a new way, bringing me back to the insanity of India's third largest city. Sometime I really wonder what brought me here, to this place, at this exact moment in time. Time just rolls by, carrying me under the wind, and tumbling me along from one place to the next. Calcutta, again, is unlike anything I have seen or experienced in India so far, after nearly ten months away, I am once again swept off my feet.

The contrast between the beautiful and horrendous is as prevalent as the cab drivers looking for a passenger, patiently sitting on yellow rooftops lining the streets. The streets are filled from every nook and cranny, and every crevice and crack with life happening before my eyes. Small children sit crouched in corners on haunches, bathing under buckets of water, cascading across their shimmering dark skin. The men stand around in crowds, donning the beautiful blue checkered lungis-basically a wrap around skirt.

This is what I wrote the same day...I don't think I believe in God. I do believe in a higher being, something wrapped up and bound tightly within us, maybe just the magic of the universe, or maybe I just get uncomfortable when we all feel the need to put a name on it.

And this is the following day...

Everything seemed to go downhill the minute I woke up from a nap, because that seems like the only thing I am capable to do in this heat. I rolled myself out of bed and began the thirty minute walk to the Mother House, no longer in the comfort of my 'room' with a fan, but once again smack dab in the middle of Calcutta, there really is no escape.

I arrived at the house which was slowly filling with people and we began the orientation abruptly. Not even ten minutes had passed and I began feeling like I would faint, since you know that has become normal these days, I slowly crawled from my position on a table to the floor and leaned against the table leg. That just was not even enough and soon I was sprawled out on the grimy concrete floor while this Irish dude was giving his speech. I would have fainted otherwise, at least I know the signs now, right.

I noticed a group of girls when they entered the room, for the enormity of their group, especially when you travel alone and a group of four appears massive. Their presence in numbers immediately changed the atmosphere and took over the room. A few of them looked to be no older than 15 years old. When I was called to be next in line, I had to sit down on the only bench which was occupied by one such girl. We start chatting and I find out that low and behold, she is actually from Washington too. I was asking about their group, and i come to find out they are Youth Missionaries.

They are based in Pismo Beach California, and here they are as Catholic Youth Missionaries, "Spreading the Gospel," in India, a predominantly Hindu Nation. She asks if I have heard of their group, and think well obviously not, she continues to tell me how it was started 70 years ago by some amazing dude who had the brilliant idea to ship teenagers around the world, to developing countries, and preach the Gospel.

Well, praise the Lord my name was called soon after this conversation or I may have said something inappropriate. I knew when I came here there would be a lot of Catholics involved in the volunteering, so maybe it was mostly out of curiosity that I was drawn to this place. To see how the Catholic community functions in a Hindu Nation, with the Catholic Headquarters situated in a Muslim neighborhood of the city. Quite a mouth full.

So, I have come to the conclusion, that no, I do not believe in God. There you have it. I don't think I have ever uttered those words aloud to anyone, and now here they are in words, all over the Internet. I guess when you are dehydrated and on the verge of, well a lot of shit, anything can happen right. I think we might all be going a little crazy in India.

No more skirting around the issue like I have done for years. Yes I believe in something higher, but how about reaching out on a limb and not calling it God. Just today, in talking with other Westerners living and traveling in India, I think we have all concluded that until you come to India, it is pretty safe to say, You have no idea. Clearly, that's the case in most places, but I feel confident in saying that India feels different than any place on earth I have ever been, and it will knock you off your feet in a minute if you are not careful.

Maybe I only say this because after the near collapse at the house of God, and the close encounter with the missionaries, I was walking home and got lost again. So walking around trying to look like I own the place and pretending like I know exactly where I am going, when two older Indian men start aggressively approaching me. As they get up in my face they sputter out, ' fucking, fucking, fucking, i fucking you.' They walked confidently up to me and said this in my face, getting so close I could almost feel their spit land on my face and mix with my sweat.

Maybe it was because I just renounced God, or maybe it's because I am still in India, but either way it just makes me feel sick. Bottom line. The absolute worst part about encounters like this, and this is no where near the worst of the worst, is the instantaneous bubbling fear that boils up, rising to my face, spreading like a flame. I feel powerless, frightened, and alone. Not to mention disgusted. These men will never know that feeling. I know they mistreat their own women, but in a place where a woman's husband is barely allowed to see his own wife's face in public, the way they treat Western women is preposterous. Is this a sign that we really should be wearing burkha? Is that how extreme we have to get, or do we just accept the disrespect and move on without causing a scene. I don't know what to do.

I had my first day as a volunteer yesterday, and was supposed to be back this morning. I just felt too sick when I got there to stay, so a friendly Dutch girl helped me get back home, and now here I am trying to decipher what to write.

As for the volunteering, that is a whole new can of worms, literally, so I will have to let it settle for a few days and get back to you. Maybe just imagine all of the people in the worst condition you have ever seen, in your life, put them all in one room on empty cots lining the walls, and now walk in....that's where I am standing. Seriously, I may just be counting the days until I get to come home.

peace.

just a few words from the wise.

"Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we're absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand." -Ivan Turgenev

I already shared this on FB, but its just too perfect to leave out on here as well.

' It is not easy to move through the world alone, and it is never easy as a woman...Keep money you can get to, an exit behind you, and some language at your fingertips...know how to strike a proud pose, curse like a sailor, kick like a mule, and scream your brothers name, though he may be three thousand miles away. At times I wonder that I am still alive.'
-Mary Morris
Nothing to Declare: Memoirs of a Woman Traveling Alone.

Hmm..that all sounds a bit too familiar.

too many things to do today, like lay in my bed because I nearly fainted from dehydration yesterday. so I'm just taking it easy. Calcutta is kicking my ass so far, and there are plenty of stories soon to come.

Stay tuned.

cambia toda cambia

"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." -Anais Nin.

When life drastically changes from one life to the next new beginning, I am always pulled between my past and future. Where will this new path take me, how has my past path driven me here, will I ever know exactly where I am going and what I will be doing? I think the answer to that last question is becoming more and more prevalent, that no, I may not ever know.

There is some magnetic pull that draws people to travel. Some force greater than ourselves that sends us seeking something; in the deserts, oceans, skies, and stars around the globe. A search for a change from the mundane, a shift from the daily grind, and maybe a search to find something greater than ourselves. The risk as always though, is this, something I have recently started to discover, the risk is that when we go back to our "normal" lives we will never live the same. Nothing will glimmer the way it does as a bright eyed traveler steps off the plane. Nothing will ever be as exhilarating or exciting, as when you see the sun setting over the ocean in India, or you sit through a 14 hour over night bus ride winding through the hills of Nepal. Nothing will ever be as unpredictable. This is also why I feel confident to say I might just be flying away for a lifetime, not only to search for those exhilarating and humbling experiences, but to keep life a little bit interesting.

I'm not cynical, but I really believe this is the high risk we are all willing to take when we leave everything that is safe, comfortable, and familiar for an suspecting road full of twists and turns. A life full of surprises, challenges, and constant change. Living and traveling abroad, for me at least, has never provided a dull minute. There are so many unexpected events throughout the day, something I 't think I have ever experienced living the states. Just simply walking the twenty minutes from home to work is a risk in itself. Now that I have mastered weaving through traffic like pac-man on speed, seriously, I can walk across five lanes of traffic no, no problem. The surprises and obstacles truly are unbelievable in quantity.

Something about change that is really beginning to wear me down though, is the constant goodbyes. Saying goodbye just really takes something out of you, and I don't think it will ever get easier. I feel so lucky for the handful of really great friends I have made in Nepal, but what makes leaving the hardest, is having to say goodbye again. When you meet people abroad, sometimes the connection is almost instant, as if you can skip all the small talk and same stories and just get right down to the knitty gritty. Time has no indication of friendship, some people you might spend a week with while traveling seem like life long friends, and this is quite remarkable. I don't know if it's the searching for human connections or solidarity, or just a need to socialize, but it consistently happens when you are out of the comfort zone.

All in all, I guess I'm back to the usual philosophizing about changes in life and trying to figure it all out. The most terrifying, yet beautiful part of all of this, is that I just might not. So for now I think I'll kick back, relax, throw my hands in the air, and dance in the street. Who's with me?

"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." -Barack Obama

back back back to India

five more days left in Kathmandu, and I am about to embark on yet another adventure. It's beginning to feel like the minute I get settled somewhere, then I am off again! There have been countless transitions, goodbyes, new friends, and the nervous excitement that comes with arriving in a new place, wide eyed and ready to take it all in.

I depart for Kolkata (Calcutta) on Monday. Something I have been planning since I left Seattle, LAST SUMMER, and yet another place that seems, to say the least, a little terrifying. I have had Kolkata in the back of my mind for months on end now, and through some random connections and advice have found myself drawn there, for some reason.

I fly into the city Monday afternoon, with little more than a few words from acquaintances and a name of the place I am to go. I will be undertaking another role as a traveler, volunteer, to spend some time at the Missionaries of Charity House in the city. There are many scattered around India, but the house in Kolkata (Calcutta) is the original, and a sort of "headquarters," which was established by Mother Theresa in the 1950's. There was controversy over these houses originally for the Catholic influence in a predominantly Hindu Nation, but the work they do has slowly been well renowned for taking in the poorest of the poor, and giving them a safe place to be as they pass on into the next life.
They take volunteers at any time, some stay for a day, some for a week, some for months at a time. Honestly, I have little idea of what I am getting myself into, or what exactly I will be doing with my time there. There are three different houses spread around the city; one which houses the destitute and dying, and one for babies and orphans, people with HIV/AIDs, and soup kitchens. Sounds glamorous, no? I will be there for about three weeks, with only a few short plans to hop up to Darjeeling for the weekend, and possibly a side trip to Bangladesh for a few days.
I have no idea what to expect, other than the overwhelming poverty, distress, and corruption running rampant in much of India. Kolkata is the third largest city, with over 15 million people inhabiting every crevice, and from what I have gathered, is not too pretty. It is the capital of West Bengal, on the North Eastern Coast bordering Bangladesh.
Why, why am I going there you might ask? Why would I even subject myself to this? Well, these questions tumble around my mind all the time, believe me, but I guess it's just another one of those moments when I am searching for a humbling experience. To jump in and do the little tiny bit that I can, to either put a smile on someones face, or give an ear to hear their stories and share mine. I have found the most empowering and equally shattering experiences are those when we become the most vulnerable, the most challenged, and the most out of place in our lives.
Kolkata is not exactly a tourist hub for most tourists who travel to India and stick to the Northern loop around Rajasthan and the Taj Mahal. It's a place where people sleep in the middle of the street, women wearing saris sweep up the garbage we discard at their feet, men with thinner limbs than mine peddle rickshaws stacked with the weight of travelers and families, and people missing limbs scoot across the sidewalk in front of speeding traffic, riding on wheels and with a tin filled with coins.

Needless to say, I am not only a little terrified to take on the roll of "backpacker" yet again, and to leave the confines of the little family and bubble I have found in Kathmandu, but to be back in the big old mess of India, once again. Full force. Not to mention I will be arriving during the peak of the summer months where temperatures top 40 C, or over 100 F. With a limited ward rode, white skin, and as a solo female this also means my style is not only compromised, but for my own sanity and safety I have to remain covered at all times. That means no tank tops in the sweltering heat, but pants and shoulders covered.
Maybe I just need to mentally prepare myself for this kind of experience, although I'm not sure if you ever can. This will be one of those times in my life when I seriously question this decision, maybe everyday, but have to take every challenge in stride and recognize that when I depart it will be something deeply ingrained in the way I live my life from here on out. It will be one of those experiences that really shakes you to the core, and potentially makes you question everything you are doing in life. It will be one of those earth shattering moments when you realize how massive the worlds problems are, and how small we each are as individuals. Alas, yea I said alas for lack of a better word, I am also hoping it will be one of those extremely challenging, but positive times in my life because I will walk away with something I never had before; another amazing memory, and a new perspective on the contrast of how we are all living in this big gigantic world.

So after this whirlwind of a few weeks in one of the poorest cities in the world, to mentally settle myself down, I fly to Bangkok for three weeks to explore the beautiful land of Thailand. I could not be more excited for this part of my trip, as much as for the slow transition into making my way home, as for the delicious cuisine, beautiful beaches, and incredible landscapes. As I wind down this adventure of a lifetime, two months is going to fly by in a heartbeat, but in the time traveling world of backpacking a few months really equates a lifetime.

So for now, all I can do is keep running and riding around Kathmandu like a maniac trying to finish all those last minute things I never did, the last minute shopping for gifts, and the last meals with friends new and old. The nearer I get to departing Asia and returning to the US, the more terrified I get, there are literally days on a calendar you can count, now. BUT, I am also equally excited to be back on my own solid ground and around those I love, who I left so long ago. I am also excited to pull myself together again, you have no idea how much Nepal can wear you down after a few months of living in the one of the worlds most polluted cities. Sometimes I feel like I am falling apart as a person, not to mention as a woman. I dream about drinking water out of the tap and breathing the refreshing delicious air of the Pacific Northwest. The things we miss when away, I could write a book about it.

Keep me in your thoughts as I vanish into India, once again, and don't be shy to send me an email, even if it's just to say hi. It really helps.
If you have any questions, feel free to contact me anytime. And for all of you who never did set up skype, shame shame shame. Now I will not have it anymore, and the only contact I will have to the outside world as of Monday is in seedy cyber cafes down dark alleyways, with sketchy, albeit very slow connections. Basically, I will talk to you when I have an area code again, and we sleep in the same time zone.

So until then,

peace.
-S

a few things about life.

Days on the Road: 280+

Days left on the Road: 60+

Months Abroad: 8

Months on the Road: 9

Countries visited: 3

Countries left to Visit: 2

Number of Books Read: Too many to count

Number of Photos taken: Thousands...

Number of Miles Walked: a lot

Number of days living out of bags: hundreds

Number of dollars spent on calling other countries: too many

Number of dollars spent on eating curry and rice: most of my budget

I am having one of those days. One of those days, where I literally cannot sit still because I am so excited. Partially because I usually drink a big jug of coffee in the morning, and I get all jittery, but also because I am excited about the day I am having today. Rock climbing in Nepal-pretty awesome- and I am excited for all the crazy plans I have been scheming up over the last few months. I am afraid I have gotten so used to plotting ways to do big adventures, I will never be able to settle down in one place for long, but that is the risk I am willing to take at this point.

I have about two months left on this epic journey of mine, and in comparison to the last nine months, well that is basically nothing. BUT, if you think about the months people spend planning just for a month long journey, then the next two months could equate a lifetime. There are still an abundance of adventures, experiences, new people, and places to encounter in this vast continent and I feel ready to soak it all in before I land back on my on turf.

I also want to say thank you to those of you who have actually been following this blog, and those of you who are interested in hearing my stories. I have found more and more, the words from friends in far away places, and in cities at home; have been my inspiration and motivation to keep going and traveling. Basically it just comes down to this, I think I am pretty obsessed with all my old friends at home, you all are amazing.

So with that being said, I am in preparation of leaving Nepal in, gasp, a little over a week! to embark on the next phase of this trip. I am slowly but surly inching my way closer to North America, one step at a time for me. I know I am in for some pretty intense culture shock. Just the thought of having hot running water and power 24 hours a day, well that's enough to make me jump up and down. The things you get used to when you live on the road, indescribable.

I'll work on posting some new photos soon, trust me there are thousands, so when I see you back at home it might take days to actually get through them all. Get the BBQ's fired up and coolers filled with ice, we'll need some fresh cold beer and some rockin tunes to make it happen.

Over and Out for today. more to come soon!