WATCHED POT: a docu-series about U.S. intervention abroad

If, like me, you grew up in the U.S., it’s likely you’ve heard the phrase before.

“A watched pot never boils,” perhaps your mother or grandmother told you, admonishing your childish impatience. If one is too attending, too eager, too singularly focused, time will slow; the meal won’t progress.

But when I hear that adage now, I hear something else in those words. Perhaps because of the way we’ve long spoken about global politics and simmering unrest, the phrase sounds to me like a different kind of warning: one not from the pot to the watcher, but from the watcher to the pot — a sober promise from the U.S. to the rest of the world that under it’s vigilant, meddling eye the globe will never bubble into chaos, into Communism, into backwardness. Of course, what that promise really means is that with the U.S. at the helm, the world will never bubble up into something that threatens the U.S.’ own interest and stake in power.

Introducing Watched Pot: a docu-series

Live Inspired: flying home during Coronavirus

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

Past the international baggage claim, an unused security area in Houston’s George Bush International airport looked outrageously big — its gaping confines made larger by an impossibly tall ceiling that felt as though clouds could form inside.

I’d been through this airport many times, and now I wondered: had it always been so cavernous?

Without foot traffic to create its normal humming soundtrack, each step seemed to resonate as I walked through this bizarre expanse. The voices of a single employee and a single other traveler bounced off the lofty metal beams and echoed throughout the chamber.

As I walked in their direction, I didn’t bother to get closer than 50 feet away.

“Am I going out this way for connecting flights?” I asked in a normal speaking voice, yelling being completely unnecessary, as I pointed toward automatic doors. My instincts had been dumbed by the lack of the typical stream of moving bodies.

The airport worker answered in the affirmative, and as she did, the only other passenger in this yawning space breezed past me.

“We’re going to terminal C,” she said. “Let’s go.”

We were two commuting strangers, suddenly linked together as human explorers in a dystopian future not unlike scenes from movies about the end-of-the-world.

El Salvador under quarantine: desolation, heavy artillery, pupusas and hope

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

A ghoulish light descended on the pupuseras as they worked — the TV glare mixing with fluorescent bulbs as it bounced off green walls. But the aroma was practically heavenly.

Scents of charred quesillo and pork fat dripping onto the griddle and oozing through masa cakes floated through the open sidewalk window and out onto the street. That, and the alluring sizzle made me stop in my tracks after first walking past. I spun around and returned.

“Estoy de vuelta,” I’m back, I said, yanking down my blue, medical mask to show my smile. “Por el olor.” Because of that scent.

I ordered a pair of revuelta pupusas to take with me. And I almost felt something I hadn’t in weeks: normal.

Live Inspired: In this midst of this chaos, a moment of quiet

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

I’m writing this just after midnight on a Wednesday; the world, from my San Salvador balcony is quiet.

The world, here, is never quiet.

Situated on a cliff hanging over a valley that stretches out beneath a frantic highway, my apartment sits in the heart of the vibrant Antiguo Cuscatlán neighborhood — a place where at any moment one can hear the call of street vendors selling paletas and pan; the clamant broadcast of church services, those pastors speaking in tongues via mics connected to far-reaching amps; the roar of traffic and the groan of heavy loads in trucks that have been on the road a few years too long; the long-extending parties that thrive in the event center just across the street.

Playlist: Social Distancing Vibrations

We’re all a little tense right now. Some might even say scared shitless.

Maybe what we all need is to pop in our ear buds, fire up a good soundtrack and put something on the stove with loads of garlic. Dancing while cooking is scientifically proven to, if not keep you virus-free, at least make you hate your apartment-prison a little less. So wildly swing your spatula as you dance in your underwear. That’s right, we’re in our underwear; as long as we’re cancelling everything, let’s go ahead and cancel pants. Then go sit in the one place on the floor where the sun pours in long, golden slivers. See if you can melt into your yoga mat. Do you have any brownies? If so, you should eat two right now and absolutely not worry about the pounds. Scream your favorite lyrics until your cat gets really scared. Repeat.

Can we find some humor in our situation? Like a scrap? Is it there? What about joy? Is there joy to be found? I don’t know, I really don’t. But let’s all keep trying, anyway.

Happy listening. (Click below.)

Quarantined: 14 ideas to keep you from losing your mind at home

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

As the phrase “social distancing,” has become a new, ominous part of our vernacular, I’ve heard an understandable amount of wringing and solemn but depressive consent on Twitter and from friends.

After all, staying confined to our homes is something almost un-American — an unnatural deprivation of the social and consumerist culture that marks our very identities. Here in El Salvador, it defies the local culture, too. Days, here, are typically marked by trips to multiple independent vendors of eggs, produce, tortillas, bread. Breaks for lunch in the neighborhood park, the nucleus of all activity. Stopping for a minuta at the cart on your way home. 

Still, when I first heard that we might need to hunker down, I secretly loved the idea. I’ve always thought I’d do pretty well amidst the bowels of a bomb shelter or in the clutches of zombie apocalypse. Being alone, cooking off of spare ingredients and endlessly entertaining oneself while managing a routine-like schedule? Yeah, we’ve basically just described my personality.

Even as a world traveler, I’ve still maintained the heart of a hermit, gleefully hibernating for days at a time in the midst of editing and writing sessions, cooking with whatever I have on hand and cranking up the music to dance, sola.

When I first wrote this column, a few days ago, I was feeling optimistic. Wartime Amelia and Peacetime Amelia are not that different, I wrote.

However, I’d just been in the midst of a semi-hibernation when the news hit — knowing I had some national and international travel coming up, and attempting to grind and save money as much as possible. I was about at even my own break point. Now, a week into this new reality, it feels different, heavy. The international airport in El Salvador has now closed, cutting off the burgeoning idea that I might venture home. I feel far away from family and friends and — though plans to lift these quarantine measures and reopen the airport are currently scheduled just over two weeks away — I can’t help but wonder just how long it might be until I’m truly able to go. Thinking worst-case scenarios is not necessarily helpful, but they’ve likely crossed most of our minds.

So in an effort to be helpful during this time of solidarity, I thought I’d share some ideas for those of you  secluded in your homes for whom hermit-ing might not come so naturally. And in doing so, I hope to remind myself. All right, quarantine, here we go. Let’s do this.

With Coronavirus impact growing, El Salvador is on lockdown

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

With no known cases of COVID-19, El Salvador is nonetheless taking dramatic measures as life fluctuates between feelings of normalcy and the bizarre.

The week started out so innocently.

On Sunday morning, before returning from a short beach weekend at the glorious Playa El Jaguey in eastern El Salvador, I was marveling at the sunrise melting over the island-filled bay and just how alone I was on the long, pristine sandbars.

By Wednesday evening, I felt like I was in a real-life version of Contagion — surrounded by hundreds of strangers at the grocery store as the shelves chaotically emptied, and my Twitter feed began pinging me into a panic.

Soon, I’d be marveling at how alone I was once again, but for wildly different reasons.

In the span of a couple hours, life had changed. I’d gone from scoffing at what I felt was “overblown” reaction to COVID-19 to being an unwilling participant in a full-on quarantine — changing travel plans, committing to lost money and wondering what will happen if I unintentionally overstay my visa here.

Around 4:30 p.m. on Wednesday, someone messaged me that the entire country was on lockdown.

On this Valentine’s Day and every day: how to date yourself

We make the effort with other people. Why shouldn’t we do the same for ourselves?

• In partnership with John Reamer and Associates

I’ve been planning it for a week. There will be a blanket, a bottle of wine, cheese and charcuterie — the makings of a romantic picnic under the almond trees of my favorite park, and none of the typical distractions to keep me from spending quiet, quality time with the person I’ve become so loyal to over the years:

Myself.