The Search for Wilson, May 2016

The view of Mount Adams as Team Wilson Search and Retrieval set out.

Wilson's perch atop Adams

Wilson,
At this writing, only you, me and members of the Washington Branch of Team Wilson know the outcome of the search and retrieval mission last week. The donors obviously want to know whether that intrepid Mission Impossible team dug you out and retrieved you from the post you were tethered to atop Mount Adams last July.

And I'm going to tell them all about it.

But first, they deserve an update on the delivery of the One World Futbols they so generously sponsored last year.

Here's the tally:

• April 2015: 10 to Ecuador, distributed to an orphanage, Quechua natives and the black descendants of slaves owned by the Jesuits, living in a community called Valle Chota, which provided some of the players on Ecuador's national soccer team.
• May 2015: 4 to Tijuana, distributed to families (and an associated school) who were benefiting from homes built by volunteers from the Seattle area.
• July 2015: 2 to a remote village in China, transported from Hong Kong by an educator and food scientist with an interest in preserving seed stock from traditional farms. The villagers had never seen soccer balls.
• August 2015: 3 to Burma to support the school  at Mae Sot, a community of refugees living in a garbage dump
• October 2015: 3 taken by my Ecuador traveling companion, Melanie Wood, to a school in India that teachers girls a skill which can help them avoid working as prostitutes.
• November 2015: 23 to the Baobob refugee center in Rome. The center served African refugees.
• January 2016: 10 to Liberi Nantes, Rome,  which sponsors soccer for refugees.
• March 2016: 20 to Seattle Academy of Arts and Sciences. Students there go to Zambia each summer. Last year, because of Wilson's participation in the Madison Street Marathon, the students raised money for One World Futbols to take to Zambia. This year Team Wilson donated the balls.

So, Wilson, you have been an inspiration, contributing to raising enough funds (and matching donations) that 179 fubols were sponsored last year. There are about 100 left to share.

August distribution scheduled

Three Seattle Community Colleges sponsor Global Impact, a program to send teams of doctors, health industry students and lay people into the third world to hold health clinics and improve health conditions for communities. In 2011, I went with such a team to Peru, where we conducted clinics, promoted water filters and built cook stoves with chimneys, replacing the open hearths that filled homes with smoke, damaging the health of the mothers who endured the smoke in order to feed their families.  In August, I will be going to Vietnam on such an excursion --  and distributing 10 One World Futbols to remote villages. Keep in mind that each ball is calculated to serve up to 30 individuals.

Vietnam Atonement:

I don't mind saying that there's something personal about taking the futbols to Vietnam. A generation ago, I was a young Air Force second lieutenant fresh out of college with money in my pocket for the first time and a spiffy sports car to drive around, Planes from McChord AFB in Tacoma made regular flights to deliver high priority cargoes to the war zone. I was a flyboy too-- as an information officer, I flew a typewriter for almost four years in Tacoma. I never heard a shot fired. For me, the war was almost a fantasy, barely a distraction from the good life.

Imagine how different it would be for those people if "Rolling thunder" had referred to the sound One World Futbols made when they hit the rice paddies, instead of what was really falling out of those bombays as the B-52s carpet bombed Vienam. Imagine what a difference it would have made if the persistent gift we left behind had been ecology-friendly One World Futbols instead of  land mines and Agent Orange. 

Every ball I take there will have our slogan on it: "Someone Loved a Stranger." It's small atonement for what we did, but as I explained to the Seattle Academy students, every donation of a One World Futbol is an act of love. That may sound corney, but it's true nonetheless. It is an act of altruism--brotherly love, something the ancient Greeks called "agape." And for us, it is almost effortless. It's just a better form of entertainment.

Well, that's what we've done so far and what we're going to do this summer. Having said that, readers want to know what happened with the search and retrieve mission.

Here's the report from Ana Elz, a member of the expedition that set out March 14 to find you:

Weather frustrates the search

We were unsuccessful in our quest to find Wilson.  From the start, I had my doubts about making this trip given the weather reports, but group mindset was ...optimistic and we headed to Adams.  

Team Wilson Selfie: In foreground, Jeremy, the trip organizer. Anna Elz is on the right with the baseball cap. The others, from the left, are Sean, Cory, Sara and Steve.

Friday we hiked in a couple thousand feet.  I thought we found a great spot to camp, protected, but our leader insisted we push on until 8 pm, which placed us in the wind tunnel for our first night of camp.  Good stiff breeze that night.  We struck camp and headed to the lunch counter in high winds.  Mind you we saw folks coming down saying it was bad up there.  At this point, while we were battling 30-40 knot gusts I suggested we follow suit and head out.  But again the group mindset was "well it could change let's get to the lunch counter".  (The "Lunch Counter" is a plateau with basaltic outcroppings. It lies at the base of the slope that leads to the summit.--ed)

Six inches to one foot of snow was predicted...  We made it to the lunch counter around noon, did the camp thing: melted snow, ate, took a nap.  During that afternoon we experience large hail and the first large flakes of snow.  Then by 6 pm we crawled out and reassessed.  

The mountain was socked in but the wind was calm.  They decided we'd assess at midnight.  Still optimistic that we could make it to Piker's Peak at least.  I crawled back in to bed.  At least I had my comfortable Double Z pad and a zero degree bag--very toasty.  The wind picked up around 11 pm and then dropped.  At midnight we awoke to snow--approximately 6 inches and more falling fast. The decision was then made to pack up and hike out rather than wait for daylight and more snow.   In the end that was right choice.  

Big snowflakes: The white streaks are snowflakes blowing past the camera.

We struck camp loaded up, and headed down in the dark with headlamps,  a GPS track,  and a couple wands to guide us out.  We had left our snowshoes stashed below the first camp when it was decided that we did not need them.  Now we could have seriously used them.  A tough slog out, but we made it and that's the most important part.  (And we found our snowshoes).   The group attitude was good although overly optimistic. 

   
Even though we were excited to go look for Wilson, I still would have made the choice to go down earlier.   I hope there is a future attempt in better weather and little more melted snow.  For now the Little Indestructible may still be there but we won't know for sure until we go look again.  

Robert maybe you do need to make that trek again... 

Anna  

Well, maybe I'll try again. It would be so wonderful to find you, Wilson -- there would be so much to share.

Love,

Robert

Dr. Livingstone, I presume?

Wilson! Wilson! Are you there?
It's more than 24 hours since a group of intrepid mountaineers were scheduled to ascend the state's largest mountain, to see whether you were still clinging to a building that is probably buried under several feet of snow.
And I've heard nothing.
Nothing!
Are you still lashed to that building at the top of that pile of rock, ice and brimstone that forms Mount Adams? Did the sun's ultra-violet radiation weaken your tether and the howling winds at the mountain top carry you off? Or are you still there, waiting to be retrieved?
There has not likely been such a memorable search since Stanley went into darkest Africa looking for Livingstone. Who cares? Some people do.
Inquiring minds want to know.
Well, OK, they would have wanted to know if I had told them ahead of time that a search and retrieval operation was under way. But I got distracted, and all of a sudden I realized March 14 was a couple days ago. That was the day that Anna Elz had pledged her commitment to see whether The Unbreakable was still clinging to a post atop Mount Adams, where they was left last summer. (Click here for the story.)
Here's one of the last photos I have of you since you made it to the top last July as the crowning achievement of your mission to raise One World Futbols for children all over the world:

As you faded into the midsts of legend, I hung on to the dream of looking for you again. I joined the Mountaineers. 2016 was going to be the year I settled my grudge match with Mount Adams by making it to the top after two aborted attempts.
But something happened in the interim.
I got older.
On my first training hike with the Mountaineers, I realized these people are animals. The first hike was a night hike with headlamps, and the pace was steady and upward. My quadriceps began to growl. I stopped to rub them. The Mountaineers trudged on. The night got darker. The quadriceps began to groan and quiver. I fell behind. The Mountaineers trudged on. After a couple of hours of trying to hush my quads the hike was over, I slid into my tiny sports car, and it was then that there appeared in both legs a pair of charley horses worthy of the Smithsonian.
It became clear I was not going to be able to find you on a Mountaineer hike this year.
But a month ago I attended a Mountaineers snow scramble field trip in which we trained to slide down hill upside down on our backs without dying and stomp through snow for a couple miles until I sweated a couple liters of water into my garments, too many of which I was wearing that day.
I made it through primarily with the help of instructor Anna Elz. Her photo from the Mountaineer's Web site is immediately below.

Instructor Anna Elz

Anna  just happened to mention that she was going to climb Mount Adams in May.
I just happened to mention that I had a friend up there.
Naturally, she was curious.
Inquiring minds want to know,
The rest is history.
Shortly afterward I receive the following message:

We are planning to climb on May 14. The road should be mostly open to the south route but we may have to tack on a few extra miles round trip to get to the trail head. With the snow pack, it is very possible that Wilson will be buried since we are going so early. The other thing I wondered, is that much will depend on what was used to secure him to the mountain. Even if he is indestrcutible, the material used to attach him may be worn or he could have blown off. It is still a great mission and we will report any sightings. I've told my team and they are excited too!

Missing Futbol Notice

As soon as I received that e-mail I made sure they would be able to identify you if they found you, so I forwarded this photo at the right from last year's Missing One World Futbol announcement.

Here's the latest e-mail I received from Anna:

Update..we are furiously packing and much discussion of the turn in the weather. Sounds like we are going for it but the summit bid may be in a snowstorm.. So we'll see what this adventure brings...maybe Wilson..maybe not but it will be fun,cold,and WET!!!We turn back if it is unsafe but if we do make it to the top it will require a hell of a lot of shoveling. 

Will send update

Cheers ,

Team Wilson

Well, there you have it, Wilson. Now we can only sit and wait ... and hope.

Love,

Robert

Futbols to India

Hello, Wilson.
In a recent blog, I mentioned that three One World Futbols were enroute to India. Well, they've arrived, transported by my Portland, OR, friend, Melanie Wood. You may remember Melanie from our trip to Quito last Spring, when she went there as a medical volunteer with other volunteers who took time off from the Mayo Clinic to perform orthopedic surgery on children with deformities. While we were there, we also took time to distribute 10 of your cousins, with some of them going to an off-the-beaten-path community of Valle Chota, where descendants of African slaves make up the bulk of the population. Here's a photo of Melanie getting acquainted with a group of children who found this very light-skinned Norte Americana quite a novelty.

At Valley Chota in Ecuador, where Melanie and I delivered
One World Futbols, the youngest children found this very pale,
 yellow-haired lady to be a fascination.

Anyway, Melanie is not only a retired Air Force Physician's Assistant with an itch to travel-- she's also a budding photographer in her retirement, so she was in a position to share photos of her sojourn to India. Here's her story, and photos:

Wilson's Cousins go to  India

By Melanie Wood

NEW DELHI, INDIA--When I decided to go to India in November with a group of women travel writers/photographers, I wondered how we could do some good while there and leave a lasting impact (besides contributing to the retail economy).

I contacted the writing leader, Margot Bigg, who'd lived in India 5 years, with my thoughts of contributing to a worthy cause.  After some research she suggested Protsahan, a foundation for poor girls from one of Delhi's slum neighborhoods, which strived to teach school girls English and some creative arts with the goal of lifting themselves out of poverty.

The 14 writing conference attendees donated an average of $20 each and 3 of us went shopping for the supplies from a list the creative coordinator of the school, Jony Dash, gave us. I also had 3 of Wilson's cousins, One World Futbols, to leave with the girls.  Dawn Bauman, a fellow attendee and I took a taxi ride (now that was an experience) to the Delhi neighborhood where the school was located.  You can read the fascinating story of how the school came to be and about its founder and executive director, Sonal Kapoor, (and make a donation) at  www.protsahan.co.in.

Jony Dash, Protsahan coordinator

When Dawn and I arrived at the school, most of the girls were still at the government (public) school they attended until about 2 pm.  We were warmly welcomed and offered water while we talked to Jony about the foundation. He's been with the school since 2014 and is the Center Coordinator. His background was not in education but when he was approached by Sonal to come on board to help lift these girls out of poverty--and perhaps a future in a brothel--he gladly accepted the challenge.

There are about 140 girls enrolled, ranging from 6 to 17 years old and they come to Protsahan after their school day to learn English, sewing, photography, handicrafts and other creative arts.  They also play basketball and soccer.  Jony said the hardest "sell" is to the fathers of the girls.  The school is free, but the fathers are for the most part farmers or unskilled laborers and don't see the advantage of educating girls beyond domestic arts. After all, they are just going to married off (sometimes before they are teenagers) and be mothers, yes?

Melanie with girls whose ambitions exceed marriage and children  --
or working in a brothel. That "bindi" (red dot) on Melanie's forehead
was provided upon her arrival as an honored greeting.

Some of the girls usually go with their family to country villages in the summer, where the parents are from and often they don't return to the school.  But Jony and the other team members and volunteers try their hardest to keep them engaged.

These sewing machines, with which the girls produce craft items for sale,
are powered by pedal flywheels, not by electricity.

Some of the items produced by the girls
for resale at local craft fairs and markets.

Dawn and I wrapped up our visit after 90 minutes or so to get to the airport.  (It all happened so fast that I neglected to get photos of the girls with the One World Futbols!) But we left feeling hopeful for the girls and honored that we could play a small role in helping them create a better future.

Love,
Robert,
and Blue

Somebody loved a stranger

Hey, Wilson,

We're baaaaaaaack! Blue and I have returned from the gelato capital of the world. I must have eaten a ton, but I only gained a pound.  Ha! Probably because I walked miles over uneven cobblestone streets to eat just tiny bits at a time, with itty bitty spoons like those in the photo below.

Italian-style gelato needs only small spoons to be appreciated.

And while we were in Rome we visited refugee centers, distributed One World Futbols, and we may have started laying a foundation for a network to distribute the remainder of the 179 futbols we raised this past year!

An anthem, a slogan, and a benign cancer

Along the way, we selected the Team Wilson's anthem, developed a slogan, and recognized a wonderfully benign and incurable cancer.

For the past year you, I and the donors have raised unbreakable futbols for distressed communities where standard soccer balls didn't have a chance of survival. We also distributed some of them -- 10 to Ecuador, 4 to Tijuana, two to China, 3 to Thailand, and just as we were leaving for Rome, 3 to India. And in Rome, we saw a real uptick -- 23 to two refugee centers.

At one of the refugee centers, a contingent of University of Washington anthropology students cooked for the refugees and spent time with them. And as I was packing to leave, I heard back from their professor that the students had revisited the center and the residents were making good use of the futbols. So we done good.

It was after I returned to Seattle that I had time to reflect on this cancer I mentioned a moment ago. This has to be the kindest cancer of all. It can appear seemingly out of nowhere, grow exponentially, metastasize rapidly, disappear overnight, and then unexpectedly reappear. And it can transfer between hosts. You may wonder how any cancer can be benign and what this has to do with you and your cousins.  Well, I'm getting to that. First of all it will help to know who is immune to this cancer.

The Colossus of Xenophob

One of the people who seems most immune is running for president, and he has a tremendously loyal following. He thinks refugees are scum. He uses terms like "anchor babies," and "rapists" and things like that to refer to them. He wants to sort people by religion. He displays characteristics of clinical narcissism, seeking power, glory and attention, not for the good of others, but for himself, at the expense of the most vulnerable. And he's been successful. He is like one of those seven wonders of the ancient world, the famous Colossus of Rhodes, a gigantic statue so tall that by some accounts, ships could sail right between its legs to reach harbor. You can't tune into the news without hearing about this  cynical charlatan -- I forget his name.

The New Colossus

Poetess Emma Lazarus

There's a much better colossus, much more highly regarded, and she is not immune to this cancer. She is rife with it. Emma Lazarus, a poet, told us everything we needed to know about her in a sonnet written 132 years ago and today, more relevant than ever.

One test to determine whether you have this cancer would be to read this poem aloud, slowly. If you can do that without having a catch in your throat, you might be cancer free -- but don't count on it.

The new colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Cancer agape

Can you feel the cancer, Wilson? The name for this cancer is Love. And we're never going to eradicate it. Just when you think it's gone, it shows up again.

This isn't about the love that makes you all giddy or makes you want to get laid. I'm not even talking about the love that makes you want to kiss a baby or hug a puppy. I'm talking about a pervasive, subtle below-the-radar force that lurks unseen, but which makes its presence known in the quietest of moments, or the most unexpected of ways. This is not eros. The ancient Greeks called it agape.

It was agape that caused the woman  pushing her grocery cart  to  pick up and hand me the debit card that fell from my wallet.

It's agape that causes you to reach  out to catch someone who is thrown off balance when the subway jerks forward.

The American World War II sergeant I read about a couple weeks ago had agape. His entire unit  followed his direction to declare that they were all Jews, rather than let an SS officer separate out the real Jews, who were their comrades.

My friend Melanie has agape, She is a retired Air Force physician's assistant, who flew to Ecuador last year to help employees from the Mayo clinic who volunteer their time to perform surgery on children with deformities. She invited me along, and that's why there are at least 10 One World Futbols in Ecuador.

Melanie Wood is one of those afflicted with cancer agape. She flew to Ecuador to assist in surgeries for children with deformities. This child underwent her second operation for a club foot. Mayo Clinic employees, who also are afflicted with this incurable cancer, volunteered to perform the surgery.

Cancer agape has infected my childhood friend,  Jay, who flies to Cambodia twice a year on his dime to make small, interest-free loans to Cambodian fishing villages so that they can develop the capital to manage their fisheries and farms.

The emergence of  the Team Wilson's anthem

Other carriers include those University of Washington anthropology students who connected with Rome's Baobab refugee center as a result of Team Wilson's effort to distribute futbols. They took to it like a duck to water, cooking meals for the residents of the center  before and after it was raided by Italian police agencies, who removed, and perhaps repatriated about two dozen of the residents.

One night, when those young people were preparing dinner,  music was playing from a cell phone. When the tune,  "Lean on Me," came on, Meraf, a student of Ethiopian descent,  broke into song.  It seemed fitting for the work they were about -- and so touching. It became a moment of clarity -- Lean on Me became the anthem for Team Wilson, because if there's one thing you can count on, it's a One World Futbol.

Meraf, a UW Anthropology student and veggie chopper in the kitchen at Baobab refugee center in Rome, sings and pantomimes the hit song, Lean on Me, inspiring the Team Wilson anthem.

Others blessed with this cancer include the Eyes to Burma charity in Ashland Oregon. Those folks supports a retired photographer, who is afflicted with the desire to make life more bearable for a group of Burmese refugees living on a garbage dump on the border of Thailand.

Inflicted, as well, are the contingent of Catholics from St. John Vianney Parish in Kirkland who fly to Tijuana every year to build at least one home for a family in need of dignified housing.

Last May the team from St. John Vianney flew to Tijuana for the pleasure of performing tasks such as chopping and digging up tons of wet clay to lay the foundation for a home they built to give a local family dignified housing.  Wilson, in the foreground, went along for the ride.

Jahnigen, right, and the
musician, Sting, who provided

 the research and development 

funds for the One World Futbol.

And let's not forget One World Play Project itself, which rose from an idea one man dreamed up  after he watched a documentary that featured children in Darfur playing with soccer balls made of trash. That man, Tim  Jahnigen of Berkeley, California, invented a ball as resilient as children. The ball remembers its shape and sustains hundreds of punctures without deflating. It's a ball that complements the potential of children by extending to them the therapeutic power of play in the world's most popular sport. He didn't succeed on his own. He had help from others  who are similarly afflicted. Click on this photo, for a video of his story.


And once you get an idea like this, it has a way of spreading and growing. One World Play Project has already sprouted the seeds of diversification. Check out the photo below. No, click on it. One World Play Project has partnered with organizations to start raising funds for jump ropes.

Yes! Why limit the love to soccer balls? These young people are "jumping" rope! They live in Kibera, Kenya, one of the largest slums in Africa. One World Play Project reports that, in Kibera, one million people live on 632 acres of land. That's less than one square mile. 

Dogs, cetaceans and trees

We don't own this cancer. It can cross species. People love their dogs; the dogs protect their masters. People go ga-ga when a whale eye-hops next to their boat and nudges up its calf for a better view. And they crowd a beach to help a whale re-enter the sea. Likewise, there are stories of dolphins who rescue drowning sailors or surround swimmers to keep sharks at bay.

I have even seen this in the eyes of a First Nations weaver, who, when she didn't know I was watching, quietly, reverently and gratefully thanked the cedar which had yielded up a strip of its bark for her baskets.

Agape springs eternal

There were setbacks in Rome. The Paris terrorist attacks put everyone on edge, and that may have been the reason behind the raid on Baobab. And after we returned home, Ann Anagnost, the University of Washington anthropology professor who hosted my visit, reported that Baobab had been shut down permanently. A brief news report said something about it being returned to its owner through a court action. Supporters and volunteers haven't given up; they are looking for a new location.

But the agape just sprang up someplace else. When Team Wilson showed up at the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center, a New York transplant by the name of Daniela Morales immediately saw the benefit of the futbol and led a group of refugees to a local park to try it out. That connection resulted in a referral to a third  refugee organization, and from there to Liberi Nantes, Italy's first soccer team for refugees.

After returning home, Team Wilson e-mailed Liberi Nantes and shared the One World Futbol story, along with the images below, including the one of the Pope meeting one of your cousins. Well, who can say no to the Pope? Liberi Nantes wrote back to say, Yes! Send the futbols!  Through Team Wilson's campaign, One World Play Project covers the shipping cost from their distribution center in Germany.

And yes, in the center photo, that is the Pope!

Pipeline expanded?

The connection with Liberi Nantes will improve the opportunity for Team Wilson donors to get a better sense for how their gifts are benefiting others. Also, what's especially good about that latest development is that this may expand the inroads One World Play Project has already made in Italy, at a time when One World Play Project is trying to find ways to supply refugees in Europe. So, in a tiny way, we may have uncovered a new pathway for the project. When our supply of footballs has been exhausted, there's a good chance that  One World Play Project will be able to step in.

A slogan emerges

 The world is a big place. Fewer than two million One World Futbols have been distributed so far, and that's not even a gleam on the drop in an enormous bucket of need. It's easy for One World Futbols to drop into the void and disappear from sight. However, I would  not be surprised to learn that a trickle of these, one-by-one, is making its way out of Rome and across Western Europe, packed off by refugees in search of a new home. And they aren't the sort of thing that stays hidden.

Readers, if you should see a One World Futbol in your travels, you'll know there's only one way that ball got to where it was -- some unknown someone, like you, a carrier of cancer agape, bought that ball for an individual they didn't know and whom they would never meet, just because they wanted that stranger to be happy. Somebody loved a stranger.

And that's Team Wilson's slogan from now on -- Somebody loved a stranger.

Love,
Robert,
and Blue

For those who want to give again, or share the love with others, some more links:

Carolina for Kibera Kenya

Street soccer Mexico: 

The Iztapalapa neighborhood in Mexico City, Mexico, is considered one of the most dangerous in the country’s capital. Due to the high level of criminal activity there, street youth are constantly challenged by exposure to drugs and gang violence.

Street Soccer Mexico works to keep youth away from the negative influences of street life by providing opportunities for play and learning. For the past two years, Street Soccer Mexico has run a soccer league, which uses One World Futbols, in Iztapalapa to do just that and help the youth develop healthy habits to pursue a better life. Now, the organization is looking to add another play-based program for the youth, a screen-printing workshop that will teach the youth art and business skills.

Fairplay for All, Philippines

Payatas is one of the poorest and largest slums in the Philippines and home to an estimated 500,000 people and the largest dumpsite in the country. Children in Payatas very rarely attend school or drop out to work to help their families meet basic needs. They often take up jobs as jumpers or trash sorters.

Jumpers climb garbage trucks as the trucks enter the dumpsite, pick the best trash off the top and then throw that trash to other children waiting below. Throughout the process, the trucks don’t stop moving, and many jumpers have been seriously injured as they get caught under the trucks while climbing up and down. Trash sorters help their families sort through bags of trash to wash and resell what they can to recyclers.

My "Dear John" letter to Wilson

Dear Wilson,

This is a hard letter to write, particularly after all we've been through together -- traveling the world,  climbing hills and mountains, sharing the same condo -- I've never had a relationship quite like this  one.

But the time has come for me to move on. Well, sort of. I mean, I'm not really moving on, because you will always have a place in my heart. But at this point, it's not the major place.

I've found someone else.

This may be difficult for you to bear, up there on cold, blowy and snowy Mount Adams, alone. You may feel forgotten. But you're not. Really. I think of you often, and I tell your story every time I tell folks about One World Futbols.

Was it the Trevi Fountain?

But two weeks in Rome changed everything. I had 24 futbols to distribute, most going to the Baobab refugee center. But as I cast my eyes over them, one caught my attention. I don't know why it happened. Maybe it was because of all those coins I threw in the Trevi Fountain. But for whatever reason, as they say, the rest is history. Better that you know right away. Anything else would be deception, and we've gone too far together for that.

Blue, the new One World Futbol in my life, wasted no time getting comfortable in my condo. They snuggles into a heritage mahogany rocker with  my son's  toddler OshKosh Overalls (stuffed and pillowized) and his Teddy Bear (which is wearing my Cub Scout scarf. That's an Amish pillow behind them.

I want to tell you about the new futbol in my life.  You'd like them. Their name is "Blue."

Oh, you'll remember that "they" is the new third person non specific singular word that keeps us from being sexually discriminatory in language. When I talked about you, I used "they." It took some getting used to, but I get it right most of the time. Same thing for Blue.

 So Blue is my new traveling companion, housemate and goodwill ambassador for One World Futbols. They likes the same see-through net tether that you felt so comfortable in. It's almost like having you here, only it's Blue, instead. Sometimes when I wake up in bed and feel Blue, it gives me a start because I think you've come back down off the mountain. Being with Blue is like having you here. Uh, that's a compliment.

Not a case of promiscuity

There will never be another Wilson. You should know that. And you should know that I will always have a place in my heart for you, even with my new companion.

You see, people sometimes think male hominids are promiscuous. But that's not quite true. A man can love more than one One World Futbol at a time. He just can't address the needs of more than one at a time, which helps to explain monofutbolamy -- the "one man, one futbol" relationships which seem to be the norm. So I'm committed to Blue.

I think it's because I'm human that I'm trying to be gentle here, because I naturally empathize with you, even though you're a ball. I think a psychologist would call that "projection," or something like that. The reality is that you don't have a heart to break and you can get punctured 1000 times and not deflate. You'll be fine.

And just to be clear, you'll always be a part of me. As my sainted wife used to say, relationships don't end, they just change. I'll still be writing to you as more and more balls get distributed. But now it will be me and Blue writing. Oh, by the way, Blue isn't jealous. They loves you too -- uh, as a cousin.

Love,
Robert
And Blue

Lean on me -- another cold evening at the Baobab refugee center

Hello. Wilson.
Rome was chilly last night. It only snows lightly here in the winter, but it still gets cold, and several UW students returned to the Baobab refugee center to cook dinner for the 66 residents who remain there following the police raids last week.

Before I go any farther, I should say that there's a lot to see here, so feel free to jump over the text and photos and go straight to the video at the end of this dispatch. It's short and a little choppy, but I think you'll like it. It's a message that may resonate with the members of Team Wilson -- you readers and donors. 

Having said that, here's the latest:

The day began with me and Ann Anagnost dragging our roller airline carry-on luggage to the Mercato di Campagna Amica to purchase provisions for the minestrone soup which would be part of the meal. This is kind of a miracle market. It opened a few years ago in an old Jewish fish market, and has contributed to a renaissance for local farmers.

A thriving straight-from-the-farm market in Rome.

Romans are beginning to flock there for straight-from-the-farm produce, meats, wines, olive oil and other locally-produced products. This has not only kept some farmers in business --it also has spawned a renewed interest in young people about becoming farmers.

For myself, it was a chance to push my way through the throng to purchase two-year-old pecorino cheese for 22 euros per kilo, about $10 a pound, which is competitive with six-month old Spanish Manchego at Costco. And I bought it from the producer--who cut up the wheel and shrink-wrapped the pieces. There was also fresh bottled olive oil, shown in the photo below with the cheese. This is nothing you keep around the house, and you don't cook with it. You drizzle it on your salad and see what olive oil tastes like when it's fresh.

Two-year aged pecorino cheese shrink-wrapped for travel and fresh olive oil samplers.

The reason this sampling olive oil is green is because it is very young. It does not sit in a warehouse. It comes straight from the farm.

This farmer is cutting meat from the hogs he personally raised. He knows what they ate, how they lived, and how they were butchered.

Those Pink Lady apples may have been created by an Australian, but they were grown in Italy, by the man leaning on the counter, who wears sterile gloves to hand them to the customers, who cannot handle the fruit themselves.

 That afternoon, I packed 10 One World Futbols into an REI duffel bag and the group of us headed toward the bus. We knew something was up, because a helicopter was hovering overhead. Vice President Biden had already left town, so it wasn't until the next day that we learned that a man had evaded security and scaled the Coliseum to protest the banning of the actors dressed as Praetorian guards who stood with tourists for photographs. These new security measures were throwing working men such as himself out of work, he shouted, as emergency crews stood below with a inflatable cushion in case he jumped.

Tightened security was having impacts on refugees as well, and on us. When we arrived at Baobab, a number of young men were kicking soccer balls around, including a few balls we had left behind on a couple previous visits. They were very good, and I shot a video of their antics. But we decided not to publish the video, because Ann raised the question of safety for refugees. With facial recognition software and sophisticated search engines, were these people safe even at the refugee center?

You can't just simply ask the refugees if it's OK with them. Last night we learned that North Africans who had time to flee last week's police raids stayed at the center because they felt there was no danger to them. We learned that nothing had been heard since of the two dozen who were carted away; the fear is that they were returned to their home countries--the very place they were fleeing.

With that in mind, in the photo below, I blacked out the face of one man who was engaged with another in bouncing a  ball back and forth from their foreheads with impressive control. Then I flattened the image so that it blacked out layer couldn't be removed through some digital wizardry. And then, for good measure, I converted it to a black and white image. This may be the new reality for people who believe they have sanctuary--and for those who wish to help them.

Refugees demonstrate their soccer proficiency by volleying back and forth with head shots.

Baobab practices its own security. Refugees are escorted into the clothing pantry to make sure it stays organized, and the balls got deposited in a separate room, where they can be doled out as needed So far, 22 balls have reached Baobab and one was left with the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center to prime the pump for future distribution. Gradually I'm learning about other possible outlets.

Bored as refugees, but safe, several One World Futbols sit around, awaiting their destination, in a storage room at Baobab.

 In Baobab's kitchen, the UW students prepared dinner. The menu included a minestrone soup and a pasta dish with tuna. The ingredients were carefully selected to meet the dietary needs of Muslims, something we hadn't been fully cognizant of the first time we cooked for them -- this is a learning process for everyone.

When your pasta with a tuna puttanesca sauce fills a pot this big, it takes two hands for Courtney to stir it.

Now, normally you think of a kitchen as a place where there's a lot of heat, right? Not this place. Check out the photo below. People are wearing coats. The kitchen was not as cold as the alley, but it was chilly, even with the boiling kettles of soup.

Baobab's kitchen was chilly, and the help wore wraps to stay warm.

Huge bubbling kettles of minestrone soup, gastronomically correct for any Muslims at the center, simmer.

There's more to Baobab than the kitchen -- a lot more. The place is somewhat cavernous. With my GoPro running, I took a walk and this is some of what I saw:

...some sort of entertainment center, which is dark most of the time. There a stage there and some sort of sound system.

Turn a couple corners and you find a long hallway that reveals the large size of the center.

Shorter side hallways lead to bedrooms.

Bedrooms are austere, and cold. But they offer shelter.

 While the food was being cooked, cars were driving up to Baobab's door, and people were coming in with clothing to donate. The voluntary nature of this center made it difficult to figure out who to direct these folks to, until the appearance of a diminutive sprite from New York City, who was flattered when, observing her energy level, I said she reminded me of Puck, a figure in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. It was a wonderful relief to meet Nujrit Yael,   who is multilingual, has lived in Italy several years, and knew her way around Baobab. Nurit kept appearing, disappearing and then reappearing right when it was handy. That's her in the photo below, with glasses, in front of  Meraf and Michelle, two of the UW students.

Nurit Yael, a New York native who has lived in Italy for several years, was a big help last night for her multi-lingual abilities and her knowledge of Baobab procedures. It's my hope that she will become another link for setting up distribution points in Rome that get One World Futbols to refugees.

Time to serve the food up. Many of the refugees ate at the tables on the left, below:

By the time the refugees were fed, we were dragging tail, and except for a few scraps we hadn't had dinner, so we headed back to our apartments. Afterward I slipped out for my Gelato fix, and who should greet me but an old friend, lounging like a lady of the night on the folding door of a shop closed for the night. The Italians obviously understand  how to cater to American appetites:

Love,
Robert

And now for a little entertainment:

Turn up the sound! I told you to expect a video. While the students cooked dinner for the refugees someone played a familiar tune with her iPhone. You're welcome to click on the photo below and sing along.