I don't subscribe to cable or dish television. I have this memory from way back. I must have been around 4 or 5 because my family lived in Missouri. Sticking in the ground next to our house was the antennae pole. Everyone had one. I personally used it to shimmy up the side of the house, grabbing the pole and walking up the wall.
I bet other people my age have this memory. I bet no one even ten years younger can say the same. It's kind of a shame, in my personal opinion.
Anyway, I begin my post with that memory for a reason. I don't watch much television. Something I like to watch, whenever I can catch it, is Frontline. I have to be honest. The inspiring stories get me like hallmark commercials at Christmas.
Recently, they did a story I'd like to spread the word about. It was about a company who just might change the world.
The Play Pump is the brain child of an inventor and entrepreneur Trevor Field. For those of you who might not be able to view the video, this is a revolving pump that costs around $7000. It takes seven men just a day's work to put together. It is installed in playgrounds in South Africa, where children use them as merry-go-rounds. While the children are spinning on this brightly colored piece of "playground" equipment, they are doing something else. They are running a low tech system below the ground that pumps clean drinking water to the surface, filling a holding tank in the village at the rate of up to 400 gallons an hour.
Playgrounds are pretty rare in South Africa. The kids love it. Clean drinking water right in your own village can also be pretty rare, particularly in towns like Stinkwater, or in towns where the drinking water they've been using for years was contaminated.
Trevor sells ad space ON the water tanks, to pay for ongoing maintenance of the towers. One of the ad campaigns is about AIDS awareness.
"If we could put a thousand pumps in each country that's water stressed, we'd make a monster difference to rural water supplies," says Trevor Field.
So how about this? They got 16.4 million dollars from the U.S. government. And the backing of some influential rock stars. And now, they've got a new facility, employing people to make the equipment, employing people to install the pumps.
"Now we've got the facility to do it. We're going to change the world, I think."
Wow. If you get the chance to watch this, do it. This man made money in the advertising business, and at the age of 42, decided to change directions completely. And watch him when he speaks. It's the face of a man whose sitting on top of a very big, exciting secret, and he can barely contain his enthusiasm. Only it's not a secret anymore, and by sharing it, he and Play Pumps International now is on target to provide clean fresh drinking water for 10 million people by 2010. If you haven't noticed, that's next year.
Forget bottling the water from the play pump. Bottle that enthusiasm for helping others, moving beyond what you can do for yourself to what you can do for others, and I don't just think you'll improve the lives of 10 million people. I think you just might save yourself and the world.
Call me Pollyanna. It's okay.
-Laura
Showing posts with label water. Show all posts
Showing posts with label water. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Story - Part II: Journey
My companions brought joy to me, stroking my hair and whispering in my ears. I walked tall with an easy stride and did not worry about the passing of time. The path from the birthplace of my memories was smooth. Novelty distracted me! The sky delighted me with colors she’d never shown me. I was a traveler, she said, and should be treated to new sights. And the air was different here too, gathering leaves to swirl in the air or shout unfamiliar sounds across the waves to jangle around my ears. Birds knew different dances here and they displayed them, eager for a new appreciative eye. I paid them homage with my delight.
Earth often reminded water to refresh me, and within its banks it would slow seriously and invite me to drink. When I reached the banks however I could see how beneath the surface it could barely contain its giggles. It did not want to be the majestic flowing water of life, not then. It wanted to play. I would drink deeply so it could return to its games. I loved the water that day, because it was delicious and clean and because it could dance.
My companions comforted me. I found love in their generosity. And time carried me further away from home. Each day the path got a little rougher. I wouldn’t speak as much to the waves or the air as I had to look where I was going or stumble. And the sky seemed further away those days, hiding behind trees. She would still shake their tops, which made them gossip noisily and analyze her in minute and specific detail, but I would hear her thoughts second hand, in leafy echoes.
I also noticed the thirst of trees for the first time. They clamored for water. So when I spoke to the water, our conversations were spare and forced, as it seemed to be telling me it had little of itself to go around. I rationed myself, leaving my thirst not completely quenched. I did not want water to mind my company. That was the first memory I have of concerning myself with such matters.
The trees were friendly enough though, always inviting me further down my path. They intrigued me with stories from their memories, which stretched further back than my own. They explained that they had created this path just for me, at a time way before my own existence. This fascinated me. What would be around the next curve? What would I see at the top of the next hill? It was all an adventure.
And when I was tired, I would sit at their feet. They would shade me from storms and high winds, and speak in soothing leafy whispers until I drifted in sleep. They seemed eager to tell their stories to me, as eager as trees can be in their steady unflinching nature, eager like I was an adopted daughter who needed to learn both their stories and their ways. Memory became more important to me than the present in fact, and I would walk for long stretches where all I concentrated on were the trees and the tales and the step in front of me. Birds and wind and sunrises could not distract me. I took delight in purpose.
I do not remember when I first lost the sky and when the taste of sunlight became unfamiliar, but suddenly I missed it. Suddenly I was hungry for it and it was missing. And one special day I woke and sensed they had abandoned me. The air was not gone, but it was not as I remembered. It was quiet and tight and seemed somehow to have aged. I was in the Deep Woods, I was told, and this was its proper name, and here is where I would stay.
I looked around me, examining my surroundings. The pathway out had been obscured as if the trees had decided to link their branches together and contain me inside them. Had there always been vines here? I could not tell you, but they had grown up at some point. They were thick and strong and I could not break them. When I probed too deeply I found thorns and drew my hands back.
Above all was the whispered leafy encouragement. Slow down, they told me, you move too much. You should stop. You should be still. And I was still. Not to rest, but to be dulled and turned into lead, or into earth where nothing green will grow.
--Laura
Earth often reminded water to refresh me, and within its banks it would slow seriously and invite me to drink. When I reached the banks however I could see how beneath the surface it could barely contain its giggles. It did not want to be the majestic flowing water of life, not then. It wanted to play. I would drink deeply so it could return to its games. I loved the water that day, because it was delicious and clean and because it could dance.
My companions comforted me. I found love in their generosity. And time carried me further away from home. Each day the path got a little rougher. I wouldn’t speak as much to the waves or the air as I had to look where I was going or stumble. And the sky seemed further away those days, hiding behind trees. She would still shake their tops, which made them gossip noisily and analyze her in minute and specific detail, but I would hear her thoughts second hand, in leafy echoes.
I also noticed the thirst of trees for the first time. They clamored for water. So when I spoke to the water, our conversations were spare and forced, as it seemed to be telling me it had little of itself to go around. I rationed myself, leaving my thirst not completely quenched. I did not want water to mind my company. That was the first memory I have of concerning myself with such matters.
The trees were friendly enough though, always inviting me further down my path. They intrigued me with stories from their memories, which stretched further back than my own. They explained that they had created this path just for me, at a time way before my own existence. This fascinated me. What would be around the next curve? What would I see at the top of the next hill? It was all an adventure.
And when I was tired, I would sit at their feet. They would shade me from storms and high winds, and speak in soothing leafy whispers until I drifted in sleep. They seemed eager to tell their stories to me, as eager as trees can be in their steady unflinching nature, eager like I was an adopted daughter who needed to learn both their stories and their ways. Memory became more important to me than the present in fact, and I would walk for long stretches where all I concentrated on were the trees and the tales and the step in front of me. Birds and wind and sunrises could not distract me. I took delight in purpose.
I do not remember when I first lost the sky and when the taste of sunlight became unfamiliar, but suddenly I missed it. Suddenly I was hungry for it and it was missing. And one special day I woke and sensed they had abandoned me. The air was not gone, but it was not as I remembered. It was quiet and tight and seemed somehow to have aged. I was in the Deep Woods, I was told, and this was its proper name, and here is where I would stay.
I looked around me, examining my surroundings. The pathway out had been obscured as if the trees had decided to link their branches together and contain me inside them. Had there always been vines here? I could not tell you, but they had grown up at some point. They were thick and strong and I could not break them. When I probed too deeply I found thorns and drew my hands back.
Above all was the whispered leafy encouragement. Slow down, they told me, you move too much. You should stop. You should be still. And I was still. Not to rest, but to be dulled and turned into lead, or into earth where nothing green will grow.
--Laura
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The Story - Part I
I have no people to hold my memories. I have no one to recall a time beyond my mind’s own reach. And from my earliest memories, I lived in a land of light and air. The sky was wide and clear, an ever-changing palette of bright and shadow. It was always the same but never the same.
Sometimes it was ferocious, swallowing all the colors of the rainbow and stretching its shoulders that the colors might flame against its breast like war paint. Sometimes it was dazzling with heat which reached from valley to peak, making the air sizzle and hum. Sometimes it was cool and deep like a stone from a mountain cave, covering the land with the cool weight of mist. And even when it was dark it had different moods. There was silver darkness when the trees and rocks would glow. There was amethyst darkness which swallowed the ocean and consumed boundaries. There was coal darkness studded with diamond star and pearl moon.
The earth ruled this splendor, providing the sky with endless landscapes to both play and rest. Paint from the sky spilled all over the place too, as the loving courtship was messy and enthusiastic in turn. Speckles of blue, green, purple and yellow littered the earth’s shoulders and hair, thighs and belly. Its cheeks blushed with reds and rosy pinks. Its arms were brown and strong.
It would hold the colors of fire and let all of them gather to dance in the palms of its hands. The fire would crackle and hiss but never quite take over the earth. After some unspoken agreement, the fire would still itself mostly, until it stood in one spot like a young mustang, mastered but untamed.
This could exhaust the earth however, so when it tired, when it stooped its shoulders to drink from cool streams, the water would caress the earth with tender hands, and soak up the colors too. It would soak them up and reflect them back to the sky, which would ripple the water’s surface in a loving gesture, as a parent reassuringly stroking a child. But the water was secretive too, and would hide the colors deep within its breast, carrying the hues down to the warm southern riverbanks and into the sea. With great swells of generosity it would fling them in the air, letting the colors splash in its cool strength and ride upon its shoulders.
I don’t remember when I decided to leave this home. Nothing put fear in my heart. I lacked for nothing.
At some point though, I realized my time there was finished, and I made preparations to leave. The earth was all about the basics. It wanted me to have food and clothing for my body and feet. Like a mother dressing its child, it made sure I would not go cold, or hungry.
The water and the sky were unconcerned. They would travel with me, they giggled. They would gossip about me to all their playmates who would recognize me when they saw me and see that I was refreshed and out of harm’s way.
Fire kept to himself, but soon found ways to whisper some of his secrets in my ears. He gave me his wisdom that I might conjure him anywhere, and have him warming me with his stories whenever I may wish to hear him. He assured me he would not be far away.
My leaving then was happy and exciting, loud with dancing waves and birds riding in the folds of the sky’s swirling skirts. I was alive and strong and my story was about to begin...
-- Laura
Sometimes it was ferocious, swallowing all the colors of the rainbow and stretching its shoulders that the colors might flame against its breast like war paint. Sometimes it was dazzling with heat which reached from valley to peak, making the air sizzle and hum. Sometimes it was cool and deep like a stone from a mountain cave, covering the land with the cool weight of mist. And even when it was dark it had different moods. There was silver darkness when the trees and rocks would glow. There was amethyst darkness which swallowed the ocean and consumed boundaries. There was coal darkness studded with diamond star and pearl moon.
The earth ruled this splendor, providing the sky with endless landscapes to both play and rest. Paint from the sky spilled all over the place too, as the loving courtship was messy and enthusiastic in turn. Speckles of blue, green, purple and yellow littered the earth’s shoulders and hair, thighs and belly. Its cheeks blushed with reds and rosy pinks. Its arms were brown and strong.
It would hold the colors of fire and let all of them gather to dance in the palms of its hands. The fire would crackle and hiss but never quite take over the earth. After some unspoken agreement, the fire would still itself mostly, until it stood in one spot like a young mustang, mastered but untamed.
This could exhaust the earth however, so when it tired, when it stooped its shoulders to drink from cool streams, the water would caress the earth with tender hands, and soak up the colors too. It would soak them up and reflect them back to the sky, which would ripple the water’s surface in a loving gesture, as a parent reassuringly stroking a child. But the water was secretive too, and would hide the colors deep within its breast, carrying the hues down to the warm southern riverbanks and into the sea. With great swells of generosity it would fling them in the air, letting the colors splash in its cool strength and ride upon its shoulders.
I don’t remember when I decided to leave this home. Nothing put fear in my heart. I lacked for nothing.
At some point though, I realized my time there was finished, and I made preparations to leave. The earth was all about the basics. It wanted me to have food and clothing for my body and feet. Like a mother dressing its child, it made sure I would not go cold, or hungry.
The water and the sky were unconcerned. They would travel with me, they giggled. They would gossip about me to all their playmates who would recognize me when they saw me and see that I was refreshed and out of harm’s way.
Fire kept to himself, but soon found ways to whisper some of his secrets in my ears. He gave me his wisdom that I might conjure him anywhere, and have him warming me with his stories whenever I may wish to hear him. He assured me he would not be far away.
My leaving then was happy and exciting, loud with dancing waves and birds riding in the folds of the sky’s swirling skirts. I was alive and strong and my story was about to begin...
-- Laura
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