Kelsey | Kelsey Timmerman

Feb
15

Happy Valentines?: Gemstones lead to deaths in India

By Kelsey

At least now I have a good excuse for not buying Annie jewelry this year for Valentine’s day. If you’re appalled by this practice, sign the National Labor Committee’s petition.

Watching this video reminded me of an experience I had in Nepal. I wrote a column about it years back. I dusted it off for your reading pleasure.

The Kathmandu Caper
By Kelsey Timmerman

On the streets of Kathmandu- Motorcycles weave in and out, cars honk their horns repeatedly jockeying for position, pedestrians scurry for their lives frogger-style while covering their nose and mouth from the dirt and stench. Tractors lacking gas caps slosh fuel this way and that, cows and dogs dine side by side on piles of trash. Chaos reigns supreme, but none lose their cool.

Amid the ruckus I stood with my glowing blonde hair, a foot taller than anyone else. In all the commotion, wide-eyed, I sought the security of my guidebook.

A man approached. He was tall for an Indian, had perfectly combed black-blue hair, and a sparkle in his eye. I half expected him to break into song and dance, get the girl, or shoot someone, in the spirit of the popular Bollywood blockbusters produced in nearby India.

“Do you need some help?” His English was better than mine.

“Err…where is the Austrian Air office?” I needed to change a plane ticket.

“Follow me. I consider myself, somewhat an ambassador of the city.” As we walked he was constant chatter. My inner voice was every bit as chatty, This guy wants something. You are like that deer in the Far Side comic who displays his bulls-eye birthmark to his buddy who responds ‘Bummer.’ Try not to look like such a target you idiot.

He looked me square in the eye, “Don’t worry I am not after your money. I have my own business.” His words were less reassuring than alarming. He looks at your light skin and blonde hair and sees green, you moron.

We found the airline office and I said bye to Ricky and wished him good luck. Pushing open the door to the office I said under my breath to myself, “And you thought he was going to try to rip you off?”

With my plane ticket in order I stepped back onto the streets of Kathmandu. Ricky stood across the street chatting with a buddy. He waved and then without looking ran across. My inner voice gloated in victory, Told you dumb…

“My American friend, how is everything? I would like to buy you a cup of tea?”

Murder, rape, and slavery, were just a few of the scenarios running through my head. Don’t be such a wuss I want to see what his deal is.

Ricky looked across the street, shot his buddy a wave and a wink, and then hailed a cab.

The cab stopped in the middle of the street. Ricky paid and then we ran out like a couple of bank robbers. We were in the tourist part of the city known as Thamel. Ricky ran a comb through his greasy hair as we passed by rundown shops filled with generic camping gear such as “The Nepal Face” in the same design as “The North Face” gear. In Thamel nothing is as it appears.

Ricky led the way into the restaurant and gave the sole employee a nod of greeting. Words were not exchanged and Ricky showed me to a booth in a dimly lit corner. Two teas were brought to our table.

He put his elbows on the table and then leaned in over his cup of tea. Welcome to Ricky’s office you schmuck. Ricky was dialed in and it was time to work on the naïve American. “I export precious stones and carpets, but I have met my exporting limit for the year. You seem like a nice man and I would like to help you make some money.”

Oh, I see. He is not after your money; he is trying to make you money. What a nice guy?

I sat there with a blank look staring at the cream coagulating in my tea. “All you have to do is take my stones or carpet to another country and upon arrival give them to one of my contacts who will give you US $6,000- you keep half. ”

He continued to explain: where I would pick up the merchandise; how I would carry it through customs; how I would claim it, etc. Every detail was touched on and then explained again. Whoa, sounds like some easy money, Kelsey, and you really don’t have to do anything. Play along. Act interested.

Ricky leaned back in his chair, stretched, and as if an afterthought said, “All you have to do is give me your credit card and I’ll take off US $3,000 so when you meet my contact you keep the entire $6,000 and we’ll be square.”

Play along, please, for me. “I am flying to Austria. Do you have a contact there?” He nodded. “And then London?” Nod. “Dayton, Ohio?” Nod. You must really look dumb if he expects you to believe that he even knows where to find Dayton on a map..

I sat silent. “Come, we go to my shop?” Hey doofus, go with him, but be ready to bale out on a moments notice. No matter how bad I talk about you, you’re my only friend.

His shop was a few blocks away. The streets were crowded with tourists and I felt in no real danger. Ricky stopped in front of a rotting wooden door, no sign or window. He opened the door and sitting on the floor were two Nepalese boys chipping away with hand tools at red, purple, blue, and white stones. Here I thought that precious stones took millions of years to form and then once harvested were cut by highly trained individuals wearing white lab coats in white room, looking through high powered magnifying glasses, working with high tech cutting tools.

You need to get some glasses and maybe grow a beard. Something to make you look smarter. I was beginning to feel a little insulted. “You know Ricky, I hate to have all that responsibility of carrying around your beautiful stones, I’ll pass but thanks.”

“It is no problem. I have insurance.” He was pleading in desperation.

“No thanks.” Kiss my inner butt, Ricky.

I walked away with my thoughts.

Engaged Consumer

Feb
11

My corral is empty

By Kelsey

I’m not famous.

I don’t need a corral for folks to line up in to buy a book and have me sign it. I don’t need blank cards for me to sign in case a student doesn’t want to buy a book, but still wants my autograph.

But when I was speaking at a The Check Your Label Symposium at IU’s Kelley School of Business I had both.

As a kid you dream about the day someone will ask for your autograph. In preparation you practice. You recall the Reds player you saw signing baseballs atop the dugout. His wrist flashed across the baseball and a signature appeared. A looping, swooping, signature that assured the ball would never be hit into the field again, but instead sit atop a dresser next to little league participant awards and prized baseball cards.

I dreamed that I would sign basketballs and basketball cards.

I print a “K.”

I write “elsey” in the cursive I learned in 3^rd grade. Unfortunately my writing hasn’t evolved since then. In 3^rd grade I had both myself and my teacher convinced that I wrote cursive better with my leg on the desk. I think she let me try it because, after all, it couldn’t get any worse.

The “y” tails up to the “T” which I slash on the page with the authority of Zorro.

I gave up on writing “immerman” a long time ago. It’s much too bumpy and long and there is only so much time allowed to sign an autograph. You need to make it look like you do this all the time. That you are practiced. That you will keep the line in the corral moving steadily. So after the “T” I just make a long line.

That’s my autograph.

I hand the once blank card to the student. It’s a moment that is much different than I imagined as a kid. It’s embarrassing.

I’m not being humble here.

I sign the card and look at my corral. It’s empty. It’s like Wendy’s after the post-lunch rush. You make eye contact with the cashier and then you weave your way through the corral feeling silly. And then you order a Frosty.

But there’s no Frosty here. It’s just me and my crappy autograph.

The girl walks away and I’m embarrassed for her and I’m embarrassed that I’m embarassed. It’s one thing to have me sign a book. I like having signed books regardless of the author’s fame.

I imagine her getting back to her dorm, looking at my pathetic third-grader’s signature and chucking it in the trash. There, crumpled up next to junk mail and balls of chewing gum, sits my “K” my “elsey” my “T” and the line that represents both my laziness and my “immerman.”

–

I had a great time at IU. Despite my inherent lack of fame, everyone there made me feel as if I were famous. I had a blast interacting with the students. Some of them skipped the IU v. Purdue game to listen to me speak. Some of them got up at 8AM to have breakfast with me. Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head. Each event was accompanied with free food. And at the main event, besides interacting with more students, I got to meet Kelley and Anne Campbell of The Village Experience, Amy Chin of International Development Collaborative, and, the real rockstar of the Symposium Blake Mycoskie, the founder of TOMs shoes. It was an honor to share the stage with such passionate and creative people.

This Writer’s Life

Feb
5

Every reader is my co-author

By Kelsey

This morning I caught author Katherine Paterson on the Bob Edwards Show. She lived in Japan and talked about the use of white space by Japanese artists. The artist intends the viewer to fill in the space with their own imagination.

Patterson told Bob that she incorporates this into her writing and said something that really resonated with me…

“Every reader is my co-author.”

I’ve come to appreciate this because a funny thing happens when you write a book…someone reads it (hopefully). And when they read it and then they tell you about it, sometimes you’re left wondering if they read the same book that you wrote.

Awhile back two interviews of me came out on the same day. One was in Ball State’s newspaper and the other was in a newspaper in Amherst, Ohio. (You might recall that I got pulled over on my trip to Amherst and eventually tried to friend the cop on Facebook. He hasn’t accepted…yet.)

One article painted me as an anti-sweatshop activist and the other as someone who thought that the apparel industry would save the world.

Yes, I explore both sides of the issue, but it seems that the author of each article brought their own baggage to the table and use my exploration of the issues to support their own opinions. (Or perhaps they didn’t read the book at all and I should just shut-up now.)

In a way, I’m honored to get such different takes on the book, but the last thing I want is for someone to have the takeaway be: the worker’s lives are tough, they need these jobs, so I’ll continue to mindlessly buy stuff regardless of the brand or country of origin.

So regardless of where readers fall on the larger debate, I hope to get them caring about the people who make our clothes. My message is simple and I hope it comes through to all. It can be summed up in three words…

GIVE A SHIT!

After that I’m happy to let my co-authors make the book whatever they want to make it.

This Writer’s Life

Feb
2

Hometown Homeless Shelter – The ten4tues Project

By Kelsey

This weekend my sister-in-law, Emily, is participating in “Walk a Mile in My Shoes” to raise money for the Muncie Mission homeless shelter. Go Emily!

Emily and her family have been very supportive of my shenanigans over the years, and I’m thrilled to give $10 in support of this important cause.

Unfortunately, it’s getting more important by the day.

In Delaware County, Indiana, where I live the number of homeless people has increased by 100% in the last year (from 223 to 447). Ivy Farguheson, one of the Star Press’s finest reporters, has written about the increase and about the circumstances that have left folks homeless.

This week if you donate to your local homeless shelter and report back on this post or via Twitter or Facebook, you could win a framed photograph from New Orleans courtesy of my friend Meredyth Friend.

When I announced on Twitter that I would be donating to the Muncie Mission, I was contacted by one of my Twitter friends @ragamuffinPC. He grew up in Muncie and was involved with the Muncie Mission as a kid. He was kind enough to agree to write a guest post about his experience.

PC is a speaker.writer.pastor from Sacramento, CA with his wife Tonya. He loves his wife, coffee, and beer (KT: in that order I hope). Check out his website at www.ragamuffinpc.com or follow him on twitter @ragamuffinpc.

A LIFETIME OF RECOVERY THANKS TO MUNCIE MISSION

Homeless I am not and never have been, but I grew up at the Muncie Mission.

Grandpa worked on staff at the Mission, and my high school was only a few blocks away from the building on High St. I would walk to the Mission nearly every day after school to hang out with the residents. I learned much more than ping-pong and pool from those moments.

1. Each of us is only one dramatic step away from homelessness

The Mission’s website indicates their purpose to “provide basic needs and teach life skills while guiding residents through various problems that have brought them to [their] doorsteps.”

The face of homelessness is drastically different than the image most of us attribute. As I began to meet the residents and hear the stories, I discovered just how many of their stories were prominently familiar to mine until one unforeseen inciting incident, which flung them into a homeless situation.

2. There is a difference between ‘homeless’ and ‘panhandler’.
Many misunderstanding people have a particular face of homelessness in their mind, and that image is typically one of the panhandler on street corners and in alleyways. The men at Muncie Mission rarely had to live within that image before they were thrust into the situation that brought them there.

Most of the men had been bested by some particular situation, and they would never want to be the one most of us imagine on the street corner. Various attitudes and addictions entrap people in a place where they are begging and manipulating every source they can draw from. Those are the panhandlers who have hit bottom without the wherewithal to begin the recovery typically provoked by ‘hitting bottom’.

I did not grow up with bad people. They were only people in trouble reaching to get out.

3. Recovery is for the broken; not the homeless.
One of many goals sought by the Mission is to care for the broken and ruined. That goal extended far beyond the Men’s Residential Program. The Mission is not a shelter intended to be a warm place to sleep for a night. It is a transition. It is a program designed to care for all of the broken and bedraggled.

On many occasions I not only observed but also participated as the Mission assisted men, women, children, and families in the process of recovery. Before the days of Celebrity Rehab and Intervention, the common TV junkie knew nothing of common recovery terminology. The only way to know the terminology was to be saturated with the process.

At a young age, I learned, painfully at times, about the wounds below the addictions we all battle. My recovery began in high school with a bunch of homeless people though I was never homeless, and my recovery continues today thanks to my experience with Muncie Mission.

Where are they now: the PC Walker story
Nearly 15 years after graduating from high school and moving away from Muncie, I pursued a ministry degree and have applied it specifically to either homeless or young adult ministries. (Turns out I am attracted to the populations of highly misunderstood and unheard people.) I cannot stay away from either.

My heart beats wildly for the bedraggled and beat down. I crave the God who pursues those who are smart enough to admit how dumb they are; rich enough to admit how poor they are; and strong enough to realize just how weak we all are. I can thank the Muncie Mission for a significant portion of that formulation within me.

LINKS I RECOMMEND:

Muncie Mission – Just go look around for crying out loud.

The Exodus House – Recovery community in Anderson, IN who believe that community means staff residing with residents and sharing in this holistic healing process.

Ragamuffinpc Ministries Facebook

Giving Back, ten4tues

Jan
26

Stand with Haiti or get bodyslammed! #ten4tues

By Kelsey

There are saints, then there is Paul Farmer, the co-founder of Partners in Health.

He values all life equally. I’d like to think I do too, but I don’t. Not like Farmer.

The New Yorker did a feature on him and asked how he would set the ratio of the love for his own children and his love for unknown children.

“I don’t know where I’d set it,” Farmer answered, “but I would not let many children die so my kids could live. I don’t think that two kids should die so that one of my kids has comfort, and I don’t know that two children should die so that one of my kids lives.”

Farmer and Partners in Health seem to be everywhere I look these days. A buddy sent me a copy of Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder (highly recommended). Degoratias, the Burundian refugee the book follows from a doctor in training in Central Africa to homeless in Central Park eventually bumps into Paul Farmer and begins to work for Partners in Health in Haiti.

I read Farmer’s quote from the New Yorker in The Life You Can Save by Peter Singer which I talked about last week.

And now with the earthquake in Haiti, I can’t flip the channel or read a newspaper without some mention of the work of Partners in Health. PIH has been in the country since 1987.

That’s why I’ve decided they are this week’s #ten4tues selection. If you join me in donating $10 to Partners in Health, you should feel really good about it because they are one of Give Well’s highest ranked charities.

Still not convinced, know this…

Farmer’s brother, Jeff, was a professional wrestler was Sting, the professional wrestler. Donate or get bodyslammed by Sting!

To participate in #ten4tues donate $10 to PIH and report back to me in this post, on Facebook, or on twitter. This week I’ll be giving away an audiobook of Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (his books are great to listen to).

My brother, Kyle and his wife Jenn, are chipping in the prize this week. If you have something (books, knick-knacks, or whatever) you would like to donate to the #ten4tues project drop me an email Kelsey@kelseytimmerman.com.

Giving Back, ten4tues

Jan
22

#ten4tues winner…

By Kelsey

I started the #ten4tues project on Tuesday and I was thrilled to have a number of participants via Twitter, Facebook, and this blog.

This week I’m giving away a copy of The Life You Can Save by Peter Singer. I assigned all the participants a number and then used this random number generator to make the final selection. And the winner is…

Rob Reed! Rob gave to the Clinton-Bush Haiti initiative.

I’m in the process of selecting next week’s organization to donate my $10 to. If anyone has any suggestions, let me know.

Also, I’m actively seeking folks who would be interested in donating something to the giveaway. I’m donating $10 every week and can’t afford to buy and ship a prize each time. It doesn’t need to be anything fancy. It could be a used or new book, a trinket of some type, something you made, a gift card, or whatever. Anyone interested should email me kelsey@kelseytimmerman.com.

Giving Back, ten4tues

Jan
20

Zombies Stop Healthcare Reform

By Kelsey

I couldn’t have written “Where Am I Wearing?” today.

First, lenders aren’t exactly handing out second mortgages any more and I used mine to partly fund my global quest.

Second, our health care costs have skyrocketed.

In 2009 we were on four different health insurance plans the first four months of the year. Starting January 1^st, 2009, Annie’s coverage at work became way too expensive. Still we had to bare the expense until Harper was born because…

Health Insurance is Killing us Reason #1: You can’t get coverage if you’re pregnant.

Health Insurance is Killing us Reason #2: Small businesses can’t afford to offer insurance because of the high cost. Yet employees can’t afford to have a job that doesn’t offer them health insurance. And if you aren’t employed…well…you’re just screwed.

Anyone know of any insurance carriers that are hiring?

I’ve been on my own plan for a few years. After Harper was born Annie and Harper joined me. We had a decent deductible and a low premium, but there was one problem. My Anthem insurance was in the state of Ohio and we lived in Indiana. It would’ve been nice if our insurance salesman had noted this at the time…

Health Insurance is Killing us Reason #3: (Apparently) It’s much more dangerous to live in Indiana than in Ohio. Why? Maybe it’s the zombies. That makes as much sense as any other reason, doesn’t it?

The exact same coverage through the exact same company was going to cost twice as much in Indiana. Indiana’s state motto: “the crossroads of America (and centrally located for zombie conventions).” Perhaps another reason for the proliferation of zombies in Indiana is that health insurance is more expensive and that means more dead people and, of course, that means more zombies.

We couldn’t afford the same coverage in Indiana so we bought into lower coverage with a premium that was still more than we were paying for the better plan in Ohio.

Now a good chunk of our income goes to health insurance, and yet when we’re sick we’re less likely to go to the doctor because we have to pay 100% of the cost. Our deductible is set at the Struck-by-Lightning level. By this I mean that the only way we’ll meet our deductible is if we are struck by lightning or incur some other major health problem.

It almost makes a fella wish he was struck by lightning so he could lay in bed all smoking and charred and for once be thankful that he shelled out so much for insurance.

Something needs done. If we continue to do nothing, the costs will continue to rise, more and more employers won’t offer insurance, and those of us who pay for our own will see our healthcare costs top/topple our mortgages. Is the Senate plan the answer? I don’t know, but trying to step out of the way of a freight train is a lot smarter than standing there and taking it in the kisser.

Yes, I think it’s stupid that whether or not health insurance reform is passed comes down to a runoff for a Senate seat in Massachusetts, and that the hopes of the reform were shattered by a candidate that couldn’t spell the name of the state she sought to represent, and that one of the major reasons she wasn’t elected is because she thought that Curt “bloody Red sock” Schilling was a Yankees fan, and that anyone with a bloody sock in Massachusetts doesn’t have to fret much because they have universal health coverage, and yet these universal-healthcare-havers are denying the rest of the country the same privilege.

I don’t care about the politics of the situation. I care that mothers and fathers can afford to take their kids to the doctor. I care that sons and daughters have healthy mothers and fathers that live long enough to become great-grandparents.

And what I’m really getting at is that the zombie lobby needs to be stopped before there isn’t a politician left with even half a brain. Of course the Congress’ insurance probably covers zombie attacks.

UPDATE: Apparently some zombies are for reform…

Mad World

Jan
19

A year of giving: My #ten4tues project

By Kelsey

Sometimes my travel recollections are less memories and more hauntings. I’m haunted by a legless beggar in Nepal who chased me around a stupa swinging wildly at my legs with a stick. I’m haunted by the smile of an orphan in Guatemala. I’m haunted by the smell of a dump in Cambodia.

I never know what will trigger a travel haunting. The other day I was speaking at a high school in San Francisco and another one surfaced.

I was in the village of Matlab in Bangladesh. My translator, Dalton, was giving me a tour of the village when a serious looking man approached us. He grabbed me by the arm and led us through the worn dirt paths around rice paddies and ponds until we stood in a home next to a dying old man, the serious man’s father.

The man thought I was a doctor. The man thought I could save his father’s life.

And, you know what? Maybe I could have.

I’m not a wealthy man, but in Bangladesh I am. At the time I didn’t have thousands of dollars at my disposal, but for a few hundred I’m sure I could’ve transported the dying man to the best hospital in Bangladesh. Maybe he still would have died. Maybe he would have died more comfortably. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference whatsoever.

I did nothing. I apologized and told the man I wasn’t a doctor and that I could do nothing for his father. It was awkward. I was ashamed.

How much does it cost to save a life? And what lengths would you go to or how much would you give to do it?

These are questions I’ve been pondering a lot lately. Between my new travel haunting, the earthquake in Haiti, and my reading of Peter Singer’s “The Life You Can Save,” I’ve been thinking about what I can and should do to make a difference. Singer argues that living an ethical life involves a mix of personal philanthropy, local activism, and political awareness. He dispels the whole “for the price of one cup of coffee per day you can save a child’s life” myth and takes a realistic look at how and why we should give.

I’m somewhat politically active, and in 2009 I tried to become more active locally. I joined Big Brothers and Big Sisters (my little brother is a cool kid and we have a lot of fun – Hey Alex!) and Teamwork for Quality Living, which is a great organization that engages the community to overcome poverty together. But my giving hasn’t been the best.

I might have donated $200-$300 last year, which Peter Singer would definitely say is not enough. I could tell Singer that we incurred the cost of having a child, starting her savings plan, and health insurance costs that skyrocketed, and we weren’t in a position to give much, but he still wouldn’t be satisfied.

I’m not a good giver. That’s what I’m beginning to see. That’s what Singer has helped me to see. I can’t afford to give a lot, but I can afford to give more than I do and I’m ethically obligated to do so.

It’s not tough to punch in my credit card number online and click “donate.” I can do that as well as the next fella. But there are so many great organizations out there how do I choose which one to support? Where will my money have the biggest impact?

Allow me to introduce my project to answer these questions: ten4tues. That’s $10 for Tuesday.

Each Tuesday I plan to share to which organization I am donating $10 to and tell why I chose them. I’ll search out charity organizations like Charity Navigator and GiveWell to aid my decision.

By the end of the year, I’ll have donated $520, which still probably isn’t enough. But writing and 2010 comes with its own uncertainties and I don’t want to commit myself to something beyond my means. At the end of the year if I can give more, maybe I’ll choose my favorite charity of the year and do so.

I hope to not only educate myself, but others too. In fact, if so inspired by that week’s organization, I hope you’ll join me in donating to them. Once you do, leave a comment that you donated on this blog or on my Facebook wall or send me a reply on Twitter (use the hashtag #ten4tues) and I’ll enter you to win that week’s prize.

Since I just brainstormed this idea and I’m a couple of weeks behind my $520 goal already, I’ll simplify things this week.

I will be donating $30 to CARE’s Haiti efforts. If you’ve donated a cent to assist any organization’s Haiti efforts, let me know and I’ll enter you to win this week’s prize…

Giving Back, ten4tues

Jan
11

A Thousand Words: Harper is 1!

By Kelsey

A Thousand Words

Jan
9

I’m a Hero in Sweden

By Kelsey

Annie’s cousin Steph sent me this with the title “Marketing for your next book.” I have no idea what this is, but I’m considering paying Swedish broadcasting fees anyhow.

This Writer’s Life

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