An Icy Dip

Sigh.

How is it that day by day passes me by without my scrounging up the time to document in some public domain the events and happenings that comprise this crazed life of mine?

This one couldn't go without.

Snowmobiling is a past time of mine that bubbles with memories of rosy cheeks, hot cocoa in a helmet-filled bar, and endless trails, sometimes more bumpy than my body prefers to endure. Unfortunately, this crazed collegiate life I lead hasn't allowed me to hit the trails in two years--yes, I know. It's a cardinal sin of snowmobiling loyalty.

In an earnest attempt to redeem myself as a true snowmobiler, I anxiously told Dad to tell me as soon as he was going up to the cabin, and I meet him for some riding. The call came, and I was more than ready. Roomie Emmy hadn't ever been snowmobiling before, so I offered her up this wonderful opportunity. Being the adventure seeker that I so lovingly know her to be, she obliged. And off we went, warm clothes and open minds intact, setting out for an overnight adventure.

Upon arrival, I learned that Dad had prepared a snowmobile for each of us--I initially thought Emily and I would be sharing, and she'd only have to drive half the time. Emily was up for the challenge, though, and excited to be flying solo.

Before long, we found ourselves stuck in swamp filled with three feet of half water, half muck. The way that this happened was that Dad led us onto what he thought was a fluffy field of snow, but what turned out to be a something similar to Shrek's home. Once I realized that Emily and her snowmobile weren't going to sink any deeper, and I wasn't about to loose one of the absolute favorite people in this world, my heart stopped threatening to beat out of my chest and I was able to make effective use of myself and jump in the water and help. No use. Soon, we were off on the two remaining sleds, bound for the wood-burning stove of home.

Hours later, we returned to that same spot with the recruited help of two family members and began the tedious process of retrieving the lost sled. Oy. Three hours and two more snowmobile-dunks later, we were all cold, wet, sore and ready for bed.

Will Emily every snowmobile again? I hope so. Will Dad ever venture onto unfrozen ice again? I certainly hope not. Only time will tell. All I know, is I'm thanking God he was there next to us this time.

What do diamonds really cost?

I just got out of the movies with Emily. We saw Blood Diamond, with Leonardo Dicaprio and Jennifer Connelly. Wow… true, dramatic, and scary. Now I have a new perspective on diamonds.

When I was in New York City with Collin, just before Christmas, we had an extended conversation about blood diamonds, the diamond industry, and the diamond-engagement ring tradition of the USA.

The rich resources of Africa have been exploited and torn away from their rightful landowners for decades… gold, oil, rubber, and now diamonds. And many native inhabitants have never even seen a diamond. Imagine that. Civil war, tribal war, the “new” war—they’ve decimated Africa, turning it into a land of constant war. It appears to be a Godless mess. But I know God lurks in hearts, just waiting to be explored.

The country has been ruined. As the scenery is panned in this telling film, one sees rickety cities covered with split blood, and deserted villages littered with limbs and broken hearts. This land is toxic. It is toxic in its violence, its bloodshed, and its resource exploitation. It is not that one of these is an environmental catastrophe; all of these are environmental catastrophes.

Habitats are ruined. People are left homeless. Even abandoned trails are decorated with handing dead bodies and ammunition guts.

The “Kimberly Process” is some sort of custom set in place to stop jewelers from selling conflict diamonds. But its success cannot be guaranteed. There are ways that smugglers can get around this protective practice, and ways that diamonds can be dealt without knowing their origins. Diamonds can be sold with it being said they were mined in Liberia, when really they are from Sierra Leone, but a customs personal was paid off to say otherwise.

I think it goes without saying that some practice needs to be put into reality and regulated to mend this situation. Until such is done, I don’t know how I can buy a diamond in good conscience.