Issuu

Ethnosphere Connect, Express, Inspire

Novaturient

(adj.) : desiring or seeking powerful change in one’s life, behavior, or situation

Collection 1 - January 2023

Madeline C. Lanshe

Masthead

By the Seat of Their Britches

Bob and Susan find companionship and adventure after tragedy.

Quotes on Change

Last Night by Angelo Anderson

A Paper, Some Haircuts, and 400 Towels

Lake Solitude

Angelo, who started a newspaper while homeless, shares stories of the lessons he’s learned and the help he received to get off the streets and overcome his addiction to drugs.

Photography and reflection.

Standing on the Line

New Advanced RV employee, Madeline, goes out in an RV for the first time, with an unexpected setback.

New Issue Preview

Submissions Form

Beyond the Magazine

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Madeline C. Lanshe

www.ethnospheremagazine.com

Editor

Madeline C. Lanshe editor@ethnospheremagazine.com

Editorial Staff

Mitchell Dunbar, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Marcia Neundorfer, Mike Neundorfer

Designer

Madeline C. Lanshe

Photographers Susan Bell, Mitchell Dunbar, Elise Hanson, Robert Hardcastle, Madeline C. Lanshe

Writers

Angelo Anderson, Madeline C. Lanshe

Other Contributors

Chris Agnew, Elise Hanson, Robert Hardcastle, Susan Kanarick, Elizabeth Keller

Published by Advanced RV

2023 Advanced RV. All materials contained in this publication (including text, content, and photography) are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, broadcast, published, or modified in any way without the prior written consent of Advanced RV. Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons.

We created Ethnosphere as a place to connect people who are alike and unalike, express pieces of the human experience, inspire, and be inspired.

Madeline C. Lanshe

BY THE SEAT OF THEIR BRITCHES By Madeline C. Lanshe

“There were no pants, jeans, or slacks. Everything was britches.”

There is life after heartbreak and tragedy, at least according to Robert (Bob) Hardcastle and Susan Kanarick.

Both Bob and Susan went through the excruciating experience of acting as a caregiver for a spouse with Alzheimer’s, and eventually losing them to the disease. In spite of the trauma, or maybe even because of it, they found each other, followed their dreams, and set out on an adventure that has yet to end. Bob and Susan met in an online dementia and Alzheimer’s support group. According to Bob, their backgrounds in caregiving were very similar. After seeing each other in person at a support group luncheon, they connected online and stayed in touch. “If you haven’t done it,” Bob said, referring to caregiving, “you can’t really understand what’s going on.” Bob discovered Advanced RV through Ed, a client of theirs. Bob had watched one of Ed’s videos on Youtube and reached out with some questions. To Bob’s surprise, Ed got back to him, and their conversations led them not only to ARV, but a longstanding friendship. Ed was even at the configuration meeting for the van Bob designed, Britches, named thusly in honor of Bob’s father, a WWII, Omaha Beach, D-Day veteran. “He was from the old school. To him, there were no pants, jeans, or slacks. Everything was britches,” Bob explained. After the deaths of their spouses, Bob and Susan found comfort in each other, knowing they were with someone who could truly understand what they’d each been through. “Because of our circumstances and

support of one another and our meeting of each other, I simply asked Susan, do you wanna go with me?” Bob recounts. Days later she had the courage to say, “Yeah, I’ll go with you.” They didn’t have detailed plans or preconceptions as to where they were going. They were flying by the seat of their britches. Bob said, “We have no timeline, have no schedule, we have no deadlines. We’re just out to see every experience and everything we can in the time that we’ve got.” And see things, they did. Their first trip, which lasted 88 days, took them to 39 states, 14,450 miles, 8 National Parks, and 22 state parks. 6

They didn’t stop there. Their second trip was 7 weeks long in which they visited 8 more states, drove 5,500 miles, and met at least three new colleague couples traveling like them. Accompanying them on all of their adventures is Maxie, their Border Collie. A dog couldn’t ask for a better life. A human really couldn’t either. While the experiences Bob and Susan have accumulated from their travels could fill a book, or a few, one sticks out in Bob’s mind when asked to share an epic story. “We were touring in Washington DC. We badly wanted to visit the African American History Museum. We didn’t buy advanced tickets, mistakenly believing they weren’t necessary. After advancing in line for over an hour, the girl at the security station turned us away without a ticket. Dejected, we went to a side door, hoping to gain entry to the gift shop/bookstore. A nice security guard opened the door telling us the only entry to the gift

shop was through the lobby, after buying a ticket and passing through security. We were more than disappointed - to come all this way from Seattle and not be able to see something we had our hearts set upon. “We re-grouped, nearly in tears, went outside and sat on a nearby bench, plotting an alternative tour or attraction. A few minutes later, the security guard came outside. He asked us, ‘You said y’all were from Seattle?’ ‘Yes,’ we replied. He said, ‘Done some nice fishing in that area.’ He said, ‘Come with me.’ He marched us to the front of the line, crowding in front of everyone else. He told the ticket/security lady, ‘these people are my guests.’ She said, ‘You can’t do that.’ He said again, with emphasis, ‘I said these people are my guests. Let them pass.’ “She obliged, and we entered the museum without buying tickets, doing a security check, or anything else. The security guard met us just inside the lobby. We profusely thanked him for such kindness and sensitivity. He laid out the 7-story museum for us in detail with brochures and information saying, more than once, ‘Now don’t miss this, don’t miss that.’ “We spent 7 hours in the museum and had a more than fantastic time, learning so much. At the end of our tour, we went back to the gift shop, found the security guard, and continued to thank him, offering to pay him for his trouble. He declined, just saying, ‘Thank you for being interested in our history.’ “We parted, touched by a complete stranger, who didn’t have to do what he did, and having an experience that we’ll never forget. We owe it to the security guard to retell his story of kindness as much as we can.”

Bob

“

We’re just out to see the world, and have a great time, and do it together.

”

Traveling had always been a dream of Susan’s but not always a possibility. “I probably have dreamt my whole life of traveling and it was not possible, it just was not possible,” she explained. “And this is just like a dream come true. Britches is perfect in design, gets us where we need to go. It’s fabulous. I wouldn’t change it. Would not change it.” “We’re just out to see the world, and have a great time, and do it together,” Bob said. Bob, Susan, Maxie, and Britches will embark on their newest and largest journey at the beginning of January. It will complete their first trilogy of trips together, though almost certainly not their last. It will require them to be gone for 7 months, visit 34 states, likely

cover nearly 20,000 miles, and stay in at least two foreign countries. Bob and Susan believe that, because of their unique and painful background, it was serendipitous that they found one another, and that they’re doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing at this point in their lives. “I think for both of us, the caregiving experience, the trauma that we went through with that, I think we are changed people. I don’t think you can go through that experience and not come out a different person. And so we decided to do it together, and we’re having a great time. And frankly, life has never been better for us.” -Bob 8

“Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by discomforts.” -Arnold Bennett

“Change is nature’s delight.” -Marcus Aurelius

“Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.” -Raymond Lindquist

Madeline C. Lanshe

Last Night

Last night, I ate chicken wings from the garbage can on 4th Street. It’s a good place to find doggy-bags from the restaurants on that street. I walked over to the alley next to the May Company, got in the corner, and slept.

Last night, I went to a tailgate party. Drank and ate for free, panhandled some money, went to the hood, got high, then slept in the park until the police woke me up and told me to move along. Last night, I found a bus pass. I rode the bus all night. Then I went to St. Augustine’s and had breakfast. Last night, I hung out on Public Square. The food people were there and they fed us coffee and donuts. I went to the alley and slept. Last night, I panhandled on Playhouse Square. Made enough to smoke dope all night. Walked to breakfast at the church. Last night, I hung out in the Flats. Swept up the floor, put out chairs for a concert. Listened to the show, got paid, slept in the bus shelter. Last night, I slept in the emergency room because it was so cold outside. I had to leave at seven when the shift changed. Last night, I went to the men’s shelter. It had seventy-five mats on the floor and a bathroom with two sinks and two stalls. All of them were stopped up. And I won’t go back. Last night, I slept in a porta potty. This will be my last night on the street, God willing.

-Angelo Anderson

Nick Hoeller

A Paper, Some Haircuts, and 400 Towels By Madeline C. Lanshe

hat night in the porta potty was indeed Angelo Anderson’s last night on the street, though not the last night he got high. The journey to overcome addiction took him a year and a half. “My wife was cocaine. My life was cocaine.” He’d stay in a hotel on Detroit Avenue. The last bus left to go downtown at 7:45 each night. If he didn’t catch that bus, he had another night clean. “The (hotel) manager played a big part,” Angelo said. “After he talked to me and found out what I was doing, he gave me a discount.” In fact, according to Angelo, the only thing that made it possible for him to get off the streets, and drugs, was accepting help from others. “Without me opening up, and being willing to accept the fact that I don’t know it all, I’d probably be dead. Ain’t no probably to it. I would be dead.” Someone who played a pivotal role in helping Angelo on his journey was Sister Corita at St. Augustine’s on West 14th street. Angelo describes her as short and forceful. And yet, she’d allow him to sleep in the corner on the floor of the church. Half asleep, he’d hear her say, “No, no, just let him sleep, he’s okay.” Later, she’d wake him up and ask for his help washing dishes and mopping the floor, among other 13

things. Angelo always obliged. Other nuns, at St. John’s Cathedral, seemed to materialize during some of his worst moments. They believed in him, more than he believed in himself, always assuring him he could do it. “I can’t say I picked myself up on my own.” Another factor in Angelo’s progress was helping to start a newspaper called the Homeless Grapevine. At that time, he was still homeless himself, staying in dope houses, Metro Parks, doorways, Public Square. Angelo and three other homeless men would each write one page, trying to top each other’s stories about life on the street. A man from Kent State, who was doing a thesis on homelessness, got involved. He asked the director of the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless (NEOCH) if he could help write a grant to aid in getting the paper started. “The first issue was printed with the understanding that we would have to sell them all in order to print the next one. Thirty years later, we’re still doing pretty good.” He’d sell about fifty papers a day, enough to pay for the room at the hotel, something to eat, and papers for the next day. The Homeless Grapevine is now called the

Cleveland Street Chronicle. Angelo himself sells them on Saturday mornings at the West Side Market. It is there that Mike Neundorfer, president of Advanced RV, met him. They exchange a few sentences every week, an experience that always enriches Mike’s day. Mike heard more and more of Angelo’s story and it fascinated and inspired him. So he asked Angelo to come speak at one of ARV’s weekly staff meetings, and Angelo graciously obliged. Angelo shared with the staff some of the life lessons he has learned through his experiences. At the Salvation Army, he learned it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission. His boss at the time asked him why he’d done a certain thing, and Angelo had explained. His boss told him, “Here’s what I need you to start doing. I need you to ask for forgiveness, because I know I’m wasting my time telling you to ask for permission.” In the theory of not asking for permission, Angelo says he’s always in “good trouble.” An example of this is when he started a GED program at the shelter, six men graduating at once, five of them employed due to his employment program. His bosses didn’t know anything about it until it hit the newspaper. They asked him when this program was started and where the money came from. According to Angelo, it didn’t cost them a dime. Once he’d made up his mind that he was going to do it, things started falling into place. A foundation provided them with the books, and he started getting calls from retired school teachers, principals, professors, all offering to volunteer their time. The things you need will be provided, provided you ask. Angelo told one last story, which demonstrated this, and the belief of following the “little voice inside you,” before he parted. For three years, he did a program called the Homeless Stand Down. He was asked to be

the director the second year and he decided he wanted to do haircuts. Everyone thought he was crazy. But haircuts make you feel good about yourself, can even make you feel like a new person, so why shouldn’t the homeless get to experience that too? That was his motivation. Of the two barber schools in Cleveland, one agreed to participate. Three weeks before the event, they backed out. Because it was on a Friday, the day the students made the most money, they couldn’t ask them to not make any money. Angelo was leaving a weekly meeting when he bumped into a woman. She could see he looked upset and asked what was wrong. “Little voice says, ‘Tell her what’s wrong. Tell her what’s wrong,’” Angelo said. After telling her, she said her husband, Kelly Rice, ran the Lake Erie Barber College, and he was going to call Angelo later that night. He did call, saying he’d bring all twenty-five of his barbers. The Monday before the event, he called Angelo back. They could still do the event, but they needed twenty-five chairs that let up and down and swiveled. “Little voice says, ‘Tell ‘em okay, tell ‘em okay.’” As Angelo was trying to figure it out at the school’s gym where the event was going to be held, the janitor asked him what was wrong. Angelo told him, and the janitor said they’d just gotten a shipment of lab chairs that he had to put together anyway. He’d set up twenty-five in the gym. They even swiveled and let up and down. Three days later, he got another call from Kelly Rice who said they needed everyone to have clean hair. “Uh oh,” was Angelo’s reaction. But the little voice told him to tell him okay again. The janitor yet again asked Angelo what was wrong. There were showers downstairs. He’d open them up. But Angelo needed to provide the soap and towels. Angelo thought

Lake Solitude rests high in the peaks of the Grand Teton Mountains. The water is cold, even in the summertime, as the mountain snow is just beginning to melt. For me, it was a place for quiet reflection and appreciation for my hiking companions: wildflowers, moose, and a best friend. -Mitchell Dunbar

Standing on the Line By Madeline C. Lanshe

etting a cast on, I used to think, was something that, if it was going to happen to you, happened when you were a kid. Much like braces. Some of my siblings had broken bones when we were younger, and I’d skated by watching all six of them choose colors for their braces. I thought that at the mature old age of 27, I’d escaped both those experiences. I know now, as I type this story with my left hand, the right sitting uselessly in my lap, confined in a splint as I wait to be casted, that that isn’t the case. It is not how I imagined spending my second week as an employee at Advanced RV, nor my debut trip in one of our custom vans. On my first day, Mike, my new employer and the president of ARV, suggested I go on a weekend trip with Elise, an employee around my age who had experience taking out a couple of vans. 17

I’d beamed at the idea of traveling and sleeping in a dream vehicle, as well as getting to know one of my new coworkers. That I’d be asking her to tie the laces of my hiking boots or help me put eye drops in my dog’s eye never crossed my mind as we hastily and excitedly made our plans to visit Allegheny National Forest and Kinzua Bridge in PA. When playing defense in volleyball, especially against higher level male hitters, a line from the Nicholas Cage film, Ghost Rider, runs like a mantra through my head: “You can’t live in fear.” When my blocker puts up a cross- block, and there’s nothing stopping the opposing hitter from ripping the ball down the line at full force where I’m standing, it’s my job to get the ball up, not step out of the way or worry about getting drilled in the face. That’s not how you become a stud defender, and

it certainly wouldn’t make my greatest volleyball role model and inspiration, the number one libero in the world and a member of France’s national team, Jenia Grebennikov, proud. You can’t live in fear. So, during one of my four weekly leagues, I planted myself on the line, tried to read the approaching attacker, put my hands in a neutral, waiting position, and watched as the ball was spiked at me. It happened fast. My brain computed that the ball was flying at my chest and I lifted my hands, hoping to get it up high enough for my teammates to return it. Pain whizzed through my right wrist as the ball made contact. I didn’t know in that moment that I’d fractured my radius, but I did know that the tears, which came minutes later as I watched my teammates play as a team of three, weren’t from the physical pain, but from knowing that I would not be

getting back on the court for my league the next day, the tournament Friday, or the weeks to come. I was splinted in the ER that Wednesday night. In spite of that, Elise and I decided to go through with our trip as planned, setting off Saturday morning. I showed up to ARV fifteen minutes late, underestimating how long it would take to get ready with one hand. Elise had had an early adventure of her own, climbing through the window of our chosen van, Roadrunner, in order to get the keys. We loaded our things inside, including my eager corgi, Scully, and we were on our way. Traveling and adventure have always been in my veins. From ages five to twenty-one, I did Irish dance competitions all

over the region with my three sisters, some cousins, and friends. My mom would drive the family 15 passenger van named Bam Bam, with all of us inside and, even then, the magic and fun of traveling in a large van did not escape me. We’d take out the back row of seats, some of us sitting on the floor (don’t tell my dad), and belt Disney songs at the top of our lungs on the way home when the pressure and anxiety of the competition were forgotten. I’d also taught English at Le Mans University in France for two years, taking solo trips to other European countries during my stay. It became clear early in our drive that Elise, too, had a roving spirit. She’d lived in Hawaii and Australia and had her own extensive list of places to visit and experiences to be lived. I was pleased to find in her another quality we share: taking delight in the smallest of things, such as the way the icy ground collapsed under our feet, the green by the banks of a creek where the moisture on the plants melted the falling snow, the taste of our microwaved dinners that we bought from Trader Joe’s. When we were walking to the van after we’d made our purchases, Elise declared, “This is the dream.” Despite the splinted arm curled against my chest, I wholeheartedly agreed.

We drove to Kinzua Bridge first. What was once the longest, tallest railroad in the world for two years, when it was built in 1882, was destroyed by a tornado in 2003. In 2011, it was reinvented as a pedestrian walkway. The frigid air, speckled with a steady amount of snowflakes, bit at our hands as we wandered down the 600 ft walkway, taking pictures of the naked trees, snaking river, and piles of the collapsed structure below. The other side of the bridge could be seen across the valley, distant, beckoning. With the snow muting all noise, and the gigantic pieces of metal lying abandoned on forest floor, like the battleground of a futuristic fight, the place felt post-apocalyptic, in a serene way, as if the threat of danger had dissipated. Before we started on the icy path leading down to the river, I remembered something I’d put in my pocket: a Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a s’more with a face and hands, holding a volleyball. I’d named him Grebennikov, or, Greb for short, and had drawn the number 2, (the real Grebennikov’s number), in black sharpie over the number 1 that had come on his jersey. Elise looked at me like ‘what the heck is that?’ as I set him on the railing to take a photo. I explained that he comes along on all my travels and it happened to be Greb’s first time in PA.

Down by the river, Elise spun in circles, catching snowflakes in her mouth like kids do in old movies. By the time we climbed back up the path and returned to the van, it was becoming dark. Elise had already scoped out a place to park the van for the night so we made our way there. We followed the GPS down a long, deserted road lined with trees, Roadrunner doing great over the light blanket of snow. A little area opened to the right, large enough for an RV. Elise backed us in and we were parked for the night. We managed to get the TV working, so we hunkered down to watch one of the DVDs Elise had had the foresight to bring. Our single beds had a small path between them, and Scully jumped ship from mine to Elise’s, snuggling

into her apparently more enticing blankets with nary a “by your leave.” The traitor. Laying in the bed, the blinds drawn on the windows, the world dark outside, the van dark around us, save the illumination from the TV, with no internet connection, I felt like we existed in a bubble outside of reality, outside of the grounded world. We could’ve been floating in a space pod, moving towards some new, curious land, or simply drifting through endless blackness, the snowflakes, actually passing stars. Since getting the news that my injury would take me out for six to eight weeks, and experiencing the reduction in my independence and efficiency, I’d been blanketed with feelings of detachment and exhaustion. I’d just started

this job and was moving into a new place to live. I knew I wasn’t as present as I wanted to be, and my social battery level was at an all-time low. It saddened me, because I was aware I wasn’t engaging in the conversations with Elise as energetically as I wanted to, or expressing my own excitement and thoughts as I experienced them. I worried about what kind of first impression I was making, but was unable to find the drive to interact differently. Still, I reminded myself how fortunate I was to be in this moment, in this forest, in this van, with a nice, helpful person and a wonderful dog, and just how crazy and unexpected it was, all the pieces that fell into place to put me here. It was only this summer that I was serving at a restaurant in Willoughby, OH, while

simultaneously working at a volleyball facility, loving the latter and growing restless of the first, feeling lost and overwhelmed by life. Mike sat in my section, not for the first time, with his wife. I had no idea who he was, but we’d recognized each other. He asked how volleyball was going and if I had time to do anything else. Looking back, this was a pivotal moment. If I had answered differently, I probably wouldn’t have been ‘living the dream,’ as Elise had put it, sleeping in a tricked-out RV in an unmarked area of Allegheny National Forest. “I write as well,” I said. “I have my master’s degree in creative writing.” I surprised myself by sharing this with a stranger because typically, people don’t really care, or they ask me more questions than I want to answer. Mike followed up his

question by asking if I ever edited. I said not professionally, but I had the capabilities. He handed me his business card and gave me his cell number, along with a brief description of his business. The idea of custom motorhomes that could be lived in and driven across the country excited me. Otherwise, despite my need and desire for a change in my

life, I wouldn’t have contacted him the next day. We met up a few times to discuss my role. It turns out, he didn’t just want my help editing, but he needed someone to create a magazine from the ground up. It became clear that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill his company’s needs while working two other jobs. So, before I’d even begun working for ARV, Mike took

a chance on me and offered me a full-time position. Had I not been serving that day, had I not shared my passion for writing, had I not taken my own chance on something new, even though it daunted me, I wouldn’t have a new job that excites the adventurer in me and fulfills my desire to design and create. You can’t live in fear. In the morning, after exploring the forest for a bit, we began the journey home. I was amazed how comfortable Scully was in the van, though she’d never ridden in something so large before, save a plane, when she came to France with me. Each time we drove, she’d lay by my feet, waiting patiently for our next stop. It made me ache to travel the world with her by my side, a couple of gals bumming around off the beaten path. As we continued homeward, listening to music and talking about books and tiny houses, a flash of white caught my eye. Flying up through the trees was a bald eagle. Like a defibrillator, I felt that jolt of giddiness that had been lying dormant inside me, and emphatically pointed it out to Elise. I’d never seen one in the wild before, but it was on my bucket list. It was another moment that

reminded me: I am alive, I am here, and life gives as well as takes. It was late evening by the time we cleaned out the van. I returned, exhausted, to a house in the disarray of moving in, with a not-yet working shower, unpacking my car and bags with one hand, overwhelmed by the work to be done, the deadline of the magazine, and the weeks stretching ahead of me without volleyball or the ease of two hands. I wished I could be back in the suspended bubble in the woods. However, when I went to ARV the next morning and started getting my creative juices flowing, it was easy to be filled with the gratitude of working in such a riveting company, one where I could find fulfillment in building something special with kind, thoughtful coworkers, and a sense of security I hadn’t felt since living in France. The day I get back on the court, with a newly healed wrist and unbridled excitement, I will not let the memory of past pain and injury unnerve me. I’ll watch the attacker leap in the air, pull back his arm for the spike, and I’ll be ready, standing on the line, once again.

Elise Hanson

Coming in F

Issu

Commu Italian

(V) To be moved to tears, in a by someone or something

February...

ue 2

heartwarming way,

uovere

Submissions Submit

Who can submit? Anyone! If you have access to our magazine, we’d love to hear from you. What should I submit? Anything creative and heartfelt that can be shared in digital form! Photography, illustrations, poetry, short stories, personal stories, art, etc. Why do you accept submissions? This magazine is a space for people to share their stories and passions in hopes it will connect us with others in a positive, uplifting way. “The ethnosphere is humanity’s great legacy. It is the product of our dreams, the embodiment of our hopes, the symbol of all that we are and all that we have created as a wildly inquisitive and astonishingly adaptive species.” - Wade Davis When can I submit? In each issue, we will reveal the theme for the coming issue. If you’d like your proposal to be considered for the coming issue, submit as soon as you can to give us time to review it with our team, communicate with you, edit, and fit it into the greater picture of the magazine. Otherwise, submit anything at any time. It may fit in a future issue or even inspire the theme of one! What do I need to include in my submission? Tell us a sentence or two about yourself, how you discovered Ethnosphere, and the work you’d like to submit. If possible, attach any images, PDFs or other files to be reviewed, and the editor will be in touch with you. If you have a story that you think would make for a great article, but you don’t have the narrative prowess to write it, don’t worry! There is an opportunity for a conversation with the editor so that she, or someone on the editorial staff, could write the story with you. If your submission is not accepted, don’t get discouraged. There is always a chance in the future. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy all that the magazine has to offer. Even if you are not featured within it, your experiences, dreams, and creations are equally part of the Ethnosphere. Disclaimer: Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to edit and share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons. Madeline C. Lanshe

Susan Bell

Beyond the Magazinee

Madeline Lanshe is a writer from Green, Ohio, with a passion for traveling, rock climbing, and getting lost in the night sky. She taught English for two years in Le Mans, France, which now feels like her second home. She works at Advanced RV as editor-inchief of Ethnosphere. Besides dreams of becoming a published fiction author, Madeline is a volleyball addict. She believes life is about collecting moments of magic wherever you go and immersing yourself in the things that light your heart on fire.

Angelo Anderson spent eight years living on the streets of Cleveland in the early 1990s before turning his life around. He’s been serving the homeless community for over 30 years now, involved in and running several programs. He started the street newspaper, the Homeless Grapevine, while living on the streets. Now called the Cleveland Street Chronicle, he still sells papers on Saturday mornings at the market.

Iceberg Lake, Glacier National Park, Montana

Madeline C. Lanshe