Showing posts with label Crazy family members. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crazy family members. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Fifty something.
I sure love this guy.
He's the reason I am so unbelievably skilled in the art of 70's dance.
Happy birthday, Dad.
He's the reason I am so unbelievably skilled in the art of 70's dance.
Happy birthday, Dad.
Friday, August 22, 2008
My motherboard, myself
Macbook is home.
The motherboard was defective, whatever that means. I thanked the guy and said, “Yeah, my mom has been acting funny too lately, can you do anything about her?” He would have laughed, I'm sure, but my phone rang. It was my mom.
Which brings me to my next topic: Adult Children of Active Facebook Users.
When did it become normal for parents start creeping onto facebook? I realize my parents are just extra-technological what with finding internet spouses and all, but honestly you guys, as a group, we really dropped the ball on this one. Parents should be confined to the geriatric network (as opposed to the Indianapolis or FW network)—which could be visited, but, for the love of God, not flung wide open for all of them to just run loose. Don’t even get me started on grandparents hanging around—there goes my whole new blog idea: Conversations with Crazy Grammy.
Brookie?
Hey grandma.
Are you working?
No.
Are you busy?
No.
Well, I didn’t think you’d ever call me back.
Grandma, I’ve been calling you all week. I left three messages.
No, you didn’t.
Yes, I did. Check your messages.
Nope. My phone makes a little noise when there’s a message.
Well, I left one. Maybe its broken or something.
No, it always makes a little noise. You must have called someone else.
Grandma, it was your voicemail. Your number is on speed dial. It was you.
No. Huh-uh. It didn’t make that little noise.
Why don’t you just check your messages. Just in case. I’ll wait.
No, Brookie. It always makes that little noise, but—Oh! (laugh) Isn’t that funny? (laugh) I have three messages. (laugh) It always makes that little noise. (laugh) Isn’t that funny, darlin? (laugh)
See? I told you.
Well, I just hadn’t heard from you in a while. I thought I might get a thank-you card or something for the pajamas I gave you last spring.
Oh, well, yeah, I love those pajamas. I thought we covered that at the house. Sorry.
Well, you’ve been busy. You’ve got a lot going on up there. Are you running around with Sprinky today?
No, she is in South Carolina
Oh! She is? What’s she doing there?
Visiting our other friends, Bethany and Mike.
Oh! Bethany and Mike live in South Carolina?
Yeah.
You never told me that.
They’ve lived there for a year and a half.
Well, you never told me.
They moved last April.
You didn’t tell me they moved.
The motherboard was defective, whatever that means. I thanked the guy and said, “Yeah, my mom has been acting funny too lately, can you do anything about her?” He would have laughed, I'm sure, but my phone rang. It was my mom.
Which brings me to my next topic: Adult Children of Active Facebook Users.
When did it become normal for parents start creeping onto facebook? I realize my parents are just extra-technological what with finding internet spouses and all, but honestly you guys, as a group, we really dropped the ball on this one. Parents should be confined to the geriatric network (as opposed to the Indianapolis or FW network)—which could be visited, but, for the love of God, not flung wide open for all of them to just run loose. Don’t even get me started on grandparents hanging around—there goes my whole new blog idea: Conversations with Crazy Grammy.
Brookie?
Hey grandma.
Are you working?
No.
Are you busy?
No.
Well, I didn’t think you’d ever call me back.
Grandma, I’ve been calling you all week. I left three messages.
No, you didn’t.
Yes, I did. Check your messages.
Nope. My phone makes a little noise when there’s a message.
Well, I left one. Maybe its broken or something.
No, it always makes a little noise. You must have called someone else.
Grandma, it was your voicemail. Your number is on speed dial. It was you.
No. Huh-uh. It didn’t make that little noise.
Why don’t you just check your messages. Just in case. I’ll wait.
No, Brookie. It always makes that little noise, but—Oh! (laugh) Isn’t that funny? (laugh) I have three messages. (laugh) It always makes that little noise. (laugh) Isn’t that funny, darlin? (laugh)
See? I told you.
Well, I just hadn’t heard from you in a while. I thought I might get a thank-you card or something for the pajamas I gave you last spring.
Oh, well, yeah, I love those pajamas. I thought we covered that at the house. Sorry.
Well, you’ve been busy. You’ve got a lot going on up there. Are you running around with Sprinky today?
No, she is in South Carolina
Oh! She is? What’s she doing there?
Visiting our other friends, Bethany and Mike.
Oh! Bethany and Mike live in South Carolina?
Yeah.
You never told me that.
They’ve lived there for a year and a half.
Well, you never told me.
They moved last April.
You didn’t tell me they moved.
I didn't know you knew them.
You didn't tell me.
Grandma, I didn’t know you wanted to know.
That's okay. You never tell me anything about your friends. You’re just too busy. Too busy for your grandma.
Hmmm.
In other news, I started working this week. I got a job at the Tulane bookstore. I basically hang Tulane clothes all day and refold everything when waves of freshmen or cheerleaders or foreign golf players come in and try everything on in front of the mirror. My favorite is when the owner comes through, stands in front of a certain display and says, “Y’all’s folds are bad.”
I also love watching at all the bossy mothers in New Jersey accents holding up 80 different-colored sweatshirts to a nervous, eye-rolling new freshman while the little sister tries on $90 hoodies and the dad just moseys behind in search of golf gear or something. I can’t help but imagine my little brothers being interested in a sweatshirt or a Taylor hat. It just never happened. If my brothers had been there, we would have ended the day in Allen County lockup for theft or public intoxication or consumption of a minor, especially now that Brandon has taken to running around town with a can of Budlight in his hand pawning other people’s books. They have just never really been into things like college hats or college sweatshirts or college at all, really.
Moving on.
I made three friends in three days. They work with me in the bookstore, and all three wanted to know if I had gotten a daiquiri yet and where. They are serious about their daiquiris here. By the third day, I was directing new students and worried mothers all over campus or to the nearest Wal-greens or Whole Foods or daiquiri stand like a good little local...
PS- I thought about this all day. Nine years ago today my aunt was killed in a car accident. It was awful and heartbreaking and felt like, at the time, someone had taken all the color out of the world. Whenever I think of her, besides crepes and laughing and hideous hand-me-down purple zip-up bathing suits, I think of Mr. Gay and what he wrote on a little piece of paper in the guestbook at her funeral: Bonne nuit joli petit oiseau - Goodnight pretty little bird.
Grandma, I didn’t know you wanted to know.
That's okay. You never tell me anything about your friends. You’re just too busy. Too busy for your grandma.
Hmmm.
In other news, I started working this week. I got a job at the Tulane bookstore. I basically hang Tulane clothes all day and refold everything when waves of freshmen or cheerleaders or foreign golf players come in and try everything on in front of the mirror. My favorite is when the owner comes through, stands in front of a certain display and says, “Y’all’s folds are bad.”
I also love watching at all the bossy mothers in New Jersey accents holding up 80 different-colored sweatshirts to a nervous, eye-rolling new freshman while the little sister tries on $90 hoodies and the dad just moseys behind in search of golf gear or something. I can’t help but imagine my little brothers being interested in a sweatshirt or a Taylor hat. It just never happened. If my brothers had been there, we would have ended the day in Allen County lockup for theft or public intoxication or consumption of a minor, especially now that Brandon has taken to running around town with a can of Budlight in his hand pawning other people’s books. They have just never really been into things like college hats or college sweatshirts or college at all, really.
Moving on.
I made three friends in three days. They work with me in the bookstore, and all three wanted to know if I had gotten a daiquiri yet and where. They are serious about their daiquiris here. By the third day, I was directing new students and worried mothers all over campus or to the nearest Wal-greens or Whole Foods or daiquiri stand like a good little local...
PS- I thought about this all day. Nine years ago today my aunt was killed in a car accident. It was awful and heartbreaking and felt like, at the time, someone had taken all the color out of the world. Whenever I think of her, besides crepes and laughing and hideous hand-me-down purple zip-up bathing suits, I think of Mr. Gay and what he wrote on a little piece of paper in the guestbook at her funeral: Bonne nuit joli petit oiseau - Goodnight pretty little bird.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Did someone say Olympics?
This is my mom and my aunt. They are in their 49s and 50s. No one told them to do this, I was just trying to show them a few good ab exercises. Next thing I knew, they were synchronized-swimming and saying things like, "Look, a torpedo!" and shooting noodles out from underneath them. Leave it to them to turn my Bella-Ka-Brookia coaching into horseplay. I was trying to make a life for us. This is why I no longer coach girls. My brothers used to work hard when I pretended to coach them in Russian at the hotel pool.
Olympic baseball
Olympic volleyball
Olympic weightlifting
Olympic, um, birdwatching?
Olympic syncrhonized swimming
Olympic baseball
Olympic volleyball
Olympic weightlifting
Olympic, um, birdwatching?
Olympic syncrhonized swimming
Friday, July 4, 2008
Berny hotfingers
While I was in Belize, my greedy little brother pawned all my books.
I didn’t discover the books missing until an hour before my dad’s wedding, which is just like him. He had been MIA for at least a month and had shown up the day of the wedding to get his clothes from the apartment. My dad had changed the locks that morning, and Brandon all but jumped out of the bushes as soon as we pulled up. He smiled a sparkly smile, raved abut his great new job at the pet store, threw his clothes into a trash bag, gave me a hug, and promised he’d stay in touch.
Twenty minutes later, I found my empty book box. I stomped around the apartment screaming about what an idiot he was and how I’d throw him out a two-story window if I ever saw him again. My dad thought I was overreacting until he went to get his camera, which was also missing. It was the camera we bought my dad for Father’s Day—and by “we” I mean “me” since I paid both Ben and Brandon’s share. So, to recap: he stole my books, and then he stole the camera he himself gifted, at my expense.
Had he shown up for the wedding, he would have been uninvited. But that’s what makes him so frustrating. He is so unreliable you can’t even exclude him.
He finally called me about a week ago under the guise of “I heard you had shingles, how are you feeling?” which turned out, in the end, to be “I need a bed can I have yours?”
I told him I was feeling fine, except that I was broke and had to depend on the free clinic to treat my shingles since I have no money and can’t even pawn my own books for prescription drugs. Then I threw in something about food stamps just to make him feel guilty, and ten minutes later I was fielding calls from various family members alarmed about the food stamps.
“Are you on food stamps?”
“No, who told you that?”
“Brandon.”
“You talked to Brandon? Did he call you or did you call him?”
“He called me.”
“To tell you I was on food stamps?”
“Well, no. He said he was trying to buy dad’s furniture but that you might need the money more than dad. Do you need money?”
“No.”
“Do you need groceries?”
“No. I’m not even on food stamps. I was just trying to make a point.”
“Berny.”
“What?
“Did you tell mom I was on food stamps?”
“Yeah, because she said you might be selling your couches, and I thought you would need the money for groceries. And I need some couches. And a bed.”
“Brandon! I don’t need groceries. I’m not selling my bed. You can’t afford my couches. I just want my books!”
Do you know what he said next? He said, “Brooke. I left your yearbooks.”
As if all other books are merely ornamental.
I didn’t discover the books missing until an hour before my dad’s wedding, which is just like him. He had been MIA for at least a month and had shown up the day of the wedding to get his clothes from the apartment. My dad had changed the locks that morning, and Brandon all but jumped out of the bushes as soon as we pulled up. He smiled a sparkly smile, raved abut his great new job at the pet store, threw his clothes into a trash bag, gave me a hug, and promised he’d stay in touch.
Twenty minutes later, I found my empty book box. I stomped around the apartment screaming about what an idiot he was and how I’d throw him out a two-story window if I ever saw him again. My dad thought I was overreacting until he went to get his camera, which was also missing. It was the camera we bought my dad for Father’s Day—and by “we” I mean “me” since I paid both Ben and Brandon’s share. So, to recap: he stole my books, and then he stole the camera he himself gifted, at my expense.
Had he shown up for the wedding, he would have been uninvited. But that’s what makes him so frustrating. He is so unreliable you can’t even exclude him.
He finally called me about a week ago under the guise of “I heard you had shingles, how are you feeling?” which turned out, in the end, to be “I need a bed can I have yours?”
I told him I was feeling fine, except that I was broke and had to depend on the free clinic to treat my shingles since I have no money and can’t even pawn my own books for prescription drugs. Then I threw in something about food stamps just to make him feel guilty, and ten minutes later I was fielding calls from various family members alarmed about the food stamps.
“Are you on food stamps?”
“No, who told you that?”
“Brandon.”
“You talked to Brandon? Did he call you or did you call him?”
“He called me.”
“To tell you I was on food stamps?”
“Well, no. He said he was trying to buy dad’s furniture but that you might need the money more than dad. Do you need money?”
“No.”
“Do you need groceries?”
“No. I’m not even on food stamps. I was just trying to make a point.”
“Berny.”
“What?
“Did you tell mom I was on food stamps?”
“Yeah, because she said you might be selling your couches, and I thought you would need the money for groceries. And I need some couches. And a bed.”
“Brandon! I don’t need groceries. I’m not selling my bed. You can’t afford my couches. I just want my books!”
Do you know what he said next? He said, “Brooke. I left your yearbooks.”
As if all other books are merely ornamental.
As if he were a classy enough pawner to leave the things of real value.
As if I am not a smart enough sister to understand the translation: “Brooke. The bookstore didn’t want your yearbooks.”
For the record, the bookstore did not keep a record of books bought. There is no list of books sold. If I want my books back, I have to manually go through the shelves and pick out the ones I think might be mine and then re-buy them. Re-buy them. Hundreds of books. He managed to get my dad’s camera back, though. He originally used it to take out a loan at the pawnshop and then paid the loan and reclaimed the camera. But books? You should see the way they look at me when I whine about the books. Come on, Brooke. It’s not like they’re yearbooks.
Well. Today I bought three books. Now I am the proud owner of three books and 4 yearbooks. If you would like to give me a parting gift for grad school, please buy me a book.
Unrelated: I have a bookshelf for sale
For the record, the bookstore did not keep a record of books bought. There is no list of books sold. If I want my books back, I have to manually go through the shelves and pick out the ones I think might be mine and then re-buy them. Re-buy them. Hundreds of books. He managed to get my dad’s camera back, though. He originally used it to take out a loan at the pawnshop and then paid the loan and reclaimed the camera. But books? You should see the way they look at me when I whine about the books. Come on, Brooke. It’s not like they’re yearbooks.
Well. Today I bought three books. Now I am the proud owner of three books and 4 yearbooks. If you would like to give me a parting gift for grad school, please buy me a book.
Unrelated: I have a bookshelf for sale
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Week Eleven: Home
I’ve been asking myself all week why we put ourselves through the pain and agony of good relationships. I mean, there are always goodbyes. I knew that going into this. I just didn’t remember it being this hard. Or depressing.
I’m home.
Ahem. I mean, I’m home!
Timeline:
School dismissed on Thursday for a two-week Easter Break.
Antonia left on Friday to present her Thesis in Canada.
Frances and Inez left on Saturday to spend Easter in Gualtemala.
The Cabbs leave next week for Houston.
After a long delay in Miami and an unexpected (but provisional) overnight in Chicago, I arrived in Indianapolis on Friday safe, sound & exhausted.
The first thing I did when I got home: put on my skinny jeans.
They fit!
(One more amoeba, and I think I could enter the world of singe-digit sizes. Note for next time. Two amoebas- good. THREE amoebas, size 8.)
My arrival was two weeks earlier than planned, so I surprised my family at my sister-in-law’s baby shower on Saturday. Here is documentation of the magical moment.
This is my grandma. After the picture was taken, she cried and stroked my face through the entire prayer, and then she had to sit down. Sprinky not only laughed at her, but laughed at her DURING the prayer. Then I laughed at Sprinky laughing at her, and, well, you know how laughing and praying goes…
Lisa & McKenzie were at the airport to pick me up, along with my dad and his fiancé—wiggedy-what? Rewind. Fiancé. Yes, my dad is getting MARRIED. He met someone while I was in Belize, and she happens to be just perfect for him.
Upon further investigation, I am happy to report: I approve (and not just because she reads my blog or drove me to Martinsville today to pick up my car). She maintained a perfectly respectable distance while I bawled my eyes out and made a fool of myself in the middle of the airport, then offered a sympathetic hug for the entire situation: the crying, the never-having-met, the jet lag, the Chicago ordeal and arrivals in general, because, as it happens, she is a nurse and makes several medical mission trips a year for weeks and months at a time. She understood.
Besides, she loves my dad. He loves her. I’m cool with it. The only question is which dress I should wear in the wedding. He told me I could pick anything, which was thrilling for me. I am stuck between these two dresses. Your vote would help.
Moving on.
I was able to attend the CFI board meeting on Friday night and surprised half the board members, which was fun. I fully intended to speak words of wisdom about the trip, but every time it was my turn, I just started crying. I guess that’s just how “goodbyes” followed by “hellos” are— our absolute lowest and highest moments all in the same breath.
Considering the debriefing period of the next few weeks and my transition back to Fort Wayne, I feel sort of stuck in Week Eleven and truly believe I could be happy living Week Eleven in the comfy bed at my dad’s house for the rest of my life.
After all, I have Trix & internet.
But, alas. I don’t know how to thank all of you for supporting this adventure, which turned out to be the most fun, challenging and meaningful time of my life, and for walking alongside me in the last 6 months. Your contributions, comments, cards, packages, emails and phone calls have been essential to this season of my life, and the lives of countless kids and families in Belize.
From the deepest part of my heart, thank you.
Many people have asked what’s next. I’ve been wondering that too.
I’ll be in Indianapolis for the next few weeks, and back to Fort Wayne in April for the summer. I just accepted the scholarship to Tulane ($9000!) and am working on finding housing for August.
Many people have asked how I’m doing. I’ve been wondering that too.
Let me put it this way. I burst into tears today at a traffic cop who told me to stop. I’m not sure what that means.
But I do know that I miss my Belize family (more than words) and I hate the weather here. I love driving, and I love the mall. I love Starbucks and I love bug-free sleeping.
I miss eating fresh oranges and walking from store to store with Inez looking for flour or choco-bananas. I miss the teachers and the pace of life there. I miss having a purpose.
But CFI has done a great job of providing a period of debriefing, lots of opportunities for me to "unload" and relax, and have helped in every possible, thoughtful way with re-entry. What they don’t know is that someone in Fort Wayne will have to debrief me from Lisa and Denise in a few weeks. I feel like a suction cup that just can’t let go, like I’ll die when I’m not somehow connected to CFI or Belize…
I am looking forward to meeting Lily (my niece) any day now and looking forward to time with friends in the Fort.
Other than that, I’m still working things out. Just know that if we run into each other and I burst into tears, its not you.
Here are some other pictures of the shower and the first time I got to feel Lily kick! (Note, in the shower pics, my awesomely awesome skirt from Guatemala)
The afterparty
Also, here are some answers from the report I sent back to CFI during my last week of service. They are the same questions many of you have been asking and might be of interest, especially to those who supported:
Regarding the purpose of the mission, what was the most rewarding part of the experience?
The most rewarding part was watching the kids become excited and participate with enthusiasm on a daily basis, their ongoing retention and application of concepts, and, ultimately, the increase in knowledge as reflected during post-test activities. (And I’m talking about little things here, like how they were able to give the definitions of empathy, toxic, abstinence—words they didn’t know before I came; the ability to list 5 different ways to say ‘no’, for example, or 3 ways they can calm down during an argument and then apply it all in role-play situations.)
Regarding the purpose of the mission, what was the most challenging part of the experience?
The most challenging part was adapting the program to fit different age groups and grades within one classroom, or within one session. For example, in any given class, you might have a kid who is 8 and also a kid who is 12. It was hard to figure out how to organize the sessions.
What was the greatest reward personally and overall?
The greatest reward personally and over all has been the relationships built with the students, with the Flowers and Cabb families and the slow inclusion of me into daily village life—that I can walk down the street now and almost everyone runs to the door yells, “Hi Miss Brooke!” instead of "gringa!"
What was the most challenging aspect personally and overall?
The most challenging aspects personally and overall have been bugs, sickness, dealing with water & electric outages, the laundry routine—general aspects of day-to-day life. I had more than a few showdowns with giant spiders, ants, no water when I really want to brush my teeth, etc. The illnesses were challenging, but manageable.
Knowing CFI is educationally focused, what do you see to be the most critical need at Santa Familia School and at San Marcos School?
The most critical need at Santa Familia: ink for the printer, internet at school, art supplies and art lesson ideas for each age group, PE equipment and outdoor PE activity ideas for each age group.
San Marcos: water system, art supplies & activities, David insists he needs an SUV. Exciting sidenote, San Marcos village was in the process of getting electricity the week I left. The poles were up along the main road and all the kids were asking me about TV with glowing eyes.
Was there anything regarding the purpose of the mission that you felt you were not able to achieve? If so, what?
I was not able to complete the second week of programming for 2 classes at Santa Familia school due to illness.
What did you miss most?
Tall nonfat sugar free Caramel Macciato
Oh, and friends and fam, of course.
Would you consider doing this again?
Absolutely. This was one of the best experiences of my life.
I wish I could do it again right now. Hopefully, November…
We are having a celebration on March 30th (and no, I did not throw my own welcome home party- it was thrown for me) but please come if you are in town. I would love to celebrate and share pictures and stories with you who have been so supportive during this time. Besides, it's a great excuse to get together!
(Email me for directions.)
I’m home.
Ahem. I mean, I’m home!
Timeline:
School dismissed on Thursday for a two-week Easter Break.
Antonia left on Friday to present her Thesis in Canada.
Frances and Inez left on Saturday to spend Easter in Gualtemala.
The Cabbs leave next week for Houston.
After a long delay in Miami and an unexpected (but provisional) overnight in Chicago, I arrived in Indianapolis on Friday safe, sound & exhausted.
The first thing I did when I got home: put on my skinny jeans.
They fit!
(One more amoeba, and I think I could enter the world of singe-digit sizes. Note for next time. Two amoebas- good. THREE amoebas, size 8.)
My arrival was two weeks earlier than planned, so I surprised my family at my sister-in-law’s baby shower on Saturday. Here is documentation of the magical moment.
This is my grandma. After the picture was taken, she cried and stroked my face through the entire prayer, and then she had to sit down. Sprinky not only laughed at her, but laughed at her DURING the prayer. Then I laughed at Sprinky laughing at her, and, well, you know how laughing and praying goes…
Lisa & McKenzie were at the airport to pick me up, along with my dad and his fiancé—wiggedy-what? Rewind. Fiancé. Yes, my dad is getting MARRIED. He met someone while I was in Belize, and she happens to be just perfect for him.
Upon further investigation, I am happy to report: I approve (and not just because she reads my blog or drove me to Martinsville today to pick up my car). She maintained a perfectly respectable distance while I bawled my eyes out and made a fool of myself in the middle of the airport, then offered a sympathetic hug for the entire situation: the crying, the never-having-met, the jet lag, the Chicago ordeal and arrivals in general, because, as it happens, she is a nurse and makes several medical mission trips a year for weeks and months at a time. She understood.
Besides, she loves my dad. He loves her. I’m cool with it. The only question is which dress I should wear in the wedding. He told me I could pick anything, which was thrilling for me. I am stuck between these two dresses. Your vote would help.
Moving on.
I was able to attend the CFI board meeting on Friday night and surprised half the board members, which was fun. I fully intended to speak words of wisdom about the trip, but every time it was my turn, I just started crying. I guess that’s just how “goodbyes” followed by “hellos” are— our absolute lowest and highest moments all in the same breath.
Considering the debriefing period of the next few weeks and my transition back to Fort Wayne, I feel sort of stuck in Week Eleven and truly believe I could be happy living Week Eleven in the comfy bed at my dad’s house for the rest of my life.
After all, I have Trix & internet.
But, alas. I don’t know how to thank all of you for supporting this adventure, which turned out to be the most fun, challenging and meaningful time of my life, and for walking alongside me in the last 6 months. Your contributions, comments, cards, packages, emails and phone calls have been essential to this season of my life, and the lives of countless kids and families in Belize.
From the deepest part of my heart, thank you.
Many people have asked what’s next. I’ve been wondering that too.
I’ll be in Indianapolis for the next few weeks, and back to Fort Wayne in April for the summer. I just accepted the scholarship to Tulane ($9000!) and am working on finding housing for August.
Many people have asked how I’m doing. I’ve been wondering that too.
Let me put it this way. I burst into tears today at a traffic cop who told me to stop. I’m not sure what that means.
But I do know that I miss my Belize family (more than words) and I hate the weather here. I love driving, and I love the mall. I love Starbucks and I love bug-free sleeping.
I miss eating fresh oranges and walking from store to store with Inez looking for flour or choco-bananas. I miss the teachers and the pace of life there. I miss having a purpose.
But CFI has done a great job of providing a period of debriefing, lots of opportunities for me to "unload" and relax, and have helped in every possible, thoughtful way with re-entry. What they don’t know is that someone in Fort Wayne will have to debrief me from Lisa and Denise in a few weeks. I feel like a suction cup that just can’t let go, like I’ll die when I’m not somehow connected to CFI or Belize…
I am looking forward to meeting Lily (my niece) any day now and looking forward to time with friends in the Fort.
Other than that, I’m still working things out. Just know that if we run into each other and I burst into tears, its not you.
Here are some other pictures of the shower and the first time I got to feel Lily kick! (Note, in the shower pics, my awesomely awesome skirt from Guatemala)
The afterparty
Also, here are some answers from the report I sent back to CFI during my last week of service. They are the same questions many of you have been asking and might be of interest, especially to those who supported:
Regarding the purpose of the mission, what was the most rewarding part of the experience?
The most rewarding part was watching the kids become excited and participate with enthusiasm on a daily basis, their ongoing retention and application of concepts, and, ultimately, the increase in knowledge as reflected during post-test activities. (And I’m talking about little things here, like how they were able to give the definitions of empathy, toxic, abstinence—words they didn’t know before I came; the ability to list 5 different ways to say ‘no’, for example, or 3 ways they can calm down during an argument and then apply it all in role-play situations.)
Regarding the purpose of the mission, what was the most challenging part of the experience?
The most challenging part was adapting the program to fit different age groups and grades within one classroom, or within one session. For example, in any given class, you might have a kid who is 8 and also a kid who is 12. It was hard to figure out how to organize the sessions.
What was the greatest reward personally and overall?
The greatest reward personally and over all has been the relationships built with the students, with the Flowers and Cabb families and the slow inclusion of me into daily village life—that I can walk down the street now and almost everyone runs to the door yells, “Hi Miss Brooke!” instead of "gringa!"
What was the most challenging aspect personally and overall?
The most challenging aspects personally and overall have been bugs, sickness, dealing with water & electric outages, the laundry routine—general aspects of day-to-day life. I had more than a few showdowns with giant spiders, ants, no water when I really want to brush my teeth, etc. The illnesses were challenging, but manageable.
Knowing CFI is educationally focused, what do you see to be the most critical need at Santa Familia School and at San Marcos School?
The most critical need at Santa Familia: ink for the printer, internet at school, art supplies and art lesson ideas for each age group, PE equipment and outdoor PE activity ideas for each age group.
San Marcos: water system, art supplies & activities, David insists he needs an SUV. Exciting sidenote, San Marcos village was in the process of getting electricity the week I left. The poles were up along the main road and all the kids were asking me about TV with glowing eyes.
Was there anything regarding the purpose of the mission that you felt you were not able to achieve? If so, what?
I was not able to complete the second week of programming for 2 classes at Santa Familia school due to illness.
What did you miss most?
Tall nonfat sugar free Caramel Macciato
Oh, and friends and fam, of course.
Would you consider doing this again?
Absolutely. This was one of the best experiences of my life.
I wish I could do it again right now. Hopefully, November…
We are having a celebration on March 30th (and no, I did not throw my own welcome home party- it was thrown for me) but please come if you are in town. I would love to celebrate and share pictures and stories with you who have been so supportive during this time. Besides, it's a great excuse to get together!
(Email me for directions.)
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Boonjy
My brother, Benjamin Lee Wilson (known affectionately as Boonjy, or sometimes Boonjermin) turns 21 today! I would write something embarrassing about him, but then my grandma would march out of the kitchen straight to Belize and say, "Nobody talks bad about MY American soldier!" so I'll leave it at this:
Of all the brothers, Ben always ALWAYS offers his bed when I come home, even if he is on leave from boot camp, and sleeps on the couch. He is also the only brother to call me in Belize with his precious 8 minutes. That was so special. He doesn't even have a phone!
Cheers Boonjy!
Of all the brothers, Ben always ALWAYS offers his bed when I come home, even if he is on leave from boot camp, and sleeps on the couch. He is also the only brother to call me in Belize with his precious 8 minutes. That was so special. He doesn't even have a phone!
Cheers Boonjy!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Bryan Buffington Wilson
Bryan Buffington Wilson
Update: I am teaching two classes in the morning and doing an art activity with the Infant classes in the afternoons at the San Marcos school. Here are my new classes:
Classes on Tuesday afternoon were canceled to clear a soccer field. It was only supposed to be the standard 4, 5 & 6 classes, but the smoke was so bad everyone had to go outside. I got a kick out of the infant classes- they just pulled up their plastic chairs and watched, like it was a soccer game or something:
I did not get a kick out of the tarantula...
Tomorrow election day in Belize, so all schools are closed tomorrow and Friday. That means 2 days off, yahoo!
Miss you!
Love you!
Tell my brother happy birthday if you know him...
Friday, January 25, 2008
Brooks Buffington Wilson
That’s right. I said Buffington.
Today is my dad’s birthday.
In Vegas last year, my friends didn’t even bother using his name—they just called him “Best Dad Ever” which I think explains everything.
Happy Birthday Dad!
I love you.
Today is my dad’s birthday.
In Vegas last year, my friends didn’t even bother using his name—they just called him “Best Dad Ever” which I think explains everything.
Happy Birthday Dad!
I love you.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
My salute to failure
On the news tonight, I saw an event at the Botanical Gardens honoring all the valedictorians and salutorians in our city from every school. I laughed really hard.
It's just that I had gotten this call from my mom, who told me that the boys are banned from walking across the stage, because Ben (the 20-year-old) may or may not have enough credits due to the school losing his records and the fact that he keeps leaving school an hour-and-a-half early to come home and eat a bowl of cereal, and Brandon (the 18-year-old) couldn't refrain from smoking pot on the day of a scheduled drug test 2 weeks before graduation. Apparently the alternative school doesn't publicly support potheads or undereducated 20 year-olds, even though a nice teacher physically drove to my dad's house, yanked Ben up out of the recliner and drove him back to school.
Also, my dad is making an attempt at storming the district, advocating for Ben because it's wrong that the school lost his records, and for
As if that's the real danger, here. Vengeance. Three out of three brothers have been expelled from the public school system for drugs, sent to the alternative school and, of the three, only one will have actually graduated. What they need here is a clear lesson in vengeance.
My grandma on the other hand, who already owns 3 floor-to-ceiling cabinets full of party favors, tablecloths, hats, napkins, forks, candles, plates and noise-makers for every occasion, up to and including graduation, and would never let a silly thing like expulsion keep her from throwing a good party, called my mom today and this was their conversation:
"Trisha? Honey, I'm here at this paper place… oohh, yes, is this one on sale too? and…hello? You there? I'm at this paper place and for $26 we can have the napkins…let me describe them…they have a confetti-like in the corner…well, a triangle shape in one direction, its real festive looking, and they have a special where you can get 100 napkins with their names imprinted, well, the one I'm looking at has four girls names, because they all had their party together, but I mean, we could print Ben-uh-Bry-uh Benjamin and Brandon's names on---this one? No, no, I mean this one— Trisha? And they can put their school and the date…now did you say their school colors are burgundy and white?"
Hopefully my dad will convince the school that vengeance is not the example to set for a truant, drug-using 18 to 20 year-old so that we can have graduation party instead of an "OMG, you're still in high school?" party, because my mom already sent out the invitations and grandma's at the party store.
That would be like throwing myself a shower at 30 for the party of it, which I am still planning to do if I have not yet found something to celebrate.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Important disclosures
- That new chocolatey Kellogg's cereal was made for people like me. Although, they really should add the word "moderation" somewhere in the slogan: It won't undo your whole day, because people who eat chocolate for breakfast are the same people who will finish off the whole box in a drunken chocolate stupor at midnight, and if you eat the whole box at midnight, it actually does undo your whole day.
- Ambien went generic last week, and I was at the pharmacy 10 seconds later. I know people who have counted pennies for years because with or without insurance, the drug is $3 a pill and requires a savings plan. (And speaking of expensive medicine, what's with $94 dollar allergy medicine, geez!)
Well, friends and mom. The days of hoarding and splitting and burying and saving and taking only half-a-pill a night are over! Ambien for everyone! I took a whole pill last night for the first time in months and enjoyed a glorious morning of reading through all the crazy comments and messages I left on people's blogs last night. I especially like the one where I pretended to have been in a coma for 40 years and just found out I was actually 79 and that my friends and I had been distance-learning friends for over 50 years.
What a good 8 hours of refreshing sleep! If you come stay with me, you'll find a mini bottle of shampoo/conditioner and two complimentary ambien on your pillow. Just don't be surprised to find a bunch of little cornflakes and chocolate pieces in the bed when you wake up.
- My brother graduated high-school yesterday. Not the 20 year old, the 18 year old. Gosh, it seems like only yesterday I was bringing him a box of drug-free party favors for his sweet sixteenth in rehab. We're still working on the 20 year-old. My dad says he only has 6 hours left to finish, but that he keeps leaving school after an hour-and-a-half every morning to come home and eat a bowl of cereal. My dad thinks he just leaves to get high. I think he has discovered Chocolately Kellogg's cereal and can't stop. It happens to the best of us. Boonjy: there will be plenty of chocolate cereal after you graduate high school. Ambien, too. What? What's Ambien? Oh, that's a LEGAL drug. What's legal? Umm...look it up.
- I am going to
- I have a smoke detector that kept beeping at me, so I took out the batteries--I know, I know, totally dangerous. I meant to grab some at the store, but it's been about 3 weeks. Now that stupid detector is hanging from the ceiling by a red and black wire, and it has a little tray sticking out (where the battery goes) with a bright orange sticker on it. Also, there are those two little lights on the surface that are supposed to light up and flash when the detector is working, but since there are no batteries, they are just dark. So now, every time I go to bed or wake up and I am in that sleepy stage where I am not totally awake or totally asleep I jump out of bed and almost scream because it looks like a weird animal is hanging from my ceiling sticking its tongue out at me. I'm serious. And plus, the bridesmaid dress from my brothers wedding is hanging on my bedroom door, so sometimes there is an animal hanging from the ceiling AND a headless woman floating in my doorway. Just thought you should know.
6. I made an appointment with a dermatologist yesterday, which is a big deal because it involved calling my insurance company to FIND a dermatologist and explaining to a receptionist that, no, I didn't have an actual problem right now, per se, but that 3 generations of men in my family died of melanoma and that my dad was given 60 days to live when he got it at 26. I turned 26 last week, and read an article in Allure that said a if you have a first degree family member with melanoma, your chances of getting it are over 90%. I'd say that's a problem that needs so preventative care, wouldn't you? She agreed. I see my first dermatologist on Friday, for a full body exam. Yikes. FULL body exam, wink wink.
Well, I think that's enough for now. I had to stay home sick today, if you're wondering where I found the inspiration for these important disclosures. I was totally bored.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Desperate Housewives Christmas Special
Happy February.
For the longest time I have been trying to write a holiday letter merry enough to recount our first Christmas since the wedding. Don't get me wrong, I love the new family. And I love the old family. But when Crazy Grammy opened the liquor cabinet at four-thirty on Christmas Eve for her own personal happy hour and tried to get us all half-sloshed before my mom arrived with her new husband, Steven, who is a recovering alcoholic, it was more like a Desperate Housewives Christmas special than the actual celebration of the birth of our Lord, although Grandma batted her eyes and insisted we all read the Christmas story aloud.
What was funny was picking Sprinky up from the
My favorite Christmas gift (besides the pink Iowa t-shirt and the magazine rack my mom grabbed from the downstairs bathroom, wrapped, and shoved under the tree) was the cup of coffee my dad sipped in my mom's living room when he dropped me off on Christmas night-- wait, am I bound by weekend/holiday custody agreements if I'm 25? Well, anyway, when my dad dropped me off, my mom invited him in for coffee, and he said yes.
Moving on. In January, I went skiing for the first time. That should have been the punchline, but it's not. The punchline is that I went skiing with my dad AND HIS SINGLES GROUP, where there was, amazingly, a rugged looking twenty-something male, who I only saw once when he walked over to get the number of my twenty-something blond friend. Earlier in the day I had fallen over sideways on the conveyor belt and was dragged uphill by my skis while the 14 year-old instructor flagged down the belt operator to turn the thing off so he could unhook my boots. How was I supposed to know you just had to push that little lever down? Also, my dad slipped and fell at the bottom of the ski lift and, of course, the ski lift didn't stop, so the next 15 people glided right into him, forming a massive pile of skis and 6-foot men. Seriously, why did no one ask for our numbers?
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Coffee shops and weddings
Settle in. This is going to be a long one.
First of all, I was sitting at a local coffee shop today minding my own business in the back corner when out of nowhere came a herd of 13 year-olds. There was really only five of them, but the entire store was empty and they chose to "visit" in the back corner, a ten-by-ten foot area, where I was happily flipping through hundreds of GRE flashcards.
One girl was quiet and sat down at the table next to me. The other girl was painfully obnoxious and did not know how to talk. She could only scream, and did so no more than two inches from any of the three boys' faces at any given moment, lest they forget she was there. The words she used? I don't know. But what she was this: "Look at me! I have to scream because that means I am outgoing!"
When they first came around the corner, one of the boys said, "Um, I think that girl is trying to concentrate."
Obnoxious girl screamed, "I think she'll be fine!"
Another boy said, "Well, no one else is in here, lets just go over there."
The other girl said, "Well, why don't you ask her."
Obnoxious girl screamed, "She doesn't care, look."
The third boy said, "I think she does."
Finally I turned to them and said, "I can hear you guys. I'm sitting right here."
They asked if I cared and I said no, because I was afraid of a bunch of 13-year-olds making fun of me later on MySpace. So they screamed and yelled, and pulled chairs out from under each other and flicked whipped cream at each other, and I packed up my computer and multi-colored index cards and left.
The thing is, I love 13 year-olds. But I prefer the kinds who do not believe they are entitled EVERYthing because they were born with a cell phone and a supernatural proficiency in text-messaging. I like the ones who paint their fingernails black and communicate through songs and poems, not screaming. (That one goes out to you, Bo-Bita) And how about Adrian, who probably doesn't even know what a coffee shop looks like on the inside and wouldn't have transportation to get there, anyway? That kid can sure make me laugh. They do not spend their summer afternoons purchasing $4 coffee treats as they compliment each other's Aeropostal tanks. KIDS BELONG OUTSIDE IN THE SUMMER.
Second, my brother is getting married on Saturday. Funny thing. I have a thousand thoughts on this topic that I might come back to another day. I might title it: Bryan-- the type of brother to walk into your gymnastics class and do a standing back tuck when you have been working on it for a year passing through all the appropriate levels while he was just there with your dad to pick you up. I think that explains the problem of him getting married before me.
The heavier topic on my mind, though, as I think about the upcoming weekend is: The Aunts. The Aunts are the older and younger sister of a one Dorothy Lee Dismukes, otherwise known as Crazy Grammy. The Aunts hover just above and below the mental frequency of Grammy, shorting out at all the same places. This means at least 5 times, one of them will approach me and say, sweetly, with a twinkle, "Darlin? Anything speeeeecial in your life?" and they'll wink, leaning in, eagerly anticipating an engagement story.
When I don't produce, they'll lower their glasses, cock their heads to the side and say, "We-ell, sugar. You just aren't sweet enough, thats all. You know your cousin Darcy is getting married next week. And Will just graduated Law School."
They'll all turn and compliment each other on such successful grandkids, momentarily forgetting pathetic old me in front of them. Then they'll turn back and squint, automatically zooming in to the teeniest flaw on my face before they can even help themselves, and my grandma will take off her glasses and say, "Brookie? Do you need some more Clinique?" in the sweetest possible voice, and I'll say, "No grammy. I'm fine."
She hasn't bought me Clinique since 8th grade.
So she'll pull her head back and raise her eyebrows as she puts her glasses back on just in time to spot a hideous pair of orange slingbacks walking by that she immediately needs to go address.
I love her. I really do. And one day when she's long gone, well laugh about these things. I just wanted to get a head start.
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