Smells Like Teen Spirit

I hate roller coasters.  Truly.

Sure, to some it may seem counterintuitive - especially given my love of zorbing and most things extreme and dangerous.  But roller coasters suck.

Perhaps it's due to the ambiance that surrounds the likes of The Beast, The Claw Hammer, The Wing-Ding, or whatever the hell marketing geniuses everywhere unite in some dark pit to appropriately name those monstrosities.  I want to puke before I even get on the things.  Even though I've given it an honest effort over the years, my feelings remain.

Speaking of ambiance, at her request, I took Liv shopping yesterday.  It's been a rather tough first week back, so I was beyond pleased to spend one-on-one time with the girl.  Shopping?  Sometimes.  A mall?  Ick.  I'd almost rather go hang out in an airport.  Or, an amusement park.

She was on a mission. 

"Mom, I need some shirts.  Can we please go to Glenbrook instead of JP," she asked in her best you-know-you-love-me-even-though-I'm-killing-you-lately voice.

"Um, sure, why not?  Maybe it's not as bad as I remember it," I replied in my best I-am-so-trying-to-do-the-best-I-can-with-your-mini-me-ass-but-would-rather-stick-hot-pokers-in-my-eyes voice.

She drives.  Nothing like staging the mood.  I ask her, proactively, where she's thinking about parking in that a) I like to have a game plan and b) the closer we are to finding some shirts, the fewer number of years get shaved off my life like LeBron's stupid imposter Amish beard should have been before The Decision.

In we walk.  Now mind you, I was totally taken to task this weekend about having a penchant for self-defeating prophecies in certain situations.  So, I became extra focused and mindful as I walked through the double doors which were not held open for me by a nice Mohawk-sporting youngster.  Far be it for me to ruin a perfectly good trip to the mall before we're even out of the vestibule.

I know the stores Liv typically prefers.  At least, I used to know.  No surprise, she sauntered into Victoria's Secret immediately.  That sentence alone is wrong; the store is even more whacked. 

First of all, it's been around forever.  Secrets always come out.  Victoria is pissing me off.

Moreover, the place is so grossly overpriced that I don't care WHO sports the ill-fitting crap - it's not worth it.  Everyone knows nothing in that hell hole will turn you into a goddess, regardless the side of the bed, cellar, warehouse or boxing ring ropes you are on.  The Angels who bless us every year on national TV as they stride a shimmery white runway (that secretly just once, I wish was lubed with whatever they sell for $12.99 in the bins by the counters) are very sweet women, I'm sure.  However, let's be honest:  they are not representative of any female population I've encountered in the last 40 years.  Yet inexplicably, those are the exact women who shop in that godforsaken store.

And don't even get me started on VS's hiring practices.  It is the equivalent of filling sportscaster positions with individuals who think a sack, back, and flexbone formation is something to include in their match.com profile.

Maybe Tom Brady's wife was watching over me, because we left empty-handed.  See, me?  See, you little know-it all-who-thought-it-would-turn-out-disastrous-but-it-hasn't?  HA-freaking-HA.  What do you have to say about that, 'lil miss?

"Hey, Mom - let's go into that store.  It's way cooler."

Because why wouldn't a store named Nirvana not be?  Smell me the way, honey.  I'm just along for the ride.

Nicaragua - Day 5

Tuesday, 6/18:  Nicaragua, Day 5

Yesterday was a day filled with a myriad of conflicting emotions.   A totally productive day, we arrived at the site and the team was instantly silenced.  Smiles erupted when we realized that the holes we had dug the day before were easily 3 feet deeper than when we left.  That’s the whole point.  We are not here to do all the work for the people who live here, but rather, begin the work and have them come alongside us and complete the project after we are gone.  The entire water filtration system is a pilot initiative; if it works, it will be replicated at other community sites and eventually, at homes within the communities.

To say that clean water is a problem here is almost as gross an understatement as saying I miss cheese right now.  Although as an aside, I’m off the cheese when I get home.  An entire revamp is happening. 

No running water can be found within the homes of those who live in Terrencio, Amaya, or El Porvenir. There is one central community site in El Porvenir which has a well whereby 120 or so residents travel by foot to wash their hands, their bodies and the few clothes they own.  And that water?  Not clean at all, but it is literally all they have. 

So in conjunction with Food for the Hungry, we dug a 5 ft. trench flanked on either side by two 4 ft. holes.  When Alfredo, the head FH engineer, and his tape measure were unavailable, the team used yours truly to determine if we’d hit the 5 ft. mark. (Oddly, 4.75 inches is still 4.75 inches out of the country).  The idea is for water to run through pipes we placed inside the trench, directing it down the main hole lined with rocks anxiously waiting to filter out most of the crud that shouldn’t be in the water in the first place.

We worked and worked and worked and dug and dug and dug.  If Monday was off to a rocky start, Tuesday rocked altogether.  An assembly line was formed, shifts were taken, and blisters appeared as if they were meeting invites on our iPhones.  One person would work the pick ax until the sweat prevented their hands from holding it any longer, and another would immediately step in – or, down, as it were – and shovel the dirt out and up. 

My job in all of this, after pick axing wrecked my hands, was to level that excavated dirt with a genius Casey invention (coined “Kung-Pao shovel” by the ever politically correct, Lauren Clounie).  Not only did I happily level that dirt over and over again, according to Erik I did it, “Like a BOSS!”  Yeah, these kids have definitely gotten to know me inside of 4 days alright...

When Alicia announced that lunch had arrived, we piled into the vans and headed to Amaya for more VBS.  I love turning into the church and watching oodles of kids run towards us, waiving and shouting like they hadn’t in fact just seen us 24 hours earlier.  It’s a good, reciprocated feeling.

I was only in craft mode for about 20 minutes when Liv came into the classroom and asked if I was ready for our sponsor child visit.  Ready, anxious, prayerful, and a slew of other adjectives, was I.  After last year’s trip, we began to sponsor a then 4-year-old little girl from El Porvenir named Leoncia.  I knew nothing about her other than if she was from that particular village, it might be tougher than normal physical circumstances under which she and her family would be living.

Last year, we learned while traveling the main road in El Porvenir that a dump was located in the middle of the village.  Our facilitator warned us that one side was infinitely “better” than the other – meaning you were only slightly in tears on your way there; and then you were reduced to full-fledged emotional toll as you encroached.  I clearly remember smelling that emotional toll last year before actually seeing it.  Realizing the children were dodging flames in an effort to grab whatever usable items and food they could, I gasped in the burning air and wished my brain wasn’t processing the same scene as my eyes.

So, I stopped.  I stopped right in front of the last house on the right…the one closest to the dump and took it ALL in – the overcrowded, dirty home with undernourished animals, kids, parents, and grandparents.  I looked in their eyes, said hello, and held onto that feeling for an entire year.

Until I saw them again yesterday.  When the FH van stopped out front of the exact same house and said, “We’re here.”

 

 

 

Reuniting, Connecting, and Filtering - Day 4, Nicaragua

Monday, 6/17:

Today was officially our first day in the field.  We were all excited and knew immediately upon opening our doors that the day would be a scorcher.  There is another mission team from the States staying at the hotel as well; typically we eat breakfast together in the restaurant each morning.  In fact, one person on their team attended Concordia Theological Seminary in Fort Wayne.  Yep, small world indeed.

Two buses carry us daily to and from the day’s destinations.  Upon loading them this morning, we were off to El Porvenir to begin building a community water filtration system.  No diagrams, no cliff notes, just a “water filtration system.”  Uh-huh...sure.  We had no idea what this was supposed to entail, but we quickly found out.

I was particularly excited on the drive to El Porvenir, as it was the village I worked in last year (along with Ali, Rob, Darby, and Casey).  I couldn’t wait to see if the kids, teachers, and families would still be there and if so, if they’d remember me.  Somehow, when you meet people in your life for a brief time, the experience becomes an instant memory when the time comes to part ways.  You kind of just chalk it up to, Well, they were nice; I had fun, and you jump right back in to your daily routine. 

But when you see faces you recognize and the inherent smiles which belong to them and them alone, it becomes sharing life together.  The bond is immediately re-established, and time is no longer in the past.  There is another day in our collective future, one with unimaginable joy, of which today reminded me.  Our job, in addition to building a water filtration system, is to ensure our brothers and sisters of Nicaragua (and beyond) are with us to share in what can only be described as the One thing that matters.

God was at work in mighty ways today as he filled our hearts with sentimentality, our minds with determination, and our bodies with strength.  Because let me tell you, digging holes 5 feet deep in the heat of the Nicaraguan day requires Thor-like abilities.  Good thing there are a lot of strong high school boys on this trip!  (Not to mention a lot of old volunteers to cheer them on and stand strategically for pictures.)

We were only in El Porvenir for a few hours this morning, with the actual digging occurring for about an hour.  The first part of our arrival was consumed with unloading supplies like wheelbarrows, wood, and some other shiny things that I’m sure have technical names and even better uses.  Some measuring and roping off of areas behind the community showers went on, and then the labor was in full swing – pun totally intended and excused, because I am way overtired.

We were muddy and productive.  Lunch was driven to us by FH and we ate inside the buses.  Once we were through slamming the chicken, beans, rice, and tortillas, we headed over to Amaya for an afternoon of VBS. 

In militant formation, three lines of super happy kids greeted us inside the church at Amaya.  As we walked in, they clapped loudly, cheering at our arrival.  There we stood – two sides of people facing each other, with no divide between us at all.  For our God was there, connecting us once again.

We painted, crafted, and danced the afternoon away in style together.  Frisbees were thrown, balls were kicked, and bikes were ridden.  But most of all…love was shared.

We’re back at it again tomorrow, and I for one, am ready.   Along with the ibuprofen I have sitting out on top of my suitcase…

 Oh, and look who I found!

Nicaragua - Day 3

Sunday, 6/16:  Day 3, Nicaragua

Something else which hit me at 5:15am this morning about Nicaragua – I sleep ridiculously soundly here.  And it’s a good thing I’m sleeping in a twin bed or else some physical hitting would have occurred to curb the jake brake-like snoring.  Forget an alarm clock.  I scare myself awake in this country.

After breakfast, our facilitator, Alicia, took us to church in Terrencio.  Terrencio is the village where we spent the majority of our time last year; we split into groups every morning, but reconvened at noon for lunch and an afternoon of VBS in the classrooms.  Lunch was delivered in boxes to the church, which was perfect since its daily consumption mimicked the Last Supper – a morning of machete’ing is not for the faint of heart.  So this morning I could not wait to arrive at the same church and all its familiarity, this time for a 2 hour worship service.

As our bus turned off the dirt road onto the main cobblestone street, children began to run and wave wildly.  I was looking for Rosa – a clever and savvy girl who engaged in an understood quasi-power struggle with me the first day we met last year.  By day two, she was engaging in a baseball power struggle; by day three, she was wearing an OSU hat. 

In fact she was the same girl who literally stopped the bus as we pulled away for the last time, pushed open the doors, climbed the steps and yelled, “Bet!  Bet!  Don’t leave me!”  I hugged her tightly, looked at her tears through mine, and promised her I’d return. 

Rosa was not in Terrencio earlier today, but I caught the back of her through the bus window.  We bumpily rode through the neighboring village she calls home (El Porvenir) on our way back to the hotel.  I’d know that confident, cocky stride anywhere.   Her now 12 year-old self seemed 
unchanged from afar, but I have no doubt she still rules the roost, as well as all the boys.  I can’t wait to hug her again tomorrow.

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“Church” is different here.  It’s intense.  It’s moving and uplifting in ways which are indescribable unless you’re standing there, taking it all in amidst the excessively thick air.  Oh the air.  It simply does not flow inside that building, rendering its inhabitants sticky, smelly, nasty messes in a hurry.  Everything must be covered out of reverence to God, and we happily complied.  My sundress was soaked inside of 7 minutes, coming in second place only to a lightweight (or so I thought) cover-up counterpart.  I could not have cared any less.  Nor could any other soaking wet attendees.

The congregants move when they sing.  They feel when they respond.  They love with all their hearts. 

…All in Spanish. 

I understood roughly 20% at best of what was being said for 2 solid hours, yet, like last year, I was moved at my core.  Some things you don’t have to fully understand to just fully know.

"Where two or more are gathered..."  No matter the country, no matter the setting, no matter the language – we all worship the same God.  The One who knows us, and loves us anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicaragua - Day 2

Saturday, 6/15:  Nicaragua, Day 2-ish

The earlier post was really a recap of our travel day yesterday (Friday).  I have already officially lost track of all time, as the people of Nicaragua live extremely slow-paced lifestyles.  As we were riding this morning to Chinandega from Managua, I looked intensely out the bus windows, taking in the different surroundings. 

Mountainous terrain was in the background at every angle; people were closing in on mopeds and inside of overcrowded buses.  There are no driving rules here (which you know, makes me want to take the wheel) and I couldn’t quite reconcile where everyone was in a hurry to end up.  I think the locals have just gotten so used to driving like they’re starring in Frogger that it’s more of a routine pastime than an effort to arrive anywhere on time.

Families line the streets, sitting almost whimsically on plastic chairs in front of their Good Humor ice cream carts.  Some sell Coca-Cola, others sell hot dogs.  Well, presumably there are hot dogs inside the carts.  We didn’t stop.

The people just gather; that is their entire day.  There are no sales goals, there are no “plans,” there are no agendas.  It just is.

Often times in my life I have wondered if that’s a better way to live.  Realizing the definition of “better” is always subjective and relative, I have stopped trying to come to any conclusion.  But without question, different lifestyles are not only interesting, they are a necessity.  We are all products (or, at times, victims) of our environments and culture.  We are human.  And we adapt.  

In fact this group adapted so well today it made the leaders proud.  After an earthquake registering 6.5 prevented us from going to the ocean, we hunkered down at our hotel for the afternoon.  Our rooms are small, but completely functional and cozy. 

Once everyone unpacked, we hung out by the pool for the afternoon.  Friendly competition ensued both in and out of the water.  Mariam made the mistake of sighing, “I would do anything to work out right now,” so she and I did a speed pool-run ladder in the kiddie pool.  She enjoyed it so much that she decided to let me know later via a thorough euchre butt-kicking.

I’m enjoying the process of getting to know these kids.  Maddie is not only one of the smartest 15 year-olds I’ve ever met (quantum physics connoisseur AND a master hair-braider to boot), but she’s inquisitive and open to conversation.  Yeah…unplugging and talking all day was worth the dry contacts and every uninvited bug that nestled its way into my already affected heart.

The night ended with a group dinner and time of prayer.  We were each asked 3 questions and asked to journal about the answers.

What did you guys notice about the culture of Nicaragua?  What are the similarities and differences to the U.S.?

(As stated by Erik):  "The people here have so little and treat it as so much; sometimes, we are the exact opposite back home."

Amen, kiddo.  Amen.

Nicaragua - Day 1

Saturday, 6/15:  Nicaragua Day 1

Well, we are safely here.  And to think it only took 16 hours, one passport securely placed into checked luggage, and a queasy stomach flight casualty later.

Yet, all is well and everyone except the local roosters and I are asleep.  I forgot that Nicaragua is in the Mountain Time Zone, so we are two hours behind home on the clock, the same time on my internal clock, and on “Nicaraguan” time everywhere else.  The pace is slow; the people are friendly; the air is thick.

And I am very glad to be back.

We have a good group of kids traveling this year.  Collectively, we total 25.  I’m not sure what that registers in decibels, but suffice it to say, I didn’t talk much yesterday.  Instead, I observed.  I witnessed things that made me laugh, made me proud, and almost made me cry.  Group camaraderie does me in every time.  From the constant razzing to the constant support, it’s pretty cool when it happens effortlessly.

So after having successfully tracked down Rob’s passport in Indy as it circled a super clean conveyor belt on its way to the abyss down below, we grabbed a late lunch and waited to board the plane to Houston.   An on-time and smooth flight, our mission was underway.

Upon arriving in Houston, it was a mad dash to the food court – I had also forgotten how much High School kids can eat – and we boarded again en route to Managua.  That flight?  Not so smooth.  Todd managed to pull some strings and get me seated in the very last row on both flights.  I’m a smidge claustrophobic and would prefer making friends not on a plane, so couple that with my tired and a lot of self-talk was happening.

I am also not a fan of amusement parks under any circumstances, so when I lost my stomach in Demon- Drop-meets-that-horrid-Pirate-Ship-thing-style, I was only distracted by poor Alex throwing up 3 rows ahead.  Thankfully, Lauren handled it like a champ, promptly coming back with some remnants and an announcement of, “He’s fine, I’m getting him another bag and gave him some gum.”

When our plane finally landed as if we were getting pictures taken by family members standing on a bridge at the end of a log-flume ride, people started looking at me with a “What the ?” sort of look.  Clueless as to why, I look around.  And it’s not what I see that helps me understand the inquisition, it’s what I hear:  my kid in hereditarily, over-tired hysteria.  She’s screeching this sort of incomprehensible laugh, tears are flowing, shoulders are shaking.  Mariam’s eyeballs peer over the seat at me in an understood glance, and the rest of us start busting out in unison because you can’t not catch the contagion.

As we walk through the airport in Managua, we immediately paid our $10/each for a visa (Rob:  “Can the government really legally charge us to come here?”  Me:  “Three words.  Government, Nicaragua, ‘legal’.”  Just hang on to your passport.”).  I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the intricacies of the surroundings, but I did, and not much has changed in a year.  At least at the airport.

We were greeted by Alicia, a 25-year-old Food for the Hungry employee who is leading our group this year.  She and I talked on the bus ride from the airport to the center where we stayed last night – the place I sit now as I type.  Alicia has only been with FH for five months, but she is knowledgeable, friendly, and bright.  She graduated from college a few years back and is now studying Portuguese, which made me feel no bueno for my lack of Española.  Who knew those CD’s would take so long to listen to in between Petty and running down some dreams.

Miraculously, 25 tired and hungry travelers were still in decent moods as we arrived at the center around 11:00pm local time.  Our luggage was handed to us from atop the bus, and I self-talked my way out of picturing Aunt Edna, because Liv had already done the hysteria justice.  Wheeling in our bags, we smelled the chicken, vegetables, and papaya juice.

We ate, some showered, and some crashed.  And collectively, we slept.

Day 2 begins today as we travel to Chinandega – 2 ½ hours northwest.  Once we arrive, we will check into the hotel where we will stay through Thursday, gather into teams, and prepare for the remainder of our week.

We are all looking forward to meeting the people in El Porvenir, as we work to build not only relationships, but water filtration systems.  Oh, and hopefully play a little baseball.  Nothing breaks down language barriers faster than flying around makeshift bases in the pouring rain.

And nothing ends a blog post faster than 6 loud high school boys waiting to eat breakfast.

 

Doth: A third person singular present tense of "do"

Tomorrow, 24 high school kids and 5 adults leave on a mission's trip.  Destination:  Nicaragua.

I have the privilege of tagging along again.  We were newbies last year, arriving in Managua, Nicaragua with only our charitable wit stowed visibly in our carry-ons, ostentatiously ready to "help." 

We were shuttled into various villages where the inhabitants wanted nothing more than to share time, love, and laughter.  Their faces lit up when we arrived merely because we were there, neither expecting nor desiring additionally anything.  These people live in a country known for its corrupt government, broken relationships, and spiritual poverty - thank goodness we know nothing about any of that - yet have an overwhelming appreciation for total strangers who naively think they are the ones helping.

This morning, I am thankful last year's visit confirmed the cliché "you will never be the same" is categorically true.  I am thankful that experience is the best teacher in all areas of life.  I am thankful God allows for head-shaking disbelief to wake us up when we need it most.

Speaking of, as I was mightily trying to wake up this morning with trough of coffee in hand, I read today's Proverb:

Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart:  so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel.  --Proverbs 27:9

The book of Proverbs is a collection of pithy sayings.  Yeah, I am also thankful for pithy.

Supercalifragilistic Sunday

As this weekend winds down, I find myself loving every minute of its reflection. 

First, let me just say I love, love, love thoughtful people.  Caveat:  not the sickening over the top I expect something in return for disingenuously kissing your ass and feeding your already overinflated ego type "thoughtful" people.  I abhor those buttmunchers.

These kind:

Classy, direct lady.  Stands up for what she believes in, and calls out anyone with an obvious agenda.  Thanks, sister.  You dissipate my Catholic-girl guilt just by being you.

In typical dichotomous fashion, I'm pretty sure I not only constructed a brick wall on the fly this weekend, but tore one down as well.  I wish anyone the best of luck getting through what I throw up when it has anything to do with Liv.  I move mountains that make brick walls look like child's play for that girl - 16-year old pain in the arse that she is.  And never will that change.

Shockingly, slowly, maybe the carefully constructed wall which I erected two and a half years ago (ok, fine, in 1973) has come down.  Maybe...I think.  I'm somewhere between left and right, gliding back and forth like Oksana Baiul trying to greet that godforsaken little ball before it lands and I lose my turn.

As if that doesn't require enough Olympian-like maneuvering, apparently I am also supposed to give it a whirl without ever remembering how much Pong kicked my ass, or how big of a letdown Super Breakout turned out to be.  I suppose if I am going to continue to be defiant and "think," then the least I could do is remember that you had three turns to clear two screens of bricks before it was a total GAME OVER.

Speaking of games, last night's was certainly another love of my weekend.  D-Wade "ain't got nothin' more to say about his bum knee 'cuz that's all we been talkin' about for 2 months," and Fredo is sick of carrying that gimp and the pterodactyl who can't get anything done in the paint when he runs into a 7'2" brick wall.  Hey, Bosh...I know a girl who can help break you out of your slump.  See above when you're done hanging your head in voodoo hex formation.

Lastly, my day with Liv has been pretty great.  I took a break from writing a book proposal (fingers and eyes crossed) to make her breakfast when she awoke at lunch.  We talked about meaningful things, why people do what they do, who we allow to infiltrate our lives and those who, without question, don't deserve an ounce of our energy. 

As I type this, Liv is sitting right beside me, typing paragraphs four and five of her English paper - due tomorrow, duh - while critiquing the first three I wrote.  The three, mind you, I put together in an hour after never having read either book we are "linking the greater idea between."  She's staring at me now, after resolutely announcing "I'm done."  The shot clock takes longer to expire than that effort, but what the hell do I know? 

I'm just a thinker.

Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye.

The Irony of Timing

...in fact, it takes almost no time whatsoever.

Misery

I received an email today from a friend asking how I'm doing now that the campaign has ended and indicating he misses my daily blog.  Someone misses my writing, I thought.

This afternoon I sent a text to my life-long friend of the same name - Beth, the Psychologist.  Yep, that is her profession.  Thank god it's her and not me.  Me, as a shrink, is too oxymoronic for any of us to bear.  She said, "You are funny, and your messages are a welcome break."

A funny writer.  Maybe.  An introspective pain in the ass.  Probably.  A lot of things...Who knows.

All I know with any certainty right now is that I'm drinking wine - a gift from someone I could go on about but promised not to (plus he has a lot of keys) - and remembering how much I enjoy this outlet, this respite from my funny, oxymoronic life. 

Hello, blog.  Hello, you.  Hello, Magnolia.  (He's touring now and only true fans or really <'ing> smart people will understand.)

Without a lot of editing effort, here's what's on my mind:  Misery.  Yes, you read me right.  The movie.  I am toying with the idea of a Paul Sheldon-like endeavor; writing as a profession.  While I'm not so sure the name of my protagonist will be "Misery Chastain," I am completely confident I could drum up some equally intriguing porn-pole-stripper meets librarian-stuffed-shirt-thick-glasses kind of name for a main character.  And I am equally, if not even more so sure that I could pull from past experiences to make for one heck of a forty-year plot line.

The movie was an instant four stars with me from its inception.  First, who doesn't think Stephen King is genius other than perhaps a few children plowing corn fields?  James Caan was brilliantly cast, and was only outshone by one Kathy Bates.  Dirty birdy she was...

Sure, Annie (I've been called worse) is an utter psychopath, but it's slightly endearing.  I mean, who has the balls to ever admit to being someone's "number one fan?"  I like it.  It's confident, bold, and direct.  She is knowledgeable about Paul's novels and can speak with both passion and intelligence on point.  Again, I like it.

Annie does, however, purport to disliking Paul's excessive swearing in his new novel.  @*#! that.

Favorite quote from the movie, you ask?  Yes, it's too obvious but I will answer you nonetheless as it is a MUST with me to walk away from every movie with a favorite line: 

"I have tried twice to be married and couldn't do it either time.  But, if you want me to take you away, to scare you or involve you or make you cry or grin, yeah.  I can.  I can bring it to you and keep bringing it until you holler uncle.  I am able.  I CAN."

Welp...time for me to make a phone call.  Maybe he will answer with:  "That's very sweet of you."

The Gala

WE DID IT!  Our collective goal for the campaign was $175,000 and we BLEW IT OUT OF THE WATER, crushing it by over $110,000 for a grand total of:  $287,100!  I am proud of us, Fort Wayne.

Todd Smith was named 2013 Man of the Year (Congrats, Todd and team!) and I was named 2013 Woman of the Year.  It’s a total misnomer because there’s no way anyone has enough money to donate in order to get my friends to call me that henceforth.  Not even once.

Nor should they. (Unless, however, I beat them handily at WWF, then that’s clearly another story).  Nothing about this was an individual effort.  It took every ounce of time, energy, teamwork, and purpose that the collective “us” could muster in order to make this all come to fruition.  Our teams were absolutely invaluable.   And while each of the six teams went about efforts in different ways, we ALL wanted the same outcome:  money in the hands of researchers to FIND A CURE FOR BLOOD CANCERS. 

Spend wisely, Dr. Smarties.  We’re rooting for you.  Go get ‘em.

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I also promised I’d recap some of the emotions from Friday.  I’ll try.  Even I sometimes struggle with the right words to convey such a momentous occasion.  Friday was a day in which everything came to a culmination, a personal sense of closure, and an end…for now.

I woke up and somehow magically my stomach knew it was Gala Day.  For a quick second I was very confused, thinking I was about to go run a marathon since it was the exact same feeling of “Did I eat some really bad sushi last night?” I get race morning.  After a cup of coffee, I was better.

At 10:00am, I met Jen at Ceruti’s to help unload the auction items.  I thought arriving there would make me more nervous, but actually, it helped.  Keeping busy is my medicine (c’mon…act like you didn’t know).  From there, got the hair done, came home, made some food, and (act surprised again), had a glass of wine.  It’s totally better than coffee.

Chelsea and Joe arrived first.  Ok, now that IS a surprise! My best friend is NEVER on time (love you, you know it’s true).  There as so many things to say about the level of closeness we have shared our entire lives, but suffice it to say, her non-stop talking calms me down.  Our non-stop banter back and forth relaxes me like nothing else.  The relationship is unrivaled.

Shortly thereafter our friend, Ty, showed up from Ohio to do the make-up.  There’s nothing better than not only saying Up Yours, Cancer…but also saying Up Yours, circa late ‘80’s prom-night!  23 years later, I had a much better +1 than I did in High School, not that there’s really any comparison whatsoever.  Angela then arrived from Indy followed by Liv, Mariam, my amazing +1 and friend, Foster, and a gaggle of IOS compadres.  I think the neighbors popped in at some point too, but honestly it’s a blur; I was nervous and am a bit of a lightweight when I don’t eat.  And I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.

After the pre-party festivities, Foster and I left.  Whew.  We arrived at 6:03 (I know this because I was giving him dirty looks for being late to which he shut me up mid-story of his like he always does) and there were a lot of people there already.

And that’s pretty much it.  This is where I struggle with the proverbial “rest of the story.”  I do remember saying out loud a few times, “This is reason #712 why I’ll probably never get married again; the mingling thing is ridiculous!”  While true, I LOVED LOVED LOVED having so many people there with whom to mingle.  I just wish I had more time to properly talk and hang out with them all.  THANK YOU to my family and friends (although that feels so interchangeable at this point in my life) for EVERYTHING throughout the course of this entire journey.  And no, I don’t mean just these last 10-weeks, and no, I don’t just mean a regular “thanks.”  I mean profound gratitude.  I’ll never forget it.

The entire celebration would not have been complete without the people I love in attendance.  When they called my name, I cried.  I cried for all those who have gone through, are going through, or will go through a cancer diagnosis.  I cried for their families.  I cried for closure.  I cried because I could finally eat.  I cried…because I was complete.  And then I cried harder because Liv, upon hearing my name announced, immediately stood up and hugged me with her outstretched arms.

Talk about sweet.  For all the hardships, all the ups and downs, all the “what if’s” line of questioning I pepper myself with when it comes to mothering her – then and now – nothing will take that moment away.

Saying I’m happy to be here seems so simple to read on a page, but really, it is simple.  I’m thankful to have been given a second chance at life. 

And I hope and pray that we have made a difference in Greyson’s, Kellcey’s and their families’ lives, of which, I’m honored to have been a part…if even for just a short time in the journey.

One last time…a heartfelt thank you to all.

We did it!

--------

Thank you.  Thank you all for being here and taking part in this very special night.

Jen instructed each of us to prepare acceptance speeches because two of us would be asked to say a “few” words.  I’m pretty sure by now most of you know…I don’t even know what that means.  But I promise nonetheless to keep this brief.

First, I’d like to give my gratitude and thanks to my teammates, without whom, this entire effort would never have been possible.  Now, mind you, that is not at ALL what I thought going into this.  In fact, when Jen asked me who I had in mind for team members - without hesitation - my answer back to her was, “Nobody.  I’m going to do it all myself.”  Ever the lady and professional that she is, she only smiled and said, “Well…it’s a lot of work.  Let me know if you change your mind.”

Thank goodness I did.  Angela, Stacy, Billy and Travis – thank you guys so much for everything.  I really appreciate your efforts, your ideas, and your constant support.  There are many other friends here tonight to thank as well:  Harker and Deb for the rabbit relocation mission; my new friends from Lucky Harley-Davidson for your amazing support of LLS this year and now, after the campaign, in future years – we’re very excited about that; the other candidates for your relentless efforts these last 10 weeks; and Foster – for all those 5am runs, the myriad of subsequent effects afterwards, and for being my +1 tonight.  Thanks.

I’d also like to thank my IOS family for your loyalty and friendship over the years – especially when I was sick.  You continue to this day, all these years later, to put up with me.  And if that doesn’t say something about the strength of our company, I don’t know what does…

I have friends in this room tonight who have known me almost my whole life.  Literally, we’ve been friends for over 30 years.  We grew up alongside one another, played sports together, went shopping and got in trouble together, learned how to drive and weather broken hearts together.  We went to college together and attended each other’s weddings (sometimes more than once) – so you can imagine the day I had to call not only those best friends, but my parents, and tell them I had leukemia.

Yet telling them, while incredibly hard, was not nearly as difficult as the thought of not being able to watch my daughter grow up – to be her Mom.  She’s here tonight, along with my incredibly supportive parents.  Liv, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and by far, my greatest blessing.  Without even knowing it, while you were learning to rid yourself of diapers, I was a couple hours away trying to rid myself of cancer so I could get home to you and have the joy of raising you…of seeing you turn into the beautiful young woman you’ve become.  I’m proud of you, and I love you very much.

Whew!  By the way, I’m still working on the brief thing…

Let me tell you a little bit about this campaign and what it has meant.  I had certainly heard of it in the past, but really had no idea what it entailed.  After speaking with Jill and Craig about their experiences last year, I was getting closer to committing.  Then, I read about Kellcey and Greyson and decided I’d give it a try.  And then I met them.  In person.  And “trying” needed to turn into something more.

These kids and their families are amazing people who have been in the midst of a trial, an emotional roller-coaster, and an uprooted life schedule.  Cancer invaded their homes, forcing them to make that call to their friends and family.   But I can tell you, that the money raised these last 10 weeks, the money LLS relentlessly pursues every day, does make a difference in the lives of patients.  It has given Grey and Kellcey more treatment options, a better prognosis, and more hope than has ever existed before.  And it has given all of us the privilege of meeting them and forming new friendships, as well as opportunities to provide mutual support along the way. 

THAT is what I have re-learned throughout this campaign:  we are all a team, walking the path in this journey of life together.  Sometimes there’s a detour, sometimes we get re-routed, but knowing that there are troops fighting on our side just up ahead…that matters.

Sometimes cancer becomes that detour in our lives – the one we never saw coming.  Sometimes, we are able to re-route and sometimes, despite all valiant, gut wrenching efforts we are not; and it becomes surreal and incomprehensible.

But what I have also realized throughout this campaign is that both tragedy and victory happens to us, the “better” us…”team” us.  It can’t happen to just one, because we all rejoice at each recovery and we all grieve for each and every setback and loss.

While cancer can defeat one of us, it cannot and will not defeat our collective will.  We have come too far, we have won too many battles, and we are getting closer every day to winning the war. 

Cancer will eventually retreat… because it knows by now, as this evening shows, that we will never give up.

Thank you.

 

 

 

 

What.A.Ride.

April 25.

Well my friends, we’ve come to the end of the journey.  It’s been an amazing, life-altering, incredibly meaningful journey.  And wow, have we helped others along the way.  Together, we have made a difference.

On Monday, I will share the final campaign total raised on behalf of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  As of today, however, here is where we stand as a team: (RECORD BREAKING NUMBER) $213,000!  This would not have been possible without you, without your faithful and generous support.  THANK YOU for your non-stop donations!  You have given selflessly and made a tremendous impact in the lives of so many others.  You know…those people with whom you are connected in this journey of life, whether you realized it before now or not.

So here is the part where I warn you:  this is the last one.  Therefore, I hope you have some time because there’s a whole lotta verbose ahead.  Now, that statement reminds me of the title of an AC/DC song, which then, in turn, reminds me of one of my all-time favorite ‘80’s songs (hey, don’t judge – who doesn’t love ‘80’s metal music?).  Here I Go Again by Whitesnake (again with the judging thing!).  To this day, I belt out its first verse aloud EVERY TIME I hear it:

I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure know where I’ve been

I am filled with a few nerves, elation, gratefulness, and a jillion other adjectives that would somehow diminish the entire experience if I went on.  So I won’t – at least not yet.  This is the last post until after the gala and then I promise there will be one final entry filling you in on Friday night’s festivities, including all associated real-time emotions.  (And pictures…lots of pictures).

For now, let me share not only some of my favorite music, but some of my favorite quotes.  I know, I know, this can be super annoying when people throw them out there, in a totally unoriginal and plagiaristic way.  But hopefully these will resonate with you on some level, as there is Rhyme and Reason to my verbose.  I do get there eventually when I go on with the talky-talk. 

If there is one thing which has been harder for me than anything else in my life on a recurring basis it’s this:  realizing it’s is not about the destination. 

Instead, it’s about every step and even more so, every misstep and difficult experience along the way.  It’s about what we choose to do with those steps once we learn from them.  It’s about how we’ll walk the next time we find ourselves or others in those same shoes…

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it. –John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley:  In Search of America (um, yeah)

 “I am no longer afraid of becoming lost, because the journey back always reveals something new, and that is ultimately good for the soul.”   --Billy Joel (mostly)

“The most important reason for going from one place to another is to see what's in between, and they took great pleasure in doing just that.”  --Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth  (READ THIS BOOK, even as an adult!)

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” –Heraclitus

So there you have it.  We don’t control the journey.  We have choices to make along the way as we encounter both smooth roads and bumpy, bumpy terrain.  And we should absolutely positively relish everything in between – including and especially the changes in ourselves from traveling the distance.

I don’t know where I’m going after this campaign but I sure know where I’ve been.  You see, the thing is, I no longer need to know.   None of us do.  Enjoy the ride and thank you again for coming along on this journey with us over these last 10-weeks.

The Time Is Now.

One final quote.  (Fine, it’s an article but to be fair, I did warn you).  This has been in a frame since it was given to me from the one man who’s known me longer than any other.  Thanks, Dad.  See you tomorrow.

The Station By Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision.  We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent.  We are traveling by train.  Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination.  On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station.  Bands will be playing and flags waving.  Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle.  How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering – waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

”When we reach the station, that will be it!” we cry.  “When I’m 18.” “When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!” “When I put the last kid through college.” “When I have paid off the mortgage!” “When I get a promotion.” “When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!”

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all.  The true joy of life is the trip.  The station is only a dream.  It constantly outdistances us.

“Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad.  It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.  Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles.  Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less.  Life must be lived as we go along.  The station will come soon enough.

 

 

Reunited

April 24.
If I wrote about the feelings I have, as a mother, for Olivia, this post would be a book. Perhaps even a series. Parenting is the best complicated, satisfying, difficult, joyous, tiring, rewarding, most unconditional love of any job. There is nothing that girl could do which would ever cause me to turn my back on her, to stop loving her.

I told you earlier that she was my first thought after finding out I was sick. She was my absolute main thought, my main source of determination, and the reason I almost took out the Pharm-D when he tried to tell me she wouldn't recognize me after undergoing a transplant.

I share this with you guys not only to say, "Really, jerk face? Think again." but also to share one last intimate detail of this entire experience so you understand the hope to beat cancer is real. And because selfishly, I am tired and there are no additional words to be written for this picture.

2 more days to go.

Birthday Connections

April 23.

Today is my 14 year Bone Marrow Transplant Anniversary.  It’s also known as my Birthday - the day I was given new life.  I had no idea of the lingo, but my donor, Beth, first taught me when she called to wish me a “Happy Birthday” on April 23, 2000.  I thought she was nuts and secretly was a little afraid I’d take on some of those inherent qualities in addition to my new blood type.  But alas, she knew exactly what she was talking about.

I flew to South Carolina to meet Beth one year after the transplant.  She was (is) bubbly, lively, happy, verbose, God-loving, free-spirited, and an incredible family member.  I was greeted with open arms in the airport with a Southern-drawl filled, “Hey, you!  You’re here!  You are HERE!!! Yahoooo!” and we spent the rest of the weekend hanging out.  Two total strangers talking endlessly about our lives which intersected during the most unlikely of circumstances. 

But isn’t that how we ALL are connected?  At one point in our lives, our friends and acquaintances were unknown to us – we were strangers.  And then, something connects us to one another.  Interests, circumstances, common goals such as a sports team, a job, running a marathon, defeating cancer…whatever the case, we form bonds with the people in our lives.  Sometimes they stay, sometimes they don’t.  However, we can be sure that God brings us together at just the right time, for just the right reasons.  It might be many years until we uncover, realize, or choose to accept what those reasons are, but when we do, emotions flood.  Tears fall.  Smiles illuminate.

Those things are exactly what happened to me when I first met Dana.  When I met Greyson, those feelings amplified and knew in an instant that I was finally ready to DO something.  I was ready to take the experience I had and somehow share it so that a little boy’s own experience might be made a little easier, the load slightly lessened.

Isn’t that how we are ALL connected?

We are all uniquely made, designed with a powerful purpose.  What a beautiful thing it is when that purpose is realized, when it’s used - when it becomes so crystal clear you feel like there is NO way you could have possibly missed it all these years!

Is there ever really anything you can do to pay someone back who has literally saved your life?  I’m telling you yes.  Yes, there is.  Pay it forward.  Do something for someone else.  A total stranger.  A friend.  A (perceived) enemy.  Your brothers and sisters.  It doesn’t necessarily have to be a bone marrow transplant, but it does have to be something.  Whatever you’ve been given, use it.  God used my friend, a one-time total stranger.  Just how many “total strangers” have saved your life at one point in time or another?

Thank you, Beth Robison, for the gift of my new Birthday.   What a miracle indeed.

3 Days.  (Side note:  2 more posts left – hey, a girl’s gotta do her hair and stuff on Friday – and only 1 more day to donate!  The site goes down Wednesday at 3pm.  Thank you for your help in making a difference.  For doing something.  It matters to me, to Greyson, and to a world of strangers out there fighting cancer.  Thanks!)

The Final Countdown

April 22.

After receiving Beth’s bone marrow, I waited.  I waited and waited and waited and then waited some more.  The really tough physical work was mostly done, albeit far from over, but now the mental work was underway.  Until my counts were “normal,” I was unable to be released from the hospital.  Red cells, white cells, and platelets – they all had to hit a magic number.

Magic numbers.  Time lines.  Qualifying times.  Man, you’d think I was Swiss instead of Italian.  It’s not that I mind a good goal.  In fact, that’s funny to say (or type) out loud.  What I minded was not being able to do a darn thing to accomplish it any quicker, to get out of that place any sooner.  I was stuck and not much was in my control.  Admittedly, I’m still not a fan of finding myself in a “nothing I can do about it” situations.  But I have come to accept those times more readily and more peacefully, realizing ultimately there is a much bigger plan than any of the ones we think we have all figured out. 

Day in and day out, the nurses would take blood for testing.  Each time, I’d muster up a little more hope that I would pass the test, arrive at the next level, and finally be able to pack up my male-magnet flannel housecoat and skedaddle.

Hope.  It’s a funny thing sometimes.  One day, you wake up and think “Today I am going to do this thing!” and the next, you’re deflated because something hasn’t gone exactly according to plan.  That pretty much sums up the remaining 17 days in that place.  There were several stretches of time when a medicine wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do, or I wouldn’t tolerate it at all.  More changeups than Johan Santana has thrown occurred in an effort to make me “normal” again (I know, I know, I’m setting you up nicely with that…)   

I had a chart posted on the wall at the end of my bed outlining my counts.  My goal was in the room.  I had those numbers memorized.  They were burned in my head, thankfully replacing all that nonsense Pythagora drummed up.  Every night I would look at that chart, say a prayer, sometimes say not so ladylike things, and fall asleep hoping tomorrow would be better than the day before.

And then one day the nurse came in with a HUGE smile on her face.   I knew instantly!  Without either of us needing to say a word, she calmly walked to the end of my bed, grabbed the marker, and slowly wrote those magic numbers.  I cried, she cried, other nurses came in and THEY cried.

I was outta there.

The time had come.  We made it.  Together.

Just like we’ve almost made it to the end of this 10-week effort together.  I’m very excited about this week.  The time has come.

4 more days. 

BriefFRIDAY - last one

April 19.

We are officially one week away from the end of the campaign!  These last 9 weeks have felt as if they’ve both flown by and lasted forever.  I imagine that is exactly how it will feel next Friday night after the gala – bittersweet. 

This week has reminded me that life is fragile, moments are fleeting, and time is incredibly short.  To see people come together in the face of adversity is empowering; to see people suffer is gut wrenching.  Yet, such is life; such are our lives.  The peaks, the valleys, the good days and bad – we all have them.  It’s this beautiful reciprocal arrangement, if we let it be.

On Wednesday, someone asked me if I was still going to Boston next year.  I wasn’t ready for that question, but I didn’t even have to think about the answer – it just came spewing out of my mouth (ok yeah, like everything else).   I replied, “Not only am I going, I’m going to run harder and faster than ever.”  It might not be everyone’s response, but I know no different.  I know only that I refuse to let any negative person, negative event, or negative situation win.  And the only way to do that is to get back in that ring and keep on fighting – just like Greyson and so many others are doing on this very day when they wake up.

Thank you to the anonymous donor this week.  Thank you to Jen who is busting her tail getting everything ready for the gala next week.  Thank you to my teammates who are prematurely celebrating the anticipation of infinitely fewer emails from me very soon!  And finally, thank you to the husband of an incredible woman fighting her own fight right now who donated this week with the following message included:

Beth, my name is (omitted) and I am “her” husband. As a new member to the "my spouse has cancer" club, a sad/mad runner thinking of Boston, a NMDP fundraiser/registrant, and a firm believer in "paying forward" and RFP..Relentless Forward Progress..wanted to say thanks and do something positive on this day. Have enjoyed reading your blog of Hope. Best (omitted name).

That message meant a great deal to me, as has EVERYTHING you all have been doing.  So it’s with many thanks I am happy to report the Fort Wayne total, one week out from the conclusion of our fundraising efforts is:

$152,377.57!

7 Days.  One week.  It’s almost here.