Always the last to know

Pretend with me for a moment, won't you?

Pretend it's early March (almost FOUR MONTHS ago). Pretend that you receive a totally random voicemail on your cell phone from a bridal salon in Charleston. Pretend the bridal salon employee excitedly tells you that your wedding dress has arrived! And you can come try it on anytime!

Now pretend that you, the recipient of said voicemail, roll your eyes upon hearing it. And then you delete the message. Not because you're not excited about your dress, but because IT'S NOT YOUR DRESS. You didn't order a wedding dress 2 months earlier, and so you delete the message without a second thought.

Now imagine you are the person who actually ordered the wedding dress in late January, and at the time of your order, the salon informs you that your dress will arrive in 4-6 months. So, for the next FIVE MONTHS, you wait as patiently as possible for the phone call informing you that your dress is here! And you can come try it on anytime!

Only that call never comes. For FIVE MONTHS you wait (sometimes patiently, sometimes not). Once, you let your mind drift and you become panicked, convinced that a mistake was made and your dress was never actually ordered.

But, being the people-pleaser you are, you don't call the store. After all, they probably have staff meetings devoted solely to making fun of high maintenance brides who call week after week wondering if their dress has arrived yet.

Finally, curiosity gets the best of you, and on a Wednesday in late June, you crack. You rehearse what you'll say aloud (yes, really) and hastily dial the bridal salon number. After explaining your situation (I've been waiting for FIVE MONTHS...what's the status???), you are informed that your dress...the one you've been WAITING on for FIVE MONTHS, actually arrived at the store in EARLY MARCH.

"We left you a voicemail," the employee explains, kindly.

They left a voicemail alright. Only, they called the WRONG NUMBER and left MY voicemail on SOMEONE ELSE'S PHONE. And that someone cold heartedly DELETED THE MESSAGE, probably without a second thought.

____

In summary: "Yea! My dress is here! And I can go try it on anytime!"

Observed whilst walking

Excuse me...sir? Yes, you there, in the red shirt on the second floor balcony:



Of all the leaning places there are in the country of Belize against which a person could lean, I implore you to pick a different dead-tree-acting-as-a-support-beam to lean against. Just a thought. And I bet if your co-worker...the one just below you standing on that make-shift ladder...if he had a vote, I bet he'd vote in favor of you finding a new leaning post, too.

Unless you aren't really leaning and are instead kung-fu punching said dead-tree.

In that case, carry on.

St. Herman must've been gangsta

Mid-way through our week in Belize, we took a morning to do some sight-seeing. And by sight seeing, I mean that we walked through the Belizean rain forest (yes, really) to a cave named after a Saint called Herman. But we didn't just admire St. Herman's cave from the outside. Oh, no. We invited ourselves in for a look around and a spot of tea. Minus the tea.

Here I am during the descent into the cave, trying to resist the urge to make a "so easy a caveman could do it" joke. I'm still trying (to resist).

And here I am again in the deepest part of the cave, right after the part where the guide told us all to turn our flashlights off so we could "experience true darkness."

Uhhh, dude? No thanks. I don't like darkness. Especially not "true" darkness, found only in the depths of a humid, hot, Belizean cave surrounded by 31 people and a guide who just might use this is his chance to rob us all of our flashlights and run. You know, just for pranks. Notice my fake smile.

And finally, sight of all sights, the mouth of the cave from the inside, as we emerged from "true" darkness. It really did look like a ride at Disney, minus the theme music and seat belts.

The whole time we were in the cave, I silently kept repeating "you're in a cave. In Belize. You're in a Belizean cave. You're in Belize. In a cave. You. are. in. a. cave. In Belize." to myself.

At least I think I was silent...

Sner-k-ling

Thanks to my vast pre-trip research about Belize (cough, cough), I knew that the country was part of the British empire until the early 1980's. Thereby, I arrived fully expecting to be awash in British accents all week. And what could be better! Belize is the only country in Central America to have English as their official language. Wikipedia taught me that.

Imagine my surprise upon meeting the Belizean national who greeted us at the airport...complete with his island-like, Jamaican-sounding accent! How lovely! There was no "th" sound, so "thanks" became "tanks", "think" was "tink", and (my personal favorite) "youth" was pronounced "yoots". Our guide stayed in hotel room one-oh-tree. Classic!

On our last full day there, we enjoyed some R&R on Caye Caulker, one of the many beautiful barrier islands to which tourists flock. The activity of the day: snorkeling. Or, as our Belizean friends say, "sner-k-ling." Say it aloud a few times. It's totally entertaining.

At the end of our excursion, David, one of our group members, exclaimed "I'm never going snorkeling again! From now on, I'll only go sner-k-ling!"

I couldn't agree more.

Haunted

As a fight a losing battle for sleep tonight (it's 3:07am and I'm restless), I invite you to read an excerpt from my trip journal about one of the most profound experiences I had while in Belize. Perhaps this is why I can't sleep...still trying to figure this one out.

****
Saturday, June 18, evening:
This afternoon, after a quick sandwich for lunch, we headed to the orphanage. Again, I was unprepared. I knew the conditions were bad because some of our team members had been before. So I was prepared for that. But the children...there were about 50 there, ranging in age from 18 months (?) to 15 years (?). While many of them were sweet, none of them seemed innocent. Some took right away to playing games and making beaded necklaces, but there was not the child-like innocence they deserve. I tried to strike up a conversation with a teenage girl. She asked me for my necklace, my watch, and my wallet. I watched as she ate another boy's candy and when he noticed, I think she propositioned him because he quickly agreed to let her have the candy. Those who remember her from last year recall her to be a shy, reserved girl. What has happened in a year?

My heart breaks from those children in their ill-fitting clothes, behind their barbed wire fence - I can't even imagine what their living quarters look like. We weren't invited on a tour as I'd hoped.

Oh, my. This place exists. And countless more like it or worse than it.

Oh, my. The staff, in charge of all those kids. Is it hopeless?

I'm already haunted by the candy eating girl. Will I see her again, maybe at the church later? She wouldn't even answer the simplest of questions - about her age, her school, or her name. What has caused her to be so wary of strangers? Do I really want to know?

****
I would see this girl again, 3 more times during the week. I made very little progress, and was ultimately never successful in engaging her in any sort of conversation. More journaling, this time from Friday, June 24, morning:

****
At 4:00pm yesterday, the kids arrived for their last day of VBS. I knew it would be sad. We made sun catchers at the park and played with sidewalk chalk. She was there, but seemed pretty withdrawn, going off to herself for much of the hour. She held my hand again on the way back to the church and then, without a word or a glance in my direction, she loaded the bus back to the orphanage. "Marcelina Allen" she wrote in sidewalk chalk. "Stella Marris School." As quickly as she entered my life 6 days ago, she left it yesterday and I'm sitting here wondering what in the world God brought us together for.

On the "lighter" side

Ya'll.

They had Diet Coke in Belize.

The hotel where we stayed was a modest place run by a family from Taiwan, and they must've known I was coming because there was a cooler in the lobby which was fully stocked at all times with plastic bottles of ice cold "Coca-Cola Light." They even offered a free straw with each purchase (one American dollar). The little man, whose name I never quite mastered, memorized my order almost immediately. I loved him.

I will say, because of the heat and extreme potential for dehydration, I limited my intake to one Coca-Cola Light per day...most days. I enjoyed it as my morning coffee and downed water like it was my job for the rest of the day.

I've vowed to make this my new habit. My intake of Diet Coke is ridiculous. Yet another way my eyes were opened in Belize.

Hope

I arrived in Belize and set about trying to find hope. Selfishly, I think I wanted to see hope for my own comfort. It would help the poverty seem less shocking. It would help me be able to tie a neat little bow on the Belize experience and would allow me to sleep better at night, knowing that, while they may be poor, at least they have hope.

So that was my goal, when we landed on Saturday afternoon. To look past the dilapidated homes, the outhouses, the littered streets, and threadbare clothes, and find a glimmer of hope.

Our first day, we visited an orphanage. 50 kids. 4 adults. Filth. Greed. Desperation. Barbed wire. Mismatched shoes. Ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes. Abandonment. In the 45-minutes we were there, a child asked me for my watch, my necklace, and my wallet, and shot me a bird, in rapid succession. "What did you bring me?" was the question repeated over and over. We were not given a tour, we were not invited to see the living quarters. It was sensory overload. Too much of too little.

I continued my search throughout the week, and as my own comfort zone expanded, the poverty, the odor, the pollution, and the "too little" became a little easier to bear. And I was able to find glimmers of hope. The orphan who flicked me off on day one held my hand on day 3. And again on day 4. She only asked for my necklace one other time. There was laughter, creativity, love, music, dreaming, dancing, and yes...even hope.

In looking through my pictures tonight, reliving memories and remembering faces, I came upon this picture, taken of one child by another. If you look closely, I think you'll see hope, too.

Wherein I mention "underwear" 6 times

Well, friends. I'm 1/2 way through the aforementioned 21-days of madness. The past two days have provided a much needed respite. Recovery from Vacation Bible School, preparation for Belize. I've tried to soak up every moment of silence, solitude, calm, and familiarity, because starting at 4:15am tomorrow*, all that will be out the window.

I spent the day today gathering supplies (travel-sized toiletries!) and packing (one of my favorite things to do!). I'm gone for 8-days and I packed 22 pairs of underwear. I can't believe I just typed that, but I'm not going to delete it. I guess this means that underwear is my security blanket? Huh? I should also mention that the place where we're staying does offer daily laundry service for a small fee. While that should provide comfort to me, I still can't help bringing every single pair of underwear I own. Does this make me a high maintenance underwear owner? And why am I still writing about underwear?

I must be nervous.

The trip organizers really urge us to keep a daily journal, something I've never really been good at, save for this small corner of the Internets. But I'm going to try. I even bought a spiral notebook today. AND I packed a pen. Success? Totally. My hope is to be able to share some of my entries here, with you, when I return. Especially if they have anything to do with underwear.

So peace out, lovelies. See you on the flip side!

*I know, mom. I know. You're never supposed to broadcast via social media the dates and times you plan to be away from home, lest someone throw a raging house party while you're gone. So, if you're a rogue party thrower, I'll be home on the couch in my bathrobe, eating ice cream straight from the carton. Don't even try.

(more than) 3 words, Day 9

VBS is over! It was a great four days, a great learning experience, and such fun to see so many people come together...for the children (insert Michael Jackson song here)! Here are some pictures of the whole sha-bang:

We had scavenger hunts,

and water day (complete with buckets and buckets of water),

There were three-legged races from PJ clad little ones:

And silly balloon games. I inflated so many balloons, I lost count and my cheeks hurt. But, strangely enough, I still had plenty of hot air...

There were colorful spirit sticks, and oh-so-cute spirit stick carriers:

And a whole mess of people on hat day. We even managed a group shot:

Banners were made by camo clad 5th and 6th graders:

And I even found this sweet picture on my camera at the end of the day today. Just look at these faces!

And, to top it all off, as an ultimate thank-you from my teenage friends, I got a huge chocolate pie-in-the-face from my friend, Noah:

In all fairness, I should disclose that he won the right to pie me by being the highest bidder in a silent auction where I, desperate to contribute SOMETHING, but painfully lacking in the knitting-baking-cross stitch department, decided at the last minute to throw "A Chance to Pie Elizabeth in the Face" into the auction. Noah was the highest bidder back in February, and he FINALLY got to do the honors today. In front of about 100 cheering, totally manic children. It was awesome. And delicious.

Next stop: Belize!

3 words, Day 8

Good: My dance moves.

Bad: My dance moves.

Bewildering: My dance moves.

(It all depends on who you ask.)

3 words, Day 7

Good: Teenager named Grace.

Bewildering*: Kids - short, relentless.

*please note: I decided "bad" is too strong of a word, so I changed it to "bewildering" because I'm the boss around here and what I say goes. Hanging out with kids too much lately? Maybe...

3 words, Day 6

Good: VBS is underway!

Bad: Missed lunch altogether.

3 words, Day 5

Good: Nice afternoon nap.

Bad: Worked four hours. (not "for" hours, mind you. "four" hours. Sorry for the outburst.)

3 words, Day 4 (posted late)

Good: Riverdogs baseball game.

Bad: Wal-mart visit. Twice.

3 words, Day 3

Good: Wedding reception tasting. (and OMG there were these amazing sweet potato fries covered in blue cheese sauce and I wanted to jump up and down on the table and then bathe in them. More than three words, huh?)

Bad: Restless night's sleep.

3 words, Day 2

Good: Three amazing volunteers.

Bad: Post-lunch onion breath.

3 words

I've decided to chronicle the aforementioned 21 days by offering 6 words describing each day. 3 words good, 3 words bad. Well, not bad words, but words describing the bad of the day. My teenage friends do this sometimes. They carry on entire conversations with the rule that you can only utter 3 words at a time. By the time all is said and done, everyone sounds like a caveman (or woman). Amusing? Yes. Annoying? Slightly.

Day 1:

: ) Appreciation at work.

: ( Lines at Walmart.

June 27

In a few months, I hope to be able to look back on the activities of June 5 - 26, 2011 as some of the most exhausting, rewarding, memorable, fulfilling days of my life. I'm positive the "exhausting" part will be true, and I'm 99% sure the others will be, too.

If there was ever any doubt that I know how to cram a calendar full of EVENTS, allow me to extinguish that flame. In the next 20 days, I will:

- Finish planning the only Vacation Bible School I've ever been in charge of, all the while trying to trick people into believing that I know exactly what I'm doing (so far, it's working...perhaps it's the children who will see right through me).
- Attend the tasting for our wedding reception, where such high level decisions as "turkey or chicken" will be made.
- Get a hair cut. And a brow wax. Trust me...that's is a big deal.
- Host approximately 90 children and 35 volunteers in aforementioned VBS activities, while flaunting fabulous hair and brows.
- Welcome a traveling youth choir of 60 to the church and feed them dinner and breakfast. I'm not actually doing the feeding, mind you...just the providing. Word has it they are proficient in "fork."
- Hop a flight to Belize City, Belize for an 8-day adventure which will include traveling with 27 people, rooming with 3 teenagers (we were grouped by age and I'm proud to say I round down to "teenage"), cleaning an orphanage, and enduring a 4-hour layover in Houston. Among other things.
- Participate in the Eagle Scout ceremony of one of my teenage friends, who I'm convinced will someday be famous.

So there you have it. On June 27, I plan to collapse into a heap on the nearest floor, where I will remain for an unspecified amount of time or UNTIL I DARN WELL FEEL LIKE GETTING UP.

I can't WAIT to blog about all the ridiculous, profound, and just plain funny encounters I have along the way. For now, I'm off to eat my Wheaties, take my (anti) Malaria medication, and make some lists.

Word.

Paying it forward

Someday, approximately 20 years from now, a woman will recount a tale of embarrassment and shame of marvelous proportions. And it's all my fault. Sitting amongst friends, maybe over a glass of wine, she'll easily win the contest of "most embarrassing moment." Oh, dear.

She'll tell how, on the last day of 4th grade, the room moms organized a bunch of "Minute To Win It" games and invited a local youth director (me) to emcee the festivities. The youth director was there to hype the crowd, explain the games, and keep the clock. For the entire 4th grade. About 150 people.

And while talking into a microphone to those 150 children, the woman asked if anyone had any questions. The woman saw a hand waving near the back row, so she pointed to the student and said, "Yes, sir?"

The response?

"Um...I'm a girl."

Ya'll. I died. Right there, in front of the whole 4th grade, all the teachers, and the room moms, I shriveled up and died. I broke out into a sweat, my face turned red, and I died. The students giggled, the student withdrew her question, and I died.

Only days after posting my own misadventures with gender confusion, I have paid it forward in a terrible, terrible way.

Ultimately, I think she forgave me, especially after I let her say, "On your mark, get set, GO" into the microphone.

But still. I'm dead and done and dead.

Who, exactly, is the cow in this scenario?

Outtake from a conversation between Jeremy and me last night (I can't quite recall what we were talking about that lead to this point):

Me: "Well, you know what they say. Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free?"

Jeremy: "Yeah. But not me. I bought the cow."

Uhhh...thanks?

Everybody's a comedian...

My Memorial Day weekend was spent whitewater rafting in North Carolina and Tennessee with my teenage friends. About half way through our 4 day trip, I realized that most of the group thought we were in West Virginia. Ahh, to be young and totally, totally oblivious. Again.

As is the case with most of our group's outings, I took a shift or two driving the 15-passenger church bus. (At this point, I shall pause for a few moments to wait for your laughter to pass. I'll hand it to you...it is a pretty funny mental picture.) It should be noted that I did not have to procure a special license to drive the bus. Nope, only a few laps around the abandoned parking lot adjacent to the church and I was deemed "ready to drive." And people think teenage pregnancy is scary...

There's an unspoken rule amongst the teenagers and me. I'm allowed to hit one curb per trip without ridicule. Any curb hit after the first curb is fair game, and believe me, they let me have it via lots of cheering and jeering from the back. But that first curb...it's all mine. Virtual silence, save a few stifled giggles. Mind you, I don't hit a lot of curbs...in fact, I've gotten pretty good at keeping it to one per trip. Much to the cheerer's chagrin.

Fast forward to the Nantahala River and our second day of rafting. We were on a "guide assisted" trip, meaning that (unannounced to me), I would be in charge of safely guiding 7 teenagers down a raging river after only a brief introduction on how to steer a raft. Sounds familiar, right?

Do I appear to be a confident transportation operator? Does my general appearance scream "Attention, everyone! I need little to no instruction before holding the lives of those around me in my barely capable hands!"?

Concerning, no?

ANYWAY...the rafting outing was a little rough at first, and not just because of the whitewater. It took me a while to figure out how to steer, when to instruct my underlings to paddle, and how to avoid the tree limbs on the banks. We got stuck on a couple of rocks and bumped rather violently into others. I eventually got the hang of it...sort of...but not before one of my teenage friends (we'll call him Donny because that's his name) yelled out:

"Hey, look at this! We're not even in the bus and she's still hitting curbs!"

Punk. Funny punk.