Category: travel

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 3 Lets Ride..

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June 8, 2012

Lets Ride….

Awoke at 0600, oh who am I kidding, I never really slept.  Between the dogs fighting on the compound, what seemed to be one hell of a party going on in the alleyway or house next door, anticipation of the days to come and the sticky, wet heat that encompassed our room, sleep never came. Pretty disappointed, because after what I felt was a long day yesterday, sleep would have been beneficial.  Came downstairs to the smells of breakfast wafting gently from the kitchen.  Shuffled my way over to some coffee and was pleasantly surprised by how fantastic it tasted.  Smooth, mellow, robust, nothing like any coffee that had previously crossed my palate!

Sitting down at a table outside, the smell of burning garbage rose over the compound and once again I began questioning my purpose for this journey.  After a while John C. and John G. joined my table, soon we were discussing upcoming events for the day and how things may play out.  Paul came down then Cody and slowly the rest of the team emerged, shuffling slowly, looking for hot coffee.  After several cups, we all began telling tales of a rough night had by all, apparently I was not alone in my suffering.  Joking about the chickens, anger for the dogs and laughter at our own silliness.  We had bonded fairly quick as a group, which usually is a sign of impending personality clashes. (watch survivor, you think everything is fine and then BAM your torch is being snuffed out)) But every time we all sat together I could feel the glue forming between us, an alliance of you will, this would ultimately prove to be the foundation for great new friendships and help us during our survival over the next eight days.

Breakfast was started with a prayer.  Three teams formed into a giant circle holding hands praying. It was a powerful moment, starting the morning off on a wonderful note.  After breakfast we chatted it up with several other members, slowly making our way upstairs to gather our things as departure time closed in on us all.  Funny thing about embarking on an unknown journey, nervousness does take hold of you whether you realize it or not.  The unknown is a tricky thing, it can paralyze to the point of inaction or spur you on to some of the greatest triumphs you may ever know.  In eight days we would all have an accounting for our performance.

After our luggage was gathered, we were introduced to our interpreters.  Caz and Marcinae (Im guessing on the spelling.) Walking directly up to Caz extending my hand he warmly accepted my handshake as I introduced myself.  I was very glad to meet this man for I already felt as though I knew him. John C. and John G. along with my wife had regaled us with wonderful stories of his caring attitude and generosity towards their group a mission trip last year.  He was an intern then, but handled himself like an old veteran.  We reminisced for a few minutes and after showing him pictures of my wife in Mellier,  he instantly remembered who she was stating; she was fantastic with the school children and a very caring person.  He then raised an eyebrow, leaned in towards me asking how I felt about a woman traveling to such far away, unknown places before myself? My retort; If you have met and befriended my wife then you learn very quickly once her mind is set there is no stopping her. He chuckled and said yes this may be true.  Five minutes with this man, my guard was completely down.  My first sense of safety crept in and I instantly knew we were in fantastic hands.

It was time to go, time to leave the Port-au-Prince Hilton.  The KIA truck was loaded with all our luggage and supplies for eight days, the Toyota was loaded with 13 willing and able bodies ready for an adventure.  The gate opened to the compound leading us out to an alley we had not seen previously, our eyes were once again opened to a strange new world of adventure and uncertainty.

The alley way was congested with people cooking food, grinding metal, fabricating gates and repairing stereo equipment that here in the United States we would have discarded like yesterdays newspaper.  The alley was no wider than a single car leaving us to squeeze ever so carefully through its bowels. As we made our way into the street (slowly) it was extremely congested, more so than the day before.  The previous day had been a holiday so many shops and businesses were closed.  The shocking moment for myself and some of the crew was the streets had been very congested the day before which left us in awe at the amount of people moving to and from their destinations today. In hindsight yesterday was merely a fraction of the population that now lay before our eyes.  Travel was slow, hot and bumpy. Once again there were times the smells became a little overwhelming.  These people moved about their day with a huge sense of purpose.  Constructions sites were a buzz, markets were humming and everywhere you turned the city felt alive!  My head hung to the glass like a voyeur trying his hardest to experience every moment without being noticed.  Traffic in Haiti still bewildered my sense of safety.  Horns honking, cars moving where they pleased, it was a very gentle ballet of automotive synchronicity. In America many of the movements  or automotive “bullying” that we participated in would have resulted with someone being on the end of a broken nose. Yet here people just waved you by, (and not with a middle finger in the air) waved thank you or stared blankly with no emotion at all.  All by the honk, beep or blast of a horn.

Our team had one stop to make before our final destination. We were hoping to acquire a few more sledge hammers for the work that lay before us.  Our van pulled into a large concrete fenced yard and to our surprise the place was not a run down dilapidated structure as we all had envisioned.  In fact the structure resembled that of a Home Depot! A home depot with parking attendants and an U.N. military vehicle with soldiers parked within its walls.  John, John, Caz and Paul went inside for a short excursion inside the man store.  Myself, Cody and the rest of the crew remained outside with our vehicle.  Personally in my humble opinion, once you have seen one Home Depot you have seen them all.  I was more interested in the heavy traffic of dump trucks (by the way we found out Haiti is where all retired Mack trucks wander off to die) tractors, excavators, and everyday vehicles whizzing by on the street outside.  A few more jokes were cracked, a couple of comments about the heat and before long we were off with our newly acquired toys.

The drive was long and hot. (have I mentioned it is relatively hot here?)  A combination of paved roads, dirt roads and just plain old pot holes left us feeling as though our kidneys were now no longer usable for transplant. (mental note, change donor card upon arrival home) Once out of the city en route on highway one we passed by several areas still heavily impacted from the quake.  We also passed by the largest tent city on the island.   Interesting really; tents, shacks scattered everywhere across the open plains, then an

 occasional house under construction with a few completed homes scattered about.  Homes and shanties in desert/shrub like conditions where one would never think to build or create a homestead.  When John asked Caz about the housing situation, Caz stated the government had given away the land to residents looking for a new start and willing to build upon the site.  The site was hilly and dry but the upside was it overlooked the ocean.  Either these people were completely crazy or evil geniuses.  Genius in the fact that 20 years from now they will own beautiful homes overlooking some of the bluest ocean any human could ever lay their eyes upon. Once again being resilient is definitely not a Haitian weakness.

We arrived in Leveque almost two hours after departing the guest house.  Hot, tired and sweaty we all clamored to get out of the Toyota van.  We had parked in what appeared to be an alley.  A home on the right, a long white tin roofed 1950’s era building on the left with an enormous two-story, brand new concrete structure directly behind them both looming over the site.  We quickly learned the 1950’s era building on the left was in fact the very building we had come to demolish.  This was exciting!

We quickly gathered up, unloaded all of our equipment, hauling the majority upstairs to the second story of the new building.  This building was a new school built by a British team for the church.  The upper floor had not yet been put into operation, leaving it as our new primary residence complete with kitchen for the next eight days.  Our team had originally been scheduled to live at a new church built down the road in the town of Thomas. This would have left us commuting every morning to our job site in Leveque.  When the pastor discovered this plan he vehemently argued for our location change hoping a new team and project could meld into his community creating everlasting friendships while sharing the word of God.  He was wise beyond words.

Having moved into our three rooms. One for the kitchen, one as sleeping quarters for the men, one for the women.  We all gathered back downstairs, meeting the pastor while introducing ourselves to 5 construction workers, our new future Haitian friends. We traveled thousands of miles and there seemed to be no time like the present to get started.  Energy was high, we surveyed the building, 40x 100, cinder block with stucco/concrete overlay, tin roof, two small rooms leading into one big assembly area.  The building had several mid line cracks and a portico that had damage to three of its four columns.  We devised our strategy and came up with a plan of attack, a few of us could hear the sound of tools calling our names. Hats pulled down tight, work belts on, hammers and pry bars in hand.  Ten Americans in one foreign country with a single goal in mind.

Time for one 63-year-old earthquake damaged church to come down!

To be continued……

Haiti Mission Trip 2012: part 2 We are guests…

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The Guest House. (checkpoint Charlie)

June 7th 2012

We arrived pulling through an all steel gate with an attendant standing by ensuring no one wonders onto the property unexpected.  The compound is filled with trees lining a dirt/cobblestone drive leading to a retaining wall some 30 feet high.  To the right a new project is being built consisting of concrete and cinder block. (shocker)

To the left the guest house.  A two-story building that in its day (around the 80’s I am guessing) was a top rate place to stay.  My first impression walking down a pathway into a covered porch area was that of disappointment.  (this would change later) It was not what I had expected after looking it up online.  But hey we aren’t here to lounge and relax, our group came to work and work was all we talked about for the last month.

We immediately banded together unloading the trucks, and introducing ourselves to the guest house hosts.  Tom and Sara. The two of them quickly gave us a run down of the facility, showing us to our rooms.  Men in room 3, women in room 5. A bathroom/douche at either end of the hall with two toilet/water closets nestled in a narrow hallway around the corner.  A table with community computer and wi-fi at the top of the stairs. (our last link to the world for 8 days). The men walked into room three and all of us quickly obtained a bunk bed best suited for ourselves.  There were two other teams expected that afternoon and I was looking forward to meeting them, hoping to glean some information about the area and what to expect.  I am not one to let too much bother me but I was nervous in this strange land so far from home.  Feeling a little like a cornered animal, no place to go, run or hide.  Any information that might calm my nerves would be more than welcome. Being as though I was worried and nervous I couldn’t help but wonder how my son was doing, but to my surprise he was strangely calm and relaxed.  Excited for what the next 8 days lay in store.

We met with Sara again who had arranged for us to go sight-seeing that afternoon.  We talked about going to the Baptist mission, or off to some of the more challenging neighborhoods taking in the sights and sounds, possibly seeing more tent cities.  In the end we opted for lunch and a swim at hotel  Ibo-LeLe in the province of Petionville, Port-au-Prince. Located around 1400 feet up the side of a mountain this hotel boasted some of the best views of Port-au-Prince and the surrounding area.  Sara and Tom decided they would go with us as lunch and a swim away from the compound sounded enticing. It was also a nice way for them to understand and learn a little about this feisty 10 person team from California.

We loaded into our 10 person Toyota and headed off up the mountain.  Strange thing about climbing and winding through the narrow and sometimes steep roadways.  Conditions seemed to improve. Living conditions, housing, stores, streets, everything seemed a little neater, a little nicer, a little more affluent for a devastated country with no means.  HMMMM???

At one point while turning a street corner the stores seemed nicer, painted, organized, and then we rolled up on a two-story, freshly painted grocery store surrounded by a giant stucco/plaster wall.  Both entrances were guarded by men with shotguns.  Presumably to keep residents out without the means to pay for items. The method or mode of transportation seemed to change as well the higher we climbed.  Gone were the 300,000 mile abused Tap-Taps.  In their place was still late 90’s early 2000’s Honda’s, Toyota’s and Nissan’s, but also a mix of Mercedes, Land Cruisers, Range Rovers and even a few Porsches were spotted!

Could this be the actual visual translation of the rich live on the hill and the poor suffer the plains? Before I had time to ponder these visual cues we had arrived at Ibo-LeLe.  Walking down the entry way it was very reminiscent of 1960’s Cuba portrayed by Hollywood. Very open, and inviting, straight from a James Bond movie.  We all made our way out back to the pool area where we found a shaded area to sit and enjoy our lunch.  There were three levels to choose from, one in the open sun on top, one completely shaded in the middle and the lower pool level area.  Before we could settle into a few chairs we were told the middle level where we were was closed.  Looking around I noticed some men in black suits eyeing our presence.  They were sharp and wore ear phones connected to radios.  Behind us sat a table of roughly ten people who had been enjoying lunch. All talking had stopped and they to were staring directly at us.  My alarm bells began ringing, and we all quickly moved to the upper level.  I said good day to one of the “suits” who gave me a casual smile in return.  While enjoying our lunch we learned the ten person table was in fact a private party for the Minister of Agriculture.  Sweet in country less than 6 hours and I had already crashed a political party! HA!

Lunch took around 2 1/2 hours and all of us quickly learned the meaning of Haiti time.  My wife warned me that; Haiti time meant I needed to move slower, take my time because nothing in done in a hurry.  Well except driving of course.

We never went swimming as lunch took the better part of our afternoon.  The views were spectacular, and all of us took the opportunity to grab some pictures from the upper deck of the hotel.  If you squinted your eyes and pretended you could almost believe nothing had ever happened and it was the way the country was supposed to look. Yet as we stood there I was finding it shameful to be treated so well when so many had nothing.

Cody and the crew were settling into all they had seen and experienced when we weaved our way through Port-au-Prince earlier. We laughed and joked, shaking off the nerves associated with sensory overload,  but nothing could prepare us for the moment our eyes would gaze upon the National Palace.

After lunch we made our way down the hill leaving upper class behind, winding through narrow streets filled with garbage, street venders, people and cars, eventually making our way to the bottom where organized chaos reigned king once again.  Rounding one final corner we came upon the National Palace grounds.  It was pure devastation.  We had all seen pictures, we had talked a good game, but I personally was not prepared for what I saw.  It was destroyed beyond belief.  A symbol of the country’s strength, prosperity and security, leveled beyond repair.  It massive domes laying sideways like a drunk man trying to stand under his own power.  Walls sheared off, floors collapsed, sections flattened.  This once mighty building left in ruins for all to see.

In that moment for me personally I understood why the country was struggling to survive.  Imagine if the White House had been flattened. This symbol of America unites millions each year who come to see it, gaze upon its historic and valued walls.  How can a country move forward without one of its main symbols of recognition?

Designed in 1912 by architect Georges H. Baussan its design took second place in an architects national competition.  It was awarded the winning nod because the first place building was deemed to costly.  The budget for the new palace was set at $350,000 and construction began in 1914.  In 1915 the under construction palace was set ablaze by a mob that ousted then murdered President Vilbun Guillaume Sam.  This assassination led to the United States of America occupying Haiti which opened the door for the U.S. Navy engineers to oversee the Palaces completion in 1920.

There have been several attempts to start work on the palace since the earthquake with the latest taking place in 2010.  Only the middle rotunda has been cleared and all construction has been halted.

In my opinion a country needs to start somewhere.  Mobilizing your people through strength and pride can be done with a symbol such as the National Palace. A place for its government to unify and build solidarity. It gives a country hope; hope that progress on that level can trickle down to its people.  People who I would soon find out have immense pride for their country.  Band that passion, that love and a stronger country cannot help but emerge.

It was a long hot trip back up the hills through the streets to the guest house.  We were all tired from our long flights and a few of us were looking forward to a swim in the guest house pool before dinner.  We all knew tomorrow the group would ship out to our assignment.  We all had no idea what we were in for and the thought of a simple swim, some dinner and one last night in a bed seemed to be the order of the evening.

God bless this country, because from what we had seen so far its people are amazingly resilient.

To be continued…..

Haiti Misssion trip 2012 part 1

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Everyone needs a great adventure! Living life in the same general confines day after day can become mundane at best. This last week my son and I took the adventure of a lifetime. We traveled to Haiti on a mission trip.

Haiti, officially the Republic of Haiti, is a Caribbean country. It occupies the western, smaller portion of the island of Hispaniola, in the Greater Antillean archipelago, which it shares with the Dominican Republic.

In 2010 a 7.0 earthquake struck the city of Leogane, approximately 16 miles west of Port-au-Prince. The devastation to the country was massive. Nearly 220,000 Haitians killed (although government estimates were higher) millions left homeless with no electricity, running water or sanitary services. Billions of dollars in aid were raised, tent cities were built, the dead were buried and the people of Haiti were left to grieve.

June 2012

Mission Impossible

Good morning Mr. Phelps. Your mission if you choose to accept it, meet with ten other like-minded individuals looking to spread gods word and lend a hand to an impoverished country. Appoint a leader from within the ten, who will represent you, your families and the church with the utmost character, honor and dignity. Have that leader appoint jobs that best suit the team. Meet at SFO on the afternoon of June 6th, with clothes, food and enough tools to effectively demolish a building riddled by earthquake damage. Once all is in place load the plane with your team under the assumption you may never return. If you are caught or captured the association will disavow any knowledge of your being. Good luck Mr. Phelps. This note will self destruct in 5 seconds……

Our team.

John C.-Leader code name: Precious

John G.- Co-leader code name: Hammer

Mason- code name: Bieber

Paul- code name: Bubbles

James- code name: OSHA

Cody- code name: Gun Show

Heather- code name: Chicken Head

Anne- code name: The Annimal

Jan- code name: Naj/Cornrow

Maggie- code name: Rosie the Riveter

We met up on the morning of June 6th, pumped and ready to go. Our minds on fire at what we assumed lay before us. We had two teenagers on the team, Cody and Maggie, who were looking for more than just the average “community service credits” to complete high school. More is definitely what they received.

We laughed and joked all the way to the airport. We met Mason and Paul at SFO as they came from another town far away from our own. Having waved goodbye to our loved ones we passed through security and set out on our journey.

First leg; 9 hours of traveling.

Day rolled into night and night back into day. We arrived in Miami on time and drug our tired, sorry butts through the multiple terminals until we settled on gate 24, our new home for the next hour. The tantalizing smells coming from a coffee shop across the way filled our senses and before long we joined the throng of local business travelers drinking coffee, eating pastries and pretending our minds were in the same time zone.

While boarding our flight for the last leg of our journey, I quickly noticed a different mood or demeanor aboard this plane. Gone were the happy, laughing families headed to Miami for a week at South Beach or Disney World. In its place were weary Mission group travelers and grumpy looking businessmen. The flight was quiet and uneventful, we all found a certain irony in the “corn muffin” snack we were given en route to Port au Prince.

Landing in Port-au-Prince it was evident we were no longer in the United States. Uniformed personnel everywhere, passengers ushered like cattle from one place to the next eventually landing in line for immigration to check our documents. Having heard many a horror story about this process I watched intently as the officer checked documents, asked questions, occasionally rolling his eyes and waving on to the next victim. There were only two of them and both seemed like a DMV worker on a bad day.

Finally it was our turn, grabbing Cody we walked up, papers in hand ready to do battle with the icy stare of the immigration agent. He looked me in the eye, stared at my documents, looked at Cody, stared at his documents, stamped them both and waved us through. Not a word passed between us. Seriously? I was shocked! It was nothing as we had been warned. In and out in 15 minutes.

Now here is where you learn the importance of keeping an eye on your bag, like you are told in every airport in every major metropolitan city in America. In Haiti, you need to be the first to grab your bag as it comes off the line. If you aren’t the first to your bag there is a Haitian in a red shirt waiting to grab it for you. Once this happens they want money for handling the bag. It’s that simple. Any job no matter how small means an income for these people. Just a dollar, that’s all it takes. One dollar. If you say yes to grabbing the bags, ten of them will argue over whose claim it is. Its quite shocking at first, but what would you do to feed your family in a country the government has basically left behind?

Luggage gathered we were met by Jackson our church appointed liaison, who had a crew of his own handling our bags. Once identified as being attached to our group the other baggage handlers moved aside out of respect and allowed us all to travel unimpeded to our awaiting vehicles. Arriving at the vehicles we were greeted by two more members of UMVIM (United Methodist Volunteers In Mission) with great big hugs and giant Haiti Hello’s. For our group it was a welcomed sight and tensions eased a bit after the bombardment of hustling for bags from men just trying to earn a buck.

The ride through Port-au-Prince to the guest house was eye-opening to say the least. Devastation, filth, and concrete dust hung in the air. Everything here is built from concrete as wood is a premium. Also concrete handles the bombardment of seasonal hurricanes better than wood products. The roads through the main city were filled with giant pot holes and piles of garbage, abandoned cars and street venders. Some roads had pavement, others were dirt, while some where a battered combination of both. City streets were filled with people, cars, tap-taps and motorcycles. There appears to be no traffic laws as drivers went where they wanted when they wanted with nothing more than the tap of a horn. In Haiti the horn is used the way it was originally intended, to warn you of an upcoming vehicle. Much different from here in the United States where it is considered an insult associated with poor judgement. While stopped trying to wedge our way between another vehicle and motorcycle our vehicle was bum rushed by a handful of children and a few adults. The children with their hands out saying; hello friend, god bless you friend, may I have a dollar? The adults selling bracelets and necklaces or water. We had been warned not to give anything, no matter what for fear of the chaos it would evoke. Yet every fiber of your being wants so desperately to help the children.

The immediate area was dirty, crowded, and smelled of sewage in some spots, but there seemed to be a strange harmony, or rhythm to the controlled chaos surrounding us. We wound our way through the street and alleys, collapsed concrete buildings and fences, eventually driving by a “tent city” that remained in effect. The tent city was at one time an organized neat row of fabric buildings but now were relegated to disgusting shanties and I found it hard to understand how people could live that way. That of course is the ugly, privileged, I am better than you American coming from inside; in hindsight you make the best with what you are given and try to forge ahead. Its human nature. Our driver told us many have deserted the tent cities and are finding better housing but for every family that leaves there are many more taking their place. Crime is rampant inside the tent cities and gangs are claiming areas as their own.

The smell of burning plastic, paper and rubber hung heavy over the area as well. Our diver apologized to us for all we had seen along with the smells. I thought it odd he was apologizing, but what I failed to think about at the time was; this was his home. He remembers the way Haiti used to be, a place of pride for himself and many of his countrymen. It must be sad to see his own people suffering day after day.

The streets climbed upwards, they grew more narrow. Still lined with merchants selling their wares, people bustling about, make shift repair shops, fabricating materials in ally ways the place was alive with activity! It was exciting. In all the dreary colors one thing repeatedly stood out and continued to stand out throughout the trip. The bright, clean pressed, sharply put together uniforms adorned by school children walking in groups around every corner.

I checked in on Cody from time to time during the drive. He was quiet and reserved looking at everything that passed our way. He Had Maggie with him so they were both sharing the very same experience. I was glad they were together, our families have known each other for many years and that simple familiarity goes along way in a foreign place.

We drove by entire blocks of housing crumbled to the ground, tarps covering some with people still living in what was left of their homes. It continued endlessly up the hillside as we rose. Yet there they were, school children, neat, clean and fresh as a daisy. Bright yellow, Blue and grey uniforms all markers of the schools they attended. it was awesome! A smile and wave would get you the same greeting in return. One last turn of a corner and we had arrived. Mission accepted…

The guest house. (to be continued)

Haiti Bound….

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So it begins!!!!

2 hours and counting until my son and I leave the comforts of our humble abode, the loving arms of our family and travel just north of the equator, into the West Indies towards a little island country known as  The Republic of Haiti.

HAITI (noun)
The noun HAITI has 2 senses:
1. a republic in the West Indies on the western part of the island of Hispaniola; achieved independence from France in 1804; the poorest and most illiterate nation in the western hemisphere
2. an island in the West Indies

We will be traveling to the town of Thomas (pronouced To-mah) and working on a job site inside the town of Leveque (pronounced lu-VEK)

Never having been one to make a production out of saying goodbye. I feel the need to profess my profound feeling of pride as we (Cody and I) fall from societies “grid” for 10 days.  Helping people we have never known, making new friends, traversing a language barrier, working hard and hopefully coming back home with a feeling of accomplishment.

Leaving this country, should be an experience to say the least.  At 45 I am not what you would call a “well-traveled” man.  Unless you are referring to moving from state to state behind the wheel of a semi-truck.  Or traveling from north to south within the confines of our own state as part of the Operations of Emergency Services mutual aid response matrix.  If that is the case well then I am certainly “well-traveled” indeed.

Yet I am ready and willing to face the challenges that lay before us.  Excited to have our eyes opened to issues that have befallen a country strife with political corruption and greed.  Knowing the only source of revenue or aid comes directly from the churches.  A stream of assistance the government cannot control for fear of a people led uprising.

So with malaria Tuesday under our belt its officially travel Wednesday.  Our bags are packed well, our clothes have been treated, our snacks laid aside for the roughly 8-10 hour trip that lay before us.  We know not of what we will encounter or the problems that lay ahead.  Yet we are excited and raring to go!  As I sit here typing Cody is becoming one with his inner gamer for the last time. Clearing his head and preparing for the journey.  I too am doing the same but as we all know its writing that clears my head and readies me for the game.

I hope to find some service here and there, so I may blog about our journey.  If not there will definitely be a months worth of material when I return.

So without further ado….  In the skillfully crafted words of the late great Mel Blanc traveling through the wonderful medium of my favorite cartoon character Mr. Yosemite Sam!  Sooooo loonnnng suckers!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

On vacation?

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Vacation.  The feel of sand between your toes, waves crashing upon some forgotten shore, the serenity of being one with your surroundings. Also one with an ice-cold beer..

or

Sweat pouring from your brow as you traverse a narrow trail on a ridgeline at 8000 feet.  The air is crisp and so are your thoughts because at this height you feel closer to heaven.  To your left unparalleled views, to your right a crevasse that would surely scare even the most steadfast of climbers. But up you go, you are living life to the fullest, you have one week of vacation per year that’s all yours and you are living it up! Beaches are for the weak.

or

Really? One more monument to go, man my dogs are barking!  Cant everyone else just go on without me? I know this is the trip of a lifetime, but do we have to use my entire lifetime up right now? Ok I am coming, just one more monument; right?  Then we can go back to the hotel bar and start self medicating this foot pain away!  Never knew I was going to take a week off to walk a thousand miles while sightseeing  our nations tributes to history! What a moron, I wish I was at a beach some where.

Is this what vacation means to you? Does any of this sound familiar or ring true? Well these were actual examples of vacations I have been on in the past.  Times that were special in their own ways.  Moments I will cherish and remember always.

So where did Betty go this past week?  What kind of vacation did I embark upon?  Was it mind-blowing fun, thought-provoking, or calm and relaxing? Nope! It was none of those things at all!  It was hard work, “Survivor” like, mentally taxing and filled with all the challenges a parent could possibly handle!

I went to the fair!  Yep that’s right boys and girls Betty packed up her things, loaded up the kids and all their animals and headed to the fair!  Why you ask?  Well let me enlighten you; here in good old Redneckville USA we take great pride in our animals! Some would even say we love our animals first, family second!  Now hold on a minute it’s not like that you crazy fool! Kids around these parts are all part of a national organization (no not the Nazi youth movement you filthy animal) called 4-H.  In 4-H kids learn about raising animals for commercial markets along with developing breeding programs, ultimately enabling or teaching them the ability to carry on farming.  As kids get older and enter high school many of them join FFA or Future Farmers of America.  With hard work and acquired skills there are endless scholarship possibilities for these young go getter’s.

So we packed up our little 4-Hers, loaded up their animals and headed to the local fair for a week of washing. trimming, showing, and eventually selling their animals at auction.  The kids receive a check for all the hard work which is placed back into the bank to start next years project.  With a little luck and a lot of hard work a kid could have enough money saved by college to pay for a years worth of school.  Throw in a few scholarships and you can plainly see the advantage to this program.

I am the leader of the pig group (insert snort, chuckle here) and we arrived with 6 clean and happy pigs!  They laid around and let thousands of people gaze upon their little snouts.  Our kids from the group did a great job of enticing young ones to step up and pet the pig ( a phrase that means something entirely different in other circles) they also explained how pigs are raised, what they eat, where they sleeps and why they like to cover themselves in mud. The fair always reminds I take for granted my country upbringing as I answer questions from parents and children who have spent their entire lives inside the city limits.  It really is a bubble we place ourselves inside.

Back to the fair…

So the fair.  What can I possibly say about spending my week’s vacation at the fair.  I know I have said this before but I am going to say it again: (old guy moment) In my day the fair didn’t cost you an arm and a leg!  In my day you didn’t need to give blood just to purchase a corn dog!  When I was a kid I could go to the fair with 40 bucks on Monday and be using the last of it on Friday. That is a whole week of rides and corn dogs, cinnamon rolls and soda for $40.00!  Today $40.00 will get you 4 corn dogs and two beers then you better pony up at the ATM so maybe just maybe you might have enough extra cash to buy your way off the grounds.  Got the kids with you, just leave your wallet at the main gate cause your cashing in your IRA’s to pay for this excursion!  $29.00 dollars for a carnival ride wristband! Times that by four and you can see how this trip can rapidly force you to file chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Speaking of carnival rides, one thing that hasn’t changed over the 37 years I have been going to the local fair is the carnival ride operators or “carnies”.  These toothless gems of salesmanship and lack of hygiene still rule the roost.  Long hair, beards, toothless grins, scrawny beat up demeanor, most looking as though they just popped out of a heroine coma long enough to pull their shift on the Zipper.  What would a carnival area be without them,  and yet we trust our children with their safety.  If you saw any one of these gents strolling down the street you would cross to the other side and not make eye contact.  You would lean over to your kid and whisper “remember when I told you about strange people to stay away from? Theres your example”.  STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER!!!!

I am sure Carnies are really nice people deep down inside, heck catch one right between coming down off the coke and mellowing out on some refer and you got yourself a free prized stuffed animal to take home!  Whoop Whoop!! It’s nice to see some things never change…..

Besides the animals, food, and carnival rides our fair still has the charming buildings filled with award-winning arts and crafts.  I have always found other people’s creativity or lack there of, interesting.  There are hog calling contests, horse shows, sheep shows, goat and cattle shows.  Rabbitts, chickens, turkey, and quail.  It really was a great week of people watching, and developing better interpersonal skills.

Definition: I drank beer and bullshitted with other parents for an ungodly amount of time.

The best part of all?

Watching the kids smile, make new friends,  have fun and create memories that will last a lifetime!

 

Every 15 Minutes

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Steam rises from the hood as a faint wail can be heard off in the distance.  Sound is muffled, vision distorted he doesn’t understand the images placed before his eyes.  A kaleidoscope of colors passing through a spiderweb prism is all he can associate.  Looking to his right he finds a pair of shoes.  Not just any shoes but the Sketchers he bought his girlfriend for her 16th birthday.  Why? He wonders.  Why are they there on the seat of my car and how are they standing on their toes.  The improbability of shoes standing on their toes is more than his mind can process.  He shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs but the alcohol in his system wont let it happen.  So he stares at the pink Sketchers in disbelief.  

The pink Sketchers he bought his girlfriend on her 16th birthday are in fact not standing on their toes.  They are still connected to her feet, feet that lead to her legs, legs that stretch through the windshield of his 2004 Nissan where she lay motionless on the hood. Dying.  The girl he loves is dying on the very hood that steam now rises from while a faint wail can be heard in the distance.

She cant seem to make it stop.  She doesn’t remember taking a nap, but now that she has found peaceful slumber she only wishes for what ever is dripping on her face to quit!  She dreams of water or syrup sliding across her eyes.  Swatting at the sticky substance she is not sure whether its real or part of her warm comfortable dream.  Then she feels it, starting out as a low uncomfortable burning, her dream translates it into fire.  Surrounding her, leaving her trapped yet somehow she knows better, fighting resisting the dream. Her eyes finally opened by the rush of adrenaline surging through her system, brought forward by the searing pain across her face. The sticky substance now identified is blood! She screams then screams again, taking in all the air her lungs will allow.  Her seat is covered in blood, the dashboard is covered in blood, her clothes are covered in blood.  Wait a minute; she thinks to herself.  Calm down and relax; is all she can say.  Her dads voice ringing in her ears for all the times she felt panicked and he calmed her down with those four little words.  Honey just “calm down and relax”.  She remembers getting in the car with her friend, they were headed to a friend’s house for a study group..  Wait her friend! He was driving them! She slowly turns to the left and its then her world is changed forever!

She now knows where the blood is from, oh sure some is from the head wound that burns across her scalp.  But the majority is from him.  He lies motionless against the door pillar, color gone from his face, lips barren and dry, a sandy glaze across the whites of his eyes he breathes no more. Still, lifeless, anything but the laughing energetic young man he was a mere 5 minutes ago.  She screams for him to wake, he doesn’t budge.  She slaps his face praying for a reaction! Anything! Anger and fear rip through her as she comes to realize he will never wake up, never move again, the charming, smart, dorky boy she had known since 5th grade was gone forever. She lays against him crying. Not knowing what to do or where to go, she cries.

The faint wail off in the distance is not a wounded animal, it doesn’t come from a piece of machinery or a child who has just been punished it comes from a shadow, a silhouette, an anomaly spread out on the pavement 25 yards away.  It twitches and writhes this anomaly of disproportion.  The top half in a serious battle with the bottom half. A losing battle from what can be gathered at first sight.  This shadow seems to be swimming on pavement, for it surrounded by liquid.  A red lake that ripples with the breeze it appears to be flowing to the lowest level it can reach.  Moving closer we see the shadow, the anomaly is wearing softball gear.  A bat off to the right a cleat off to the left stuck in the center of what appears to be a childs water-color.  Smeared across hot black asphalt lay various shades of red.  She doesn’t know why she is face down and can’t move her lower half.  She doesn’t understand why she is vomiting non stop. She feels a “fight or flight” reaction that she can’t control.  Like a trapped animal she howls, claws and fights against the chains that bind her to this place.  An abdomen that wont flex, a pair of legs grotesquely deformed, rotated and broken, she fights.  She has fought her whole life against those who said she couldn’t.  She has fought her whole life to achieve her small successes in school , at home and on the field of play, now she fights purely for her life.  She cannot move anymore yet she still fights.. 

He has shaken the cobwebs and moved beyond the pink Sketchers.  Trembling with fear he opens the car door and stands up to survey the origin of steam rising off the front of his car.  He cannot believe what lays before his still blurry eyes.  Two vehicles are heavily damaged, the front end on his car is folded up like a piece of paper, his girlfriend lay on the hood. Bleeding. Unconscious. It appears he has struck another car in the driver’s door.  A portion of the drivers head lays split open on the center post of the car.  It appears another occupant, most likely a female is crying and shaking the driver looking for a response.  As he walks around the front of his car, pulling out his cell phone he see’s a bloody pile of clothing fighting against itself on the street off in the distance.  It also appears to be a female and she has a bat, glove and is missing her shoes??

What has he done?  How did this happen?  It was only minutes ago he was at a party, laughing, drinking and having a good time with his girlfriend.  What is he going to tell his parents?  What is he going to tell her parents?  This can’t be happening he is going to college in 6 weeks!  What does this mean for his future?  It was only a couple of drinks right? He tells himself he is fine and there is no way the cops will ever know..

He makes the call to 911…

Every 15 minutes a person is involved in an alcohol related accident.  This is the premise of the Every 15 Minutes program held at high schools across the country prior to Senior Prom and Graduation.  Every 15 Minutes is a two-day program focusing on high school juniors and seniors.  The program challenges them to think about drinking, driving, personal safety and the responsibility of making the right decisions.  The program also focuses on the impact these choices make on family, friends and the community. 

The story I wrote above was about our scenario today April 26th 2012.  It is an re-enactment or compilation of many accidents I have responded to over the years.  For as the Every 15 Minutes program has an impact on the children and their families. Drinking and driving has an impact on all first responders.  The firefighters, the police officers, the ambulance crews and the hospital personnel who fight for your child or family members life.  People who are advocates for their survival.  These are images I carry with me always.  Images I can’t erase or just forget! People whose lives were changed forever from one poorly made decision. I remember them all and share them with you so you will remember to never get behind the wheel of a car after you have been drinking. 

Dont drink and drive. 

 All pictures are of high school actors who volunteered to help raise awareness to teenage drinking and driving. I am very proud to be a part of the Every 15 Minutes program and the lasting effect it has on our participants, their family members and the audience that witnesses the event.

Off on an adventure!!

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I am packing my bags and I’m hitting the bricks! Dagwood sandwich in one hand, knap sack in the other,”we” are headed on an adventure of great proportions. Oops I let the cat out of the bag, by saying “we” didn’t I? Well it seems my eldest son wanted more than to just file paperwork at the local police station to fulfill his “public service” requirements for graduation from high school. So he and I headed off on a spiritual journey. An expedition hopefully filled with emotional growth and worldly knowledge. Not a vacation mind you but an actual trip filled with hard work, dedication and compassion for others. So we answered the call, meeting up with 8 other people from our church, partaking in some fundraising and away we go!!!

Along the way it will be a true conquest to overcome the need for electronics, video games, ringing cell phones, packed schedules and school. A much-needed reality check from todays society filled with not so real “reality” television blaring in your face 24/7.

Where can we go to find such isolation you ask??

Haiti

Yep, that’s right as in “hot as Haiti” the wonderful little grief-stricken country on the tip of the Dominican Republic. You remember Haiti don’t you? A massive 7.0 earthquake ripped the country apart in 2010 leaving 316,000 dead, 300,000 injured and more than a million residents homeless; devastating the country’s infrastructure and crushing any commerce or trade to sustain economic stability. Well its 2012 and it appears that half a million Haitians still remain homeless living on the streets or in tent camps. financial aid is at a stalemate with only portions of promised funding actually being delivered to its intended recipients. Government corruption is rampant and the Haitian citizens are truly suffering.

Winner, Winner!

Thanks to the wonderful air carrier American Airlines , my son and I are heading into Port Au Prince with a United Methodist Church group, sponsored by UMCOR or the United Methodist Committee On Relief. Leaving in June we will spend 10 lovely days and nights soaked in radiant sun just north of the equator. This not so all expense paid vacation will provide us ample time to dig, shuttle rubble, and carry heavy objects from one place to another. Want to lose weight while in Haiti? No problem with an average 80% humidity while entrenched in 90+ degree weather, those pounds will melt right off. I am surprised Guthy-Renker hasn’t figured out how to bottle it up and sell it to the masses on late night T.V. yet.

While in Haiti we will be treated to luxurious accommodations including but not limited too; One room out buildings with army cots, an open air solar shower, built-in charcoal kitchen, and wooden sided latrine. Want to go on an excursion while you there? No problem just grab your interpreter and head out into the streets to meet the locals! Dont worry, they are glad to see you ( as volunteers are the only true economy source) so be respectful, take it all in and just avoid eye contact with U.N. police officers at all costs.

All kidding aside. We cant wait to go! My wife volunteered last year and came home with amazing stories of families torn apart, entire families killed, strangers raising children they found after the quake and some of the kindest most resilient, generous people she had ever met. They live in a world where they are truly on their own. The streets are lined with garbage, rubble remains everywhere, mass tent cities are still operating, and Cholera is still rampant, all though latest statistics from UMCOR show those numbers are dropping. The Haitian people want and need our help. The churches are the only true center of social and economic stability for these people. We are honored to a part of this rebuilding effort.

I also think this will be an incredible growing experience for my son. Surrounded by all the creature comforts a kid could possibly have, we hope this will further ground an already fairly centered kid just a little more. When we are finished I hope this will help him understand why people risk their lives daily to make it into the United States hoping to create a better life for themselves and thier families.

Not that long ago I had the pleasure of meeting a gentlemen during jury duty who resided from Haiti. He risked everything and fled the country 20+ years ago hoping for a better life in America. To this day he works very hard at his job, sending half his income home so his family may survive. He is a pillar in his community and a regular at the local United Methodist Church, where he leads committees, sings in the choir and prays daily for “his people” back home. During the earthquake he lost 6 of his 8 siblings along with his parents. He wishes daily he could go home to visit the remaining family members but is terrified they (the government) will recognize him and hold him back in country. In his words this would not only mean incarceration but as the major contributor to their well being, the loss of a very good income for his family. So he remains in a country he has learned to love, adopted as his own and stays by himself so others may prosper.

So be prepared people! For while my son and I are in Haiti with our team, I will be blogging about our experiences! The highs, the lows, the weight loss, the crying, the need for beer and my soft, fluffy, imperialist bed! Along the way we hope to learn a culture, to make new friends and if only for a very short moment in time help out with the good attitudes and strong hands god gave us.