Tag: attitude

Another page…

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Reflection:

Betty is turning another year older tomorrow (or today depending on what timeline you reside) and with it brings a myriad of inner struggles rolling through my ever spinning brain on a daily basis.  There are so many things to accomplish yet time is running amuck.  These “things” spin wildly out of control consuming my thoughts every minute of every day; feeling as though there is some great stopwatch in the sky ticking away every second of my life!  A timekeeper resting upon the outer edge, screaming down to me like the gate-keeper from The Wizard of Oz: “you are running out of time”!  

In life I have always done things the hard way, it is just my nature! Repeatedly I feel a need to fail at something, helping me to understand the nuances, finer points, angles, and basic structure of whatever I am trying to achieve.  Never having been gifted with any great talent, most of my life has been left wondering why? My grandmother once told me “when you find what you were meant to do in life you will love it, cherish every moment of it, and crave the pursuit of “it” for the rest of your life”. She stood by that statement and achieved many great moments in her life including writing and publishing her memoirs. Those words, her words continue to haunt my thoughts, leaving me empty wanting to try everything without truly finding something to cling too.

Once told I would never amount to anything.

Throughout my existence there were several times the above statement was thrown into my face, and though it has been a driving force in whom I have become, it has also become an obstacle to success, an easy way out when things get difficult, as in; “well I was never expected to amount to anything, so what did you expect”? Turning another year older, one would think a bruising phrase would slowly fade away; disappear like a trapped antelope in funneling quicksand. Yet every now and again it rears its ugly, brooding head leaving me stunned and hurting inside.

Looking upon my life there have been quite a few major accomplishments, successes that are by no means trivial and yet I still feel empty/unfinished.  I feel as though there is something “greater” for me out there, something bigger than myself left to do.

How do I tame this feeling? What can I do to quench my thirst for greatness? Why can’t I just be satisfied with what has been achieved in my life so far?

Something tells me I may never know the answer.

Here is what I do know.  Writing is devilishly fun! Making people laugh, pulling out emotions you didn’t know you held the strings too, sharing stories/experiences everyone can relate with is exhilarating to say the least! I plan on continuing this effort, hopefully growing and sharing other people’s experiences along the way. Life is a journey that should be shared and hopefully someday we can all share it together.

So another year in the books, hundreds more stories to write and one man who goes by the name of Betty left smiling, frowning, laughing, crying and hoping someday he will slowly figure out this crazy little thing called life…or at the very least figure out how to slow down these voices in his head, using them for good not evil..

Closing abstract light, vision obscured, only anticipation, arousal, and intrigue are left to sensory overload. What will happen, where will we go? Eyes darting side to side while covered by fleshy matter, blinded, yet everything is seen clearly, concise and vibrant. A story, soliloquy, or diatribe, what lays in store for this personal moment? Holding no control over any outcome yet relishing the moment, for it is all mine;  no one can enter these locked chambers, pilfer my seconds, part with peaceful noise. 

Drawing winds from the south, entering through inspiration, swirling, turning unstable air removes all waste, clears all debris then retreats to the north as fast as it came. Sometimes forceful other times with gentle relief.   Regardless an engine is fueled, light shines in, darkness retreats, a story unfolds and a brain once void of feelings, numb, weighed down by the trappings of a daily routine is unleashed through paired hands.   The end product of a mind not left to waste, an imagination once thought sterile, creativity not classically trained but allowed to flourish through determination. 

This is how writing has changed my life…..

Thank you grandma, I think I found the “it” you were describing.

(Beulah Fabris; 1913-2006)

Olympic Bound..

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Watching the 2012 London Olympics over the last 12 days has left me in athletic awe! How I yearn for a challenge of that magnitude,  to focus mind, body and soul on one sporting activity, rise to the challenge, overcome insurmountable obstacles to be the very best that I can become!

Yes it is true, like many young people around the world I have decided to become an Olympian! To feel the thunderous roar of an adoring crowd, performing at the peak of my physical prowess, standing atop an Olympic podium while our National Anthem plays and I (being the great Olympian I am)do my best to lip sync the words knowing that someone at home can tell I have no idea what the hell they are! Yes, YES I want to be that guy!! (Thunderous applause)

Sadly, there is one little problem with my dream, a small issue really but a problem none the less.  I am 45 years old and last I checked there weren’t too many athletes at 45 breaking ANY world records! Oh sure I run most days (3-5 miles), work out constantly in the gym,and eat (somewhat)right, yet near a 4 minute mile I am not! In fact I don’t believe there to be anyone currently cresting the precipice of senior citizenship dominating the track and field ranks! Not one person of age flowing effortlessly without the aid of Ben-Gay or a walker traversing a gymnastics canvas! Not one person that can be referred to as “sir” or “ma’m”  swimming at dolphin like speed or rowing sculls with the ease of a 5 horse power outboard! So what‘s a guy like me to do? All these dreams, hopes, aspirations bottled up inside ready to explode upon the scene? What to do, WHAT TO DO?????

ANSWER:

I will “do” as any red-blooded American father would; I will impose my wishes upon my children!  Disguise their efforts as being “what they want”!  Twist their little minds and stress their little bodies fulfilling my dreams not theirs! Propping them up high on a pedestal of half-truths with statements like; you are the best, no one can perform like you, daddy loves you even when you fail (lie), oh and remember we are doing all of this just for you!  Yeah that’s the ticket!

Want to join the swim/dive team? Well then you will swim/dive morning and night everyday all year round eating tofu and drinking tiger’s milk! Up the ladder jump! Onto the starting block, jump! Swim, swim, swim and dive, dive, dive! Honing your craft, building your skill set and slowly becoming a champion! Hee, hee hee!

Gymnastics, wrestling, boxing or trampoline; No problem, hit the gym kid and don’t worry about school, you don’t need friends from the outside, you have us! Gym people are your family now, plus we’ll get you a tutor so training is all you focus on! LOOOOVVEEE YYOOUUU!

Want to be a runner/sprinter? Peeeerrrrrffffeeeecccccttttt…….

Get the hell out of the car right now! Start running! Oh don’t worry, we won’t leave you behind, but if the Australian Runners can train in the desert and those little Kenyan kids can run from village to village out of necessity thusly making the Olympics as young adults; then your sorry little butt can run out of pride! The pride you are going to bring your father when he receives his Olympic passes in 2016 whoop, whoop (tear in my eye)!! That right kid; so shut your pie hole and start running, we have little time and lots of miles and injuries to get through so WE can make it to the national trials! Oh yeah, give me a hug because daddy thinks your number one!

So there it is, my plan is in place! National exposure, our countries pride along with selfless coaching on my part will bring them to the forefront of the Olympic stage! Thereby ultimately allowing me to perform as an Olympian! Genius, pure genius I tell you!!!

They may hate me for a while but once a Gold medal is around my neck; whoops I mean around their neck (wink, wink)it will all be worth it; right? Yes sir look out NBC’s Today show here we come!!

In closing, later tonight we will stand in front of a mirror while developing our signature “thanking Jesus” ritual!

                                To the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat!!!

 

Writers Block

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Dreaded writers block! The undoing of many great writers throughout history! You are left staring blankly at a tablet, mind numb to all receptors, nothing passing through the vast wasteland of Dura matter encompassed by cranial fluid that is your brain. Drat, drat double drat!

What brings on this most dreaded of phenomenon’s? Is it a cramp of the brain muscle? Have I reached the end of the internet? Are my children really just normal, leaving me with nothing humorous to write about? Is Misery Chastain really dead and out of self-preservation the brain has decided to protect itself from the pain associated with blocked ankles? So confused, so incredibly confused……

Annie Wilkes: God came to me last night and told me your purpose for being here. I am going to help you write a new book.
Paul Sheldon: You think I can just whip one out?
Annie Wilkes: Oh, but I don’t think Paul, I know.

The movie “Misery” Columbia pictures 1990

Steven King novelist

 There are moments when sparks fly, images rule, ideas flow like wine from a forbidden glass! This usually happens when there is nary a writing utensil to be found or the battery on my iPhone has perished leaving me stranded, mired in my own neglect! Then just as a pen appears from seemingly nowhere, (meaning it’s been retrieved from under the seat of my car) and a piece of paper has been salvaged from a wadded up hamburger wrapper POOF! Those very ideas are gone like yesterdays lunch! (Where the wrapper came from)  Left with nothing to show for my efforts a mindless argument rages unchecked in my head! Think, think, think, damn you think!!!!

Writer’s block is a condition, primarily associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work. The condition varies widely in intensity. It can be trivial, a temporary difficulty in dealing with the task at hand. At the other extreme, some “blocked” writers have been unable to work for years on end, and some have even abandoned their careers! –Wikipedia definitions

Not being able to write is like taking yoga away from a granola eating Southern California super model, marijuana from Cheech and Chong, alcohol from a Jimmy Buffett concert, the bull away from Bull Riding! AAARRRGGGG!!! What fun would life be if one couldn’t write anymore? How would you relax at the end of the day? Maybe one could have a glass of wine, take a long deep breath, or find a comfortable chair, but then what? WHAT!!!

What would I do without the ability to express myself on paper, let those inner demons flow without retribution from society or the targets of a few jagged little barbs? It baffles the mind to say the least! Creativity comes in all shapes, forms and guises! Relaxation is only found within a few well observed areas of one’s life and mine so happens to come from pen and paper, keyboard and operating system, dry wit, children and senseless humor! How can I possibly go on knowing my brain is so barren it can’t relinquish a simple story!!!!  My eyes capture the picture, yet hold no definition from a darkened thought, a crippled hand, an empty pen.  

Ahhhhhh-sad sigh..

So I sit, needlessly staring at my computer pondering the definition of Oxymoron.

 “Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all”
― Charles Bukowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

 

 

 

Art of the lie…

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Art of the lie

I received a very interesting phone message today while traveling down the freeway at 65 mph in a bright green fire engine.  Interesting not with any windfall of knowledge or wealth coming my way. Interesting not in the fact that my wife, who left the message never leaves me messages. (she would rather talk to me personally) No this phone call triggered my curious Spock (Star Trek) one eyebrow lifted facial response for the pure and simple fact it was a lie. 

Now being a parent of four children, teaching the transparency in human nature associated with a lie is of the utmost importance. Nothing brings down fatherly wrath faster than a child caught in a lie.  A reminder that lying brings nothing but ridicule and solitude as no one wishes to be around you is never more prevalent in my household once you have been detained for said infraction. 

But….

There is something to be said about the art of the lie? All lies start out simple enough, the truly gifted can carry them thru lie after lie building upon a story that eventually not even a used car salesmen would buy.  But there are the chosen few, the masters, individuals with special gifts who get it right the first time.  Capturing you with an opening line, reel you in by the lip while never doubting their story for a second! You walk away wowed and in the end, thinking to yourself; I wish my life was as good as that guys! 

These “super liars” have creativity, something so many of us human beings lack these days.  An ability to play out an entire scenario inside their head like a bad romance novel.  Starting at page one the lie is not complete until they have personally closed the imaginary book inside their cranium.  Egomaniacal? Yes! Self centered;? Yes! Able to leave you mesmerized by their charming guiles? Yes! The gifted liar is truly a sight to behold.

Back to the beginning.

After arriving at the hospital to retrieve my crew, I took a moment and withdrew my phone to see who called. Seeing it was in fact my wife I eagerly touched the voicemail button and sat mesmerized as my wife simply stated; So here’s the story, the kids are all running right? And they see a hawk with a kitten in its hand and Cody goes and shoots the hawk out of the air and the kids save the kitten and brought the kitten home. That’s the story…

Thought number one: Cody knows better than to shoot a hawk.

Thought number two: Really the cat lived after falling, how many feet to the ground? Cats have nine lives and I have witnessed my fair share of cats falling from high distances (yes the fire department does get called out for cats in trees, it’s not a myth) but out of the air with nothing to break its fall? Suspicion looms..

Thought number three: Cody is a hell of a shot, but really, a hawk flying away with food trapped in its claws.

Hmmmmm something is definitely afoot.

It turns out our kids found a kitten roaming alongside the road, down the street from our house.  Now since we live in the middle of nowhere, 3/4 of the way down a 2 mile dirt road, odds of it belonging to someone are slim, so our children concocted this farce believing my wife and I would accept the wounded feline, dinner plate survivor into our abode with open arms never once questioning the complexity of their story. 

They were 100% wrooooo—-RIGHT!

After careful discussion, and not wanting to reward a blatant lie, my wife and I chose too privately commend the story telling effort, while publicly reminding the children lying was never acceptable.  Yet the four of them, along with two young family members visiting for the week actually put their heads together thinking about the welfare of this little animal and came up with one fo the best bull pucky stories we had heard in a while from any of their little brains.  Ah the joy of teamwork!

They were outed for the lie, we all laughed heartily at the effort. A true family moment to be remembered and most likely told to grand children someday.

It was only after I hung up the phone, while sitting at my desk waiting for the computer to open up did it dawn on me. 

We just helped them, by awakening their creative story telling skills! It like putting water on a seed once a day, then feeding it tons of sunlight.  Before long it will grow and evolve leading them inevitably to “the art of the lie.”

 

Haiti Mission Trip part 11 The last day

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Friday June 15th 2012

This morning the group is filled with a combination of excitement and sadness.  It’s that feeling you carried with you at the end of summer camp.  Happy to go home yet saddened to no longer be surrounded by these people whom you have become close to in an abnormally short amount of time.  Knowing when you wake up tomorrow the scenery will be completely different. Your feet, your body and soul will no longer encompass this place you called home for the last 8 days. It’s as if you were never there, then you ask yourself; if I come back to this place will it be the same? Will I carry the same feeling of accomplishment and joy currently residing within my being?  Could there ever be another group as wonderful, humorous and caring as ours?

We had our last breakfast, we cleaned up our rooms and many of us left suitcases filled with clothes, shoes and other belongings behind for the church to distribute to its members.  Everything was moved downstairs quietly towards the loading zone as the guest house trucks arrived to cart us away.  Small talk and innocent giggles were had by all.  Before any of us had time to sit and reflect any further it was time to go.  Our final goodbyes, our last au revoir or in Haitian; bay-bay; goodbyes are always miserable.  Some small tears were shed, many blank faces climbed aboard our chariot home. As we pulled away I looked back at our temporary home and sighed.  Many days I was ready to leave, while other days I couldn’t wait for the next challenge and now here I was watching it disappear in my rear view.  Mixed emotions swelled inside bringing tears of joy to my face. 

It only took a few minutes for most to settle down and you could see many reflecting as we rolled along towards the guest house.  Gone were the naïve Americans white knuckling their ride through town, in their place were 10 seasoned mission participants who no longer feared NASCAR style driving, crowded streets, UN personnel, language barriers, and humidity. The further we traveled from Leveque the easier it was to accept our next destination.  The guest house was looking more and more inviting. Yet inside I was already longing to see our new-found friends again.  I knew there would be another mission team in two weeks, then another after that and so on.  Before long the people of Leveque would forget who we were but I was positive they would never forget our contribution.  We had all talked about traveling back to see the finished church, I feel as though this is my next personal mission. 

After 30 minutes we arrived at a dirt road that headed back into the hills; this led up to the mass grave constructed for an estimated 316,000 who perished on January 12, 2010.  We had all declined the offer to see this memorial.  Not out of disrespect mind you, but from exhaustion.  The further we travelled the more we all relaxed and exhaustion was evident on every person inside that bus.  The bus turned anyways and up the hill we traveled.  Letting out a heavy sigh of frustration my mind-set was soon replaced upon arrival to the memorial. 

Where a sloping hillside once stood now lay a football field sized plateau. Of to the left, closer to the original hillside sat a marble monument.  Simple in stature and design, looking upon it you suddenly felt remorse for ever thinking you could drive by this place without stopping.  To get at the memorial you needed to traverse this football field sized area which meant walking over the dead.  Humbling to say the least; the entire area lays in clear view of the ocean with a gentle sea breeze enveloping you where you stand. A picture perfect view for all souls at rest; with my head hung low I made my way back to the bus where I vowed to never look past another’s reflection of the past to meet my own personal needs.

Two hours, lots of sweat, a few bumpy roads and we were back inside the comforts of the guest house.  A facility that when I arrived looked as though it had seen better days, but to me on this day it appeared as though it was the Grand Hilton, the Four Seasons, the Fairmont, it was filled with luxury and comfort. After unloading both vehicles I made my way upstairs to our rooms where immediately the i-phone was plugged back into the world.  After 30 minutes of returning e-mails, sending pictures and catching up on work I found a clean pair of swim shorts and headed to the pool.  

Our entire group was here and after jumping in I realized it was the first time I had actually been cool for 8 days. It was fantastic!  Water, cool water all around my skin, no sweat, no wet clothes, we all swam until our fingers shriveled up.  Many of during the course of discussion joked that when you arrive at the guest house for the first time the pool should be off-limits.  Because you can only truly understand the significance of this little concrete gem after you have sweated your ass off for 8 days! Of course we were only joking, maybe….

After dinner our group was invited into another structure for a debriefing.  We all shared our stories of trial and triumph with the coordinator.  I am sorry to say I don’t remember her name as she was the replacement for Sara who had finished her tenure on this assignment.  It was an excellent way to end our journey as we spoke very highly of the church congregation in Leveque.  We also discovered there have only been a couple of instances when a going away party was thrown for the team. She had heard lots of compliments about our group over the week and was impressed we took the entire building to the ground.  We all left feeling very good about our efforts, knowing we came together as one and performed to the best of our abilities, it was gratifying to say the least. 

As the night wore down we all trailed off to bed.  The 1950’s metal bunk with cotton batted mattress I despised the first night felt like a goose down bed from heaven.  Drifting off to sleep all my brain could focus on was the pride I held inside for our group, the immense fatherly pride I held for my son, the new friendships I now cherished and the thought of hearing my wife’s voice the minute we touched down on American soil tomorrow.  Sleep came quickly…

 

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 12 Coming home..

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Saturday June 16th 2012

Bleary eyed and disoriented most of us stumbled around trying to figure out whether we were coming or going.  A nice cool shower, a shave, and a fresh clean pair of clothes for travel, we were one by one getting ready for the long ride home.  Our final breakfast together was filled with prayer, laughter and stories of the past week, a truly fantastic way to end this journey. As we gathered our belongings, purchased our last gifts, distributed passports and documentation, the anticipation of finally being on a plane home started setting in on us all.  Loading up and pulling through the iron gates for the last time I was finally ready to go, ready to be home again.  I had come to this country with a simple goal, tear down a building, with that goal complete; I found myself leaving with so much more, more than I could ever have imagined obtaining from this little tropical island and its people. 

The airport was controlled chaos, people moving you here and there; the same issue we had previously upon arrival in country with baggage handlers reared its ugly head as we unloaded from our bus.  John C took the front, Paul was in the middle and John G and I took up the rear of our group ensuring no one was separated or bags grabbed. A few of us purchased some last-minute gifts before entering the boarding area, while others just made their way upstairs.  The terrace was crowded and hot but at this point no one cared. After an hour we loaded and were finally on our way.  The flight was quiet and uneventful, (except for the reemergence of the corn muffin) most of us were quietly enjoying the in-flight movie, or sleeping.

Landing in Miami the winds were blowing very hard and our arrival was hair-raising to say the least! As we deplaned heading into the terminal there was an indescribable feeling that came with walking on American soil.  There is something to be said about the freedoms we Americans enjoy on a daily basis. It takes experiencing the trials and tribulations of another country to fully grasp this immense gift we have been given, it is the reason people fight and die trying to reach American shores.

We all gathered for one last dinner together before catching the last leg of our travels home. During dinner every one of us was plugged back into society.  8 days with little cell phone use and an abundance of conversation, now with little more than 5 hours left together we all were texting, Facebooking and catching up with family and friends. Cody called his mom the minute we landed in Miami, giving her a short synopsis of his adventures. I called her sometime after that and relished in hearing her voice.  I couldn’t wait to land in SF and see her face.

The 5 hour flight was uneventful and in the blink of an eye we were face to face with loved ones.  Our dear friend Alisa (Maggie’s mom) drove her commuter van down to pick us up. When they pulled up curbside my wife was hanging a welcome home sign out the window! We all hugged saying our last goodbyes as Paul and Mason went their separate ways with family and friends.  Climbing into the van sitting next to my wife for the ride home the whole trip seemed surreal.  A years’ worth of planning, fundraising, meetings the anticipation of going and it was all over, done, we were home. Sharing our stories of adventure with Alisa and my wife Jacy the trip home went very quickly. My body was exhausted; there was a numbness that took over as we made our way to the house at 1 am Sunday morning. 

Hot water! Hot water flowing over my body in copious amounts! Soap and a towel smelling of bleach; the sound of little Parker snoring while Jake sleeps quietly in the bunk above him, being home is grand.  Slipping into a clean shirt and shorts, I stroll downstairs, peek in on Jessica then over to check on Cody finding him completely passed out, his dog Cricket (who he missed more than family) snuggled up to him lying under his arm. I whisper Goodnight son, thank you for coming with me on this great adventure, I love you. Then slowly close his door as Cricket raises an ear at the creaky hinges.  

Climbing into bed, looking at my wife lying next to me sleeping I feel as though I may be the luckiest man alive; a nice house, a soft bed, a woman who loves me, food in my refrigerator, an awesome family, wonderful friends and a great job.  When I left for Haiti my feelings were that of a married man with a wonderful family, yet I didn’t have enough, I wanted more, feeling as though with budget cuts at work, an increased workload (both at work and home) and a severely dwindling income our lives were becoming extremely difficult.  Over ten days I learned what difficult truly was, I also learned how to be happy even content with my life in those same ten days. I learned from emulating my Haitian friends.

A Haitian is thankful for each day

A Haitian is thankful for the food on their plate

A Haitian is thankful for friends and family, willing to do anything at anytime or anywhere for someone in need

A Haitian is thankful for God’s love

A Haitian believes every little moment is a gift from God

A Haitian believes hardship instills belief and all hardships can be overcome with a willing attitude

A Haitian doesn’t know the word can’t

A group of Haitians changed my life forever. I am filled with joy, love and appreciation for all God has blessed me with in this life. For that I can never repay them, I pray for the little group in Leveque and hope one day I can revisit this special place to sit and worship in a brand new church.  A church built with love and devotion from many caring hands who know there are no obstacles that can’t be overcome with God’s help.

And to our church group; the nine of you are amazing human beings. You are all caring, loving, hard-working people who I am very proud to call my friends.  We may not talk everyday, we may only see each other once in a while or only know what the other is up to through Facebook but there is one thing we will share for eternity.  It will bind us till the day we leave this earth.

Haiti

I love you all, thank you for the time of my life.. 

OSHA out…..

 

Haiti Mission 2012 part 7: Raise the roof..

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Monday June 11th, 2012

Last night before going to bed, my 11-year-old called to say hello.  Within seconds there appeared to be tension in our conversation.  When asked about his apparent discontent he slowly started whimpering and within seconds it became a gale force storm of tears.  Jake wanted Cody and I to come home. He cried and through his whimpering, I deciphered he missed us terribly.  I felt helpless, as a father should I suppose; usually when he misses me a short trip to the firehouse will bring quick consolation; returning his normal demeanor. But there was no short trip, no hey buddy I’ll be home tomorrow, instead he is regaled for his bravery being the “man” of the house while his brother and I are away.  After a few moments of pandering to his needs, he calms down.  I miss him, I feel horrible there is no way to comfort him, to hug him and make his fears go away, but slowly he comes around, he pretends to understand.  After a few “I love you’s’ and I’ll be home soon, he giggles slightly when I tell him goodnight. “Goodnight turkey lips” usually works every time and this time was no exception.

The good news? I slept all night! Yep that’s right, soaking sweat, dogs barking, parties next door and all! Nothing a good set of ear plugs (thank you John C) and a few days of mental and physical exhaustion can’t break you down too.  It was fabulous!

Once again we met after another of Madame Lulu’s wonderful meals. Today was a big day for our crew. No more playing around, a full days work lay ahead and there was plenty of work to go around.  After meeting with the crews, discussing the heat index, water intake, our urine output and covering our job site safety bullet points we all set to taking down beams.  The beams ran the length of the building tying the trusses together.  They needed to come down as one piece, all roughly 90-100 feet of them. There were five  beams on each side of the building.  Slowly we started unbolting then cutting away the supports.  With one person per truss holding the beams in place after each was cut away we would slowly slide them down the apex of the truss until they reached the edge, then let them drop to the ground where an awaiting crew would systematically cut the unions and stack them for recycling.

Amazing is a understament when describing the well oiled machine that had become our crew.  Working together, sweating together, accomplishing big goals in a very short period of time.  I know I have said it many times but the human spirit, is an inspiring thing to behold.  By lunch the beams were gone and we were ready for trusses.

truss/trəs/
Noun:
A framework, typically consisting of rafters, posts, and struts, supporting a roof, bridge, or other structure: “roof trusses”.

The trusses were a little trickier. The needed to have all supports tying them together cut. Ropes were then tied to the peak, applying tension from either direction for stability; then with John C on one wall and me on the opposing wall we would simultaneously cut away the ties that attached the trusses to the cinder block wall allowing the rope crews to slowly lower the trusses peak onto the floor.  Once the peak hit the floor another rope was tied to an upright end formerly attached to the wall and with a great big pull the truss would slide diagonally down the cinder block wall until it fell onto the floor.  Once on the floor the crews would make quick work of cutting the truss in half, removing it from the building then stacking it neatly outside for recycling.

By 3pm/15:00 there were all but three trusses left.  It filled us with a great sense of accomplishment.  At the end of the day we gathered our group to thank everyone for working so hard and staying safe.  We had Caz tell the Haitian crew how honored we were  to work alongside them and how we looked forward to another safe productive day on Tuesday.

Today, being our first full day of work I also fully understood why we quit working at 3pm.  The heat! The humidity and heat hits a high around 3.  Its stifling to say the least.  For anyone who is not acclimated to this type of heat feels like a Sahara death sentence to say the least.  After today I never once thought about 3pm being an idiotic time to stop work again.

The kids are back, a soccer game is afoot.  Bubbles continues to be the phrase of choice as Paul once again takes time to play with the smaller children.  Mason is also surrounded after every soccer game.  They are teaching him Haitian-Creole, he is taking notes and trying his very best to understand what they are saying.  The interaction between our two cultures is fantastic.

Everyone worked very hard today. Watching Maggie, Cody, Caz and Marcanie pull on trusses, then tear them apart after they hit the ground was pretty cool.  Jan, Heather and Mason were troopers carrying off all the scrap metal. The entire crew continues to inspire me every minute of every day.  Everyone has a job and even if they have never done anything like the task they have adopted all of them sure look as though they know what they are doing.  They are fantastic human beings, with great spirits inside them.  Once again the day is finished and as I sit in my chair atop the balcony quipping one joke after another with these people I feel as though I am surrounded by family.

Speaking of family I am calling my wife tonight. I miss the sound of her voice more than I can describe.  Its one thing to be away from each other while still communicating every night or even several times a day. Its completely different when you are not able to speak with her for days.  I find myself praying she picks up the phone, and though there is doubt, after all her schedule is very busy tonight; I pray for only a minute or two, just hearing her voice will be all the revival I need to carry on for a few more days.

The phone rings………

 

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 6: Who let the dogs out?

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Sunday June 10th

Awoke this morning around 4 am to the sounds of dogs barking out front.  It was a good thing  they woke me because there was so much sweat trapped in my cot that taking a moment from my slumber to put on a life-preserver was indeed a sound decision.

Laying there pondering what on earth these animals could have to bark about for hours on end I was at a loss when suddenly like a brick it hit me. The dogs are just having a conversation. We know dogs are very social animals and enjoy the company of others, so wouldn’t it make sense that after spending the day hiding from the heat just like we do, at night its time to socialize? So with that mental image I am fairly sure the conversation goes a little something like this;

Dog 1: (bark) Hey I am a dog!

Dog 2: (bark) Hey I am a dog too!

Dog 1: (bark bark) Get out of here, really?

Dog 2: (Growl, bark bark)Yeah man! I am really a dog!

Dog 1: (Howl) Where are you at brother?

Dog 2: (bark, bark, bark) I am over here man!

Dog 3: (bark) Hey are you guys dogs?

Dog 2: (bark, bark) Yeah man I am a dog!

Dog 1: (bark) I am dog too!

And well you can see how the conversation just blossoms from this point on.

I digress..

Sunday morning; there is no work for our crews today.  Instead we are going to worship with our hosts the Leveque congregation whose church we are disassembling.  Paul has graciously offered to give the sermon and assist with communion.  He is a little nervous, (he says he is not but it shows on his otherwise bubbly face) and rightfully so, it’s quite an honor to speak in front of another congregation and for myself personally the language barrier would have been hard to overcome even with our interpreter.

Another wonderful breakfast has been prepared by the magic chef Madame Lulu, afterwords we disappear into our rooms only to assemble moments later dressed in our very best clothes.  We all brought slacks, skirts, nice shoes and the group consensus was to wear our UMVIM shirts for the service.   All of us are excited to gather as one with the people in this community, it will become another moment of bonding, and hopefully forging our souls together.

Before walking downstairs people begin to arrive.  Families come out of the woodwork dressed in their very best, bright yellows, pressed whites, and shiny shoes.  The women have gone to great lengths with hairstyles, ribbons and jewelry.  The young girls are perfect, straight from a Normal Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell brushed in some debris and banana trees.  It is painfully obvious how important Church is to these people.  The only way I can explain the social order of things here would be to compare it 1800-1950’s America.  Church/God then family and work. In awe of their priorities when it comes to work, family and religious beliefs I find myself ashamed at how we as a society have let our personal desires, greed and lack of  morals lead away from the family unit.

Walking down the stairs we are met with numerous greetings of “Bonjour”accompanied by brilliant smiles.  The children are always happy to see our faces but Mason and Maggie’s seem to be the main focus of attention.  Everyone shuffles into one of the classrooms which has temporarily been transformed into a church.  Gone are the classroom desks and papers, in their place are 6 rows of pews hand placed and straight as an arrow.  In front there is a small podium and table with a cloth covering what at home would be the bread and communion chalice. In Haiti because of the many illnesses one can acquire, bread remains the same but wine/grape juice is in dispensable shot glass sized cups then covered for safety.

The service begins and it is glorious! Our group is given the honor of being seated in the first two rows with our interpreter sitting next to the pastor translating every word that is spoken.  Caz does a wonderful job translating along with singing! Before long we are all trying to sing the songs in French-Creole.  Failing miserably but trying just the same. By the way; Haitian sing! They sing while they are working, they sing while they are playing, and they sing loud to the heavens above while together in church.

An hour and a half goes by in the blink of an eye; Paul has done a wonderful job of spreading goodwill between our groups.  Handshaking, smiles and laughter precede the service as we all meet in the hallway out front.  Some of us break off playing catch with the children (frisbee, tennis ball, etc) , Mason and I put on a juggling act, while Paul turns on the bubble machines to the delighted screams of “bubbles” from all the children.  Slowly families begin to dwindle away, leaving us to mosey upstairs, undress from  our Sunday best, throw on some shorts and prepare for a Sunday excursion.

Because Sunday is a day of rest a Tap-Tap driver had been provided for us so we may go off and recreate for the afternoon.  The group has been given many beaches/restaurants to choose from for our excursion and the unanimous decision is a destination known as Club Indigo.  Having heard wonderful things about this place from our Hosts at the guest house, our group was excited to lay our eyes upon the crystal clear Caribbean waters while dining at an all you can eat buffet.  The ten of us also decided that Sunday should be a day of rest for the fabulous Madame Lulu and our two wonderful interpreters Marcanie and Caz. The word is spread and our offers accepted. We all gather at noon, swim shorts on, sun screen applied, back packs loaded with essentials, just add one crazy, cool Tap-Tap driver and shake! The perfect recipe for a perfect day!

Our Tap-Tap drivers name was (guessing once again so its Phonetic) Yalaylay. Hired to be our on site transportation at night should an emergency occur he was acquired for our daytime transportation to the beach.  Yalaylay was tall and lanky, friendly and charismatic.  Carrying himself with the cool laid back style one would expect from an islander, he quickly won over the entire crew and the sound of his name could be heard echoing across the compound both morning and night. Y A L A Y L A YYYYYYY!!!!

Our group loaded into the rear of the Tap-Tap, squeezing into every available space! Cody and Maggie sat in the front seat, Caz and I were the last to load and sat (barely) at the rear overhanging the pavement.  The ride was fantastic! Yalaylay cranked up the radio (Bob Marley) and took to navigating our way up the highway as best he could.  Some of us noticed right away when the truck reached traveling speed it would slowly drift to the right only to be brought back to center abruptly.  There were times I wondered what would happen if the steering actually failed on this ride? Then I would remind myself to relax, put my OSHA (my nickname) tendencies aside and enjoy the experience. 

OSHA: The United States Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) is an agency of the United States Department of Labor. Congress established the agency under the Occupational Safety and Health Act, which President Richard M. Nixon signed into law on December 29, 1970. OSHA’s mission is to “assure safe and healthful working conditions for working men and women by setting and enforcing standards and by providing training. (Wikipedia)

My nickname was earned after the first of several discussions in regards to safety both on the job site and with our teams’ personal health throughout the week.  As the appointed EMS team member and assisting John C with planning and organizing on site work during the day the name stuck.  I wore it proudly for the entire week, it was earned with simple questions such as these…

Remember team, if you are not peeing, you are not hydrated.  Pee checks are at breakfast, lunch and dinner.  (Little did I know one member would take this a little too seriously; but I will cover that later.)

When we are working on the building keep your head on a swivel, look up when entering, look down, and look all around.  We are here for a very short time and I am on vacation so no one gets injured. Understood? (This advise worked out well, only two major accidents. The team leader fell from a ladder my son was manning and apparently I couldn’t take my own advice ending up injured by Tuesday.)

 The highway headed north was littered with cars, pickup trucks and semi’s trucks or bobtails, all having been involved in head on collisions. (have I mentioned they drive crazy in Haiti?) Most wrecks looked fatal, and it amazed me this metal carnage was just cast aside, left to rot.  We traveled through a few towns along the coast, the weather was perfect, the sky was blue and the ocean looked amazing.  After an hour we arrived at our destination, a gate guarded by grounds personnel leading back into lush vegetation along a cobble stoned roadway.  Entering into the clearing Club Indigo began to emerge from under the palms.  It resembled the set of Fantasy Island; White plantation style open air buildings all facing the ocean with a grand entryway.  Slowly traveling by the front we headed into an open field where all vehicles were parked.  The U.N. comprised the majority of vehicles in the lot this day.  Both official and unofficial transports neatly parked rows, this appeared to be the main choice for U.N. soldier relaxation.  This of course kicked old OSHA into overdrive.  After hearing many stories about U.N. soldiers and their “above the law” attitudes I found myself lagging behind making sure our entire group stayed together as one. 

$40.00 dollars apiece was our one way ticket to beach and buffet! Strolling through the main area past the bar, along the walkway by the pool one could distinctly pick out different languages being tossed about the pool deck.  I picked up quite a bit of Portuguese, a little Spanish and of course French-Creole. But the main thing I noticed was no conversations were taking place in English.  Our group strolled along the beach until we came upon a coconut tree with a few chairs underneath.  Gathering a few more chairs to claim our territory, most of us were stripped to our swimsuits and in the water before the sand settled.  It was warm, clear, salty and beautiful.  We swam out to the buoys then back several times. Some floated around while others dove under looking for shells and fish; Standing in the water felt like a world away from where we were no more than 90 minutes prior. To be quite truthful it felt a little shameful. Who were we to come here and act like vacationers? We came here to work, to help the impoverished, to create a physical and spiritual difference in not only our own lives but the citizens for who we serve; The people of Leveque.

Before I had the chance to become too sanctimonious someone hollered; time to hit the buffet and all those feelings were temporarily dissipated! I needed to eat.  Funny thing about a buffet, it can be the best food you have ever eaten or it can be the worst thing to cross your plate.  You never hear someone say; oh the buffet was adequate. Until that moment we had no idea just how spoiled we become towards Madame Lulus food until we found ourselves faced with a buffet stock piled with the very same creations.  All of us looked at each other and grinned as we piled food upon our plates.  Sitting down at our table, salivary glands drooling, with one bite our palates quickly learned the difference.  As we slowly picked through our half rate grub, I looked up to see Madame Lulu smiling at me. She knew, she knew it was crap, she knew her food was the gold star this half way house for Haitian chefs aspired to become. She knew it and yet she still blushed as each and every one of us pledged our allegiance to this woman’s golden spatula.  We were all grateful for her presence and enjoyed being around her, and even though the food was poor (meaning she deserved to be served much better), there wasn’t one of us that weren’t glad she joined us for a much deserved day off.

We all had a fantastic afternoon, swimming and playing. Yalaylay, Marcanie, Caz and Lulu swam to their heart’s content while, singing, laughing and frolicking with us in the water.  We discovered Marcanie couldn’t swim, yet he bravely waded out as far as his fear would let him go.  Maggie tried her best to teach him to swim but alas Marcanie got no further than sinking like a rock.  At one point Caz snuck up behind him, grabbed him, and then drug him out deep.  Marcanie looked like Scooby Doo, legs and arms flailing as he walked across the water after Caz let him go! Cody never came out of the water continuing his search for shells he swam all day long!  He came up with some very interesting looking crustaceans which made their way home.  Maggie, Jan, Heather, Mason, John C, John G, Anne, Paul and I spent the rest of the afternoon switching between lounging and swimming. 

As I sat on the beach I jotted down a thought;

Sitting on a white sandy beach straight from the scenes of a Rogers and Hammerstein musical I have found myself gazing upon 13 other people all happily frolicking in the ocean.  9 of them are so very far from home. Yet they are here together these 13 people; they don’t speak the same language, they don’t all share the same passions, but they are becoming friends. No longer are they strangers or acquaintances, no longer do they wander this earth unaware of the other. They have been brought together, united as one.  For these 13 people now hold a bond that no one can change.

Haiti….

As for the 14th member of this illustrious crew (me); He feels extremely honored to have been given the opportunity to know them all.  He feels especially honored to know one of them in particular, for that person fills his heart with endless pride.

His son is showing signs of becoming a man, his sense of humor is developing, his timing and delivery are being perfected, and the ability to tie the two together at the perfect place and time is quite evident. These attributes are allowing him to meld into any situation with ease. A quality many never develop, leaving them often times misunderstood.  Watching him interact with the others from our team I feel as though he is liked by all, admired by some, and loved by only one.  His dad…..

 In the blink of an eye it was time to depart our little slice of heaven.  The thirty year old, slightly run down former Club Med resort had been a Caribbean delight for us overheated mainlanders.  We all changed, gathered up our belongings, took the last few pictures that needed to be taken and headed off to our waiting Tap-Tap. We were some of the last to leave due to the U.N. soldiers suiting up, loading up and departing about an hour prior. (A little scary considering they had all been drinking most of the day.)   This of course left us feeling like we received every penny of the forty dollars we shelled out to bask under the sun on this gorgeous stretch of coastline.

The ride home was fairly quiet although Heather’s hair continued to be a great source of fun. As we traveled down the road the red mane of hers would engulf all who unknowingly traveled into its path! She became fondly known as chicken head by the girls from Chowchilla or Cell block C. 

Anne, Jan, Heather and Maggie while living the dream in our concrete bunkers had taken to referring to it as the Chowchilla Women’s Correctional Facility thereby naming themselves the Chowchilla four or C-4.  Our nicknames were all earned on this trip and one of the reasons we bonded so well as a team. Our group’s sense of humor consistently played into making this trip what irreplaceable memories are made of. I miss that sense of camaraderie.

Arriving back at the compound we were met by the children all chanting Mason, Maggie and of course BUBBLLEESSSS! The generator was started, technology was charging, the kids were playing and each and every one of us found our own little spot to sit and reflect.  We all enjoyed another fantastic day together; another moment in time to be remembered forever.  Sitting on the balcony darkness slowly set in; once again we laughed, told jokes, and thought about the work that lay ahead. 

Tomorrow is Monday; let the real work begin….

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 4: Dust in the wind…

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Dust in the wind…

Inside the church had a simple layout, one main hall, a dividing wall with a “pastors” chamber to the rear.  The inner walls were constructed with standard grade two by fours sheeted with (4×8) plywood; the entire ceiling was also covered with plywood, painted and set with a ½ inch trim plate.   I had brought one of my spare tool belts for just such an occasion.  Laden with a single jack, hammer, crows foot and pry bar, I quickly set to peeling trim while John G, took to making a purchase point for the ceilings plywood.  Our entire group looked like a WWF wrestling cage match, all circling the ring waiting for someone to “tap” them into the fight!  Two days of travel and unspent energy were waiting to wreak havoc upon this old building.  John G and I were able to clear an entire span of trim work allowing us the advantage of exposing corners of the plywood for prying.  Together with an inch gap on either end of our first board we gave it the old heave ho on the count of three.  (Now is that 1, 2, 3 or 1 and 2 and 3, or do we just go on 3?) This Lethal Weapon quote/play on words would haunt us for the duration of the trip. 

The board came down unexpectedly easy, along with 62 years of dirt! Within seconds it was black as night inside the building and everyone was scrambling for fresh air.  John and I both simply placed shirts over our mouths, braced for the tornado then stood still until the room cleared.  Laying eyes upon each other we both started laughing.  Covered from head to toe with an easy inch of dirt, we both resembled “Pig pen” from the peanuts.  The dirt fueled our fire and after acquiring a few dust masks the ceiling started coming down rather quickly.  We formed two teams on either side of the room taking down plywood, framing and roof supports all while other members cleared debris.  Everything that came out of the building was placed into neat piles for recycling later.  Nothing goes to waste here, if it can be reused somewhere else it’s either put to use immediately or hauled off to someplace else for distribution. 

A work day on the job site consisted of working from 0800-1500 with an hour off for lunch.  When informed of this my inner, self-centered workaholic, could not believe it! How will we get any work done in six hours I asked myself?  I would learn in time there was a reason for this modified work schedule and it had absolutely nothing to do with how much work one could accomplish. (i’ll discuss this revalation later)

We had arrived late on Friday afternoon starting work around 1300 and by quitting time (1500) the entire inside of the structure was stripped bare! Nothing left but four walls, steel trusses and a tin roof overhead.  It was exciting to say the least, everyone was pumped!  It was our first moment working together as a team, and we succeeded! Everyone was feeling a sense of accomplishment, which was a great moral boost after the last 24-30 hours.

Mason had pulled out his Nikon camera and started taking pictures right away.  At first I was a little bothered by this action since there was work to be done.  But after 15-20 minutes of watching this young lad with his camera, I realized it was selfish of me to think this way.  Mason held an obvious passion for taking pictures, this proved to be invaluable during our trip.  Someone once told me everyone has a “purpose” that purpose may not be immediately evident, and it may not be what you wish it to be, but if you pay close attention in time it will reveal itself.

 Mason’s purpose ended up being two-fold, one he became our official recorder with his outstanding photographic skills and the second part was his uncanny ability to relate one on one with all the children.

 While most of us traveled up to our second story perch, figuring out how tomorrow would unfold while trying to knock dirt from our clothes; Mason was already introducing himself to the local children.  His camera was an instant tool of acceptance.  He would take their pictures, showing them afterwards; this of course tickled the children greatly! This action became his personal bliss, these children where his muse; that was until a soccer ball appeared.  Futbol’ or soccer as we refer to the game is the nation’s favorite sport.  Our team was quite prepared for this fact with Mason and Paul’s church donating quite a few sporting goods for the trip.  Of course that meant soccer balls.  The minute a soccer ball hit the dirt children from all over came running to play.  This would end up becoming a nightly routine. Work ended, soccer began, and Mason would play the game of his life every night to gleeful smiles of many a child, and Caz as well….

Paul also held a disarming charm that resonated within the community! He would walk where he wanted when he wanted introducing himself to everyone. A personality trait I actually envied. At one point Paul hauled out some toys to share with the children. Two bubble blowing guns appeared and within minutes, from the second story balcony bubbles rained down upon the children like snowflakes.  This of course was accompanied by Paul yelling at the top of his lungs “BUBBLESSSSSSS”.  The children laughed, danced and chased the little soapy spheres, all while screaming “BUBBLESSSSS” in return.  Paul had an immense amount of positive spirit and energy!  We teased him for this, but it was all in good fun.  In reality some of us secretly wished we could harness some of his incredible power to use for ourselves.  Paul actually made a statement that nothing could deplete his endless bounty of energy and enthusiasm. (Not his exact words) This would be tested during the week. 

Maggie as Mason also had a way with children. She wandered downstairs and was quick to fall in love with the small children; it appeared the feelings were mutual.  There was something about Maggie’s name that led to children saying it over and over again.  It became quite humorous. Every night after the first night you could hear off in the distance some small child sweetly, quietly, saying “Maagggiiiieeee”.

 As we sat in our chairs overlooking the work site a combination of sweat and dirt pooled at our feet. (Have I mentioned yet that it is really hot here?) The word came a shower area was arranged for us on the second story of the adjoining building.  John, John, Cody and I strolled over with our solar showers to set them up and prepare the room for a barrage of dirty people.  The room was an intended shower room with tiled basin and drain.  Next to the basin sat a 50 gallon drum filled with water and a small container to draw water from the barrel.  We filled one of the solar showers and the three of us with Cody standing on Johns shoulders set to hanging the bag for use; once accomplished we also hung a curtain across the open doorway, a veil attempt at privacy from the house directly behind the structure. It was a perfect set-up! A little home away from home, except for one thing; the shower never really worked with the mass amounts of dirt and sweat stuck to our bodies. Nothing short of a pressure washer was removing that gunk! All gave it a try, and everyone (including yours truly) came back regaling the therapeutic values of just dumping a half-gallon, cool bucket of water over your body after a hot, hard day’s work.

After all had showered we were called to dinner by Madame Lulu.  Circling the table like hungry vultures, John C. settled us down by having us hold hands while he led us in prayer.  Madame Lulu spread out her arms, welcoming us to our dining experience with a warm Bon Apatite!  Having never tasted Haitian cuisine previous to this trip, I was pleasantly surprised by the fare we had dined upon at the guest house.  But I am here to say very proudly that; Rachel Ray, Emeril Lagasse, and Bobby Flay have nothing, and I mean NOTHING on Madame Lulu!  The woman is a goddess in the kitchen! To make things even more impressive she does it all with nothing more than some simple canned good, seasonings, frozen meat and a propane converted oven/stove that we carried up two flights of stairs and placed inside our temporary dining room.  No million dollar kitchen, no stainless counters, no kitchen aid cooking utensils. Just some simple utensils, a table, a few bowls and one stove! It was fantastic, it was heavenly, and for eight days her cooking was the center of many discussions. What is she going to be cooking tonight? There is no way she can top last night? But she did, she would, and we all loved her for it!

The night ended with some light conversation about the upcoming day along with some devotional time.  During devotional time, John C. asked us to recount three things.  What we liked about today? What we didn’t like about today? And where we had seen God today? 

There were a number of wonderful responses. I remember feeling at ease with the people who surrounded us; blessed by the souls sitting in this circle of trust. Cody was quiet; I believe he’s trying to figure out his place on this strange adventure. Thank goodness he’s formed a bond with Miss Maggie, Heather, Anne and Jan.  They keep him laughing and he returns the favor on a consistent basis.

It had become my turn to answer these three little questions.

  1. What did I like about today? We were finally here after months of planning. All the anticipation of traveling to this land far away and I couldn’t wait to see what unfolded over the next several days.
  2.  What didn’t I like about today? Emotions; overwhelmed by all we had seen up to this point. I thought I was prepared; I studied online and read until my eyes crossed.  Some nights I felt as though Television static was all that buzzed through my brain. 
  3. Where had I seen God?  I had seen God in the faces of all who came together today.  10 individuals who never worked on a project together, combined with 5 Haitians who didn’t know what to expect from us Americans and yet somehow, language barrier and all, we gelled together for one combined purpose.  Destroy an unsafe building furthering the town of Leveque towards building a new safe temple devoted to worship.  Really quite moving when you sit back and think about it?

As the night grew thin, we all sat on the balcony talking, texting, writing, reading and playing games on our phones.  It was nice, very family like when you think about it.   No one could run off and hide like back at home. No television to dull your senses and turn off your ability to interact with others; Just our twelve (Caz & Marcanie included) all sitting in a line, on a balcony, with our feet up, laughing, joking and regaling each other with our own little triumphs during the day.

Heaven is truly where you find it. 

Goodnight Johnboy….

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)