Moving Right Along

Ok back to 1999.
In 99' I also worked in a couple group homes in a nearby town. The homes were owned by the same company and had 3-6 developmentally disabled adults in each place. I don't have too many specific memories from this part of work. I worked mostly nights and went to school during the day. In early 99', I also worked as a part time sports write for the Iowa Falls newspaper. The editor sent me out to small towns to take pictures of high school basketball teams. It was probably most unique job in how I was paid. For every inch of text that 'made' it into the paper, I was paid $4. As you can imagine, every game was a battle of epic proportions. I would submit long flowy write-ups of Iowa cornboys and receive about $15 for 4 hours of work. And my editor even had an editory name: Rex Trout. (He wouldn't have accepted that sentence because it began with 'And.')

2000
Well it's winter time in Champaign-Urbana. I transferred here after Iowa Falls. My first job is working as a sorter for FedEx. And this job blows. My shift is M-Th 6pm-11:30pm. Why does it blow? 1. Getting patted down before and after work to make sure no one stole anything from the precious 1000s of boxes sorted in a shift. 2.The women I work with are rough. Rough in a way that mean I don't go into the Ladies' room because of the fights that take place in there. 3. The lack of heat. Management said that heating and cooling wasn't necessary because the 100,000sf building generated enough heat from running the quarter-mile long conveyor belts. I'm actually that worker who wears long underwear and a dirty hat and a pair of gloves with the fingertips cut off. My specific job is to run up a long slick slide and kick at boxes stuck in the chute for my division. I also have expertise in crawling on moving conveyor belts to dislodge boxes that are backing up the entire belt system. Wednesday is magazine day and it's the heaviest day of box traffic. When I'm not scrambling to unstick stuck boxes, I scan in every box's barcode. From memorizing zip codes I can tell you that zip codes beginning in 0 originate from the East Coast.

A brief history.

Well my little friends, it's time again for another blog post. It's a rainy Tuesday afternoon here in northern Illinois, and I'm glad I have a job inside. Even though I'm 30, I've worked in a bunch of different workplaces. Let's take a trip back to 1994 through 2007!

1994
I'm a corn-detassler! I walk through rows and rows of corn a foot taller than me and pull out every tassle I see. Mom drops me off at school around 4:45am with a red and white cooler full of food to last me through 2 breaks and lunch. The season of detassling is about 3 weeks long. The inexperienced kids in my crew wear garbage bags in the early morning. The seasoned ones wear spiffy blue rain slickers to combat the wet corn and sharp edges of the corn leaves.

1995
Corn detassler! See above! My biggest fear this year is that I'll die in a droughted cornfield, because the older kids feel the need to smoke cigarettes and detassle at the same time. Miraculously the corn gets done and the fields are still standing.

1996
I'm a babysitter! Every morning 7:30-3pm I get picked up and driven into the country to babysit for 2 kids. Nothing so memorable about this job except: 1. The littler of the two kids only falls asleep to Field of Dreams. I love this movie. 2.The mom who drives me to work and home has a broken thumb and can't drive safely with this disability. This job taught me to appreciate my thumbs.

1997
I finished high school in May and moved to Alabama for a month and a half to live with my Dad while he was starting his new job, while my Mom packed the house in Milledgeville. Highlights from 1997 include: Taking golfing lessons in Arab (pronounced A-rab), AL, finding a slow-pitch softball team to play on called the Bronze Bodies. I hadn't met the criteria of a bronze body, but I was allowed to play. The team also never cared to ask my real name, and preferred to called me Yankee. It even said Yankee on the batting line-up in the dugout.
Once I got to college, I found that I could tutor the international students in English skills. So my first semester I had a Japanese student I tutored.

1998
Holy cow I'm a photographer for the Iowa Falls Rugby team. How in the world did this noble honor fall into my hands? Well, my college softball coach is on the team and he mentioned my humble skills to the team doctor/historian. So now I find my weekends filled with scrums, half-naked chubby Iowa men, kegs, and an assortment of funnels the team uses to pee out of the old green bus as we roll around the countryside. Lessons learned: A team doctor is necessary for a successful season of rugby, especially when your teammates slammed their heads into each other for the bloody effect before the match starts.

1999
This post is taking too long. I'll add more tomorrow. I know you're all waiting in suspense!

For this song title please listen to the first song on the 2nd album made by the Go-Go's

Coming off a week of vacation is sorta hard. Menial things like sitting up and wearing clothes are so difficult. After a week of daytime tv, late-morning breakfasts, quiet walks in the cookie cutter neighborhood with Eli, and fresh pajamas, one can find it difficult to sit in an office with the sun and blue sky mocking my work schedule.

Dear Beth,

My friend Beth is leaving the BVS staff next Monday. Her last day at the office is Friday. This blog post is just for her. If your name is not Beth, you should look away and not read any further.
Thanks,
Mgmt

Beth
Organized. "Callie, did your remember to bring _____? That's ok I brought ____ for you!"

Designery. Artistic with everything from orientation schedules to mandalas to faith journeys.

Tolerant. Me: Let's put cheese in the scrambled eggs. Beth: Better not, someone might be lactose intolerant. Me: Oh right. Thanks for the reminder! Beth's tolerant of others' intolerances and that's pretty rad.

Consistent. Driving to and from orientation: Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Podcast. Over and over and well you get the idea!

Thoughtful. Each person's calling out has been sculpted and crafted in a detailed and loving way. And also usually longer than mine.

Neat & Clean* Cleaning the 8th floor waiting room at the Homicide unit in Baltimore after a long interview. Watching a very clean and sparse room at Camp Ithiel explode into colorful bursts of clothes, files, computers, shoes, coffee cups, ipods, cords, books, candy, and faith journeys.
*when necessary

And now for the finale: Lyrics you should recognize-

Everyone's a hero in their own way
Everyone's got something they can do
Get up, go out and fly!

Sometimes I don't have a lot to say.

A post-orientation day

800 miles. 6 hours of rain. 2 identical rest areas in Ohio. Skittles. Coffee. Ipod. Friends. Windshield wipers. Apartment. Eli. Functioning hot water heater. Neighbors cheering my name as I make an entrance at their party!

Food glorious Food.

Potatoes. Rice. Potatoes.
Bread pudding. Bread pudding.
Water.
Cereal. Milk. Soymilk. Lactaid.
Red pepper flakes. Garlic Powder. Salt.
German bread. White bread. Trashy bread in my stomach.
Potatoes.

Music to survive an orientation

I seem to go through peaks and valleys with musical tastes. Sometimes I horde a bunch of music and never derivate from my music. Other times I get a whole bunch of new stuff (new to me at least). So I deem it best to let you know what you should be listening to.

MGMT: Oracular Spectacular
Kings of Leon: Only by the Night
Phoenix: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
Regina Spektor: Far
Brandi Carlile: Give Up the Ghost...coming in October
The Bravery: The Sun and the Moon

Reflections

Thoughts on drop-off day:
Snakes keep tire indentations when rolled over by a tire.
Houses that are in foreclosure look really scary without out families occupying them.
People who open doors to a group of four people with the smell of pancakes wafting through the house, should invite the four people in for pancakes.
Churches that have cars parked in the lot should always answer the door. It's kinda the reason you're the church.
Bartenders won't let you pull a beer as part of your day of service. Even if you ask twice.
Old married couples working in the garden don't like to share the work with anyone. They hog all the work to themselves. That's what marriage is about.
Walking and talking together is how friendships develop.

Sprawly and dropped off

In 15 minutes, I'll be heading out with 20 other volunteers for our historical drop-off day. When I was at my own orientation in 2003, we were in a new place and did not do the drop-off day. Now that I have this job, I've taken out 7-8 groups in urban areas, rural areas, and suburban sprawly areas and dropped them off and wished them luck. Today is my turn to give it a shot. Yes, it's a bit hypocritical of me to drop groups off and without having experienced it myself. This is due in part to having a hectic orientation schedule, lack of drivers, or too much work to do on our 'off' day. Since Amazing Don is shadowing Beth, this frees my day up so I can go out and walk the hills of Carroll County. Beth and Don didn't really keep me in the loop that I was an actual participant so I had a hand in helping choose the groups, figure out directions to and from the spot of drop-off only to be told that I was participating. Ok time to head out!

Harry Caray and Me and Beer and Family

I went to the Cubs game yesterday. It made me think a lot about the firsts in my life. The first baseball game I saw was in 1988. I was nine and the Cubs were playing the Mets. I thought their uniforms were pretty hideous because they had orange on. I grew up knowing that red plus blue equals the Cubs colors. That day I met Harry Caray, the semi-sober announcer for the Cubs. Growing up with Harry announcing meant that everyone learned how to do a good Harray Caray impersonation. I'd have to say that my brother has the best one around. I met Harry at a Subway. He came in for something to eat and said to us, "You all coming to the game today?" His eyes smiled behind his big black rimmed glasses and he walked on out of the sandwich shop. In 1994 I went back to Wrigley with a great mish mash of friends and family. It was cousin Tyler, my brother, his college roommate Doc, my best friend Sarah who had just returned from her home in Egypt, and my folks. My folks had good seats behind home plate, and the rest of us sat in the bleachers in left field. In 94' the Cubs fever hadn't hit yet so we paid about $6 a person for bleacher seats. In the middle of the game, the blitzed fan behind me stood up to cheer and spilled his beer on my shoulders. We all turned around and stared at him. I'm pretty sure he felt pretty bad about it. 10 minutes later he stumbles over his bleacher buddies with an extra beer in hand and passes it directly to me. Yup, my first ever beer was given to me by a stranger in the bleachers when I was 15. I was pretty sure my folks weren't watching the game. I had it in my mind that they were following our every move with an old set of binoculars, as if they suspected that I was guzzling warm Old Style beers. To be honest it tasted pretty nasty and it warmed up quickly as I held onto it for the next 4 innings. Ahhhh firsts...

Hooray!

A few days back, I went running for the first time with my ipod. I've been hesitant about running with headphones on because of not being able to hear traffic/dogs/burglars coming up behind me. Nonetheless I tried it out and it went well. I actually ran farther than ever before with the help of music. Right off, I noticed that the music drowned out my huffing and puffing and weird nose sounds. Not being able to gauge my exhaustion level from breathing made me concentrate more on my muslces and running form. Before using music, I was listening to myself breathe hard, which freaked me out and made me slow down. Now it seems the music has masked that and I can run longer! Since the music has sort of blocked my breathing, my sense of smell kicked in and I could smell about 5 different fabric softeners being filtered out of people's houses too! Hooray for senses!

I am a follower.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/july-7-2006/barbara-brown-taylor/1792/

Journal Thursday!

22 June 2006. My JS3 (8th graders)kids are learning how to do journal entries-so I am entering one here as well. So my time is just about up. I find it difficult to teach everyday, especially when the textbook is finished and my kids don't get official, final grades. 3 years, it seems so long and short at the same time. The school sessions have gone fast. The weeks to weeks have also sped by but month ot month, it seems so slow. Thursdays are my long days. 5 lessons in a row. Saratu will make rice and beans tonight. Wahoo!

Observances

Things seen on my walk with Eli:
A car driving over the curb to look at white dog.
A guy lighting the grill while texting.
Eli raising an unbarked protest: lying down in the street to protest the oppressive heat (it was 62F)

Things seen on my neighborhood run:
1 pillowtop mattress and box springs (Queen size)
1 diaper genie (used)
The lady that punches the air when she speed walks (she smiles with her eyes when I pass her)
2 giggling kids hiding in the bushes while their dad yells in Polish to get in the house for dinner.
1 blonde-haired 5 year old laying on the hood of a car and staring at the sky next to the dumpster.

Ramadan

A lady spoke up in church today and reminded our little congregation that Ramadan is here and that we should be sensitive to their month of fasting. And that got me thinking to the parts of my life where I lived with my Muslim neighbors.

The first time I heard a call to prayer after sundown (which broke the day of fasting) was in a little town called Garkida in the northeast of Nigeria. I went there to stay in an old missionary house for a weekend with a few of my colleagues. (What I'm really trying to say was the house had a waterbed and everyone wanted a chance to sleep on it) We had gotten to the house in the early evening and fixed a quick dinner so everyone (2 Swiss and me) could hang out and rest. After everyone had rested we headed down the hill to the main road that ran parallel to the Hawul River (did I mention it's really humid in Garkida due to the fact that the town is plopped down next to this huge river) So imagine 3 sunburned people walking down this long main road with shacks, and roadside stands frying up dough and meat and potatoes and yams and beans, and stray dogs, and chickens, and old men sitting on worn out logs, and well you get the idea I guess. And then we heard it.

Tap tap tap like someone checking a microphone to see if it's on.

Tap tap tap. And then a man's voice comes on the system.

And he sings in the most upbeat voice, "Allah akbar!" (Which in my translation means God's the best!!! God really is the best!!!!) And the Imam's voice isn't the normal flatlined voice that everyone always hears. This voice is completely transformed! This guy is happy to be singing the call to prayer! And you know what, everyone in the streets was in total agreement. The Imam sang the call to prayer over and over and just got more excited to be singing it! This call to prayer was a rejoiceful one. It was clear why he was so elated. The fast of the day was done, and after prayers were finished everyone was going home for a huge feast. It's pretty amazing that one man's voice can change the mood of a public space in such a short amount of time.

In my life I don't use Allah in my everyday conversations. But when I see or sing or read the word Hallelujah or Alleluia I know I'm connected to my neighbors in a deep sense of understanding!

Allah Akbar!

I'm that jogger girl.

Run. Running. Ran. I've started this thing called running. Growing up, running was used as a punishment from first grade through the twelfth grade. If I was late to practice, I had to do extra laps. If I missed free throws at the beginning of practice, Coach N____ added them to the tally at the end of practice so they lingered over me the entire time. So running wasn't so high up there in the list of things I felt I could do for fun. But something happened in my brain. My brain, (let's call her Joyce) told me to pick up the speed and swing my arms. And you know what? I was running! (Please read that sentence with the intonation and fervor of Forest Gump) I couldn't really run far without getting pissed off and out of breath. But I kept doing it because it made Joyce happy. And now it's been about a month and I can run a lot longer than when I started out. Actually this week something changed. My breathing during running changed. Early on I would just huff and suck wind in and out of my mouth. I once read that a person can get the most amount of oxygen in and Co2 out by inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. Well that's all well and good but I can't get it down very well. So my breathing theory has been inhale/exhale through my nose. I can do this for a lil while and then I have the urge to huff it out. But here's where the change happened: I don't have the urge to huff it anymore. I ran for 30 minutes tonight and realized I never had to open my mouth! Wowzers! So to celebrate I ran two laps!

If I was a poet this would be my poem.

My day is simple.

Walk the dog. Run around the block.

Shower. Eat. Drive aggressively to appear as a Chicagoan.

Sit in a grey chair for several hours. Eat and sit with familiar faces.

And even more familiar stories.

Back to work in the grey chair surrounded by white walls.

Get back in the car and drive in the middle lane.

Less potholes in the middle lane.

Take dog out. Don't look at him while he poops.

Check the mail. As usual all of it is for others.

Krzysztof. Amy. Jaimus.

Find ingredients for dinner.

Tonight. Mushrooms. Rice. Sesame Oil. Red hot pepper flakes. Local purple garlic.

And when I say local I mean Harrisonburg.

Watch the news. Read a book. Write my song.

Run around the block. Sleep. Repeat.

Thoughts in a day

Volunteers.
Circle-up. Announcements.
Session. Break.
Any questions?
Food groups.
Free time.
Read the files.
Ask questions.
Turn in your yellow sheet.
Get up early enough to have breakfast for 20 on time.
Ask questions.
Get on your bike.
Get off your bike.
Sit by someone new.
Ask questions.
Sleep hard.
Hang your clothes on the balcony.
Fetch them when they blow off.
Be quiet for 5 minutes of silence
Do a devotion for the remaining ten.
Check your food groups.
Choose a project.
Go there.
Ask questions.

Yea Bah

Susanne is here! We lived and worked for a year in Nigeria together. Yea for old friends. Bah for not being able to remember specific people and happenings.

Meals this week.

Sticky rice.

Sticky rice with mangoes.

Sticky rice with mangoes and warm coconut milk.

Sticky rice with veggies.

Sticky rice with veggies, chicken, Szechuan style.

Tortillas.

Tortillas and scrambled eggs.

Tortillas, scrambled eggs, and black beans.

Tortillas, eggs, beans, and cream.

Hominy.

Hominy and collared greens.

Hominy, collared greens, and and peanut sauce.

OT and Andy

Ever had that super proud feeling? As if your heart would just burst from happiness? I remember the first time I ever felt that. Let's take a trip down my memory lane, k?

Place: Gym floor (covered with a huge green tarp, so as not to scuff the precious Missile Basketball/Volleyball court.

People around me: Everyone from K-5, which is about 100 kids or so. We're all sitting on our knees. Kindergartners in the front row, followed by each grade sequentially. I'm about 3 rows deep, guess that means I'm in 2nd grade. It's dark and dimmed in the gym for only being 10am on a Friday in early spring. The teachers form a solid line behind us, they're pointing at us to "be quiet, pay attention, and BEHAVE." I'm pretty much convinced that they have been selected to be teachers because they possess severely pointy fingers to single us out from the crowd when we're getting ourselves into trouble. They're all excellent pointers.

Ok, now that that's all been explained, what on earth could possibly be happening in front of us? Well.....it's the High School Musical!!!!! It's not only the musical, it's my brother up there! On that huge stage. Without his glasses, looking like a true orphan. I can't believe it! He knows all of his lines! He sings solos, he dances, he's OLIVER TWIST!

A few months back, he came from school white as a ghost. Mom asked how the auditions went, and my brother, the skinny, pale, knock-kneed, near-sighted young guy said in the quietest voice, "I'm Oliver." Mom says something like, well...you're just going to have to walk back up to school at tell them no. My brother, Andy, was in 8th grade at the time, and was just trying out for the background characters. He accidentally got picked to be Oliver. Our whole family was in shock.

Soon, we started to learn the songs along with Andy. I vividly remember seeing the black and white script and songbook appearing in all sorts of places. Bathroom floor, top of the tv, in the car. And then it was gone. I didn't see the book, I didn't hear any tunes coming from anywhere in the house. It was as if the play had already happened and we'd forgotten about it.

But that Friday morning it all came back to me. "Food Glorious Food" was sung and I knew some of the lines and sang along! What a feeling! To know that my brother was on the stage singing and dancing in front of people and doing it rather well! I had this overwhelming feeling of possession. It's the best way I can describe it! That was MY BROTHER up there and he lived in the same house as me and I knew some of the songs the cast sang, and I just knew he was amazing up there. That 'little kid' sense of pride was so overwhelming and so great! It felt like I was going to explode with happiness!

Later that night, I got to watch him do the whole musical for a real audience and it was pretty great! His little voice was so high when he sang "Where Is Love," he even closed his eyes when he sang! I was so impressed with the whole thing. The sets, the costumes, even the make-up, and especially the kids who got to spray their hair gray. It was all amazing.

Nowadays I don't get that sense of pride as much as I did in the 2nd grade. But that's ok...thinking of that day sitting on my knees and watching my brother change into an orphan for an hour was just perfect.

Journal Thursdays

I don't have much to write today. So I thought why not cheat and read back through some old stuff when I lived in Kwarhi. So basically, if you're reading this, you've discovered my old journal. Pretend you've been snooping around and just discovered this little gem.

"27 November 2004. Saturday afternoon. A.M. has been telling me all kinds of stories today. Sometimes she repeats them but I listen as if they're new to me. I read the new book by Dave Eggers this week. Mom sent it in the mail to me. I wish I was a witty author. P. taught me how to ride a motorcycle today. I was freshman-year nervous, but I didn't even crash. I did about 7 laps around Bachmann's and Yuguda's house. If I get a regular motorcycle then it will be difficult to ride in dresses. But a VESPA would be easier in a dress. Today I went to Christie and Luka's wedding today with P, U, Kwaji, and Rebekah Dauda. It went well, we saw 3 big accidents on the way home between Madagali and Michika. I hope I never am in an accident over here. Chances are slim that one would survive. Final exam questions are due this week. I still don't have my questions ready. I also have to grade 70 more essays from the semester, too."

Well wasn't that about as exciting as watching paint dry? Check back next Thursday for the newest installment of old journal entries.
To enhance your snooping, please listen to "As Time Goes By" by Jimmy Durante

A Daily Playlist

To get work done in a calm, cool, collected manner: Frank Sinatra (the Early Years)
To brainstorm ideas and think in weird ways: Fischerspooner
To act like I'm working but not really: Beethoven
To reminisce about life while I work: James Taylor
To chat with my boss while I work: Electric Light Orchestra
To write long-winded, angry emails: Ani DiFranco
To drive home on a sunny day: NPR All Things Considered
To cook barefoot in the kitchen: Kings of Leon

Does this give you seizures?

My least favorite blog is by a favorite couple of mine but it's a black background and white lettering which burns the imprint of words into my eyeballs, so even after I'm done reading their updates, the image of words is emblazoned on everything I look at. That's what this blog is designed to be: The most painful thing you'll look at all day. Thanks!