Odds and Ends

I have a myriad of thoughts running through my brain right now, so bear with me.

1st: I am mostly pleased to note that the new kitchen knife is quite sharp. How do I know this? 1: it cut through the rind of the honey dew melon I purchased. 2: it cut through a piece of my finger. Slippery little sucker.

2nd: Oh, me. I overspend. I overdrafted! Anxiety sets in. IMUSTNOTPURCHASEANYTHINGTOMORROW! Say it with me now: I must not purchase anything tomorrow! Maybe if I say it over and over . . .

3rd: I like boys. I don't mean in a creepy way. I mean in a "you are kind of weird but often funny and I get you a lot more than I used to" kind of way. That made no sense. Well, it does to me. Anyway, they look at the world so differently than I do. For instance, I love that my cousin Kyle referred to my big purple ring that KC made me as an egg. I could almost hear the thought processes rushing through his head as he stared at it when we were visiting in IA this summer. "Ok, that one is a butterfly, and that one is . . .a massive lump that has a kind of point at one end and a large rounded other side--like an egg!" I'm sure he felt triumphant figuring that out. Also, I saw HP #6 tonight, and it just cracks me up watching Harry and Ron fumble their way through girls. Ron especially has so little clue.

4th: Two thoughts occurred to me as I used the movie restroom tonight--one for each time I used it. 1: why do some stalls not have the little slidey lock thing anymore? I mean, does someone go into a violent rage and pry them off? Does someone steal them? Do they fall off? This is what I ponder as I lean forward to prevent the door from popping open during use. 2: why, on God's green earth, do people paint bathrooms in movie theaters that hideous neon yellow? It doesn't make things bright and cheery as one might think. No, it casts a heinous, jaundice-like hue on everything. Shudder.

5th: Curly hair is so damn expensive. Yes, it deserves an expletive. I know Mrs. Moutos would be disappointed in me using a four letter word when I know so many longer ones, but really, sometimes the occasion just calls for it. Anyway, yes, curly hair is ridiculous. At least mine is. I can never just buy those cheap little general store products. I can never just settle on one little anti frizz cream to style it. No, it takes multiples of these products so that I may go into overdraft to have half way decent hair. Straight haired people, let me never hear you complain that you can't do anything with your hair. At least it can be managed cheaply.

Unexpected

First of all, thanks for the messages from people reading the blog:) I'm either not tech-savvy enough to figure out how to respond or too lazy to really try to figure it out. Anyway, I appreciate the comments!

Soooo, we've had a bit of excitement in the past couple of days--my dad had to spend the night in the hospital.

Gasp. Yes, it shook me up a bit. I think I get that my parents aren't invincible, but then things happen which remind me of their mortality, and it rattles me a little.

Since we've lived in TX, my parents have made at least one yearly trek via car up to Iowa to visit their respective sides of the family. Apparently, it can take a toll on one's body. Two days ago my dad complained of having a charley horse in his leg. In my infinite wisdom (since I know soooo much about things like that), I suggested that he drink some water as I've read somewhere that charley horses are caused by lack of water to muscles which then spasm. The next morning, when I finally roll off my air mattress and join the rest of the world, Dad tells me he's going to go the doctor's to check on his leg. It's swollen and tender, and he limps around. Mom worries that he has a blood clot and orders him off his leg. Dad, of course, has already been out riding the horse that morning because apparently that hurts less than riding his bike. Um, ok.

As his doctor never returned his call, Dad prepares to head to the emergency room, and I offer to drop him off as I take the kids to the Skate Plex. I plan to pick him up after we're done skating. The skating doesn't pan out, so we head to Transformers 2 (warning: it's really long) and call Mom post-movie. She says nothing about Dad, so I assume he's safely at home and doesn't need a ride. Surprise, surprise. When I get home, Mom informs us that Dad is still at the hospital, he does have a blood clot, and he might have to stay overnight. Mild heart palpitations accompany this announcement, but I make some lame joke, and we proceed with dinner. Then Mom receives a phone call from Dad.
"In the lungs?" she says.
What? What does that mean? I shoot her a glance. She has that focused, serious look that she gets in dramatic situations. When she hangs up, she looks at me.
"They found clots in both his lungs."
"Um, what does that mean? Like, what do they have to do?"
"They'll put him on blood thinner, and they may admit him to watch him overnight. He has to stay off his feet. I guess he got up to change the channel in his room, and a nurse caught him and yelled at him." She grinned at that, but I could see the worry.
So we played the waiting game for a while, wondering what would happen. Eventually Dad learns that he will be staying over night, so he asks me to bring him some things. I ended up waiting with him for an hour or so at night while he waited on his room. It took two hours from the time they said he would stay over night to actually get him in the room. Poor guy didn't get a meal or drink or anything for the 8 hours he sat there. He did learn that it was the long hours in the car that caused the clot to form.

Today he is home, hoping for insurance to kick in. I hate insurance companies. Of course they're going to try to deny paying for any of this. I mean, why would they pay for a health concern? I feel like growling at them. As it is, I must content myself with shaking my fist in the air.

As for Dad I think he'll be ok with some R and R. I get to take the kids places now that we were supposed to do as a family. My only resentment (yes, I am shallow enough to feel that way) is that I really wanted to do some of these things all together. I leave on Thursday. Won't be back for months, ya know. But, well, that's life I guess, and it goes on.

"We are family"

Saturday morning, July 11th. 3:30 a.m.
It almost would have been easier to just stay awake all night to catch my flight to IA. Turns out it's good that I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't have slept at all before meeting my new siblings.

My flight arrived early, and I intended to call my parents to urge them to hurry to the airport. Just so happened that they were early, too, and I saw my dad standing next to a short, dark haired boy with his hands in his pockets. My heart gave a frantic flutter, but I firmly pushed aside my nervousness.
I approached and flung my arms around my dad, who I haven't seen since last December. Then I turned to my new brother.
"You must be Pedro." He nervously nodded. "Oh, come here, you get a hug, too!" I admired his Texas belt buckle and nice clothes. They both were already dressed for my cousin's wedding.
"Mom and Aracely are in the bathroom changing into their wedding clothes. Oh, here they are."
They both receive my wide-armed hugs, and it was finally done--I had met the new sibs.

The events of the past few days have been crammed full of family. My cousin Karla got married, and my mom's family, quite the party crowd, jumped in wholeheartedly for the occasion. It was pretty fabulous. I wondered how Pedro and Cely would do being surrounded by the masses of people that make up my mom's side--she does have 9 brothers and sisters--but they hung in there and seemed to have some fun, too.

We left IA on Monday after lunch and began the looooonnnggg car ride home, finally getting here at 3:45 today, Tues. I taught my new siblings the fun of the Yahtzee handheld game; Cely seemed to get into it, but Pedro gave up quickly. We shared music on our various instruments of music playback options: my iPod, Pedro's mp3 player, Cely's cd player. Pedro and I have discussed some rap songs I know--not too many--but more than my parents know for sure. Cely showed me the song she likes from Magic Tree House (I guess it's a show)--it's a brother and sister singing to each other about how they couldn't live without the other. It's actually really sweet. Pedro likes Eminem and Daddy Yankee.

Pedro is pretty outgoing; he likes to tell stories and drive me crazy if he can. But he can also be very sweet. I can tell family means a lot to him as he constantly tells me of things of the past from his older cousins, older sister, real mom and dad, etc. He sounds like he got in some trouble at school in the past. Cely is quieter in general, but loves to giggle and listen to Taylor Swift and play games. She has a real sweetness about her. Both have huge grins with dimples. Both have new nicknames from their big sister: Cely has been dubbed Cel-Belle and Pedro is PC. (Pedro quickly redubbed Cely "cell phone.") Both hate to read but have to practice 30 minutes a day to help them get better for school this upcoming year. My dad makes them read to him. I guess they're pretty behind in school.

Their life now must be much different than before. I know my parents have different rules and expectations than they've experienced in the past. I know all this getting involved in the Catholic Church has been less than exciting for them. They've been attending a Baptist church with their foster parents.

I can't help but admire my parents for the commitment they're making for the rest of their lives, but particularly for the next several years. However, it's the kids that make me tear up at times. As my mom said to me yesterday, "If their birth parents had any idea what they're missing . . .I just can't imagine how they could give them up." I feel the same way. It's just so hard to understand how anyone could give birth to kids with a lot of needs, but such a genuine sweetness and desire to be loved, and then allow them to be taken away. How could you not fight tooth and nail to be worthy of them? These kids have to relearn so much to belong to this family, and they have to learn to feel a part of a history and a family very different from anything they've ever known. They've been made fun of and put down by other kids because they're not with their real family. I feel infuriated at the thought.

I guess my biggest hope is just that they do feel like they belong in this family, that they soon see that the rules and chores they do here are annoying maybe but a part of being at home. I hope they can see themselves as Sullivans always:) Now I need to go watch that Hannah Montana show with them (bleh). Oh, and see about getting their initials added to my tattoo.

Brief Little Observations

As we strolled around the different countries of Eastern Europe, I noticed little things that people seemed to have in common and some small differences as well.

Hair: a lot of women seemed to have this poorly dyed red hair--not natural looking at all. Also saw a remarkable number of mullets, especially the fem-mullet variety (mullet on women). A lot of people had dreds, too.

Build: It seemed of the three countries I went to, most people were a lot smaller than Americans are weight wise. Hungarians I remember as being the skinniest and tallest, then the Polish, and the Czechs seemed the shortiest and most "ordinary" of the three--although these are purely my observations and have nothing to back them up scientifically. But I definitely felt very weight-conscious there.

Dress: You could pick out the tourists by their clothes, us included. We were quite underdressed by Euro standards. My sense of pride urged me to go buy some nicer clothes, but my sense of practicality shut that voice up for the most part. I just hate looking more plain than everyone else--lol.

Attitude: Most people weren't that friendly. Not that they were out and out rude, (although there were a few of those people, too), but they just either stared at us for being obviously out of place, or completely ignored us. The first time someone smiled at me in Hungary, I took one look at his clothes and realized that he, too, was a tourist. That was on our final day there.

Final thoughts: even though it's a challenge sometimes to deal with cultural differences (like the fact that you have to tell a waiter over there that you want your check or that if you ask for water, you will have to pay for it; you will usually have to pay for use of a toilet, too, if you're out and about), I really think everyone should travel abroad at least once if he/she can afford it. Otherwise, it's too easy to think that everyone should see the world the way we in America do, and the rest of the world just doesn't because their lives are very different. We truly have the most amenities of any country in the world just for our average citizens. Like we expect free toilets and water, and to be able to own our own cars, and to have air conditioning, and to be able to eat till we make ourselves sick. I guess I'm saying that I realize how much I have when I'm in other countries; I realize how high my standard of living is. For these first few days or maybe even weeks after I get back to the States, I know I will appreciate some of that. But I also know it won't take long before I just accept this life as standard, and I will just keep wanting more. Someone wise once said that happiness is wanting just what we already have. I must laugh at myself when I read that, for based on that definition, I've only been happy for short periods of time in my life and the rest I've just been wanting something more. Ah well.

"Then We Came to the End"

Saturday, the 4th of July. It's oddly anticlimatic to celebrate your country's independence in another place that cares not about it. Kind of makes one forget it's occurring anywhere. But eventually, we did it up American style. I get ahead of myself.
Saturday's great moments for me include these: a red dress, the Kafka museum, the funicular, Starbucks observations, and a picnic in a rose garden.
Red dress: I purchased this in Kutna Hora and waited for a special occasion to don it; Saturday seemed special. Kafka: read Metamorphosis in high school and always felt a strange connection to it. Was more thrilled than I would have expected to learn that Kafka was from Prague. The museum strove for a true "Kafkaesque" feel; it succeeded for me. It was dark and strange and somewhat tragic. I have a new fascination with Kafka and a resolve to read more of his works. He was a brilliant man who hated himself--a tortured soul, one might say. Alas, I could go on and on but shall stop myself.
Funicular: apparently this was the mechanism that M and H rode to get to the top of the hill where the mirror museum resides. Yeah, S and I were nowhere close. It's pretty great to ride sideways up a mountain.
Starbucks: post-Kafka museum, I parted from M and H (S had gone on her own explorations at this time) and found my way to a Starbucks. Naturally it was frequented by tourists. Part of me felt frustrated with myself for giving into a desire for this truly American place, but the other part of me thrilled at the idea of a big cup of coffee to sip. I found my way to an empty table outside and observed the tourists. I overheard a group of Romas (also known as gypsies) nearby talk about people's reactions to them. They seem to find people's fear of them amusing. Romas, as you might know, have a long history of being hated in Europe. Hitler tried to eradicate them from the earth as he did the Jewish people. They are second class citizens in many countries, I learned from H and M--but unfortunately, sometimes they do live up to the stereotypes people have of them. Anyway, the importance of the Starbucks moment is that I made it to and from there by myself. It was my first venturing out on my own in a foreign city, and I felt really good about myself for figuring out where I needed to be and how to get back to the hostel. A sense of independence for once rather than my usual dependence on the skills of others.
Picnic in rose garden: the four of us purchased food from the supermarket Lidl's and rode the funicular once again to the top of the hill from earlier. We sat among roses and consumed food and wine and some chocolate chip cookies that had some American reference. Very American.

Sunday. Probably my favorite part was attending mass at the Infant of Prague church as it was in English and thus I could participate. My warm, fuzzy, glowing moment came after mass when two guys sitting near me starting talking to me--individually, not at the same time. As some may know, I really like to sing along at church and can get pretty into it. I felt very flattered that two good-looking guys from other countries thought that was a good thing. Downside of the mass being at the church was the tourists who still proceeded to take pictures of the famous infant even while the worship service was going on. I felt offended.
Also saw the Pinkas Synagogue and the Old Jewish Cemetery where the people in the Jewish Quarter used to bury their dead by stacking the bodies on top of each other b/c they ran out of space.
I did get to see the famous astronomical clock, but I didn't see it change hours b/c, imagine this, I was late. Poor S tried to get me to the clock in time for the hour, but I was slow. At first I was really annoyed at myself, but then figured, hey, at least I've seen it now. And I saw the most precious thing: these two toddlers, one Asian and one white, who didn't know each other from Adam, briefly became friends and danced together for a couple of minutes in the square. That is, until the little Asian boy, slightly older than the little white girl, became annoyed with her, dropped her hands, and ran away as the little girl ran after him bawling. It was kind of funny.
In the same square, hours later, I saw a tour of the city on segways. Interesting way to get about.
Had dinner outside near a river where the waiter seemed astonished and borderline rude to Hannah because she wanted to order two sides for dinner rather than a meal and a side. Made things feel extremely awkward, and I had one of my rare moments of feeling both unforgiving and full of hatred for the waiter. Ah well, we started telling stories, and the feeling improved. The night of course came quickly to an end, as these things tend to, and S and I were off to bed in the loft of our different room in the same hostel--very warm in there.
We awoke at the crack of dawn to rush to the airport--ended up getting off one stop too early at the airport and had to hike a little ways to the correct spot. We survived our interviews with the Czech custom dept., I had the smallest cup of coffee of my life, and then we settled in for our 10-hour flight to Atlanta.
Atlanta people seem quite warm and friendly after Europe. I was unexpectedly in a great mood there. Weirdly, I wanted to chat with all the employees at the airport and distribute random hugs, but I resisted the urge and settled for a cup of Starbucks coffee.
S and I survived the remarkably bumpy ride to Indianapolis and arrived to find our ride's car battery had died. But eventually, we made it safely to Muncie for the night. All said, I think I was awake close to 24 hours that day, since we gained 6 hours.
And so ended the sojourn of this European vacation.

The Continuation of "Oh God! Go back!"

Friday last was our first full day in Prague, and we were determined to see as much of it as possible. I believe I've previously mentioned the Museum of Communism and the walking tour, and I briefly alluded to other events of that day, but really, there's so much more to tell.

After the tour completed, the four of us split into pairs to go see the places each was more interested in. Suzanne and I headed up to Prague Castle, which as its very name might suggest, is a highly popular tourist attraction. I found it to be a bit pricey because of its popularity. However, if one still carries a student i.d., as I conveniently do, one can get a discount in price. Sometimes that discount divides the cost in half. Is this dishonest? Yeah . . .but if I still look enough like the girl in my graduate i.d. pic to get away with it, I'm going to take advantage of the money saving. I'll go to confession later.

I might have mentioned some disappointment in this attraction. Yes, the St. Vitus Cathedral was phenomenal, and I probably have more pictures of this than anything b/c it has amazing stained glass windows which I love, and they didn't charge for picture taking like other places did. Can you believe how people will milk you for money? Geez. However, then Suzanne and I went to the St. George Basilica, which has been around since maybe the 13th century, but hasn't been kept up at all, so you can hardly see the murals on the walls. Almost nothing has been translated into English, so I couldn't tell what saint's sarcophagus rested there. There were bones in an altar, but again, couldn't tell whose. Then we went to the Royal Winter Palace. Doesn't that sound like it should be fantastic? Well, it wasn't. We only got to see about 6 rooms, none of which had much furniture it them. I had hoped to see the rooms laid out as though the royal family still visited there. Big disappointment.

Then it began to rain, and as my feet were aching, I told Suzanne I wanted to sit in the courtyard and watch the people rather than see something else I wasn't impressed with. Yeah, I was a bit grouchy. Poor Suzanne. I also wanted to hit up the post office there and stop by the bank-o-mat for some money, and hopefully to change one of my Czech bills into some change to purchase some passes for the tram. About 5:45, I head into the banking area, which says that it closes at 6. I approach a woman behind the desk who doesn't seem to be busy. My brain registers that she seems to be in charge of audio tours rather than banking, but I thought I could at least ask her about changing my money for me. I notice that the woman next to her is busy helping some others. As I ask this lady about changing my bills to change, she seems confused.
"You want me to change Czech money to euros?" she questions.
"No, I wondered if you could just give me the change for some of the Czech money I have. I'm trying to get change to buy a tram ticket, and the bills I get from your bank-o-mat are too large," I respond.
"I'm sorry. We are closed." She said this firmly and folds her arms over her chest as she stares at me.
Perhaps there was something lost in translation, but I could feel my temper flare up at her. I closed my mouth and glared at her. I glanced pointedly at the woman next to her still helping those others. Really, you're closed? Funny, your coworker isn't, and your sign says you're not. But I could see she wasn't budging, so I stomped out.
Suzanne appeared, and we decided to head out to meet Marty and Hannah at the mirror maze. We attempted for some minutes to find a ticket machine to ride the tram back down the hill as it was some distance to the maze, but we couldn't find one anywhere, so we began to walk. We attempted a short cut through a park that ended up taking us out of the way, so we retraced our steps. As we curved around the never-ending hill, Suzanne notices a path that seems to take a more direct route, so we head that way. Then she stops and turns back. Apparently the guy coming up on that other path thought it was quite deserted and didn't have all his clothes arranged the way he should for passersby. We hurried down the original path to get away from him.
Finally we are able to make it to a tram station and find a place that will sell us two 1-day tram/metro/bus passes with our large bills, so we hop on the tram and take it as closely as possible to where we are to meet. It is 7:15, and we're supposed to meet H and M at 6:30. We find our way to a park and realize we have to climb up a steep hill via stone steps. We glance at ech other, shrug our shoulders and keep going. Up and up and up. Finally we reach what looks like where we're supposed to be on the map. Nothing but a couple of restaurants. It's about 7:45, and we're quite hungry. We decide to eat at the cheap little place we find. S gets some potato cakes that taste like dishwater, and I get this hamburger that looks like a veggie burger, but has pink . . .something on the inside. It's disgusting. Then we begin our hike back down. We see a different path that looks less steep, and we're hurrying down. Suddenly I hear, "Oh God! Go back!"
Suzanne whirls around, and I catch a glimpse of a scraggly-looking guy with a half surprised, half excited look on his face, and I get a chill all over as I change directions to follow her. "Two in one day! I can't believe this!" I hear S exclaim. She's rather shaken and disgusted as she races along. I for some reason can't stop laughing rather hysterically at her tone--until I notice that the guy is following us up the path we've just taken, and then I bite my tongue to push myself almost to a jog. Nervously, I ask if he's still behind us, and I try to mentally prepare myself for how to defend myself, but I can't think of anything except fear. "Don't know," she gasps, and we keep going.
Finally we reach the bottom of the hill and other people, and we look behind us. Not there, thank God. We cut our losses with the maze and rush back to our hostel. No more drama today, please.

Oh, God. Go Back

Things will be messed up on this post b-c it is set for another language. This will probably be my last post here in Europe, but I will finish my stories upon mz return. The subject line is a quote. Yesterday Suzanne and I went to the Prague Castle. Disappointing. Will explain why more later. Suffice it to say for now that it was not what we had paid a lot for. We had to walk down to join Marty and Hannah at a mirror maze. The journey to the maze is reallz the interesting part, but no time now. Anyway, poor Suzanne saw two guys within the span of two hours expose themselves on our journey. Somehow I was spared the sight of this...Thank goodness. I did find a church to attend an English mass on Sunday==the Infant of Prague church has one at noon. Many stories to come, including explanation of above quote.

Short Update

I'm now in the city of Prague. We left Krakow at 6:50 a.m. two mornings ago and took a 7 hour train to Kutna Hora. Kutna Hora is a town in the Czech Republic and is famous for silver mines and this church called the Ossuary that is decorated with over 40 thousand bones.

The night we stayed in Kutna Hora, the four of us ventured down into the old silver mines. We had to put on hard hats and a white, doctor-like coat. It was cold and drippy in the mines with narrow passage ways. At times you had to squeeze your body through narrow crevices and under 4 foot ceilings. Needless to say, I've had more comfortable situations. Afterwards, Suzanne and I ventured out into the town on our own to find a restaurant. So far, we'd been lucky in finding a waiter who'd speak enough English to understand us. We lucked out again; however, I ended up with a massive bill b/c I ordered fish. Apparently, they charge by the gram for fish . . .wish I had known that before I ordered. What looked like something would cost 64 kc (Czech korunas) ended up being 204. Still not too much, but combined with other items, it hurt the pocket book a bit. Also unbeknownest to me is the format of the fish they serve. Apparently they like it very fresh here. They must have gone out back and grabbed it from the stream when I ordered it. When the waitress brought our plates, I exclaimed, "Oh that looks so good!" Suzanne responded, "Did you see the face on it?" Glancing down again, I jumped and shivered in surprise, as though having a minor seizure S said later. "Ewwhh!!! Hell no, I didn't see that! Its eye holes are following me!" I quickly cut off the skin and head and covered it with a napkin. Phew.

Suzanne and I proceeded out to walk back . . .and somehow lost our way. I think the multiple times we'd walked past different areas of the city started to meld together into one, indeterminable mess and we weren't sure when we had seen what. However, we finally made it back.

Yesterday afternoon we took another train to Prague, after a mad, thirty minute dash to the train station sweltering in the afternoon heat with our backpacks and etc weighing us down. As you probably imagine, I have the most crap, so I blame that for how much my feet hurt today.

It took what felt like FOREVER to get to our hostel/pension in Prague. What was supposed to be a ten minute walk took about 45. I hurt pretty badly after that. This morning I drug my tired body out of bed with the thought of taking a walking tour . . .was less than excited about that prospect. Man, I miss having my own car!! (However, I know it's a LOT healthier to walk to so many places.) We ended up going to the Museum of Communism--small but quite interesting. We thought to forego the walking tour until tomorrow, but then happened across it in Weneslaus (sp?) Square and joined up part way through. Presently we are waiting until 1 p.m. here to continue . . .hence my ability to check email and write here. I've heard some fantastic stories on this tour thus far. Will have to share more at a later time. I do go home in three days . . .I've decided that I'd like a good night's sleep and a better bathroom and shower. It's ok, but I tend to miss home after awhile. However, so far I've been glad to here. Later I will have to share my reflections on the different countries and groups of people I've observed here. Must go. I pay by minute for my internet usage.