In 10 days I leave for Africa.
I have no e-ticket.
I have no passport.
It's exhausting to be me.
Today I called the travel agency to inquire about the absence of our e-tickets (did I mention 11 people are going to Africa with me, and they are calling me their "Leader"? It's true. And this "leader" has no tickets for her team.). The very kind man at the travel agency informed me we don't need e-tickets; the airline will give us a boarding pass at check-in. I was speechless. Clearly, this gentleman has never tried to get out of a Third World airport. Not only do we have to show the non-computerized personnel our e-tickets, we have to write down the airport codes for each of our cities of final destination (this team is coming from 3 different US cities). After we repeatedly assure them that our point of entry into the US is not our final destination, and try to explain that yes, we do have to claim our bags momentarily in US customs, it is truly the city of final destination that needs to be written on the luggage tag. In pen. Did I mention the lack of computerization?
The first time I returned from Burundi with hand-written luggage tags, the baggage handlers at Dulles were stunned. One guy looked down at the tag, looked up at me and said, "Where in the world did you just come from?" And then he sent my bags to the wrong city. Funny: I travel all the way to Africa and back, and it's typically the handlers in my port of entry who lose my luggage. It's become a tradition. The last time I came home, I didn't even go to baggage claim. I went right to the lost luggage office and filed my claim. Sure enough, my bags were sent to Portland. I am in Phoenix.
But before we can experience the funnies of getting out of Africa, I really need to get in! The travel agent asked me, "Would you consider this an emergency request, getting these e-tickets?"
"Uh, yeah. Thank you."
Evidently, they did not, as the tickets did not come to my inbox today.
No matter, really. Can't leave the country without my passport, even if I do have an e-ticket. My passport? Yes, I had to send it to the Burundian embassy to get a visa. This is the first time we've had to do this. Until now, we have always been able to get our visas in the Burundian airport. Not anymore. No. Now we have to send our passport, 3 completed visa applications (identical to each other), 3 passport photos, proof of hotel reservations in Burundi, proof of a round trip ticket (they actually accepted our reservation, as we don't have any round trip tickets!), a return envelope with $18 in postage, and $80 for the visa.
And then wait, fighting panic that my passport will survive the journey out of my custody. I have called the embassy every day since Monday, and been assured my passport was being mailed the next day. You know what they say, "Tomorrow never comes." Evidently, some people live by that adage.
Today I called to see if my passport had been mailed. Yes, it was mailed yesterday. She gave me the USPS tracking number.
It's invalid.
I heard a report awhile back that stress causes obesity.
I'm blowing up like a balloon. Sorry, Chuck Norris. Nothing you can do to stop it.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
It's Monday
Dear Mr. Norris,
I finally figured out how to practice the "Hip Abduction" move. If I may submit my ever-so-humble opinion, hiring a thug to abduct the excess from my hips would be much preferred.
Sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
I finally figured out how to practice the "Hip Abduction" move. If I may submit my ever-so-humble opinion, hiring a thug to abduct the excess from my hips would be much preferred.
Sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
Saturday, April 3, 2010
It's Me Again, Mr. Norris
Dear Mr. Norris,
If I'd known my sister was going to forward my blog to your company, I never would have said that about you being 70 years old "for pity's sake". I only meant that I'm young enough to be your daughter.
I am, however, very grateful for the 30 page instruction manual for the Total Gym 1000 that one of your team members forwarded to her for me. Right on the cover was the explanation for my feet releasing and sending me zooming backward at 30 miles an hour: I had the bars anchored to the WRONG end.
As a visual learner, I am confident that the pictures provided in the user's guide are going to lead me to a state of buffness that will shock my peers.
Most sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
If I'd known my sister was going to forward my blog to your company, I never would have said that about you being 70 years old "for pity's sake". I only meant that I'm young enough to be your daughter.
I am, however, very grateful for the 30 page instruction manual for the Total Gym 1000 that one of your team members forwarded to her for me. Right on the cover was the explanation for my feet releasing and sending me zooming backward at 30 miles an hour: I had the bars anchored to the WRONG end.
As a visual learner, I am confident that the pictures provided in the user's guide are going to lead me to a state of buffness that will shock my peers.
Most sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
Friday, April 2, 2010
Dear Chuck Norris
Dear Mr. Norris,
Give me a minute to catch my breath....
What's that? Oh, no. Your physique has no bearing on my gasping for air. Well, actually, it does, but not in the manner you're imagining. You're 70 years old, for pity's sake.
You see, I just spent some quality time with your Total Gym. I'm not sure the level of quality, but I can assure you, the time was quality.
Because the cost of the Total Gym package from your website would cost me the price of a plane ticket to Burundi, I went ahead and bought my neighbor's cast-off Total Gym 1000 last weekend for $40. Of course, the instruction booklet is long gone, but what's to worry about? I saw you and Christie Brinkley on the infomercial and was impressed with this one thought, "Nothing to it!"
As is typically true with self-described impressive thoughts, I didn't discover "nothing" when I went "to it" this morning.
Deciding that abs were a good place to start (I have plenty of abdominal material to work with), I laid down on the inclined bench and put my feet where I thought they should go. I can't really tell you what happened next, but I do recall lying there, head slanted downward, trying to visualize what my feet and legs were doing (I couldn't lift my head to look because that would require strong abdominals and I don't have those amongst my plethora of 'material'). When I attempted what I thought would be a good move, I don't know what happened. But it struck me funny. Knowing that laughter is good for the abs, I went ahead and laughed for a bit. I tried a few more moves, then resorted to some core stretches--all while my feet remained in that unseen formerly supposed to be a good position.
After a few of those, I started to feel the burn so quit for today. The last thing I want to do is OVERdo! Realizing I needed to release my unseen feet from wherever they were in order to sit up, I did. With no warning whatsoever (it's probably in that missing instruction booklet), the inclined bench went whizzing downward to the end of the thing (you know, that thing at the bottom of the unit), and I came to a jolting, upside down halt.
I remained on the bench for a few more minutes, jiggling with laughter--I mean, doing more ab work, then fell off.
Don't worry, I didn't hurt myself. I'm well-padded.
As I laid there working on my abs, I wondered if you'd be interested in featuring me in one of your infomercials? I'm sure I have great genetic potential. Afterall, you should see my brother's abs. They don't jiggle at all.
Most sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
Give me a minute to catch my breath....
What's that? Oh, no. Your physique has no bearing on my gasping for air. Well, actually, it does, but not in the manner you're imagining. You're 70 years old, for pity's sake.
You see, I just spent some quality time with your Total Gym. I'm not sure the level of quality, but I can assure you, the time was quality.
Because the cost of the Total Gym package from your website would cost me the price of a plane ticket to Burundi, I went ahead and bought my neighbor's cast-off Total Gym 1000 last weekend for $40. Of course, the instruction booklet is long gone, but what's to worry about? I saw you and Christie Brinkley on the infomercial and was impressed with this one thought, "Nothing to it!"
As is typically true with self-described impressive thoughts, I didn't discover "nothing" when I went "to it" this morning.
Deciding that abs were a good place to start (I have plenty of abdominal material to work with), I laid down on the inclined bench and put my feet where I thought they should go. I can't really tell you what happened next, but I do recall lying there, head slanted downward, trying to visualize what my feet and legs were doing (I couldn't lift my head to look because that would require strong abdominals and I don't have those amongst my plethora of 'material'). When I attempted what I thought would be a good move, I don't know what happened. But it struck me funny. Knowing that laughter is good for the abs, I went ahead and laughed for a bit. I tried a few more moves, then resorted to some core stretches--all while my feet remained in that unseen formerly supposed to be a good position.
After a few of those, I started to feel the burn so quit for today. The last thing I want to do is OVERdo! Realizing I needed to release my unseen feet from wherever they were in order to sit up, I did. With no warning whatsoever (it's probably in that missing instruction booklet), the inclined bench went whizzing downward to the end of the thing (you know, that thing at the bottom of the unit), and I came to a jolting, upside down halt.
I remained on the bench for a few more minutes, jiggling with laughter--I mean, doing more ab work, then fell off.
Don't worry, I didn't hurt myself. I'm well-padded.
As I laid there working on my abs, I wondered if you'd be interested in featuring me in one of your infomercials? I'm sure I have great genetic potential. Afterall, you should see my brother's abs. They don't jiggle at all.
Most sincerely,
Denise in Phoenix
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
It's a Sad Day
When your little boy clings to the neck of his dog, sobbing because she's going to be put down, it's a sad day.
Should that same little boy be sitting next to his sister's hospital bed begging her to live through a vicious dog attack, that would be an even sadder day.
The saddest day of all would be witnessing that little boy dripping tears on his sister's casket because the jaws of the dog were big enough, and powerful enough, to snuff out her life in one bite to the neck.
I chose the sad day version this morning, and our beloved Great Dane fell asleep forever in my lap on the floor in the vet's office.
I'm thankful for the God of Daniel who held closed the jaws of this enormous creature when she lunged, snarling, at my little girl, without provocation.
Thank you, Jesus, that the bizarre aggressive episodes ended only in a sad day.
Should that same little boy be sitting next to his sister's hospital bed begging her to live through a vicious dog attack, that would be an even sadder day.
The saddest day of all would be witnessing that little boy dripping tears on his sister's casket because the jaws of the dog were big enough, and powerful enough, to snuff out her life in one bite to the neck.
I chose the sad day version this morning, and our beloved Great Dane fell asleep forever in my lap on the floor in the vet's office.
I'm thankful for the God of Daniel who held closed the jaws of this enormous creature when she lunged, snarling, at my little girl, without provocation.
Thank you, Jesus, that the bizarre aggressive episodes ended only in a sad day.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What Was That Noise?
Yesterday, Doug and I decided to get Slim in 6. We popped in the dvd, our son left the room "before I get grossed out", and we got started.
We're supposed to take "before" pictures of ourselves so that we can compare them to our "after" pictures with the disclaimer "results not typical". We haven't yet taken our photos (which I'm supposed to do in a sports bra and shorts. I'm thinking why not go all the way and get a bikini?), but I can assure you that our experience this morning surely fit into the "results not typical" category.
I'm still crying.
From laughing.
At my husband.
If he would care to laugh at me, he'd be incapacitated for the day, but he chose to diligently watch the screen and give this work out his all in all. I couldn't help sneaking a peak at him once in awhile, and I would just crumple to the floor. He wasn't doing anything wrong, I think it was his enthusiasm that slayed me. That, and the noises.
In deference to our dignity, I will not expound on the noises beyond: we're old enough that lying on the floor and attempting to bring our knees and chins toward each other results in some...noises.
That's all I'm going to say.
Not long after our workout, I heard Doug leave the house for the day. Frowning at the fact that he did not come upstairs to tell me goodbye, I headed downstairs to get my phone and call him. On the second step, as pain sliced through my thigh muscles, I had an epiphany...
Ring, ring.
Doug: "Hello?"
Me: "Did you leave without telling me goodbye because you didn't want to climb the stairs?"
Doug: short burst of chagrined laughter, hesitation, then "Yes. My thighs are killing me! I stood at the bottom of the stairs for a couple minutes trying to pysche myself into climbing up, but I couldn't do it. I was gonna call you...."
We started dating when we were 16 years old. I guarantee you we never thought this day would come. But we'll get through it. If we're successful, we'll be slim in 6 weeks. THEN I'll post the photos!
We're supposed to take "before" pictures of ourselves so that we can compare them to our "after" pictures with the disclaimer "results not typical". We haven't yet taken our photos (which I'm supposed to do in a sports bra and shorts. I'm thinking why not go all the way and get a bikini?), but I can assure you that our experience this morning surely fit into the "results not typical" category.
I'm still crying.
From laughing.
At my husband.
If he would care to laugh at me, he'd be incapacitated for the day, but he chose to diligently watch the screen and give this work out his all in all. I couldn't help sneaking a peak at him once in awhile, and I would just crumple to the floor. He wasn't doing anything wrong, I think it was his enthusiasm that slayed me. That, and the noises.
In deference to our dignity, I will not expound on the noises beyond: we're old enough that lying on the floor and attempting to bring our knees and chins toward each other results in some...noises.
That's all I'm going to say.
Not long after our workout, I heard Doug leave the house for the day. Frowning at the fact that he did not come upstairs to tell me goodbye, I headed downstairs to get my phone and call him. On the second step, as pain sliced through my thigh muscles, I had an epiphany...
Ring, ring.
Doug: "Hello?"
Me: "Did you leave without telling me goodbye because you didn't want to climb the stairs?"
Doug: short burst of chagrined laughter, hesitation, then "Yes. My thighs are killing me! I stood at the bottom of the stairs for a couple minutes trying to pysche myself into climbing up, but I couldn't do it. I was gonna call you...."
We started dating when we were 16 years old. I guarantee you we never thought this day would come. But we'll get through it. If we're successful, we'll be slim in 6 weeks. THEN I'll post the photos!
Friday, December 11, 2009
What Did You Learn Today?
Their entire lives, I've home schooled them. From the cradle I've used correct grammar, read to them, and sought to engage their brains in rational and purposeful thought. As toddlers, they were never excused from wrong actions because of their age. Entering into more formal academic education, one of their primary objectives (primary to me, but not necessarily recognized by them) became not so much the math and science; rather learning how to learn and to love to learn.
I'm trying to raise learners.
Learners who can take instruction, follow directions, ask for guidance, dig for truth, rely on the Holy Spirit, respect authority, appropriately question authority, obey trusted authority, assume responsibility over their sphere, their words, their actions. Learners who look at the world through the lens of Jesus and search for the heart of the matter in fairness and truth. Learners who delight not just in knowledge but in understanding, and who pay attention to details that others might miss, striving to respond always with the heart of Jesus.
Lofty goal, I know. But allow me my lofty goals.
Come with me now to last Tuesday. We were on our way to visit with a Burundian refugee family who has been recently relocated here in the Phoenix area from a camp in Tanzania. Our role in their lives is to help them acclimate to American culture and to practice English with them.
As one would expect, the organization repatriating refugees from various countries is not placing them in upper middle class neighborhoods. The journey to our Burundian friends' apartment complex, therefore, leads us through a section of Phoenix that actually causes me to hesitate periodically and ask "Where am I?" As in, what country am I in? This is not a derogatory question, it's sincere. I see enough of another culture(s) around me that I have split second flashes of confusion. At one point, I even had the fleeting thought, "Where's my passport?" (When I'm in Burundi, I always have my passport with me.)
I realize this does not happen to you. That's terrific. It doesn't happen to my own children. That's even more terrific. Because when I ask, "Where are we?" they calmly answer me, and we keep driving. Is it so wrong that this is normal to them?!
That truth revealed about one of my (many personal) 'issues', let's continue down the road to the apartment complex located in the Phoenix suburb of Looks-Like-Mexico-But-There-Are-Burundians-Walking-Down-The-Street-With-Babies-On-Their-Backs-So-WHERE-THE-HECK-AM-I?
We needed to stop at a dollar store for a quick purchase before our visit with our new friends, so when I saw a sign for one, I pulled in. To Mexico. The ground to roof-line bars on the store front tipped me off to the fact that the locals don't consider this area overly safe and secure, and the man with a far-off look in his eye pacing in front of the store spurred me to say to my kids, "Just stay close to me, and pay attention to what's going on around you." They know this drill well, because they go everywhere with me. I've said this to them in Africa, in airports, in cities all across the United States. Shoot, I have to. Child predators swarm through middle class white America.
We walked into the dollar store, which my daughter said reminded her of a grocery store in Burundi, and everyone who saw us paused with a mixture of wary and curious. We walked through the store as though we visit Mexico every day, got what we needed and headed out the door.
The man who had given me pause on the way in now had his back partially toward us, his left hand holding that nostril closed and his right hand raised to his right nostril as he loudly and repeatedly sniffed.
As we headed for the van, I noticed my children lagging behind. I said something I never, ever, ever, never, ever, ever, never expected to say to my children, "Get in the van and away from that man snorting cocaine." (This I said quietly, by the way.)
Once inside our vehicle, we had a little chat about that man and what must his pain be that he has turned to drugs. We're not to judge him for his drug use, but to care about his heart. I told them my haste was due to the fact that drugs render individuals unpredictable, and if he was actually snorting cocaine, that that drug often exhibits in bizarre acts of violence. I just didn't want to be there if that happened. I then proceeded, in response to their questions, to demonstrate how drugs are snorted--which is why I knew the guy was snorting some type of drug (and should they ever find themselves in a situation in which someone is snorting drugs, I want them to be able to recognize what's going on). I clarified with them that I didn't know for sure which drug he was snorting, and that maybe he was just sniffing from a runny nose and not snorting any drug at all...but his whole demeanor made me suspicious and we have to be alert and act accordingly--with wisdom, not fear.
We went on to visit our Burundian friends, teaching them to count in English and playing cards with the kids. And I never gave the Dollar Store Snorting another thought.
Until dinner.
As we sat together as a family, feasting on broccoli & cream cheese pasta with chicken and salad, I asked the kids, "What did you learn today?" We had a morning of school, a great visit with new friends from another country, a drive through town that looks so much like yet another country--so many cultural things to take in and ruminate on. I was waiting for my children to show themselves the deep learners that I tell myself I strive so hard to mold. But no. Their dad nearly choked on his rotini when our daughter said:
"I learned that you actually snort drugs. I didn't know that. I thought you either took pills or shots."
Effective immediately, I resign.
I'm trying to raise learners.
Learners who can take instruction, follow directions, ask for guidance, dig for truth, rely on the Holy Spirit, respect authority, appropriately question authority, obey trusted authority, assume responsibility over their sphere, their words, their actions. Learners who look at the world through the lens of Jesus and search for the heart of the matter in fairness and truth. Learners who delight not just in knowledge but in understanding, and who pay attention to details that others might miss, striving to respond always with the heart of Jesus.
Lofty goal, I know. But allow me my lofty goals.
Come with me now to last Tuesday. We were on our way to visit with a Burundian refugee family who has been recently relocated here in the Phoenix area from a camp in Tanzania. Our role in their lives is to help them acclimate to American culture and to practice English with them.
As one would expect, the organization repatriating refugees from various countries is not placing them in upper middle class neighborhoods. The journey to our Burundian friends' apartment complex, therefore, leads us through a section of Phoenix that actually causes me to hesitate periodically and ask "Where am I?" As in, what country am I in? This is not a derogatory question, it's sincere. I see enough of another culture(s) around me that I have split second flashes of confusion. At one point, I even had the fleeting thought, "Where's my passport?" (When I'm in Burundi, I always have my passport with me.)
I realize this does not happen to you. That's terrific. It doesn't happen to my own children. That's even more terrific. Because when I ask, "Where are we?" they calmly answer me, and we keep driving. Is it so wrong that this is normal to them?!
That truth revealed about one of my (many personal) 'issues', let's continue down the road to the apartment complex located in the Phoenix suburb of Looks-Like-Mexico-But-There-Are-Burundians-Walking-Down-The-Street-With-Babies-On-Their-Backs-So-WHERE-THE-HECK-AM-I?
We needed to stop at a dollar store for a quick purchase before our visit with our new friends, so when I saw a sign for one, I pulled in. To Mexico. The ground to roof-line bars on the store front tipped me off to the fact that the locals don't consider this area overly safe and secure, and the man with a far-off look in his eye pacing in front of the store spurred me to say to my kids, "Just stay close to me, and pay attention to what's going on around you." They know this drill well, because they go everywhere with me. I've said this to them in Africa, in airports, in cities all across the United States. Shoot, I have to. Child predators swarm through middle class white America.
We walked into the dollar store, which my daughter said reminded her of a grocery store in Burundi, and everyone who saw us paused with a mixture of wary and curious. We walked through the store as though we visit Mexico every day, got what we needed and headed out the door.
The man who had given me pause on the way in now had his back partially toward us, his left hand holding that nostril closed and his right hand raised to his right nostril as he loudly and repeatedly sniffed.
As we headed for the van, I noticed my children lagging behind. I said something I never, ever, ever, never, ever, ever, never expected to say to my children, "Get in the van and away from that man snorting cocaine." (This I said quietly, by the way.)
Once inside our vehicle, we had a little chat about that man and what must his pain be that he has turned to drugs. We're not to judge him for his drug use, but to care about his heart. I told them my haste was due to the fact that drugs render individuals unpredictable, and if he was actually snorting cocaine, that that drug often exhibits in bizarre acts of violence. I just didn't want to be there if that happened. I then proceeded, in response to their questions, to demonstrate how drugs are snorted--which is why I knew the guy was snorting some type of drug (and should they ever find themselves in a situation in which someone is snorting drugs, I want them to be able to recognize what's going on). I clarified with them that I didn't know for sure which drug he was snorting, and that maybe he was just sniffing from a runny nose and not snorting any drug at all...but his whole demeanor made me suspicious and we have to be alert and act accordingly--with wisdom, not fear.
We went on to visit our Burundian friends, teaching them to count in English and playing cards with the kids. And I never gave the Dollar Store Snorting another thought.
Until dinner.
As we sat together as a family, feasting on broccoli & cream cheese pasta with chicken and salad, I asked the kids, "What did you learn today?" We had a morning of school, a great visit with new friends from another country, a drive through town that looks so much like yet another country--so many cultural things to take in and ruminate on. I was waiting for my children to show themselves the deep learners that I tell myself I strive so hard to mold. But no. Their dad nearly choked on his rotini when our daughter said:
"I learned that you actually snort drugs. I didn't know that. I thought you either took pills or shots."
Effective immediately, I resign.
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