As desperate as the situation is and as responsible as I feel to do something, I object to the word some on the news have used to describe what people are suffering there: “holocaust”. It is a terrible tragedy, conditions that millions around the world live in everyday and I despise the fact that it is happening and dragging on in the country I love. But it’s not a holocaust. It’s not deliberate annihilation of a group of people by another. It is desperate and uncomfortable and yes, deadly for some and definitely an inept effort at relief but it is not holocaust.

Mabye I’m a little sensitive to that word.

It’s been hard for me to put into words what I am feeling about the catastrophe on the Gulf Coast. Some of the images have reminded me of things I see here in Brazil on a weekly basis. It’s like it’s not even America. I’ve really missed my family during this time, I’m sure because of the emotional nature of the things I’m seeing on the news, but then also because it makes me feel like that’s not the country I know and love. At times like this everyone turns to their own preconceived ideas in order to blame someone.

I’m tired of thinking about who is to blame. It’s a tragedy.

WE weren’t prepared to respond.

WE didn’t anticipate all the damage.

WE have to take action.

WE are responsible for the lives of those people at the convention center.

I’M responsible and I need to figure out what I’m going to do about it from 5,000 miles away here in Brazil.

I hate trying to scrape the last traces of peanut butter out of the jar but I can’t bring myself to throw the jar away until I’ve succeeded.

What do you hate but feel compelled to do anyway?

I’m terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I’m rarely on my own – a wasted day Is any day that’s spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?

Thirty hours of hanging out in airplanes and airports gives you a skewed sense of the world and time. After a period of time, you begin think that you really *NEED* a glow in the dark luggage tag with a gps locator device. Or a 100 foot beam LED flashlight with strobe function as opposed to the Barbie one you swiped from your daughter’s nightstand. At the very least you become convinced the latest issue of Star magazine is sufficiently literary to deserve at least a portion of your airport wait. A hefty portion considering how long it is you are having to wait.

Thirty hours is enough time to realize you should have worn sneakers instead of flip-flops, long sleeves instead of short and more deodorant. You should also have packed more diapers and diaper wipes in your bag as well as a couple hundred changes of clothes for the kids. You embarked on your trip with absolute certainty that there was no way in the world you would need the entire refill bag of 180 moistened towelettes. But sadly, you had never realized just how many things there are to spill, stain and sticky-fy a child in an airport. Gum, candy, the half-finished Starbucks decaf non-fat triple syrup cup of whipped glue the person sitting next to you just left on the floor, not to mention Cinnabon, Auntie Annie’s and Mr. Goody’s peanut shack. It’s amazing your children didn’t get on their 10 hour flight with a crunchy candy coating.

In thirty hours, you can eat 6 meals if you time it just right, along with a snack or two thrown in for good measure, drink 8 fountain drinks, read 15 magazines at 15 different magazine stands and spend 3 hours sifting through racks of golf jackets you didn’t even know you needed.

The next time you plan a trip, you’ll remember that 30 hours airport time is at least 3 days in the real world. You’ll remember that you emerge 30 hours later with a build up of at least 3 days worth of grime and stress. But you’ll be relieved to remember that your children escaped unscathed by the long wait.

They were too busy licking their way out of their protecive candy coating to notice.

Growing up in the South provided me with a unique opportunity to be uninformed about the rest of the world. I mean my favorite childhood memory is shelling peas and drinking Pepsi from the Piggly Wiggly (or was it Winn-Dixie?). It should be obvious that I wasn’t exactly cultured in any sense of the word, except the Southern sense.

Traveling around the world and now living in Brazil, meeting diverse people and learning from them has caused me to expand my borders a bit. Here are a few things I’ve learned about the world:

1. Earl Grey tea rocks. (Thanks to my Brit friend, Clare!) Nothing like a little down time in the afternoon with a cup of tea.

2. Fish does not have to be fried to be enjoyed. You can make a meal off of sushi. (Again, thanks to Clare.)

3. For the majority of the world, football doesn’t involve the use of helmets and shoulder pads.

4. Underwear in the rest of the world is designed for those who wax.

5. Wherever you go, you are there. And Coca-cola tastes the same. Even when drinking it out of a plastic bag.

6. Most of the rest of the world doesn’t use hairspray.

7. It is possible to say a complete sentence without using the word “ya’ll”…ya’ll.

8. The American flag in some places gets the same response as the Confederate flag up North.

9. SpongeBob translates well.

I had some others I forgot. I’ll share more as they come to me.

I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. I was at school. It’s not my fault. I wasn’t here. It’s not mine.

EXCUSES ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY.

Especially when they’re not true. It seems like if my children don’t pay attention to what they are doing when they do it, they feel they are not responsible for what they have done.

Which would mean they would consider themselves not responsible for driving me crazy.

Ok, then. Who do I get to blame?

1. Total number of books owned:

Hmm, I’m looking now. Looks like somewhere around 1,000. We had more but got rid of some when we moved to Brazil 7 years ago.

2. Last book bought?

INKHEART by Cornelia Funke

3. Last book I read?

BUD, NOT BUDDY by Christopher Paul Curtis, if you mean for me.
DINOSAUR ROAR by Paul and Henrietta Stickland, if you mean out loud to my kids.

4.Five books that mean a lot to me?

HINDS’ FEET ON HIGH PLACES by Hannah Hurnard; I’m not usually a fan of allegory but I read this at a perfect time in my life to appreciate the symbolism.

A WRINKLE IN TIME by Madeleine L’Engle

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (and the rest) by L.M. Montgomery; It’s a close call but I think I loved them even more than the LITTLE HOUSE books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, but not by much.

OUT OF THE DUST by Karen Hesse; my introduction to free-verse novels

This last one will leave a few of you shaking your heads in disbelief, but it’s true. In the spring of 1985, just after my father died, I had to do a book report for my sophomore high school English class. I needed to escape. It couldn’t be anything sad or realistic. It had to be something that took me to another time and place. So it was that THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL by Baroness Orczy Emmuska became a temporary journey for me during a very difficult time. I remember that book fondly every time I think of it.

Okay, you’re it

Now you have to ante up and make your first post, Katygirl!

I didn’t try to post any of these but suffice it to say that the few times I tried it were hilarious.

I stole annemariepace’s boyfriend, married her cousin, dotificus got me in trouble with the law for discussing socks with an undercover officer, elsbetvance stole kpluta’s cheescake and almafullerton got my mom drunk. Not all in the same episode.

 

This morning, as I walked home from exercising, I passed a park, full of people, a military band and police officers. It was time for the changing of the flag.

In this particular park at one of the highest points in the city, once a month the military police take down the enormous flag that has grown ratty by wind and rain and replace it with a new one. It’s always an event, but especially so today, which must be something like Flag Day.

There was even an air show, with what looked (and sounded) like WW2 era airplanes. The kids in the crowd were transfixed. Most of the kids hanging out in the park during that time of day are either semi-homeless or unschooled. So this must have seemed like a once in a lifetime thing to them.

My first thoughts, though, were of disgust. I thought, “how in the world can the Brazilian governement justify this expense? These poor children are starving, unschooled, have no hope of getting out of the situations they are in. Why not help them instead of entertaining them? My second thought was almost equal in disdain: We’re in the city, for goodness sakes. I can’t believe they are doing this over all these buildings. What if there is an accident?

But I stood there long enough to see the children’s faces transformed by what they were seeing and experiencing. Looking at them, it all seemed worth it. Yes, I wished the airplanes would be careful. Yes, I wished the government would do more to give these children a hand up. But what they were experiencing in that moment was pure joy. And it brought tears to my eyes.

I don’t often talk about my faith here in my blog. It’s always a thread through the center of my life but most of what I share here is, well…mundane and unimportant. But as I was thinking about what I had just seen, it dawned on me that the situation was a true example of how I view my faith. I don’t have answers to all the questions in the world, the suffering, the violence, the despair. I’ve had friends ask, “If there is truly a God, how can he justify not doing something about all the suffering, the famine, the despair? How can He allow evil to exist?”

I can provide all kinds of answers about God’s character and how he chooses to work. I can quote verses from the Bible about who He is and how He works. But in the end it all boils down to this: I know the pure joy of experiencing Him. I was once emotionally and spiritually starving and homeless. My heart has been transformed by a gift. Just like those homeless children, my daily situation may not look that much different but I know a hope that I didn’t know before.

Today, I feel the same thing I saw on the faces of those children in the park.

Pure joy.