WordSisters

Tag: wordsisters

  • Unknown Adventure

    Unknown Adventure

    Juan Jose’, Ani, Rosa

    “She needs a blood transfusion, and then if possible surgery. The hospital is so busy because of the volcano victims.”

    As of June 6, 2018, At least 192 people are missing and 75 are dead as a result of the explosion of the Volcan de Fuego in Guatemala according to the BBC news.

    “Her blood levels are very low. She has to be in the hospital. She did not know. It was a surprise.”

    Jody, Juan Jose’, Crystel and I are traveling towards the Volcano of Fire. Before our trip is over, we will learn that entire villages on the slopes of Fuego volcano were buried in volcanic ash, mud and rocks. Hundreds of Guatemalans

    San Marcos La Laguna, Guatemala. photo credit, Juan Jose’

    are dead. Some have lost entire families.

    Eight years ago, Volcano Pacaya erupted. Juan Jose’ and Crystel were 7. When we

    landed in Guatemala on that trip, their first visit to Guatemala, volcanic ash was being shoveled from the airline strip.

    Crystel’s words were, “We are in my country now.”

    This will be our fifth visit to Guatemala.

    Alex Vicente Lopez, Guide Extraordinaire

    Before every trip, as I do with all of our vacations, I researched extensively. This year, I had planned a sailing adventure, leaving from Rio Dulce, Guatemala, sailing into Lake Izabal, and then on to the Caribbean after our visit with Rosa, Juan Jose’s birth mom.

    All trip planning stopped, and we cancelled the sailing trip when we received a message that Rosa had advanced cancer.

    This unpredictable country is Juan Jose’s and Crystel’s birthplace. Devastation, poverty, and constant struggle is a reality in Guatemala. News of volcanic eruptions and the hardships of birth moms who have given their children up in adoption slice Jody and I to the core. We provide what help we can. Our message to Juan Jose’ and Crystel is to be proud of where they come from.

    Kayak Guatemala, Los Elementos Our Happy Place

    Crystel was born in Amatitlan, in the shadow of Volcano Pacaya. Juan Jose’ is from the mountains of Rabinal. His grandfather and great grandfather died in the Civil War.

    Through the help of our village of friends in Guatemala: Lee and Elaine Beal of Los Elementos Adventure Center, Lesly Villatoro, of El Amor De Patricia, and the organization De Familia a Familia, we received assistance for Rosa. Lesly accompanied

    Rosa to the doctor. Rosa learned that she didn’t have cancer but a large fibroid that needed to be removed. We would be able to visit with her on our last day in Guatemala with De Familia a Familia providing interpretation services.

    As in our four previous trips, we would stay at Los Elementos and have Alex Vicente Lopez as our guide for our 5-day stay at Lake Atitlan. And we’d have many unknown

    Crystel in native dress. A gift from Juanita, Alex’s wife.

    adventures, because plans can suddenly change.

    We would be vacationing in Crystel’s and Juan Jose’s ever-changing birth country – traveling towards 37 volcanoes, 3 of them active, and 1 erupting.

    Amongst the poverty, devastation, and volcanoes we would find beauty. Guatemalans are strong, proud, and loving.

    Their country beautiful.

     

  • I’m A Gamer

    I’m A Gamer

    Juan Jose guffaws, “That’s NOT a gamer, Mom.”

    All three people in my household agree with each other that I’m addicted to the Ticket to Ride app on my phone. It’s the only game application that I have downloaded. It’s my secret pleasure, though it isn’t such a secret, when I tell them that I’ll be in the house as soon as my game is over. I sit in the car while Jody, Juan and Crystel unload themselves and make their way into the house.

    I’m not convinced that I’m addicted. Though, one day I did cancel the app three times only to download it again.

    Ticket to Ride, has brought me to a new understanding of teenage boys and why they like electronic games.

    I’m totally sucked in when I’m playing. Voices in the house are just that—voices. Time drifts away. Once in awhile, I hear Crystel above the din saying, “Language, mom. Language.”

    It is true that my vocabulary has grown since playing Ticket to Ride.

    At times, Jody will think that I’m talking to her until she realizes that I’m having a conversation with my phone and these unseen people who I’m playing against.

    Once another player (there are 3 other players—all anonymous) typed, “edigrazia sucks.” I had intentionally blocked their train route to gain advantage. I flinched. After the game, I quickly changed my profile name, edigrazia to just numbers. I felt more hidden, more anonymous. Currently, my profile name is juegodetren (playthetrain). I told Juan and Crystel that now the other players think I’m Hispanic. I even went on Google translate to get the spelling right.

    “Oh, mom,” they said, shaking their heads.

    Jody recently sent me a picture of a grandma gamer. “Maybe it’s good for your brain,” she said.

    I think she was attempting to come to peace with my gaming, although she got upset the other day.

    In our driveway she sat in the police car waiting for me. We were volunteering that evening for Police Reserves. I joined her in the front seat but asked her not to leave the driveway until I was done with my game. Sometimes, a quick change in web address will kick you off the game. And, I had an edge. I thought I might win this one.

    Jody logged us into the police computer. I didn’t observe her because I was focused on my game. She pulled out of the driveway and it happened. I was kicked off.

    Later that evening, dispatch was calling 2662 to respond to a complaint of a barking dog. We didn’t pay any attention because our call sign is 2552. There was a bit of confusion with dispatch and the sergeant. After some checking we realized that we were signed in as 2662.

    Fortunately, being a police reserve officer is a volunteer position. You can’t fire a volunteer…or can you?

    All because of juego de tren?

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • One Person Can Make a Difference

    One person can make a difference.

    Aunt Kate did.

    My Aunt died 30 years ago but it is her that comforts me. I imagine me sitting next to her, wrapping myself around her ham of an arm and never letting go. She loved me. That I know. I could see it in her worried eyes. I could feel it in her nervous energy. She wasn’t perfect, neither was I in our relationship. In my early twenties she had asked me to meet her at a wake for a dear friend of hers. I told her that I would but then I didn’t show. I had my excuses. I was too tired. I had worked long hours on the night shift into the morning. I was exhausted and needed sleep. I couldn’t summon the energy to dress into nice clothes, navigate through the cold wintry weather, and step into the funeral home. She asked me later that day where I was. I could hear her disappointment. I held the phone to my ear, imagined her waiting for me. My aunt who didn’t ask anything of me but this one time, who counted on me to be there for her.

    Aunt Kate was a caretaker of her siblings throughout her life, before her service in the army and after. She never married.

    It was her boyfriend from days gone by that had passed away and I didn’t show. My one unforgiveable regret.

    She must have forgiven me because as she lay dying at age 83, she visited me though we were miles apart. Her white shadowy spirit passed through the room. I was kneeling at my bedside, sobbing because I knew that I would never make it to her in time.

    At that moment, my mother called. “Aunt Kate died,” she said.

    “I know.” I felt oddly comforted by Aunt Kate’s presence. By her choice to see me before she departed this life. She recognized my love for her. “I know,” she was saying to me. “I know.”

    It’s because of Aunt Kate that I live my life differently. I show up for people that I care about though I may be too tired, too exhausted, too busy, and the drive too far.

    I went to Aunt Kate’s gravesite on the anniversary of her death. She would have liked that I thought of her and put flowers at her headstone. She would have liked that I pulled two of the flowers from the bouquet and put one on each side of her at her neighbor’s graves though neither of us knew them. She would have liked that I showed up though it was impossibly hard to find her grave at Fort Snelling even though I had been there before. It was cold. It was windy. I had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t give up. She didn’t give up on me.

    It’s her that comforts me even now.