Cub Scouts

As a Den leader to my second grade wolf den, I try to do projects with the boys and their parents that give them a sense of a job well done.

Last week, we made kites for our kite parade, which is scheduled for the 23rd. After looking at far too many choices of kites we could make, I found one that met my criteria- inexpensive supplies and ease of construction. We made garbage bag kites.

I will set aside for a moment that the young man in Home Depot didn't know what a dowel was. Each kite required 2 dowels, a garbage bag, masking tape and twine. So for less than $2 a child, I was able to get everything needed.

The plan was a bit more complicated than I originally thought and not every line was perfectly straight and I am sure a few angles were off a bit, but with me, 3 other moms, and one uncle, all five boys finished the basic kite before the meeting ended. They were told to decorate the kites before the 23rd, and we cleaned up the area.

One of my boys decided to test run his kite and IT FLEW!

It worked! We did our best and it worked...amazing!

Peace Corps Anniversary

On March 1st, 1961, President John F. Kennedy created the Peace Corps, and since then, thousands of volunteers from all across America have served in countries around the world.

I am honored to have served in Guatemala. I had always planned to serve. In Eight grade, my class was shown a video of volunteers working in different countries. One was a nurse serving in an African nation. I decided then and there that I would, as an adult, be a nurse in the Peace Corps and make a difference.

I think my parents believed I would outgrow the desire. Many of my friends thought I was crazy. And many asked me how I could believe that I could change the world.

These people were never volunteers.

I joined. I served. I taught. But I received so much more than I gave.

The children in my village showed me how to make a top from a bit of wood and how to make it spin. The mothers gave me sage advice about living in Guatemala. A male friend taught me to dance and patiently corrected my Spanish over and over again. I learned to slow down, I learned to appreciate that my way was not the only way. I washed in a large bucket, because I had no shower. I baked in a pot because I had no oven. I slept in a bug net- and it wasn't only because of mosquitoes...

Beans and rice were the staples in my diet. Lizards darted across the road and in time I stopped noticing them- they became routine. I fell in love with tamales- they are amazing. I walked everywhere. I loved walking down to the river, I remember the spring at the base of the mountain, hidden by trees, as one of the most beautiful places...

I learned you can sit three adults in a school bus seat. And that sometimes a chicken will peck your ankles. I lived in a house of cement block with a tin roof. My furniture was all hand made and basic.

I have thousands of memories, moments in time. Peace Corps is a tough job- being away from everyone and everything you know. But I loved it.

Happy Birthday, Peace Corps!

Rick has left the Country

My boyfriend Rick is in his late forties, and I love him dearly. He has traveled to Canada, taken cruises to Mexico and some of the Caribbean islands, which some would count as foreign travel, but really- not so much.

Granted, they are different countries, but foreign travel in my mind means you need a passport, maybe even a visa.

Rick got his very first passport last year...

I admit, I was on my mother's passport and traveled to Ireland in 1968 so yes, my travels started at a younger age, but I don't really count Ireland, as we stayed with family, and it is my mother's home.

I returned with my sister to Ireland in 1976- again staying with family. I returned on my own at 16- and this time traveled to London as well- my wanderlust was born.

With over a dozen countries under my belt, not to mention living in Guatemala in the early 90's, I consider myself a veteran of foreign travel. Rick is more of a novice.

I was not the only one who thought so. His mom gave him a bunch of suggestions for his safety too. In fact, when I was reciting my (very long) list of do's and don'ts, he said I sounded very like his mother. I was nagging, I freely admit it, and being the good man he is, he listened.

He wore a plastic watch instead of his nice one, took a hand-held digital camera instead of his "wedding photographer" camera with the 7 lenses, and he wore a plain blue jacket instead of his leather one.

He arrived safely in Southern China, and will be there till March 15. He skypped me (not sure that is really a word, but whatever) and told me how hot he was (in the 90s- no sympathy from me as I looked out on the snow) and that he brought the right camera for the trip.

I felt vindicated.

My Irish Home

My mother was a farmer's daughter, born in 1939 in rural Ireland. She was the first of 10 children born to Edward and Ellen Moore, and lived on the family farm in Annaghkilly, Newbliss, until she emigrated with her sister to the Bronx.

My aunt took photos when they returned to the farm.

The small cottage is the first home my mother lived in- I picked peas with my sister Dee in the vegetable garden behind this cottage in 1976. It was removed to straighten and widen the lane so the milk truck had an easier time getting down the lane to the milking parlor each day.

Supper in the field- My grandfather (seated in overalls) and his brothers Peter (Seated beside him) and Patrick (in a sweater vest and cap) take a moment for tea-

My great uncle Peter milking by hand- before the milking parlor was built

Back to baling Hay

The lane in from the Newbliss road. Our little piece of heaven.

Guatemala 1992

Eighteen years ago this week, I landed with a small group of Americans at the international airport in Guatemala City. We were Peace Corps trainees, learning public health and animal husbandry. We were taken to a pension in Antigua for the night and were brought to CHP, our school for the next 3 months, the following day. We were each placed with a Guatemalan family in one of three villages, Santa Lucia, Santo Tomas, or Magdalena.

Lili Pineda was my Guatemalan mom, and I lived there with her and her sister, as well as their two children. Their sister Martha lived next door with her son, and more of the family was scattered around town. I was adopted by the whole family, and was invited to their church and all their family events, which immersed me in the Guatemalan culture.

Claudia was more a sister than a cousin, as she and her mom shared the house. She taught me about her culture far more than any book could and her mom embroidered a pillowcase and crocheted a sham as gifts for my birthday.

Luis was one of my cousins and he took me to Antigua, Panajachel and out with him and his friends. He helped me with my Spanish homework and was incredibly kind to me.

My training group was a very mixed group of amazing individuals. We grew as close as family and became lifelong friends during that 3 month training period.

And we learned Spanish- I reached an intermediate alto level by the time we were assigned to the aldeas we would work in. It was Mother’s day weekend in Guatemala when I traveled to Saltan the first time. Set in the beautiful moutains, it was a four hour bus ride on a largely unpaved road. Again I was met with kindness. I was welcomed into the fold in a place that had no phones, limited mail service and electricity when it didn’t rain so hard.

As a health extensionist volunteer, I worked on preventative medicine, which included vaccine campaigns, teaching women’s groups, and digging the odd latrine. I experienced medicine in a world of limited supplies and prohibitive costs. I learned and I learned and I learned…

I learned how lucky I was to have so much opportunity

I learned it is important to work within the culture of those you serve

I learned Spanish first-hand, not from a book

I learned what real poverty looked like

I learned that even if you have very little, it can be shared

I learned to love a country I wasn’t born to, with no relatives connecting me

I loved Guate, I still miss my adopted country, and I hope to visit again. Eighteen years have passed in the blink of an eye.

A birthday wish

I had a childhood friend, Steven, who died of leukemia the summer before I started high school. He was an out of state pen pal who meant the world to me and his death shocked me. For all that we shared through letters, he never once mentioned his leukemia came out of remission. He never told me he was dying. And then he was gone.

Steve would have celebrated his 46^th birthday on February 14^th this year, had he lived. Dying at 17 seemed so crazy- so unreal… but chemo didn’t work the same miracles in 1981 that it does now.

I am missing Steve this week.

I like to think he lives on… and not just in my memories. I see him in my stories and written work. He was the first person to teach me to paint a picture with words. He encouraged me to make good choices when I came to forks in the road. He was a voice of sobriety and sanity during a troubling childhood too full of drama, sadness and chaos. He was my lifeline and I lived for his letters.

It was hard on me when they stopped coming. And for a long time, high school was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

I was in Canada on his first birthday in heaven. I believe in heaven. That it is a real place of beauty. I have to believe he is there, with all the good men women and children who have passed through my life on their way to that perfect place

I like to think Steve is proud of me…rooting for me…supporting me… I strive to make a difference. I work hard to do for others who are in need. And I am embarrassed by praise that I sometimes receive- cause it is what I am supposed to do.

Knowing this young man made me a better person, a better friend and a better mom. I tell my kids I love them. They hear it every day- and twice on the days they are on my last nerve, jumping up and down. Cause it can be gone so quickly.

Steve signed every letter with Love you always – and I do it too- so those I love know it. Nobody should ever doubt they are loved.

So Steve-

Happy Birthday! I miss you.

Love you always,

Geri

Cards and letters

Last year, I didn't send a Christmas letter or cards, and when the holidays had passed, I sent the following e-mail- now as we approach another Christmas for which I feel totally unprepared, I reread it, laughing at the memories, and at how few things have changed...

One of my cats, Storm, went missing over Thanksgiving weekend, and Liz was distraught. I won’t get into how odd it was for her to be so upset about a cat she rarely fed and did not clean up after. When we found him four days later, he was in the animal shelter- you have to go and basically bail them out…. I had to go in the back where all the animals are held to ID him, and saw another beautiful long-haired grey cat, in a nearby cage. She was beautiful…friendly… my cat purred at her…

And they give you a discount when you bail out more than one… and even put in one of those cat trackers… GPS locator things that will tell them who owns the cat in case it wanders off again.

Clearly they saw me coming…

So now we have 3 in the house- I am becoming the crazy old cat lady… Liz just shook her head when I came in with the two carriers.

“Oh, Mom, you didn’t…”

Will I never learn?

Cub Scouts has been an interesting experience- my son, John is a tiger this year- I have to say there is a big commitment involved. It gets exhausting.

My cousin John presented his snakes and alligator at a house meeting it was a HUGE success- the boys were captivated. It was also amusing to see some of the parents who are snake-shy hugging the walls as their sons got up close and personal with the wide variety of snakes presented. The 26 foot long snake took seven boys to hold, and they were loving every minute of it!

I was bad this year and did not send a single Christmas card, did not put up a Christmas tree, and barely (under protest) decorated the house. Since my children were going to NYC for Christmas, I just was not feeling all the effort involved. They left on the 22 of December and I just got them back January 4^th, just in time for school to start up.

I drove them to the airport on the day they left. As those of you who have been here already know, the Cincinnati airport is located in Kentucky. To get there, I275 briefly takes you through Indiana before you reach the bridge over the Ohio River that takes you into Kentucky. There is a big power plant right on the Ohio River, just to the left of this bridge and the smoke stacks can be seen from the sign where you enter Indiana from Ohio. John saw the stacks pouring out the discharge, a thick white smoke that rose slowly and asked, with wonder in his voice, “Mommy, do they make clouds there?”

I forget sometimes about that wonder in children. What a gift they are to us.

I missed them, but made productive use of my time.

I spent two weeks clearing out all the old junk in and around the house, while the kids were gone, and doing laundry, folding and packing up the unwanted and poorly fitting, and filling 5 bags full that went to Goodwill. I even got the treadmill- which has done me little good out in the garage the last two years- up and running in my basement with the help of Rick and my uncle Gail.

I cleaned and scrubbed and organized. I got a new front door and screen door installed by Tony, Peggy’s wonderful husband, and Rick installed a new bathroom fixture upstairs, which was desperately needed. The old fixture had two chains coming out that hung down and then ran back up to the ceiling, where it went over two hooks fixed into the ceiling on either side of the main fixture before coming down again ending a globe cover common in the 70s over the bulbs, blocking most of the light. I am surprised I lasted with it two years. I changed out some light switch covers and am planning to see what other projects will be taken on in the coming year. My fixer upper is coming alone-piece by piece.

Santa was really good to me- I got a Wii Fit- a surprise and a joy- exercise never used to be this fun. He also brought me a beautiful seed pearl necklace and bracelet. My aunt and uncle picked out an Irish Santa and some lovely towels for me and I got some more basement geckos from the Chausmers (they eat the spiders). Wonderful handmade gifts from the kids added to the splendor. How can one girl be so lucky?

Having the kids home has brought the house back to life, and we are enjoying some friendly Wii competition… Liz is a boxing maniac, John would give Tiger Woods a run for his money, and, surprising no one more than myself, I am a tightrope walker at heart. (I am also doing very well skiing, as long as no actual snow/cold is involved.)

John and the Cub Scout den went on the fire station tour Tuesday evening, and the firefighters asked what the difference between a doctor and a nurse was, when they were trying to explain the difference between a paramedic and an EMT. One of the boys called on said, “One is a man and one is a woman.” It was fun to watch the adults reacting to that one! His poor dad wanted to disappear into the floor.

So that is night I get a "Pinewood Derby" car kit labeled "all you need to make" said derby car. A misprint, I assure you.

The box contains 4 plastic wheels, 4 nails and a block of wood with two lines cut in the bottom. Nothing else.

And I am supposed to make this block of wood look/work like a car. So over weekend we started working on a pinewood derby car. I recruited an engineer I know to assist, as I have not the first idea how one is made to race and they take the whole thing very seriously. Boys- a whole new universe. I miss Barbies.

The engineer (Rick) finds it amusing that I haven’t the first clue- and he and John sit with said block of wood and have a design planning session, where John decides on a body shape. Rick then took the block of wood to work where he and all the other little boys in big men bodies hang out all day, and cut/shaped said block of wood into something that has the potential to actually look like a car after the appropriate sanding and painting. The wheels will be the final step, so the paint does not slow the car...they need to be placed just so…

Seriously! People have time for this? My real car is not that well cared for!

He has also advised me to be prepared to lose the race, as the future winner is being caressed smooth as we speak by a boy/ man living vicariously through his son...and has likely spent months preparing for the inevitable win...

The race day is the 31^st, John’s seventh birthday.

Oh, and next year we need to make a whole new car....I am just thankful my boy will not be racing a block of wood with wheels nailed in. I don’t think I was meant to be a cub scout mom.

Sadly, it doesn’t get me out of having a party for him. This year he wants Monster Golf- a glow in the dark miniature golf experience… I suspect my Dad is laughing at me, golf fiend that he is…

And to ice my cake, my son wants a Red Ryder BB gun for his birthday. There was a pile of them for sale at the Bass Pro Shop in the mall. Yeah, we live in Ohio…. His Dad said “Absolutely NO!!” and I have to admit the brat in me considered getting it anyway… Maybe next year!

I hope you are all well.

With Love,

Geri