Not So Coincidental Fireworks

A proposal cannot be captured by just an event that happens one day, and yet I shall try to relay the moment that filled my eyes with tears and took my breath away...

Paul took me downtown to a nice dinner at Nicola's.  The place made me feel like I was in another country.  Our Italian dishes were delicious and the red wine equally so.  Paul said the night was in celebration of his recent move to Omaha and our 10 month anniversary.  It was a great date.  We lingered at the table and time flew by as it normally does when the two of us are together.  We hit up Ted and Wally's for some ice cream before returning to the car in our killer parking spot we happened upon, and Paul asked if we could go out to Standing Bear Lake where we had our 1st date the weekend of the 4th of July.  I thought nothing of it, as Paul is romantic most of the time and comes up with the most curious requests that I oblige to simply to humor him.

We arrived and parked in the same place we had that 1st date night, and he suggested we get out of the car.  I got out as he said he had to tie his shoe.  At this point it hit me, "he is going to propose and this is so perfect."  I was shivering by the time he made it to the back of the car where I stood.  Being the gentleman he is, he started to take off his sweatshirt, then stopped midway through and said he'd get me the sweatshirt he had in his  backseat.  Just before he finished putting the sweatshirt on me, big, bright, beautiful fireworks started lighting up the sky.  Paul dropped to one knee, held out a ring, asked me to marry him, and had the ring on my finger before I could say a thing.  I cried as it sank in that Paul wanted ME.  I cherished those moments before finally realizing I needed to respond.  "Yes, of course I'll marry you!"  was my answer.

"How coincidental is it that there are fireworks?" "Wait, are they coincidental?" I asked.  "No, it's Amy and Justin," and he wrapped me in his arms as we watched the spectacular, private, April 28th fireworks display Paul planned just for me.  Only later did it come out that not only had I been the one to transport those very fireworks from Minneapolis to Omaha, but he had wrapped them as my birthday present. Turns out he has not yet purchased me something for my 26th birthday, but I suppose he has 2 weeks for that.  And I now have the sparkliest finger I have ever seen, and the most incredible fiance anyone could ever dream of.  He is everything I never knew I needed, and I'm the luckiest girl alive.

Re-gifting...

Not once; twice. I re-gifted two gifts in the same night from the same person at the same party I last-minute invited her to attend with me. Poor sister.

It was the moment before the white elephant game would begin that it hit me. The movies I had my brother wrap-up for the game were given to me by Jess. She stood beside us as I whispered to Brandon and we busted-up laughing.

The first present picked was the present I wrapped from me. A couple scarves I've never worn and some lip gloss. "You gave that away?" I hear her ask. What? This too! Oh no...she really had given me one of those scarves...just last Christmas in fact. The reason it was never worn was that she mailed it to me in Chile. Since it's summer in South America in December and it just turned winter here, I never wore it! Having just returned from Central Asia where I bought a surplus of scarves, I thought it best I give some away. Dang it. Not the one from her...

Brandon and I nervously waited in hopes of the movies remaining unopened so Jess wouldn't discover there was yet another re-gift from her. I talked one person out of opening that one, but finally the present pile dwindled so low that it was inevitable. The gift was opened and I shouted-out that it was a re-gift from Jess. Tears sprang from my eyes the laughter was so intense.

I suppose next time I invite one of my siblings to a party I'll refrain from giving away things they've previously given me. Ahem. Unsuccessful re-gift right there!

'Tis the Season

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
coming home from our house Christmas Eve...

A gray-haired woman sways back and forth from her seat in the balcony as the Christmas entertainer sings. The living room is packed-out with walkers and canes, white hair and glasses, Christmas sweaters and broaches. There's eggnog with rum and hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps. A kind round of applause follows each Christmas carol as the retirement home residents give their ears a short rest before straining to hear the next song.

It's experiences such as these that make being a temp quite rewarding and inspire me to have a very Merry Christmas.

Zakhar

She's two months old, but came premature and malnourished. Her mother took her twin sister home, and their home is far away. So little Zakhar stays in the NICU until she can learn to grow.

Her stomach surgery was successful. It took place shortly after she came into this world. Nevertheless, she can't seem to keep food down. The doctors and nurses have tried everything. The only thing she seems to be missing is human interaction.

I heard this little one's story and volunteered to hold her. Thank goodness my friend Debbie came along. We were ushered into the NICU and the nurses set-up two plastic chairs in the middle of the room for us. We changed our shoes and put on gowns.

Then the nurse with the best English told me to put her down my shirt! The tiniest little baby I have ever seen with every bone of her body visible, and I was somehow supposed to put her down three layers of clothing without breaking her. Debbie & I were completely overwhelmed and in a country where genders do not mix, the male nurse was of no help to us.

Finally I got her situated enough for me, comfortable enough to stop her cries, and correct enough to appease the nurses. There we sat for over an hour, and when our time came to a close she had her milk and kept it down.

Pray for Zakhar. It's already a miracle that she's still alive. Today I held that miracle skin-to-skin as I watched mothers enter the NICU to hold their little ones as they wiped away tears with their head scarves. Babies often die here. I'm not a mother, yet the thought of that sort of pain spurred one of the nurses to ask me to pray and spurs me to ask you to do the same.

Donkey

There once was an old man, his son, and their donkey. They set-off on a journey that would take them from village to village.

When they entered the first village, the old man rode atop the donkey as his son walked beside. And the people sneered, "What a selfish man! He rides in rest as his poor son must walk."

Having overheard their sneers, the old man had his son join him on the donkey as they entered the next village. And the people sneered, "What an abusive man! The poor donkey is burdened by the weight of both man and son."

Having overheard their sneers, the old man and his son both climbed off the donkey and walked beside as they entered the next village. And the people sneered, "What a stupid man! Neither he nor his son have the sense to utilize the donkey for its intended purpose."

The moral of the story: Everyone has an opinion. Many times these opinions are in stark opposition. Respect them all, but know you'll never please them all. Make it your aim, rather, to listen to a voice that actually matters.

Purple Sparkle Flip-Flops

Purple sparkle flip-flops are my work shoes. There are pink ones, too, but I've pretty much claimed one of the purple pairs. They're about an inch too small, but since they're only worn in the hallway I figure it's okay.

Each day I offer up most the Dari I know in effort to greet the doorman. "Salaam Alaikum. Chetor asteen? Hoob asteen? Sahat Shooma hoobas? Tashakor. Hoob astom." I'm pretty sure most those words aren't even spelled right, so don't learn from me, just know it says something like, "Peace to you. How are you? How's your health? Thank you. I'm good."

Watching locals greet one another looks like a competition for who can think of the most things to say while the other is talking. The men place their hand over their heart as they utter each word. Women don't generally greet in public, but I've found in private, we kiss. Mostly I get 3 kisses, but I've had up to 6. We've ended with our right cheeks each time, but have started with right or left. All this adds up to a bunch of rules I apparently still don't know!

But I do know to take off my shoes when I enter a building. It's nice when there are house shoes available, but if not, my sockfeet will do. House shoes are absolute necessity for the bathroom though, as this is always a very wet place. There is usually a pair of flip-flops just inside the door if you aren't already wearing some.

House shoes, however, are just for hallways. As soon as your feet hit carpet, those house shoes rest at the door. Sometimes if a room gets crowded your house shoes disappear before you return to them, but they're usually just a door or two down.

After taking my purple sparkle flip-flops on and off a half dozen times throughout the day, I return to my moccasins to go home, where my brown fuzzy slippers await me.

Pomegranate & Persimmon

A month gone by and with it, my initial appreciation of this place attempting to flea as well. My saving grace, a solitude to hear the call to prayer once again and an evening free to enjoy a pomegranate. This after a day away from the city, spent laughing in fellowship with new friends.

In English we may say, "stop and smell the roses", and I in fact literally did just that a mere three days ago. Life is absolutely about trade-offs; accepting the good and the bad of each new season. Perspectives change and I finally admit not everything is a fairy land, but I refocus on all that says that oh, it actually is.

This afternoon a woman brough tears to my eyes. According to her, my hair is beautiful, my toenail color is beautiful, and I, in fact, am beautiful. As the Persians so graciously reply, "Your eyes are beautiful." If anyone should know beauty it would be this woman, but she actually mentioned on various occassions that she herself was not beautiful. Humbled and honored to chat with her for hours, she filled my heart with joy and reminded me to cherish the moment, all the while smiling, opening up to me, and slipping in more flattery.

Before tonight I had not heard the call to prayer in days. No, it never stopped. It happens multiple times a day whether I am here or not. I simply was not hearing it because I stopped listening. I can likewise so easily overlook beauty because I forget to see it as such. I can start to make cultural assumptions based on incomplete observations. I can let petty overtake precious.

I'm in a land full of pomegranates and persimmons. Sweet and inexpensive, these fruits are to my avail each and every day. I have twenty minutes available to peel and taste a pomegranate. I've learned that looking at a persimmon and thinking it's a tomato entirely does it an injustice. I'm starting to cherish that which became ordinary as precious once again.