So recently, as many people may know, Marissa and I got married. Well, for her bridal shower Marissa got a couple of towels. We waited until the time was right to use them, but the time came where we moved into our townhouse, we got to take a nice relaxing shower. I had forgotten about the towels at this point, but when I had gotten out and reached for this thing and it was like holding a small puppy. For people who go their entire lives, or most of it, using old towels that have lingered in their closet forever, it's like the end of a long winter. When I came out Marissa and I looked at each other and we knew exactly what we were thinking. The towels were also huge! I'm a pretty tall guy, but these things came down to my feet when wrapped around my waist. That's what you call a towel!
This morning, and Marissa doesn't know this yet, all of the hot water was gone. I found this out first hand. After an uncomfortable shower, I turned the water off, opened the curtain and grabbed the towel and all was forgiven. I don't think I've ever been so happy to have a soft towel. Not after a pioneer trek, not after working out, never. It has been a blessing. Thank you to whoever got these for us!
Thursday, April 25, 2013
An American Morning in Belgium
Waking up the next morning to the pleasant overcast, the mist pervading through the neighborhood as I looked out the back window. The chill of the floor comforting as the warmth of the house reminded me of the bed where I had been sleeping. I was the first up and took the time to study. The lights dim, I held my book close to catch each word as my still hazed mind found them floating in the air. Realizing the complexity of the endeavor, I placed my book on the table and sought to enjoy the baguettes placed nearby. As I picked up the most promising, I heard a gasp. As I turned, a maid nearby had wandered into the kitchen where I was standing. In a thick accent, she explained what she was up to and she swatted my hand away from the baguette. She must have seen my tired expression and began speaking in some form of English. All I understood was that the baguettes were for breakfast and I should wait in the other room until they are ready. Most of this was interpreted by a pattern of pointing and waving. I guess that I hadn't learned as much as I should have in learning the language.
As I stood pacing in the other room out of hunger, a shadowy figure approached out of the hallway most likely having heard our conversation. It was President Woodland, the man who for the next six months would dictate just about everything that I would do. He was curious in seeing me awake and wandering downstairs and asked if the others were awake. There were five of us which had come in the day before who, after today, I would hardly ever seen again. Within seconds of the question, we heard laughing from upstairs. I was directed to take a shower first as it would be awhile before things were ready and I would set the trend for the others.
Venturing once again up the stairs where I had slept the night before, the hallway still dark from the morning, and a faint breeze brushed by. Someone must have opened the window because of the heat. As I stepped into the bathroom, I was delighted to see a familiar, home shower. Not that it was similar to the one at my own, but because I had been showering in something resembling a locker room for the past two months.
As the heat of the shower hit my face, all I could think about was how different the next two years of my life would be, not being able to settle down in one place but living each day with the thought that I could be moved in a couple weeks. The steam filled the room as I opened the shower door, my suit hanging on a hook had been steamed nicely and I felt refreshed after all was done. As I walked out, there was another waiting to get in. It was nice to feel awake again.
As I went downstairs, breakfast was ready and the still silence which I had moments ago was shattered. The aroma of hot baguettes filled the air as hungry Americans consumed the Belgian food with a fervor not uncommon to starved prisoners. As I sat down on the dark wood chair near to the end of the table, stories of excitement were relayed back and forth. I can't remember if I ever heard the end of one of those stories.
The first bite of the Belgian baguette was crisp and the ham which was inside followed my teeth which now meant that I had an empty baguette. Since this was for the best, I glossed some jam over it and tried to overcome the morning. We had yet to find out where we were going, all I knew is that everyone was assuming that I would go to Belgium because somehow I had learned to speak Dutch with a Flemish accent, which was new to me. Anyway, I would have been delighted to go to Belgium because there were only a few places to go and it meant that I could work on my high school French.
A little while later, after everyone had finished showering and the baguettes were gone, President Woodland gathered us into the living room. The living room was different in the light as the room filled with energy and people. I found my place on a chair where I could sit in my suit and not worry about have someone squeeze in next to me. The mist had cleared outside as the houses took their shape around the yard becoming clear to view. To me, it was almost like home.
As the others found out where they'd be, I thought to myself and prayed that I would do good. I finished promptly as they wanted us to gather for a photo. This would be our last moments in this house until our time was up. As we left the house, the brisk air swept softly across my face, the van prepared for our departure, and proceeded down the hill under the house was out of sight.
As I stood pacing in the other room out of hunger, a shadowy figure approached out of the hallway most likely having heard our conversation. It was President Woodland, the man who for the next six months would dictate just about everything that I would do. He was curious in seeing me awake and wandering downstairs and asked if the others were awake. There were five of us which had come in the day before who, after today, I would hardly ever seen again. Within seconds of the question, we heard laughing from upstairs. I was directed to take a shower first as it would be awhile before things were ready and I would set the trend for the others.
Venturing once again up the stairs where I had slept the night before, the hallway still dark from the morning, and a faint breeze brushed by. Someone must have opened the window because of the heat. As I stepped into the bathroom, I was delighted to see a familiar, home shower. Not that it was similar to the one at my own, but because I had been showering in something resembling a locker room for the past two months.
As I went downstairs, breakfast was ready and the still silence which I had moments ago was shattered. The aroma of hot baguettes filled the air as hungry Americans consumed the Belgian food with a fervor not uncommon to starved prisoners. As I sat down on the dark wood chair near to the end of the table, stories of excitement were relayed back and forth. I can't remember if I ever heard the end of one of those stories.
The first bite of the Belgian baguette was crisp and the ham which was inside followed my teeth which now meant that I had an empty baguette. Since this was for the best, I glossed some jam over it and tried to overcome the morning. We had yet to find out where we were going, all I knew is that everyone was assuming that I would go to Belgium because somehow I had learned to speak Dutch with a Flemish accent, which was new to me. Anyway, I would have been delighted to go to Belgium because there were only a few places to go and it meant that I could work on my high school French.
-
A little while later, after everyone had finished showering and the baguettes were gone, President Woodland gathered us into the living room. The living room was different in the light as the room filled with energy and people. I found my place on a chair where I could sit in my suit and not worry about have someone squeeze in next to me. The mist had cleared outside as the houses took their shape around the yard becoming clear to view. To me, it was almost like home.
As President Woodland began to speak, he talked about the work we were doing and how good it was to help others, but that it would be hard. He said many things to that effect, but we all knew what was coming, our assignments. He brought out letters for where we would be going that morning, he said that we should find our colleague and he'll tell us how we're supposed to get our money back for the trip. As each person in the group was opening their letter one by one, eyebrows raised and teeth were glaring with excitement. Den Haag and Heerlen were first, and then came mine. Casually, without hesitation, I opened the letter as if I had been expecting it. I mouthed the words quietly at first when I was prodded to say it out-loud; my frustration apparent as I looked for that moment of solitude. And there it was. I was going to Gent, Belgium. The minutes after that I could only think of where I was going to live and the experience I was going to have in Belgium with the food and the people. I had heard stories before of Gent, but now I was going to live them.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Tired with a bit a Flem
If you've talked to me at all, you probably haven't heard many stories from me when I was living overseas. Many people can relate to the situation where you've told some stories so many times that you don't remember who exactly you told them to. This was unfortunately the case for a couple years now and I've gotten into the nasty habit of not telling people about my experiences anymore. But something hit me recently that made me want to re-explore those stories, and invite others to share their stories with me. I always enjoy the experiences which others have gained in whatever language they want to do it in.
My first day in Belgium was something to remember. I hadn't exactly had the best plane ride. My contacts were drying out, I angle myself well enough to sleep, and in Belgium the day was just beginning. The saving grace of that morning was a bagel which the stewardess brought around. It's as though the cold winter had thawed over night as the warmth crossed into my hands while the cream cheese was spread. Just thinking about that bagel made the plane ride worth it. As we landed, I looked out the window and could even see the wing of the plane. Belgium was covered in a February mist. We were blind as we were taxied into the terminal and stepped off in some brand new adventure.
Greeted as we came to the baggage claim by strangers we would only vaguely remember the next day through our groggy eyes, no amount of excitement could motivate us to do much else besides rest against a soft fabric seat belt as our bags were easily loaded into a van. We were shipped off to the main office to sign in and be interviewed for our assignments. The slow hum of the heater was near enough to make our trance complete at the loud, obnoxious clapping of the stewards commenced to hustle us into the car to go to the house. We marched as though to our death, unmotivated into the firm narrow seats of the van.
Upon arrival to the house, we were greeted with grand news. First food, then rest until the mid-evening. We ate prepared sandwiches and meandered off towards the bunks. I don't remember much of the conversations around me, probably because there were none. Within moments, we were sleeping. The grandeur of Brussels would have to wait until morning.
My first day in Belgium was something to remember. I hadn't exactly had the best plane ride. My contacts were drying out, I angle myself well enough to sleep, and in Belgium the day was just beginning. The saving grace of that morning was a bagel which the stewardess brought around. It's as though the cold winter had thawed over night as the warmth crossed into my hands while the cream cheese was spread. Just thinking about that bagel made the plane ride worth it. As we landed, I looked out the window and could even see the wing of the plane. Belgium was covered in a February mist. We were blind as we were taxied into the terminal and stepped off in some brand new adventure.
Greeted as we came to the baggage claim by strangers we would only vaguely remember the next day through our groggy eyes, no amount of excitement could motivate us to do much else besides rest against a soft fabric seat belt as our bags were easily loaded into a van. We were shipped off to the main office to sign in and be interviewed for our assignments. The slow hum of the heater was near enough to make our trance complete at the loud, obnoxious clapping of the stewards commenced to hustle us into the car to go to the house. We marched as though to our death, unmotivated into the firm narrow seats of the van.
Upon arrival to the house, we were greeted with grand news. First food, then rest until the mid-evening. We ate prepared sandwiches and meandered off towards the bunks. I don't remember much of the conversations around me, probably because there were none. Within moments, we were sleeping. The grandeur of Brussels would have to wait until morning.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Wedding Plans
There are moments in our lives which we never think will come. One of these moments was getting engaged. You never anticipate what things will happen, but you can assume that some things will happen. Though that sounds cliche, and I admit that it is, we all develop our own viewpoints of the situations which we get ourselves into.
Being engaged has to be one of the most troublesome concepts in the world. Depending on your point of view on marriage, either nothing changes or the anticipation of the changes is tremendous.
For what seems like most of the nation, the concept of marriage and saving yourself has been lost, and the world is poorer for it. People argue that it is a necessary part of getting prepared to live together. In my opinion, you probably should know this long before getting engaged and it makes me laugh when people move in together and then decide that it can't work out. In my opinion, how little were you trying to accommodate the other? Mind you, this goes both ways.
So what is it about being engaged from the other perspective? What is it like when you are waiting?
Simply, relaxing at times and not relaxing at times. In other words, you'll find out that day when you wake up. Countless times my fiancee has new things to tell me that I need to answer, most of the times they are not even her comments but her mother's. Things about the wedding are the predominant item of business. If you think that you'll get to plan out your own wedding, think again. Most of the stuff that we've wanted to do have not panned out in our favor. The most exciting part for us is the ceremony and then try to endure the reception. Maybe that is just me, but people will argue that because I'm the groom I don't get an opinion about the wedding. I think it comes down to the fact that many grooms just get frustrated with the whole situation and just don't want to deal with it.
Being a student, I'm in school most of the day. After school and between classes I'm at work. In the evenings I have time, at last, to spend with my fiancee. It has been helpful having time apart at night in order to get the things I need to do finished, but I'll admit that it is annoying not being able to have the same food. It is also frustrating having roommates that walk in throughout the evening or are too loud that we have to find something else to do away from the apartment. Most of the time we go for long walks.
In the end, it is nice being engaged, apart from wedding planning and classes, homework, and work. It makes life easier knowing that soon it will all be done and we can just relax. It is disappointing that we can afford a honeymoon, but at least we'll be married and will have done it the right way.
Being engaged has to be one of the most troublesome concepts in the world. Depending on your point of view on marriage, either nothing changes or the anticipation of the changes is tremendous.
For what seems like most of the nation, the concept of marriage and saving yourself has been lost, and the world is poorer for it. People argue that it is a necessary part of getting prepared to live together. In my opinion, you probably should know this long before getting engaged and it makes me laugh when people move in together and then decide that it can't work out. In my opinion, how little were you trying to accommodate the other? Mind you, this goes both ways.
So what is it about being engaged from the other perspective? What is it like when you are waiting?
Simply, relaxing at times and not relaxing at times. In other words, you'll find out that day when you wake up. Countless times my fiancee has new things to tell me that I need to answer, most of the times they are not even her comments but her mother's. Things about the wedding are the predominant item of business. If you think that you'll get to plan out your own wedding, think again. Most of the stuff that we've wanted to do have not panned out in our favor. The most exciting part for us is the ceremony and then try to endure the reception. Maybe that is just me, but people will argue that because I'm the groom I don't get an opinion about the wedding. I think it comes down to the fact that many grooms just get frustrated with the whole situation and just don't want to deal with it.
Being a student, I'm in school most of the day. After school and between classes I'm at work. In the evenings I have time, at last, to spend with my fiancee. It has been helpful having time apart at night in order to get the things I need to do finished, but I'll admit that it is annoying not being able to have the same food. It is also frustrating having roommates that walk in throughout the evening or are too loud that we have to find something else to do away from the apartment. Most of the time we go for long walks.
In the end, it is nice being engaged, apart from wedding planning and classes, homework, and work. It makes life easier knowing that soon it will all be done and we can just relax. It is disappointing that we can afford a honeymoon, but at least we'll be married and will have done it the right way.
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