The Story Of Homer

I don't seem to have the time to create a full post, so I'll throw out a few bits and pieces to tell you how things are going:

• All the teams have left, leaving only the summer volunteers here for a few weeks. It's very cozy, there's only about ten of us, but I leave for Budapest in a week so I guess I'll only get so much bonding.
• I'm fortunate enough to get to spend most of my day over at the orphanage, which is a tiring but wonderful life to live. I'm finally convincing the kids that they need to learn my name, since I'm tired of being "mommy," or if I'm lucky, "sir mommy." A few have gotten it. It's interesting to be addressed as mommy, but since they don't address the workers by anything else, I've gotten used to it. Still, Pamela was clinging to me as we walked to the park today, and one of the workers told her to get down and walk. "But he's my father," she pointed out. Heartbreak.
• Which reminds me, my understanding of Romanian is getting better. I still only understand about six words, but their common enough words that when they appear in a sentence, I can usually reverse-engineer the sentence to figure it out. This may come back to bite me in the butt.
• I was putting socks on Gabi the other day, and looked down to discover that they said "I Love Daddy" on them. Now, I know that these kids need clothes, and people donate out of the goodness of their hearts, but - sometimes the irony of something is so ugly that you can't bear it. I resisted the urge to throw the socks out the window, I smiled at Gabi, and I put on her shoes. There are bigger battles to fight.
  
• I'll finish with a story. We had a small team here the other week, two couple, one middle aged, one quite elderly. The elderly gentlemen's name was Homer, and he always gets pneumonia when he goes to Europe. It takes him three to five days to get over it. He would tell anyone who would listen this fact, multiple times a day, and since Homer is quite deaf, he wasn't the best judge of figuring out if you were listening or not. So he would simply announce this, in a loud Southern drawl, at the table from time to time. He spent the rest of the time sleeping. Ron, the middle-aged man who came with him, had about had it with Homer, and would ignore him and continue his stories regardless of interruption. Homer's wife, Diane, was the same way, but she liked to fill the spaces in conversation with updates on people's health: her own, Homer's, government officials, whoever. Therefore most table conversations went like this.

Ron: See, Homer? I knew you'd feel better once you got a good meal into you.
Homer regards him dully.
Homer: I HA-AVE NOO-MO-AN-EE-AA.
Diane: My, my allergies are just terrible today!
Ron (to me): Did I ever tell you about when I was ski instructor?
Homer: IT TA-AKES THREE T' FHI-IVE DAY-AS TO GIT OVAH IT!
Me: Uh, no, you didn't.
Ron: There was this one time when it was ninety-nine below zero...
Diane: The pollen is so terrible here in Romania!
Homer: EVERY TI-IME I GO T' EUROAPE, I GIT NOO-MO-AN-EE-AA!
Ron: And this guy wants to go skiing!
Diane: I'm just all dried out!
Homer: I CA-AN ONLY DRI-HINK D'STAYLLED WA-TER!
Ron: And I'm telling him, you're crazy!
Diane: I keep drinking water, but I don't know how people get by!
Homer: MAH LIVER'S ONLY THE SI-IZE OF A QUAR-TER!

And so on. They're gone now, but Elizabeth turned to me the other day and said: "You know, I miss Homer. I didn't think I would, but I do." That goes for me, too.

That's all for now, folks. La revedere.

Romania Update

I went on an Agape Run yesterday. An Agape Run consists of a pack of Americans piling into a van with food and second-hand clothing, to help some of the less fortunate of Romania. A popular quote in Christian circles these days is Francis of Asissi's "Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words," and these trips are the fulfillment of this - we usually can't communicate with these people at all, we just stumble through as best we can, hoping our actions and our Romanian New Testament speak where we cannot.

I mention this especially because I haven't been feeling too well the past few days. I've been exhausted and lightheaded and generally unenthusiastic about all things ministry. But I got up and I went along. We loaded up the van and visited several families, all of whom had handicapped children. We visted a smiling crippled girl, bedridden since a car accident at age six. At 29, she lies on her stomach as a result of a painful ulcer resulting from her handicap, and waits for the night, when she can sign on-line and visit a world where no one cares if her legs work or not. We sat uncomfortably in her room, as everyone tried to say helpful things about her handicap, as if to console her about a condition to which she had clearly already resigned herself. Eventually we all ran out of sympathetic commentary and left.

We visited a set of twins who had cerebral palsy among various other unknown complications. They failed to acknowledge our presence as we walked in, and we suspected that they might be partially blind, as well. We tried to talk to them, but they stared off into space uncomprehendingly, clinging to a crude set of parellel bars. Their mother informed us that in a few weeks they would be travelling to Oradea to visit a doctor who works with many cases like this. "He has healed many children," she said, with hope somehow still triumphant in her eyes.

I don't think it's enough to say that I was ashamed for feeling sorry for myself.

But the fact remains that when I woke up this morning, feeling tired and achy, I just lay there and felt sorry for myself again.

Mort d'Ozone

Bad news, crew. Andrea informed me that O-Zone had split up and gone their separate ways, and I'm sorry to announce that it's true. I checked it out. My suspicions were that it was likely "artistic differences," but fortunately they'd all be launching solo careers, so I needn't worry.

Am I ever wrong? It appears Radu wanted to settle down and spend some time with his wife, but Dan and Arsenie are too busy living the high life. They'd been hoping to get on with their won careers, anyway, and after a good bit of arguing, they decided this was the best solution, artistically speaking, for all involved. It'll let them all be more creative, and hopefully allow them to get back to their first love, songwriting.

I'd give you a link for you to see the facts yourself, but it appears that major publications have somehow overlooked the story, so you'll have to do your own internet browsing. Still, I thought you should, so you could all mourn in your own little way. For example, my way is not mourning at all.

A hereto unrecognized similarity to Wilt Chamberlain

I've been playing basketball in the park out here in Beius. In answer to your unsaid question, no these Romanians are not very good. They aren't bad though.

The problem is, of course, that they never play anyone better than them. They aren't bad shooters, they're great passers, and they always know where the other players are on the floor. That's basic European basketball. But they can't go left, they think they're much better than they are, and they don't know what to do with a player who moves without the ball. I'm tearing them up.

Part of the problem is how the game's been lost in translation - they missed the street-ball rule in which, in half-court ball, after a ball has struck the rim and been rebounded by the opposite team, the ball must be "cleared" out beyond the three-point line before a player on that team can attempt to take a shot. First of all, they don't have a three-point line (they don't really have any useful lines, actually, the person who painted the court had no concept of what sport he was painting for; the lines seem to be painted in a sort of combination volleyball/shuffleboard fashion), and they've never heard of the rule. So when a shot goes off the rim, any player can take the ball, put it back in the hoop, and win points for their team.

Introducing: Ben Wyman, Dominating Inside Presence. This has never been seen before, and likely will never be seen again. But since I don't have to clear the ball, I can simply put this ball back in, and before you know it I've scored more points than the rest of the team combined. All of a sudden I'm a dominating rebounder, I'm constantly swiping the ball away from cocky Romanian guards, I'm pouring in put-back points, and I'm blocking shots.

This place is great.

Olympic Update

I've received word from Dr. Owens regarding my Olympic position, and I'll be working as a camera assistant in Sauze d'Ouix Novenceau for Aerials and Moguls from February 6-24. At least, I think that's right, the Asbury web mail server has crashed and I'm working from memory, so I might be a bit hazy, especially on "Sauze d'Ouix Novenceau," which is French and therefore unintelligible to me.

Still, big news, eh? Feel free to send in congratulations and hate mail.