The Story of My Fake Brothers

    In 1970, my parents jumped the broom, exchanged vows, or whatever you might call it.  Shortly after, my brother was born, and life went on with just the three of them.  That is until I blessed this world with my presence 17 years later.  My brother was a wopping 16 when he met his first and only sibling....Me!  Needless to say, we each grew up as an only child, or at least that's how it seemed to be.

My brother and me.

My parents....

    Not too long after I was born, my InposterBro came along.  Our parents were and still are very close friends, so it was inevitable that we would become crib buddies and eventually lifelong friends.  When we were little, we used to chill by a plastic pool our parents would fill up for us.  Yup, we were pretty cool.  Like any awesome pool, this one had a 2 foot slide that I would gracefully go down.  My belly-blessed ImposterBro, on the other hand, would fearlessly jump from the top, first getting my attention, "Watsch this!!", then prepping which consisted of a few stomps and a couple of toe raises, and finally belly bustering into the pool causing yet another need for a fill-up.  Sometimes my ImposterBro wouldn't even make it to the jump because somewhere in the prep he would slip and slide surprising himself with a face full of water.  He would also get distracted by wildlife that would also prevent his jump.  Butterflies are pretty amazing!  He really hasn't changed much...

    Things were going great, but then our lives were interrupted by the birth of my PhonyBro.  The three of us became inseparable watching Ninja Turtles, bike riding, and building on the tree house.  At one point, ImposterBro and I decided to test out the ever-popular atomic wedgie.  Who better to use this on than PhonyBro?  The underwear ripped before it ever made it above his head; he ran, looking like Tarzan, to tell on us.  Over the years, we got in plenty of trouble, but that's what you're supposed to do with your siblings!

    Although some people may not agree, we grew up.  ImposterBro and I met the loves of our lives and got married, and I'm sure PhonyBro isn't too far behind.  We made so many memories, and even though we may live all over the U.S. (ImposterBro on the west coast, PhonyBro in the midwest, and me on the east coast), we will always be family.

In The End

    Religion, no matter if its Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism, guides us to a certain way of life and sets out our own principles, but in the end, we all bleed, we all experience hunger, and we all lose ourselves to thought.  In the end, we are all human.  In the end, our combined differences amount to a bigger picture, that being a working world where each individual has their own critical niche.  Oftentimes, we, as humans, become indifferent to others' differences.  We may act out by judging them or refusing to befriend them, but in the end, we are all still human.
    Adolphe Hitler swept through Germany persuading its people and clouding their minds with backwards science of genetic cleansing and ridding the world of all but the Aryan race.  Many joined him while others sat back and watched as their friends and fellow humans were singled out, taken away, and stripped of everything they had.  A Jewish Rabbi and Holocaust survivor once said, "In times of evil, if you are indifferent to evil, you are evil."  Hitler, his followers, and yes, even those who sat by and watched caused a heartless tragedy that we now remember as the Holocaust.
    Yesterday, Doubles Shark-Whisperer and I visited the National Holocaust Museum to remember such an evil period in history.  As you walk through the exhibit, you first experience Nazi Propaganda and how Hitler came to power.  Then you see how the Jews were singled out and often moved to ghettos.  From the ghettos, they would be moved again to concentration camps where they would work or would meet death in the gas chambers.  To me, the most memorable exhibit is the room of shoes.  Before the Jews were gassed, all of their clothing including their shoes was removed.  This room contains hundreds of shoes that reflect the heaviness of the situation.  The smell alone is enough to weigh you down.  You finish the exhibit by watching and listening to survivor's accounts.

Shoes

A quote from Elie Wiesel's novel "Night":

Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned my life into one long night seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith for ever.

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live.

Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.

Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to live as long as God Himself.

Never.

    The Holocaust was a horrible time in human history that many are determined to forget and others will carry with them forever.  Religion may be one difference among human beings, but strangely enough, the golden rule, "Love thy neighbor as thyself," is common to all religions.  Here are some quotes from religious texts:

Judaism:  "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."
Islam:  "Not one of you is a believer until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself."
Christianity:  "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."
Buddhism:  "Hurt not other with that which pains yourself."
Hinduism:  "Never do to others what would pain thyself."
Taoism:  "Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain and your neighbor's loss as your own loss."

Before living by this principle, we must first ask ourselves how we would like to be treated and if that way is morally correct; after this, we must actively use this rule.  If we are truly living in the ways of our religion, then accepting other people's differences should be simple.  Sadly, judgement of others and genocide still occur, but we can do our best to fight for difference.  We can remember the past and possibly find change for the future, for even after we have been stripped of all material things and all of our worth, we are, after all, still human in the end.

Truckeroo

    Last Friday, PDub and I walked two blocks through the heat, fought crowds of people for 45 minutes on the metro, and finally arrived at our stop, Navy Yard.  Our destination and purpose: a food truck and dinner.
    When growing up, the only food truck that I knew of was based out of an old postal truck, ran only in the summer, and sold snow cones.  I still recall the excitement when a distant bell would reach my ear, and I would go racing out of the house to meet the snow cone man, a summertime hero.  Many of you can probably relate more to ice cream trucks with their blaring music and trail of kids running behind.  However, major cities, such as D.C., have food trucks that offer more than a frozen sandwich.  Some are even run by chefs and offer gourmet foods to the locals.  It's perfectly normal and most convenient to head out for a quick bite over your lunch hour to find great food being served from a truck.
    For a little history, the food truck was first created shortly after the Civil War.  More and more Americans began to migrate and settle west, which called for a high demand of cattle in uninhabited areas.  The Texans began moving their cattle but found it quite difficult to do so without a nearby railroad.  To simplify their journey, the food truck was invented, where the grub was carried in a carriage instead of on a railcar, so the cattleman were able to easily satisfy their hunger.  From horse and carriage to gas-powered vehicles, the food truck has evolved from serving dried meat to freshly cooked meat.
    On Friday, a festival called Truckeroo took place where over 20 food trucks from around the D.C. area gathered in Navy Yard to serve hungry folks.  We feasted on fancy grilled cheese sandwiches, oyster po' boys, and cupcakes.  Like any great festival, they served beer and lemonade, and bands played throughout the evening.  Who would have known that eating from a truck could be so entertaining?

Those are some really excited Truckeroovians!

A line of yummy food trucks.....

Landshark and red velvet cupcakes....Yum!

Wine through a straw....classy?  No question there.

Remembering a Bean-Filled Craze

    It started with one and ended with over 300.  At one point in time, they were the toy of choice, perfectly displayed in my bedroom and played with nearly everyday.  They now sit in two trash bags in the attic of my parents' house.  Eventually, their value, based not on money but attachment, will be determined, and in the end a future will be selected: give away or keep.  Every toy, including this great collection, must be questioned under these standards.  Someday, I will face this decision, but until then, my Beanie Babies shall sweat it out in the heat of the attic.
    The Beanie Babies craze swept over Salem, IL and lasted for only a few years.  However, during this period, kids and collectors adopted vicious, undermining personalities only to acquire the best collection possible.  Friendships were made and broken, and just like any limiting stuffed animal addiction, groups and phone trees were formed.  When a new shipment came in, only a select few were contacted with this information.  Approximately three stores in Salem, IL carried the Beanie Babies, so new shipments had to be kept under the radar if you and your friends were going to be the first to buy the store out of only the three new ones in stock.  After school, a mad rush to these stores would occur resulting in a winner or falling just short of obtaining yet another one.
    Each child convincingly told their parents that Beanie Babies were going to become collectibles in the future and therefore worth so much more.  Of course, the parents jumped on the bandwagon as well.  My parents would run me through the McDonald's drive-thru so I could see if they had any new mini-Beanie Babies.  I'm sure they had to take me like once a day during this Happy Meal extravaganza.  I still have pictures of me at my birthday surrounded by at least twenty Beanie Babies, gifts from my parents who I am sure frantically shopped to find ones I did not already have.
    In the fourth grade, one of my teachers was exhausted with her students bringing in their Beanie Babies and playing with them that she brought in a box labeled "The Beanie Baby Babysitter Box."  She was elected by far the coolest teacher after this creativity.  Children, including myself, learned how to take care of their toys, seeing that these would be worth something in the future.  The TY tags were left attached and kept intact with plastic covers, and playtime was limited.  Eventually, the Beanie Baby craze ended just as abruptly as it started.  I'm sure some of us 90's kids have already faced the decisions of getting rid of these once collectibles.  Others, like me, probably dread that day when the fate of such animals (stuffed) will be determined.  Until then, I know that they are safe and sound at my parents' home.

The original nine first released in 1993.

A Day in the Life of Maya

    I must share a normal day for Maya.  Why, because oftentimes I elect to spend my days on her schedule, and it is quite refreshing.  Maya will usually wake-up 20 minutes before the alarm is set (of course) and ask to go outside.  Maybe I should elaborate on this.  She will place her chin across your breathing apparatus (mouth and nose), and with your response, she will flip over on her back, which we all know as the universal "rub my belly" signal.  As she gets a belly rub, Maya will awake more of your senses by muttering an obnoxious noise; there's really no way to explain this sound other than she might be dying.  After her belly rub needs have been fulfilled, she will then jump down from the bed and wait.  Sadly, Maya is not patient when it comes to waiting.  If one of us does not get out of bed immediately, she throws a complete tantrum which included frantically jumping up and down, loudly crying out, and running from the door back to the bed.  This will continue until you get out of bed.
    Maya then goes out on the back terrace where she has found to be the most private and safe place to complete her duty.  After picking up any solids and rinsing off the terrace (and using the bathroom myself), Maya and I usually go back to bed while PDub is awoken by his time-to-get-ready-for-work alarm.  Maya and I sleep for about another hour before she throws a fit again.  This tantrum is an indicator that she needs, no, requires breakfast.  After she devours her breakfast like any dachshund would, she goes back to bed.  Another hour goes by before she awakens, stretches, and proceeds to play.  Playing generally consists of chase, hide-and-seek (she's a great finder), or fetch.  After this, she hits the couch for some R&R.  This might be interrupted to bark at some sounds in the hallway or to move to a different location, but otherwise, she sleeps all day.
    Typically an hour before PDub gets home, we will go on a walk through the park.  Maya, a few homeless people, and I are typically the only ones inhabiting this area, but sometimes this changes.  Today, for instance, my cute little dog (and me) was surrounded by about ten 12 year old girls with softball shirts on needing to pet Maya.  Maya has yet to become comfortable on our city walks, so as you may guess, she peed herself a little with this much attention (I might have too).  The girls' coach finally told them to move on while I mouthed a "Thank you."  This was a unique and traumatic experience for Maya seeing that little girl attacks don't always happen.  Anyway, when we return home from our walk, Maya usually gets another nap in before she sits and waits at the door for PDub to get home.  PDub arrives and Maya is all greetings and wiggles (the girl knows how to shake her hips) as if he has been gone for weeks.  She then gets in another playtime before eating and hitting the naps right before bedtime.

Sleep.....

   

Play.....

 

More Sleep.....

Scuba Diving....Or the Lack Thereof

    With the exception of not becoming an Olympic swimmer, you could pretty much call me a water bug, mermaid, fish, etc.  I honestly do not have a first memory of being in the water, but there are pictures of me in my absolutely adorable swimsuit with a bulging diaper bootie.  Therefore, I know that my parents threw me in the water at a pretty young age.  When I was about 9, my dad took me on my first snorkel trip in Jamaica.  Prior to jumping in the ocean, I practiced in the pool with my hot pink mask, snorkel, and fins (stylish, eh?).  It was probably the greatest experience to be able to see and breath underwater without coming up for air.

    Whether it be on the lake, pool, or ocean, PDub was also raised in and around the water.  Due to this love, the majority of our vacations are based around warm weather and a body of water.  We have taken several snorkel trips and, of course, loved viewing the creatures under the sea.  This led us to become interested in scuba diving.....du du duuuuuu....and the plot thickens.....

PDub chillin' by the pool....Bring on the hot babes!

Say....Bubbles!

PDub and I trapped under a glass bottom boat....No worries, we survived.

On our way to sea....

In a Cenote in Mexico

    PDub's sister, Doubles Shark-Whisperer, had been scuba diving for awhile by this point and convinced us, Evens Tyrone, and my father-in-law to become certified.  We read through the textbook and flew to San Diego for the pool and four ocean dives.  After sitting in the classroom for a day and passing the written exam, we geared up and headed for the pool.  Here, we descended for the first time, and it was actually pretty surreal.  It felt like flying.
    The next day, we took a shot at the shores where we would do our first and second ocean dive.  During the classroom portion, we were told that getting certified in San Diego automatically makes you a whiskey diver.  Let me explain this a little better.  Like the ever-so-delightful fruity cocktails, Mexico and the Caribbean offer you clear, warm, calm waters; on the contrary, San Diego offers you murky, cold (oh so cold), rough waters.  It's hard to drink an entire glass of whiskey, but once you have, it's easier to drink any other beverage.  Anyway, before gearing up, we ate some sustenance, bananas, that Evens Tyrone had cleared out of a nearby Starbucks and then affixed our wetsuits.
    My buddy, also known as PDub, helped me get decked out with gear that weighed more than me.  We checked each other over and trudged into the great Pacific.  Instead of flopping off a boat (that would be cocktail drinking), we charged through 3 foot waves (8 feet to me), swam 150 yards (8 miles to me), and finally dropped down to about 30 feet (80 feet to me).  I could hardly see in front of me, the intense surge tossed my body from side to side, and the water pierced through my wetsuit at a bitter 57 degrees.  It probably wasn't the best experience of my life, but I conquered the first dive.
    We ascended and relaxed in the water before diving again.  During this time, it hit me that I did not feel too amazing.  My nausea blindsided me, and while everyone else bailed (including the instructor), Doubles Shark-Whisperer held on to my floating self while the bananas reappeared.  We pushed the remnants away and swam back to shore.  In addition to this tragedy, I lost one of my new fins on the way back through the waves.  And God said (in a booming voice), "No scuba diving for this girl!"  Needless to say, I didn't go back down that day....or ever again.

My scuba buddy....Sorry we couldn't share this hobby!

The scuba class with Doubles Shark-Whisperer, two dive masters, and our instructor.

The real stuff!

    In the future, while my PDub, his sister, and Evens Tyrone go diving with sharks and clown fish, I'll do what I do best: sit on the beach, sip a cocktail (not whiskey), and read a book.  Sayonara scuba diving!

Born and raised a beach babe....my grandma and me

The Battle of Gettysburg

    Imagine living in a small, quiet country town with a view of colorful farmland and sky-piercing mountains, cattle grazing on the hillside, singing from the nearby seminary, and the smell of freshly baked bread.  It's June 30th, and yet another hot summer day is coming to a close.  As you prepare the house for sleep, you hear a knock at the door, and as you open it, you come face-to-face with a Union soldier.  Although you know the war has been going on for two years now, it has mostly remained in the south, destroying your Virginia neighbors.  The soldier comes bearing a message from his superior asking you to prepare your home for a hospital; a battle will occur the following day forever altering your view of those fields and mountains.

    After tossing and turning, you awake the next morning to find that your small country town is now inhabited by about 94,000 Union soldiers and 72,000 Confederate soldiers fighting for their lives and especially their beliefs.  Doors in your home are ripped off their hinges and used as operating tables while curtains are torn to shreds for bandages.  Not only has your town been invaded, but also your home.  For three days, you see and hear death in the largest bloodbath the war has seen and will ever see, and even after the battle and after the armies depart, your home is overturned with dead and injured men, only a portion of the total 51,000 that are dead, wounded, and missing.

    The digging begins where man upon man are shallowly placed in the ground.  Four months pass by before a permanent burial ground is bought by a local attorney.  On November 19, President Abraham Lincoln visits your town, and you attend the cemetery dedication listening to his most and history's most famous speech, The Gettysburg Address.  Lincoln reminds you of your nation's foundation which these men are fighting for, and he instills hope in you that this war will end in a way that these men's lives will not be useless.  Even though the war is not over and you will still have nightmares for the rest of your life, you find closure in your own experiences and contributions to the Civil War.

The Gettysburg Address (picture taken in the Lincoln Memorial)

Good old Abe.

    Yesterday, my cousins and I visited Gettysburg where we took a step back in time and learned about the gravest battle and turning point in the Civil War.  We arrived at the visitor's center, where a Gettysburg geek (as he called himself) climbed into the driver's seat and guided us around the battlefield and town.  He showed us hilltops where generals could view the battle for miles and miles away.  He took us past homes and barns that still had bullet markings and cannon holes.  We saw the progression of cannons over the course of the war and the many memorials located throughout the battle grounds.  Our brains were filled with war tactics from both sides, actual battle fields where combat took place, and sadness for the death of so many soldiers.  This was a trip I would recommend to any Civil War addict.

A soldier....

Loud noises!

The view from Little Round Top, a Union-controlled location.

Indiana Memorial