springtime in sarajevo

my first days in bosnia were filled with excitement. We had cookouts, met for coffee in the city, toured the streets and explored our new world.the few bosnians we knew were eager to show us their city, their food, and their culture. there was a yonger boy named aldin, a muslim ,who'd befriened some other americans we knew during the war and had kept a relationship with us because his father wanted to ensure that had things become unsafe again Aldin would have a way out. Then their was Vaska. A stunning woman in her forties that looked about ten years older than she actually was. She was a war widow with two kids in their teens. She was sweet and very motherly to all of us. She was an amazing cook who spoke very little english but what she lacked in communication she made up for in hospitality. Then there was Dzenan, also a young muslim boy who had converted to Christianity after the war. Dzenan's mother was Croatian, his father was bosnian. That was the story with a lot of those living in Sarajevo. We all wanted to draw the ethnic lines so that we knew who belonged to who and worshiped what....but it wasnt about that. it never was. As the late spring thaw began to finally take we started to feel at home in our new city. We began to learn bits and pieces of the language. Figured out how to ride the tram, get to the grocery store, go to the movies. We learned how to live. We prayed and sang a lot in those days. It was as if God lived on the hill above Bascarsija, and he came and sat in our living rooms day in and day out.

cumunjua bridge, our first day out in the city

the beginning of a story ill one day tell my grandchildren

when i was 20 i thought i could change the world. i worked for a missionary organization in denver colorado and lived like one of those hippie communes minus the drugs plus a lot of Jesus. we were all under thirty and recklessly hopeful. i joined a team that was heading to bosnia within the year. one day in march we hopped on plane and the next thing i knew i was a riding on a bus through the city of sarajevo wondering what the hell i had just done. up until that point i couldnt tell you one thing about bosnia other than it was in europe and they had a war ten years or so ago. honestly my only memory of that war was watching a news program with bill clinton and hearing my mom grumbling about helping the muslims. now i was riding through this town that looked like the war had just ended yesterday. i remember thinking that it reminded me a lot of mexico just with a lot of holes in the buildings. upon entering our apartment i looked wide eyed from the balcony down into the city as i heard the first call to prayer. in those days refugees and landmines and mass graves and genocide were coffee shop talk. how does a 20 year old american girl ever take in the events that happened in this city....thats a whole nother post for a whole nother day.

on a lighter note

Four jobs I've had:
+ bagger at a grocery store
+ diner waitress
+ humanitarian aid worker
Four movies I can watch over and over:
+Vfor Vendetta
+Youve got Mail
+Anchorman
+Grandmas boy
Four places I have lived:
+Pickerington ,Ohio
+Monroe, North Carolina
+Denver ,Colorado
+Sarajevo, Bosnia and Hercegovina
Four TV shows I love to watch:
+ Greys Anatomy
+the OC
+ The Office
+ Curb Your Enthusiasm
Four places I have been on vacation:
+ Jerusalem, Israel
+ Dubrovnik, Croatia
+ Grand Cayman Islands
+ Alcupoco, Mexico
Four of my favorite dishes:
+ Eggplant parmasean
+ Mac N Cheese
+ Coffee
+ Grilled Cheese
Four websites I visit daily:
Myspace.com
Facebook.com
hypem.com
brooklynvegan.com
Four places I would rather be right now:
drunk

the redeffinition of family

i woke up early yesterday morning. put on my hat, scarf, and favorite hoodie stepped out the the door into the late november chill. i stopped by starbucks and then decided to go out and buy a christmas tree and all the trim. i debated decorating for christmas at all with michele moving out it would be just me in the apartment and seemed almost redicoulous to go all out just for me . but after a mental debate with the questions of being alone for the rest of my life and the vow to myself of not living like half a person because of a lack of significant other i went out and bought all the fixins. i went home and decked out the house. it is beautiful and warm and feels like something out of a movie. this year has been wierd for me. with mom remarrying and the third anniversary of dads death i feel like my family is redefining itself and its akward and hard and a little painful. ron moved in to moms the week before thanksgiving on thanksgiving day julie and i went over to moms as we do every holiday and rons parents came down. there is always an uneasiness in the house now as if we are always in the presence of a stranger. the sentiment was even more apparent with rons parents there. old people can be difficult sometimes.they fight, the repeat themselves alot, and often say innapropriate things. when they are your grandparents you have patience for them. they are family and there is something endeering about there somewhat senial ways. but when they are not family it grates on your nerves and you are always unsure of what to say, and always seconds from telling them to "shut the hell up". maybe things would be different if i were at a different place in life. if i were married or had kids the deffintion of family wouldnt lie soley on my sister and mom. possibly it be easier to except my moms deep desire not be alone if i were myself not alone. myabe...but then again maybe not.

heart-body-crema-paycheck

verisimo
Originally uploaded by lauriejog

i spend to much time here

mental movies when memories fail

i stopped to get some coffee at starbucks on the way. if i was going that way it would take a bit longer . it was ok. it was sunday and i had nowhere to be in a hurry. as i drove down main st. i came up on it. the cemetary i havent been too in some time. i used to go quite often after he died. important days like fathers day, his birthday, his and moms anniversary ect. but since i moved to grandview i hadnt gotten out there for a while. as the cemetary approached i decided to turn in. when i got out and walked over to his grave i stood there for a few minutes feeling the biting cold of the pre thanksgiving damp november chill. i reached down and swept away the leaves that had gathered on his gravestone. almost as if it was methodical tradition i ran my finger over the etching in the stone....letting my fingers slowly spell out G-R-A-N-G-E-R. I made a mental note of how the grass still growing in looked so different from the rest of the grass around me and how much it looked like the grass at our old house. as if he had it transplanted soley for his plot. standing there i began to cry . i began to vocalizethe feelings of mom remarrying and all the buzz around the house with ron moving in and the coming holiday and stepsisters and new last names and his picture replacing dads on the tv. and then i became silent. and cried. i was mad...that i as well as everyone else was beginning to forget dad. i was losing the memories. they were becoming more and more distant. i sat his grave for a moment longer. gathered my thoughts and made my way over to moms. that night at joshua house i sat through a fairly boring sermon. as we got up to pray at the end a wave washed over me. memories of my dad drinking coffee out on the porch, laying on the floor playing ball with the dog, sitting in his chair waving at me, riding the lawnmower, and cooking dinner. after the prayer was over i thanked God for mental movies when memories fail.

night terrors

i had the strangest dream last night. i fell asleep with the tv on and am just hoping there was a weird movie on tv or something. i was in my old house and there were a lot of people there. i dont even know why. all of a sudden there were a few asian men in the house shooting people left and right ...there were also shots coming from the windows. everyone was bleeding and laying on the ground and everyone who wasnt shot was running around like mad trying to get out of the house. i remember lying down and playing dead as one of the men was making a second round through the house. as soon as he left i followed someone else out on the front door. once i got out there i could see there was a truck stopped across the road three doors down. as people left and ran out of the house there were men there with automatic weapons shooting people and quite literally pumping them full of lead. i remember running and feeling shots and falling on the ground. it rained or the grass was slippery and as i lay i began to slide down the hill twoard the ditch. i played dead again and waited for the men to all hop in the truck and drive farther down the street as they did i got up and walked laboursly down to the end of the neighborhood. turned left and started to go down 204 and saw a man obvoiously stealing an old abandoned truck and hotwiring it. i asked him for a ride to krogers and he let me get in the back. as he drove up the road there was a checkpoint at 204 and diley. i knew it was over for me because i was clearly bleeding and frazzled and would not be able to make it through. i layed down in the truck and from what i could tell passed out ( or woke up and rolled over) the next scene was a group of us down south ( maybe florida or new orleans) and talking about how we were not able to go back because of these men. i woke up somewhere after that and was cold and in my apartment. i got up off the couch and went to bed. the rest of the night i was paranoid and scared. i heard someone up and moving around at 4 am and layed there eyes wide open. all of this proves one thing...well two. i need to lay off the weed and the war books before bed.

i feel compelled to go. like i have carried this for too long. i have carried this for too long.

live through this

and you wont look back.