Frites and Mayo

Last summer, I was fortunate enough to get to travel to Belgium. There, I found out why my grandpa speaks Flemish, listens to Belgian music, eats frites (french fries) with mayonnaise, and, in essence, loves Belgium. It was amazing! From the seaside to the small towns to the big cities, this small country had so much to offer.

I fell in love with the beauty of the country as well as the residents there just like my grandpa had many years ago. You see, my ancestors are from Pittem, a small city in Belgium. My grandpa has a lot of pride in this so he formed the Sister Cities program about 30 years ago. Shawnee, Kansas is a sister city of Pittem, Belgium. When I visited there this summer, I got to stay with the local residents of Pittem. They knew my grandfather very well and only had good things to say about him.

Even though my grandparents are too old to travel over to Belgium as often as they used to, they keep the Belgium spirit alive in Shawnee by listening to Belgian music, eating frites with mayo, being a part of the Shawnee Belgian American Club, and attending the Sister Cities State Championship Rolle Bolle tournament every year during Old Shawnee Days.

Anyone and everyone is invited to compete in the Rolle Bolle tournament. It's an old Belgian game that my grandparents love so much they built a Rolle Bolle court in their back yard!

The tournament takes place tomorrow, Saturday June 4th at the Rolle Bolle courts at 58th Street and King Avenue (just north of Johnson Drive). Beer, brat worsts, hot dogs, and other food will be served starting at 12:00. The tournament will start soon after. Grandparents, parents and kids will all be in attendance. It is a game that anyone of any age can play.

The game started in the 13th century in Belgium and was an outlawed activity for a while. Those who play the game are called boulders, and they play using a hard rubber disc that the game takes its name from. Rolle bolles are about eight inches in diameter and four inches thick and can weigh six to eight pounds.

How to play the game:

One at a time, starting at the backstop on one end of the court, two teams of three boulders take the rolle bolle and roll it toward a stake or pin raising about five inches from the ground. Rolling the rolle bolle is not so easy, however, because a bevel running down the center makes the surface uneven. Getting the rolle bolle as close to the stake as possible is the object; if the rolle bolle hits the backstop behind the stake, it is considered dead.

Players can try to use their rolle bolle to knock away those of the opposing team, bringing in some shuffleboard tactics.

I hope you will come to the Rolle Bolle tournament! I will be there as early as 9 AM helping to set everything up. My grandpa has instilled a Belgian pride in me and I hope that long after he is gone I get to pass it down to my grandchildren and keep a little bit of his spirit alive as well.

The Circle

It appears that I have tried to evade Shawnee, Kansas......and have failed.

I love my grandparents. I have spent my entire life admiring them and wondering how I can find a relationship like theirs. To everyone else, it seems dysfunctional. And to me, growing up, I have wondered how my grandmother managed to lassle a man as stubborn and as worldly as my grandfather. At the same time, I wondered how my grandfather managed to hook a woman as lovely, patient, and loving as my grandmother. It's like they should repel each other....and yet, were made for each other at the same time. I don't know how to explain it other than IT WORKS AND I WANT IT.

My grandfather doesn't listen to anyone and I love him for it. (Everyone else is annoyed.) Perhaps it's that, "I'm going to do what I want to do, so help me God," that I've learned from him and we understand each other without talking about it. After all, I picked up and went to Texas in a decision made in less 24 hours. Who was to stop me? No one. Even he wanted me to stay close to him but I want to do what I want to do.

So I went. To Texas. To get out of Kansas City. To grow as a person. Or so I thought.

Yet I always find myself returning to Kansas City and admiring its beauty and history. I taunt others with how magestic the city is, how much it has to offer, and its widespread glory. They question my sincerity: "If Kansas City is so great, then why did you leave?" I am dumbfounded; I don't know.

I thought that distancing myself from the familiar would help me grow as a person. But now, perhaps I need to look closer at what I love and appreciate it more.

I have spent the past 3 years looking for something to make me happy. Now, I'm realizing that perhaps what I need has been staring me right in the face for the first 18 years of my life. It's weird to realize, but I like it.

It's kind of a learning experience. Similar to, "You don't know what you've had until you've lost it." I gave away Kansas City for Dallas, Texas. I told EVERYONE that I was never moving back home. Now, however, I think I might be realizing that Kansas City is exactly what I need.

It will be interesting to see where I go from here.

All I can hope for is a spouse that drives me crazy, yet I can't live without him at the same time. To others, it may appear that my grandparents are at their wits end with each other, but I know that they loved each other so deeply. I know that they complemented each other so much that, if I even come close to their relationship, I will be the luckiest girl in the world.

Even now, when I see them, I think they are the greatest people in the entire world. They will never see this but that's ok. I love them and I think they are so amazing. They are loved my so many people, but most of all......ME.

I found a dead person.

Kind of. Maybe.

Ok, it's kind of a stretch for a conclusion, but what do you expect from me? It's semi-viable.

Let me explain.

It's Christmas Day and I have set my alarm for 7:30 AM so that we can open presents as a family at 8:00 sharp and then head down to the homeless shelter to prepare food for those who can't afford a meal on Christmas.

I'm not joking.

My dad always cooks up these half-brained ideas and throws them together at the last minute. And, to please our ever-adoring and giving father, my brothers and I succumb to the prepositions and blindly follow along. This is what happened two days before Christmas. My parents called us all into the kitchen to make an announcement.

Father: "We are going to do something to benefit mankind on Christmas Day."
Me: "Are we going to plant a tree?"
Father: "No, better."
Hayden (13-yr-old): "Are we going to give away money?"
Father: "No, better."
Spencer (sophomore in college; king of the frat boys) says with a dry tone of voice and a look in his eyes that screams 'you've GOT to be kidding me' as he slumps down in his seat: "We're going to a homeless shelter."
Father, gleaming with pride: "THAT'S RIGHT! On Christmas morning, we are going to go work at a homeless shelter for a few hours."
Hayden, with a look of utter horror: "BUT WHAT ABOUT OPENING OUR PRESENTS?!?!?!?!?!?"
Father: "We can open them before or after we serve food for 4 hours."
**All children look at each other like WTF?**
Me, trying to encourage the idea onto my brothers: "OK, yeah this is a good idea guys. We can do it. It'll be....fun."
**Brothers look at me like "you better sleep with one eye open, Haley, because we'll never forgive you for this."**

So it's decided: we're going to the homeless shelter on Christmas morning to help prepare and deliver food.

So, that morning, we all get into the car and drive to downtown Kansas City. And when I say "downtown", I mean the 'hood. All of a sudden, my dad pulls onto 4th and Quindaro and says, "Now, kids, this is the most dangerous street in all of Kansas City."

"WHAAAAAAAAT!?!?!" Hayden yelps.
"Don't worry. It's 9AM. Every one's in bed. We're not in any real danger. At least I don't think so...." Father says.
I check to make sure my door is locked and I secretly pray that the windows are bulletproof, but I'm pretty sure they're not. We're in a Ford.
"Why are we in the 'hood, Dad?" Spencer asks.
"Because...this is where people need help the most."
"Ohhhh, oooooooook." We all look at each other, not knowing what to expect next.

We pull up to a Baptist Church and find the parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence and pad locks. Super. But I think, "It's Christmas. Surely we won't get murdered on Christmas for trying to help the needy." That's all I've got to stick to for the next few hours, so I'm hoping I'm right.

Mother: "Uhh...Marty, you're gonna go inside and talk to someone and make sure we're at the right place before we all get out of the car, right?"
Father: "Sure, no problem."
My mother looks at me like "what did we get ourselves into this time?" but I'm semi-confident that we'll be alright.

Everything checks out to be normal, so we go inside. I am immediately given the task of putting together and taping cardboard boxes for delivery. I'm not allowed near the food. After manning a taping gun for over an hour and producing many, many cardboard boxes, my mom says I should drop out of SMU and seriously consider applying for UPS. Thanks mom. I'll do that.

Our shift is about over when they ask my mom and I if we are going to deliver food to people's houses. We look at each other and don't know what to say. We're not sure if we signed up for that. "We can deliver food to a few families," my mother says. "Ok, great!" the woman says. "We have a few families on your way home."

We leave. I volunteer to get out at the first stop and take the food up to the door. I ring the doorbell. I wait a little while, then I ring again. Maybe it doesn’t work. So I knock. And then again. My dad rolls down the window and says, “He might be hard of hearing, so knock really loudly.” “I did the first couple of times, but I’ll try it again.” So this time, I turn my hand into a fist and begin banging on the door. Everyone and their mom should have been able to hear that. Still no answer.

Detective mode kicks in and I begin to take in my surroundings. The car is in the driveway, so he’s got to be home. He’s not on vacation because if he can’t afford food, then he can’t afford to go anywhere. There’s a bunch of stuff on the front porch and then I spot the mailbox. Full.

(Ok, I know this is kind of illegal to look through someone’s mail but I was kind of beginning to get worried that something was wrong. And the mailbox was open, so I didn’t open it myself. I just looked inside.)

And I saw mail post-marked for December 10th, 14th, and 16th. AND a Netflix that had been there for awhile. Ok, I don’t know about you, but people who order Netflix watch those puppies as soon as they arrive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Netflix sit in a mailbox before. People have those coming and going as fast as possible so they maximize their monthly rate. Also, the mail hadn’t been picked up for two weeks? Ok, I understand not picking your mail up for a few days when your mailbox is a community mailbox down the street, but when your mailbox is literally at your front door that you walk in and out of multiple times a day? You would most certainly pick it up one of the times you walk through the door, right? This led me to believe that this man had not left his house for almost two weeks. Red flag.

I put the meal on a chair on the front porch and walk back to the car. “Dad, I don’t hear anything inside. Not a person, a T.V., radio, cat, dog, or anything. Should we call the police?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think we probably should. That really isn’t a good sign.”
So my dad calls the police, gives them all of the information I discovered and his own contact information. They say they’ll send someone over to check it out and they may need to contact us if the investigation needs to be furthered. “Ok, thanks,” my dad says as he hangs up.

We all look at each other. “I hope he isn’t dead!” my mother says. “Duh, mom,” says Spencer.

So then we go home, get ready to go over to our grandparents' house, and proceed with our normal Christmas activities.

I put on my new boots that I had been eyeing for months and am SO glad I got as a present. I'm such a lucky girl.

And, because of our trip to the ‘hood and almost finding a dead person inside of their house, I am very thankful that I have enough good fortune to receive presents and food for Christmas AND that I’m not dead.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!

Oh, Leo!

The sun was shining through the windows as I slowly opened my eyes and stretched my arms. My sheets and blankets were crisp and clean after just being washed and it felt sooo goood to be snuggled in them. I awoke from a wonderful dream where I just met Leonardo DiCaprio in Central Park and he asked me out on a date. It was a beautiful day in Dallas and I thought, "Finals are over! What should I do on this wonderful day?".......

"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."

OH SHIT

I was supposed to FLY HOME!

I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"

"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.

I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"

"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."

After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.

*Fist pump into the air*

"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)

Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.

So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.

8:15. No cab.

So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."

8:21. No cab.

So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."

8:29. No cab.

Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.

To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.

I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."

I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.

When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.

I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.

And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!



To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.

So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.

What a Finale!!

And by "finale", I suppose I mean "finals". And by "finals", I suppose I mean the one I missed this morning.

Yep, you guessed it: didn't quite make it to my 8 AM Marketing Final. Not by choice, however. My body decided to have a complete and utter breakdown from 9:30 PM last night to 4:00 AM this morning on account of one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza. This is the piece of pizza that I almost didn't eat after reading that one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza costs you over 700 calories. But I was hungry, my salad wasn't satisfying my loudly growling stomach, and the 5 kids I was babysitting were helping me burn more than those 700 calories soooooooooo.....I ate it. MISTAKE.

Fast forward one hour later and I am glued to their couch. I feel really bad because I usually am a lot more fun when I babysit and I like to do stuff with the kids. But I couldn't...do...anything. I have a really sensitive stomach so I figure it's just my stomach being sensitive to the fact that I don't usually eat that many carbs or greasy cheese in one sitting. "It'll pass," I think. WRONG.

Then, one of the boys laying on the couch goes, "Are you guys sick?"

"yES!" I say in a crescendo like I have just made a huge discovery and found humanity's missing link. The other two boys go, "Yeah, I'm really sick too. I feel terrible." I ask, "Do you guys feel weak? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" "Yes," they respond. "Did you eat the pizza?" "Yes," they respond. "Oh no. Oh no no no." I say as I shake my head. "What's wrong, Haley?" they ask. "I think we all have food poisoning". "WHAAAT?" They're concerned. I try to calm their fears but inside I am freaking out.

I have had food poisoning once before. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I was in Universal Studios in Florida with my family. The entire Hard Rock Cafe had just sang me "Happy Birthday" as I stood on a stage and then I had the most amazing milkshake ever. It was one of the best days of my life.

So we were walking around after that and I start feeling sick. So I get sick. EVERYWHERE. I pretty much covered Universal Studios with my milkshake and whatever else was in my tummy. I couldn't control myself...or find a trashcan anywhere---their fault, not mine. A policeman sees us and immediately gets me some water. But I can't keep it down. I start feeling so incredibly weak that I can't walk anymore. Therefore, I sit down and lean against a huge concrete pillar barely able to keep my eyes open with a red SOLO cup of water in my hand while my family tries to find help. Yes, I look like I'm WASTED. People were walking by me, pointing and mumbling, "It looks like someone's had too much to drink..." I wanted to yell, "I'M SIXTEEN! I DON'T DRINK!" but I didn't have enough energy.

My dad comes back with a wheelchair. I look at him like, "Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" but inside I am jumping for joy. What a genius. I am so thankful.

I spend the rest of the evening in our hotel bathroom trying trying trying to feel better for our 6 AM flight home the next day. I'm not.

So my family gets up the next day and is trying to help me get ready to leave. I can't do anything. Then my brother who is 18 months younger than me starts getting sick. My parents look at each other like, "WHY US?!" and try to help their sick 16 and 14 year old get ready for a 3 hour flight. They also have an 8 year old they have to deal with who doesn't really know what's going on.

We're late to turn our rental car in. I throw up in the parking garage. Then Spencer (my brother) does too.

We're late to the security line. Of course it's excessively long. All of a sudden out of nowhere and without any warning, Spencer leans over and throws up ALL OVER my brand new hot pink suitcase. Not having time to be even a little mad, I see the throw-up and start feeling sick. I run across the airport to the closest trashcan and barely make it. My parents are dumbfounded. People in line are pissed at us. Hayden (my other brother) is about to cry.

We're late to the gate. There aren't any seats together so we all have to split up. My dad politely tells the airline stewardess that his son is very sick and needs to sit with one of his parents. I'm feeling better and can manage to sit by myself, but Spencer is getting sick every 20 minutes. She is very rude and says, "You were late; there's nothing I can do. He'll have to manage." My dad looks very solemn and in his head is thinking, "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."

We're all situated and about to take off when the stranger sitting next to Spencer starts freaking out because, yep, he's getting sick. The airline stewardess runs to my dad and says, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? I think your son needs you." He looks up at her and thinks, "REALLY?!" haha ohh goodness.

A middle-aged lady is sitting between Hayden and I. I get a little sick during the flight and Hayden is plastered against the window. He's freaking out. He doesn't know this lady, his big sister is really sick, and he doesn't know where his family is. Poor guy.

My mom is stuck in the back of the plane for 3 hours worried sick about her children who she can't take care of next to another lady who is talking about her cats and her knitting hobby.

I laugh every time I tell that story to someone. A lot happened and it's crazy that we even made our flight and stayed alive. Last night was different. All I have to show is 5 grocery bags outside my front door that I'm sure my neighbors are pissed about and a lack of sleep. Ohh, and I look like poo, my room is an utter and complete mess, and I have to take an Incomplete in one of my business school classes until I can sort it out in the spring.

AND I have a 6 AM flight tomorrow. I feel like this is a pattern. I hope I don't get sick.

Give Thanks for Family

Her name is trouble. My name is trouble. Her sister's name is trouble.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.

We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.

I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.

This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.

Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.

But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.