I am feeling marginally better today, but my mood is more sour. Funny how one thing improves, but the others falter. My breathing is slightly less labored, but the trade-off is that there's a lot more mucus now. I realize that this is a good thing, but my nose is starting to turn that Kleenex-chafed red. I discovered that sleeping only happens productively for me if my chest is elevated (for whatever perplexing reason), and thus, sleep has not been easy--which is what I'm attributing my pissy mood to. It's not even pissy so much as just lacking completely in any kind of patience.
My twin and his girlfriend, Jill, once again visited us. They were here from Thursday until today. I had intended to mention it in my last post, but other things were weighing heavily on my brain. The only sadness I have regarding their visit was that I spent most of it sick. Because of being sick, I stayed in bed and was mostly useless. It's unfortunate because soon my brother will be moving to Austin, Texas, and I will see him much, much less than I even see him now--which is precious little, let me tell you!
I don't really have much to say beyond that. I have no witty observations or thoughts with any depth. Mostly, I'm just ready to stop being sick and to start classes back up. For now, it's not much deeper than that.
Showing posts with label John. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John. Show all posts
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Family and Reunions
This weekend, my brother and his girlfriend, Jill, stopped in to stay with us for a few days on the way to Jill's house in Boston. My twin brother, as it happens, will be spending the Christmas holidays with the lovely Jill and her parents. They'll also come back through and stay with us for another few days on their way back to Lafayette, Indiana, but my dad and I will be in South Bend, so I won't get to spend a whole lot of time with them.
It's an interesting relationship that my twin and I have with each other. We used to be very close. Then, during our teenage years--probably due to the fact that I was a teenage girl, which automatically makes everything horrible--we grew apart. Lately, we've been much closer, and it's been a very comfortable friendship. I suppose you don't really appreciate your siblings until you don't see them all the time anymore.
We've spent the weekends talking about various things, playing video games together, enjoying family meals, and doing plenty of laughing. I like Jill very much, and I can tell that my brother has a very deep affection for her. It's nice to see him in a comfortable relationship, and I'm very happy for the both of them. I'm also glad that Jill and I have so much in common. We're both English majors, both interested in the same television and mostly the same books. We share some common opinions, and we have a very similar sense of humor. She's witty, which I guess she'd have to be to keep up with my brother's sassy comments. In short, I'd enjoy spending more time with both of them.
It's just been very nice to have my family together again, even if only for a few days. You don't really realize how much you can like each other when you have to spend all your time living with together. When you've all gone your separate ways, you have time to miss each other. You get time to reflect on the things that you liked about them, about all the ways that they made you laugh and smile. Our family is very much a family that loves to laugh together. It's nice to share intelligent conversation and laugh together again. I suppose I hadn't realized how very much I missed it until now.
In other news, my friend Mandy called me today to catch up. We spent some time reminiscing about the halcyon days of youth, and it got me thinking back to my high school days. I found myself thinking about people that we used to hang out with, relationships that happened--or almost happened, as the case may be. I sort of wish that we could all have our own reunion between friends, just to catch up. It would be nice to spend an evening talking about how we used to feel about each other, what we're doing now, and who we've all become. But then, I crave poetry in life, even among people and relationships. (I suppose I should preface that more by saying that I crave more poetry in life which does not begin, "There once was a man from Nantucket...")
Everything was so complicated, but even then, it was so simple. When you get older, not even much older, things get harder. Relationships must be considered--not just romantic ones, but also ones between family and friends--and they come and go. Jobs and opportunities come your way and force you sacrifice things. Your priorities change. Sometimes, you think about family and the future. Money is obtained, lost, needed and valued differently. Unexpected things happen.
I don't think that high-school-me would have expected me to be where I am now. I don't think high-school-me would be disappointed or anything, so don't misinterpret me. I simply think that, when I thought about my life back then, this isn't what I saw for myself. I suppose, however, that it would have been hard to see myself now from the limited perspective that I had back then.
Don't get me wrong, either. I am often surprised at how well I have turned out considering many things. I am fairly intelligent. I am capable and independent. I have no qualms with standing up for myself or others. I am much more wise than I ever thought I would be at any age, let alone in my twenties. I still have to work on my patience, but I'm making great strides in many other categories, all things considered. I could be doing much, much worse. Perhaps my life will keep moving forward in interesting ways, and I will continue to become more than I thought I would be. We can only hope so, right?
It's an interesting relationship that my twin and I have with each other. We used to be very close. Then, during our teenage years--probably due to the fact that I was a teenage girl, which automatically makes everything horrible--we grew apart. Lately, we've been much closer, and it's been a very comfortable friendship. I suppose you don't really appreciate your siblings until you don't see them all the time anymore.
We've spent the weekends talking about various things, playing video games together, enjoying family meals, and doing plenty of laughing. I like Jill very much, and I can tell that my brother has a very deep affection for her. It's nice to see him in a comfortable relationship, and I'm very happy for the both of them. I'm also glad that Jill and I have so much in common. We're both English majors, both interested in the same television and mostly the same books. We share some common opinions, and we have a very similar sense of humor. She's witty, which I guess she'd have to be to keep up with my brother's sassy comments. In short, I'd enjoy spending more time with both of them.
It's just been very nice to have my family together again, even if only for a few days. You don't really realize how much you can like each other when you have to spend all your time living with together. When you've all gone your separate ways, you have time to miss each other. You get time to reflect on the things that you liked about them, about all the ways that they made you laugh and smile. Our family is very much a family that loves to laugh together. It's nice to share intelligent conversation and laugh together again. I suppose I hadn't realized how very much I missed it until now.
In other news, my friend Mandy called me today to catch up. We spent some time reminiscing about the halcyon days of youth, and it got me thinking back to my high school days. I found myself thinking about people that we used to hang out with, relationships that happened--or almost happened, as the case may be. I sort of wish that we could all have our own reunion between friends, just to catch up. It would be nice to spend an evening talking about how we used to feel about each other, what we're doing now, and who we've all become. But then, I crave poetry in life, even among people and relationships. (I suppose I should preface that more by saying that I crave more poetry in life which does not begin, "There once was a man from Nantucket...")
Everything was so complicated, but even then, it was so simple. When you get older, not even much older, things get harder. Relationships must be considered--not just romantic ones, but also ones between family and friends--and they come and go. Jobs and opportunities come your way and force you sacrifice things. Your priorities change. Sometimes, you think about family and the future. Money is obtained, lost, needed and valued differently. Unexpected things happen.
I don't think that high-school-me would have expected me to be where I am now. I don't think high-school-me would be disappointed or anything, so don't misinterpret me. I simply think that, when I thought about my life back then, this isn't what I saw for myself. I suppose, however, that it would have been hard to see myself now from the limited perspective that I had back then.
Don't get me wrong, either. I am often surprised at how well I have turned out considering many things. I am fairly intelligent. I am capable and independent. I have no qualms with standing up for myself or others. I am much more wise than I ever thought I would be at any age, let alone in my twenties. I still have to work on my patience, but I'm making great strides in many other categories, all things considered. I could be doing much, much worse. Perhaps my life will keep moving forward in interesting ways, and I will continue to become more than I thought I would be. We can only hope so, right?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Day Twenty-four: Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory
This should have been posted yesterday, so I apologize for the lateness. I'll explain later.
This entry is hard to make into a letter because several people were involved in this, my favorite memory. So I'll just talk about my memory instead. A lot of people don't really remember their childhood. In that way, I suppose that I'm lucky because I do remember mine--for the most part.
This particular memory is from when I was quite little--perhaps four. We lived in the house on Sampson Street in South Bend at the time, so I know it was before I turned five (we moved to Granger when I was five so that we could be in PHM schools). That little house had a really large backyard which sloped at the back, so it was ideal for sledding in the winter time.
It was a hot summer day. My paternal grandparents were over, and we were outside having a barbecue. My mother had set up the sprinkler so that we could play in it because of the heat. Playing in the sprinkler was always one of our favorite things to do as kids. Even when we had a pool at our disposal, we still liked playing in the sprinkler. The sprinkler is a vital part of what happened that day. We still refer to it as "the pickle incident."
John and I had spent the afternoon busily running about the sprinkler. Joel had avoided it because the water was fairly cold. He was still in diapers, which didn't really make for a whole lot of watery fun anyways. John had discovered that morning, however, that the spigot controlled the water coming out of the sprinkler. (We weren't fancy folks. Our sprinklers weren't in-ground, but rather, functioned via a hose.) Sometime that afternoon, it occurred to John that he could be the master of his sprinkler domain. He discovered that he had the power to decide who got wet and who didn't. He decided to wait by the spigot, plotting his attack.
As a side note which will not seem so random in a minute, Berlakovich children have always loved pickles. Pickles have been a staple to us since we were old enough to gnaw on them. Pickles are always around in a Berlakovich house. So, needless to say, there were pickles at that afternoon's barbecue. Joel, loving pickles as all Berlakovich children do, got himself a pickle and decided to wander around the yard--by this time, of course, John had turned off the sprinkler and was waiting for his first victim to wander over. I was seated with the family, enjoying a little packet of fruit snacks.
At some point, Joel spotted the sprinkler. He moseyed over to it, curious about how it might have worked. Just as his little face was bent over it, admiring the holes in the shiny metal, pickle in hand, John unleashed the fury of the faucet on the poor kid.
I wish I could describe the arm-flapping maneuver that my little brother pulled when the water hit him in the face. I can still see it in my head, and it makes me laugh to this very day when I think about it. There are no words to adequately describe what he did. He dropped his pickle, flapped his tiny little arms, and ran to my mother, seated at the picnic table on the concrete slab patio. He sobbed in my mother's arms about how he had dropped his pickle, which seemed to be the main source of his emotional distress. My mother offered him another, but it was for naught. He wanted the original, lost pickle, not some poor first-pickle substitute.
My mother resigned herself to going to pick up the other pickle. It could be rinsed off, she figured. It was sitting on the plastic of the sprinkler, so it wasn't like it was on the ground (don't judge my mother!). She knew, however, that my twin had suddenly become her foe. John was still by the spigot, still waiting, only now he had a taste for the sprinkler's power. My mother called out, "John, you better not!" but it was too late. His plan was already hatched.
When she approached, he turned the sprinkler on her too. Then, he ran away from the spigot. Priceless.
This entry is hard to make into a letter because several people were involved in this, my favorite memory. So I'll just talk about my memory instead. A lot of people don't really remember their childhood. In that way, I suppose that I'm lucky because I do remember mine--for the most part.
This particular memory is from when I was quite little--perhaps four. We lived in the house on Sampson Street in South Bend at the time, so I know it was before I turned five (we moved to Granger when I was five so that we could be in PHM schools). That little house had a really large backyard which sloped at the back, so it was ideal for sledding in the winter time.
It was a hot summer day. My paternal grandparents were over, and we were outside having a barbecue. My mother had set up the sprinkler so that we could play in it because of the heat. Playing in the sprinkler was always one of our favorite things to do as kids. Even when we had a pool at our disposal, we still liked playing in the sprinkler. The sprinkler is a vital part of what happened that day. We still refer to it as "the pickle incident."
John and I had spent the afternoon busily running about the sprinkler. Joel had avoided it because the water was fairly cold. He was still in diapers, which didn't really make for a whole lot of watery fun anyways. John had discovered that morning, however, that the spigot controlled the water coming out of the sprinkler. (We weren't fancy folks. Our sprinklers weren't in-ground, but rather, functioned via a hose.) Sometime that afternoon, it occurred to John that he could be the master of his sprinkler domain. He discovered that he had the power to decide who got wet and who didn't. He decided to wait by the spigot, plotting his attack.
As a side note which will not seem so random in a minute, Berlakovich children have always loved pickles. Pickles have been a staple to us since we were old enough to gnaw on them. Pickles are always around in a Berlakovich house. So, needless to say, there were pickles at that afternoon's barbecue. Joel, loving pickles as all Berlakovich children do, got himself a pickle and decided to wander around the yard--by this time, of course, John had turned off the sprinkler and was waiting for his first victim to wander over. I was seated with the family, enjoying a little packet of fruit snacks.
At some point, Joel spotted the sprinkler. He moseyed over to it, curious about how it might have worked. Just as his little face was bent over it, admiring the holes in the shiny metal, pickle in hand, John unleashed the fury of the faucet on the poor kid.
I wish I could describe the arm-flapping maneuver that my little brother pulled when the water hit him in the face. I can still see it in my head, and it makes me laugh to this very day when I think about it. There are no words to adequately describe what he did. He dropped his pickle, flapped his tiny little arms, and ran to my mother, seated at the picnic table on the concrete slab patio. He sobbed in my mother's arms about how he had dropped his pickle, which seemed to be the main source of his emotional distress. My mother offered him another, but it was for naught. He wanted the original, lost pickle, not some poor first-pickle substitute.
My mother resigned herself to going to pick up the other pickle. It could be rinsed off, she figured. It was sitting on the plastic of the sprinkler, so it wasn't like it was on the ground (don't judge my mother!). She knew, however, that my twin had suddenly become her foe. John was still by the spigot, still waiting, only now he had a taste for the sprinkler's power. My mother called out, "John, you better not!" but it was too late. His plan was already hatched.
When she approached, he turned the sprinkler on her too. Then, he ran away from the spigot. Priceless.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Day Four: Siblings
John and Joel,
I don't suppose I'm used to writing to either of you. It hardly seems like something that any of us would do on the regular. And, while I would say that we're close, I wouldn't say that we are conventional. We are not a part of a "normal" family--whatever it is that those happen to consist of.
I'm glad that you guys are around. I'm glad that you always know how to make me laugh until I'm about to pee the floor. John, I was floored when you called me after all the Facebook stuff and hearing about my relationship trouble. You'll probably never know how much that little thing meant to me. It made me feel like you're there for me when the shit really goes down. Joel, sometimes, you say things that make me feel like you really do listen when I talk, like you totally understand where I'm coming from. And I know, logically, that you guys would back me up if there was trouble in my life, but it's the little things like that that make me feel really valued, like being your sister really means something.
I hope you guys feel like I'll be there for you too, like I've got your back. I know we have times when we frustrate and disappoint each other--just like there are in any normal family. I think our good times outweigh our bad. I think that we can stick together and be more like actual siblings. Also, I'd do just about anything within my power to help you guys out. Your well-being and happiness are important to me.
I hope that we don't fall out of touch, as people are often wont to do with time and distance. John, college has been kind to you over the years, but I'd love to hear from you more often. I'm willing to try to bridge that gap as well with phone calls and cards. Joel, I know that when I lived in the Bend while you were in Ohio we spoke very little. Hopefully, with the Internets being more kind to the both of us, we can remedy that when I'm at Lourdes. I feel like we're all in places where we can be more than just brother and sister, but also friends. I'd like to see us be that way and stay that way.
Love,
Jess
I don't suppose I'm used to writing to either of you. It hardly seems like something that any of us would do on the regular. And, while I would say that we're close, I wouldn't say that we are conventional. We are not a part of a "normal" family--whatever it is that those happen to consist of.
I'm glad that you guys are around. I'm glad that you always know how to make me laugh until I'm about to pee the floor. John, I was floored when you called me after all the Facebook stuff and hearing about my relationship trouble. You'll probably never know how much that little thing meant to me. It made me feel like you're there for me when the shit really goes down. Joel, sometimes, you say things that make me feel like you really do listen when I talk, like you totally understand where I'm coming from. And I know, logically, that you guys would back me up if there was trouble in my life, but it's the little things like that that make me feel really valued, like being your sister really means something.
I hope you guys feel like I'll be there for you too, like I've got your back. I know we have times when we frustrate and disappoint each other--just like there are in any normal family. I think our good times outweigh our bad. I think that we can stick together and be more like actual siblings. Also, I'd do just about anything within my power to help you guys out. Your well-being and happiness are important to me.
I hope that we don't fall out of touch, as people are often wont to do with time and distance. John, college has been kind to you over the years, but I'd love to hear from you more often. I'm willing to try to bridge that gap as well with phone calls and cards. Joel, I know that when I lived in the Bend while you were in Ohio we spoke very little. Hopefully, with the Internets being more kind to the both of us, we can remedy that when I'm at Lourdes. I feel like we're all in places where we can be more than just brother and sister, but also friends. I'd like to see us be that way and stay that way.
Love,
Jess
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