In case some of you were worried that the art of "hollering" was lost after the early to mid 90's, fear not, for it is alive and kickin' in Nica. On my 5 minute walk to buy a phone card today, I received all of the following "hollers," if you will: Chelita linda, Princesa, Guapa, and Chela, Chela. This comes from all sorts of men, young and old, walking, driving, watching in general. I still am trying to formulate an appropriate response. What I would really like to say is that calling me pale is not going to get them anywhere quick, but I don't think this would translate, and I think by the time I spit the phrase out, the moment would be lost and they would be long gone. Sometimes I say gracias, just to be a smartass, but that gets old quickly and my language school friends didn't really appreciate it. I have also thought about saying "Donde?" or "Where is the chela?" but haven't gotten the guts to use it yet. Usually I just joke with whoever is with me that they are talking to them instead. Perhaps I just need to learn how to take a compliment, however ridiculous or uncomplimentary it may seem to me. I imagine, however, it must get old for Elena, who has lived here for 25 years and still gets holla'ed at pretty frequently.
And this, my friends, concludes my thought of the day, sponsored by this guy: http://www.myspace.com/e603...make sure to listen to Money and Girls in the top right corner and check out the last Youtube video, which I had during childhood! (Shout out to the awesome Lee, who shared this with me! :)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
I'm Alive, Gracias a Dios!
So lightning struck twice, but by the grace of God I am still here to bring you this glorious blog! hah Anyway, I was very grateful not to be included in the 67 deaths last week (31 drownings, 27 by violence and 9 by transit accidents, according to El Nuevo Diario...slightly closer to Elena's estimates than the guy on the bus). But, I did have a near death experience...one that closely resembled a similar one from last summer...we shall call it "casi muerte por bicicleta," or "almost death by bike."
We decided to rent bikes on the island (which was gorgeous and exotic, with two volcanoes and fresh water beaches...I started feeling slightly guilty, being as this was my third vacation in 3 weeks...I work hard the rest of the time, I promise! Anyway, back to the story.). This is the point where I should have politely declined in quiet reverence or out of pure common sense, remembering my spill on the bike path in Georgetown last year that resulted in a large gash in my left knee and hand and thankfully nothing else. I'm assuming you already know my response, though.
"SI! Let's go!"
All was fine for the first couple kilometers (for me anyway...one of Reyna's friends who didn't know how to ride a bike rode on the crossbar of another friend's bike, and they crashed into a ditch, so she had to hitch a ride to get where we were going...she made sure to put a giant rock in her purse first for protection though, lol. As she says..."You just never know, Amanda!")
Then we hit the hills. My breaks were slightly squeaky and sporadic, so that scared me slightly. Finally, going down one of the larger ones, I bit it. Big time. My towel got caught in the spokes of the front wheel, but I luckily went down the same way as last year, hitting my knee and elbow instead of my head. Blood was gushing, my sunglasses went flying and of course I ended up in front of a church with open doors that was having their Good Friday service. So Reyna comes flying down the hill screaming, are you okay? And I'm trying to reassure her in Spanish that everything is fine, it doesn't hurt, despite the fact that there my knee is a dark blob of evidence to the contrary. On the bright side, the wounds were large enough that they didn't dry over the next 4 or so kilometers riding to the beach, so it didn't hurt too bad. There I was able to wash it in the lake, and then clean it using my Purell and travel toilet paper lol. We also had drinks at a beachside bar there, so you know Facebook pics are coming of the wound lol.
I have found three positives in this experience:
1) It was on a gorgeous island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua, so I really have nothing to complain about.
2) The scar, though slightly bigger than the one from last year, is in the same exact place as the one before, so I will not have any more new scars on my already battered legs.
3) I didn't have to find out how emergency transport works on the beach. As we were leaving the island on the ferry, we saw two gravely ill people being lifted by relatives into a tiny motorboat, their IVs being held by other family members and shielded from the hot sun only by putting a shirt over their heads. I was trying to picture what would have happened if I had flown over the handlebars: For instance, how they would have secured a head wound for transport, but, as Reyna put it, "It would be better just to go right there on the island!"
OK, enough of this crazy rambling lol. Hope everyone had a great Easter! I went with Reyna to a service in Batahola Norte, where I may be living in the future, right in Central Managua, and the priest had a great message about taking responsibility for your life and making the changes you want to see in it. I think this was God's way of telling me that next time I should wear a helmet...
We decided to rent bikes on the island (which was gorgeous and exotic, with two volcanoes and fresh water beaches...I started feeling slightly guilty, being as this was my third vacation in 3 weeks...I work hard the rest of the time, I promise! Anyway, back to the story.). This is the point where I should have politely declined in quiet reverence or out of pure common sense, remembering my spill on the bike path in Georgetown last year that resulted in a large gash in my left knee and hand and thankfully nothing else. I'm assuming you already know my response, though.
"SI! Let's go!"
All was fine for the first couple kilometers (for me anyway...one of Reyna's friends who didn't know how to ride a bike rode on the crossbar of another friend's bike, and they crashed into a ditch, so she had to hitch a ride to get where we were going...she made sure to put a giant rock in her purse first for protection though, lol. As she says..."You just never know, Amanda!")
Then we hit the hills. My breaks were slightly squeaky and sporadic, so that scared me slightly. Finally, going down one of the larger ones, I bit it. Big time. My towel got caught in the spokes of the front wheel, but I luckily went down the same way as last year, hitting my knee and elbow instead of my head. Blood was gushing, my sunglasses went flying and of course I ended up in front of a church with open doors that was having their Good Friday service. So Reyna comes flying down the hill screaming, are you okay? And I'm trying to reassure her in Spanish that everything is fine, it doesn't hurt, despite the fact that there my knee is a dark blob of evidence to the contrary. On the bright side, the wounds were large enough that they didn't dry over the next 4 or so kilometers riding to the beach, so it didn't hurt too bad. There I was able to wash it in the lake, and then clean it using my Purell and travel toilet paper lol. We also had drinks at a beachside bar there, so you know Facebook pics are coming of the wound lol.
I have found three positives in this experience:
1) It was on a gorgeous island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua, so I really have nothing to complain about.
2) The scar, though slightly bigger than the one from last year, is in the same exact place as the one before, so I will not have any more new scars on my already battered legs.
3) I didn't have to find out how emergency transport works on the beach. As we were leaving the island on the ferry, we saw two gravely ill people being lifted by relatives into a tiny motorboat, their IVs being held by other family members and shielded from the hot sun only by putting a shirt over their heads. I was trying to picture what would have happened if I had flown over the handlebars: For instance, how they would have secured a head wound for transport, but, as Reyna put it, "It would be better just to go right there on the island!"
OK, enough of this crazy rambling lol. Hope everyone had a great Easter! I went with Reyna to a service in Batahola Norte, where I may be living in the future, right in Central Managua, and the priest had a great message about taking responsibility for your life and making the changes you want to see in it. I think this was God's way of telling me that next time I should wear a helmet...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
El Raton, El Serpiente y el Ropero (The Mouse, The Snake, and The Wardrobe)
So today was my first free half day in quite some time, and although I would really like to be sleeping right now, the Red Bull that I thought was a good idea to drink at 10 am has better plans for me, like writing this blog entry.
The tale I would like to share with you today begins perhaps two or three days ago, when I started noticing a rank, rancid smell in my closet. At the time there was a couple using my room at the Center, so I whiffed my towel to make sure it wasn't moldy, then shut the door and resolved to look for the source later. I went back in the room yesterday and the smell had multiplied like baby rabbits. Feeling embarrassed because there was another woman that I was now sharing the room with, I sprayed some of my body spray and prayed she wouldn't notice. Finally, this morning, which was the first day that I had my room to myself, I brought Ana Francis in to smell it and make sure I wasn't crazy.
Taking one look in the armoire (which resembled a compressed version of how my room normally looks, which I'm sure will warrant cringes from many of you who remember my various disasters of rooms at home, Silver Spring, and in college), Ana used her best indignant voice and scolded me, saying, ¨Amanda, clean this!¨ We determined that the smell was most likely coming from the bottom half of the closet, and that that was where I should start. At that point I started worrying, because I had seen a tiny baby mouse scurrying around my shoes a couple of weeks ago, and thinking that perhaps the mountain of clothes I hadn't washed in nearly a month had somehow suffocated the poor thing.
So, I began throwing all my clothes in wash buckets, desperately searching for a sock that I had left since the beginning of the trip, or the baby mouse, or some pile of moldy tortillas in a bag, anything that would have caused the catostrophic smell that had begun filling my room. In the meantime, I had also decided that I would make this a pampering, spa day, or as much of one as you can have in Nica. I used the trial size Face Masque that my mom had given me before leaving, making my face a goopy white mess while I continued smelling all of the items I was pulling out of my closet. (I was also searching for my nail clippers, which had also somehow been ¨misplaced¨ lol.)
And then, horror of all horrors I came upon it: a reddish, purple garden snake, with its decaying face in a tiny hiss position. I could exaggerate and tell you that the thing was 3 feet long, because that would make this storry better, but I'll stick to boring reality: it was probably about the size of a shoelace, and the baby raton (mouse) might have even been the one who killed it and brought it in. Nonetheless, the point of my story is that there are reasons for everything, including the perpetual chaos I wreak in every room I dwell in, because it looks like the mountain of things I had dropped on top of it was what killed it. Unfortunately, this also meant its little intestines had exploded on my bookbag. Remember, however, that the thing was the size of two pencils put together, and so the excrement only amounted to about a teaspoon. Gross nonetheless, I tell you.
I thought about screaming for the guardsmen to come get it, but then I remembered I still had my face mask on, as well as my booty shorts, which I also haven't gotten to wear in quite some time, so I sucked it up and went to get something to píck it up with, having made sure it was not moving and really dead. I then remembered that I was in Nicaragua, so there are no such things as paper towels, and so I elected to wind up a hunk of toilet paper that was probably the same size as the original roll itself.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to pick up the little bugger, then freaked out and dropped it back upon the backpack, taking the entire backpack outside and flinging the thing into the brush. I tried to wash my backpack a little bit afterwards with another wad of toilet paper, but that turned into pulpy goop, so my backpack is now lying outside my room and I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet. Hallelujah that there is a fan in my room, because I now have it on full blast and the closet doors open, trying to forget that I have now found both a baby mouse (which I originally thought was a rat because of the word in spanish--raton) and baby snake in there. I don't even want to think about where their parents are...
Anyway, I finished cleaning my closet, whereupon I found my nail clippers (yay!) and painted my nails with the lovely nail polish that my lovely mother brought to Costa Rica for me, during which I listened to All I Want for Christmas is You by Miss Mariah Carey. Slightly out of season I know, but it felt girly and appropriate, as I'm sure Ayshe can appreciate. (We used to drive around with the top down in Harrisonburg about this same time of the year, spreading Christmas cheer in March.)
Also, Memo's sister Reyna invited me to go to the beach with her and her friends tomorrow to Saturday (yay!), so pray for me, kids! I know I said I wasn't going to do it, but I promise if I drink, I'll stay far from the shore!! Can't wait to come back and share the stories with you all, because I'm positive there will be some =) I'm off now to continue my spa day, by boiling water on the stove to wash my hair with hot water in preparation for the trip. Don't be too jealous =)
The tale I would like to share with you today begins perhaps two or three days ago, when I started noticing a rank, rancid smell in my closet. At the time there was a couple using my room at the Center, so I whiffed my towel to make sure it wasn't moldy, then shut the door and resolved to look for the source later. I went back in the room yesterday and the smell had multiplied like baby rabbits. Feeling embarrassed because there was another woman that I was now sharing the room with, I sprayed some of my body spray and prayed she wouldn't notice. Finally, this morning, which was the first day that I had my room to myself, I brought Ana Francis in to smell it and make sure I wasn't crazy.
Taking one look in the armoire (which resembled a compressed version of how my room normally looks, which I'm sure will warrant cringes from many of you who remember my various disasters of rooms at home, Silver Spring, and in college), Ana used her best indignant voice and scolded me, saying, ¨Amanda, clean this!¨ We determined that the smell was most likely coming from the bottom half of the closet, and that that was where I should start. At that point I started worrying, because I had seen a tiny baby mouse scurrying around my shoes a couple of weeks ago, and thinking that perhaps the mountain of clothes I hadn't washed in nearly a month had somehow suffocated the poor thing.
So, I began throwing all my clothes in wash buckets, desperately searching for a sock that I had left since the beginning of the trip, or the baby mouse, or some pile of moldy tortillas in a bag, anything that would have caused the catostrophic smell that had begun filling my room. In the meantime, I had also decided that I would make this a pampering, spa day, or as much of one as you can have in Nica. I used the trial size Face Masque that my mom had given me before leaving, making my face a goopy white mess while I continued smelling all of the items I was pulling out of my closet. (I was also searching for my nail clippers, which had also somehow been ¨misplaced¨ lol.)
And then, horror of all horrors I came upon it: a reddish, purple garden snake, with its decaying face in a tiny hiss position. I could exaggerate and tell you that the thing was 3 feet long, because that would make this storry better, but I'll stick to boring reality: it was probably about the size of a shoelace, and the baby raton (mouse) might have even been the one who killed it and brought it in. Nonetheless, the point of my story is that there are reasons for everything, including the perpetual chaos I wreak in every room I dwell in, because it looks like the mountain of things I had dropped on top of it was what killed it. Unfortunately, this also meant its little intestines had exploded on my bookbag. Remember, however, that the thing was the size of two pencils put together, and so the excrement only amounted to about a teaspoon. Gross nonetheless, I tell you.
I thought about screaming for the guardsmen to come get it, but then I remembered I still had my face mask on, as well as my booty shorts, which I also haven't gotten to wear in quite some time, so I sucked it up and went to get something to píck it up with, having made sure it was not moving and really dead. I then remembered that I was in Nicaragua, so there are no such things as paper towels, and so I elected to wind up a hunk of toilet paper that was probably the same size as the original roll itself.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to pick up the little bugger, then freaked out and dropped it back upon the backpack, taking the entire backpack outside and flinging the thing into the brush. I tried to wash my backpack a little bit afterwards with another wad of toilet paper, but that turned into pulpy goop, so my backpack is now lying outside my room and I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet. Hallelujah that there is a fan in my room, because I now have it on full blast and the closet doors open, trying to forget that I have now found both a baby mouse (which I originally thought was a rat because of the word in spanish--raton) and baby snake in there. I don't even want to think about where their parents are...
Anyway, I finished cleaning my closet, whereupon I found my nail clippers (yay!) and painted my nails with the lovely nail polish that my lovely mother brought to Costa Rica for me, during which I listened to All I Want for Christmas is You by Miss Mariah Carey. Slightly out of season I know, but it felt girly and appropriate, as I'm sure Ayshe can appreciate. (We used to drive around with the top down in Harrisonburg about this same time of the year, spreading Christmas cheer in March.)
Also, Memo's sister Reyna invited me to go to the beach with her and her friends tomorrow to Saturday (yay!), so pray for me, kids! I know I said I wasn't going to do it, but I promise if I drink, I'll stay far from the shore!! Can't wait to come back and share the stories with you all, because I'm positive there will be some =) I'm off now to continue my spa day, by boiling water on the stove to wash my hair with hot water in preparation for the trip. Don't be too jealous =)
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Lost and Found
So, I just got done washing clothes. Two and a half hours. And I'm not talking a washer and dryer, kids. Every speck of dirt (which obviously there is none of in Nicaragua) painstakingly destroyed by my pobrecita little fingertips on a concrete washboard. This is not to make you feel sorry for me...well, maybe a little bit. Sometimes I actually enjoy it, when there is a good rap song on my I-Pod and I can scrub my passive agressiveness right down the drain. And sometimes, when I am feeling especially peppy, I even try to rap, which is worth the $550 ticket down here to see, I promise! Today, however, my I-Pod died and it was 110 degrees (probably) and I had about 30 pieces of clothing to wash (cue the tiny violin here). I made it through, though, and was very proud of myself and actually began singing the Glory, Glory Hallelujah song on my second-to-last tee shirt.
I should not be complaining too much however, because this is Holy Week (Semana Santa) here in Nicaragua, which basically means Mardi Gras for the entire country. I'm not kidding. The govt gives the entire country a week off to get wasted...for Easter, of course. I think it's like when people use "Dios Mio!" here, because at some point the phrase held meaning, but now it's just a free for all for anyone who is upset/angry/terrified/or wildly excited.
Moving on, it is the middle of summer here (referenced above by the 110 degree temperature, which I am not complaining about because I would rather bathe in my own sweat than wear a winter jacket), and so everyone and their mother (seriously, the entire extended family) celebrates Semana Santa by going to the beach. Hotels are jam packed, so people sleep in buses, pass out on the beach, and celebrate the Sanctity/Santidad of it all with the national gem known as Flor de Cana rum (you might remember this from my drinking with a priest post, which funnily enough also references religion and whetting your whistle).
Adam was talking to a guy on the bus last week who said that Nicaragua is known for having the highest amount of drownings in Central America during this week, at somewhere around 600. Many of the drownings, he also happened to mention, take place near the shore, in water that is less than two feet deep, simply because people are just that drunk. Adam called this natural selection/survival of the fittest, until I pointed out that many children are also probably being created on a whim during this week. Anyway, Elena assures me that the number of drownings is less than people say, at somewhere around 25 or 50 people. Nonetheless, I am not allowed to travel on my own this week. I hear that Managua knows how to party, too, though, so I am not too worried.
As for all of this taking place on Holy Week? As Memo so eloquently put it, "The Messiah came to save the lost, the very lost. And you have to be lost before you can be found." I can only imagine how many glasses will be clinking together to celebrate this thought this week before Mass on Sunday.
I should not be complaining too much however, because this is Holy Week (Semana Santa) here in Nicaragua, which basically means Mardi Gras for the entire country. I'm not kidding. The govt gives the entire country a week off to get wasted...for Easter, of course. I think it's like when people use "Dios Mio!" here, because at some point the phrase held meaning, but now it's just a free for all for anyone who is upset/angry/terrified/or wildly excited.
Moving on, it is the middle of summer here (referenced above by the 110 degree temperature, which I am not complaining about because I would rather bathe in my own sweat than wear a winter jacket), and so everyone and their mother (seriously, the entire extended family) celebrates Semana Santa by going to the beach. Hotels are jam packed, so people sleep in buses, pass out on the beach, and celebrate the Sanctity/Santidad of it all with the national gem known as Flor de Cana rum (you might remember this from my drinking with a priest post, which funnily enough also references religion and whetting your whistle).
Adam was talking to a guy on the bus last week who said that Nicaragua is known for having the highest amount of drownings in Central America during this week, at somewhere around 600. Many of the drownings, he also happened to mention, take place near the shore, in water that is less than two feet deep, simply because people are just that drunk. Adam called this natural selection/survival of the fittest, until I pointed out that many children are also probably being created on a whim during this week. Anyway, Elena assures me that the number of drownings is less than people say, at somewhere around 25 or 50 people. Nonetheless, I am not allowed to travel on my own this week. I hear that Managua knows how to party, too, though, so I am not too worried.
As for all of this taking place on Holy Week? As Memo so eloquently put it, "The Messiah came to save the lost, the very lost. And you have to be lost before you can be found." I can only imagine how many glasses will be clinking together to celebrate this thought this week before Mass on Sunday.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
11 Year Olds Driving Cars
Hola amigos y amigas! My time in Costa Rica was great--it was a lot of fun seeing the crazies from Damascus! (Everytime someone did something good, they started in on the Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole song.) It was also great to see my dad in action, working with the construction head there, Martin, to get the top floor of the guest center/educational building rebuilt--the old one had termites that had eaten thru the wood so they were reconstructing the frame using metal. Cindy and Cindi headed up a Vacation Bible School that was lots of fun, and I helped translate, so I felt like I actually knew Spanish. They also donated lots of supplies for me to use during the children's program here in Nicaragua, so that was sweet! (Or dulce, as the guys on the trip kept saying and neither Reyna or I could translate.) Kate (my mom) was in all of her glory as well, managing everything and translating. It was also fun being with Adam and Michael, my brother, whom I immensely enjoyed calling Miguelito, or little Michael, in front of all of the guys. On our last day there we went zip lining and swimming in the hot springs near a volcano...it was a rough week :)
I thought I had seen it all in Nicaragua, but there was something in Costa Rica that trumped all of that craziness: an 11 year old driving. The first time I saw Jonathan (the 11 year old) pulling out of the grassy area, I ran to go find someone responsible that could actually yell something cohesive in Spanish at him, only to find that it was actually not a problem at all. Martin, the construction head, who is his dad and who my mom also has a crush on (apparently it's ok because my dad knows about it, along with her obsession with Gilbert Arenas from the Wizards), taught him to drive--it's a stick shift--so that when he's not around Jonathan can tote the rest of the family around--his mom and his one a half year old brother Leandro. Jonathan's mom Natalia, who is 2 months pregnant, is also learning to drive, Martin tells me. I jokingly asked if Jonathan was teaching her, but of course I should have known--he is. Jonathan says that she has too much fear of getting on the main road and that she just needs to get over it!
So, one night Jonathan's friend comes in with a bruise the size of a baseball on his forehead (I'm not even kidding--it was literally half a baseball planted underneath his forehead..I had to stop eating). First of all, no one was really freaking out about it and finally Martin gets up from the dinner table to go look at it. He tells us that the kid is going to go to the hospital/clinic, and so we are thinking, good finally he'll get taken care of. Then we look out the window and see Jonathan peeling out with his friend in the front seat. Apparently all you need is a parent signature to get treated when you're under 18 in Costa Rica. The friend came to the gathering an hour later with a slightly less enlarged bump, so it was good to see that neither Jonathan nor the bump killed him.
To tie this all together, like any good story does, I was sitting inside with Leandro, Jonathan's one and a half year old brother, on the last day of Vacation Bible School. The kids were making bracelets using pony beads, and per usual, spilling them all of the floor. So Leandro, like any other 1 and a half year old that I have known, starts trying to stick them in his orifices, beginning with his ear and proceeding to his mouth. I was able to use my command form of Spanish to get him to look at me in bewilderment and in the process drop the beads. I pick him up and walk with him outside, where we are fine for a few minutes until the welding starts. Sparks are raining down over the side of the building, and Hallelujah for Kendal's last name being Sparks, so I begin screaming Chispas, Chispas! Again, he looks at me in bewilderment and waddles over and as I pick him up I wonder what I should do with him--take him back into the room where he can eat beads, put him in the front yard where he can get hit in the head with the soccer ball all of the kids are roughly playing with, or leave him here with the flying sparks. I decide to leave it in God's hands, so I put him down and Adam comes along a few minutes later, scooping him up and teaching him to play with a drill bit. Then I begin thinking about how in 7 or 8 years this baby will be learning to drive, and I say a little prayer for him and his unborn sibling!
OK, Adam and I are headed off to Esteli...see you folks in a couple days! :)
I thought I had seen it all in Nicaragua, but there was something in Costa Rica that trumped all of that craziness: an 11 year old driving. The first time I saw Jonathan (the 11 year old) pulling out of the grassy area, I ran to go find someone responsible that could actually yell something cohesive in Spanish at him, only to find that it was actually not a problem at all. Martin, the construction head, who is his dad and who my mom also has a crush on (apparently it's ok because my dad knows about it, along with her obsession with Gilbert Arenas from the Wizards), taught him to drive--it's a stick shift--so that when he's not around Jonathan can tote the rest of the family around--his mom and his one a half year old brother Leandro. Jonathan's mom Natalia, who is 2 months pregnant, is also learning to drive, Martin tells me. I jokingly asked if Jonathan was teaching her, but of course I should have known--he is. Jonathan says that she has too much fear of getting on the main road and that she just needs to get over it!
So, one night Jonathan's friend comes in with a bruise the size of a baseball on his forehead (I'm not even kidding--it was literally half a baseball planted underneath his forehead..I had to stop eating). First of all, no one was really freaking out about it and finally Martin gets up from the dinner table to go look at it. He tells us that the kid is going to go to the hospital/clinic, and so we are thinking, good finally he'll get taken care of. Then we look out the window and see Jonathan peeling out with his friend in the front seat. Apparently all you need is a parent signature to get treated when you're under 18 in Costa Rica. The friend came to the gathering an hour later with a slightly less enlarged bump, so it was good to see that neither Jonathan nor the bump killed him.
To tie this all together, like any good story does, I was sitting inside with Leandro, Jonathan's one and a half year old brother, on the last day of Vacation Bible School. The kids were making bracelets using pony beads, and per usual, spilling them all of the floor. So Leandro, like any other 1 and a half year old that I have known, starts trying to stick them in his orifices, beginning with his ear and proceeding to his mouth. I was able to use my command form of Spanish to get him to look at me in bewilderment and in the process drop the beads. I pick him up and walk with him outside, where we are fine for a few minutes until the welding starts. Sparks are raining down over the side of the building, and Hallelujah for Kendal's last name being Sparks, so I begin screaming Chispas, Chispas! Again, he looks at me in bewilderment and waddles over and as I pick him up I wonder what I should do with him--take him back into the room where he can eat beads, put him in the front yard where he can get hit in the head with the soccer ball all of the kids are roughly playing with, or leave him here with the flying sparks. I decide to leave it in God's hands, so I put him down and Adam comes along a few minutes later, scooping him up and teaching him to play with a drill bit. Then I begin thinking about how in 7 or 8 years this baby will be learning to drive, and I say a little prayer for him and his unborn sibling!
OK, Adam and I are headed off to Esteli...see you folks in a couple days! :)
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Tica Time
Hi all,
Just a quick update to let you know I'll be in Costa Rica for the next week! My mom, dad, brother and A-dawg will all be there so I am super excited! I'm sure I'll have lots of fun stories to share once I return...leave some love!
Just a quick update to let you know I'll be in Costa Rica for the next week! My mom, dad, brother and A-dawg will all be there so I am super excited! I'm sure I'll have lots of fun stories to share once I return...leave some love!
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