Ahora, el cansancio del invierno

The winter rain begins. This is a sign of drudgery, the fact that you have made a schedule for yourself outside of your normal job, agreeing left and right to overlapping engagements, and that finally the day arrives when you say “I cannot. Nor do I want to.” Strange, isn´t it? You agreed to what you thought would be fun, what you thought you would like. But agree once and suddenly the surge of “Can you teach my daughter English?” Well yes, at first glance that sounds fine. “Are you available on Wednesday at 4?” Yes, I have a class until 3:45, but I suppose I can walk fast between places. “How about Wednesday at 5?” So there´s this wave of requests and little inexperienced you are bewildered and tossed about to confusion. Teach English? Yes, I teach English. Eight hours a day? I guess that sounds alright.

But it´s not alright, it´s exhausting. There are people who can do it, but I do not believe myself to be one of them. I know that now.

I don´t mean to complain. I´m quite alright here actually, having a good time and all. I know my limits, I have rediscovered them in a new context and this is all part of growing up. I am not bored, but those old feelings of loneliness come creeping back not because of lack of activity but because of lack of close friends. Mankind has a deep and mysterious desire to know and be known. With all the culture and language knowing I´m doing these days in Spain, my hunger to know another person and be known well by that person is not met. Quite curious you might think, but it is the simple difference between personal and general knowledge. I just need to find my niche here.

I have started this Sevillanas class which is the nicest way to end my Mondays and Wednesdays. I have learned the first Sevillana (there are four in total) plus arms. So when I see you all in the summer, I will show you what I´ve got and you´ll see that I am quickly on my way to living in Spain forever as a professional Sevillanas dancer! Maybe.

So some interesting facts about Sevillanas:

1. It is not the same as Flamenco. It does not form part of the Flamenco style. Many people thinks so, but it is false.
2. It is closely related to bull fighting. If you watch the male part, his moves resemble those that a torero (bull fighter) might make in a corrida (bull fight).
3. There are loads of variations of Sevillanas. Some begin with the right foot, where standard is that the first step is with the left. I wondered, could this be related to a political preference? The girls in my class say no, but who knows the history.
4. The music is in counts of six.
5. There is not a preferred pairing for the dance. Women can dance with women as easily as with men. I think that men can dance with men.

Well, something else I´d like to tell you is that I´ve been baking like a maniac and have met so many people in Madrid and it´s surroundings in the last couple of weeks that I have quite a network of people going. I go there every weekend and, though I never thought I would like a big city so much, I am proud to be living the life of a Madrileña.

La bici y los alumnos - dos cosas que hacen mi vida aun mas guay

October 20, 2011

These weeks, I have had the pleasure of teaching a class of the second of baccalaureate. In Huercal-Overa I never had this level of class because the bilingual program only lasted up until the penultimate year of studies (which is the first of baccalaureate). They are wonderful! My students crack me up. I think that these know that I speak Spanish, but sometimes they go off on rants in their language anyway. Today we were talking about the smoking laws that were passed January 2, 2011. So in this discussion of rights of tobacco consumption, Maica, the teacher alongside whom I am working, asked the students if they imbibe. Some hesitantly admitted to it, as most of them are around 17 and not yet of legal drinking age (which is 18 here in Spain) and only one did so readily. He is of legal age, but he somewhat surprised his classmates with his ready response. He said in his defense, in Spanish, “Well, I don’t like to pass out on the floor! But yes, I like to drink.” I have a private lesson with three of them from the class, Maria, Nuria, and Cristian, which is probably the best part of my Thursday afternoon.

Swim team continues to go well and as of this week I have officially joined. This Monday an exciting addition was made to my life with the purchase of an Orbea mountain bicycle second hand, now complete with helmet, lock, and night-time riding lights. What a joy the sensation of cruising down the streets of Valdemoro in the exhilarating pre-Matias Bravo morning air. Sometimes I get lost here and it takes me a bit to find my way back, but I hardly notice. What is that about a bike ride that is just the release, just the thrill that I need? I feel have become exponentially more mobile in the last three days, and my life is thus exponentially more awesome.

This week I have moved. It is not the first time I have had to move because of a roommate situation, but it is the first time the situation has been bad. I won’t tell you everything, but it was a situation from which I simply had to dismiss myself. I am quite happy here with Daniela and Ilie, my room is the cutest thing ever, and I feel at home at last.

I am on my way to sign up for Sevillanas. One of my students is a real Sevillanas dancer and she has given me a little application for the center. I’ll become a Spanish lady by the end of the year, you’ll see.

(What should have been posted in September)

2 October 2011

In four days I have found an apartment in Valdemoro, Spain. It is in the heart of the city and next to a park. I live with one other person, a Romanian girl who has been in Spain now for 5 years. She works in a Turkish kebap restaurant and is obsessively clean. This area is very green and it is evidently important to the locals that it be so, seeing how much of the natural growth is preserved in numerous parks throughout the district. On my afternoon stroll, the big park in town was full of people enjoying fine fall weather.

Valdemoro is a sweet but not so little town of 70,000 inhabitants to the south of Madrid 20 minutes in train. It has been a somewhat difficult to meet people, more than it was in Huercal-Overa, the curious reason being that there are more people here. Fortunately, I see that there are a lot of people around my age, many who are university students, and lots of athletic clubs so I don’t think it will be so hard to find like-minded people.

I begin school tomorrow! Unfortunately, my school I.E.S. Maestro Matias Bravo has experienced the painful effect of the economic crisis and has lost 12 teachers, 2 from the English department. I don’t have a fixed schedule yet because neither do any of the English teachers, so this week is just to meet the students.

Goals for the scholastic year 2011/12

Linguistic
1) Let my ½ my music-listening, all of my novel reading, and all of my TV and movie watching be in Spanish
2) Learn a Joaquin Sabina song with words on the guitar.

Social
3) Join groups and classes that are interesting to me (swimming, triathlon, hiking, cooking, dancing, etc. are just some ideas). I hope to meet like-minded people that way.
4) Organize dinners/outings with the teachers
5) Make at least one good friend in Valdemoro
6) Hostess often (I’ve discovered this is something that’s very important to me)
7) Avoid long hours on social networks

Academic
8) Expand my knowledge of Spanish history


Spiritual
9) Pray for my students
10) Become involved and invested in a local church
11) Study teaching as a concept in the Bible

Athletic
12) Find a race in Spain, train for, and do it
13) Find good training buddies and train with them weekly

Financial
14) Save 15% of my earnings
15) Follow my budget
16) Spend boldly on important things

El pueblo de Valdemoro (The town/the people of Valdemoro)

6 October 2011

My stay in Valdemoro began with Hotel Infantas. It was the prettiest looking one with the best reviews I could find on the internet (booking.com). It was not disappointing in the least. I have now been here a week and a half and have found an apartment with a girl my age, but am ever so thankful that I stayed there for the sole reason of having made a friend or two.

Pablo, who works the desk during the morning hours, is from Argentina. When I met him, I somehow felt immediately he had a daughter my age (and he does – I asked). I think it was how he made me give him my suitcase to carry it upstairs and how he made sure I knew where I was going before I left the hotel. It was very fatherly of him. It seems like he had an okay life in Argentina, and he’s only here because he wanted a change and he thinks it’s incredibly important to travel. Isn’t that curious? He must be in his mid-sixties or so, not old at all, but certainly mature (as our dear friend Dr. Terry Reynolds has said) enough to be thinking he’s all done with the tiresome adventures of putting himself outside of his culture and comfort zone. But no, his refreshingly different point of view is that he’ll never stop learning about the world as long as he is traveling and having new experiences, which will probably last as long as he is physically capable. He hopes his daughter will also move to Spain and learn alongside him.

Catalin, my little Romanian man, works the desk in the evenings. He came to Spain 8 years ago at 18 years of age to work and to experience life differently with long-awaited permission to leave his country. In dictator-ruled Romania, the residents were not allowed to leave the confines of the borders and the only person allowed to conduct trade relations was the dictator himself. Now under new leadership, nationals are allowed to come and go as they please and Spain has experienced this change with a late influx of Romanian immigrants. In fact, three quarters of the apartments I saw when house-shopping were inhabited by immigrants from the cold-weathered country. So here I am living with Alina.

I went to get my NIE (Numero de Identidad de Extranjeros) yesterday in Madrid. Sometimes I am lonely here and just wish I had somebody to live some of my life with. Some of the teachers at school are around my age, and very few live in Valdemoro, but I am hoping to get some people together for weekly things, as was the tradition in dear old Huercal-Overa. It’s my opinion that we all benefit from a little outing together, a little bonding outside of the work-place, a little saliendo de juerga (partying). Anyhow, I so wished I had been walking along this street in Madrid with a friend as I was looking for the address of the Foreign Affairs office. I was not at all watching where I was going when all of a sudden I received a full-body hit which sent my phone flying out of my hand and left me momentarily discombobulated. I looked first at where my phone had landed on the ground and then at what had hit me - a tree. Realizing what had happened, right there in front of a sidewalk cafe, my head throbbing, I picked up my phone and started to laugh at myself. Oh, it must have looked hysterical! It was too bad that only strangers got to see it.

I have been cooking quite a lot lately and find it rather unfortunate that my roommate has been sick and depressed and refuses to try anything that I make. I have resorted to utilizing our neighbor Antonio as a taste-tester. Antonio really thinks I can cook after trying my bag-baked lemon chicken, so I’ve got to keep that going. Yesterday, having encountered fresh basil after a three day hunt, I attempted pesto. On the flight from Chicago to Madrid, I sat next to this woman from Wisconsin who let me in on her recipe. “It’s super easy,” she said. “The secret is pine nuts.” Now that I did not know. “Oh yes: basil, pine nuts, olive oil, a little diced garlic, and there’s that, all in the food processor.” So I tried it yesterday and it did not taste like pesto. Today I looked it up online and found the ingredient that Miss Wisconsin forgot – pesto absolutely includes cheese, strong and finely grated. Who knew? Now it tastes like pesto for sure, potent and heavenly, and thank the Lord for that.

Monday was my first day teaching and these kids are amazing. The English teachers are also great and I am looking forward to a good year with them. Because the Spanish government has been steadily cutting funding for public education, I.E.S. Maestro Matias Bravo has unfortunately lost twelve teachers as of late, two from the English department. The last week (and month, as I have understood) has consisted of confused schedules for students and teachers and numerous strikes on both parts. I myself have not yet received a schedule, but am supposed to have one set by Monday. Meanwhile, I’ve been popping in and out of the high school, shopping for a bike, and hitting up the local swimming pool.

For the first time in my twenties, I am part of a swim team! Being less than 26 years of age I am considered an “adolescente” in Spain, and so am actually allowed to compete! Now, doesn’t that make sense? After all, in many ways I still feel 18. So I went to practice yesterday and positively died. It was wonderful because last night I slept as if I were dead. The neat thing is that I’m swimming with kids my age and younger, including some of my students. I believe training together to be one of the best ways of building community so I am looking forward to getting to know them as part of the team. My coach Sergio also does triathlons, so it is good to train under him. I’d say I’ve gotten off to an agreeable start here in Greater Madrid

Sweet Time at Home in Alabama

I’ve been at home in Alabama for five weeks and still counting. Here thoughts and memories of high school come rushing back, ready or not. After all, it’s a high school town that revolves around high school football when it’s season, then high school basketball, then summer baseball and softball and what else do you need? Everywhere I go I run into people with whom I went to high school, and even if I didn’t know them then, I recognize their faces and say hello. Fortunately for me, high school was an overall pleasant experience so this is not such a bother but is really rather interesting. It’s been fun to see these young men and women again and to find out what they are doing in life these days. Apart from that, I have my friends here (most of which I know from high school) and what a pleasure to reconnect after almost a whole year!

My brother Jon has in recent years begun his own contracting business. He’ll do about anything inside or outside a house from the tiling to the siding. The business has been reasonably successful so far and I am proud of him. During some of these summer weeks he has been a bit short staffed, so I have been invited to “come join the fun,” as he puts it.. So I have. Yes, I have been learning how to put up drywall, take up linoleum, scrape up the glue that once held the linoleum ever-so securely to the floor (yikes! achy hands for weeks!), and all of that neat manly stuff.

You’ll see above the pictures of my father and I preparing to ride his motorcycle. For those of you who might be interested, it’s a Harley Road King, which is humongous and provides a very comfortable ride. We took a two hour trip Tupelo by way of the Natch’s Trace to do some car shopping. Well, the car deal did not work out in Tupelo, so we went a couple of hours more down the road to Itta Bena (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apq46lA0uSM) to check out another vehicle. When that one was not satisfactory, it was back on the bike for a long four hours (plus stopping time) to home sweet home. In total, we spent probably twelve hours of road time, but it was a super long day, having begun at 8 AM and finally returning home at 12 PM.

Triathlon season has begun! For the first one, the Wet Dog which is held here in my home town, my brother Matt and his family were here (see pictures of adorable children, above). This is a tradition we have. He comes home in the beginning of July and, having trained or not, we do this triathlon together. It has become a big family event, this year with Mom, Dad, my sister-in-law Chasity, brother Dave, and the kids (my niece Savannah, and nephews Jonathan David and Phoenix) coming out to support. We had a good old time. My next one is August 13 in Guntersville.

Come ti Chiami? Thoughts on Italia

Doesn’t everyone expect some place in Europe to capture their hearts? Italy is famous for it, and for good reason. It was a rainy week when we arrived in Rome, the nation’s ancient capital city. Our hostel was a smelly little place in China town, located in between the train station and, as I discovered on an early morning run, the Coliseum. We learned the place in no time and were soon making our way around to places like the Spanish steps, the Vatican, Coliseum, and Saint Peter’s Basilica. Here’s a hint for travel in Italy, some free advice for you: buy tickets ahead of time. Also, for the Coliseum, you can enter through the Palatine hill entrance and skip the humongous line! Rome deserves a second viewing. Our first day made for splendid weather in the park near to Palatine Hill where we devoured fresh Italian vegetables, bread, olive oil, wine, pesto, cheese, and salami. Such were all the rest of our Italian money-saving and still ever-so-delicious picnics. After lunch, it was a turn about the park which left me with an itch to rent a bicycle. The rainy days that followed allowed for no such thing, but plenty of museum scoping.

So four days and five conefuls of gelato later we were on a high-speed train for Florence where we experienced the ricketiest bus ride of our lives through those cobbled city streets. After a couple of smoking breaks (for the driver, you know. This is Italy after all) we arrived at our decked-out in pink hostel in the Piazza di Pitti right in front of the Pitti Palace. I made quick friends with our concierge and hostel manager, Nicholo, who spoke excellent English as well as Spanish, having worked for two years in Mexico, and offered some excellent apperitivo sites.

The aperitivo. This is something you must must must try in Italy. Forget your American eating schedule, just let it go because this is too great to miss. Beginning around 7 or 8 you can walk into a bar, order something to drink and suddenly, magically, a plethora of hors’ devours appears at your fingertips. That’s at no cost apart from the beverage. So enjoy. Now, some are better than others and just a couple of the better ones are Pop Café in Florence in the Piazza di Santo Spirito and the classic Zanarini’s in Bologna. That’s how we dined in the evenings until we got to Venice, where the aperitivo includes no food at all, only beverage. This is because “Down South, they eat. Here, we drink – a lot!” as one Venetian graciously explained to me when I inquired about the absence of snacks for the evening.

I’m not much one for sculpture, but I followed a crowd of art students through the Gallerie d’Academie and came upon the famed David. He is no joke. I stared at that thing, glued to the floor, for about an hour. Yes, his head, hands and feet are about twenty percent too big proportionally (art folks, you’re welcome to correct my figures) but he’s a beautifully realistic figure of a man. After that we ventured to the Tuscan countryside (very cliché, I know) to tour a vineyard and learn some old family secrets about wine making. A young musician named Alexander walked us through the vineyards and olive tree groves, Giovanni introduced me to classic Italian music on his old gramophone, and Christiana prepared the pizza, salad and everything else that was divine. Our wine tour guide, Jesse, was very knowledgeable and I left the tour that day with some new information. During our stay in Florence we also made it out to Pisa, where for hurry to get to some body of water for Lord’s sake, we picnicked in front of the tower, shot some photos, and promptly caught the bus to Marina di Pisa beach. It turned out to be a windy and cold experience if not rather pretty.

Make you no mistake, even with her looming crowds Florence is an enchantment and one that we were sad to leave. On we went one early Sunday morning to Bologna. We arrived right on time to go to a church where we had contacted missionaries who are supported by our home church in Alabama. Andy and Linda Brucato have lived in Bologna for 24 years I think and are practically Italian, as Mom and I discovered. So we were introduced to the Italian/American home life: eating your salad before your pasta, savoring the combined flavors of prosciuto and melon, watching Columbo dubbed in Italian, and slurping your afternoon macchiato. Paolo is a young Italian youth worker who lives with them. His parents founded a children’s outreach in Florence especially for helping gypsy/Romano children. These amazing people are the reason that Bologna was my favorite stop. Not to mention, I did climb the tower that in the long ago past only college graduates were allowed to climb. One was even required to present a diploma to do so. Nowadays, the only thing that is required to present is three euros and viola! Adelante!

Our final stop was Venice where we saw very little other than the incredibly interesting floating city and her non-navigable streets (and non-navigable because half of them are canals). I could go on and on about the things that I saw, but the truth is that anyone who travels to these places will to see the same things I saw and probably make many of the same observations. So the most important thing I have to say is that my experience was made exponentially richer by the people of Italy. So I am convinced that if you travel and you don’t like to meet people, you are wasting your time. I learned a great deal not because of things that I saw but because of the people I met. With people excluded, the heart of the culture is lacking and the traveler might only experience perhaps the ten percent. You will see what the place contains but will not understand the culture, the minds and hearts of the people. That’s the most important thing I have to say. I believe myself to be an anthropologist at heart.

Where did June go? For the past month I have been on vacation in a number of different sites in the world. June 1st - Madrid. After two nights a hopped a plane straight to Rome, Italy. Mama mia, some adventures! In fact, my mom met me there. Our voyage continued on to Florence where we spent five days enjoying the relaxed ambiance of the city, the unmatched flavours of Tuscan wine and abundantly tomatoey cuisine, and the neighboring equally famous city of Pisa and her leaning edifice and fluffy sand beaches. We hiked on to Bologna, observing the journey get better, more interesting and more enchanting the further north we rose. Well, I have a lot to say and I don´t have it in me to do it now, but I tell you that after finishing the trip in Venice, two weeks of my life unforgettable and well-invested, that Italy is recommendable on all levels. More to come about that.

After my two week tour through Italy, I came back to Huercal-Overa for ten days to see the place, relaxedly to spend time with friends and have a proper goodbye-for-now. I leave Huercal-Overa as my home tomorrow afternoon and the feeling is most obviously sad. Has it been a year? When I walk through it in my mind, the changes I have come through are stunning. They tell me I have an open mind, these Spanish friends of mine, and they are impressed by it. I know because they tell me so much, but you see they are the ones who have opened it. I have not only met different types of people this year but I have had coffee with them, gone to the gym with them, worked with them, travelled with them, lived with them, even dated some of them, spent quality afternoons with them, and in short truly lived life with them. And by doing this , I am left hinchada, stuffed with experiences, memories, and new knowledge. Wow! I know what it is to learn from other people who are so different from myself, often, amply, and in the most enjoyable way.

With these thoughts, perhaps the best way to describe it, this feeling as I´m departing, is an ache. I ache leaving this place, though not so badly as if I knew I weren´t coming back. I AM coming back in fact! In October, I will begin my job as a conversation assistant yet again, but this time in Madrid! This change in my situation has made my farewells much less bitter and much more sweet as I am sure to come back and very soon. So on that note, I say goodnight. Onward to one more day until next fall when I´ll come back to this dear place.

It seems that whenever I have to make a transition, the answer is a long time coming. It is not at all normal for me to have a plan well in advance. I have applied to return a second year to Spain. I still haven’t received a definite response! It is nerve-racking, it is scary, and it is like every other transition experience so far in my life. So I’m looking at other options, such as a masters program in Pompeu Fabra of Barcelona. But no matter what happens in the near or far future, I will never forget this experience.

It has been a year since I graduated from Agnes Scott College with a self-designed major in linguistic anthropology, minor in dance, and within that year I have had my first post-college job and my first experience living out of the country, surviving in a second language. These are big steps, BIG firsts, and as such, pretty unforgettable.

Things are wrapping up around here, and tomorrow will be officially my last Wednesday at I.E.S. Cura Valera. I’m going to miss my fellow teachers and students! These days I realize more and more how much fun I have doing this job. It is always a rewarding feeling to have brought something enjoyable and valuable to the kids. As for the community among the teachers, I don't believe I could have asked for a friendlier one. We have met to go out at least once a week ever since I arrived in September! I am also certainly going to miss my roommates, my friends, the instructors at the gym, the community that I have created for myself here. Still, I don’t think that this goodbye is final. I am positive that I will come back to Spain one way or another, and I am certain I will at some point return to Huercal-Overa. It has too much of my heart not to have me back.

Y el capirucho? (And the pointy hat?)

“Tell me honestly though – have you stayed well here? Have you been happy?”

Osbaldo and Mari Elisa observed me from the salon sofa as I formulated an answer.

What do I say to that? Yes, in most ways, no in some others. “Well, yes, of course! You have taken such good care of me.” And truly they did, and they have. From helping me get settled in to preparing meals, sharing in groceries, and welcoming me into family events. Still I explained that it was difficult for me to stay under the roof of a family, with familiar rules, familiar schedule. It was hard as a 23 year old woman to have a curfew and I missed hosting parties in my own house. It was theirs really, they were there first. How could I impose on them in such a way as to host a party with dozens of people? But I had to tell him, and I said honestly, that of course I had stayed well.

“And it was for me as well, somewhat awkward to give you rules. I hesitated to do it. But it is a home, after all. I didn’t want to, but there has to be a way for us all to live peacefully…. And you could’ve had a party if you wanted,” was Mari Elisa’s reply.

Osbaldo sighed and stretched a little. “Well, honestly, I’ve been quite happy with the whole situation,” he grinned sleepily. Really? I thought. He didn’t realize there was ever any problem? What a man. But I felt comforted by it, though, knowing that I had been imposing at times, that I had come in too late some nights, left my laundry in the washer too long, pushed the snooze button on my loud alarm clock multiple times, and that these things hadn’t been any reason for him to want me to leave. He was not, as I had feared they both would be, glad to see me go.

The next day I began to move my things from the Leon house to my new home in the Plaza Mayor. Mari Elisa and Osbaldo had told me around Christmastime that they were looking for a new house and that I ought to find some place to move just in case, so I did. It has been a good change of scenery, a very central location with activity day and night. My roommate is the French lector at the adult language school nearby. She’s a dear girl, fun to go out with, easy to live with. I like to try out my French with her occasionally (I speak very little), and she practices her English with me (she speaks it very well) and she’s promised to teach me French cooking (I just learned how to cook rice the other day. Who am I?)

Semana Santa (Holy Week) absolutely arrived the Friday of suffering (el viernes de dolores). I myself hitch hiked a ride to Sevilla to meet up with a couple of friends from the States, Mike, who also works in Andalucia as an English lector, and his friend Bethany who was visiting for the week. Sevilla is the top spot for Semana Santa celebration. On Sunday we hopped the train south to Cadiz, oh so famous for its location, beauty, and military base, yet for such grand fame it is a tiny place. We saw our first procession of Semana Santa there. See the pictures, and don’t be alarmed, they are not part of any race-hating society.

Speaking of the capirucho (the pointy face-hiding mask), it occurred to me to ask a Spanish person about the origins of the shape of the hat. I supposed that it had a religious significance, as a similar shaped cap was used by the Ku Klux Klan, a group whose reasons for killing blacks, Jews, Catholics, and many others were loosely based in Christian religion. Well, from the answers I received, I gathered that the mask hides the face in order that the service or promise they were carrying out might be done in secret worship to God. Those who marched in the procession, it is supposed, did so in times gone by, did so in completion of a covenant they had made with God. The shape of the hat points toward the heavens, supposedly directing attention to the higher being, instead of the wearer. Well, all this becomes quite a bit more wretched considering the men who killed those of other races and religions in service to God. Those masks, as my friend Luana pointed out, were not a mark of humility but instead one of cowardice and fear.

On Wednesday I returned to Huercal Overa. The people of Southern Spanish cities traditionally affiliate themselves with an association for the Semana Santa celebration. These associations are called pasos and in Huercal Overa there are three – purple (morado), black (negro), and white (blanco). All year long, each association prepares its procession. This involves band rehearsals, preparing the tronos (the figures of Christ and the virgin which are carried through the streets) and the special garments that will be worn by the marchers. Much time and money goes into this. Lucky girl that I am, my dear friend, Pilar, invited me to march with her in the paso blanco procession on Thursday dressed in the traditional Spanish mantilla. We were fabulously Spanish looking, you just wouldn’t believe. Unfortunately, the rain began coming down quite hard only an hour into the procession, so we were unable to complete the procession. As it began to rain, the other mantilla in my line began to cry. Hm, maybe she spent a lot of time getting ready, I thought. Then I saw many other participants weeping as we returned to the Hermita where the procession began. Hmm, maybe they really love the Virgin. But the observers, the standers-by were crying as well. Maybe it was the money that was spent. What I had the opportunity of witnessing, though, was the end product of people from a small town, pulling together to create a special event. So even though it literally rained on our parade, the sense of communal support was impressive, if not heart wrenching for some.

So here we go back to the old grindstone after a week of unbeatable excitement. We’re experiencing thunderstorms. That might seem boring to you, but I haven’t witnessed a real thunderstorm probably since September when I left home and some days a girl just needs a good thunderstorm. Some of you know. Last but not least, happy (late) Easter! He is risen!

Questions I ask myself every day

Am I making the most of my time? It’s so easy during these winter months to stay shut up in the house during the afternoons, listening to music, reading, and drinking tea. So I ask myself, how am I using my time?

At the beginning of the program, the CIEE orientation director Helena asked us to make goals in four categories: Academic, linguistic, personal, and cultural/social.

My academic goals were to get a recommendation for a Spanish novel and read it. Half accomplished. I came to find out that reading for fun in Spanish takes a lot longer than leisure reading in English. On the upshot, reading has certainly helped my listening comprehension and has augmented my vocabulary. If I ever decide to finish the book (El maestro de esgrima by Arturo Perez-Reverte) I'm sure I'll find it even more so.

My linguistic aim was to socialize with Spanish speakers every day for at least one hour. Definitely accomplished and more. I thankfully have many native friends who are more than willing to help me with my Spanish as we’re hanging out and spending time together. Children are good for this. For example, I tutor Mercedes, the economics professor from I.E.S. Cura Valera, every Monday from 4pm to 5pm. Her 7 year old son and I have started a game of vocabulary quiz. Should the phone happen to ring during our lesson, we begin our game while Mercedes takes the call. He rattles off as many English words as he knows and it is my job to translate them correctly into Spanish – minding the pronunciation! Next, he names off all of the objects in sight in Spanish and then my job is to translate them into English. Sometimes he makes me repeat the Spanish after him so that he can correct my silly American accent. Sometimes he lets me quiz him as well. He is such a good little Spanish professor :)

Two of my personal aspirations included training for and doing a race and making at least one good friend here. Training for the race was going well until around the end of October when I began to suffer some pain in my hips during my runs. I decided to take a break from running and find something new to do. Fortunately I live next to an indoor swimming pool and so have been swimming regularly since November. As I was part of a swim team from the age of seven until my first year of college, it feels natural and right to be in the water again. Moreover, being part of the local gym has lead me to some new and wonderful acquaintances which have turned into new and wonderful friends, one being Nina. She is athletic, fun, and full of good energy, and so she is inspiring. She and I roller-bladed and played padel (paddle ball) with her husband and a friend last Saturday and I have eaten at her house twice now. I have made a good friend in her.

My cultural/social goals for my time here were to become involved in a church, learn some Spanish guitar, and see a different city each month. Done, working on it, and have done so far. These have been fun goals to meet. I’ve been involved with the same Evangelical church here since September called Primicias. They are a small group of people old and young and meet in my apartment building at 11am on Sundays! Emilio, the music professor from school, is generously teaching me classical guitar in exchange for English conversation. As for traveling, I have been fortunate enough to visit many Andalucian cities. Most recently I ventured outside of Spain to Brussels, Belgium! My stay was five days long which was just enough time to brush up on my French, try a plethora of Belgian chocolates, get a taste of Belgian art and architecture, and educate myself on the art of beer-making by visiting a brewery. We recommend it!

Another question I've begun to ask myself concerns my job. Am I teaching my students valuable and useful information? Sometimes I feel like all I do is bring games and try to entertain them. Being a teacher has to be one of the neatest jobs in the world, but one that requires great care. The teacher has a position of influence. She has to make a conscious effort to be an encouragement to students, spurring them on in their blossoming abilities and talents, communicating the value of their education, while letting them know they are valuable as people. The teacher is important. All this is not to say "hey, I'm important!" only to say that I realize the weight of my own conduct toward my students and my fellow teachers as I'm helping many of them with the English language as well. In fact I think I mess up a lot in doing this job right even though I enjoy it so much. So I've been praying a lot lately for wisdom in what to teach them, in how to encourage them, in how to be creative with my lesson planning. I'm learning how to teach! I only hope that they're learning some good things from me.

El verdulero como bailarino y un plato como cielo

Every Thursday I get off work around 11:30 am so I walk into town to run any necessary errands. Usually within an hour I am mysteriously desmayada de hambre (so hungry that I’m about to pass out) so instead of getting something sweet and delicious from the panaderia (the bakery - which always sounds like a good idea) I pop into my favorite fruteria! It is a hole in the wall, long and narrow like a closet, packed full of the freshest locally grown fruits, vegetables, homemade olives, and preserves. And all that is adorable, but what really makes it my favorite is the verdulero, the guy selling the fruits and vegetables. The man seems to live and breathe vegetables. I imagine him as one of those people who early in the morning before any of his clientele arrives brings in his produce from the delivery truck and lovingly smells, caresses, listens to each pear, apple, and celery stalk as he carefully places them in their respective display crates. His eyes are full of deep satisfaction as he helps customers choose the best of the selection. He is glad to see it come, glad to see it go, glad to see us come, glad to see us come back. His work must give him so much pleasure and I deduce this by the way he is absolutely, one hundred percent present. It is comparable to going to the ballet and being able to notice the difference between the dancers who are going through the steps they repeatedly even tediously rehearsed and which dancers have truly become the characters they are portraying. The latter have all stage presence. He has fruteria presence, a love for his job and art. To me, the grateful buyer of one Ambrosia apple, it is as beautiful and more as the ballet.

Christmas has come and gone and for the first time in my 23 years I spent it away from my home and family. But don’t you even start to feel sorry for me. I had such a wonderful sweet Christmas here with the Leon-Salinas family, my church family, and the family of the students I tutor. Every year for Christmas Day breakfast, my mother prepares a heavenly casserole which my uncle Bret has ironically nicknamed “eggs-erroneous” (first coined by Earnest P. World in “Earnest Goes to Camp”). I say ironically because it is anything but erroneous. Start with one fat layer of buttery, southern-style grits. Top that with ground sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, and finally cheese, but just beneath that a sneaky thin layer of savory cream of mushroom soup. Oh, yes. This is Christmas. Needless to say, I was obligated to learn how to make this celestial plate not only to be able to enjoy it myself but more importantly to share it with the poor deprived people around me who have never before this moment had the pleasure of a helping of Mom’s eggs-erroneous casserole. They did love it indeed!

Moreover (and you are simply not allowed to feel anything resembling sorrow for me because of this) my family came to visit me in Spain for the New Year! They were introduced to my “home town” of Huercal-Overa, Granada, Lanjaron in the Sierra Nevada National Park, and Almeria city. We spent New Year’s Eve in Granada where we rang in the New Year Spanish style, minus the grapes. The tradition is that each person brings twelve grapes to the square. As the bell rings out its twelve chimes everyone eats his share of grapes bringing luck for the New Year. Meanwhile the square is almost silent except for the sound of the bells. Lord save us, we could not encounter a single grape in all of our last minute shopping. Nevertheless, here we are in 2011, alive and well and having spent very well our holidays together as a family in Andalucia.