It's been just over two weeks since I've been back in the states, and I have to say, I'm enjoying being back in America. Signs are in English, conversations I overhear around me are in English, TV/Radio/YouTube Ads are in English...it's been kind of nice to not have to think about everything I want to say or do before I say or do it. Comfortable. My last few days in Spain were the best few days of the whole trip. I barely had any homework, I went out with my new friends from the group and laughed a lot, I relaxed with Piedad...things were super enjoyable. Which only made me want to stay longer, something I didn't think I'd be saying at any point during my trip.
There was this homeless guy who sat right outside our apartment building. Every single day he would set up his cardboard box to sit on, lay a bowl down on the ground, and hold his sign, which read something along the lines of: "I have two sons and no job. Please help me pay for their food. They are very hungry." This guy looked like a legit homeless guy, and clearly he didn't have a job because he sat outside our building every day, but I was suspicious anyway. Too often I've given people money on the streets and they go running down the street with it and end up buying a pack of cigarettes or something (yes, this has happened to me before). But one day, I was sitting on the porch (of the 2nd floor, remember) having a quiet time, and noticed that below me some nice person was giving the homeless guy a couple of euros. I peered over the railing to see what he was going to do with the money as the nice person went on their way. He immediately got up, left his seat and his blankets and even his bowl of money, went around the corner, and came back a minute later carrying a 3 gallon jug of water and a few loaves of bread. He was seriously thirsty and seriously hungry. He stuffed the bread into his bag and would occasionally take a sip of water until he finally got up and left. Earlier than usual. My guess was he couldn't wait any longer to get home to his sons to show them what he had pulled from the day.
My last day, I was cleaning and packing up my room and found an extra 20 euros under some clothes. Since I had no intention of spending the rest of the money I had in Spain, I went downstairs and walked up to the homeless guy and put the 20 into his hand. He kept thanking me out of his shock and calling me beautiful and telling me the Lord was going to bless me and all I could do was stand there while he kissed my hand and not move or say a word. I couldn't think of anything to say to this man who had so much faithfulness that the Lord was going to provide for him that he sat on his box day after day and just trusted that he'd rake up enough money from nice people to feed his two boys. When he finally let me go, all I wanted to do was go find the rest of the old homeless men and women in Spain and give them 20 euros too. I never thought I'd be getting an unintentional Jesus lesson from a homeless dude while I was in Spain. Ha, but it happened.
Overall my experience was truly great, even if it did take me longer than most to adjust to my surroundings. Piedad and I talked so much about visiting each other down the road; I'm super excited because I think that'll probably happen some day. But for now, I'm seriously enjoying America.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
My 55-Year-Old Best Friends
I only have 8 days left here. How the time has gone! Well, kind of. While 4 weeks did seem to go by pretty quickly, there were days when I thought to myself, "Is it still only Tuesday?" My classmate and new friend Rob and I figured out it was because of the siesta. When you wake up from a nap, it naturally feels like you're waking up to a new day! Not the case, clearly.
Not too much has happened over the last week; I went to class (didn't get hit on my any more strangers, PHEW), took some notes, took an exam (bombed it, thanks a lot freaking history) prayed and journaled a lot, and went shopping for souvenirs!
On Sunday, Piedad and I went to Madrid with her friend Elena. We met up with a bunch of the friends I met last weekend in Madridejos. They were all super excited to see me, just as I was about seeing them. We hit up two art museums during the day (no picture evidence, sadly), one of the was the Prado! The line to get in was about 45 minutes, and for good reason. Besides it having over 80 galleries, this place is full of artful goodness. I didn't fully appreciate it until I saw The Naked Maja and Clothed Maja, paintings I've studied at OU, and after Piedad told me they were the ORIGINALS. Everything became much cooler after that. I'm in freaking Spain, THIS is where they have ORIGINALS to famous paintings and sculptures. Unbelievable. I saw a ton of other famous paintings I recognized, too. They were all pretty guay*.
We walked through La Puerta del Sol, basically the heart of not only Madrid, but Spain itself. I didn't realize it at first, but the Puerta del Sol was where I stayed in a hostel my very first night in Spain! I started to recognize more buildings and shops as we kept walking. Since it's Rebajas month (EVERYTHING is on sale, usually 50-80% off), there were tons and tons of people walking around. Felix made me put my backpack in front of me like a good little tourist should look. Thanks, Grampa Felix. We went to a small restaurant for bocadillos, which are just little tiny subs that Spaniards eat as a snack, and then immediately after went to this great Indian/Pakistani restaurant Felix raved about. Haha so the bocadillos were really appetizers in disguise. Figures. The Indian food was seriously great; I wasn't expecting it. During the meal, Felix handed Piedad this plastic bag he had been carrying around all day, and she gave it to me. "Not another present," I said, remembering my free gifts from Gregorio and Justa last weekend. "Of course!" they ALL exclaimed (wouldn't it have been embarrassing if it was just a plastic bag?). "From Ramón and I," said Felix (Ramón unfortunately wasn't able to make it into Madrid on Sunday). The bracelet they got me is from Tous, the Spanish equivalent to freaking Tiffany in the US. No cheap present! I tried to tell them they all spoiled me, but I'm pretty sure it came out as something about me being a rotten person, so I used someones smartphone to look up how to say things along the lines of "I'm flattered."
As the day came to a close, I hugged and kissed (twice each, of course) everyone goodbye and told them to come visit the states. Felix and I exchanged numbers so that when he comes to stay at his house in New York City he can call me and I'll drive 9 hours from Athens to see him. Just kidding, but let's be serious, I'm not kidding. I hugged Cristina, who started crying, and that's when I really felt the rock drop in the pit of my stomach at the thought of leaving Spain for good. It was a hard adjustment being here, but I've grown into the culture and the food and the SIESTAS and everything else. It's gonna be a serious bummer having to leave.
Today, when Piedad came home from work, she held out two boxes. "From Segrario," she said, "Pick one." Another present? I'm pretty sure every one of Piedad's friends are just trying to out-due each other now. I picked the box in her right hand and opened it up to find yet another bracelet with the word "forever" inscribed on it (Piedad's got "Friends" on hers, and in English, precious) and a little heart charm that can go on a bracelet or necklace. Seriously. All these friends need to come back to the US and live with me; I don't care if most of them are 3 times my age. I haven't been this coddled over since....I guess since I left for Spain, haha. I'm pretty spoiled at home, too. Not with presents, but with a whole bunch of love, which is a present in itself.
*guay = a phrase used here (¡Qué guay!) that means something along the lines of "How cool!" It's been waaayyy overused between me and mis compañeros (EVERYTHING is guay to us), but it's pretty funny. Naturally I thought it deserved a spot in this blog.
Not too much has happened over the last week; I went to class (didn't get hit on my any more strangers, PHEW), took some notes, took an exam (bombed it, thanks a lot freaking history) prayed and journaled a lot, and went shopping for souvenirs!
On Sunday, Piedad and I went to Madrid with her friend Elena. We met up with a bunch of the friends I met last weekend in Madridejos. They were all super excited to see me, just as I was about seeing them. We hit up two art museums during the day (no picture evidence, sadly), one of the was the Prado! The line to get in was about 45 minutes, and for good reason. Besides it having over 80 galleries, this place is full of artful goodness. I didn't fully appreciate it until I saw The Naked Maja and Clothed Maja, paintings I've studied at OU, and after Piedad told me they were the ORIGINALS. Everything became much cooler after that. I'm in freaking Spain, THIS is where they have ORIGINALS to famous paintings and sculptures. Unbelievable. I saw a ton of other famous paintings I recognized, too. They were all pretty guay*.
We walked through La Puerta del Sol, basically the heart of not only Madrid, but Spain itself. I didn't realize it at first, but the Puerta del Sol was where I stayed in a hostel my very first night in Spain! I started to recognize more buildings and shops as we kept walking. Since it's Rebajas month (EVERYTHING is on sale, usually 50-80% off), there were tons and tons of people walking around. Felix made me put my backpack in front of me like a good little tourist should look. Thanks, Grampa Felix. We went to a small restaurant for bocadillos, which are just little tiny subs that Spaniards eat as a snack, and then immediately after went to this great Indian/Pakistani restaurant Felix raved about. Haha so the bocadillos were really appetizers in disguise. Figures. The Indian food was seriously great; I wasn't expecting it. During the meal, Felix handed Piedad this plastic bag he had been carrying around all day, and she gave it to me. "Not another present," I said, remembering my free gifts from Gregorio and Justa last weekend. "Of course!" they ALL exclaimed (wouldn't it have been embarrassing if it was just a plastic bag?). "From Ramón and I," said Felix (Ramón unfortunately wasn't able to make it into Madrid on Sunday). The bracelet they got me is from Tous, the Spanish equivalent to freaking Tiffany in the US. No cheap present! I tried to tell them they all spoiled me, but I'm pretty sure it came out as something about me being a rotten person, so I used someones smartphone to look up how to say things along the lines of "I'm flattered."
As the day came to a close, I hugged and kissed (twice each, of course) everyone goodbye and told them to come visit the states. Felix and I exchanged numbers so that when he comes to stay at his house in New York City he can call me and I'll drive 9 hours from Athens to see him. Just kidding, but let's be serious, I'm not kidding. I hugged Cristina, who started crying, and that's when I really felt the rock drop in the pit of my stomach at the thought of leaving Spain for good. It was a hard adjustment being here, but I've grown into the culture and the food and the SIESTAS and everything else. It's gonna be a serious bummer having to leave.
Today, when Piedad came home from work, she held out two boxes. "From Segrario," she said, "Pick one." Another present? I'm pretty sure every one of Piedad's friends are just trying to out-due each other now. I picked the box in her right hand and opened it up to find yet another bracelet with the word "forever" inscribed on it (Piedad's got "Friends" on hers, and in English, precious) and a little heart charm that can go on a bracelet or necklace. Seriously. All these friends need to come back to the US and live with me; I don't care if most of them are 3 times my age. I haven't been this coddled over since....I guess since I left for Spain, haha. I'm pretty spoiled at home, too. Not with presents, but with a whole bunch of love, which is a present in itself.
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| The group! |
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| Puerta del Sol |
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| Indian restaurant. |
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| We met Ian Gibson outside the Indian restaurant, he's famous in Spain! Look him up! |
*guay = a phrase used here (¡Qué guay!) that means something along the lines of "How cool!" It's been waaayyy overused between me and mis compañeros (EVERYTHING is guay to us), but it's pretty funny. Naturally I thought it deserved a spot in this blog.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Chucktesta and Scumbags
Am I really that lame because the 4th of July is my favorite holiday? It must be an Orchard Park thing, because I'm pretty sure most of my high school friends and parents and teachers would say the same thing. We just know how to do it, I guess. It's a bummer not being able to spend it in the states with my friends and family. I'm missing some serious fun. Float decorating (yes, still), riding in the cab of dad's truck into town with music blaring out of the speakers we've hooked up to the outside of the windows (we think we're so cool), hot dogs, parade, hot dogs, seeing people you haven't seen in ages, hot dogs, fireworks, hot dogs. What the heck is there not to love about that?
Anyway, back to reality. Mario, 22, and Francisco, 18, Piedad's sons, came over for dinner last night. I'll admit I get a little uncomfortable when they come over; they intimidate the heck out of me with how fast they talk. I feel like such a dumb Americana when I have to ask them to repeat themselves. Exhibit A: at one point during dinner, Mario asked me a question. I really only heard the words "study" and "classes," so I assumed he was asking me about how I'm doing with school here. I went into this whole big thing about really sucking at history in English, let alone Spanish, and that I have this big test tomorrow, blah blah blah, and he sat there listening politely. When I was finished, he asked the exact same question he had asked before because, well, I didn't answer "Do you study the spanish language in the United States?" Oh man. I was so embarrassed that I told myself I would not open my mouth one more time during dinner and I would go straight back to studying in my little closet room when I was done. But then, Mario and Francisco began gabbing away at each other again and I heard Mario mumble under his breath "Chucktesta." The pact I had made with myself about not talking disappeared instantly and I perked up. "Did you just say 'Chucktesta?'" I asked. "Yes," said Mario. "Do you know what that is?" Do I know what that is? This is Chucktesta we're talking about here. This is the video we show constantly to our YoungLife kids. It's so ridiculous that you never think it could be for real, but it is. "Yes I know!" I said. Piedad just looked really confused. "What is Chucktesta?" she asked. We got up from the table and I got my laptop and we sat Piedad down to watch one of the greatest things on YouTube. There's not a spanish version, just the original with spanish subtitles, but MARIO KNEW EVERY SINGLE WORD. He quoted the whole thing! I was trying so hard to make it seem like I was laughing at the video and not at him just bossin' it with the English language. Afterwards (and might I add that while we were all dying on the couch from laughter, Piedad was looking at us like the youth doesn't know what real humor is anymore), I showed them Rhett and Link's Dope Zebra video, because Chucktesta pops up at the end. They thought it was hilarious. They showed me the Chucktesta songify remix. Another classic.
It was so cool being able to relate and bond with the boys through stupid things on the internet. And I mean really, how cool is that? That with about 6,000 miles between us, we can laugh over the same stuff, no language barrier interfering. It's pretty great. Since I know you're dying to know what these hilarious videos are (if you have yet to see them) I've graciously supplied you with the YouTube links so you can go laugh your socks off like we did last night.
Chucktesta
Chucktesta Songify
Dope Zebra
This morning, on my way to school, I decided to take a different route that ended up cutting down my casco commute by 7 minutes! I would be more excited about this if I wasn't hit on three times on the way there. I've gone this entire trip without any of that, and this morning, boom boom boom. Record broken. The first old guy just did a little creepy click of his tongue and said something that I didn't even understand, so I just rolled my eyes and kept walking. The second guy was much more forward. "¡Qué bonita!" he shouted at me from the other side of the street (which, I should mention, was probably about 6 feet away from me; the streets really aren't all that wide in the casco). I just kept my head forward and kept walking, but he turned around and started following me! I'll admit, my heart started beating harder against my chest, but I wasn't too worried; it was almost 9am, there were few people in the streets but still enough to be comfortable, and, hey, I was a freaking girl scout, bitch. I know not only the correct definition of self defense, but how show a brother up as well. This guy kept following me, not right behind me; he left a few feet of space in between us (maybe he sensed the girl scout vibe) and kept talking to me, only I could only really pick up the words that were derogatory. I finally turned around and told him to leave me alone (this was a phrase we were taught in orientation before we left, thanks, Señor Sisson), and that seemed to do the trick. He probably didn't think I even spoke any spanish at all. He said a few last remarks before finally heading back the way he had come. The third ratty guy didn't get to say much, because I was so pissed for having to deal with scumbags #1 and #2 that when he went to say what was on his mind, I just cut him off my shouting "NO!" in his face and power walking away. I felt like such a bad ass. So now it's come to if I'd rather have a quiet walk to school in the morning or if I'd like to get there quicker. Tough one.
I hope everyone has a great 4th of July! Eat a hot dog for me.
Anyway, back to reality. Mario, 22, and Francisco, 18, Piedad's sons, came over for dinner last night. I'll admit I get a little uncomfortable when they come over; they intimidate the heck out of me with how fast they talk. I feel like such a dumb Americana when I have to ask them to repeat themselves. Exhibit A: at one point during dinner, Mario asked me a question. I really only heard the words "study" and "classes," so I assumed he was asking me about how I'm doing with school here. I went into this whole big thing about really sucking at history in English, let alone Spanish, and that I have this big test tomorrow, blah blah blah, and he sat there listening politely. When I was finished, he asked the exact same question he had asked before because, well, I didn't answer "Do you study the spanish language in the United States?" Oh man. I was so embarrassed that I told myself I would not open my mouth one more time during dinner and I would go straight back to studying in my little closet room when I was done. But then, Mario and Francisco began gabbing away at each other again and I heard Mario mumble under his breath "Chucktesta." The pact I had made with myself about not talking disappeared instantly and I perked up. "Did you just say 'Chucktesta?'" I asked. "Yes," said Mario. "Do you know what that is?" Do I know what that is? This is Chucktesta we're talking about here. This is the video we show constantly to our YoungLife kids. It's so ridiculous that you never think it could be for real, but it is. "Yes I know!" I said. Piedad just looked really confused. "What is Chucktesta?" she asked. We got up from the table and I got my laptop and we sat Piedad down to watch one of the greatest things on YouTube. There's not a spanish version, just the original with spanish subtitles, but MARIO KNEW EVERY SINGLE WORD. He quoted the whole thing! I was trying so hard to make it seem like I was laughing at the video and not at him just bossin' it with the English language. Afterwards (and might I add that while we were all dying on the couch from laughter, Piedad was looking at us like the youth doesn't know what real humor is anymore), I showed them Rhett and Link's Dope Zebra video, because Chucktesta pops up at the end. They thought it was hilarious. They showed me the Chucktesta songify remix. Another classic.
It was so cool being able to relate and bond with the boys through stupid things on the internet. And I mean really, how cool is that? That with about 6,000 miles between us, we can laugh over the same stuff, no language barrier interfering. It's pretty great. Since I know you're dying to know what these hilarious videos are (if you have yet to see them) I've graciously supplied you with the YouTube links so you can go laugh your socks off like we did last night.
Chucktesta
Chucktesta Songify
Dope Zebra
This morning, on my way to school, I decided to take a different route that ended up cutting down my casco commute by 7 minutes! I would be more excited about this if I wasn't hit on three times on the way there. I've gone this entire trip without any of that, and this morning, boom boom boom. Record broken. The first old guy just did a little creepy click of his tongue and said something that I didn't even understand, so I just rolled my eyes and kept walking. The second guy was much more forward. "¡Qué bonita!" he shouted at me from the other side of the street (which, I should mention, was probably about 6 feet away from me; the streets really aren't all that wide in the casco). I just kept my head forward and kept walking, but he turned around and started following me! I'll admit, my heart started beating harder against my chest, but I wasn't too worried; it was almost 9am, there were few people in the streets but still enough to be comfortable, and, hey, I was a freaking girl scout, bitch. I know not only the correct definition of self defense, but how show a brother up as well. This guy kept following me, not right behind me; he left a few feet of space in between us (maybe he sensed the girl scout vibe) and kept talking to me, only I could only really pick up the words that were derogatory. I finally turned around and told him to leave me alone (this was a phrase we were taught in orientation before we left, thanks, Señor Sisson), and that seemed to do the trick. He probably didn't think I even spoke any spanish at all. He said a few last remarks before finally heading back the way he had come. The third ratty guy didn't get to say much, because I was so pissed for having to deal with scumbags #1 and #2 that when he went to say what was on his mind, I just cut him off my shouting "NO!" in his face and power walking away. I felt like such a bad ass. So now it's come to if I'd rather have a quiet walk to school in the morning or if I'd like to get there quicker. Tough one.
I hope everyone has a great 4th of July! Eat a hot dog for me.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Opposite of Culture Shock
Yesterday was the best day ever. I went with Piedad to Madridejos, which is a city about 40-ish miles southeast of Toledo, nowhere near Madrid at all. She actually grew up there. We went to a get-together with a bunch of her old friends from high school and a few of her cousins. To be honest, I really didn't want to go at first. My biggest fear was that I was going to look like a dumb American who wasn't able to comprehend anything or didn't know what to say. I told Piedad this on the car ride over, and then repeatedly kept checking phrases with her such as "Nice to meet you" or "I'm enjoying myself," to make sure I had them all down. "Stop worrying!" she told me. Turns out, I was being a little paranoid.
I keep forgetting Spaniards are just like Italians. They constantly kiss, drink, eat, and laugh and talk really loud. I felt right at home. After I introduced myself to the group and told them a little bit about myself (there were 11 of them), four or five of them said, "Her spanish is almost perfect!" I'll admit, the first thing that popped into my head after that comment was "these people have already had WAY too much to drink today." But I think they were being serious! Unless they were actually being sarcastic, and they very well could have been, because I definitely still suck at picking up on spanish sarcasm. But I guess there's always the chance that maybe I'm not giving myself enough credit.
This one guy, Felix, asked me to go to the supermarket with him, Luisa, and Sagrario.
On the way, Felix asked me what part of the US I was from. "Are you near New York?" I said "Felix yeah! How did you know that?" He told me he travels to NYC every year for a couple of months (so that's really the only place he knows of in the US; he had no idea I lived in NY). Oh and he OWNS A HOME THERE. I was baffled. I asked him if he can communicate well once he's there, and he said that he knows some English but a lot of people who live in Queens speak spanish anyway. I asked him if he could speak to me in English for a while to give my brain a break but he just smiled and said no.
When we returned with salad items, Cristina took me outside to show me the barnyard animals bumpin' around. We got to the end of the fence and she pointed to some cows. "Terneros." I didn't know what terneros meant so I said, "¡Sí, vacas!" "No, terneros," she said. "Vacas are for milk, terneros are for meat." Then she grinned and suddenly I was kind of afraid of Cristina.
For lunch we had paella! It was the coolest thing ever. They literally cooked it in a fire place in a skillet that must have been 2.5 feet in diameter. Seriously. People kept asking me if I preferred a plate. I was so confused. Of course I prefer a plate. What am I going to do, eat the paella with my han- ooohhh. They were asking me because we were going to set the skillet in the middle of the table and eat out of it together. "No plato, comeré sin un plato!" I said before they could hand me one. My logic was that if I had a plate, I would be forced to eat the 5 or 6 or 27 scoops of paella they put on it. If I just ate out of the skillet, there was no telling how much I ate (or didn't eat). I gave myself a pat on the back for that one. Besides the huge shrimp and crayfish and crab with the EYEBALLS still on them, the paella was not that scary and actually pretty freaking great. They also tried force-feeding me something that looked like Kahlua but I explained to them if I had more than three sips of it they'd have to revive me on the paella table.
After lunch we conversed; I slowly began to pick up more of what people were saying around me and it became much easier to get full sentences out without too many grammar mistakes. One by one, people left, pinching my cheeks as they went out and calling me "preciosa" or "linda." As the last of us got ready to leave, Felix asked to get a picture with them and the American girl in the middle (I was super pissed at myself for not bringing my camera and I think he sensed it). He took a few!
Piedad and I drove around Madridejos, stopping occasionally at the many random houses of her cousins to say hello. I met so many people. We ended up back at her moms house, which is freaking beautiful, I must say. All the walls are tiled pretty and the floors are marble or granite. Also, everyone in Spain owns a bidet (?). I mean that's cool if you're into that kind of thing. It just always kind of startles me when I walk into a bathroom and see one. Anyway. Piedad went to go take a nap (it was about 8pm at this point) and so I stayed in the living room with abuela. I wish I didn't. She was watching bull fighting. Let me just say a little thing about bull fighting. I'm pretty sure it's the dumbest, cruelest "sport" ever invented. People bring their 3-year-old children to watch this crap. "Come on honey, let's go see an innocent little bull get stabbed to death!" Like really. I'll spare you the details, but I'm pretty sure I had more of a culture shock watching that than I did when I first got to Spain. After the 3rd or 4th fight, the bullfighter was holding two floppy black things and waving them around over his head. "What is he holding?" I asked abuela. "If a bullfighter has a really great kill (what does that even mean?), they cut off the bulls ears and give them to him as a trophy!" she said like I should've known. Of course they would.
When Piedad woke up, abuela asked me if I wanted a snack. I told her my stomach wasn't really prepared for food after watching five bloody bulls get dragged out of the arena on tv. Piedad and I headed out to our last stop of the night, which was basically Madridejos's equivalent to Quaker Days in Orchard Park. For those of you reading this who have no idea what that means, it was basically just a big kick ass farmers market, with music, dancing, and way more vendors selling more things than just food. One of Piedad's friends who I had met earlier that day, Gregorio, had a tent set up and was selling his hand crafted woven baskets. They were truly a sight. He had a life-sized woven donkey as well, complete with ears and a tail. The rest of the amigos from earlier that day were there too to support Gregorio. Felix was sure to get a picture with "the American girl and the ass."
I was upset I didn't have any euros on me to buy one of Gregorio's baskets, but as we were leaving, he pulled me aside and gave me a little one for free! Just as words of thanks had come out of my mouth, I was being pulled in another direction by Justa, another friend, who insisted that I take one of her paintings she had mounted on a plaque. It was freaking great. I now have two hand crafted projects by two of the coolest people I've met here so far. Made in España!
I was more cultured in 8 hours yesterday than I could ever be by sitting in a classroom listening to my professors. What a blast. I'm pretty sure Piedad and I are going back next Sunday for...something. My brain was pretty tired last night and I didn't exactly pick up what's going down but nodded my head in agreement anyway like I had understood. The words 'vale,' 'sí,' 'está bien,' and 'bueno' all pretty much mean the same thing here, so if people say something and I don't understand, but I know it doesn't require an answer, I just rotate those. It's worked every time. I look like I know what's going on.
I keep forgetting Spaniards are just like Italians. They constantly kiss, drink, eat, and laugh and talk really loud. I felt right at home. After I introduced myself to the group and told them a little bit about myself (there were 11 of them), four or five of them said, "Her spanish is almost perfect!" I'll admit, the first thing that popped into my head after that comment was "these people have already had WAY too much to drink today." But I think they were being serious! Unless they were actually being sarcastic, and they very well could have been, because I definitely still suck at picking up on spanish sarcasm. But I guess there's always the chance that maybe I'm not giving myself enough credit.
This one guy, Felix, asked me to go to the supermarket with him, Luisa, and Sagrario.
Sidenote: I learned 11 names in 15 minutes. Thank you, skill acquired after becoming a YL leader. Moving on.
On the way, Felix asked me what part of the US I was from. "Are you near New York?" I said "Felix yeah! How did you know that?" He told me he travels to NYC every year for a couple of months (so that's really the only place he knows of in the US; he had no idea I lived in NY). Oh and he OWNS A HOME THERE. I was baffled. I asked him if he can communicate well once he's there, and he said that he knows some English but a lot of people who live in Queens speak spanish anyway. I asked him if he could speak to me in English for a while to give my brain a break but he just smiled and said no.
When we returned with salad items, Cristina took me outside to show me the barnyard animals bumpin' around. We got to the end of the fence and she pointed to some cows. "Terneros." I didn't know what terneros meant so I said, "¡Sí, vacas!" "No, terneros," she said. "Vacas are for milk, terneros are for meat." Then she grinned and suddenly I was kind of afraid of Cristina.
For lunch we had paella! It was the coolest thing ever. They literally cooked it in a fire place in a skillet that must have been 2.5 feet in diameter. Seriously. People kept asking me if I preferred a plate. I was so confused. Of course I prefer a plate. What am I going to do, eat the paella with my han- ooohhh. They were asking me because we were going to set the skillet in the middle of the table and eat out of it together. "No plato, comeré sin un plato!" I said before they could hand me one. My logic was that if I had a plate, I would be forced to eat the 5 or 6 or 27 scoops of paella they put on it. If I just ate out of the skillet, there was no telling how much I ate (or didn't eat). I gave myself a pat on the back for that one. Besides the huge shrimp and crayfish and crab with the EYEBALLS still on them, the paella was not that scary and actually pretty freaking great. They also tried force-feeding me something that looked like Kahlua but I explained to them if I had more than three sips of it they'd have to revive me on the paella table.
After lunch we conversed; I slowly began to pick up more of what people were saying around me and it became much easier to get full sentences out without too many grammar mistakes. One by one, people left, pinching my cheeks as they went out and calling me "preciosa" or "linda." As the last of us got ready to leave, Felix asked to get a picture with them and the American girl in the middle (I was super pissed at myself for not bringing my camera and I think he sensed it). He took a few!
Piedad and I drove around Madridejos, stopping occasionally at the many random houses of her cousins to say hello. I met so many people. We ended up back at her moms house, which is freaking beautiful, I must say. All the walls are tiled pretty and the floors are marble or granite. Also, everyone in Spain owns a bidet (?). I mean that's cool if you're into that kind of thing. It just always kind of startles me when I walk into a bathroom and see one. Anyway. Piedad went to go take a nap (it was about 8pm at this point) and so I stayed in the living room with abuela. I wish I didn't. She was watching bull fighting. Let me just say a little thing about bull fighting. I'm pretty sure it's the dumbest, cruelest "sport" ever invented. People bring their 3-year-old children to watch this crap. "Come on honey, let's go see an innocent little bull get stabbed to death!" Like really. I'll spare you the details, but I'm pretty sure I had more of a culture shock watching that than I did when I first got to Spain. After the 3rd or 4th fight, the bullfighter was holding two floppy black things and waving them around over his head. "What is he holding?" I asked abuela. "If a bullfighter has a really great kill (what does that even mean?), they cut off the bulls ears and give them to him as a trophy!" she said like I should've known. Of course they would.
When Piedad woke up, abuela asked me if I wanted a snack. I told her my stomach wasn't really prepared for food after watching five bloody bulls get dragged out of the arena on tv. Piedad and I headed out to our last stop of the night, which was basically Madridejos's equivalent to Quaker Days in Orchard Park. For those of you reading this who have no idea what that means, it was basically just a big kick ass farmers market, with music, dancing, and way more vendors selling more things than just food. One of Piedad's friends who I had met earlier that day, Gregorio, had a tent set up and was selling his hand crafted woven baskets. They were truly a sight. He had a life-sized woven donkey as well, complete with ears and a tail. The rest of the amigos from earlier that day were there too to support Gregorio. Felix was sure to get a picture with "the American girl and the ass."
 |
| Isn't this just great? |
I was upset I didn't have any euros on me to buy one of Gregorio's baskets, but as we were leaving, he pulled me aside and gave me a little one for free! Just as words of thanks had come out of my mouth, I was being pulled in another direction by Justa, another friend, who insisted that I take one of her paintings she had mounted on a plaque. It was freaking great. I now have two hand crafted projects by two of the coolest people I've met here so far. Made in España!
 |
| Me and Gregorio! |
I was more cultured in 8 hours yesterday than I could ever be by sitting in a classroom listening to my professors. What a blast. I'm pretty sure Piedad and I are going back next Sunday for...something. My brain was pretty tired last night and I didn't exactly pick up what's going down but nodded my head in agreement anyway like I had understood. The words 'vale,' 'sí,' 'está bien,' and 'bueno' all pretty much mean the same thing here, so if people say something and I don't understand, but I know it doesn't require an answer, I just rotate those. It's worked every time. I look like I know what's going on.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Hitting the Wall
Well, I think I've officially hit the wall. During my first week here, I felt myself improving with my spanish within the first two days of being here. I got better and better at understanding Piedad and my professors and being able to communicate myself as the week went on.
However, now, I feel like I'm back in 7th grade learning spanish for the first time. And I'm not the only one who thinks this. I've had confirmation from my compañeros (classmates). Classes are harder to sit through since I pick up maybe half of what my professors are saying and I find myself asking "What? Say that again? Pardon me?" way more than I want to. It's a tad frustrating but my prediction is that this is just the sucky second week. Haven't you heard of this? It's a thing. Studies show that [insert problem here] tends to get worse before it can get better. When I was in high school, my second quarter grades would always be way worse than my first quarter grades, but I'd bring them up. After exercising, the second day of your muscles being sore is literally so much more painful than the first day, but you stretch em out and they relax a bit. I can only imagine a second trimester of a pregnancy must blow...people aren't sure if you're prego or not because you've got that little pooch but nothing substantial to hold a baby...I think I may be getting off topic. The point is, this second week here will most likely end with me believing I'll never speak spanish again and the poof! We'll all be pros from there on out.
I went to a dance class last night! We learned a little bit of flamenco and salsa and meringue. It was...interesting. My hips hurt afterwards, no joke. And my wrists from doing that little spiny thing with them.
Today I had a pretty eventful day. My theater class is so boss. Little do my classmates know I was that kid in high school. The one who did all the plays and musicals. Not ashamed. This class is so fun! Today we improv-ed and acted out scenes in front of each other. For our final exam, we have to put on a play for the entire student body studying at UCLM (Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha) this summer. That's about 200, if you're curious. I'm only slightly concerned because we haven't been told anything about it yet and we've only got 3 weeks to go after tomorrow. Hopefully scripts will be allowed on stage.
After class, our professor explained to us that there was a photo crew there from "Dos UCLM," which is basically an organization that works for the university and promotes awesome learning and love around campus. They were looking for volunteers to have their picture taken with a big red heart drawn somewhere on their body, so we did! Most the boys had them drawn on their biceps. I would've too but didn't want to embarrass them. I'll post the link where the pictures will be when they're up!
I didn't have time for a siesta today because we took a field trip to the largest cathedral in Toledo. It was huge. And looked pretty similar to the ones we've seen. My history teacher really likes to repeat himself, which is great, because it gets engrained into your brain, but it sucks, because it's engrained into your brain. We get it, Davíd. Góticos = siglos doce, trece, y catorce, entonces las romanes, con arcos y vidieras...see? I can repeat this stuff in my sleep.
Piedad made me a cheeseburger tonight. What a woman.
However, now, I feel like I'm back in 7th grade learning spanish for the first time. And I'm not the only one who thinks this. I've had confirmation from my compañeros (classmates). Classes are harder to sit through since I pick up maybe half of what my professors are saying and I find myself asking "What? Say that again? Pardon me?" way more than I want to. It's a tad frustrating but my prediction is that this is just the sucky second week. Haven't you heard of this? It's a thing. Studies show that [insert problem here] tends to get worse before it can get better. When I was in high school, my second quarter grades would always be way worse than my first quarter grades, but I'd bring them up. After exercising, the second day of your muscles being sore is literally so much more painful than the first day, but you stretch em out and they relax a bit. I can only imagine a second trimester of a pregnancy must blow...people aren't sure if you're prego or not because you've got that little pooch but nothing substantial to hold a baby...I think I may be getting off topic. The point is, this second week here will most likely end with me believing I'll never speak spanish again and the poof! We'll all be pros from there on out.
I went to a dance class last night! We learned a little bit of flamenco and salsa and meringue. It was...interesting. My hips hurt afterwards, no joke. And my wrists from doing that little spiny thing with them.
Today I had a pretty eventful day. My theater class is so boss. Little do my classmates know I was that kid in high school. The one who did all the plays and musicals. Not ashamed. This class is so fun! Today we improv-ed and acted out scenes in front of each other. For our final exam, we have to put on a play for the entire student body studying at UCLM (Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha) this summer. That's about 200, if you're curious. I'm only slightly concerned because we haven't been told anything about it yet and we've only got 3 weeks to go after tomorrow. Hopefully scripts will be allowed on stage.
After class, our professor explained to us that there was a photo crew there from "Dos UCLM," which is basically an organization that works for the university and promotes awesome learning and love around campus. They were looking for volunteers to have their picture taken with a big red heart drawn somewhere on their body, so we did! Most the boys had them drawn on their biceps. I would've too but didn't want to embarrass them. I'll post the link where the pictures will be when they're up!
I didn't have time for a siesta today because we took a field trip to the largest cathedral in Toledo. It was huge. And looked pretty similar to the ones we've seen. My history teacher really likes to repeat himself, which is great, because it gets engrained into your brain, but it sucks, because it's engrained into your brain. We get it, Davíd. Góticos = siglos doce, trece, y catorce, entonces las romanes, con arcos y vidieras...see? I can repeat this stuff in my sleep.
Piedad made me a cheeseburger tonight. What a woman.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Week One, Check
It's been quite a week here! It's gone by super slow and super fast at the same time. I can't believe I'm already a week in!
Just a quick update on the goings on of the past week:
Monday was the first day of classes. I found the building perfectly fine and everything and was feelin great when suddenly, out of nowhere, nausea hit me like Muhammad. I figured out later it was probably just a combination of dehydration, no sleep, stress, and major anxiety, but at the moment, all I could think of was me just hurling everywhere on the first day of class. I leaned forward in my seat and asked my director where the nearest bathroom was. He directed me to my one professor who told me how to get there. I thought he said "go left, then right," but he actually said "go right, then left." My ears were doing that ocean wave thing right before you're about to faint. You know the feeling. I stumbled out of the classroom and all around the courtyard trying to find the nearest bathroom. There was some sort of black tie affair going on outside, with ladies in fancy dresses and men in tuxedos and waiters with bow-ties all around. And suddenly, my body didn't feel like waiting for me to find a bathroom anymore. I grabbed the nearest thing with a hole in it and hurled in the middle of the fancy-pants party with the fancy-pants people. It's actually really freaking funny when I think about it now. But at the time I was just feeling awful, especially because I had just thrown up into a recycle bin. My teacher must have been watching me struggle because he ran out of the classroom and actually took me by the arm to the nearest bathroom. "You look as white as a sheet," he said in almost understandable spanish. "Probably," was all I could get out. After that incident, though, the week was much better.
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I pretty much figured out exactly how eating goes around here. Breakfast the second after you wake up, a huge lunch at 2:30, tapas (appetizers) at 5 or 6, a huge dinner at 10:30. That's pretty much how it's gone every day. Wednesday, my host mom's mom came into town to stay a couple of days. This woman literally told me to "get fatter." On Thursday we were sitting and talking at the kitchen table waiting for lunch to be done, each with our own plates in front of us. When the buzzer went off, she picked up her own plate and began scooping. One, two, three, four, five, SIX ladles later, I thought to myself, "Thank goodness that's not for me and I'll be able to serve myself a reasonable amount that I can actually intake." Wrong, Ang. So wrong. She puts the dish down in front of me. "For me?" I ask her. "Of course it's for you," she says. "But it's so much," I reply. "I don't care." Literally. That's how it goes here in good ol' España. They feed you until you LITERALLY can't take in any more food for fear your stomach might ACTUALLY burst. And I thought Italians were bad.
Friday my classmates and I took a trip to Segovia! It's a town about 2 hours away from Toledo, with huge aqueducts and lots of awesome churches. Our history professor came with us. He's actually really awesome. He'd be awesomer if I could understand his Spanish better. We climbed to the top of the aqueducts and just as I was peering over the side to get a better look, he said "Yeah, a lot of people actually fell to their deaths while building this; they didn't have any way to keep themselves strapped in." I took a few steps back.
When I got home that night, Piedad and I watched a game show called "Pasapalabra" (pass the word). It's an awesome game show. Still super corny like the ones in the US, but pretty fun and sort of easy for me to follow along. I'm sure I'll get better at understanding what's going on the more I watch it.
And today we went to church! Almost everyone in Spain is catholic. The church was beautiful. More stained glass in one place than I've ever seen in my life. It was pretty easy to follow along, too, since I know the structure of mass. All I really got out of the sermon, though, was that Jesus needs us to be lights for the world. Oh and he talked about Mary and Elizabeth being cousins; I don't know why (the gospel was out of Luke). Simple enough.
You know those stereotypes everyone has about Spain in the United States? THEY'RE ALL TRUE. All of them. I've only been here a week and I walk down the streets saying to myself, "Stereotype confirmed, stereotype validated."
-Everyone feeds you until you explode and you get a dirty look if you finish but don't want anymore food.
-Women do everything. Cook, clean, mop. Piedad yells at me if I try to wash a fork.
-Everything is a stick shift. Even the big big buses. They roll backward before they go forward.
-There's graffiti everywhere. Well, not everywhere, but most places. Especially on the highways and buildings and such. It must be why Graffiti Pete is such a big deal in In the Heights.
-Women talk at the same time. In person, on the phone, anytime of the day, women are always trying to talk over each other. It results in yelling most of the time. And it happens constantly and I'm not exaggerating even a little. You know Gloria from Modern Family? Exactly.
But seriously, I'm really beginning to enjoy my time here. It's a lot different but there are things here that I can get used to. For example, it's totally acceptable to pass out for a nap at literally any time of the day. And for however long you want. Definitely have taken advantage of that almost every day. I miss home like crazy; my family, my kitty, streets that are familiar, oh and being in the same time zone as everyone I communicate with. That's a big one. But I've been told a million times already that I won't want to leave when my time is finally up here. It's probably true.
Just a quick update on the goings on of the past week:
Monday was the first day of classes. I found the building perfectly fine and everything and was feelin great when suddenly, out of nowhere, nausea hit me like Muhammad. I figured out later it was probably just a combination of dehydration, no sleep, stress, and major anxiety, but at the moment, all I could think of was me just hurling everywhere on the first day of class. I leaned forward in my seat and asked my director where the nearest bathroom was. He directed me to my one professor who told me how to get there. I thought he said "go left, then right," but he actually said "go right, then left." My ears were doing that ocean wave thing right before you're about to faint. You know the feeling. I stumbled out of the classroom and all around the courtyard trying to find the nearest bathroom. There was some sort of black tie affair going on outside, with ladies in fancy dresses and men in tuxedos and waiters with bow-ties all around. And suddenly, my body didn't feel like waiting for me to find a bathroom anymore. I grabbed the nearest thing with a hole in it and hurled in the middle of the fancy-pants party with the fancy-pants people. It's actually really freaking funny when I think about it now. But at the time I was just feeling awful, especially because I had just thrown up into a recycle bin. My teacher must have been watching me struggle because he ran out of the classroom and actually took me by the arm to the nearest bathroom. "You look as white as a sheet," he said in almost understandable spanish. "Probably," was all I could get out. After that incident, though, the week was much better.
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I pretty much figured out exactly how eating goes around here. Breakfast the second after you wake up, a huge lunch at 2:30, tapas (appetizers) at 5 or 6, a huge dinner at 10:30. That's pretty much how it's gone every day. Wednesday, my host mom's mom came into town to stay a couple of days. This woman literally told me to "get fatter." On Thursday we were sitting and talking at the kitchen table waiting for lunch to be done, each with our own plates in front of us. When the buzzer went off, she picked up her own plate and began scooping. One, two, three, four, five, SIX ladles later, I thought to myself, "Thank goodness that's not for me and I'll be able to serve myself a reasonable amount that I can actually intake." Wrong, Ang. So wrong. She puts the dish down in front of me. "For me?" I ask her. "Of course it's for you," she says. "But it's so much," I reply. "I don't care." Literally. That's how it goes here in good ol' España. They feed you until you LITERALLY can't take in any more food for fear your stomach might ACTUALLY burst. And I thought Italians were bad.
Friday my classmates and I took a trip to Segovia! It's a town about 2 hours away from Toledo, with huge aqueducts and lots of awesome churches. Our history professor came with us. He's actually really awesome. He'd be awesomer if I could understand his Spanish better. We climbed to the top of the aqueducts and just as I was peering over the side to get a better look, he said "Yeah, a lot of people actually fell to their deaths while building this; they didn't have any way to keep themselves strapped in." I took a few steps back.
When I got home that night, Piedad and I watched a game show called "Pasapalabra" (pass the word). It's an awesome game show. Still super corny like the ones in the US, but pretty fun and sort of easy for me to follow along. I'm sure I'll get better at understanding what's going on the more I watch it.
And today we went to church! Almost everyone in Spain is catholic. The church was beautiful. More stained glass in one place than I've ever seen in my life. It was pretty easy to follow along, too, since I know the structure of mass. All I really got out of the sermon, though, was that Jesus needs us to be lights for the world. Oh and he talked about Mary and Elizabeth being cousins; I don't know why (the gospel was out of Luke). Simple enough.
You know those stereotypes everyone has about Spain in the United States? THEY'RE ALL TRUE. All of them. I've only been here a week and I walk down the streets saying to myself, "Stereotype confirmed, stereotype validated."
-Everyone feeds you until you explode and you get a dirty look if you finish but don't want anymore food.
-Women do everything. Cook, clean, mop. Piedad yells at me if I try to wash a fork.
-Everything is a stick shift. Even the big big buses. They roll backward before they go forward.
-There's graffiti everywhere. Well, not everywhere, but most places. Especially on the highways and buildings and such. It must be why Graffiti Pete is such a big deal in In the Heights.
-Women talk at the same time. In person, on the phone, anytime of the day, women are always trying to talk over each other. It results in yelling most of the time. And it happens constantly and I'm not exaggerating even a little. You know Gloria from Modern Family? Exactly.
But seriously, I'm really beginning to enjoy my time here. It's a lot different but there are things here that I can get used to. For example, it's totally acceptable to pass out for a nap at literally any time of the day. And for however long you want. Definitely have taken advantage of that almost every day. I miss home like crazy; my family, my kitty, streets that are familiar, oh and being in the same time zone as everyone I communicate with. That's a big one. But I've been told a million times already that I won't want to leave when my time is finally up here. It's probably true.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Fiehalxoeiafjz
The title of this post is what my brain feels like right now.
Today we came to Toledo, where we'll be studying for the next 5 weeks. We met our host families (moms, mostly) where they took us to their homes. Everyone greets you with a kiss on each cheek; it was fun watching the super awkward boys man up and do that. Piedad, my host mom, is a serious boss. She talks SUPER fast, so I've had to ask her many times to repeat herself. Thankfully, she has a ton of patience and even told me she doesn't mind saying things slower or saying them a million times. After she brought me home, she immediately made me something to eat. I had albóndigas, which are basically meatballs in sauce, watermelon, salad, and bread. I couldn't finish all of it! She let me take a 2 hour siesta before taking me around to see where I would be going to school and the Plaza de Zocodover, which is basically the heart of Toledo. Piedad lives outside the Casco, where school and Zocodover are, but everything is pretty much in walking distance. There are hills too! It feels a lot like Athens. Except the roads are made of bricks AND stones. It looks like someone just threw a bunch of random rocks in the roads while the cement was hardening. Girls look even stupider wearing heels here.
I met up with the OU group in the Plaza and our mommies left us. We walked around with the director of our program; he took us to an outdoor bar/cafe where we had free sangrías! I wish I could've had enough for it to be worth it. The drinks were in huge beer pitchers, and I think I had about a quarter of it before feeling like I was going to fall over. All my peers kept saying "You can't even taste the alcohol!" Well, that's all I could taste. What a newb. We walked around a lot, trying to memorize street signs and points of interest. One street is literally called La Calle de Toledo de Ohio. Bahaha. So they know of us.
I was the last person to be brought home since I live the farthest away. My director took the bus with me! Good thing I google stalked the crap out of where Piedad lives; it was super easy finding her apartment building. When I came in, it was about 9. We talked for a while, and I could already understand her spanish a little better, but my brain was killing me. I took a quick shower and when I was done she gave me the password for the wifi in the apartment. Phew. As I was fanoodling with that, she was fanoodling in the kitchen, and suddenly comes out with a tray with a huge ham sandwich, banana, yogurt, and water. IT WAS 10:30PM. She didn't ask me if I was hungry until after I was half way through. Oh my gosh. The rumors are true, they are all about feeding you here until you can't take it anymore. I put the banana in the fridge and told her I'd take it for breakfast tomorrow. I started to wash the spoon I had eaten the yogurt with and she yelled at me. "I do that," she said. "Put it down." Oh boy. She asked how my vocabulary was and I told her not very good and that since we focus on grammar so much in school, I forget a lot of easy words often. So she brought me around the kitchen pointing to things and quizzing me. It was fun to surprise her with words I did know.
Before she went to bed she gave me a mom lecture about being careful while walking around, and while most of the time it's safe, there are still lots of pick pocketers who will not hesitate to take your things. She cares a lot about her little adopted hija.
I seriously hope my brain doesn't feel like this at the end of every day, but I have a feeling it might.
Today we came to Toledo, where we'll be studying for the next 5 weeks. We met our host families (moms, mostly) where they took us to their homes. Everyone greets you with a kiss on each cheek; it was fun watching the super awkward boys man up and do that. Piedad, my host mom, is a serious boss. She talks SUPER fast, so I've had to ask her many times to repeat herself. Thankfully, she has a ton of patience and even told me she doesn't mind saying things slower or saying them a million times. After she brought me home, she immediately made me something to eat. I had albóndigas, which are basically meatballs in sauce, watermelon, salad, and bread. I couldn't finish all of it! She let me take a 2 hour siesta before taking me around to see where I would be going to school and the Plaza de Zocodover, which is basically the heart of Toledo. Piedad lives outside the Casco, where school and Zocodover are, but everything is pretty much in walking distance. There are hills too! It feels a lot like Athens. Except the roads are made of bricks AND stones. It looks like someone just threw a bunch of random rocks in the roads while the cement was hardening. Girls look even stupider wearing heels here.
I met up with the OU group in the Plaza and our mommies left us. We walked around with the director of our program; he took us to an outdoor bar/cafe where we had free sangrías! I wish I could've had enough for it to be worth it. The drinks were in huge beer pitchers, and I think I had about a quarter of it before feeling like I was going to fall over. All my peers kept saying "You can't even taste the alcohol!" Well, that's all I could taste. What a newb. We walked around a lot, trying to memorize street signs and points of interest. One street is literally called La Calle de Toledo de Ohio. Bahaha. So they know of us.
I was the last person to be brought home since I live the farthest away. My director took the bus with me! Good thing I google stalked the crap out of where Piedad lives; it was super easy finding her apartment building. When I came in, it was about 9. We talked for a while, and I could already understand her spanish a little better, but my brain was killing me. I took a quick shower and when I was done she gave me the password for the wifi in the apartment. Phew. As I was fanoodling with that, she was fanoodling in the kitchen, and suddenly comes out with a tray with a huge ham sandwich, banana, yogurt, and water. IT WAS 10:30PM. She didn't ask me if I was hungry until after I was half way through. Oh my gosh. The rumors are true, they are all about feeding you here until you can't take it anymore. I put the banana in the fridge and told her I'd take it for breakfast tomorrow. I started to wash the spoon I had eaten the yogurt with and she yelled at me. "I do that," she said. "Put it down." Oh boy. She asked how my vocabulary was and I told her not very good and that since we focus on grammar so much in school, I forget a lot of easy words often. So she brought me around the kitchen pointing to things and quizzing me. It was fun to surprise her with words I did know.
Before she went to bed she gave me a mom lecture about being careful while walking around, and while most of the time it's safe, there are still lots of pick pocketers who will not hesitate to take your things. She cares a lot about her little adopted hija.
I seriously hope my brain doesn't feel like this at the end of every day, but I have a feeling it might.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
That One Time in Madrid
Well then. Today has been quite a day. We got into Madrid this morning at around 7am (an 8 hour flight altogether) but it seriously feels like that was days ago. Thankfully I have a travel buddy, Cassie; I have no idea how I would've managed without her. When we got off the plane we tried not to look like total American newbs but I know it didn't matter how hard we tried...I felt like I had "Dumb American" stamped to my forehead. We checked our big luggage into this place that has big lockers for such purposes, but the people at the desk didn't speak much English at all so it was super hard trying to figure out what we were supposed to do. Between being tired from the flight and trying to become familiar with the new surroundings, I couldn't think of how to say practically anything in Spanish. After finally checking our baggage we tried finding the bus to take us to our hostel, which was a nightmare in itself since we didn't even know really where we needed to go or which bus to take, so we just ended up getting a taxi! Our driver was friendly but she didn't speak any English, so we warmed up our brains by telling her we were students from the US (actually I think she guessed where we were from, dammit) studying abroad. It was a good 20 minute drive so I thought for sure there would be no one from our program around the area, but it turns out I booked the most popular hostel in all of Madrid! It wouldn't look like it from the outside (it took about 20 minutes of us walking up and down the street before we saw the door appear out of freaking Narnia) and it's super sketchy until you get up the stairs. It's very clean; there are a few kitchens and bathrooms and showers, the walls are painted, and there are free bowls of churros EVERYWHERE. Nom nom.
Cassie and I decided to plop down at a table next to a girl on her laptop while we waited for our room to be cleaned since we arrived a little early for check in. She was from Argentina and didn't speak any English at all but we talked for a good 15 minutes with her. She was awesome and super patient while we stumbled over our words. After our room opened up, I passed out for literally 6 and a half hours. I would've kept sleeping if Cassie didn't wake me up to go explore.
Madrid looks a lot like New York City, except a lot older. The buildings look antique but there are bright neon signs everywhere you go. Fashion is such a huge thing here. All of the shops up and down the streets are super upscale. Men wear their collars popped with chokers (I mean really?). Women are dressed in big get ups and most of them aren't too modest about how much cleavage they allow the world to see. Gay love is loud and proud! Men are mackin' on each other everywhere you go, and I definitely saw one guy give his partner a big ass-squeeze today. I couldn't help but giggle. Cassie and I came back and napped some more and then went out for dinner around 10pm. It was still light outside! We had chicken salad with tomatoes and bacon on toasted bread and french fries; it was called "tosta," go figure. It was delicioso.
We meet the big group at the airport tomorrow at noon to be taken to Toledo! I emailed my host mom, Piedad today; she responded with "Oh, you have a very Spanish name. We won't have any trouble getting along." I already love this woman. I burned her son an American music mix CD; threw some Mumford, Of Monsters and Men, and Zac Brown on there. And of course, Call Me Maybe. He better freaking like it.
Cassie and I decided to plop down at a table next to a girl on her laptop while we waited for our room to be cleaned since we arrived a little early for check in. She was from Argentina and didn't speak any English at all but we talked for a good 15 minutes with her. She was awesome and super patient while we stumbled over our words. After our room opened up, I passed out for literally 6 and a half hours. I would've kept sleeping if Cassie didn't wake me up to go explore.
Madrid looks a lot like New York City, except a lot older. The buildings look antique but there are bright neon signs everywhere you go. Fashion is such a huge thing here. All of the shops up and down the streets are super upscale. Men wear their collars popped with chokers (I mean really?). Women are dressed in big get ups and most of them aren't too modest about how much cleavage they allow the world to see. Gay love is loud and proud! Men are mackin' on each other everywhere you go, and I definitely saw one guy give his partner a big ass-squeeze today. I couldn't help but giggle. Cassie and I came back and napped some more and then went out for dinner around 10pm. It was still light outside! We had chicken salad with tomatoes and bacon on toasted bread and french fries; it was called "tosta," go figure. It was delicioso.
We meet the big group at the airport tomorrow at noon to be taken to Toledo! I emailed my host mom, Piedad today; she responded with "Oh, you have a very Spanish name. We won't have any trouble getting along." I already love this woman. I burned her son an American music mix CD; threw some Mumford, Of Monsters and Men, and Zac Brown on there. And of course, Call Me Maybe. He better freaking like it.
Friday, June 15, 2012
My Co-Leaders Are My Home Boiz
I'm leaving for Spain tomorrow. Oh yeah, that application I handed in about 6 months ago was a real hit with the OU study abroad board! I'm gone for 5 weeks...when you think about it, that's really not a lot of time at all. 5 weeks will go by so quickly, and before I know it, I'll be back in my little nook, hangin' out with my family and eating way too much Mighty Taco. My 5 week excursion is just the opposite of what two of my very best friends are doing this summer (one of them tomorrow too, actually). They're movin' out - and stayin' out.
Margaret and Brian are (were?.. no. forever are) my co-leaders at Nelsonville-York High School, where we lead YoungLife. Over the past two years of being their friend and over a year of being their co, they've taught me more about life than I ever thought I would get in all four years of college. They can make me laugh and aren't afraid to wipe my tears. They've been such a huge part of my college life that I really can't even stand the idea of them leaving and growing up to be all successful and adult-like. But I guess I'll have to get over that.
I met Margaret my very first day of college. I remember I liked her right off the bat because she was as short as me. And her name was Margaret. It wasn't long before I realized that the feisty and spunky personality that hid inside Margaret was never really hiding. It was always on the surface ready to make an appearance, although it probably wasn't until after I started leading with her last year that I got to experience it for myself. One time I made some playful but snarky comment to her and after I had turned away from her, laughing at how funny I was, I felt a zing up my neck. It was then I realized she had punched me in the spine. Like I said. Feisty.
Margaret is always fun to be around, but she's the most fun at about 2 o'clock in the morning. That's when she's hungry for Union Street Diner food and really really giddy. So naturally, it wasn't uncommon to be at Union Street Diner on a Saturday at 2am and be really really giddy with her.
One of my favorite memories with her was one Monday night when she gave a really kick-ass club talk (can I say ass and club talk in the same sentence?) and on the way home through smartphone technology, saw that our high school kids were blowing up facebook and twitter talking about how great her talk was. When we got back to campus we all just got out of the car, hugged in a circle, and cried. Man. I seriously loved that night.
Margaret loved to talk to me about her life, and I loved to listen. We had so many great talks, just her and me, on the way to the high school or to a sporting event. Some days it was quiet, and those were nice too. She has the most comfortable car I've ever been in. I fell asleep too many times to count on the way to and from Nelsonville. There are pictures, unfortunately, to prove it.
Margaret taught me to not take things for granted. To make the most of my time at OU. She taught me about confrontation and that speaking your mind is almost never a bad thing - if you say something wrong, people will get over it if they really love you. She taught me perseverance in leading and a few of the million aspects of the power of prayer. She reminds me to never put God in a box. He's way bigger than we think he is and can do way more than we could ever imagine. She's taught me most of these things without even knowing it.
Margaret's moving to Des Moines, Iowa tomorrow to work with newspaper design. She's super artsy and talented. I can't wait to see what God's gonna throw her way next.
I also met Brian on my first day in Athens. Everyone called him BK for short because his last name is awesome and begins with a K and ends with assouf. I forget who introduced us, but I remember it was awkward after they did. BK is one awkward dude. And everyone loves him for it. I especially do. BK told me he liked my shoes. I liked his beard, but I don't think I told him that.
One time Brian and our friend Maeve took me to the ER because I was having some major tummy issues. He did so much for me that night. He even stayed with me in the room where they ask you all the awkward questions about how long ago your last period was. We played with the doctors toys to pass the time. I remember him laughing at how loopy I was getting after the medicine started to kick in. I was laughing too. He was good at making me laugh.
One time he stayed up all Friday night and Saturday so he could act in our 48 Hour Shootout video. He didn't have to. But he did.
One time he and I "broke into" the skit closet at Rockbridge during leader weekend and put on dinosaur costumes and danced around on scooters in front of our friends.
And more than one time, we enjoyed hot apple cider on his roof, prayer sessions, making spaghetti (the most recent time was for a YoungLife club where we made 29 pounds of it in one day...I just like to brag), worshiping at 180, and lots and lots of laughs.
My favorite thing about BK being my co-leader was that I got to watch him interact with high school kids and witness the overflow of love he has constantly pouring out of him. Oh, and I loved watching him in skits (or being in them with him). He can do the best accent for about .4 seconds of a skit, and it somehow just always manages to fall right back into his Ohio twang. And he was always funny. Which somehow managed to make things awkward? Which made things funnier.
BK taught me how to do ministry for high school kids and not for any other reason. He taught me what it takes to have a focus like that. He taught me that it's fun to explore and go on spontaneous adventures. That you don't always have to do things by the books. He taught me how important a prayer life is and he knows how to challenge me in my walk with the Lord. He is an amazing example of how a Christ-centered man should treat people. BK loves everyone. Everyone loves BK.
Brian is moving to San Francisco, California, to do web developing for a company called Imgur. He's a freaking computer genius. And this is a really great opportunity for him. I can't wait to see what the Lord has got in store for him.
Those are my cos, awesome in every little way. I'm gonna miss them like a sandbox misses sand. Never gonna say goodbye. Just see ya laterskies.
Margaret and Brian are (were?.. no. forever are) my co-leaders at Nelsonville-York High School, where we lead YoungLife. Over the past two years of being their friend and over a year of being their co, they've taught me more about life than I ever thought I would get in all four years of college. They can make me laugh and aren't afraid to wipe my tears. They've been such a huge part of my college life that I really can't even stand the idea of them leaving and growing up to be all successful and adult-like. But I guess I'll have to get over that.
I met Margaret my very first day of college. I remember I liked her right off the bat because she was as short as me. And her name was Margaret. It wasn't long before I realized that the feisty and spunky personality that hid inside Margaret was never really hiding. It was always on the surface ready to make an appearance, although it probably wasn't until after I started leading with her last year that I got to experience it for myself. One time I made some playful but snarky comment to her and after I had turned away from her, laughing at how funny I was, I felt a zing up my neck. It was then I realized she had punched me in the spine. Like I said. Feisty.
Margaret is always fun to be around, but she's the most fun at about 2 o'clock in the morning. That's when she's hungry for Union Street Diner food and really really giddy. So naturally, it wasn't uncommon to be at Union Street Diner on a Saturday at 2am and be really really giddy with her.
One of my favorite memories with her was one Monday night when she gave a really kick-ass club talk (can I say ass and club talk in the same sentence?) and on the way home through smartphone technology, saw that our high school kids were blowing up facebook and twitter talking about how great her talk was. When we got back to campus we all just got out of the car, hugged in a circle, and cried. Man. I seriously loved that night.
Margaret loved to talk to me about her life, and I loved to listen. We had so many great talks, just her and me, on the way to the high school or to a sporting event. Some days it was quiet, and those were nice too. She has the most comfortable car I've ever been in. I fell asleep too many times to count on the way to and from Nelsonville. There are pictures, unfortunately, to prove it.
Margaret taught me to not take things for granted. To make the most of my time at OU. She taught me about confrontation and that speaking your mind is almost never a bad thing - if you say something wrong, people will get over it if they really love you. She taught me perseverance in leading and a few of the million aspects of the power of prayer. She reminds me to never put God in a box. He's way bigger than we think he is and can do way more than we could ever imagine. She's taught me most of these things without even knowing it.
Margaret's moving to Des Moines, Iowa tomorrow to work with newspaper design. She's super artsy and talented. I can't wait to see what God's gonna throw her way next.
I also met Brian on my first day in Athens. Everyone called him BK for short because his last name is awesome and begins with a K and ends with assouf. I forget who introduced us, but I remember it was awkward after they did. BK is one awkward dude. And everyone loves him for it. I especially do. BK told me he liked my shoes. I liked his beard, but I don't think I told him that.
One time Brian and our friend Maeve took me to the ER because I was having some major tummy issues. He did so much for me that night. He even stayed with me in the room where they ask you all the awkward questions about how long ago your last period was. We played with the doctors toys to pass the time. I remember him laughing at how loopy I was getting after the medicine started to kick in. I was laughing too. He was good at making me laugh.
One time he stayed up all Friday night and Saturday so he could act in our 48 Hour Shootout video. He didn't have to. But he did.
One time he and I "broke into" the skit closet at Rockbridge during leader weekend and put on dinosaur costumes and danced around on scooters in front of our friends.
And more than one time, we enjoyed hot apple cider on his roof, prayer sessions, making spaghetti (the most recent time was for a YoungLife club where we made 29 pounds of it in one day...I just like to brag), worshiping at 180, and lots and lots of laughs.
My favorite thing about BK being my co-leader was that I got to watch him interact with high school kids and witness the overflow of love he has constantly pouring out of him. Oh, and I loved watching him in skits (or being in them with him). He can do the best accent for about .4 seconds of a skit, and it somehow just always manages to fall right back into his Ohio twang. And he was always funny. Which somehow managed to make things awkward? Which made things funnier.
BK taught me how to do ministry for high school kids and not for any other reason. He taught me what it takes to have a focus like that. He taught me that it's fun to explore and go on spontaneous adventures. That you don't always have to do things by the books. He taught me how important a prayer life is and he knows how to challenge me in my walk with the Lord. He is an amazing example of how a Christ-centered man should treat people. BK loves everyone. Everyone loves BK.
Brian is moving to San Francisco, California, to do web developing for a company called Imgur. He's a freaking computer genius. And this is a really great opportunity for him. I can't wait to see what the Lord has got in store for him.
Those are my cos, awesome in every little way. I'm gonna miss them like a sandbox misses sand. Never gonna say goodbye. Just see ya laterskies.
Shameless plug:
The company Brian is working for is a website, imgur.com. Go check it out.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Pet Therapy
When I was younger, I used to think wishing for things when you saw a shooting star or threw a penny in the fountain was for real. Like it was gonna actually come true, one day. One night, when I was maybe 10 (?), my dad woke me up at 3am and we got in his pick-up tuck and drove out to Colden, NY, where there are no city lights to take away from the beautiful starry sky above. We laid in the back in the bed on blankets and watched an absolutely marvelous meteor shower. About 20 minutes in, I saw this HUGE flash of light out of the corner of my eye; it must've been one heck of a shooting star. Excitedly, I squealed, "Dad, did you see that?!" I was disappointed when he looked at me, confused, and asked, "What?" I was so bummed he didn't see the miraculous thing I had just witnessed. So I looked back up to the sky and shut my eyes tight. I wished for a pet. I wished really really hard. A pet that wasn't a fish or a hermit crab. I had had plenty of those. I knew it could never happen, since my mom and sister are so allergic to any kind of animal with fur. But I wished anyway.
One random day about 4 years later, in January 2006, my godfather called me. He told me there was a stray kitten that had wandered into his work building in the city of Buffalo. They had tried getting rid of it, but it kept finding it's way back into the building. "Do you think you guys could take it in?" he asked. "We want a good home for it." Immediately I was angered. Why would he be calling us? I wondered. He KNOWS we can't have an animal. Regardless of my hot head, I told him I would talk to mom about it. We hung up, and I became excited. What if we actually could take this kitten in? I told mom about it; she ended up calling my godfather for more information...I still have no idea why she bothered. That Friday, January 13, I came home to a meowing little gray kitten at the door. Instant tears. I couldn't believe my wish upon a star had come true.
Now, I should probably mention my dad was out of town that weekend. Before mom brought the cat home, she had actually called him for the go-ahead to adopt it. Well, he must have just been having too great of a time with his buddies, because he never said anything about hating cats, hating their fur, hating their faces, all of which he brought up with his arms folded the second she greeted him at the door when he came home. He was not happy. "I don't like cats," he said, very matter-of-fact. Me, mom, and my sister Alicia all looked at each other and gulped. We figured it would just take some time for him to get used to the idea. But he didn't just get used to the idea. He fell head over heals for that stinkin' cat.
We named her Weezie. We had two different stories ready for why we named her that, depending on the demographic asking about it. If we were telling a pretty good friend, co-worker or teacher, the conversation would look something like this: "Her name is Weezie." "Oh! Why'd you name her that?" "Because usually cats make mom and Alicia wheezy!" This usually followed with some light chuckling. However, if we were telling a really close friend, relative, or someone who simply just shares the same kind of sick humor as my family, the conversation would look something more like: "Her name is Weezie." "Oh! Why'd you name her that?" "Because Weezie Jefferson in the TV show The Jefferson's moved on up from the east side!" This usually followed with hearty laughter, maybe some snorting, and milk coming out of the nose. You get my point.
Having a cat was a novelty for all of us. A novelty that simply just did not wear off. It didn't take dad long at all to warm up to her. Pretty soon she was his "baby girl" or "Weezer." I think all families probably have pet names for their pet. We always wanted to hold her, play with her, and yes, even scoop her poop up after her. When she was a kitten she had this fetish of freaking us all out when we were trying to sleep by jumping up onto the beds and pouncing on our feet. She was so playful.
We bought her a bed that she was way too small for; we thought she'd never grow into it. She did, eventually. Not to mention mom bought her two Longaberger baskets to sleep in; one for the family room and one for her bedroom. Every trip to the Dollar Store would lead to buying her another toy mouse, mouse on a string, mouse in a ball, etc. She got Christmas gifts. She was one spoiled little kitty.
We had our fair share of freak outs with her; we would let her outside occasionally, and one day she slipped outside the fence when none of us were watching and didn't come back until the next morning. One time she brought a chipmunk into the house and didn't set it down until she had shown mommy what she had caught - in her walk in closet. Alicia and mom had a fun morning trying to catch the friggin thing.
She was so smart. Once she sat adamantly in front of the fire place, meowing. It only took us two days to figure out she was trying to tell us there was a squirrel who got stuck in there. If she was hungry or wanted to go outside, she'd tell you. She learned words like "treat," "chicki chicki" (chicken), and even her own name. But she was still always stupider than your average dog.
Except for the occasional times where she'd hop up onto a kitchen chair or try to claw her way outside, Weezie was never really scolded. She was always the most well behaved out of Alicia and me. She loved everyone. Well everyone except Grandma, Aunt Simone, Aunt Linda, Mike...I should probably just delete my previous statement. Weezie brought a kind of love into the house that none of us had ever experienced before. If mom or dad or any of us had a bad day at school or work, we'd feel better the second we walked into the house because of the gray little furball sitting there to greet us. She calmed us down and let us hold her when we needed a good cry. We could talk to her without worrying she'd tattle tale. She was the perfect little friend.
About a year ago, Weezie was diagnosed with feline asthma. Yes, there's such a thing! The past year has been full of vet visits, different medications and diagnoses, but she continued to get worse. When we could see that her breathing was labored and she was having 2 or 3 coughing spells a day, we knew it was time for kitty heaven. Dad went and put her down today. He told me it was the hardest thing he's ever had to do. I believe him. It's hard not to get attached to the animal that's been cozying up your house for the past 6 years. Weezie will always be the best thing that's ever happened to our family as a whole. She had a special little connection with each of us. She loved mom the most. Probably because she was the one who rescued her. She is already so missed. RIP little Weezer Bee! We miss you!
One random day about 4 years later, in January 2006, my godfather called me. He told me there was a stray kitten that had wandered into his work building in the city of Buffalo. They had tried getting rid of it, but it kept finding it's way back into the building. "Do you think you guys could take it in?" he asked. "We want a good home for it." Immediately I was angered. Why would he be calling us? I wondered. He KNOWS we can't have an animal. Regardless of my hot head, I told him I would talk to mom about it. We hung up, and I became excited. What if we actually could take this kitten in? I told mom about it; she ended up calling my godfather for more information...I still have no idea why she bothered. That Friday, January 13, I came home to a meowing little gray kitten at the door. Instant tears. I couldn't believe my wish upon a star had come true.
Now, I should probably mention my dad was out of town that weekend. Before mom brought the cat home, she had actually called him for the go-ahead to adopt it. Well, he must have just been having too great of a time with his buddies, because he never said anything about hating cats, hating their fur, hating their faces, all of which he brought up with his arms folded the second she greeted him at the door when he came home. He was not happy. "I don't like cats," he said, very matter-of-fact. Me, mom, and my sister Alicia all looked at each other and gulped. We figured it would just take some time for him to get used to the idea. But he didn't just get used to the idea. He fell head over heals for that stinkin' cat.
We named her Weezie. We had two different stories ready for why we named her that, depending on the demographic asking about it. If we were telling a pretty good friend, co-worker or teacher, the conversation would look something like this: "Her name is Weezie." "Oh! Why'd you name her that?" "Because usually cats make mom and Alicia wheezy!" This usually followed with some light chuckling. However, if we were telling a really close friend, relative, or someone who simply just shares the same kind of sick humor as my family, the conversation would look something more like: "Her name is Weezie." "Oh! Why'd you name her that?" "Because Weezie Jefferson in the TV show The Jefferson's moved on up from the east side!" This usually followed with hearty laughter, maybe some snorting, and milk coming out of the nose. You get my point.
Having a cat was a novelty for all of us. A novelty that simply just did not wear off. It didn't take dad long at all to warm up to her. Pretty soon she was his "baby girl" or "Weezer." I think all families probably have pet names for their pet. We always wanted to hold her, play with her, and yes, even scoop her poop up after her. When she was a kitten she had this fetish of freaking us all out when we were trying to sleep by jumping up onto the beds and pouncing on our feet. She was so playful.
We bought her a bed that she was way too small for; we thought she'd never grow into it. She did, eventually. Not to mention mom bought her two Longaberger baskets to sleep in; one for the family room and one for her bedroom. Every trip to the Dollar Store would lead to buying her another toy mouse, mouse on a string, mouse in a ball, etc. She got Christmas gifts. She was one spoiled little kitty.
We had our fair share of freak outs with her; we would let her outside occasionally, and one day she slipped outside the fence when none of us were watching and didn't come back until the next morning. One time she brought a chipmunk into the house and didn't set it down until she had shown mommy what she had caught - in her walk in closet. Alicia and mom had a fun morning trying to catch the friggin thing.
She was so smart. Once she sat adamantly in front of the fire place, meowing. It only took us two days to figure out she was trying to tell us there was a squirrel who got stuck in there. If she was hungry or wanted to go outside, she'd tell you. She learned words like "treat," "chicki chicki" (chicken), and even her own name. But she was still always stupider than your average dog.
Except for the occasional times where she'd hop up onto a kitchen chair or try to claw her way outside, Weezie was never really scolded. She was always the most well behaved out of Alicia and me. She loved everyone. Well everyone except Grandma, Aunt Simone, Aunt Linda, Mike...I should probably just delete my previous statement. Weezie brought a kind of love into the house that none of us had ever experienced before. If mom or dad or any of us had a bad day at school or work, we'd feel better the second we walked into the house because of the gray little furball sitting there to greet us. She calmed us down and let us hold her when we needed a good cry. We could talk to her without worrying she'd tattle tale. She was the perfect little friend.
About a year ago, Weezie was diagnosed with feline asthma. Yes, there's such a thing! The past year has been full of vet visits, different medications and diagnoses, but she continued to get worse. When we could see that her breathing was labored and she was having 2 or 3 coughing spells a day, we knew it was time for kitty heaven. Dad went and put her down today. He told me it was the hardest thing he's ever had to do. I believe him. It's hard not to get attached to the animal that's been cozying up your house for the past 6 years. Weezie will always be the best thing that's ever happened to our family as a whole. She had a special little connection with each of us. She loved mom the most. Probably because she was the one who rescued her. She is already so missed. RIP little Weezer Bee! We miss you!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Espanglish
My name is Angela, but my mom calls me Ángela (there's an accent over that big A, making this name sound like ' ON-hey-la '). Seriously. My mom calls me by my Spanish name. That’s the kind of impact the Spanish language has had on me over the last 7 years. I have cousins who teach it, teachers who help me to experience it, and a family who never gets tired of hearing it. After I started learning Spanish in the 7th grade, I was excited to expand my vocabulary to one day be able to have a legitimate conversation with someone in Spanish. I studied my little middle school butt off, and it paid off. I held a 100% all throughout middle school. I don’t say this to brag, I say this to prove how dedicated I was – and still am – to this subject.
Once I hit high school, I began to practice having small, personal conversations with one of my bilingual cousins. My mom thought this meant I could easily understand the entire Spanish language, as she would frequently ask me to translate conversations, say, that two Spanish speaking women were having in front of us in the line at the supermarket. “Mom!” would usually be my response, as I looked at her with disbelief that she had made such a request. However, I can’t deny that I would try to eavesdrop a little bit, just to see if I could make anything out.
While Spanish was a big part of my high school life, so was Video Production, which ended up becoming my major. Up until very recently, I was prepared to make video my whole life, with room for little else. Over winter break, my mom (surprise!) sat me down with a very serious look on her face. She brought up the words “grad school” which I immediately shut down, since video majors don’t really need to look into graduate school in order to obtain a good profession down the road. But video work was not what she was talking about. Her idea was for me to graduate with what I have in place as of now, which are a Video Production major and Spanish Language minor. She then suggested I take a couple years at grad school to obtain a teaching degree, and, you guessed it; go teach kids how to speak Spanish. I’ll admit, when the words flew out of her mouth, I didn’t love them. However, after I spent a good 3 or 4 minutes thinking about it, I fell in love with the idea. Don’t get me wrong; filmmaking has always been another big passion of mine that I still plan to pursue. I’m not looking to go to Los Angeles (too commercialized) or New York City (too…hectic!), but want to keep looking into editing as a side job, perhaps. But teaching kids the language that’s become such a passionate part of my life? That’s a no brainer. Thanks, mom.
I just finished applying to the study abroad program in Toledo, Spain for 5 weeks this upcoming summer. The above paragraphs may have been included in my essay. If given the opportunity, I especially look forward to interacting and speaking with my host family and learning about their culture. Culture! An aspect of the Spanish world I never truly appreciated until recently, while learning about it in the 200 level series this year. It’s so incredibly great to not be ignorant about how people in Spain and other Spanish speaking countries live their lives. I can only assume that studying in Spain will not only prepare me better for the rest of my college career, but will also fuel my passion to teach children/teenagers the magic of knowing another language. Mmm magical.
For now I'm just crossing my fingers and waiting on those reference letters...yikes.
Also, it would be greatly appreciated if none of my media professors knew about this, thanks.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Constant Change
Change is constant. Even when life is throwing you the same routine everyday, change is happening behind your back anyway.
I went home to Buffalo for Thanksgiving and just got back to school yesterday. Those six weeks threw me more than I expected, but so far, I'm handling it. Break was actually great. I got to work, which means I made enough money to get on an airplane for a YoungLife Christmas Party in Columbus and actually do some decent Christmas shopping. And buy Mighty Taco. That's tied with being the best reason for making money. That and being able to afford out-of-state tuition.
I got to hang out with my family and see my boyfriend for more than an hour over my computer screen. Spending quality time with the people I love definitely gets better as I get older. I caught up with a few old friends, which is a rare occurrence since my school break is majorly shifted compared to everyone else's.
My old YoungLife leader, Mary Beth, got married a few days ago, to a man she met while teaching and fulfilling her God call in Honduras. I had the privilege of watching her niece and his spanish speaking toddler nephew and infant niece one night while the family was out doing wedding things. It was a challenge, especially with the 3-year-old who was getting out of his baby talk stage. It's a challenge to understand English speaking 3-year-olds, let alone another language. It was a fun night though. I learned a lot, too. Pajamas is pronounced "Pay-YA-maz" in spanish, NOT "Pa-HA-mas." I felt like a dog chasing my tail as I tried to get him to locate his pj's, or as I started referring to them, "the clothes that you sleep in!"
I'm pretty sure my mom and God sit down and have coffee every morning to discuss my future, because she makes comments and puts ideas into my head that make me completely rethink my whole life plan. I'm going to school to graduate as a video major, but suddenly am now seriously contemplating teaching a foreign language. You can't make this stuff up.
In other news, my boyfriend's parents sold their house in Buffalo and are moving to Virginia Beach. Not that I blame them. But it does sorta put a kink in plans down the road, depending on where Mike now chooses to live. I'm not freaking out. God's got this.
My cousin's in California are struggling. My cousin Camille, who's had cancer for a while, is nearing the end of her battle. She was told on Saturday that she's got about a month or two left in this life. She'll leave behind a faithful husband and three beautiful little boys. Again, God's got this. Although I admit I'm freaking out.
Home was too comfortable to leave this time around. I didn't want to leave my bed, my shower where I don't have to wear flip flops, my Tim Hortons, Mighty Taco, Red Robin, and Target. My grandparents. My sister. My mommy and daddy. The call of Athens was not nearly as loud as it was last year. Not that I can complain, because my parents often remind me of a little place called the University of Buffalo right down the road. But deep down, I'm happy with the college choice I've made.
Classes started today and it's "back to the grind" as mom always says. I'm still getting into the swing of being back. I'll have dinner with everyone tonight and be fine, most likely. And gear up for a new quarter!
Change is constant. Luckily, God is too. Funny how that kinda stuff works out.
I went home to Buffalo for Thanksgiving and just got back to school yesterday. Those six weeks threw me more than I expected, but so far, I'm handling it. Break was actually great. I got to work, which means I made enough money to get on an airplane for a YoungLife Christmas Party in Columbus and actually do some decent Christmas shopping. And buy Mighty Taco. That's tied with being the best reason for making money. That and being able to afford out-of-state tuition.
I got to hang out with my family and see my boyfriend for more than an hour over my computer screen. Spending quality time with the people I love definitely gets better as I get older. I caught up with a few old friends, which is a rare occurrence since my school break is majorly shifted compared to everyone else's.
My old YoungLife leader, Mary Beth, got married a few days ago, to a man she met while teaching and fulfilling her God call in Honduras. I had the privilege of watching her niece and his spanish speaking toddler nephew and infant niece one night while the family was out doing wedding things. It was a challenge, especially with the 3-year-old who was getting out of his baby talk stage. It's a challenge to understand English speaking 3-year-olds, let alone another language. It was a fun night though. I learned a lot, too. Pajamas is pronounced "Pay-YA-maz" in spanish, NOT "Pa-HA-mas." I felt like a dog chasing my tail as I tried to get him to locate his pj's, or as I started referring to them, "the clothes that you sleep in!"
I'm pretty sure my mom and God sit down and have coffee every morning to discuss my future, because she makes comments and puts ideas into my head that make me completely rethink my whole life plan. I'm going to school to graduate as a video major, but suddenly am now seriously contemplating teaching a foreign language. You can't make this stuff up.
In other news, my boyfriend's parents sold their house in Buffalo and are moving to Virginia Beach. Not that I blame them. But it does sorta put a kink in plans down the road, depending on where Mike now chooses to live. I'm not freaking out. God's got this.
My cousin's in California are struggling. My cousin Camille, who's had cancer for a while, is nearing the end of her battle. She was told on Saturday that she's got about a month or two left in this life. She'll leave behind a faithful husband and three beautiful little boys. Again, God's got this. Although I admit I'm freaking out.
Home was too comfortable to leave this time around. I didn't want to leave my bed, my shower where I don't have to wear flip flops, my Tim Hortons, Mighty Taco, Red Robin, and Target. My grandparents. My sister. My mommy and daddy. The call of Athens was not nearly as loud as it was last year. Not that I can complain, because my parents often remind me of a little place called the University of Buffalo right down the road. But deep down, I'm happy with the college choice I've made.
Classes started today and it's "back to the grind" as mom always says. I'm still getting into the swing of being back. I'll have dinner with everyone tonight and be fine, most likely. And gear up for a new quarter!
Change is constant. Luckily, God is too. Funny how that kinda stuff works out.
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