I shoulda taken a picture

But to those who weren’t here in the moment, the gooey marshmallow plops on the mirror over the fireplace would just look – sticky.  The crusty bits on the floor – a little grody and icky.

Perhaps we should have bottled up the full-on belly laughs to pull them out on days that could use a little extra chuckle. Wouldn’t that be awesome? On a too-quiet, oh-so-lonely mid-winter day, just open up a jar of musicplayingsilverwareondishesclinkingeveryonetalkingatoncepunctuatedwithashtonsammymollypinchedmeletsplayelfontheshelfnowthisiswhatialwayswanted!

Of course, that would be a poor substitute for the actual experience of being surrounded by the warmth and noise and love of family at our traditional Christmas brunch.

Today is my morning-after-Christmas-day since I had to work on Dec. 26. This is the day I get to sleep in and spend a morning in my monkey pants, lingering over coffee and ginger cookies as I survey the situation in the living room … it’s not at the too-quiet stage yet. I hear muffled chatter and giggles upstairs of someone Google-chatting. Ornaments are jingling and tinkling oh, so gently as Claudette stealthily strategizes how to remove one from the middle of the tree.

The mirror is clean now. The smooshed marshmallows mostly scraped off the floor. I may still find a stray bit of ammo a few months down the road but recovered all I could find. I’m looking forward to four days moving at a slower pace than the past six weeks or so. Getting caught up on gifts and cards and connecting with long-distance loved ones. Reading my new books, trying out recipes, games of Bananagrams, enjoying family time and napping … all necessary fortification to tackle a new year.

We've been making snowflakes at work to send to
Newtown. Since schools and others across the nation have
 been responding to the PTA's appeal with such abundance,
it's easy to imagine that they would run out of places to put
them. But I like to believe that where love is concerned,
there's always room for more. And when it overflows,
it just touches the next person and the next and the next ...

thirtyONE

Wonderful, whimsical and a wee bit wacky --
hand-torched beads from Fire Goddess Bead Studio.

I may not have written all 31 days this month, but I did write 31 posts. Technically. Since I created two new pages up there - for the Nicaragua journal and FOOD. Right up there at the top. Did you notice? Does that count?

This month did not go quite as planned - blog-wise and otherwise. I still need to finish writing about my Nicaragua trip. I have many other incomplete projects that I'll need to attend to in August. What did John Lennon say? Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans? A lot of life happened this month.

Today didn't exactly go according to plan either. But after a rather frustrating day at work that left my brain feeling quite depleted, I decided to accept an invitation to a "Thirty-One" (how appropriate on July 31)-slash-"Fire Goddess Bead Studio" cocktail party. I think it was just what my spirit needed. To reconnect with some old friends from high school. To enjoy a glass (or two) of wine. And maybe engage in a little retail therapy. I really had a delightful time. A lovely way to finish out the month.

I am glad my co-blogger-in-crime challenged me to get back into blogging this month, even though it was tough to come up with something to say (most) every day. I hope I can continue on a semi-regular routine - perhaps once a week. And perhaps we'll look into re-convening our writing group to stretch those muscles in other directions. Goodbye, July ... hello, August adventures?

It's just a flesh wound

You can get your own Black Knight action figure
at thinkgeek.com

It's all Deb's fault. After reading her post tonight, I spent the last 45 minutes watching Monty Python clips on YouTube.

The Black Knight is one of my favorite segments in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I remember when Lizz (then still Lizzie around age 9 or so) had not quite graduated from cartoon movies ... and I convinced her to watch this with me. As I giggled and chortled and recited all my favorite lines, she played the bored tween part perfectly. But BOY did she get angry when blood started spurting out of the Black Knight's bloody stumps. She stomped out of the room as I squealed, "but it's just a flesh wound!"

Ensalada de repollo

This is a salad we enjoyed several of the evenings we ate dinner at La Quinta Havilah in Nicaragua. And no, "repollo" does not mean recycled chicken. It's cabbage! Who knew?! I loved that it was such a simple, crisp and refreshing counterpoint to the ubiquitous (but differently prepared) chicken and savory beans that comprised most of our dinners - and it even went well with macaroni and cheese and spaghetti.

The first time, I thought the salad was dressed with a light vinaigrette. But then I determined that the mild briny taste was from the salt. Every day, we were greeted with an enormous bowl of the stuff. By the end of the week I thought I had it figured out and couldn't wait to share it with friends and family back home. What a great use of cabbage (since I love to buy foofy, flouncy cabbages but then don't quite know what to do with them) and a terrific salad on a hot day. 

The first time I prepared it was for our 4th of July picnic. I researched a bit online and couldn't find any recipes that quite sounded like what we'd eaten in Nicaragua. Most of the recipes had many extraneous (as far as I was concerned) ingredients. Some version of this salad is apparently common in many parts of Central America. So I experimented. The result I'm sharing here is pretty close to what I remembered. Enjoy!

Ensalada de repollo

(This makes quite a bit - I usually do half a cabbage at a time)

1 medium head of cabbage, thinly sliced/shredded

1 small onion (red or other type), thinly sliced

1 large or two small cucumbers, thinly sliced

6 Roma tomatoes, thinly sliced

1 lime

Sea salt

Freshly ground peppercorns

Cumin
Olive oil

Extras:

Shredded carrot

Cilantro

Chopped bell peppers

Diced jalapeño

Jicama

Etc.!

Into a large non-metal bowl, add cabbage. Make sure bowl is large enough to accommodate all ingredients and mixing at the end. I add the cabbage in layers, sprinkling a bit of salt, pepper and cumin on each layer so it can start working on and softening the cabbage. Toss in other veggies. Squeeze lime over top, drizzle on some olive oil (1-2 tsps max.) and mix all components. Cover lightly (with plastic wrap or a tea towel) and set aside for at least an hour before serving. (On countertop or in fridge if you prefer.) Mix now and then if you think of it. Season to taste. 

A marvelously foofy, flouncy cabbage from
the Farmers Market!

Oceans of prayers

Yesterday morning I decided I needed to knit a prayer shawl. I was going to try to purchase something of that nature (wanted to send a loving hug to someone dear who lives far away) and then started reading up on prayer shawl ministries and learned about the significance of actually knitting or crocheting it oneself. The point is to pray for the individual who will receive the shawl as you are creating it. For far too long I have wondered what to do, and now I finally had an answer. But how to start? Faced with a mind-bending myriad of patterns for various skill levels, I consulted a friend who is an expert at this sort of thing. I needed a pattern for a relative novice (I've previously only knitted scarves out of Pomp-a-Doodle yarn). 

I'm rather excited about the progress I made yesterday. I debated in my head about sharing it on Shiny Things and potentially ruining a surprise. But perhaps the recipient will see this and know that I have been thinking and praying for her ... 

This color - ocean - speaks of sun and sand and salty air and crab cakes ...
cold beer and laughter. Dorie telling stories and lovingly sewing
soft and colorful blankets for nieces and nephews.
Healing and happy thoughts.

The stitching has not proceeded without hitch. I had to contact my consultant a few times in the process. I completely mis-read the pattern and had to pull my misshapen creation apart and start over after several rows of doing exactly the wrong thing. In between logistical issues of that sort and dog-sitting, I found myself reflecting on lovely memories. Praying for healing and comfort and peace - for a dear aunt and other loved ones who have had health challenges. Also for my community, which has been experiencing a rash of violence. But mostly I have focused my prayers and thoughts on one person. 

When you're knitting you can't do anything else with your hands. Like write. Or paint. Or pull weeds, fix the toilet flapper or vacuum behind the fridge. But your mind can wander ... and mine sure does. My thoughts linger on those undone tasks a little bit. They're not going anywhere. And I pull my attention back. The experience reminds me that the blending of the mundane with memories and faith and hope in miracles is all wrapped into the complicated essence of prayer. Prayer at its simplest is talking to God - to the One who knit us together in our mothers' wombs. It is inviting God into every stitch of our lives - and putting at His feet the situations that seem quite impossible to our human understanding. I'll admit that God and I have watched a few movies together while we knitted away and contemplated all of these things. It never ceases to amaze me that God is present in every moment and at the same time is able to be within the oceans of prayers that flow his way. 

Triage

The certified arborist told me this Colorado Spruce was acting like
a big baby. Outgrown its space. Trimming would have been
almost as much as removing it and would only delay the
inevitable.

Get it? TREEage? 

Even before this thing with the trees happened a couple of weeks ago, that's been my strategy for managing stuff. Like on M*A*S*H (I loved that show - was in love with Hawkeye and his wacky sense of humor). Focus on the most critical cases or situations first. Then moved on to the next. And so on.

So this year, that's meant dealing with each event in turn. The big events this spring and summer have been Lizz's graduation, then my trip to Nicaragua. Painting the back of the garage. Dealing with the trees. Next the roof.

Sigh.

I was feeling a little sentimental about the ginormous tree in the front yard. I love trees and thought it just needed a trim. But apparently it was exhibiting signs of fungal growth. And it really had way outgrown its space. It was clearly a menace to anyone on the sidewalk. I decided to suck it up and have it removed, partly so I could space out some of the shrubberies a bit better. Perhaps I'll get another small tree for that space at some point. 

When I got home tonight, this was all that remained. Goodbye, Christmas tree.

The view from the road has changed quite a bit.

Here it is before ...

And after.

I discovered a small shrubbery had been growing underneath that crazy tree! 

Now I can get in to trim a little more easily. Yay.

Here's the naughty Ash tree that caused me to triage the tree stuff ahead of 

a few other things on the list -- before ... 

And after.

The back yard looks wayyyyyy different now. It feels larger. Also much less shady.

I think I really need that trompe l'oeil mural I've been wanting to paint on the back of the house now.

But that creative endeavor will likely be triaged after replacing the flapper in the downstairs toilet, having the A/C serviced, fixing the malfunctioning light above the kitchen sink, the never-ending painting projects, getting new tires, Claudette's teeth-cleaning ...

T.G.I.F. 

I'll think about all that tomorrow. Or Monday. Soon.

A new page

I just learned a new skill! Created a separate page on Shiny Things! See - it's right up there underneath the Shiny Things header: Nicaragua Journal. All of my Nicaragua posts are gathered there. Oh my. That is just too spiffy.

Well, I think that is all the excitement I can handle for today. I'm very sleepy and the tree man is coming tomorrow to significantly change the landscape over here. I'll post before and after pics tomorrow.

I must be leafing now. Bah.

Things that make you go ¿qué?

This whimsical little figure riding on a tiny origami - what is that? -  and clinging to a palm tree was on a little shelf in the courtyard of the café where we lunched in Granada our last full day in Nicaragua.

Phew. 

He amused me. He still does. I think he's smiling at someone over his left shoulder there. Funny because he must have an awful wedgie.

El pelota ... BOOM!

Each day, on our way to the school in La Chureca, we stopped to get ice. One day, we stopped at a convenience store with this lovely tile design in front.

Jordan - just before giving his hat to Tito outside the school.

I jumped out of the van to take a photo and then went in with a couple of others to look around. It wasn't our usual ice stop. The first thing I noticed was a bin with several balls, including a really enormous one - maybe 36 inches in diameter? I wriggled the ball out of the bin and gleefully bounced it up to the counter. We'd noticed that the soccer ball the kids normally played with was a little flat and had wanted to repair it or find another to take its place. I thought they'd enjoy the ginormous ball for at least a few months ... or weeks maybe. I was realistic enough to know the playground hazards and handling by more than 100 kids would shorten its life. This was a really cool ball - el pelota.

Back in the van, we all signed the colorful ball with a permanent marker as we went the rest of the way to the dump and the school within. After several days, we were getting into a bit of a routine, knowing the stops along the way, the toothless ancient woman begging at the intersection near the gas station, the quivering and quaking veteran with Parkinson's lying on the grass near our turn toward La Chureca ... the children greeting us outside the entrance to the school ... including Tito with his wild hair the telltale reddish color that indicated severe malnutrition. 

When we got to the school, Jordan made a beeline to Tito and gave him his hat. Some days, there wasn't enough room in the school for all of the children who gathered outside the gates. We'd discovered that we saw different children each day, though we did get to know many of the regular attenders. Jordan got to know Tito one of the other days and had brought the hat that day hoping to give it to him. 

Inside, it was play time and the new ball was a big hit. Jordan took off with the kids and I headed to the play yard in the back to finish our Big Painting Project. A short while later, Jordan came out and told me the ball hit the razor wire on top of one of the walls. He said one of the kids ran up to him, held his arms wide and said, "El pelota - BOOM!"

Fancy that. BOOM translates the same in English. So the memory will last much longer than the ball itself. I suppose that's the way these things go.

Putt. Putt. Pfftt.

Two boys, full of energy. Two rounds of putt putt. One pizza. Three ice cream cones. A dip in the pool. Two snacks A few rounds of catch in the yard. Two baths. Two more snacks. Stories and prayers and back scratching and finally... two sleepy boys. An infinity of priceless moments. One pooped aunty.

who needs punctuation

left work at 7 on a sunshiny Friday in time to enjoy a few minutes catching up with my daughter on the drive home before putting on some hot pink nail polish and going for peppermint ice cream with my big sister and molly pants in silly glasses and settling in with a glass of chilled wine and a furry purry cat and a book in my pjs because i dont have to go back to work for another 58 ish hours and its the weekend and im so thankful amen

When life gives you lemons...

Lemons from Kelly's lemon tree all the way in California. A refreshing treat!

I've been having those I'm-not-really-a-writer thoughts a lot lately. Those "wouldn't it be nice to be outside trimming trees instead of sitting at this desk" thoughts. Of course that could be because of all of the tree people I met with yesterday. The first one I met with is a certified arborist. He seemed to truly love his work. He admitted he was a tree hugger. He had me feeling quite emotional about all of the trees on my property. I now know all of their names. They're family now. Especially the one connected to my roof.

We're past the half way mark of the month and while I have been posting every day, I'm quite behind on the posts I wanted to do. There's still plenty of time, though. 

Tonight I asked my friend Deb what I should write about. She gave me a prompt: "His skin smelled of fresh lemons ..."

Well.

That gave me pause. I think perhaps the best thing for me to do is sleep on that one. Yes, indeed. I believe that's an important part of the writing process ...

9 Junio

9 Junio (June 9). 5:30 a.m. My last full day in Nicaragua. I awoke to the er er ér er of the roosters. After lying there for a few moments, I pulled on my shorts, brushed my teeth and headed up to the third floor. Even though I awakened most days around the same time, I had made it up here only few early mornings during my 10 days. It was a much-coveted and sacred space - for the beauty, the solitude, the breeze - and also for the clearer WiFi signal.

I wanted to capture just a portion of my experience of this place, so jotted down some of my observations ...

The raw beauty surrounding me ...

The medley of birds and other wildlife sounds blending with the muted but unmistakable sounds of traffic in the near distance ...

Punctuated now and then by one particularly loud rooster ...

Below, already so many more human voices than earlier in the week ...

People are everywhere now - perched at every available cluster of tables, swinging in every hammock ... reading, journaling, praying - alone and in small groups ...

Across from me - a woman reading the biography of Steve Jobs - so different from the students and chaperones with their bibles and "devo" journals I typically saw up here ...

Several others scattered about with computers, tapping into that precious signal ...

Oh look! Momotombo in the distance!

A soft breeze blowing ... the palms gently swaying and swooshing, quietly whispering goodbye ...

One mango tree heavy with fruit, just there ...

Tree People

I'm meeting with tree people this morning. No, not that kind. 

Tree man on Las Ramblas, Barcelona 2005.

Not this kind, either.

Tree lady in Parc Güell, Barcelona 2005.

The kind that remove trees that have fallen on houses. I wish they were one of these other kinds, though. That would be cool. And less expensive.

Bountiful harvest

The haul from Saturday's trip to the market was pretty awesome: cabbage, wax beans, tomatoes, blueberries, strawberries, cukes, corn, blackberries, basil and peaches. The peaches were from Georgia ... and I normally stick to locally grown at the market ... but these were the perfect ripeness at The Potato Man's stand. I didn't need potatoes or onions, which he also sells. Plus melons and other things. I wanted peaches.

Peaches, cherries and apples are going to be scarce this year in Michigan. Probably lots of places. Our lawns may be crunchy but this dry spell really makes me hurt for our farmers.

I'm especially sleepy this Monday and mostly out of words, so just wanted to lift a word of thanks for our farmers - locally and wherever they labor.

Ergonomique

I worked on painting the back of the garage today. My neighbor came out and commented that it was nice that Walter had installed that coffee mug holder for my convenience.

It's also kind of awesome for holding my paint can at just the right height.

Little tarts

I made these strawberry rhubarb tartlets on July 4 as part of my contribution to the gourmet picnic I had with Deb and Al on Ojibway Island before watching the fireworks. I followed - mostly - the recipe I found on bites out of life, a truly delightful blog I happened upon that morning. 

I decided to bake mine two ways - half of the batch with the "free form" method and half on parchment squares tucked in the wells of a 12-cup cupcake tin. The two-bite version shown here was less messy and a bit more picturesque than my other attempt. (I didn't take a pic of those.) They didn't hold their shape (which I knew was a possibility) and drizzled all over the bottom of the oven (I had initially grabbed a regular flat cookie sheet - oops). It was about 1,000 degrees outside so when I opened the windows to try to get the smoke out, it met a wall of heat, which seemed to push it right back in. Charming. I cranked up the fan, then transferred the poor bits of fruity dough to a shallow baking pan  to finish cooking. As messy as those were, they were still tasty, though a little gooey on the bottoms from sitting in all that sugary syrupy goo. Did I mention they were messy? 

The entirely different dough-to-filling ratio deserves further consideration, though. So I froze two unbaked tartlets that didn't fit on my baking sheet to see how that might impact their form and bake-ability. Today was Jake's birthday - a perfect time to pull those out to bake in addition to making a batch with raspberry, blackberry and blueberry filling. I'm sorry. No pics of those either - but they look pretty much like the ones above only with different filling. Other than the pâte brisée below, I did not follow a recipe for today's tartlets. I had three small bowls - one of raspberries, one of blackberries and one of blueberries - and just added a bit of sugar and flour to each. I let that sit while I rolled out the dough, which I had made and chilled this morning. I cut squares of parchment and tucked them in cupcake tins again and then added about 1 tablespoon of filling to each dough circle. Baked at 400F for 30 minutes, then another 10 or so at 350F, until lightly browned and bubbly.

The two baked from the frozen state still oozed but not as much. And I was prepared this time with extra parchment lining a shallow baking pan. k

I think I'm going to keep testing this whole tartlet thing until I get it right.

pâte brisée

from bites out of life/adapted from Martha Stewart

Makes 1 8- to 10-inch double crust pie or 2 8- to 10-inch single crust pies

- 2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour

- 1 teaspoon salt

- 1 teaspoon sugar

- 1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces

- 1/4-1/2 cup ice water

1) In the bowl of a food processor, combine the flour, salt and sugar and process for 10-15 seconds, until the dry ingredients are well-mixed.

2) Add the butter pieces and process until the mixture resembles a coarse meal, an additional 10-15 seconds. Slowly pour in the ice water through the feed tube as the processor continues to pulse, until the dough just comes together. Do not process for longer than 30 seconds.

3) Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface. Knead a few times if necessary, to incorporate all of the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients uniformly. Divide the dough into two equal pieces and cover each in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before using. 

Camping out

One of my co-worker writer friends took her kids to camp earlier this week. On Tuesday I think, she sent them each a postcard - each from a different vacation destination: NYC, San Francisco and London. (She had also mailed out "normal" letters to them the day before.). "Dad and I got a deal we couldn't pass up on a flight to _________," she said - a slightly different message to each kid. She went on to detail the highlights of their fictitious trip ... "Wish you were here!"

I thought it was hilarious and can't wait to hear what their reactions were. At what point did they check the postmark? Did they meet and compare notes -and when?

It's kind of a big deal to get mail at camp. This is what C's husband reminded her of - even if they're only gone for a week. "Your name is called when the mail is distributed. You don't want to be one of the ones who doesn't get ANY mail!"

I first went to camp the summer after my mom died in 1977. I remember getting cards and letters from my dad and big sister. Dad's letters were kind of mushy. He missed me. I went to Girl Scout horse camp for two weeks. My sister's cards were fun and happy - like her.

Oh my gosh. Lizz went to camp a few times. I have no idea if I sent letters. I will have to ask. Parental fail.

But what do you think of sending joke postcards to kids away at camp? Did you go to camp and get memorable mail from your parents or siblings? Sweet, silly or otherwise?

Do tell!

Limb-OH!

(Doh!)

I meant to write my post over here tonight and I forgot to change the settings back on phone after yesterday's post. So today's entry is over on Tuna on Wheatley again. Oops!

A new address ...

Hanging out over on Tuna on Wheatley today ... come see!

Cat. Nip.

Claudette got a new toy last week - a cute little catnippy pillow. In her exuberant nibbling, she apparently loosened a lower canine tooth (yep, the vet called it a canine). Two days later the tooth disappeared.

Oops.

It's been a while since we went to the vet for a checkup, so I took her tonight. She got an A-, which I thought was pretty good except the vet wanted to check her for hyperthyroidism, which involves a rather elaborate workup. And clean her teeth and extract another tooth. Ka-ching.

And the tree in my backyard seems to have, um, split down the middle and leaned all the way into my roof. I don't see any damage, but obviously that will need to be dealt with.

I think I will channel Scarlett now. Tomorrow is another day. I will think about all this tomorrow.

Oh appy day ..,

Got the Blogger app so I can blog from my phone in emergency situations. Like when I'm all tucked in bed and don't feel like untucking to go get the laptop. Appy Monday!

Give away that which you need

About a million years ago, when I worked for the crazy artist at art shows all around the Midwest, I got this pin at a silent auction-fundraiser. I used to wear it quite a lot and then somehow it ended up in the kitchen flotsam and jetsam drawer. You can see where my now-deceased cat Pierre chewed on the middle finger. Pierre liked to chew on things he shouldn't. In the end, that was his undoing.

Anyhow, I thought of this pin today when, during his sermon, our pastor mentioned a bumper sticker he recently saw that said, "Want what you have. Give what you need."

I'd always meant to do some research and find out if the words on my pin were a quote by someone famous. I just loved the sentiment - and the whimsical composition. And the sparkles. It's kind of like an artsy-fartsy Shrinky-Dink from my childhood.

I also thought of this pin about a month ago when I was doing fingerprint art with the fifth-grade class at Colegio Cristiano La Esperanza.

Thumbprint art with fifth-graders?

I thought at first they'd be too old. That they'd think it was stupid. But we'd been melting in the mid-afternoon sunshine during calisthenics and then a Lacrosse game. (The kids exercised. We adults spectated. And perspired.) A quiet craft activity sounded lovely and cool to all. I'd brought stamp pads and markers - and a book of examples I'd found when cleaning out my dad's house a couple of years ago. Printed in the early 1970s, it may have well been one of my mom's inspirations for the thumbprint art projects she did with me. I'm sure it wasn't the first or the only one since we started making thumbprint owls and little Nancy characters together before I could write my name.

Our walking dictionary on the trip, Saul, was temporarily MIA so while the boys continued to play, I with my limited Spanish plunged ahead with about 15 girls eager to get started. They gathered around a desk where I grunted and pointed out the examples in the book, showing them the basic technique and the many creative possibilities. We flipped through the pages, and I'd point and say, "¿qué es?"

"¡mono!" (monkey)
"¡gato!" (cat)
"¡perro!"(dog)
"¡abuelo!" (grandpa)

And so on.

We continued on in this way until Saul got there to help me introduce the project. He told the girls that this was something I'd done with my mom when I was a little girl and that I thought they could teach their younger classmates and/or brothers and sisters. While Saul did that, Irene wrote out a connecting Bible verse on the board, Carolyn and I handed out paper, markers and stamp pads and the girls diligently copied down the texto biblico:

Tú creaste mis entrañas; me formaste en el vientre de mí madre.  Salmo 139: 13

The "lesson" being that ... nobody's fingerprints are the same - we are all unique. And in that same way, God has a plan for each one of us. He knows our innermost beings and knit us together in our mothers' wombs.

And by the way, now we're gonna get our fingers all inky and play with pretty markers!

The girls really got into it and some were quite prolific, making cards for us and cards to take home ...

And when the sweaty boys came in from their Lacrosse game, they were eager to get in on the action, too.

At first, this young lady, Francis, did not seem interested at all. But I noticed later that she had reproduced several of the examples from the book ... and then was helping others. And at the end, she gave me her creation. I will treasure it.

The next day, I took the book back to the school with me and gave it to Francis. At first, finding the book was special because it was something my mom had touched. But then it occurred to me that what was most special was the memory of her sitting down with me and teaching me something that will always stay with me. Until a couple of years ago, I didn't know that book existed. And after I found it, it sat on a shelf in my library gathering dust. So I'd like to think that the book has gone on to serve a greater purpose - and that by sharing with Francis and those other kids something I needed - that memory - I gave them something even more special. How interesting. Through the sharing, I haven't diminished my memories at all. If anything, I possess them more fully.



Nensi (Isn't the phonetic spelling of my name here just precious?)

A berry good day

This has been a berry good day. Leisurely morning. Farmers market. Shopping. Graduation party. Fun with kiddos. Sipping wine on my sister's deck. The best of summer ...

Tortillas Sandra

What a hopeful little sign in a seemingly hopeless place. And dappled with the late afternoon sun, the homes made of salvaged materials reflect an almost serene beauty. I'll bet Sandra's tortillas are delicious.  I imagine they taste like hope.

Jesus and Juan Ramón

We were scheduled to help with story time on Monday. Thankfully, I had brought a copy of Huevos verdes con jamón with me. And I'd practiced pronunciation with Lizz the weekend before. I was totally tickled that Sam-I-Am's name had been changed to Juan Ramón to rhyme with jamón. I didn't really know what we'd be doing in the school, but I figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared to read one of my favorites - just in case. So I don't speak Spanish. But I do speak Dr. Seuss.  

It was good I'd come prepared. When I walked into the first-grade classroom with Saul, 30-some bright, eager faces turned expectantly toward us. Saul ("Sa-ool") introduced me and I held up the book. I think I said something like "Conocer Huevos verdes con jamón?" Hands shot up all over the room.

Having exhausted my vocabulary, I plunged right in. I stumbled and mis-pronounced words, I'm sure. I'd stop and ask one of the children close to me how to say a word here and there. Gee, the book was longer than I remembered. A few kids started to get restless. A couple of nose-pickers were um, you know. But most were following right along and many even mouthed the words with me.

As soon as I finished, we served the kids their lunches (bowls of chicken, vegetables and pasta with a slice of bread) and then I helped Saul lead them in Bible songs. Then I figured we were done. But no! Two more classrooms! I thought the second- and third-graders would be too old but we didn't have another plan so just proceeded. They ate lunch while I read and bounced around to point out the action on each page. I'd like to think my pronunciation and dramatic interpretation improved with each reading.  It wasn't quite what I'd envisioned (I was thinking small group of preschoolers gathered in a circle) but somehow it worked.

A little Dr. Seuss. A Bible song or two. Jesus and Juan Ramón.

Appreciating

When I got off the plane in Miami on June 10, I found myself among a sea of people - hundreds, it seemed - all ages - returning from mission, school-related and "eco" trips to Nicaragua, Guatemala, Haiti and other parts of Central and Latin America. Mixed in were business travelers and visitors to the U.S. It was immediately apparent that our guests - those not carrying a U.S. passport - were not welcomed as warmly as those of use who carried the prized blue document. 

"U.S. passports to the left, all others to the right!" shouted the uniformed guard.

When I handed my passport to the agent at U.S. Customs, she looked at it briefly, smiled pleasantly and  handed it back. "Welcome home," she said simply.

I was suddenly overcome with emotion and had to blink back the tears.

Home.

How did I become so blessed that this is my home? And, more important, how will I spend that blessing?

Today, I'm appreciating the blessing of my U.S. citizenship a little more than usual. A fresh perspective will do that.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

p.s. Here is one of the videos about La Chureca I came across last night. It's one of the best I've seen so far. I love how this fellow American is spending his blessing on behalf of others. It's about 10 minutes long, but well worth it.

Estoy aprendiendo todo el tiempo

The school of hope - right in the middle of La Chureca,
the largest municipal and industrial dump in Central
America. 

That is probably the best phrase I learned while in Nicaragua: "I am learning all the time."

And after that was Estamos haciendo olas ("We are making waves"). Because you never know when you'll need to throw that one out there.

Other really important words I learned while working with the children at Colegio Cristiano La Esperanza:

¡Siéntese! (Sit down!)
¡Escucha! (Listen!)
¡Comparté! (Share!)

Of course, I always tried to include "por favor."

I just spent two hours watching recent and not-so-recent videos of La Chureca on YouTube and Vimeo. I want to convey some of what I experienced, but so much has changed even in the past six months. It's amazing to me how many blogs and videos I've found. The thousands of people who have served where I served. I pore through the footage and see some of the children and other people I met. I see the dirt and the smoke. I close my eyes and remember the heat and the smells.

Conditions are improving at La Chureca, but it is still tragic that people live and work and go to school there. It is complex.

Estoy aprendiendo todo el tiempo.

But what will you eat?

My friend Deb and I have decided to post daily on our respective blogs for the month of July. I had tonight's post all planned out since I was going to Deb's for dinner after work and knew I'd need to have something relatively easy to crank out when I got home. Well, after yet another of my dear friend's delectable meals, I decided to digress from the plan (shocking!).

Instead, I will write about food tonight. Surprise!

I suspect my trip to Nicaragua will be the dominant topic this month. There will be some not-so-lighthearted posts, to be sure. After all, I went on a mission trip to the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti. When I told friends where I was going, a number of people asked, "But what will you eat?"

Here are some highlights - in no particular order:

Loved this happy sign (pronounced "nyam nyam"):
Breakfast, lunch, grilled meats and pizzas

My lunch consisted of plantain chips, marinated beets
and carrots, squash casserole y frijoles. Ñam ñam!

The first two days we worked in La Chureca,
we went to Tip-Top for lunch. It was air-conditioned.
It was clean. People were friendly. But somehow
Carolyn's food always came last. Of course, the second
time was because I inadvertently gave her meal to our driver.
Oops.

Fairly typical breakfast of fresh fruit, fried plantains,
huevos y gallopinto (rice and beans)

The guest house where we stayed had many fruit trees -
mango, lime, orange, starfruit, papaya, avocado ... and one
with the awesome name of guanábana.

Of course, there was GUACAMOLE. Y mas frijoles.
Fresh tortillas, pico de gallo ... y pollo.

The chefs at Quinta Havilah (the guest house where
we stayed) preparing tortillas ...

... y fajitas

Del Fogón a Su Mesa - "From the grill to the table" - 
local eatery with fresh, affordable fare ... enjoyed amid the 
awesome aroma of wood smoke.

Pollo muy sabrosa!

One day, after working in the school at La Chureca, we were completely grubby and sweaty and disgusting (having finally finished painting a very large wall). We asked our driver to take us to another place we'd heard of - local like Del Fogón a Su Mesa - but outdoors. Somehow we ended up at a (somewhat deserted, thank goodness) five-star restaurant and found our grody selves inside with linen tablecloths and attentive waiters. We all chose non-chicken dishes. I ate fish. One member of our group had shrimp with huevos de toro. You might want to look that one up.

 

Pescado a la Tipata - boneless whole fish infused with garlic.

On our last day, I enjoyed a fruity batido in Granada,
served by our friendly waiter, Ramón. For lunch I had
a cup of gazpacho, Nicaraguan style - puréed. It was herb-yand garlicky. Quite delicious.

With one notable exception, we ate very simple food. Fresh fruit, frijoles at least twice a day, eggs, chicken (BBQd, grilled, rotisseried, steamed, curried, fajita-d ...). Rice. Potatoes. Simple ensaladas of shredded cabbage, tomatoes and sliced cucumber. Even macaroni and cheese, spaghetti and pizza. Oh, and Subway after our day in Masaya and Granada. One day we ate granola bars for lunch and another day an assortment of fruits and munchies from a local market, but other than that we ate three meals a day. Unheard of.

I did not expect to eat that well on a mission trip! I was not at all concerned about what I would eat before I left. In fact, I had very few concerns or preconceived notions about what I would do or see or experience. Perhaps that is one of the many reasons I was surprised and delighted each day in numerous ways.

Even in the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.