tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54807611070964654002024-02-07T12:23:53.957-08:00Mrs. Tegu--The Life of a Toymaker's WifeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-20774261942105482882012-04-16T11:51:00.002-07:002012-04-16T12:08:22.255-07:00To Post or NOT to Post?I realize that it's a complete faux pas in the blogging world to go more than a day offline. I've found, for me, especially living out the country, it's about a balance between staying "connected" to the my friends and family via the internet world vs. staying connected in the real world--living my life day to day. The tension also lies in what is worth updating folks on about my daily life. Is it worth posting about a minor fender-bender when folks back home may be concerned that it is more than that since I only phrased the details in one sentence? Or shall I tell everyone today about the mundane tasks that fill my schedule--such as, "Currently scraping exploded toothpaste from the bottom of my suitcase"? Better yet, shall I choose to broadcast to all of Facebook that today my dog will be castrated? Is that noteworthy? Or perhaps that today is a bad hair day? Or that there are several people in hunger today while I type about my daily life? Do we post what we think is important or what makes us feel better or what we think others want to hear or what is affecting our world today? <br /><br />What will you say?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-58905905198966794262011-11-27T19:44:00.000-08:002011-11-27T20:33:57.587-08:00Won't You Be My Neighbor?Our neighborhood consists of a handful of houses in our small cul-de-sac. The nice thing about it is that it's off the main road so we are sheltered a bit from the quotidian honking. In this quiet respite from city-living, one may only expect to be disturbed by the constant ringing of our next door neighbor's doorbell. And why not? It's only an "office" which seems to have the pressing hours of 11pm, 1am and Sunday afternoons. Even two years later, it's still an anathema. The best part is when the bell is rung, it's never only once but usually a typical "Sheldon" OCD three times or more. It's as if their visitors are kids on Halloween. <br /><br />Nevertheless, a few weeks ago, it was another quiet weekend afternoon while C was away traveling. I was working at our dining room table when I alarmed by a frequent ringing of our doorbell. Surely not. Could it be one of the frequent visitors for next door had mistaken our bell for our neighbor's? The cacophony was increased by the yells and giggles of small children. Now I was completely confused. What would cause such a commotion? <br /><br />I have to say, I'm surprised how quickly I adjusted to the cultural skepticism of unannounced visitors. Instead of answering the door on the first ring, I assumed there must have been a mistake and I continued working. After several attempts, the children, like most rational thinkers, assumed no one was home. Thus, matters needed to be taken into their own hands. I look up from my work to spot a boy's small head slowing getting taller as his friends boosted him over our gated wall. At this point, no longer was I in no hurry, but rather I shot across the room, swung the door open and yelled "G-E-T OOOOO-U-T!" Within an instant, the boy dropped and the friends disbanded faster than I ran to the door. To my chagrin, as I turned to go back inside, I noticed a frisbee sitting in front of the door. "Oh man, I AM Boo Radley." <br /><br />Within five minutes, the older sister of one of the boys came by asking for the frisbee. Of course, I profusely apologized and explained that I had no idea they had lost the frisbee behind our wall. <br /><br />Lesson learned: Be a good neighbor.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-11121524072768611392011-11-25T14:20:00.000-08:002011-11-25T14:39:23.484-08:00Tegu ThanksThough the Thanksgiving holiday is not a holiday here, we still wanted to take the day to give thanks for our employees. In the morning, we went to the factory and shared the below video, along with some pumpkin pie and whipped cream--you can't go wrong. <br /><br />After the video, I was surprised to find myself in tears as I began to tell the employees how much we appreciate them, the inspiration they have been to us and the meaning of their presence in our lives. I'm pretty sure they didn't know what to do either! <br /><br />We were also blessed to share a Thanksgiving meal at our pastor's home, along with new friends. It's amazing how easy it is to strike up friendships with other foreigners when you are in a different country. Not to mention, it's always easier to bond over a tasty turkey and assortment of other goodness.<br /><br />After dinner, we returned to the factory so the night shift could also partake in dessert and thanksgiving. Again, we had the opportunity to share our gratitude and appreciation. I was impressed by their response, not only to the video, but also to the pumpkin pie. For many, it was their first tasting. <br /><br />Even in thanksgiving, we can take many things for granted.<br /><br />http://www.tegu.com/blog/category/honduras-social-initiatives/Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-75439025163369459622011-11-10T08:40:00.003-08:002011-11-10T08:42:23.870-08:00Eyes Wide Open<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyoEJxmkW1eTzUjngsueUC2tDWLEb6Je9BhwaSsC3vvhOoBPhTuQXSBp_l-7gVmb6q1KP9g85YG4LmxnVkk9Z5sS3GicS-6HyC9WAEe8tSiTElp2_W1lkKF2HgIRw1C1UgtFkax-JIgW8_/s1600/Eyes+Wide+OPen.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyoEJxmkW1eTzUjngsueUC2tDWLEb6Je9BhwaSsC3vvhOoBPhTuQXSBp_l-7gVmb6q1KP9g85YG4LmxnVkk9Z5sS3GicS-6HyC9WAEe8tSiTElp2_W1lkKF2HgIRw1C1UgtFkax-JIgW8_/s320/Eyes+Wide+OPen.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673408215795256882" /></a><br /><br /><br />A little less than two weeks later, on November 6, 2011--the puppies are opening their eyes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-18922770346177220792011-11-10T08:40:00.001-08:002011-11-10T08:40:54.200-08:00Everyone's sleeping<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXVuk0TfdhqfRLrh2WAUmSMUYfpAVW_K2IUbiokTpPFEYXOhn390pa1F5qBGQPBT5qrSE_I3qinMuS19uB1cR9UwAVor2wVRiUdbpm2yxqHHY4ZekyPhhd7P_CWtlDm3TDPS8diPz4BHY/s1600/Puppies.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXVuk0TfdhqfRLrh2WAUmSMUYfpAVW_K2IUbiokTpPFEYXOhn390pa1F5qBGQPBT5qrSE_I3qinMuS19uB1cR9UwAVor2wVRiUdbpm2yxqHHY4ZekyPhhd7P_CWtlDm3TDPS8diPz4BHY/s320/Puppies.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673408015116120946" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-76944293108028673502011-11-10T07:58:00.000-08:002011-11-10T08:39:53.133-08:00October 25, 2011--Our newest addition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-87CirV5LeWgNG1HQ9-Th5EvhIP6cjJS-D0Ljra0pKVKoWaJuIdhDB41_0Yb0QER1mLDJ6TGIeia-bN2IRsAB3xNlkxiRgjRRUwvD8TMdXEZVeRAT39eeq7Ce9qjLjEviLpapwH8z_ZK/s1600/SophiewPups.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-87CirV5LeWgNG1HQ9-Th5EvhIP6cjJS-D0Ljra0pKVKoWaJuIdhDB41_0Yb0QER1mLDJ6TGIeia-bN2IRsAB3xNlkxiRgjRRUwvD8TMdXEZVeRAT39eeq7Ce9qjLjEviLpapwH8z_ZK/s320/SophiewPups.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673403697125795026" /></a><br /><br />Ok, I'll admit, when I first heard the news that Sophie "might" be pregnant, I was hardly excited. Of course, she's only a puppy but for some reason, it felt let we had let her down because it's our job to "protect her". The last week of August, C had taken her and Sam and some friends on a weekend getaway and left the dogs to their own demise at night. Well, dogs will be dogs. So C told me the next week, "Uh, there's a chance Sophie may be pregnant." Sure enough, the next nine weeks, we watched her expand and restlessly find positions to rest that would relieve her discomfort. <br /><br />Not to mention, she is a crazy dog with her habits of wearing down her fur because she runs in circles on her shoulder in the middle of our family room rug every time she enters the house. Needless to say, I was a little concerned of how she may be as a mother.<br /><br />All that said, it's been a miracle to watch the process. She calmly gave birth to 9 puppies within 3 hours. For the one that died, she kept licking it to try to revive it. She licked each one clean as it came out and bit off each umbilical cord. She continues to be a constant diaper for each of them, licking them and cleaning up any mess they make. Hey, it makes my job easier!<br /><br />In fact, even now, as I'm viewing a video of their birth, she's going nuts trying to find them because she can hear their yelping in the video.<br /><br />Good girl, Sophie!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-44476996992356759672011-11-06T18:42:00.000-08:002011-11-10T07:57:55.984-08:00Spanish slipsThe good thing about living here is that, unlike my Spanish classes in junior high, I'm using the language on a daily basis. Though you'd think I would have learned a thing or two about my embarrassing vocab slip-ups in those old days. I still remember my experience from my first year in high school. We were studying fruits and vegetables and of course, I was either talking or assuming I already knew the content. So when my teacher called on me and asked "What fruits do you like?", I responded with a confident, "Me gusta las nalgas!"<br /><br />Two weeks ago, I had a similar experience. I was leading a bible study and in closing, I said, "It helps me remember verses if I write them on put them on my mirror." So then I proceeded to say, in Spanish, "Deben escribirlo en tu esposo." Of course, the response was uproarious laughter. Hey, at least my husband liked the idea. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-293926755413651412011-07-12T15:31:00.000-07:002011-07-12T15:49:20.811-07:00The Back DoorAt least once a week, a truck comes through our subdivision selling 5 gallon water jugs since it's not safe to drink the tap water here. Now, with two dogs, in a country where a fear of dogs is innate, I find it best to keep the dogs inside when the water is delivered. Since it's rainy season right now, it's much cooler and we get a slight breeze with the doors open. Right now, as I sit writing this, the front door is open, now that the delivery truck is gone, so the dogs can see what's going on outdoors. The front door doesn't have a screen but the back door does. I have to laugh because they have freedom to come and go as they please through the front door that is wide open. Yet, I can hear the screen door slam right now, as Sam insists on asserting his strength and independence to demonstrate who is alpha male. <br /><br />Don't we tend to do the same thing in our own lives? We have the door to freedom and life held opened for us, as God extends His grace and love, yet we insist on using the back door to exert our independence. It's as if we are saying, "I see the clear option, through the front entrance, but I'm going to find my own way." What's funny is that I actually DO think, at times, that I can find a solution that is better. Doesn't it always end up though that my way was just a detour to lead me back to the original way? Ah, when will I learn?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-12941417379982265982011-05-27T14:06:00.000-07:002011-05-27T14:18:00.352-07:00Turn the Lights on, Please!I quickly realized, in my first year, that losing electricity is a common occurrence. So yesterday, when I awoke to find the electricity off, I figured it was just another day here. This time I noticed it was different though, because I didn't hear our neighbor's generator but I went about my day.<br /><br />Within two hours, my computer and phone batteries died and I was left with a very quiet day. No one could reach me and no technology to distract me. It was the first time I read a book in a day and started a second! The best part is that I kept praying, "Please turn the lights back on." I figured my "lesson" might be in patience or learning to be quiet. But it was too quiet for me or maybe I was just bored so every hour, I kept checking, "Maybe now." <br /><br />As evening rolled in, I began to light candles and find the flashlights to be prepared for complete darkness in a few hours. I stepped outside to feed the dogs and noticed that the street light and the surrounding houses' lights were on. Hmmmm...that's odd.<br /><br />When C came home, I mentioned the contrast of our house vs the others and he asked, "Did you pay the electricity?" Awkward silence....ummmm. We returned to our pitch black house and C worked by candlelight. In the morning, I woke up to the whirring of our car, he was using as a generator for his computer. I had to laugh at our primitive adventure and my prayers yesterday, "God, turn the lights on. What are you teaching me?" Only to hear, the main lesson...<br /><br />PAY YOUR BILLS on time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-1956403076251911142011-05-22T20:46:00.001-07:002011-05-23T22:30:52.576-07:00Full Blown Attack<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzcuaME84b5ovcoD29j8JR1iXyH3SpCHfpwtiXZf2QJ_HKuNhFXNdelNTNQU2tsPuj6DRlXl6Yu04s99IUj0CWjwhJG11NrkNvfk8Me2yWhgjXAdxvBONKdE1cRnfqSZDSX426DEFyeKi/s1600/Sneak+Attack.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzcuaME84b5ovcoD29j8JR1iXyH3SpCHfpwtiXZf2QJ_HKuNhFXNdelNTNQU2tsPuj6DRlXl6Yu04s99IUj0CWjwhJG11NrkNvfk8Me2yWhgjXAdxvBONKdE1cRnfqSZDSX426DEFyeKi/s320/Sneak+Attack.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610150851212210786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXryNrDV9wzNRUZErMNiEfw3X7lCZVnXYInxJndiYIB90KP_TMr1141h8QF9uVj4EEVutCCORE8rNSinAvTvu0lhGlj2PW4IItHJyGcJqDk7_N18RukIJPMOBzMyqdhsrWfRihMOZTEiW/s1600/Sled+dogs.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXryNrDV9wzNRUZErMNiEfw3X7lCZVnXYInxJndiYIB90KP_TMr1141h8QF9uVj4EEVutCCORE8rNSinAvTvu0lhGlj2PW4IItHJyGcJqDk7_N18RukIJPMOBzMyqdhsrWfRihMOZTEiW/s320/Sled+dogs.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610149470351886770" /></a><br />Ok, so it's week two of the soccer games. I thought this time I would come prepared. No more flip-flops. Today, only closed-toed shoes. Literally, within seconds of stepping out of our car, this time, armed with two dogs, I was swarmed by the army. Both feet were instantly covered in ants. I couldn't believe it! I must have looked like I was walking on hot coals, as I hopped from foot to foot, whacking the little buggers.<br /><br />I tried to sit down, attempting to have a "closer" view and this time see them coming. They seemed to leave me alone after they knew I was ready for them. I guess they lost interest, though they clearly left their mark...several. Even now, almost 8 hours later, the redness is increasing and itching intensifying.<br /><br />However, I was quickly distracted as I was soon swarmed by little boys...and a few drunk men. Everyone was intrigued by Sam and Sophie. They draw quite the attention. "Se muerden?" No, they don't bite....well, only the bad kids. No, just kidding.<br /><br />The best part was the boys wanted to help in any way they could. They ran to get the dogs water or offer their watermelon. What seemed like the whole neighborhood, offered to walk the dogs. C had to laugh as I would walk to the car and was followed by the remaining boys, who weren't being dragged around by the two dogs. Of course, I was grateful because they were getting more than enough exercise. They looked like sled dogs, pulling a swarm of children, with no sled or snow. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-9090158065861135112011-05-22T20:10:00.000-07:002011-05-22T20:45:38.505-07:00All in a normal day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzgin2WAgUOnUBQf5AE1p_x03pJmO7hbcWCfoeQPKaYqb1itIGhTc6ZnmyKGdJ10uX0otjD-RnaQJyNOYefdmzP2daz0p8ygtKzsuQBBJN1LYhftYyUgIuikGElOslaFZweNM-Ymcuq7p/s1600/Normal+day+at+La+Colonia.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzgin2WAgUOnUBQf5AE1p_x03pJmO7hbcWCfoeQPKaYqb1itIGhTc6ZnmyKGdJ10uX0otjD-RnaQJyNOYefdmzP2daz0p8ygtKzsuQBBJN1LYhftYyUgIuikGElOslaFZweNM-Ymcuq7p/s320/Normal+day+at+La+Colonia.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609744401337655970" /></a><br />I make at least a weekly trip to my favorite local grocery, La Colonia. However,on this trip, I was in the car talking to a friend. I look at the row of cars in front of me, only to see this. The best part is, it actually is his car. Though, I think that's the more surprising fact!<br /><br />I went inside to grab my groceries, greeted by the security guard at the front entrance. When C went this past week, he picked up my favorite Carr crackers but as we dug in, with our usual cheese and cracker snack, we both practically spit the crackers out at the first bite. They tasted like stale fruit crackers. So I decided to wing it and attempt to return them, without a receipt. Keep in mind, there are no returns here...period. I was already out on a limb.<br /><br />I approach the "Customer Service" desk and attempt to explain my situation. The employee said she would get her manager. The manager came and then told me to wait as she went to get paperwork. Again, it's as if I'm the local spectacle, as the employees slowly seem to gather at the desk, as if children curiously seeing their favorite Disney character, as they hide behind their parents' backs. <br /><br />I wait and wait, and finally the first employee explains that I can go shop and then explain to the cashier that I am exchanging a box of crackers. As I collect my items, I carefully select my favorite crackers once again. While checking out, I see my favorite bagger. He is the one I met one of my first weeks here, before I knew that you were supposed to tip any bagger who helps you with your groceries to your car. I learned the hard way and had to return days later to repay him the deserved tip. Now, he is like my "adopted" grandfather. Every time I'm in the store, we greet each other with the usual hug and kiss on the cheek. As I wait for the cashier, we chat about health, work, etc, once again, drawing attention from employees and customers. <br /><br />Finally, she returns and I ask her if she charged me for the new crackers. "No" she replied, but explained that I needed to wait for her supervisor. Another manager approached, shoving the new box in my hand, already opened, insisting that I try them before I leave the store. Reaching in, I soon tasted a very similar cracker to the first box. I asked what I should do. She said I could taste others but they would most likely be the same. I explained that they tasted like stale fruit, not crackers. The cashier then kindly pointed out to me that the box shows the crackers with cheese and strawberries on them. <br /><br />Hmmm, well, then what can you do, right? Just another normal day at the grocery store.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-25385054513586755622011-05-22T19:49:00.000-07:002011-05-22T20:09:00.418-07:00Sneak Attack...Day 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1MmFL1WnvA-Ho7Z5IeYR6QPrBPtiZXox_B6dRCASdFhlECgxy6hdrLkYvYqVTWH1FIIgMwR_ZrHMeyeA8hsKhyphenhyphennRO4AYkCYEtHlVsLUZeY9pdket03DJCSrWqnjoO1CxmQE0MtVOmm2z/s1600/Ant+bites.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1MmFL1WnvA-Ho7Z5IeYR6QPrBPtiZXox_B6dRCASdFhlECgxy6hdrLkYvYqVTWH1FIIgMwR_ZrHMeyeA8hsKhyphenhyphennRO4AYkCYEtHlVsLUZeY9pdket03DJCSrWqnjoO1CxmQE0MtVOmm2z/s320/Ant+bites.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609738887695008562" /></a><br />Yes, so you may be thinking, "Ah, ant bites! How bad can it be?" Sure, you are not alone. I've had my share of mosquito, spider, ant bites, etc. Though I must mention that I seem to be the target for all of them. There could be several people in a room and I will be the one covered in welts. <br /><br />Ok, so that being said, I went to sleep last night, thinking "Ok, these bites itch but not a big deal." Then I woke up in the middle of the night, itching both feet like a mad woman. Even then, I thought it was just a maddening, wake-you-up-out-of-a-dead-sleep itch, only to wake up to two very swollen feet. Again, downplaying the situation, I try to spring out of bed. As my feet hit the ground, I find I can't bend my toes to actually walk. Instead, I waddle on my heels to the kitchen for my morning coffee...maybe that will help. Just need a distraction. Caffeine should do it.<br /><br />I truly was the elephant in the room, C couldn't help staring at my two feet. "You have to DO something." "No, no, I'm fine. It will go away soon." But hours later, I noticed shortness of breath. "Surely, it will improve," I thought stubbornly. Nope. It's almost 5pm now.<br /><br />C now is insisting I see a doctor. Even so, I'm still dragging my two swollen feet, "I'm F-IIIII-N-E!" Don't wish you could see your behavior from another's perspective? Ok, ok, I get it. I'll go. Fortunately, as we arrive to ER, there isn't a wait. If there was, I might be out the door again. A doctor introduces himself and C helps translate. Soon I'm escorted behind a nearby curtain. The doctor checks my breathing and quietly vanishes behind the curtain. A gruff nurse takes my blood pressure, yanking my arm to the right and left. She grunts and disappears. I wait. Not sure what else needs to be done. Can I just have the meds please?<br /><br />Another nurse appears and points to the bed, mumbling something. C explains I need to lay down. Next thing, the nurse pulls out a huge needle. C has now vanished behind the curtain. COME ON! What is so special back there, people? Can we just finish this? Without explanation, she pinches my backside. Ok, phew, it's just a prick. Oh, oh, NO, wait!! ERRRGGHHH! There it is! The entire needle is now in my backside. Wonderful! I'm pretty sure this nurse just disappeared behind "the curtain" unannounced too, while leaving the needle in me.<br /><br />Ah, finally, needle is out! Now I can disappear behind the curtain, like everyone else, and slip out the door, prescription in hand. Now, hopefully, if the army ants attack me again, at least I have this slip, so I can avoid the needle and the curtain.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-10641106101256860942011-05-16T19:30:00.000-07:002011-05-22T19:49:14.843-07:00VAMOS A JUGAR FUTBOL!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_t6yPpSnJNeHcl0QMfDwyyvntrMBsD_MQndGNtfTe2n97xqiMaz7H0CIKc_O_Ujr73GLQyT6KJJVMqpX3choi24XT4SGTN7KFPTrUylORejgizhO6244priEf9vzycbeNX4ySX3w9NCi/s1600/Futbol+Accion.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_t6yPpSnJNeHcl0QMfDwyyvntrMBsD_MQndGNtfTe2n97xqiMaz7H0CIKc_O_Ujr73GLQyT6KJJVMqpX3choi24XT4SGTN7KFPTrUylORejgizhO6244priEf9vzycbeNX4ySX3w9NCi/s320/Futbol+Accion.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609729666744768610" /></a><br />I soak in the early morning breeze, knowing it will disappear shortly, absorbed by the scorching heat. The city is still quiet on this Sunday morning. Even so, wives, girlfriends, children, even the stray dogs come out of hiding to gather around the dirt soccer field. <br /><br />The players stroll in one by one, stripping down between the trees to change into their uniforms. Even they seem groggy, yet at the same time, the town seems to come to life. Our team slowly begins to form, while the captain frantically collects IDs to finish filling out the team's paperwork for the ref. You can feel their excitement, as it has been months since some of them have played a game. Work and life seems to slip away and there is rarely time to take a minute to simply play. Not today. Everyone leaves their distractions off the field.<br /><br />As the sun grows warmer, you can sense the energy and perseverance waning. Shouts of encouragement are heard across the field, though half-time is welcomed. I quickly offer water to the panting players coming off the field. I find it amusing as some reach for their cigarettes. Others massage their aching muscles and nurse their oozing blisters. It appears we are in a war zone. The whistle blows, battle resumes.<br /><br />I can feel my tank top tan forming as my shoulders begin to burn. A man can see the discomfort arising and grabs a four sticks, throws them up in a square, whips out a tarp and forms a tent for those of us sitting on the bench. Pretty impressive. Who knew there would be a magic show as well? I think the other fans are amused at my Spanglish cheers or shouts of disappointment. I'm definitely a spectacle. <br /><br />As the game ends, still smiling, the guys limp off the field. Sometimes battle is worth the story. However, as I'm admiring their attitudes and energy, I had no preparation for the army that was attacking me. I looked down at my flip-flopped feet, only to find two tiny fire ants--one on each big toe. It burned. I never saw the sneak attack coming.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-57022251371449149092011-05-11T17:25:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:56:38.212-07:00Dentists, Drills and a New NameThis week has been an eventful one! For starters, I finally made a long overdue dentist appointment. It's one thing to tackle the dreaded "to do" list in your home country, it's another to sit in a chair surrounded with unrecognizable objects and try to figure out what's going on in a different language. Let's just say, it's amusing. I think my favorite part was the mysterious drill that was smoking while inside my mouth. That can't be good. But it was! My teeth are sparkling now! <br /><br />Today, my day started with dodging the usual drivers who don't check their mirrors or look over their shoulders while changing lanes. In arriving at the Embassy, I discovered parking is a dog-eat-dog approach, so I settled for a small private parking lot. The attendant said "30 per hour". "What? That's too expensive!! What about 20?", I offered, thinking I'd only be an hour. Since I had an 8:45am appointment, I would only be running inside and out to change my name on my passport. I printed out my form the night before and so I had a few extra minutes to run in and pose for a passport photo at the nearby photo studio. Surprisingly, they were very efficient, including the extra time the photographer took to ask me to tilt my head slightly. Yes, it took me back to the days of taking yearbook photos. <br /><br />Of course, I left the sheet that confirmed my 8:45am appointment at home. Nevertheless, they allowed me in. I waited until 9:15 before they called my name. In approaching the window, I explained that I had made a mistake on the form and needed to print another one out. He responded saying that as of April, they removed computers and printers from the waiting area so I would need to find an internet cafe to print out a new form. <br /><br />Heading back to photo studio, I found a pharmacy next door that allowed me to print out the form. Back in the Embassy, I had my corrected form but now had to take a number and wait at the end of the line. Imagine the DMV waiting room. Yes, end of the line. After the employee took all of my documents, I asked if the form would be acceptable since the Embassy logo was cut off from the printer at the pharmacy. After asking his supervisor, he returned shaking his head, saying I would have to return tomorrow. <br /><br />It's 10:50 now. I wasn't about to give up after all the obstacles now. I made another dash for the pharmacy, explaining the situation, though not well. Because I ended up playing charades instead. Pretty funny, because when I thought of it, they know what they are doing. They see several "gringos" for this kind of thing. Fortunately, they didn't charge me this time.<br /><br />Again, I walked back to the Embassy. Unfortunately, this was the fifth time I had to run the gauntlet of inappropriate taxi drivers. "Hey, how'd you get like that? Will you meet me this weekend? Que linda!" Ahhh! These are the times that it is easier to just make them think I only understand English.<br /><br />Finally, at 11:00, I waved to the employee, letting him know I was back. Fortunately, he didn't make me get a number but at this point, most people had come and gone. Apparently, the office closes at 11:30 which explained why everyone had cleared out.<br /><br />I waited until 11:30 for him to help me again. After a few minutes, he confirmed the paperwork, asked me to pay the fee at the next window and wait for him to call my name. I went to the window to pay, only to discover almost a 45% "service charge" that no one could explain to me.<br /><br />When I went to sit down, I found that he had closed his window and left. What? So I asked the finance window where he went and they said he'd call my name. Still no one called my name. At 12, I finally went to ask another window what it was I was even waiting for and he said I needed to do an interview. I asked the woman in the interview room if she could help and I would need to wait a few minutes. At 12:10 I did my interview, she was really helpful in explaining what I needed to know in receiving a new passport and in 5 minutes I was out.<br /><br />I went to my car, almost 4 hours later, but he let me leave paying 60 total. Though he did ask if I'd be coming back tomorrow to pay more.<br /><br />Let's just say, the lesson learned is...always print TWO copies!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-23853847260088074452011-05-11T17:13:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:56:38.283-07:00Rose-colored GlassesEven though I'm not personally celebrating Mother's Day just yet, I decided to celebrate our neighbors who are moms...some old and some new! Instead of the Valentine tradition of cookies, I opted for flowers this time around. After running into one neighbor last month, she shared how her mom lives with them and she recently found out she has cancer. While delivering flowers to their house, I was surprised when her mother answered the door. I had never met her, much less seen her in the neighborhood. She peered sceptically through her tinted glasses, wondering who this "Americana" was at her front door. I explained, in broken Spanish, that the flowers were to honor her on this special holiday and that we are praying for her during this time. She started to well up with tears and grabbed me for the largest bear hug. I'm grateful for all moms!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-16976800276130272302011-04-01T13:32:00.001-07:002011-04-01T13:36:00.015-07:00No April Fools<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1Ks2kBGoJKx5F5rdpvj1t9Bo2FYVSXUadz5SnN-4IQT9ikuGddYJzF7h99zIUni67lryNLhyGHgiTNZUzXP6yE-p7wbz1aKAr4-cyQI5az5gkRmeMRQauTKC8boaigCrXUFuHsFv_VJt/s1600/Sunset.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1Ks2kBGoJKx5F5rdpvj1t9Bo2FYVSXUadz5SnN-4IQT9ikuGddYJzF7h99zIUni67lryNLhyGHgiTNZUzXP6yE-p7wbz1aKAr4-cyQI5az5gkRmeMRQauTKC8boaigCrXUFuHsFv_VJt/s320/Sunset.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590716273521712274" /></a><br />Check out the sunset last night!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-77976842452717587662011-03-31T09:44:00.001-07:002011-03-31T09:44:38.280-07:00Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite!This past Wednesday evening, I woke up literally every hour, itching frantically, only to finally rise out of bed in the morning with a body strewn with red dots. I looked like I was on the verge of chicken pox. I just assumed I was the target of every mosquito in the region. However, some friends suggested, by the look of the bites, that they may in fact be a result of bed bugs. UGH! So after researching cause, results and preventative measures, I went to town. I spent most of my Saturday morning and afternoon, washing sheets and bed covers at high heat. I used Lysol and bug spray throughout the room, vacuumed every crevice of the walls, closets and furniture, including every inch of the mattress and even the couch. No item was left unturned. Then with a scorching hot iron, I ironed every inch of the mattress. These blood-sucking monsters were going to die.<br /><br />Then I started thinking, “Why was I taking such drastic measure to make sure they suffered?” Isn’t that what we do typically when we’ve been hurt by someone? We tend to go to extreme measures to either cut them out of our lives or make sure they suffer, even if they don’t know what they did exactly. We turn up the intensity of guarding ourselves from being hurt again, maybe even going to the lengths of hurting those who hurt us. To what ends will we go? <br /><br />Sure, I made those little guys suffer, rightly so. With relationships, it’s a different story. We need to put down the Lysol, the vacuum, the iron and say “I’m sorry. I forgive you.”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-3245681453251248322011-03-31T09:38:00.000-07:002011-03-31T09:39:48.121-07:00Chasing TrucksMy parents and I made the drive to the factory with the dogs. As we arrived, the dogs eagerly circled at the back of the car, before they could leap to their freedom. I was chatting leisurely with Mom and Dad as I introduced them to friends. I saw the Pepsi truck backing towards us through the parking lot. However, within a moment, I realized that the dogs were running across the lot to greet my friends. Instantly, I lunged to their rescue standing between them and the reversing truck. Immediately proceeding was the sound of screeching tires, a split second in which time froze in silence and then shattering glass that covered the concrete. Unfortunately, the glass bottles being delivered were secured with crates and rope, eliminating any leeway for sudden stops. Despite the clean up time for the drives and our $50 damage charge, we all walked away unharmed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-35344890956898893892011-02-06T19:06:00.000-08:002011-02-06T19:24:09.857-08:00Is it love or is it prayer?Why is it that we sit by the phone, hold our breath, tell our hearts to skip a beat for someone? Or even the idea of someone? You daydream of a time when you'll finally share your life with that special someone and you just can't wait to share everything with them. It's like we're a vault waiting to be opened.<br /><br />But then if or when the day finally arrives, why do we withhold those very whispers we've held in for so many years, anticipating to share with someone. We finally have a "green light" to share and we go silent. What happens? <br /><br />The funny thing, as I sit here, I realize it's me. Nothing "happens". Rather, I just now have a option of moving from idealism to reality. But when given the option to share me, well, there's hesitation. Those same fears of rejection creep up, saying, "they don't want to know, it's too much, it's not a good thing...", holding me hostage to my own prison. <br /><br />But more concerning to me than not sharing in my personal relationships is not sharing myself with someone greater, someone who knows all those whispers, thoughts, ideas that I secretly hold within and that's the ONE I avoid. So are these same fears what keep me from praying? Why would I not pray when Jesus already knows everything about me? When he's made the greatest sacrifice of love for me, why would I fear him? Is it a fear of rejection? That I'm not "enough", that I haven't done "my duty" for the day? That I "sinned too much" today to talk to Him? Today I want that to change. I want to take the risk.<br /><br />Hebrews 4:16 "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-83516411857601870882011-02-03T10:24:00.000-08:002011-02-03T11:53:59.596-08:00SLOW....Construction in Progress!I take for granted the fact that EVERY day the sun shines here, the blue sky is piercing and the white clouds invite me to imagine. No, instead, I get in the car, as usual, fight my way through traffic or even just to get in the game of traffic. Today, the only difference was that I took Sam to the vet. We haven't had Sam since he was a puppy but I still love him as if he's been in the family since the beginning. Other dogs lay sadly in the waiting room, one in a sling, while Sam paws at the door, trying to make a new friend. Once he is called, he patiently endures being poked, prodded and lifted up on the examining table. He doesn't know why he's there but he trusts me. He doesn't whimper or make a sound, he just waits silently, knowing I am there. If only I started learning life lessons from my dog!<br /><br />Following the vet, I make my way to the office and back, just like any other week. As mid-afternoon traffic starts to build, the road construction adds to the pile up. On most roads, there are cars scattered, making their own road rules and people meandering through moving traffic to sell things, entertain or just cross the road. It's also not unusual to see a man or child standing in the middle of a road that needs repairs, with a shovel in hand, hoping for some spare change. This drive was no exception. There were two little boys, no more than 7 or 8 years old, standing in the middle of the road, tattered clothes and most likely shoeless. Having my fill of Chex Mix at the office, I saved half in a ziploc bag. As I inched along the road, I reached out to boy closest to my car with the remaining snack. The other boy came running alongside my car, pounding the door with his fist, "Y a mi?!? Y a mi?!?", he shouted. I had nothing left in my car. He became smaller and smaller in my side mirror, what more could I do? <br /><br />Construction is always in process. Except this time, it's wrenching my heart.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-56640300951653243132011-01-23T19:02:00.000-08:002011-01-23T19:19:55.591-08:00Happy One Year!This past weekend was one year! We decided to celebrate and take a trip out of the country. Errands and work delayed us on Friday so we decided to opt for a quiet evening and a leisure departure on Saturday. A little more work and packing before we headed out the door by noon on Saturday. As we started to walk out, we realized we didn't have the form as proof of car insurance. After digging through files and turning rooms inside out, we called the insurance office for a copy. Finally, by 2:30, we were on the road. I drove the first leg and by early evening we were close to the border. C turns to me and asks, "You have your passport, right?". I froze. "No, I completely forgot I needed it." Fortunately, C turned us around and had us home by 8:45, after a celebratory trip to Baskin-Robbins. Ice cream makes every situation better. <br /><br />We went to bed and set our alarms for 4am. Well, thanks to our dogs and neighbors, we didn't need alarms. The dogs kept barking and I sleep much in between the yelping and the neighbors' karaoke party until 5am. With an little sleep and coffee, we began our early start. Again, thanks to C, we made it to the hotel's Sunday brunch by 10:30am (even after stopping to view an active volcano and hurdling road kill). Of course, it was the hotel we had reservations for the night before but we enjoyed breakfast at least. By noon, we headed to our hotel. We arrived to find there was no reservation. We decided to skip the town and resume our hotel search at the beach. Stopping at a familiar restaurant/hotel from a previous trip, we made our way through the swarm of a pool party, distracted hotel staff and managed to squeeze into one remaining free table in the middle of sweat and smoke. Again, no vacancy. C then called a hotel down the road that only had "one bungalow" remaining. What was the big event this weekend anyways? When the front desk answered, they said, "Do you know what the requirements are?" "No, what?" "Well, we need your name and credit card number." "Oh, is that all? Sure. I'll be there in 30 minutes." We arrived at the front desk in 40 minutes to hear, "Oh, there's nothing left. We gave that away to another guest who just arrived." Really?? <br /> Finally, we headed back to the town and found a vacancy. I guess now it's "fifth time is the charm". Dinner was excellent though--lobster pasta and chocolate cake can fix it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-53342994600932378072011-01-10T15:56:00.000-08:002011-01-10T16:31:00.295-08:00What My Dogs Have Taught Me to Expect in Parenting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXJOy0F6WJ8BA3P-IwYsrWGLcKwpllYZTsxWOQtgf1GVhCSkK-ahzzeTe5hhe5gih0rGQW4pUYjMrQmfLMeDIPdcfbZDZuESFeZUA_KkfhZfhUe_GBbx_nqlmfTgDUl_GmDEm4kSBBa6R/s1600/My+Dogs.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXJOy0F6WJ8BA3P-IwYsrWGLcKwpllYZTsxWOQtgf1GVhCSkK-ahzzeTe5hhe5gih0rGQW4pUYjMrQmfLMeDIPdcfbZDZuESFeZUA_KkfhZfhUe_GBbx_nqlmfTgDUl_GmDEm4kSBBa6R/s320/My+Dogs.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560719294695398578" /></a><br />1) No two kids are the same--some are independent, some are, well, needy.<br />2) No, they don't always get along.<br />3) Yes, apparently there is competition for my attention.<br />4) The youngest girl IS Daddy's favorite.<br />5) One is usually more vocal than the other.<br />6) Some have "special" gifts.<br />7) I need to appreciate their differences.<br />8) I will lose sleep.<br />9) They will cause me pain.<br />10) My life is better and I will always love them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-5079356204391436132010-12-10T17:52:00.000-08:002010-12-10T17:53:58.104-08:00A Walk in Antigua<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoioM5Q02EJT9QV991Jp_U4nXVhi_jayF7S_FDwJ2s8C8kIn4RtTxR2HG4VSVSnafFGpXQy5Kx14x-tfgHAtjyiK0XC5IvJFxnIyBgOokFFubrH1R6lDxEgChyDYI09-bL8zaIZsUXPbxO/s1600/Antigua.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoioM5Q02EJT9QV991Jp_U4nXVhi_jayF7S_FDwJ2s8C8kIn4RtTxR2HG4VSVSnafFGpXQy5Kx14x-tfgHAtjyiK0XC5IvJFxnIyBgOokFFubrH1R6lDxEgChyDYI09-bL8zaIZsUXPbxO/s320/Antigua.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549237029008556722" /></a><br />It's Saturday and I am enjoying a rest from a just completing week 3 of full 40 hour weeks in Spanish. I walk through the historic cobblestone streets of Antigua. Squeezing past tourists and locals on the narrow sidewalks, I make my way to my favorite shops and restaurants for a bit of respite. This morning was a beautiful trip to the local macadamia farm with the treat of a complimentary facial to experiment their products. I take in every little detail like the teenage boy trying to parallel park the minivan with his mom in the passenger seat with clenched teeth and tension in her grip of the door. As I cross the street, I see the contrast of grown men who don't know the basics of driving or courtesy as he leans over his passenger and slowly drags the car toward the wrong side of the road to get a better look. Nice.<br /><br />As I peruse the streets, I visit the bus station to change my ticket for one day earlier. Ah, who knew that could be an adventure. But why wouldn't it be? I ask to change it one day earlier and he responds, "Oh we can't. It's Rule #4. Can't change tickets during Christmas." "Ok, but it's NOT Christmas. It's December 4." "Nope. I can't." "Ok, can I talk to the manager." "Uh, yeah, that's me." "Well, the office at home said I could change it anytime up to a day before." "Show me." "Well, here it says I need to confirm a day before." "So it doesn't say anything. You can call that office." So I did. There was no problem to change it. Ah, customer service, how I love you! And that's the short version.<br /><br />Did I also mention that here they use fireworks for EVERYTHING? Every celebration, any restaurant opening for the day, etc. So apart from fighting the urge to hit the deck every time I heard one today, it was an enjoyable day in Antigua.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-64768583344898283642010-11-28T10:36:00.000-08:002010-11-28T18:58:41.877-08:00Thanksgiving and the Chicken BusThanksgiving in Antigua...first Central American Thanksgiving as well as first married one! Chris came here to celebrate with friends and friends of friends. It was a huge gathering and combo of various countries. Though we did not lack in American food--from stuffing to turkey and ham to loads of sweet or mashed potatoes. We had our fill of pie and delicious homemade ice cream and more! The feast was never-ending. They even capped off the full day with s'mores by the fire. We returned home tired and full. Always a good combo! Not to mention, we were able to call family from the house so it was great to hear familiar voices. We miss you all!<br /><br />The rest of the weekend was amazing. We went to Hector's where I had a delicious fish prepared with lemongrass, ginger, butter, mushrooms and tomatoes. Mmmmm! Chris had a yummy beef stew. You can't go wrong at Hector's. After dinner, we strolled over to Ron's place, that he opened a year ago. I was amused to walk into a restaurant of 3 cigar-smoking men. But they made me feel welcome at the cozy cafe.<br /><br />Then yesterday, Chris surprised me with a trip to Guatemala City. Delicious sushi and tempura ice cream and a good night's rest. What more could you ask for? I'm just glad my husband is persistent when others say "I'm sorry, sir, you need to book two weeks in advance." <br /><br />Chris rose EARLY this AM to catch his flight back home and I checked out later in the morning and asked about shuttles back in to town. "No hay. Solo taxis por $80." Ok, what about the bus? "No, no le recomiendo. Es peligroso." But nevertheless, I opted for a taxi to the bus and a bus into town. And the bus only cost me $1. :)<br /><br />So for the next hour and a half, I sat on the bus of Spanish rap music, halting stops every five minutes, 3 people to a school bus seat with others standing, and a guy yelling "Antigua! Antigua! Antigua!" at every stop. I have to say I have a lot of respect for those working here and having the confidence to step onto every bus and sell candy at every stop.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5480761107096465400.post-64580665557582885132010-11-21T17:50:00.001-08:002010-11-21T18:24:19.625-08:00It's the little things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcvIdqOr_voQ3vsrkl_t-Alk7CmyQnRXgMZ9L1GnwpEncQovti4jEcVefqIRcFeV-ZSkBgvh1-PwfUdyniBhT1uCbG1X5muwHFxT_V58iwzzX_lhZVyCZv5sI7BtUQGE2IeX_AzCN7ax4/s1600/Garden+Cafe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcvIdqOr_voQ3vsrkl_t-Alk7CmyQnRXgMZ9L1GnwpEncQovti4jEcVefqIRcFeV-ZSkBgvh1-PwfUdyniBhT1uCbG1X5muwHFxT_V58iwzzX_lhZVyCZv5sI7BtUQGE2IeX_AzCN7ax4/s320/Garden+Cafe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542194221632248530" /></a><br />So just completed Week ONE of my intensive language learning: 7 hours/5 days and 5 hours/Saturdays! The good news I don't have a headache and I can visibly see my Spanish improve as I move around the city--shopping, eating out, talking with vendors, getting directions, translating, finding a church, etc. It's all quite an adventure!<br /><br />It's been an eventful weekend from attending a belated wedding reception and finding a church in town. I'm amazed the wonderful people I've met thus far, even just during the weekend. <br /><br />Today's reprieve from the full week of lessons was discovering a spectacular find in the midst of the city. It is a quaint little restaurant/cafe with a garden. The best part is the organic grocery store with fun surprises like organic veggies and new teas like "White Cucumber" or Heath ice cream or Trader Joe's goodies and exotic cheese and chocolate options. <br /><br />Yes, I have found a good Sunday routine. Not to mention, it's a great stroll through the Sunday market on the way home!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0