plane tales

white lines in the sky speak
of places far away
and full of unknown.

they appear in the horizon
moving slowly but swiftly
over our piece of earth.

then slowly but swiftly
they dissipate back
into unbroken blue expanse.

leaving for only a short time
wisps of cloud that speak
of someone else's life.

resaca

i think i've had a posting hangover from all the Bolivia postings. after a barrage of information and pictures, there has been a noticable lack of material being uploaded. to make up for it i have put a picture behind the title. it's nice but by stretching the picture to fit the frame it really distorted the houses. the jury is out on the verdict still. i'm not asking for opinions on this, just saying that i might change it later.

but while it's there, take solace in the fact that i have made up for the lack of recent material by placing a nifty picture behind the title...

storytime

Due to demand, a photo is being posted. And no, your eyes aren't decieving you, there is a butterfly resting on my straw hat.

the Wizard of Oz

Several weeks ago I was asked to participate in a book fair. No, they didn't ask me to do a book signing or anything illustrious like that. Rather they asked me to read a story from my country to a bunch of elementary schoolchildren. In Spanish of course.

You don't know how hard it is to find a story that finds its roots in the US and amongst the classics as well. To start off with, most of the classics have been around for at least several hundred years. They are told down through the generations and become famous. Well the US hasn't been around that long. Nearly every story that came to my head find it's birthplace in either Scandinavia, Germany, France or England. The obscure eastern European countries seem to publish quite a few too. That all that made things difficult.

In the end, the only story I could find decently translated online or in the library here in Badajoz was, the Wizard of OZ. Okay, so I found more than that, but it had to be at least 25 minutes long. That got rid of most and left me with an American Classic I have never previously seen or read... Though I had heard of it!

So the previous two weeks were spent practicing reading to myself, alone in my room. Az or Abby would comment about hearing monk-like chanting coming from my part of the house. Also during those two weeks, I stumbled upon a costume and thought, wow, what a great way to keep the kid's attention. So a scarecrow I became. Unfortunately it was a woman scarecrow, with a fake butterfly sewn onto the hat, and plastic bags cut into strips to look like straw. Woman or not, in the end it passed.

Well the big morning arrived. Costume in the backpack and made my way down to the plaza. At 11 o'clock sharp a group of schoolkids showed up. And if I am allowed to say so myself, they were darn impressed with the wierd guy dressed up as a woman scarecrow speaking a mixture of Spanish and English at them. (The English was just to keep their interest.) Half an hour later I finished the story with Dorothy back home in Kansas, myself completely drenched in sweat, and most of the niños paying me absolutely no attention.

What can I say? 25 minutes is a long time to make some poor little seven year olds sit and listen to a story that maybe went a bit over their heads. But hey, it was an experience.

Oh yeah, when I finished I was asked to immediately repeat it. Whoever was supposed to tell the story during the half hour slot following mine, didn't show up. What the heck. "Once upon a time in a grey field in Kansas..."

Maybe one day I'll get around to watching the real thing...

I didn't take it but my friend did. Note the straightness of the pole. It is from Bolivia and is a good picture to finish that up with... for now.

At first exciting and slightly prone to showing off.
Taken home and laced up carefully,
they do not seem to fit right.
It is a generic mold with little character
that is only taken care of with a little
time and use.

Slowly the gleam is traded for comfort,
and the shine is replaced with wear.
Scuffs mark the corners,
the leather cracks and the soul wears.
The smell of the master takes hold,
while time and weather make their mark.
Character however only increases.
They become dependable and useful,
serving many purposes,
walking many miles.
Heat and cold, wind, rain and sand,
till their day comes.

And they are set aside.
For they are temporary,
a short season and their time is up.
No longer will they travel,
no longer will they walk.
They are difficult to give up,
the memories and journeys have been many.
But they have served their master well.
All good things in this life,
along with that which is not,
are brought to an end...

So the next can begin.