a little bit of sun,
a little bit of cloud,
...

a bit of beauty,
a bit of controversy,
amidst high-rise living.

nearly spring now.

A good Indian.

Ironically Indian food is the most popular food in Britain. Maybe it's the influx of Indians over the last while or perhaps it's an attempt to break away from centuries of bland food. Or perhaps it's both. Centuries of bland food creating an amazing business opportunity for immigrating* Indians. Whatever you do, don't get huffy with me, I'm just stating accepted stereotypes. *I never know if it's immigrate or emmigrate.

So me, my British mate Ben, my dad and four non-english speakers poured into an empty Indian restaurante at about 7 in the evening, feeling rather hungry. Instantly everyone felt at home due to the welcome in broken english. Nothing like common ground over a language no one spoke particularly well. (With the exception of my mate Ben, none of us there were born and bred on the Island.) So in the middle of English England in an Indian Indian restaurante we were: two Americans from the States, two Spaniards, one Colombian, one Dominican, and a whole host of Indians from India. And Ben, the sole representative of the host country.

We were sat around a table in the middle of the room were asked what we wanted. Indian beer and lots of water for the heat was the concensus pick to drink. And a lot of blank faces as to what the heck these Indian names were that described Indian foods. And which were the ones that blow the top of your mouth off? Well many thanks to the one native present, Ben sorted us out with his vast knowledge of Indian culture, food and the occassional word that was supposedly English that I didn't seem to catch.

15 minutes later we has 7 bowls of seriously nice looking bits of meat soaking in sauces of varying colors and an hambre big enough to eat a horse. (That's not me saying it was horse meat btw, just that we were hungry.) Being the wimps that we are and coming from the land of non-spicy food (Spain) we had avoided roof blowing dishes and elected normal to medium. And some none/nom/nam/nan bread beside our steaming dishes of Indian rice.

And one heck of a feast later we had polished it all off. Including an extra round of chocolate mints on the house! We had been invited back, we had invited to Spain, we had agreed to meet up for holidays by the beach, and perhaps take a group pilgrimage with our new friends to their little pueblo in India. Signs of good times.

So Indian food holds a high place in my memory. The Indians even higher and perhaps once day we will all meet up on our side of the channel. To share a similar experience over a good paella and pig.

De todos modos, we could sure use a good Indian here in Badajoz...

Back in Spain now after a brief respite of a few days in England. Will write more on that after I catch up on sleep. Just occurred to me that I used the word respite without being 100 percent sure of its meaning. Funny, it's a normal occurrence for me in Spanish, I say it if it sounds right. In English I tend to be a bit more hesitant to use a word I'm not completely sure about.

So shortly I will tell of my Indian meal and friendly British customs agents. Here's to both and a good night's rest...

It's raining but it doesn't matter.

Sunday started promising, sunny, warming up with only a light breeze. That was walking to church.
Walking back it was barely sunny with definate winds kicking up and more than a few clouds barreling along.
The post-lunch forecast was suddenly threatening. Grey was the word with no hint of sun.
The hour arrive and as I stepped out of the house the sky started lightly spitting.

Now the importance of the weather on Sunday is that Sunday afternoon is my futbol afternoon. There are a couple of hardcourts about 10 minutes away that have constant games a happening. And Sunday is when I join them. Now *football wasn't my first game. (*soccer that is. Call me a traitor but I think America should join the rest of the world in calling it as it is, soccer nothing.) Basketball would probably claim that. Growing up in heartland Indiana it wouldn't be anything else. But man I enjoy a good game of football sala, as it's called. Now difference between futbol and futbol sala is that futbol sala is played with only 5 on each side, one in goal and 4 playing the pitch. And instead of being played on grass it's played on a surface pretty much the same as a tennis court.

So needless to say I like my Sunday afternoon kickarounds. And today it starting raining just at the hour of kickoff. But the game kicked off anyway. We continued playing as it turned into a steady drizzle and then a steady rain. And pretty soon it didn't matter. Of course there was no turning on a dime, but you adjust. Such is the game of sport. And the moral of the story is that. Sport is sport. Futbol is futbol in rain or sun. It might have been raining today but it didn't matter.

miracle

For what we need to know, of course, is not just that God exists, not just that beyond the steely brightness of the stars there is a cosmic intelligence of some kind that keeps the whole show going, but that there is a God right here in the thick of our everyday lives who may not be writing messages about himself in the stars but in one way or another is trying to get messages through our blindness as we move around down here knee-deep in the fragrant muck and misery and marvel of the world.
It is not objective proof of God's existence that we want but the experience of God's presence. That is the miracle we are really after, and that is also, I think, the miracle we are really get.

Frederick Buechner (The Magnificent Defeat)

(w) the undervalued letter.

W, wow, what a letter. There before I even reach the second sentence I've already used it 5 times (including the title of course). Where else could you find the lineup w,w,o,w,w used in gramatically correct english? The importance of the letter w to the english language reaches far and wide. Don't be fooled by it's place at the end of the alphabet. That actually underlines its true value as a letter that does not depend on it's place in line to derive it's virtues. (V is of similiar fortitude, in the previous sentence it was used 3 times! and in this one 2!) But back to w, which is of double importance. Note: two v make one w. vv=w.

Where would we be without who, what, why, where, when and how? The very foundation of our language rests on this humble and not-yet widely acclaimed letter. To ask a question, you practically are forced to rely on its services. Try to avoid it (v again!) I dare you. Okay, the verb "can" does its bit to break up the monopoly, but honestly, would you like to go around all day limited to can and could? Heck, even the conditional form "would" jumps back to our letter! Haaave it!

So we agree that (w) is important. Good.
Now for the shocker.
The letter doubleu does not exist in Spanish. Search between V and X in a small dictionary and (w)hat do you find? NOTHING. Search in large dictionary and you get maybe t(w)enty words starting with W. ALL STOLEN FROM ENGLISH. Not one is an original Spanish (w)ord. You (w)ant an example? Waterpolo. And Waterloo if you are talking about famous battles. Mind you they're pronounced, vaaaterpolo and vaaaterlu if you want specifics.

Ho(w) the Spanish (w)ould undervalue perhaps the most crucial letter in our tongue I don't know. I guess that just goes to show that cultures and languages are (w)idely different. And to each his o(w)n...

eh-hem.

I realized it's been two weeks since I've posted. Sorry.

I had written a couple of paragraphs that were naff. So I just deleted them because I realized I was writing just to fill space. So while I am again writing just to fill space, this time it will be wasting less of your time.

Shortly I hope to write something that won't be a waste of time.

not so long ago...

reminiscing late one evening.
it's a nostalgic activity, slightly slanted to one side.
slanted because do we really remember accurately?
the good, the bad, the monotonous.
or is it mostly just good with the bad melting into a puddle?
or the bad growing like weeds till it swallows up any good that was?
or neither and actually while we remember with a subtle slant, memory speaks as much truth as the present.

well whatever.
tonight i've been remembering. i uploaded photos a good number of fotos from the last couple of years so i could order prints- i'm a bit behind on the process. to decide which ones i wanted i had to shift through them all. i've only just begun and it's like being flooded with things that one hasn't forgotten, but one hasn't been conciously remembering either.
a few nights ago i was sifting through old posts from this very blog. again, things come rushing back and i even occasionally surprised myself.

i think memories are equally as important as one's present and maybe the dreams for tomorrow. without memories there is no history. and no history means nothing to jump off of, or fall back onto. it's funny, but the present can be taken from us (or at least given), while the past never can. that being said, i hope i never offer up the present for the opportunity to go back to the past...

the game

arial shots

random bits of barcelona

cold feet and hot water

Suddenly it hit me that I have been using a hot water bottle for the last month and I haven't even given it a mention here!

The use of a hot water bottle certainly deserves a mention. Matter of fact, it should get it's own post. Which of course, is what this is. It's an entire posting devoted to the hot water bottle. I would post a picture of it, but I've so many pics up at the moment with more coming, that I think I'll just describe it.

It's a normal size for a hot water bottle, nothing more nothing less. The actual bottle itself is of the typical pink rubbery substance that hot water bottles generally consist of. However, like a mitten, a green cloth of terry substance covers it nicely. Every night I boil some hot water and fill the bottle, seal it up, and lay it where my feet generally rest in the icebox I sleep in. Also known as my bed.

I'll have you know that it is probably a top quality, premium made, water bottle. That's because however many hours later when I wake up in the morning, its still lukewarm. Which is better than ice. As I write this sentence, it lies behind me, under the covers, gently thawing out my sheets, preparing them for me.

I'll tell you, life hasn't been the same since I got it. I sleep better now. I wake up warmer, which in turn means I am warmer throughout the day. That means I am a happier person. Which means I sleep better. It's a wonderful cycle. So if you suffer from a cold bed at night, I recommend that you too, get yourself, a premium, top of the line, green terry covered cloth water bottle. It will change your life.

A few photos from high up in my city.

the briefest of updates

My oh my que frío hace! A cold wave has swept down from England and Germany to freeze the fingertips off all the Spaniards. Not that it wasn't cold before, just that now it's freezing. Okay, so just a degree or two above where I live, but considering the houses sit only about 5 degrees warmer than the wind chill outside, its cold!

Well I suppose this should be an about about me. Updates on my life for those who find themselves interested.

I'm currently making my own greatest hits album by Mana while I type this. It's going to be good, let me tell you! I've got to cut one song to fit it on the disk though, its like choosing between your own children.

I continue to stick my hair up in the morning with this sticky stuff and shave every other day. Though with the cold, the odds on a beard are going up if you are on your way to the local bookie.

Recently finished the best novel I have read in the last four years. Easily. It's called the shadow in the wind by a guy called Zafon. A fat book but it cut late into my nights and early into my mornings so it didn't take long to finish. My top three novels (in no particular order) are now: The Shadow of the Wind, The Brother's Karamazov and maybe the Lord of the Ring's Trilogy. Cept that's three books. As for what book just got booted out, ahh I dunno. Before I just had a top 2.

Go Bears.
Go Barça.

It's that that is all I can think of to say about myself without getting too deep into things. I'm short on time so it'll have to do for now. Maybe a more worthy post will come along in a few days, I'm off to Barcelona for a couple of days.

If I were the owner of an ancient, mysterious house...

If I were the owner of an ancient and mysterious house I would make sure it had lots of windows. But it would not be a house of glass, for these are times in which one must be careful not to be too fragile. The windows would let lots of light in, both sunlight and lightning, and not to mention the sound of the rain. And towards the center of all those eyes, there would be a large door. One that opened up very wide, to accomodate many people, coming and going.


But there would be small doors too, in various and secret places. Ones where one must stoop to walk through. Ones that would hold lots of secrets and even more stories.


There would be windows even in the corners where they were difficult to place. There would be windows, for it would cause young children to let their imaginations run wild with the shadows that were glimpsed beyond them.

Around the library I would consider having remembrances of some of the writers whose works were held inside that library. It would be to pique the children's interest in the world of books. I would have to carefully consider that however, as the heads may simply scare the children instead of inspiring wonder and fascination.


But perhaps high above the ground I would allow pets to roam, and they would guard roof terraces and keep an eye on what was happening below, in case someone would get lost in the maze that they oversaw.





A wall would surround the maze, with only a small hidden gate to let one in. The gate too, would have many stories and a few secrets.


Somewhere, a small street would run through the property, with a walkway over the top, where one could sit and read, occasionally lifting up ones eyes to watch the paserbys hurrying underneath to get out of the rain. The rain that was lashing against the many windows.



And somewhere, amidst old garden sheds, trees that are older than history, surrounded by stone walls would be a tall tower. It would stretch above everything else, overlooking what was to be overlooked. It would not have many windows. And every so often, the sound of a bell being rung would steal over the house, and it would cause all to stop what they were doing and listen. It would go on for a minute and then slowly die away in the evening light. Only every so often, with not much regularity. However the tower would only have one entrance, and that entrance would always be barred and locked. No one would know who had the key, and it would make stories rise up in the children's hearts. Stories of past deeds, past loves, past losses... Stories mixed with intrigue and wonder and perhaps a small amount of fear only if they happened to be looking at the tower as the last gleams of light dissapeared to the west.

hair

haircuts are funny things. i spent the last week planning on getting a haircut, only to wake up each morning and decide that either 1. i was having a good hairday so why get it cut, or 2. i was poor and should save the money, thus deciding each day that i would not get a haircut.

this morning i woke up and decided neither were true. so i went and got scalped.

a survey of sorts

I would like to put a few questions to those who will see this. Please respond in the comments box, even if you don't feel qualified. To any or to all of the questions. And remember, only honest responses are valid, I don't want citations from apologetic commentaries.

Do you believe in hell, and if so what is it and why/how does it exist?

What is the criterium for spending eternity with God?

What do the words grace and choice mean to you?

2005,2006,2007

Of note:

Café en España now stretches over three years. Numberwise anyways, starting in late 2005 and now having reached early 2007, there are three years to navigate! Thought it should be commemorated. Thanks for the faithfuls who have been here from the start. And for those who haven't because I suppose that is what grace is all about.

random shots of the motherland

some disrespected sign. the view from the toilet (impressive isn't it?). juli and i outside a quality door. a fence with heads on it. you can figure out which caption goes with which picture.

a pub once frequented...

Ahh the joys of Oxford. Here at the Eagle and Child I washed down a pint in honor of two fellows whose writing I much admire. One CS Lewis and another JRR Tolkien used to frequent this joint to have a pint and talk about whatever they happened to be writing about. Quite a few decades later I joined them. But sadly they had long since gone. So I enjoyed a pleasant steak and ale pie and toasted to their health which had long since given up... May they rest in peace and make lots of posthumuous royalties.

recuerdos de inglaterra

hi from the land of rain and darkness. okay so its a harsh way to start out, but we've been here 5 days and 4 and a half of them have been filled with dreary clouds and dripping rain. other than that i have had a splendid time.
england = no sun

a few english experiences that have been had that have been (nice run of h words there followed by beens) crumpets (being the american i am i smothered them with peanutbutter and jelly) tea (i've had three cups, in the previous year i drank 4 cups total) fish and chips (now that's niiiice) followed by the inevitable skinning in the exchange rate between the pound and the dollar. since when should the english pound be worth more than the dollar? you could fit like 12 englands in the US. bigger country = stronger money

thats my take anyway. and now that ive alienated my british readers... i should say that i really do like your country. BUT tell your customs officials to be a bit nicer to me when i come to visit! nice american = easy time in customs

my good friend juli from spain came with me. he's got good english, but maybe not as good as mine. well he walked right through customs. im not bitter, i just think that better english = easier time in customs when entering an english speaking country. why don't the english understand this concept?

throwaway comment to the english: if i really disliked your country i wouldn't have bothered to come.

maybe i should name some things i like about england....
.
.
.
.

well im just glad good quality humo(u)r is never lost on a tru brit.
brit = good laugh

i will probably wrap this up now. when we reach the sunny land again i will write something perhaps slightly more worth reading... CHEERS!

tasty

chompin on some churros. i walked 15 minutes in driving rain for them! so they had better be good!

día 25

well we are fast approaching Christmas. fast approaching the time of year that i seem to enjoy more each time i experience it. my appreciation for the time of year and the cold weather (its really the only time i won't complain about my numb hands and frostbitten ears) is slowly and steadily growing. now don't take this to mean that i now like christmas films or those stupid glowing santas. i despise them more than ever. i think because both are entirely false. what i do have is a soft spot for 'O Holy Night' which i could listen to on repeat without problem for the good part of a december night.

perhaps i am stopping more then ever. and just being. being aware of being. i have a lot to be thankful for. i am blessed because i have two families. one where i live and one in indiana. yesterday i suddenly realized that i am missing my family. i am missing being able to spend christmas with them. to stop with them and just be. to eat with them and laugh and experience those moments where only until afterwards does one actually realize they were happening. i am able to do that with one family but not the other right now. being away is making me more away of what i actually have. acutely aware in fact of how i am blessed beyond measure (to have family wherever i go). is there anything else one could ask for?

have a blessed Christmas.

and to my family: miss you all and looking forward to the next Christmas i get to spend with you!

My favorite song. And it's been a long time since I've been able to name my favorite. So it's called Manda una Señal by Maná.

I would apologize for it being in Spanish but I like it in Spanish so I'm not going to.

This is some random kid drumming it with the song in the background. So you don't see the band but hey, I enjoyed it so I'm posting it!

what i've got here are a few vids taken from my camera. im no professional and neither is my camera so please don't be too harsh on us. one is of a small spanish pueblo. i held the camera up to the window as we drove through. it's not at all like the city where i live but it certainly is a normal small town, pueblito here in spain. the other two vids are of some flamenco that jeremy and i saw in seville. maybe the lighting and the sound isn't great but you get the idea of what flamenco sevillano is like... que os disfrutéis!

What we've got here is the beginning of a week with Jeremy. Quality time. Catchuptime. Well spent. Second sign down is my town. We were five hours away in Madrid, walking the streets and constantly I would see signs pointing to the city where I live. It's not that big, but all the signs made it seem like the place to be! The second picture is Jay taking some pics of the sidewalk. Whatever floats his boat. Okay, so the truth is that it said Madrid and he was getting a cool shot. All in all we hit up Madrid, Seville and the hometown Badajoz. Not bad for a stay less than a week. Anyways, I'm not going to rehash the entire trip but thought I'd stick up a few things. We saw some flamenco in Seville too, I'll try and get some video up shortly...

double quote

O momentary grace of mortal men,
which we more hunt than the grace of God.
-Shakespeare, Richard III

To love a person means to see him as God intended him to be.
-Dostoyevski

not stalking just observing

I can stare out of my thin slice of a window down into the life of another. I can see down onto their patio and in through their large double-paned sliding glass doors that are never shut with the curtains that drape their edges. I can see what is playing on the television and I can see what is hung out to dry. I can tell when they get home and I can tell when they go to bed. If they smoke, I can watch. If they play cards, I can see their hand. If they stand outside at the edge and look down at the people passing below them, I can stand looking down at them.
It makes me wonder if there is a window into my life that someone can silently look in through, without me having the slightest clue.

veinticuatro

well im 24 now. i just figured the world should know. i passed a good birthday. filled with, well you know, work and a bit of celebration. i'd say the highlight was the actual evening. about 10 oclock we were off to a sweet mexican restaurant, actually more spicy than sweet, for some quality fajitas with wicked hot green salsa. much quality later i was stuffed but still found room for a mango dessert. liquid mango with whipped cream on top. a sufficient end to a good day. but it didn't end there. we were off after that to pass some of the good night away. a band called the purple experience was doing their best impression of jimmy hendrix. they were old, they were white, they were spanish, but sure could rock. and rock they did. purple haze, all along the watchtower, and other numbers were belted out. not bad, not bad. if you were to try and talk to them in english however, you'd only get as far as hello and a blank stare. that's cause all they'd done was memorize the words. don't look too suprised. i could give you the names of a handful of english singing bands around here who couldn't pass third grade english. its just the way it is, something about english music.

and so i passed into another year, 1 something in the morning, listening to several pony-tailed, beard boasting, seventies rockers, doing what they love to do. until next year!

choice (background)

Man in his state apart from God is a depraved creature, subject to the whims of his base nature, and is quickly dying. It is simply by the grace of God that man is able to lift his head, acknowledge his state and plead for more of that very grace that lifted his very head.

Adam chose for all mankind or if perceived outside of time, all mankind chose for Adam. To be as God is, to know right and wrong and decide as if we were a god- was our first choice and nothing has been the same since. With this decision we walked separate, apart from God. No longer was he able to draw near, to commune with us, nor us with him. Instead a holy distance developed in the space between God and man. And both were pained.

Man wondered about doing as he pleased, filling the earth, filling his belly, fulfilling his pleasures. He did as he pleased, for he was not his brothers keeper, was he? If it was pleasing, he took it, if it was painful, he fled from it. Man was left to himself and with that came death. And God full of pain decided to rid the earth of his creation.

There was a man however who walked upright. Who did not give himself over to himself, but instead, walked with God as he was a righteous and blameless man. (It is amazing what God will do for one righteous person.) So God didn't wipe out the entire Earth for the sake of Noah, and instead began building a people he could call his own. They would be his people, and he would be their God.

Thus begins a journey towards Jesus, the journey of a people, selected by God for another righteous man. This man would be the father of God's people, and his children would be numbered like the stars and the sand, and so the covenant is formed. The relationship is full of 'despites' from the very beginning. Despite man's best attempts to get in the way, ruin, and walk away from God, he is always dragged back. Despite constant idolatry, thickheadedness, adultery, murder, and countless other crimes and sins, God makes for himself a people. God is holy but is not afraid of using unholy people. And from this very people that he formed, there will come the one who crossed that holy distance between God and his people, and drew them together.

He came small and unsuspecting. Lived as a man, and was tempted in every way, yet his eyes did not linger, his heart did not covet. His words pierced hearts and minds as he spoke of a kingdom, not so far away. A kingdom where the lame walked and the blind received sight, the orphans found family and the hungry found food, the broken found comfort and the sad found joy. This kingdom is open to all, but the road is narrow, the gate small, and only those who seek find. He who is first, well he will be last, and he who is servant of all will be the greatest. And unless you become like a little child you will never get in. But faith as small as a mustard seed is all it takes.
So blessed is he who is poor in spirit, for he will recognize the kingdom, and it will be his. And lest it is thought that by works one may get in, it is only for grace, that none will be able to boast.

And so he lived a different life. One fit for a different sort of world, a different sort of kingdom. He lived and then he died. Hanging there with blood and energy seeping from his body they heaped insults on him, “you saved others, why don't you save yourself?” not seeing that every shallow breath was bringing them closer to the very forgiveness that he had just prayed over them, “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Meanwhile, the thief on his one side turned to him and with a simple request was with him later that day in paradise. Faith so small that it is barely noticed yet it got him to a kingdom where many are invited but few are chosen. The other thief staring into the dying face of God, sneered along with the rest. Choice.

Three days later Jesus overcame death and the world has never been the same. But he did not stay long for he was to go and in his stead, send the helper, the Holy Spirit. And with the very winds of Pentecost, the person of Jesus and the Kingdom of his Father has not stopped spreading to this day.

Grey eyes and a dirty beard
hang down to holy sneakers
and cracked hands holding the cardboard
that asks God's blessing on those who give to the poor.
Weathered flannels and yellow teeth
don't find much to chew-
so an empty stomach nags
his worn soul.
Scabs and bruises cover two arms
filled with used veins
that can't often run in a straight line
because it makes the night warmer,
the bench softer,
and the memories a little foggier.

updates

bad bad bad. it's been a full week since i've written. well on my blog anyways. sorry to my faithful readers. to my unfaithful readers, well, you've got no room to complain about my unfaithful writing.

so a few quick updates:
it's cold here now.

it's even colder in my room than outside. it's simply the law of my room, it is always either hotter than the hotness outside, or colder than the coldness.

i am in a state of flux over whether to cut my hair short again or continue to grow it to warm my ears during the long cold nights i spend in my bed.

i'm taking a protein/carbohydrate drink in order to gain a bit of weight because im tired of outspoken latins telling me i need to eat, when i already eat.

i'm going to England the 27th of December till the 3rd of January. i'm taking a Spanish friend along who speaks good english, should be a great time.

az and abby have been gifted this amazing videocamera. as im the resident tech i get to play with it... and i thought my camera was fun... there might be some run-on benefits for my blog in the future.

this year's loss to ohio state only ruined one weekend instead of the usual weeklong aftershock. small benefit to being removed from the scene of the crime by an ocean. (it case you don't understand, my team Michigan just lost the game of the century. there is brief talk that there might be a rematch in a few months, though who knows.)

well that's all the updates i've got time for, it's time to eat. and of course i can't afford to miss that.

bicycles and dominicans

about a month ago my good dominican friend, willy de jesús de la cruz lent me his bike. now for those of you who understand spanish, the fact that i now have a bicycle won't have registered because you will have been too fixated on that fact that it was lent to me by willy of jesus of the cross. yep, that's his name and he lent me his unused bike for the time being. if you want to see what willy de jesús de la cruz looks like, check out the previous post entitled 'coffee' located in the month of september. willy is the black coffee.

so he's a great guy, not just because he lent me his bike, but for a long of other reasons which i am not going to expound on here simply because i am too enamored with having a bike and can think of little else. it's really been something good for me. i must say, when i first borrowed it, i was like, 'hey, cool, i like this.' a whole month and something later, i am like, 'wow, having a bike is awesome!' it's only been getting better with time. man i hope that's what it's like being married. i sense an analogy beginning to brew about marriage and bikes, but i think i'll let it go for now.

so tonight i put a good hour in on it, with some football in between. after my english lessons followed by spanish lessons it was time for some evening football. so i pedaled off to where we were going to play. a good twenty minutes later i arrived. played some quality sport and pedaled home another good 25 minutes, and i feel great! greatly tired! but just think how long that would have taken me to walk. and besides, buses aren't allowed to go the wrong way up one way streets like i am on my bike. in case you are into math and want to call me on the fact that i only actually did 45 minutes of riding instead of the hour i confessed to earlier, well i had 15 minutes here and there prior...

so thanks for the bike willy. it really is great. and here's to it never getting stolen. (maybe tomorrow i'll even take a picture and post it! how exciting would that be??!?)

a century of writing

somehow, someway, café in españa has managed to pile up 99 previous posts. this will make it 100. in less than a year i might add. what i ask myself though, is what kind of gift i am giving... on the day we leave behind double digits to enter the daunting but yet secure world of triple i am gifting a lousy post. a post considering only itself and its own shallow glory. i should be treating some tender subject like compassion or powerful concept like forgiveness and yet i sit and hit keys which simply speak of length. longevity. yet even my longevity is subjective. and who am i to be an expert at 23?

if the average lifespan of a healthy male in the western world hovers around 75, then ive nearly covered what could possibly be a third of my life. that makes me stop for a moment. death isn't something i think about everyday. (if you want a strange and random circumstance, Hootie and the Blowfish's song - "when i get to heaven" just came on my random player by circumstance) so chew on that.
i think death is something i want to be prepared for. by prepared i could mean several things. prepared to face the God who made me from dust, several generations back. prepared to give account for how the heck i spent my life, whether i loved, clothed, fed, and sheltered- physically or emotionally or even spiritually. prepared to experience finally being completely human. prepared to let go of what i hold dear here until my hands are finally empty and only holding out for completion. prepared at last to see the fullness of grace and forgiveness it took for me.

there is a book called till we have faces. the title in and of itself leads to me ponder a day when we will finally have faces and be seen and known for who we really are, perhaps simply looking into faces.

well this posting took on a life of its own, perhaps fitting for the beginning of a new era. tomorrow i will come back and see what i've actually written and hopefully not have to change too much.

something about a rabbit

Here I am at the end of a busy last week! Had a fabulous visit from Dave R and Henry F for those who know them. I laughed a lot, learned a lot, and even loitered about, talking into the night a lot. Perhaps this blog shall bear the fruits of some of those chats. It is a shame not all of it can be repeated, but what I come away with is a bit more vision, a bit more excitement, and a lot more faith. And the bearded sailor in the background? Well, we are not sure where he came from but he says his name is Cave.

the schmoot

well the other day, Daniel bit the hand that feeds him. yes, he bit it literally and figuratively. it only took the few teeth that he's got and a naughty streak the length of his little body.

Daniel is 20 months old and already burning bridges. shamefully really. you see, the hand he bit was mine! the hand that feeds him was mine!!

i have given to the little man. i have given and i have given until there was little left to give. and then i gave some more. i feed his greedy little mouth. i wipe his nose when it snots. i give him his milk when he's ready for bed. i put him in his bath. i get his toys out for him. i put his toys away for him. i carry him. i push him. i hold him upside down and tickle him till tears run down his chubby little face. i get him out of trouble. i save him from his sometimes bossy older sister. i rock him when he's crying. i pull him out of the toilet when he manages to get the lid open. i buy him gifts. i give him food off my own plate, even when he's already stuffed his own two helpings down his throat. i take him to the park. i put videos on for him. i give him juice when he's thirsty. I GIVE THE LITTLE MAN MORE THAN HE COULD EVER NEED!

and what does he go and do? he bites the hand that feeds him.

in both the literal and figurative sense.

what are we to do with the scoundrel?

see it happened that he was left alone for the briefest of moments. and not a moment more. when supervision left he was sitting on his little butt in the lounge playing with his little truck, mouth wide open. not but the smallest of time frames later, when supervision returned, he was found, still on the floor, but this time with cds, taken out of their cases and spread everywhere. under his schmoot (where left hand would be) was one of the cds, BEING PUSHED across the tile floor, sensitive side down! not only that, but the little guy had his mouth WIDE OPEN and a grin stuck on his cheeky face. RASCAL! in open defiance he continued to push cd across the room, thoroughly enjoying the scratching sound that came from below. it was not even below him to emit several squeals of delight at this new sick game he had discovered!

i could continue to describe the situation but you should have the picture.

what is more, and not but half an hour later, my hand was literally feeding that same open mouth, when he decided to bite it! not once, but twice! so, the small man in the end, bit the hand that feeds him three times. once figuratively, and twice literally.

i shall leave you to be the judge. does the squirt deserve to still be fed from that same hand?

(rumors are circling that the two literal bites that took place after the figurative bite were actually actually forced into happening by the writer in order to expound on his own story. daniel claims his innocence, but no proof has been found as of the moment.)

who's looking at who? and what are all the buildings bowing to? maybe it's simply introspection...

pues, mis padres. son muy buenos... in chicago as well.

aye mi hermanitos y yo. it was a summer's day in chicago. a hot summers day. and if you look closely, my little brother has thick-soled shoes. oh wait you can't see his feet, but he's standing on his tip-toes...

nunca llueve a guste de todos

so its been raining here for the last two weeks. pretty amazing really since last year they went about nine months without a real rain. it doesn't take one long to forget what it is like to live in sunlight. i can only imagine what it must be like for those who live in England or Seattle.

a quick update on my likes and dislikes:
im on a big greek-yogurt high. try the stuff, beats normal yogurt.
bananas have been tasting rather nice recently.
dark chocolate. mmmm.
long sleeve shirts.
listening to the rain crash onto my cieling.
brushing my teeth thrice a day.
talking on skype.
riding my loaned bike everywhere. i get there faster than you would believe.
i dislike walnuts as much as ever.
same goes for celery.
i did ride a horse the other day- it was real nice.
what isn't nice is when my spanish prof doesn't show and i wait 45 minutes before i give up.

recent indifferences:
washing the dishes.
breezes. well, they'd nearly make my likes. there's been some good ones lately.
jeans being muddy at the bottoms.


so there is always good and bad with the rain, and as they say here "nunca llueve a guste de todos" meaning it never rains to everyone's pleasure.

zzzz

what a rainy sunday. it would have been a rainy anyday, but today happened to be sunday. what a good sunday though. and i was going to write a real blog but i've been blindsided by tiredness and must retire to my bed. for tomorrow is monday and another week dawns. buenas noches...

los tres, durmiendo

si quieres saber como es la siesta

choice and santification

what my man Buechner says:

In "Beauty and the Beast," its is only when the Beast discovers that Beauty really loves him in all his ugliness that he himself becomes beautiful.
In the experience of Saint Paul, it is only when we discover that God really loves us in all our unloveliness that we ourselves start to become godlike.
Paul's word for this gradual transformation of a sow's ear into a silk purse is sanctification, and he see it as the second stage in the process of salvation.
Being sanctified is a long and painful stage because with part of themselves sinners prefer their sin, just as with part of himself the Beast prefers his glistening snout and curved tusks. Many drop out with the job hardly more than begun, and among those who stay with it are few if any who don't drag their feet most of the way.
But little by little- less by taking pains than by taking it easy- the forgiven person starts to become a forgiving person, the healed person starts to become a healing person, the loved person starts to become a loving person. God does most of it. The end of the process, Paul says, is eternal life.

of note

it must be said that one of the greatest pleasures in life is the wearing of brand new socks.

Choice re-examined

"Life is a journey that we are all making... Or maybe being taken on... But perhaps the older we become the more we are being taken and the less we actually making..."
-Choice


Anonymous said...
hmmmm

Bex said...
I conker

Mom said...
Maybe when we get old we are just living out the journey of our making from ones youth. The other choice would mean I'd have to believe in fate.

Anthony said...
or that we are shaped by our choices and eventually we become them..?

Ashley said...
I guess this brings up the question of whether we can actually do the making. Maybe life is just a serious of choices of how to respond?

Brooks said...
Much to my chagrin, It seems the choices I make (or am led to make) have consequences. These consequences seem to compound over the years to form a broad road that narrows upon the horizon.
With the Quote in mind my question follows: This increase of frequency with which we surrender to our previous choices, is it caused merely by age? or are we in fact not surrendering at all, but rather continually affirming our previous decisions however distantly made by daily choosing to continue a little further down the path, each step drawing us one closer to our end; Each consequently weighing on us with the strangely comfortable baggage of predictability or releasing us into the discomfort of freedom experienced through following God into the unknown.

Anthony said...
CS Lewis is quoted as saying we become our choices. So choice by choice, consequence by consequence we eventually become less distinct from the decisions we make. The further along down a road we go, the harder it is to turn around as perhaps something like momentum gradually takes hold.
Denying oneself is not easy. Following God into the unknown is not easy. Loving in the face of hate is hard.
Living selfishly is easy. Selfcenteredness comes naturally. Giving back what you've been given, good or bad, natural.
Consistently choosing the latter, choice by choice, day by day, brings about a slow but sure change that is not easily reversed. The tainted human instinct becomes stronger and more engrained. Until you are dangerously close to not simply being a selfish, selfcentered person, but rather simply selfish and selfcentered, and not as much of a person.
Consistently choosing the former, choice by choice, day by day, brings about a slow but sure change that is not easily reversed. While perhaps I am not old enough to speak so far down the road, but looking at what Lewis said, eventually the latter loses its place as primal instinct. Instead love, patience, faith, kindness, take their place and you become more human than ever.

on the bus 2

by Ashley...

I have my own experiences taking public transit on the poor side of Bloomington to go to the chyropractor a couple of times a week. The other day, I was sitting at a bus stop and this guy came and sat by me... kind of rough looking. After mentioning the weather we fell silent and I sat debating whether to try and talk with him a bit more or to just continue reading an article for class. Deciding that it would be a good thing to do since he seemed to want to talk, I decided to strike up a conversation again... Hard be it to find something to talk about though. My inquiry of where he was heading went no where... So I sat pondering what I could talk about and feeling kind of awkward that I could sit there sporting my IU shirt, knowing how different the direction my life was headed in compared to this guy's 9-5 job which probably didn't pay enough to let him afford a car. We were on the bus for very different reasons... I would probably earn enough one day to have a car while the bus was just a fact of life for him. I fell silent again racking my brain for a common topic to chat about... should it be that hard? The usual college banter about majors and such wouldn't work...
And then he spoke up. "Do you like art?" This was probably the last thing I expected him to say. And I felt ashamed... because this guy could humbly relate to others regardless of his life situation. I could tell from our conversation that he was someone that would probably thrive at college and I almost wished I could offer him my opportunity of going to college.
I haven't quite processed it yet but sitting at that bus stop I was disgusted with how hard it was to talk to others whose lives were so different and how I could actually talk to them out of sympathy and pity. Do they deserve that? This guy would go to the art gallery openings at IU and here I had the audacity to assume that we didn't have much in common. I have seen the community that the regular bus riders have created among themselves... greeting each other with a friendly hello every morning and discussing the local coming and goings... where I sit and complain about having to take a bus and when I do step on a bus, I sit there and zone out thinking about the million other things I have to do. Is what I have so much better?... Or are some people finding a beauty and community amidst the harsh, rawness of life that I am missing out on?

resfriado

its like it builds without you even realizing it. slowly it moves in. you are aware of it subconciously long before you ever put name to it. maybe in the back of the throat or a tickle in the nose. when suddenly its upon you and you realize that you are sick.

well i was laying in bed two nights ago when it suddenly hit me out of no where that my throat was sore. one second it wasn't sore and the next it was. or at least one second i wasn't aware of it and the next i was.

well after launching a full attack of vitamin C I seem to have vanquished the sore throat but am left with the tedious task of cleaning up the carnage. namely a runny nose and dry eyes. these seem to hang on that little bit longer after the main battle is won. so i diligently drag some toilet paper/kleenex around with me, dabbing, blowing, sniffling, etc etc every ten minutes it seems. then comes a sneeze and there is some real cleanup to be done. but enough detail. here's to horse size pills stuffed with vitamin C and immuno-start to get one on the road to recovery!

facelift

new blog look! well not much has changed but its now in beta format, how exciting. as well check out new font on titles and an exciting new blog archive. it's like having more than one birthday in a year! maybe they'll even be a new profile updation coming soon. and yes, updation was used on purpose.

bulls in seville

on the bus

Today I got on the bus and there was Jesus sitting in back, all alone. There were three or four people clustered up near the front, but no one sat near him. I wondered towards him and sat down one row in front of just opposite him. His face was white, nearly a milky white in fact. His face was permanently twisted in a grimace with his lips pulled back slightly revealing brown and decayed teeth.

I sat there just able to see him out of the corner of my eye. He sat leaning forward, his hands clutching the back of the seat in front of him. His shoulders hunched over and I could hear him breathing and softly talking to himself just over the headphones were pouring music into my ears.

I wondered if maybe I should talk to him. I already regretted not having made a point of smiling at him as I watched an older man at the front of the bus stare back at us. What must it be like to know that everytime you leave your home, if you have one, that you will be different than every single person you pass in the street? That most of the people will stare and the ones that don't will avoid you like the plague. That particular expression hurts because the disease that disfigures your face is much more real than the expression taken from the Middle Ages...

I wondered what his reaction would be if I turned and said hello. Why was I pondering talking to him anyways? Was it out of pity? Did I think that by me talking to him I would be helping? All week I had been thinking about the kingdom of God as I am to talk on it shortly. The last are truly first. The weak are really the strong. The small are the truly great. And I hadn't been on the bus more than 45 seconds when Jesus got on at the next stop while the phrase whatever you do to the least of these was running through my head.

She nearly sat down with a friend two seats in front of me when she saw him out of the corner of her eye and swung around with a big smile on her face. ¿Que nos encontramos? She exclaimed cheerfully, and swung herself down beside him. For the next 15 minutes she steadily chatted away with him occasionally grunting a response, and the bus slowly filled up.

The bus emptied at the first university stop and I was one of the last to get off at the following stop. I was thinking about how God´s kingdom grows bit by bit. Decision by decision made by little people, by normal people. I was thinking about how that girl hadn't talked to him out of pity, but out of love and friendship. I never did see either of them get off the bus but I would have liked to have walked behind them for a few blocks, listening to the conversation banter back and forth, slightly one-sided on the talking end but completely equal in their appreciation for the other presence walking alongside them, taking joy in simply being with.

sleepy

was going to make a post but couldn't think of anything. a sign i need to go to bed. but instead i'll sit here for a few more minutes comtemplating...

i wonder what its like to consistently go to be before one gets tired. almost always when i tumble onto my mattress im quite sleepy and only a couple of minutes away from dreams.

if a man is trilingual- equally, evenly, and without advantage, and he uses all three equally as much each day, and just before bed reads a little in each tongue.... which will he dream in?

if as humans we didn't need to sleep, i think then that time would move a lot slower.

and lastly, how do they know that everyone dreams in black and white?

reaching the clouds

They point up to the cloudless blue sea-
imperfect symbols of desert
flying by amidst not much else.
To be left standing
under the midday sun.
And we were halfway to Tucson,
as if it really mattered.
They say it's about a journey, not a destination
but journey without destination leaves you in one spot
that you'll never pass without leaving.
And we found ourselves still only halfway there-
when we starting reaching the clouds.

We were in Chicago sitting outside a Starbucks when at a table behind us we noticed this man sitting there. Reading his paper and eating his sandwich. There was no 4 dollar coffee in sight. Oblivious to the world around him I can only imagine what he was finding so enticing in that day's news. Was he homeless? I don't know. Scanning classifieds for a job that demands only skills that he can offer? Could have been. He certainly didn't notice us taking his picture and I suspect he won't stumble upon this website surfing the internet one day... Filling his stomach occupies far too much of his time. He certainly has family, only whether he knows them I don't know. I can't even tell you if he believes in God or in the makers of fresh bread.

What he reminds me of is Jesus telling us who the blessed truly are. He often seems to still be saying today-- that one won't understand what being comforted is like unless you have mourned. The humble people are the ones who get to be part of the kingdom of heaven. Only the truly meek inherit anything worth mentioning. It's those who crave justice who will be satisfied with what they get. Those who show mercy in this lifetime happen to recieve it in the next. And if you want to see God, well, may your heart be like a glass of clear water held up against the sun, allowing the light in its full glory to shine upon your face.
And if the gate is narrow and it's holding onto things too tightly in this life that make it difficult to get through to the next, than what Jesus says about this man is true, that in all his poorness, despite whatever led him to be sitting there aware of only a half-eaten sandwich and folded newspaper, he is no further away from being a very, very rich man than something very, very simple.

by Frederick Buechner

The question is not whether the things that happen to you are chance things or God's things or God's things because, of course, they are both at once. There is no chance thing through which God cannot speak -- even the walk from the house to the garage that you have walked ten thousand times before, even the moments when you cannot believe there is a God who speaks at all anywhere. He speaks, I believe, and the words he speaks are incarnate in the flesh and blood of our selves and of our own footsore and sacred journeys. We cannot live our lives constantly looking back, listening back, lest we be turned to pillars of longing and regret, but to live without listening at all is to live deaf to the fullness of the music. Sometimes we avoid listening for fear of what we may hear, sometimes for fear that we may not hear nothing at all but the empty rattle of our own feet on the pavement. But be not affeard, says Caliban, nor is he the only one to say it. "Be not afraid," says another, "for lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." He says he is with us on our journeys. He says he has been with us since each of our journeys began. Listen for him. Listen to the sweet and bitter airs of your present and your past for the sound of him.

coffee

varying degrees of coffee. black. a little bit of milk. a lot of milk. waaaay too much milk.

i would assume its Jesus and the twelve disciples.

sevilla

yesterday i went to seville. it came fully recommended and stays fully recommended. kind of like good coffee. i'll have it any time of the day. or night.

seville is three hours from where i live. going south. you hit the mountains on the way down there making the view downright nice after you get used to the flat scenary where i live. we left at 6 and arrived at 9 and had a quick visit to the dominican and colombian consulates which should tell you the nationality of my fellow travelers. the visit to the colombian consul turned into a longish one as they kept announcing that the person who had to sign documents would arrive in twenty minutes. several hours later and at 3 in the afternoon she showed up. looking sleepy. now that could be me being cynical and imagining things. or she might have been taking a lunchtime nap. fortunately for me i wasn't waiting for any colombian stamps and so i was free to roam about during the formentioned signature-awaiting session. during that i took in the real betis football stadium. a premier division soccer team. and sat there eating chips cause i was very hungry and it was very past my lunchtime.

one nice lunch later, some even better coffee and then some rain i had taken in a good piece of the city center. and the outside of an incredible cathedral. i believe i shall upload some photos of the place here shortly. a lot was left to see but it was time to go home. and it was raining. thanks to some hurricane from the caribbean. like a good appetizer it just left me wanting more. i'll be back though. maybe get to take in not only the inside of the cathedral but some flamenco music/dancing, un poquito de vino sevillano, and some more of their colorful, tight streets leading to who knows where.

en espana and your comment if you please

yeah im in spain now again after a 30 hour hiatus from new paris indiana to badajoz extremadura. working on something to reintroduce myself on here... should be posted shortly.


if you happen to check this- make a comment on the following comment in one way or another if you have an opinion:

"Life is a journey that we are all making... Or being taken on... But perhaps the older we become the more we are being taken and the less we actually making..."
-Choice

embarquation

its interesting writing knowing that really no one will read this post at the time of its postage because i haven't announced the re-embarking of not only this blog but several other things...

like spain. spain is being re-embarked upon. by me. starting tomorrow. unless of course you view embarking as something that is constant. so in that case i have been embarking back upon spain ever since i left. so tomorrow won't be the beginning, just another day in the journey. huh.

id like to make a commitment to write consistently. last time i made a commitment like that i went on to not touch that "novel" to this very day. so i think we'll go easy on the commitment front today and see if i can just put my money where my fingers type.

once i prove to myself that i truly have embarked (or perhaps arrived) upon (at) a new journey (a place) of consistent blogging i will let people know. until then may this post bask in obscurity.

coming soon.

a return to blogging...