ahh yes.

i had a sudden revelation. it is probably the superior coffee in spain which stimulates my creative writing ability. having been saturated with slightly subpar coffee over the last while has affected my blogging ability. here i was feeling guilty about it and all the while it hasn't been my fault. some would maybe refer to this as blame-shifting but i prefer to think of it as a chance for people to browse the archives and remember all that we have been through together. and maybe watch those music videos one more time.

so again, till the coffee starts to flow...

holiday

i've been in the us of a for the last 5 weeks. that is my excuse for the slow moving content on this blog. i am due to head back to spanishland in about a week. with that should hopefully come an uptick in the material posted. and an uptick in inspiration.

till then...

fire ball

there once was an ancient game. called fireball. literally it consisted of a ball, lighted on fire. today there is still this game. and yes, it is played with a ball, on fire. real flames, real heat, only for real men. that's right. i don't know what they used back in the day, but hoy en dia, we use a tennis ball, soaked in a liquid of choice. our liquid of choice was gasoline. some say that diesel works even better. guess we'll just have to try it for ourselves.

then a flame is touched to the ball and whoooooooosh. you have fire. and ball. fireball. the apex of the heat is right at the beginning and so the first toss is always hot. (try and remember to wipe the gasoline off your hand before lighting or picking the ball up...)

the fire ball is then tossed from person to person, lighting up the night sky. sometimes it lasts for a few minutes, other times less. sometimes we use the same ball a couple of times. creativity is a must. (as well as a cameraman, or woman... thanks mom)

there are very few consequences to this fun game. sure one must bear a bit of heat but its really nothing. you end up smelling of smoke and gasoline. and by the end, all those little hairs on the back of you hand, well they are singed. (if there are any left) just be sure to not let the lighted ball roll into your garage and underneath your cars!! let the games begin!


Let's make fire!


If it gets cold, just gather around the flames.




Fire a little too close.





Ike's hand on fire.


My hand on fire.


More fire.

all the way my savior leads me.

continuing the trend- lyrics i like. i heard this hymn today and it was amazing it was written by Fanny Crosby a long time ago. rich mullins did a version. its short though. someone should do a longer version with some serious instrumentals and momentum changes. just a thought.



All the way my Savior leads me;
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy,
Who through life has been my Guide?
Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort,
Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well;
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well.

All the way my Savior leads me,
Cheers each winding path I tread;
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living Bread.
Though my weary steps may falter,
And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see;
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see.

All the way my Savior leads me
O the fullness of His love!
Perfect rest to me is promised
In my Father’s house above.
When my spirit, clothed immortal,
Wings its flight to realms of day
This my song through endless ages—
Jesus led me all the way;
This my song through endless ages—
Jesus led me all the way.

sound of silence - english lyrics

The sound of silence,
that which I don’t want to hear,
is that cold night,
that which I want to avoid-
the discovered feeling
when the sun will come and burn me.
Why keep laughing,
when I feel that you aren’t there.
Why desire the seas
if my boat will only sink.
Why keep on living
if far off is where you are.

My strengths are quickly fading,
my dawn is ready to break.
Another day in silence
the one that just passed by…
Pass and they pass the minutes
in my dark loneliness.
Solitude that feeds itself
on the silence of your mouth.
That mouth that smiles
pronouncing my name like so.
That name you gave me
saying that yes my love
it’s my love, in you it waits
and always will wait.
It’s your love that condemns me
to this eternal freedom.
And even though a thousand silences go by…

I know that soon you will speak…
I know that soon you will speak…

The sound of silence,
where I know you will listen
to the whisper of my song
to the shout of my call
the calling of my soul
asking your freedom.
I want to continue laughing,
even though the cry is here,
though my boat is sinking,
I know that I will be able to swim.
The current of this river
will take me to your love.

You are my fortress,
mi shield and spear.
You are all that I have,
when I feel that you aren’t there.
You are my company
in this dark loneliness.
Loneliness that feeds itself
on the silence of your mouth.

Come back, come back the moment
of hearing you in your silence.
Come back, come back the moment
of hearing you in your silence.

Loneliness that feeds itself,
on the silence of your mouth.
That mouth that smiles
pronouncing my name like so…
I know that soon you will speak to me…
I know that soon you will speak to me…

sonido del silencio video

el sonido del silencio

“El sonido del silencio”
por Alex Campos

El sonido del silencio,
el que no quiero escuchar,
es aquella noche fria,
la que quiero evitar
el sentirme descubierto
cuando el sol me quemará

Para qué seguir riendo,
cuando siento que no estás
para qué quiero los mares,
si mi barco se hundirá
para qué seguir viviendo,
si a lo lejos tú estás.

Que las fuerzas se me agotan,
mi alba está por comenzar
Otro día en silencio
el que acaba de pasar…
Pasa y pasan los minutos
en mi oscura soledad
Soledad que se alimenta
del silencio de tu boca
Esa boca que sonríe,
pronunciando así mi nombre
Aquel nombre que me diste,
diciendo que sí mi amor
Es mi amor que en ti espera
y que siempre esperará,
Es tu amor que me condena
a esta eterna libertad
y aunque pasen mil silencios

Pronto sé que me hablarás…
pronto sé que me hablarás…

El sonido del silencio,
donde sé que escucharás
el susurro de mi canto
y el grito de mi llamar
el llamado de mi alma
pidiendo tu libertad
Yo quiero seguir riendo,
aunque el llanto aquí está,
aunque el barco se me hunda,
sé que yo podré nadar…
la corriente de este río
a tu amor me llevará.

Tú eres mi fortaleza,
mi escudo y mi lanza
Eres todo lo que tengo,
cuando siento que no estás
Eres tú mi compañía
en esta oscura soledad…
Soledad que se alimenta,
del silencio de tu boca…

Vuelve, vuelve el momento
de escucharte en tu silencio
Vuelve, vuelve el momento
de escucharte en tu silencio

Soledad que se alimenta,
del silencio de tu boca
Esa boca que sonríe,
pronunciando así mi nombre…
Pronto sé que me hablarás…
pronto sé que me hablarás…

snow patrol vids.

big fan of this band.

Life and death

I once read a book that talked about life and death. The point it made, or at least the point the author was making was that one always goes with the other, in both the literal and the figurative. You cannot have one without the other. Something of that has stuck with me ever since then.

Life is a series of stages. We pass through them one by one, occasionally skipping something until we arrive at the end. But that is jumping ahead.

We are born. We consist of eating and sleeping. Then slowly but steadily we transition into a rational being in which we consist of thinking and feeling. We maintain that level for a good number of years until the slow but steady transition back to a being that consists of eating and sleeping becomes more apparent and then we die.

Death is a rather large topic in and of itself but nevertheless, when one stops to ponder one's own death, the thought usually is a bit foreign. Other people's deaths can seem more imminent or real, but just as sure as theirs is yours and mine. There must be many stages in coming to grips with one's own death as life passes by. Not to do with terminal illness's or anything of the sort, but rather the normal, everyday, simple act of death that awaits me in X number of years. For instance, the thought of one's own death at 17 cannot be remotely similar to the same thought 20 years later and again 20 years after that. As I sat in a funeral the other day I found myself thinking of my own and how I would like it to be. Then it literally hit me that I won't be around for it. The realization was again, foreign. I have been involved in, present and participating in nearly everything to do with me in my life so far. That particular day however, I won't be. I realized that I don't dwell on it very often but that does not diminish the reality. All of that really to say that the concept of our own personal moving on is not one which we often let enter our thoughts.

Each stage deals with life and death. Each involves the death of certain parts and the birthing of others. More often than not, one does not pass into the new until they pass through the dying of the old. It is true with interests, relationships, behavior, thoughts, dreams and so on. They walk hand in hand, this life and death.

Just look back on your own life and the significant points and changes that you have walked through. How many occurred without something else, relatively major, dying some sort of figurative death?



What I am about to say is slightly scary. Scary because I am young, I could be wrong, or even more that I am writing truth and have no idea what it is to suffer it in it's entirety and all its consequences...
Death just might be something to embrace. And not to fear. For perhaps the main difference between the two companions, life and death, is that one is eternal and the other is slowly dying. And when that marked day dawns, that will be where the two companions separate, one will step into eternity and the other will take its final journey.

That day still awaits a different day's dawn and so the two companions continue to await each of us. Each is a reminder of the other. By embracing them both we step into freedom. Freedom to pass through one to have the other. Both in this life and the next. No one said it was easy. But maybe those who understand a little about death are the one's who understand the most about life. I'm not sure about that but it makes me wonder. Going even farther, maybe it's when both are embraced together that they are experienced as they really are and as they really should be.

Revelation 21 comes to my mind. It talks about Death dying.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away..." To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life.

So while everyone's eternal journey starts with both companions mentioned in the title, it is those who drink of the water, that soon only walk with the one.

and then i find this one- En Vivo

Rayando el Sol Unplugged - Maná

hot days at work

burning sun has been blazing down on me the last few days. it penetrates beneath my skin and heats from the inside. and leaves me crispified on the outside. it drains my energy and parches my throat. i drink water, walk away and am thirsty again. so i drink again. and then i am like a log floating in a water. waterlogged.

i move sluggishly about, still carrying a thirst. classic rock bellows forth from the trucks positioned about. a new song starts. "TRIVIA" someone yells, and while the song sounds familiar i can't spit out who it is. and neither can i spit period, because my mouth is like cotton again.

i've got concrete splashes all over my clothes, dirt in my shoes, and a lack of water in my system. but its all good, cause i'm at work.

Baseball days

Baseball days in Chicago with my dad and brother. White Sox versus Detroit Tigers. Sox win, 4-3 on a play at the plate in the bottom of the 9th.

Destination

Circles and patterns bleed into blurriness
while journeys finish and sky meets horizon.
Time winds down as life winds up,
and every body meets its end,
and then the maker.

Set Fire to the 3rd Bar

I find a map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from A to where you B
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place
Where I'd find your face
My fingers in creases of distant dark places

I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science

Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

-Snow Patrol

fire

fire in the backyard.

an update of the briefest proportions

i think whenever its been a while and i haven't written, i just fall back on the update title and then i can just write whatever comes to mind in the space below. it easy to fall into and hard to avoid. so i let myself go once again...

the coffee in Indiana is nothing compared to what we drink in Spain. there just ain't two ways of saying it. however at 4:50am i don't really care what is sliding down my throat, it just better help my eyes stay open. thats cause i am pouring concrete where i always pour it. the first few days back they were a bit slow and i didn't get to work. suddenly i realized how much it really is a blessing to have work and a way to earn money. and i feel blessed.

i have noticed that my language has deteriorated being back on the old mud laying crew. not foul or anything, i just twang my words and talk hick. its cause we do it on purpose to pass the time. just that after a while, its hard to stop... worrying. i could get fired from my English teaching position.

one thing thats been cool about being home is that i can drive! its one of the things i really miss being in Spain. That and my brother has got a manual 5 speed civic. good times.

there was a thing on victoria beckham on tv last night. i can't believe victoria beckham has made it onto my blog... but stay with me, im going somewhere with this. it was called 'victoria beckham: coming to america' or something along those lines. basically a non-education documentary. well it was educational, just not in an academic sense, more of a wow... so that is how people with that much money live. so i was watching it (after a fav show of mine, so it wasn't like i went looking for it) and i started liking her. no, i don't have a crush on victoria. i just mean in the sense that she is a somewhat likable person. and has a pretty good sense of humor. and she said the "major" about 60 times. cept she is English and so she says "maja". it was quite funny, everything was majaaa. you have to think in a posh English accent though. or it doesn't work. or maybe you just had to be there...

got a bit sunburnt the last couple days. not much more to say about that.

im gonna stop here otherwise this post won't be of the briefest proportions... and 'round here we like to stick by our word...

my theory.

what I don't think people are aware of is that humpty-dumpty was pushed.

umm, title notes

so as not to be confused, you should know that for the next month and a half the coffee will not be in España but rather Indiana.

but that's okay because while i may be addicted, we've got this sweet coffee maker that grinds the coffee and drips it out at whatever time you set it to. and what is more, i smuggled some coffee into the country with me. so that dripping in the background would be hot, black, spanish-speaking cafè baby. drink up!

back to the... homeland

here i am, arrived and kicking in the homeland. well kicking only after a big caffeine buzz. then i crash. on the floor. and to have my dad toeing me in the side, telling me i should go to bed. that's a lot of unwanted work, so i grunt, roll over and go back to sleep.

and wake up at 4:30 am. but that's life in a time zone 6 hours different to what my body is demanding. whew. good thing tomorrow is saturday. not that it makes any difference.

i think if i continue down this road it might soon be lacking coherence. so we'll wind her to a close and wait for inspiration to arrive, via video shown on the back of eyelids.

sun and clouds

i have to say, that flying above the clouds is one of the experiences i relish most. breaking through the clouds into perfect sunshine with a perfect expanse of white below is nothing short of breathtaking.

next wednesday i get to partake.

if I understand a little of what he is like...

Reading a friend's blog recently inspired me to do the same...



God is like the blue in the sky above the clouds, like water the first time drank, like the offered hand of a stranger that we feel we should know.
He gives concepts like paradoxes to put him in and aid understanding. He is always the same yet he suffers change of heart. He always was and is and will be, and was born then died.

God is like the summer's midday sun that doesn't relent.
He gives choice and then hounds into submission. He allows us fight him and sometimes we almost win. Then he shuts eyes, only to pry them back open. He demands much and is content with little. He demands all and doesn't stop until he has it. He doesn't force and holds with an open hand.

God is like a key that fits the door of a world we knew was there and kind of see but haven't yet figured out how to speak the language.
He is patient like the day is long. And sometimes in the long, dark night he is nowhere to be found. He doesn't leave nor forsake.

God is like perfection that isn't afraid to hold a child that has been playing in the dirt for a while.
He is faithful like gravity and even then he has been known to bend it. He is knows all and demands us to say it again.

He is like the eagle that gives up its wings so it can know what it is not to be able to soar.
He is a father whose children reject him.
He is a man whose wife is unfaithful.
He is open arms that never close, his voice never wavers, his heart never wanes.
He is love that cannot be summed up in all the love that was ever loved on this dirt planet. Except for the love of one who walked through life with open arms and then died with them in the same position.

God is like wind that blows. Arms can be open or they can be closed, but he will not be caught... and neither will he be outrun... in life or death.

stansted

i was in England for a brief period of time. three days to be exact. Friday Saturday and Sunday. well technically Sunday night as well. see our flight left at 7 am on Monday morning.

you do the math.

7 am flight. being international, must arrive 2 hours prior. estimated traveling time to airport, 1.5 hours. time to wake up and get things around and in the car, 15 minutes. so what time would the alarm need to go off?

if my math is correct (and i was an English major) it would be a 3:15 start. and who on this side of the planet would want to take someone to the airport at 3:15 in the morning, not to mention hitting London traffic on the way back.

thats a big no one. and the truth be told, i wasn't up for it either. so we went to the airport the night before. and we slept on the floor. on the cold, hard, dusty floor. all in all it wasn't the worst night i've passed. i think back to a night i spent in Madrid, waiting outside the bus station for a good 5 and a half hours. that was definately colder, harder and dustier. okay, so i didn't sleep loads but as long as you've got something to lay your head on...

which brings me to my main point. we weren't the only ones sleeping in the airport. i figured there would be a handful of other weary travelers and a couple of smart homeless guys. but truth be told again, there were MASSES of people. i am often a conservative guesser and but i reckon we were nearly touching 300 people. this is in lovely Stansted Airport by the way. if you don't know the size, well you can walk from one end to the other in about 10 minutes.

nothing personal against stansted actually. just its in the middle of nowhere, thats all. it faithfully serves the 70 people who live that side of london, which the other 3.5 million everywhere else are left with an eternal drive along Britain's busiest carpark. oh i mean road. oh i guess i didn't mention it. on the way, leaving the airport, we sat on that very road for 3 and some odd hours. bumper to bumper. who puts an airport at the end of a crowded road anyways?

but back to the airport, so people everywhere. hundreds of them. and what is more, some of them were professional airport sleepers. placing all joking to one side, we saw people on blow up matresses, with sleeping bags on top and about 4 pillows. who carries blow up mattresses, sleeping bags, and a 3 to 1 pillow to head ratio?!?!? obviously quite a few. and so to say its a sight i won't soon forget.

small airport, many people sleeping, or perhaps just trying to sleep. and a few, apparently smart souls snoring soundly away on their blow up mattresses in the middle of the Ryanair checkout line.

next time i'm going to Heathrow.

z z z

i've realized that the previous post was nothing more than an attempt at making myself tired so i would want to go to bed. occasionally i suffer this phenomenon where, tired or not tired, i don't want to go to bed. so i prolong the inevitable, doing meaningless tasks that have no eternal purpose, or even momentary for that matter. funnily, in the morning i always feel the opposite and ask myself what the heck was i thinking and why would anyone put off going to sleep?

i think it's connected with an subconcious fear of laying in bed for an hour, wide awake, not being able to sleep. but really, wide awake and not being able to sleep aren't that different.

obsessive compulsive paranoia comes to mind.

there's got a be a picture or at least something... anything!

nearly every time i sit down i don't know what i'm about to put down. i think it's what keeps this thing going.

but then sometimes i sit down and i just stare at the screen. or i type a sentence and delete it. retype a sentence and redelete it. till i either give up or go down a completely different line.

then there are the instances like what is happening right now. instead of giving up, i am just going to post what i've got down.

proverbs

a few i've stumbled upon.

I
he who lets offenses pass by,
creates ties of love;
he who does not, alienates his friends.

II
even idiots can pass for wise and intelligent
when they shut up and keep silent.

III
the fool has no desire to learn;
only the desire to flaunt what he already knows.

III
it's stupid and shameful
to respond before listening.

IV
what is at first easy to acquire,
in the end doesn't bring much happiness.

further spacing and a scorpion

the other day i stumbled upon a scorpion. yes a real live scorpion and it was carrying the body of a cockroach (previously mentioned) off somewhere... to eat it? (i dunno if they are carnivores or not.) but anyways it was my first experience with a scorpion in a live, anything goes environment. after a brief moment of incredulity, then a rush of adrenaline, and at last a brief panic attack, i analyzed the situation...

1- i am bigger than him.
2- i am faster than him.
3- i am stronger than him.
however,
4- i don't have a tail that i can jab into things leaving a poisonous trail.
but,
5- i do have shoes that i can use to squash his little jabby tail.
that being said,
6- i have nothing against the guy.
7- i hope he has nothing against me, other than the murderous thoughts i am thinking.
8- all he is trying to do is take some supper home to his scorpion children.
9- how would i feel if someone were to squash me while i was trying to feed my children? (not that i have children, but when i do...)
however,
10- my children will not be born with a tail with which they use to kill things.
11- it's not his kids' fault though that they do.
sidenote: i wonder if he used his tail to kill the cockroach? if that were the case than it would be a point in favor of the venomous tail. a small point, but a point.
moving on...
12- he hasn't cornered me.
13- i haven't cornered him.
14- there is nearly always a non-bloody solution if both sides are willing to work towards it.
15- we are 5 miles away from my house so it is highly unlikely that he will hunt me down tonight, come in through my open window, and stab me to death while I sleep, just for taking so long to decide how to maneuver this situation.

so we both went our separate ways. he to his home to feed the cockroach to his children, and me to my home to ponder how i would like to be treated if i had an awkward tail that instilled fear in 89 percent of gringos...

spacing

this is really just a post to get that ugly thing a bit further down the page so it's not the first thing one sees. that being said I'm going to have to write a bit more than this to move it along.

so an update ensues.

I've got short hair and no new teeth paranoia's. i am currently listening to my new Snow Patrol cd which I bought on iTunes. it's dang good. i haven't put on much weight I don't think, but then again, I don't feel as skinny as I used to. maybe that's cause it's been two weeks since anyone has made a comment. that's a pretty long time. cherries are in season in Spain. for those who don't know, Spain has the best cherries in the world. i currently have the pit of one in my mouth. I'm not chewing it cause they are pretty hard, but rather I've just got it there between my teeth and my cheek. it's like a comfort thing. june's a hot month. july and august are hotter but we aren't there yet. gets to be like 95 around here pretty easily. by the end its regular triple digits.

what else is new? well i am gonna be home for about 6 weeks in july and august. that's not new but it is coming up.

well I'm gonna leave it at that for now. i could think of more stuff to say but that would involve thinking for certain periods of time. what was written above came up spontaneously, and i feel like i might ruin the post to actually ponder what write. a pondered post deserves its own space.

la cucaracha

not to be gross or anything, but tonight we had a cockroach killing. now before you go all crazy and start saving their fur, let me just say they are pests. they are ugly, foul, with hairy legs, wings, and crunchy little bodies the color of... well why not just have a glance at the pic?
there is a drain outside of the house. at about 10 something at night Az made a trip out to the garbage bin to drop some stuff there. a few minutes later he runs up to the window motioning for me to come out. something about make sure you put some shoes on...
coming out of the drain of the house was nothing less than an army of roaches. big ones, little ones and all sorts of crunchy, dirty sizes in between. our neighbor had taken to spraying half a bottle of insecticide down the hole. what ensued could only be described as a massacre.
when it was all said and done we had taken the lives of between 150 and 200 of the suckers without suffering a single casualty ourselves. Az took one in the hair. I had a couple bounce off my arm, and Abby, well Abby didn't stick around too long. Az and the neighbor were dancing like lunatics, squashing the life out with the bottoms of their shoes while I was using a lethal right arm, armed with a flyswatter, to pick them off the walls. the downer with the flyswatter was that they occasionally bounced the little buggers back at you. and let me just say that they aren't easy to kill. more than one swat was often needed.

well after a good 20 minutes, no joke, they weren't coming out so fast. so we taped up the drain, finished off a few stragglers and swept the corpses into a pile on the road. all the while listening to the scratchings of few late comers trying to escape the now taped up drain. there was no sympathy floating about...

maybe the city will get those fumigators out here finally...

why not a random picture? i'm having trouble sleeping.

it's june now and time stops for no one.

i figure that sums up the recent blogging activity.

i'd like to express myself here. i'd like to explain what is new and where my life is headed. but. but it seems like the ink is dried up. that or someone has turned my pen upsidedown and the force of gravity is no longer drawing out the words. so either i need to get one of those pressurized pens or somehow get the pen back to rightsideup so gravity can do it's thing. maybe i'll opt for the second since pressurized things have the tendency of exploding on white shirts.

on the way to weddings in an elevator.

it's my screensaver right now. i thought i'd share.

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.

bolivia pt. VI

So it has taken me a while to get around to writing about we actually did in Bolivia. Really it is more about being than doing. One can only do so much, but in being a lot more occurs. So most of the time we just tried to be. We talked with people, we spent time with people, we ate with people, and of course we listened to people. In the end that is what it was about, getting to know life in Bolivia.

But that is hard to convey in words.

So I will just mention what we actually did.

We woke up early. The sun came up around 6. However at 5.15 the roosters starting their crowing. At 5.25 it was the dogs joining the. Around 5.40 or 5.45 the monkeys and parrots started in with their bit. Given that most animals in the village have free reign, quite a few found their way to a spot just outside my window. And at 6.00 to finish it off, the loudspeaker just down the road started giving the local announcements. So and so in such and such a street have killed a cow this morning and are selling meat... So by 6.15 there was no other option than to join the world and make some noise.

We ate. The food was different. I mean different, different as in different. There are differences between Spain and America and England's food, but Bolivia is different. But it was equally as good. That is to say I really liked it. Things like platano frito, yuca (in many shapes and forms), of course your meats and fishes, but in different forms. There is loads of fruit. Out back there were grapefruit trees, lemon trees, lime trees, mango trees, coconut trees (also known as palm trees), and some others that I'm probably not remembering. Of course not all are in season at once but a fair amount were and there is nothing quite like freshly squeezed lemon/limeade. We had freshly squeezed grapefruit as well, but with a large quantity of sugar. That reminds me, they also had sugarcane and coffee plants. See pics below (that's me with the coffee).




Food wasn't everything. We did some sharing. During the course of 8 days we were involved in 10 meetings. A couple on Sunday (one of which I preached), a prayer vigil, an open-air evangelistic meeting, a normal prayer meeting, an good Friday service, and some other bits. In all but two we either Desmond or I shared. On one particular day there were a couple of youth activities. In the afternoon we had a bible-study and shared a meal together afterwards. Then in the evening it was a social type event. Everyone invited loads of friends and in the end there were about 60 youth there. At the beginning I shared briefly just some things that God had done in my life and then during the second it was full-on games. By the end I was drenched in sweat. Humidity and running around with teenagers seems to leave one in that state.

We walked around the village and explored. Watched the women washing their clothes in the river. They seemed a bit shy at first, but they had no reason to be as they were still clothed. Hugo and I would cruise around the village in his car, him hanging out one side and me the other. On my side groups of little boys would accumulate suddenly, staring unabashedly at the white gringo who dropped in from outer space. We went for a swim in the river. It's called the Black River but its clean. Not of predators though, you can get cayman that reach 21 feet, but they generally stick to small cows and large dogs for their diet. Anacondas and other types of water snakes, eels, but not the Princess Bride type, piranhas, and so on. People have generally learned to live alongside these creatures that God has created and no one really gets hurt. Except for the creatures, but only when they try something. Then its a machete removing the head or the crack of a gun finishing it off. We saw none of these things however, which is why we have to go back in the dry season.






We took some horses and went traipsing around the jungle to see some of the land that Hugo works with. Hugo carried the pistol and I the .22. Again nothing threatened us and left me feeling like I wasn't getting my money's worth. Again, it's worth mentioning that it's not a true trip to the jungle till you've have to fight off predators trying to take your very life. Or at least something to give you a good story when you get home, even if you do have to spice it up...



Being the wet season, the village was basically an island, with water up to a horse's belly or higher outside of the village. This means that it's either by river or by plane that people come and go. It also means that the men aren't going out to work their fields. It's a lot of down time, but a lot of time to talk and get to know. It was amazing just to experience life with people there. Next time will be in the dry season, that will bring the flexibility to travel to the other communities nearby and see and share what God is up to there. Especially since Hugo and Erika spend a lot of Saturdays in those villages working with children and youth. That next time might not be much more than a year away...

un articulo

Entrar en un cierto país por primera vez, diferente al tuyo, es una experiencia única. Al pisar la tierra, tu mundo se abre y no saldrás la misma persona, porque llevarás un pedazo de ese país contigo por donde vayas. El mundo que veías antes en las fotos o tal vez en las noticias no es el mismo mundo que encuentras esperándote al respirar su aire. Todo se convierte en realidad. Las comidas cogen sabor, las casas ya son hogares y las caras desconocidas llegan a ser amigos.

Pasé más que dos semanas en Bolivia. Conocí dos lugares en particular, Santa Cruz y Baures, que está situado en el Beni. Son dos extremos, Santa Cruz, una ciudad de grandes proporciones y Baures, un pueblo tranquilo, medio aislado de las preocupaciones que siempre nos persigue. Muchas personas, que ya cuento como amigos, me abrieron sus vidas. Las dos semanas fueron intensas en el sentido de que las amistades llegan a ser bastante profundas en poco tiempo por pasar mucho juntos. Compartiendo la vida de mis amigos en Bolivia, comiendo su comida, durmiendo en sus casas y escuchando a sus corazones me afectó mucho. No ser afectado significaría no ser humano, puesto que somos designados a compartir quien somos. Por más que nos abramos nuestra vida, más nos enriquezcamos.

bolivia pt. V

So why did I go to Bolivia? There are a facet of answers I could give: I was asked to go, I am one to take opportunites to travel, I have friends there, etc.

Ah a combination of a lot of things is what it boils down to. But at the end of the day, or thought process, it was because God opened up a door. I think often we don't see the repercussions of our lives. From our viewpoint it is difficult to see the ripples that spread outward from ourselves. A friend of mine recently wrote about people who have affected her life and questioned whether those people actually have realised it. She mentioned that people are in your life for a reason and I agree. God places people in our lives, sometimes for a season, and sometimes for slightly longer term. Those people may or may not always know it, but God uses them for his purposes in our lives. Just as God places people in our lives, he places us in the lives of others. When ripples collide with something else they inevitably come back.

Hugo and Erika entered my life just over two years ago. I only knew them for two months. They were some of my first friends I made after coming to Spain. They took care of me, and treated me well. My Spanish was pretty limited and their English was non-existent, so our conversations didn't explore the depths. But there was a connection. Then after just two months they returned back to their home in Bolivia. They had come to Spain to work for a period, save money, and try to jump start their life in Bolivia (which by the way is likely the poorest country in South America). So after just two months they were no longer part of my life.

However ripples were set in motion and two years later, to the month, we met again, this time in Bolivia on the other side of the ocean. One of the last things we had talked about was how amazing it would be for me to see their home in Bolivia and know what life was like there.
This time was different, deeper, because while their English was still non-existent, my Spanish had vastly improved. This time conversations went deeper and language didn't limit so much. Thinking about it however, it wasn't language that either hindered or fostered the relationship, it was a connection on a different level that God brought about.

I don't know what will come of it all in the future. I do know that God has put them and Bolivia in my heart now. I am not the same person now who entered their country. What is clear is that there are ripples. Ripples that go both ways, ripples going out from me and ripples coming towards me.
God is doing something in Boliva. There is an openness in the people to hear about him. There is a desire to seek and know him. When you share about who God is, you can see him working in hearts. I went there to give and share, and like always, I recieved far more than I could have ever given.

So I went to Bolivia because God opened a door. And when God opens a door it is for a purpose. The purpose of God works both ways. It is to bring about things in us as well as to use us to bring about things. So I am excited to see where the ripples end up. I am excited to see what God is going to do through that friendship in the years to come. Whatever comes of it, no one will be unchanged by it all if God has anything to say.

native hunter/fisher

baures pt I (pt IV)

Baures is a village of about 4000 people. There is electricity supplied by a generator from 10.30 to 3.30 and 6.30 to 12.00 midnight each day. Unless you have your personal motor, you are limited to those hours. Note: next year they are implementing a bigger motor which will increase the number of hours of electricity each day. There are two main places where one can make phone calls. They operate as small businesses, to make a phone call you go there, enter a booth and make you call. A meter tells you your rate and how much your bill is. The same goes for internet. You go to the place, use the internet, and afterwards pay for your time. Note: shortly they hope to have internet available in housees for who are willing to pay the monthly fee. There is no cell phone/mobile phone coverage there, only in the larger cities.

The houses are very interesting. There are few if any glass windows, nearly everything is just a screen to keep out mosquitoes and other bugs and slightly larger carnivores. The temperature pretty much stayed between 70 and 90 degrees with high humidity. Blankets and jackets aren't really needed, not even in the mornings. Posted are a few pictures, portraying the diversity in housing.

The first picture is of Hugo and Erika's house, our friends with whom we stayed. Just beyond it is the jungle. Well jungle of a sorts. It was full of parrots, monkeys, all sorts of snakes, panthers, ants and other dangerous creatures along with a lot of water. Unfortunately during the wet season (which was just ending) one doesn't see as much wildlife as one does during the dry season. Note: next trip planned for the dry season. A trip there is not legitimate until one has to kill an animal with a pistol/rifle/machete while it is trying to take your life in a fit of rage. That's my opinion anyways. It makes you feel at one with the place. Note: the last bit was a bit melodramatic, it's not really that dangerous. But on the other hand, when one goes out to work in the jungle or country for the day, it is wise to carry some sort of firearm. Especially if you are gringo.

bolivia pt III

What followed the next day was a bit of walking around the city of Santa Cruz followed by a bus ride of 10 hours to Trinidad. Called a Flota, this particular bus was a "bus-cama" version. "Bus-bed" meaning the seats went back a good bit and a bit folded out from the seat in front for the legs. All that to say that I managed to sleep quite comfortably for about 7 of the 10 hours. No complaints here. We did stop once at 3 in the morning for a pee break in the middle of nowhere. Half the bus got up, shuffled behind some wooden shacks to some home-made port-a-jons. To flush, you had to pull your own water out of a tub outside with a bucket. I was just glad I didn't have to sit down.

You may be wondering why it took ten hours. It wasn't that it was that far, just that there were a lot of holes in the road that would have put the bus out of action for a while if hit at speed. So for the second half of the journey, in a sort of weaving motion, alternating back and forth and occasionally leaving the actual road, the driver navigated us to our destination.

Trinidad was as far as the bus could go. Next up, a small two seater plane. Due to the flooding of the plains around Trinidad and beyond, it would be by air that we would arrive. You can see both the airplane and the state of the earth below in several pictures and videos. As I've already mentioned the plane I won't recount that particular part.

So with that we pick up in Baures, the ultimate destination of this particular trip. A place that has now taken hold of something deep inside of me, and so far, hasn't let go.

bolivia pt II

I left Badajoz on a Tuesday night on a bus at 12:30am and arrived in Madrid at 5:30am. After an hours waiting in the bus station, I hopped on the Metro (subway/underground/whatever they are called these days) and road it around for a good hour and 40. Now it normally takes 40 minutes to get to the airport but I had time to kill. So I rode the line backwards and thought about what it would be like to live in a big city and ride the Tube to work everyday at 6am with several other hundred thousand people.
So at nearly 8am I pulled into Barajas Airport Madrid, with supposedly 5 hours to spare. Check in wasn't difficult and I waived goodbye to my main bit of luggage. 5 hours turned into 7 hours and I found myself being envious of the man in the photo. Years of practice have left him able to sleep in conditions I wasn't able to succeed in over the previous 10 hours.

The flight finally took off and it was a party on board. You see most of the people had been living in Spain for a good amount of time, often having left husbands or wives and children back in Bolivia while they attempted to earn money over a couple of years to send it back home. This flight, leaving Madrid and heading to Bolivia signified going back to everything they loved but the money. A fair amount of free food and alcohol was consumed on the flight. It was a happy 11 hours in the air, and an even happier landing for some.

They opened the doors of the plane and the humidity hit like the plague. Next was immigration. I went and stood in the short line labeled "tourists" till I figured out there was no one at the front to stamp my passport. So I went and stood in the long line labeled "Bolivians". Nothing like standing in a long line, sweating, looking like a white fish out of brown water, waiting to be let into a country where their leader isn't getting along with your leader. So I tried to look as Canadian as possible.

45 minutes later I handed over my passport to the one guy who was looking at all 200some passports.
"Are you American?"
"My passport seems to say I am."
"Do you have a visa?"
"I didn't think I needed a visa."
"You need a visa."
"I don't have a visa."
(And so on. Short phone conversation: "I have an American here without a visa. Do they need visas? Okay, okay. Alright then. Gracias.")
"Wait here, there is another man coming to talk to you."
(That particular man and I repeated the conversation quoted above.)
However at the exact end of the conversation, from over the loudspeakers came a woman's voice asking for a certain Señor Antonio Flora to report to the information desk. The man looked up at me, looked down at my passport, then back up at me. I puffed out my chest and tried to look important.
"Is that you they are calling?"
"Yes it is."
"Do you know why they are calling you?"
"No but it's probably important, I'm a very important individual you know. Denying me entry into your country could cause some serious international problems and not to mention, it would probably cost you your job."
(At this point you have probably figured out that my responses are the one thing I have been making up so far. The rest however is truth. Curiosity finally got the better of the man once they called my name again over the loudspeaker and with a stamp in my passport, let me know I had 30 days in Bolivia. However he was going to accompany me to the information desk to see why they were calling some American who had just flown in from Spain. When we found no one there, and the lady at the desk knew nothing about me, he asked to see my passport.)
"It's not false is it."
(I paused as I considered the stupidity of his question. Briefly considered pointing out that if I was to have a false passport, one, I would not tell him that it was false, and two, I would put in it a slightly better picture of myself. Considering the fact that I was in the country with my luggage and had a couple of weeks of adventure in front of me, decided to not be a jerk and simply replied that no, it was in fact a legitimate document and that I was just a humble law abiding foreigner who wanted to see a bit of Bolivia. After a long suspicious glance he disappeared off into the distance.

Turns out, my contact in Santa Cruz had called info an hour or so earlier asking for me. Why they chose that moment to announce me, I don't know. But God seems to have pretty good timing. One 35 minute taxi ride and 5 euros later, I was hooked up with Iván my first night's host.

the Beni

A couple of vidoes taken. The quality seems to have deteriorated, but you get the picture. All the water you see in the longer one is the flooding they have had in the Beni, particularly near Trinidad. Water, lots of water.

transportation

To get to the village of Baures... The wooden bench leaning against the wheel under the wing was my seat. Along with two other people. That was set on top of luggage right behind the only two seats in the plane: the pilot's and the co-pilot. Who was simply the passenger who weighed the most. I didn't get to sit there either time. To give you an idea of the space, I could have reached around the pilot at anytime with my arms and taken the plane's controls in my hands- without leaning forward too much. But with all the lack of personal space, I felt as one with the machine.

welcome to baures

Personally I like the color scheme and I should mention that the ventilation is excellent. What more can one ask for from the local airport? Which by the way, is the only get to the pueblo during this part the of the year. The rainy season takes out all the mud roads. Well one can take a boat, but that's a good few days on the river with blood sucking mosquitos. So we opted for the one hour plane journey. See plane above. What you can't see is the air-traffic control center, but there is one. It was empty when we landed... and when we took off. A couple of cows were grazing at the base though. I don't know what they do if they wander onto the runway. The odds can't be that low as it is made of sweet, juicy grass.

bolivia pt I

So I am home again after more than two weeks of time spent in Bolivia. Santa Cruz, Trinidad and Baures were all on the itinerary. I find myself questioning where to begin, how to relate the experiences I had there, and what is more, what to say about the aftereffects that are still rippling through me at this moment.

It was an experience unlike any other. But then again, when one is relatively young it isn't the most difficult thing to partake in something new. I shall put up photos and then explain them, that helps. I shall try to describe experiences and what it was like experiencing them. Perhaps even throw in a few statistics. But what remains is this: For the writer I am, good or bad, for the photographer, better or worse, the experience shall remain only fully mine. I will not be able to convey it in its entirety, nor even a large percentage. I can only throw out pieces. And I will not apologize, for that is simply the nature of what it is like in other parts of the world. Until one enters their borders, eats their food, and speaks with them, those young, those old and those in-between, one will not have actually tasted, seen, nor heard what is, in this case, Bolivia.

From my journal...
"It is always a one time experience- entering a country foreign to your own for the first time. One does not know what it will be like, though perhaps he tries to expect and imagine. Perhaps he has seen pictures, movies or even documentaries, yet it does not change a thing, for those mediums are like watching the world through a telescope. Entering a country for the first time is like being dropped naked into the ocean. It hits every sense in a way words cannot describe. So open your senses, because the next time will not be the first time."

back from...

ahh what a life - more to come...

de viaje

I'm going to be gone for the next couple of weeks. Off to Bolivia. If you didn't know about, I will tell you about it when I get back. So things might be a bit slow around here till the middle of April. But then I suppose there might be quite a bit to tell after that!

Pray for me, I don't want to bring and bugs back, and I can't afford to lose any weight. Plus that God would do some amazing things there! Hasta pronto!

by George MacDonald

Our old age is the scorching of the bush
By life's indwelling, incorruptible blaze.
O life, burn at this feeble shell of me,
Till I the sore singed garment off shall push,
Flap out my Psyche wings, and to thee rush.

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...