English Lessons. A topic that never fails.

Today in my private english class we practiced the structure “If I could…I would….”  This is a pretty complex concept for my two third graders to grasp.  If I were not such an awesome english teacher these little ladies would have certainly lost interest and starting talking about dreamy Miguel’s new mullet in the comfort of their native tongue.  But, you see, I am awesome.  I came up with a topic that was irresistible, even for these jaded juveniles.  Have I peaked your interest?  What theme could keep two boy crazy nine-year olds focused and using complex structures in a foreign language after a long day of school?  Hmmmm…or rather, Yummm!!! FOOD!!! Everyone and their mother wants to talk about what they like to eat, what they detest eating, what they would eat if they could eat anything for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.  So that’s what we did.  Our afternoon was spent pouring over pictures of food and learning the names and spellings of common dishes, all while squealing intermittently in delight or disgust depending on our own personal preferences.  The class culminated in a menu of what we would eat it if we could eat anything we wanted for all four meals in the day (BLD+Dessert!) We then shared what we chose with one another.  Susana began, “If I cold eat anythin for brefast I wold eat un sandwich with scrambled eggs and cheese and sausages, oranch jus, choc-o-late meelk, and choc-o-late cooookies y estaría rico rico rico.”  Her day also included a pizza with ham and manchego cheese, ice cream topped with whipped cream and candy (this wasn’t for dessert) and a big american style brownie.  Ainhoa (whose accent rocks and will not require that I spell every other word incorrectly) went next, “If I could eat anything for breakfast I would eat chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, chocolate cookies, chocolate milk and banana.”  Her following meals demonstrated little nutritional improvement.  You don’t even want to know what was in store for dessert.  Needless to say, the ladies were surprised to find out that if I could eat anything for a day I would eat vegetable fajitas (broccoli, onion, mushrooms, summer squashes, peppers, and tomatoes–ok, so tomatoes are technically a fruit) and guacamole (avocados=yuck according to the little ones).  They were less shocked by my election of a sausage pizza for lunch, but thought it could do without the spring onions.  Why would one want to taint a delicious pizza with a VEGETABLE??!!!  They shouldn’t have asked.  Along with the could-would lesson, my dear estudiantes got a little lesson in the shoulds of a balanced diet.  I drew a food pyramid and all.  But don’t worry, it stayed fun.  In the end they each voluntarily added vegetables to their ideal meal plans and Aihnoa even omitted some of her chocolate noting that it was to be eaten “sparingly.”  It was a proud moment for me.  I’m spreading the love of veggies, one esl kid at a time.  Estaría rico, rico, rico!!

Lions and tigers and bears….Oh my!

Lion: “What makes the Hottentots so hot? What puts the “ape” in apricot? Whatta they got that I ain’t got?” “Courage!” “You can say that again!”

I used to think that bravery was something you either had or you didn’t. A type of inborn trait like how some people have brown eyes and others have green ones.  I never considered myself part of the genetically privileged valiants.  In fact, I always considered myself rather cowardly and fearful.  For instance, while escorting a group of six-year olds to Magic Mountain one summer I panicked while in line for Jaguar, the kiddie-coaster.  You needed a mere 36 inches in height to ride and there I was, all 68 inches of me, heart racing and palms sweating in anticipation of Jaguar’s long drops and sharp curves.  (Note: my six-year olds showed no signs of concern.)  I did go on the ride but to this day it is the largest roller coaster I’ve ever ridden.  Moreover, I’m generally not a fan of heights.  I get spooked easily while walking alone at night and have been known to carry pepper spray on such occasions.  I hated being home alone up through high-school for fear of someone breaking in and while living in Boston last year I needed a special lock installed on my bedroom door to feel safe falling asleep.  I felt like kind of a scaredy-cat,  a whimp, a weakling.

And then something changed.  I moved here, to Madrid.  I moved here despite my seemingly paralyzing fear of the unknown, of leaving everything familiar and comfortable and predictable. With huge, deeply rooted fears, I still came.

While working on my Peace Corps application I perused some of the past volunteers’ testimonies.  Could I really live in a hut in rural Ecuador for two years?  The fearful voice kicked in, “No way, that’s terrifying!  What if you get sick? What if you’re kidnapped and sold in the underground sex-trade?  Maybe you should go back to the US right now because Spain probably isn’t safe either?” The voice ranted a bit until it was drowned out by a clear confident and calm one.  She didn’t tell little miss panic to go away but rather chucked and said, “Of course you can.  And it will rock.”

At 22 I feel braver than ever.  I still panic.  I still feel fear about my future and the unknown.  I’m still not a fan of roller-coasters or heights or walking by myself late at night.  But I’m currently living a european adventure that I’d honestly never thought possible.  And I know it’s just the beginning of many, many more.  Two years in rural Ecuador?  Hell yes!  A year of backpacking through Asia?  I’m so there.  Tango lessons in Buenos Aires?  Baby, bring it on, and the sooner the better!  I can do it all if I want.  Fear, feel free to accompany me through all of it, but don’t even think about holding me back.  You see I’ve got these new brave biceps I’ve been flexing and they are two fierce puppies.  Pretty much, you don’t stand a chance.  I guess that makes me strong. And maybe a little bit sassy too.

Spring Cleaning

I am cleaning my room this morning.  It’s long overdue.  My internal space is a mess right now, so naturally my external space looks like a war zone.  I have been working my way methodically from window to wardrobe with the occasional bout of weeping in between.  Scrubbing away the muck on my window panes brings up the emotional cobwebs I’ve been fiercely avoiding.  Dusting the frames that hold my brother’s pictures remind me that I’m still broken, that I still miss him, and that I could really use some big bro wisdom.  I fold my cashmere sweater from Calypso and think about my mom–how this minute she’s enjoying a sunny New York morning and how it’s been so long since we last strolled together arm in arm.  I throw away ticket stubs from my birthday trip to Barcelona and reminisce about couverts of red peppers and my dad’s infectious laugh.  It never seems like there is enough time.  Panic starts to surface about my plans for next year as I sort though bank statements, VISA applications, and my UCETAM contract forms.  Ambivalence isn’t simple.  My rainbow sandals take me back to California, strolling up Montana with yoga mat in hand.  Do I want that again?  What do I want?  I hang up my favorite chiffon dress and feel a jab of red-hot memory–his hand at the small of my back. I crumble.  What should I do?  What do I want to do?  I feel so far away from everything and everyone.  But most of all I feel far away from myself.   In tears I tackle another huge stack of papers inside of which is an old journal.  I haven’t been writing lately at all.  Avoidance is the name of the game, I guess.  I decide to toss it but before I do so I open it to a random entry.  This is what’s written.

“6/7/09

Dear Sarah,

First and foremost, congratulations for being human, for living with grace thus far.  You are magnificent.  And I want to tell you dear Sarah that this letter is meant as to remind you that at any moment you have the power to change your reality, simply change the dialogue.  I know you have been worried about your future, but tonight, on this beautiful night, I want to remind you of this feeling I am  having–EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE WONDERFUL.  You have a beautiful life unfolding and nothing you can do will mess it up.  I want you to realize that regardless of how you choose to spend your days (obsessing or enjoying) everything is in perfect divine order.  You will have a future that you love.  Anything is possible.  Anything.  Don’t worry about the logistics of it all just yet.  You don’t need to know exactly how it will go.  Anyway, knowing would ruin half the fun!  And it is fun, Sarah.  Life is meant to be enjoyed. Jesse is reminding you all the time that life is for living not for worrying.  In twenty years you will look back on today and wonder why you worried through this beautiful moment.  Because that’s really all there is Sarah.  You know, from potent life experience, that this can all end in an instant.  All there is is now and all now is is love.  So live that.  And don’t my dear, don’t spend another second in turmoil.  Cry and enjoy it.  Sounds strange I know, but it is healing.  Then when you’re done crying, smile.  Laugh.  Notice all of the details in everyday moments because you will be so full of experience that worry will be pushed out for lack of space.  And then be grateful for it all, Sarah, because this life is such a gift.  Start loving every instant of it.

I love you now and always,

Sarah”

Sometime we show up for ourselves.  That is definitely a gift.

My room is starting to look like itself again and I am starting to feel like myself.  The pangs of missing are still there.  I still feel torn about my next year on this planet.  But I’m here with me.  I’m re-connected.  There is now an uncluttered pathway from my bed to my doorway and a clear connection between me and myself.

Huevos

I was recently gifted a very unique and precious present from a fellow teacher at my school.  After my morning coffee María Sol tapped my shoulder and secretively advised me to come to her office before the lunch bell.  Her tone was mysterious, “I have something for you.”  During my next three classes I ruminated (my very favorite neurotic pastime) upon the possible items María Sol would present me with.  I started thinking broadly– a book about Spain, a museum recommendation, maybe the phone number of a possible intercambio?  Doubtful.  I hadn’t expressed any interest in a language exchange and cultural information is widely available and wouldn’t require such a peculiar introduction.  After a brain exhausting search of possibilities ranging from a leg of jamón to depilatory cream (we have the strangest conversations, us two), I settled on something for my immune system.  I had been sick almost non-stop since the fall and caring Ms. María always expressed concern for my health.  Based on her mysterious tone and Ms. M’s lovely eccentricities, I deduced my gift must be some secret spanish witch-doctor remedy for the allergy I obviously possess, to people under the age of 8.  Thank you Jesus!  I’d been looking all over!  But when I arrived in her brightly lit classroom there were no foul-smelling tinctures or herbal bath soaks in sight.  There wasn’t even a plastic bag with a green cross, indicating a trip to the pharmacy.  Instead, perched atop her cluttered bookcase was a small plastic tupperware cradling three pristine brown eggs.  “They’re from my hens,”  she said quietly, as to not disturb the freshly laid creatures. “I collected them this morning.”  Her proud smile spread wide across her plump, rosy face.  She then detailed her hens’ diets of foraged greens and spring water.  “These eggs are different from any eggs you’ve ever tasted.”  I had expressed on numerous occasions my love of food, eating, spanish cuisine, local food, wine, golly the list goes on.  María Sol had taken note and wanted to share with me a food experience I wouldn’t forget.  She gave me three of her babies!  I was grateful…and excited!  One of the most memorable dishes of my life was “this morning’s farm egg over parsnip purée, stone barns greens and lardo,” at Blue Hill in the West Village.  Now I had three “this morning eggs,” and was smitten.  I practically skipped home (with caution, as to not rumple any feathers) and fried myself up a delicious egg over lightly sautéed asparagus and wild oyster mushrooms.  The meal was, I say modestly, perfect.  I actually licked the plate.  Blue Hill was fantastic, but this baby was made with spanish style LOVE.

My little eggies:

My delicious meal:

So the question is…

Simple answer: hell yes.

Happy Birthday to ME!

The Antlers

Currently listening to the Antlers on repeat. So sad. So good. And the music video is amazing.

Big Bad Wet Lung Blues

I haven’t been to work in a week.  I won’t return to work until April 6th.  You might be wondering to yourself, “How did this girl manage to get herself such a super vacation?”  but the truth is less enviable than you might think.  In fact, I would much rather be working if it meant I could get some clean lungs.   Yup, it’s a yucky story.  I’ve got pneumonia.

It’s been ten days of BAD.  Unfortunately when I went to the doctor a week ago she didn’t detect there was anything too wrong.  She recommended liquids and rest.  (Might have listening to my chest given her a clue?  Maybe?)  I did rest.  I drank lots of liquids. I took my temperature religiously, amazed that despite my very intense symptoms (chills, body aches, and the occasional hallucination) my fever never seemed to go higher than 38° C (or 100.4° F).  Fast forward to Sunday night, I’m completely delirious, my body aches and chills leave me convulsing in the fetal position on my cold bathroom floor.  I vow to go to the hospital in the morning.  I still think my temperature is 38°C. I finally catch some sleep and wake up in my living room wearing a different pair of wet pajamas.  It was a rough night, but I did feel well enough to get myself to the hospital.  Things happen pretty fast in the ER when you look as bad as I looked.  When you can’t really stay standing, they start to worry.  So I was quickly seen by the doctor who did listen to my chest (normally a good thing to do), looked in my ears, my mouth, and took my temperature.  “Mi hija,” she said, “you have a very high fever.”  I told her it stayed around 38 all week.  “No cariño, it’s 39.6.”  Jesus.  My thermometer was broken. It all made so much sense now.  You might think 1.6° isn’t that big of a difference but we’re talking Celsius people.  It’s kind of the difference between 100.4° and 103.4° F.  So yeah, pretty high fiebre.  Needless to say I got a sweet little IV that made me sweat like a dog and brought that baby right down.  Then I had blood taken and was whisked away to radiografías.  I mentioned I was feeling light headed and they assigned a huge nurse to be my personal spotter during my chest X-rays.  Good thing too, because for the first one I did get woozy and lost my footing.  Standing up is hard when you’ve got pneumonia and there are needles in you.   A long wait and several viscous coughing attacks later, I saw the doctor.  The blood tests and X-Ray’s confirmed it, “Corazón, you’ve got pneumonia.” They gave me my first round of antibiotics in my second IV drip of the day.  I was becoming a pro at this tube thing. Or at least learning to tolerate it.  I also got a nifty little mask to wear that gave me oxygen and some bitter tasting medication.  I had to breathe deeply in through my nose and out through my mouth.  This sounds easy, but I assure you it was not.  Breathing is all grand and good until it’s labored and your lungs are filled with fluid.  Then it just hurts.  Not fun.

I’m happy to report that today I’m feeling better if a bit exhausted.  I plan to continue in the direction of healthy horizons.  I’d like to enjoy a little of my vacation.  And my birthday is coming up!!  Pneumonia is not on the itinerary for 22, so I’ve gots to heal.  If you think of it send some healthy vibes my way folks.  I’m not sure how all that jazz works, but it couldn’t hurt, might help!  Love to you all!

S.

Spring is HERE!

Spring is here!! Yipadeedoodah!!  That’s right, shout it out!!  Yesterday officially marked the vernal equinox of 2010 and I am ecstatic.  Spring is undoubtedly my favorite season.  This is partly due to my being a spring baby (March 29!!!), but mostly because of the potent message spring offers to all of us: new life, new beginnings.  The last five days of winter I was bogged down with a nasty flu.  Yesterday, on day one of this glorious season, it let up.  My fever lifted, my voice returned, the chills and aches disappeared. I could BREATHE.  I left my house (read bed) for the first time in days, walking tentatively on weak but ready legs to the market in Chamberí.  At first, my body  felt awkward in it’s new upright position, but after a few klutzy steps with an uncoordinated gait, I hit my stride.  I was one of the flock, strutting and sauntering like the best of ‘em.  Now I just have to figure out this flying thing….

If you do catch a little bit of winter this spring, here is my recommendation for nipping it in the bud: Vitamin C, Yin Ciao or Wellness Formula (or both, dude), fresh ginger tea (I drank like 10 cups a day), Garlic Ginger VEGGIE Miso Soup (picture below), homemade cough syrup: honey, cinnamon, black pepper, powdered ginger, apple cider vinegar.

This post was deleted because I spoke a little too soon.  I was feeling optimistic about my illness but as you can tell from above post, I didn’t quite get better like I thought.  I’m putting it back up though because I like the sentiments.  It’s my blog.  I do what I want!

A Lesson in Conflict Resolution

As you probably know by now, I work with children.  Small ones.  Three through seven-year olds to be exact.  It’s kind of a shit show (pun intended).  During a typical day I hear 50 different children discuss their snot, pee, and light up sneakers.  It’s both gross and adorable.  I complain about them a lot.  My favorite spanish exclamation is “Qué pesados!”  This translates literally as “How heavy!” but in english we might say, “they’re annoying.”  I like the word “pesado” because when you’re trying to get the attention of 30 four-year-olds that’s exactly how you feel–heavy–weighted down by their screamy, snotty, and squirmy selves.  Then again there are those moments when I’m reminded of how great I have it too.  As a preschool teacher I’m privy to things to which the outside world is not.  A couple of weeks ago, for instance, during an engaging round of “What is the weather today?” I witnessed a priceless demonstration of conflict resolution.  Samuel and Raúl are two dudes who can’t decide whether they’re friends or foes.  During my grand finale of spinning to illustrate stormy weather, Samuel comes up to me, brow furrowed and fists clenched saying, “Raúl me dio una batata!!!” or “Raúl kicked me.”  I look at Raúl disapprovingly and told Samuel to sit back down.  Samuel did no such thing.  Instead he turned around briskly, marched back to his place in the circle and sucker punched Raúl straight in the face–BONK!  Samuel knew that I’d seen his violent counterattack and before I could say anything, even before Raúl could let out a cry, Samuel was smooching him on the lips like a little lover.  Raúl’s shock turned to contentment and he seemed to have forgotten the punch entirely.  If only we could all be so quick to apologize for our mistakes.  And equally as quick to forgive.