This week, 22 eggs have made their way into several tortillas espan(tilde)olas and lots of pasta, pasta, pasta and 5 gallons of worm castings will slowly be used to start more seeds.
I can't wait to pull something green in from the yarden! First up, I do believe, will be rhubarb and the flower head of Petasites japonicus, AKA Fuki.
Check out what others are preparing to harvest or blessedly harvesting over at Daphne's Dandelions.
30 marzo 2015
29 marzo 2015
-a big sigh-
So, I have known since high school (Gracias, Destinos.) that when (most? all?) Spanish-speakers talk to their children, they use the Ud. form. It's really the best way to learn it. And then once they get to school, the playground teaches them the informal forms.
But then I lived with a family in Spain. Now, the son was already 7 and in school, so maybe that's why Lola always talked to him informally. ¡Ponte las zapatillas! ¡Tómatelo ya! The years of false formality had ended, I guess. Or, maybe Spanish Spanish-speakers do just distinguish more between the two; I mean, they use vosotros after all.
Now, the day that I met my dear first child, I thought about it: Which to use? And I chose the informal.
Last Friday I seriously regretted my decision. In the doctor's office, with the amazing Dra. Martínez... well, how were my kids to know to address her formally? They wouldn't. If we were living in a Spanish-speaking country, they would have picked up on it; but we don't, and I am their main source of imperfect language input.
Ay!
Do I switch over now? Do I just stick with what I'm doing and be thankful for any input that I give them, no matter how perfect it isn't?
-a big sigh-
But then I lived with a family in Spain. Now, the son was already 7 and in school, so maybe that's why Lola always talked to him informally. ¡Ponte las zapatillas! ¡Tómatelo ya! The years of false formality had ended, I guess. Or, maybe Spanish Spanish-speakers do just distinguish more between the two; I mean, they use vosotros after all.
Now, the day that I met my dear first child, I thought about it: Which to use? And I chose the informal.
Last Friday I seriously regretted my decision. In the doctor's office, with the amazing Dra. Martínez... well, how were my kids to know to address her formally? They wouldn't. If we were living in a Spanish-speaking country, they would have picked up on it; but we don't, and I am their main source of imperfect language input.
Ay!
Do I switch over now? Do I just stick with what I'm doing and be thankful for any input that I give them, no matter how perfect it isn't?
-a big sigh-
Inspired
Due to G's nearly constant wearing of Jared's old frames, we have all decided to have a bit of fun!
27 marzo 2015
And the eye saga continues
"¡Madre mía!" as Lola would say.
It has been over a month dealing with G's double iritis. We have been to six appointments; five being totally disastrous. He has been sedated, he has been unsuccessfully restrained in The Papoose and he has been totally knocked out.
Today we finally had a successful and peaceful eye check-up. ¡Gracias, Dra. Martínez! Yes, the newest doctor speaks Spanish and conducted the entire exam in Spanish today. I don't know if it was the gentle lilt or what, but the child was a champ. Thank God! And how fun for me!
It has been over a month dealing with G's double iritis. We have been to six appointments; five being totally disastrous. He has been sedated, he has been unsuccessfully restrained in The Papoose and he has been totally knocked out.
Today we finally had a successful and peaceful eye check-up. ¡Gracias, Dra. Martínez! Yes, the newest doctor speaks Spanish and conducted the entire exam in Spanish today. I don't know if it was the gentle lilt or what, but the child was a champ. Thank God! And how fun for me!
And G said...
... upon the door not closing all of the way when trying to shut it, "¡Calderas hirvientes!" Gracias, Thomas.
21 marzo 2015
The Host Family
I remember begging my parents to host an exchange student when I was in high school. For some reason, I have always wanted to bring people "in." When they wouldn't get on board with my idea, I found ways around their disinterest by instead sharing my room with a stressed out frenemy, having friends to stay for the summer and hosting Racine on winter weekends.
My first host family... seriously, I am ashamed at not being able to remember their names. I stayed with them in Puertollano for about a week when I was 15. I shared a room with the daughter, who, I remember, smoked on the sly out her window every morning and night. I remember hanging out with her and her friends, eating sunflower seeds on the street corner, talking about boys and dancing. I remember that the family thought it was "cute" that I always said, "Sí" to more bread, it being the only familiar anything to me. I remember eating -what I would enjoy now, but then didn't appreciate- cheese, which I held in my cheek till I could excuse myself to the bathroom to spit it out in the toilet. I remember that my mother was SERIOUSLY convinced that I had been kidnapped by gypsies (Yes, gypsies.)... because she didn't know how to make an international call properly.
And then I returned to Spain, this time to Sevilla, when I was 21. I remember being dropped off in front of my new home, pushing the call button and being so nervous that all I could say was, "Soy la americana." Ha! My dear Lola and sweet brother Manuel took me in as their own. I remember watching The Fresh Prince of BelAir with them on TV. I remember when Abuela Manuela would come to town, giving me chocolates and throwing Lola's life into an ugly fit. I remember when the fun cousins came from Marbella and we got into trouble for playing and singing Alejandro Sanz's songs too loudly. I remember la Feria, swirling and twirling in the sherry-tinged lights. I remember taking Manuel to the university to check my mail; and in the process, making his month! I remember having my bags packed and Manuel grabbing at my legs, sobbing and screaming, "¡Emi! ¡No te vayas! Por favo', ¡no te vayas!" It broke my heart to leave them.
A few weeks later, I was already in Quebec, staying with another family whose names I don't remember. I do remember eating a salad every night for dinner, because... what else would a vegetarian eat? I remember that my host-father would make me say French tongue twisters at the table and quiz me on obscure vocabulary. I remember once being invited into the living room to watch an opera on TV with the family.
And then several years later, I found myself with yet another family in Smila, Ukraine. I remember that the mom worked as a "barman" and was never at home. I remember that my host-brother's friends always wanted to come over to look at me and he told them that I was a guest in their house, not an animal in a zoo! Spasiba! I remember realizing that I had been given the son's bedroom, pushing him to the couch. I remember eating pasta with carrot sauce and tea for breakfast a lot. I remember the golden tea set they gave me for my birthday.
Every welcome was warm, although the level of acceptance into the family seriously varied. I have been cared for around the world by strangers and I am so grateful.
And now, FINALLY, it is my turn! I am so thrilled to become Host-Mom to a pair of brothers from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia next week! (A funny thing is that I could actually be their mother by age. It is crazy that I could have kids in college, when mine aren't even in elementary school.) I will certainly strive for the Lola-Manuel-Emi dynamic, but I know that it is a two-way street.
To being a host-family!
My first host family... seriously, I am ashamed at not being able to remember their names. I stayed with them in Puertollano for about a week when I was 15. I shared a room with the daughter, who, I remember, smoked on the sly out her window every morning and night. I remember hanging out with her and her friends, eating sunflower seeds on the street corner, talking about boys and dancing. I remember that the family thought it was "cute" that I always said, "Sí" to more bread, it being the only familiar anything to me. I remember eating -what I would enjoy now, but then didn't appreciate- cheese, which I held in my cheek till I could excuse myself to the bathroom to spit it out in the toilet. I remember that my mother was SERIOUSLY convinced that I had been kidnapped by gypsies (Yes, gypsies.)... because she didn't know how to make an international call properly.
And then I returned to Spain, this time to Sevilla, when I was 21. I remember being dropped off in front of my new home, pushing the call button and being so nervous that all I could say was, "Soy la americana." Ha! My dear Lola and sweet brother Manuel took me in as their own. I remember watching The Fresh Prince of BelAir with them on TV. I remember when Abuela Manuela would come to town, giving me chocolates and throwing Lola's life into an ugly fit. I remember when the fun cousins came from Marbella and we got into trouble for playing and singing Alejandro Sanz's songs too loudly. I remember la Feria, swirling and twirling in the sherry-tinged lights. I remember taking Manuel to the university to check my mail; and in the process, making his month! I remember having my bags packed and Manuel grabbing at my legs, sobbing and screaming, "¡Emi! ¡No te vayas! Por favo', ¡no te vayas!" It broke my heart to leave them.
A few weeks later, I was already in Quebec, staying with another family whose names I don't remember. I do remember eating a salad every night for dinner, because... what else would a vegetarian eat? I remember that my host-father would make me say French tongue twisters at the table and quiz me on obscure vocabulary. I remember once being invited into the living room to watch an opera on TV with the family.
And then several years later, I found myself with yet another family in Smila, Ukraine. I remember that the mom worked as a "barman" and was never at home. I remember that my host-brother's friends always wanted to come over to look at me and he told them that I was a guest in their house, not an animal in a zoo! Spasiba! I remember realizing that I had been given the son's bedroom, pushing him to the couch. I remember eating pasta with carrot sauce and tea for breakfast a lot. I remember the golden tea set they gave me for my birthday.
Every welcome was warm, although the level of acceptance into the family seriously varied. I have been cared for around the world by strangers and I am so grateful.
And now, FINALLY, it is my turn! I am so thrilled to become Host-Mom to a pair of brothers from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia next week! (A funny thing is that I could actually be their mother by age. It is crazy that I could have kids in college, when mine aren't even in elementary school.) I will certainly strive for the Lola-Manuel-Emi dynamic, but I know that it is a two-way street.
To being a host-family!
Boo Mercury!
 |
| Post-early-birthday-gift... oh so happy! |
 |
| Reading time. See the specs? So, those are old frames of Tito's, which are now G's favorite fashion statement. He wore them ALL day long, through dinner, during a movie. I love the look! |
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)