Author: alwaysbridging

Noon lunches at Escuela Colibrí are nothing short of delectable. For one thing the view from the long table on the open-air veranda is spectacular. First there’s the fruit trees—papaya, coconut and the like–from which the juice that accompanies the meal is made.  Further away is a territorial view of the valley, city and mountains beyond. Cinnamon hummingbirds, orioles, motmots and magpie-jays flit here and there.

The food is as fresh as possible because many of the ingredients—spices and vegetables—are grown in the surrounding gardens amongst native poinsettas, azaleas and hibiscus. The presentation itself is striking too. For instance, note the lettuce canoes in the photo allowing one to eat the beet salad as well as fried corn discs with fingers.

Often I had the sensation of prayer throughout the meals. A deep sigh when I initially smelled and saw the food before digging in and then pausing and recognizing the rush of warm gratitude while tasting. I was grateful for my wonderful fortune to be there in the precise moment that was NOW. Savoring the view, the nourishment and the company.

All of this in a bath of Spanish surrounding me and enabling conversation with others. Fortunately the teachers were scattered amongst us so there was hope, not that they ever spoke English but God, are they clear and, oh yes, patient. Definitely patient.

At one such banquet I sat across from Ceci and a man I hadn’t met yet—Lester. Gradually it became obvious they’re a couple. I confirmed this with one of my lines that gets a good chuckle most of the time, “Is he your favorite husband?” The line works in Spanish too so I was buoyed along by the laughter and tried another standard, translated into Spanish, “Lester, me gusta tu sabor…” (My plan was, “I like your taste in women.”) Right away, mid-sentence, the teachers, several of them, were giggling and correcting me, saying “tu gusto.” It took me more seconds than I’d like to admit to get their drift because I was pretty sure my conjugation of the verb gustarse was correct. No, they were telling me I had said that I liked the taste of Lester not his taste in women. Jajaja! (Hahaha!) A bit embarrassed but not silenced. How’s a girl to learn? After all, I won’t forget the noun el gusto, will I?

The plot thickens because that very day as I walked down the hill toward Marlene’s, I met a fellow dressed in full costume carrying his bass guitar. I am not kidding. We exchanged pleasantries which was easy enough, given his mariachi get-up. It got to the point that introductions were in order so I stated, “Soy Penélope,” to which he responded with delight, all smiles, “Me llamo Lopéz también, Natividad Lopéz.” (“My name is Lopéz too…”) Funny, so he thought my accent was colloquial and I’d dropped the z. Ha! My question was what in the world did he think about my first name because pene means penis in Spanish?! Finally in my process of learning this second language, I am recognizing the importance of emphasis (for example, the name César is different from cesar meaning to cease.) Maybe Pené is a perfectly reasonable name in Spanish just like Natividad (nativity in English) is.

Regardless today’s story begins and now ends as it should, “Buen provecho!” I’m not exactly sure how that translates but it’s used to acknowledge how wonderful good food is and before every meal with good reason.

There’s a bunch of standard ways to stay healthy in the tropics when off the standard tourist beat: drink filtered or bottled water, wash your hands, wear shoes. But if you want to be well, it’s best to dance.

For older gals like me, you’re extra lucky if you have a son who is a musician and teaches Spanish to middle schoolers. In early 2018, mine sent me links to several current Latin tunes in response to a request for wholesome music we could play at my elementary school’s multi-cultural night. So when I went to Nicaragua, I had a mix of some of the greatest.

One—Soy Yo by Bomba Esteréo—is about a girl with confidence. The video tells her story as well as any words could. The morning after I got home I visited our 6^th grade classrooms to finish the lessons on preventing child sexual abuse. In our district, elementary school counselors are required to discuss this topic in all classrooms each year. I realized while driving to work, less than 48 hours after I’d left that warm, sweet tropical climate behind, that the first story I’d share with the kids was the one about this child who proclaims “Soy Yo” (“I’m Me”) and chants to herself “Relajar” (“Relax”) and “No te preocupes” (“Don’t worry.”) Since sexual abuse has had a significant presence in my FOO’s story, I know how important restoring confidence can be. The second clip, a story told by a 12-year-old who was regaining his confidence after telling the story of being abused, was softer to hear and then discuss after Soy Yo.

Another favorite tune for me is Vivir Mi Vida (Live My Life) by Marc Anthony. The video doesn’t live up to the fantastic lyrics and rhythm but non-Spanish speakers can always tap into Google Translate for help.

During my recent trip to Nicaragua, whenever I felt myself start to tighten up, I called up a tune on my iPhone and danced a few bars. For a change I remembered the salsa steps from the dance lesson earlier in the week and danced in my pajamas one morning with my homestay kids, all of whom are semi-pro folkloric ballerinas.

Thank you, Clarke Reid, Teacher Man. Such a fabulous idea to enliven classes by exposing your students to new tunes from Cuba, Columbia, Puerto Rico, the DR, etc. Then after they’ve successfully learned the lyrics by the end of the week, rewarding them with the video. Much better than verb conjugations drill…much better. Then gifting your grateful Mom with the playlist. Gracias, muchas gracias.

So this girl, Marlene Castillo, and I are becoming famous for our escapades. At least in my heart, thanks to her big one. I stay in Marlene’s compound-like home when I visit Matagalpa, a city in the mountainous tropics of Nicaragua.

When we are together the laughs are free-flowing. These days I understand most of what’s going on. For instance I could throw in a word or two when we talked local politics with the retired Texan who showed up via Airbnb speaking near-perfect Spanish. He even had enough faith that he coached me about use of the subjunctive tense. Ha! I’m still trying to use the correct past and future tenses without slowing down the conversation too much. And my vocabulary will always be developing. By now I know one word for most things…which reminds me that there are several for purple. I’m grateful Marlene used the right one the other day at breakfast.

Every morning she makes a hot breakfast and serves it promptly at 7 before my Spanish lessons at Colibrí commence. Most family members were already on their way on this particular morning. So she sat down at the table to eat and chat with me. Joaquin, her quiet husband, also joined us for the first time ever. Don’t get me wrong. I like Joaquin a lot. He reminds me of Rob. He is a capable provider, a builder and professional driver. While I could never translate it, I get his dry wit. Marlene has perfected the clarity of her speech plus the use of her hands and acting acumen to make communication possible with even the most elementary Spanish speaker. But Joaquin, like most Maltagalpinos, drops the s’s at the end of words and relies on his eyebrows and lips to tell a lot of the story.

So when he started speaking that morning I perked up. I didn’t want to miss a bit of his tale. Between the two of them they began telling me about work he does with Marlene’s cousin Janet in the nearby rural communities. The story centered around a new-to-me verb—barner, or was it barnir?—and its first person present conjugation. As sometimes happens Marlene was translating my Spanish into words that other Spanish speakers, in this case Joaquin, could understand. Still we were stuck.

Finally Marlene looked squarely at me and used two cognates out of the three words she articulated to describe things as simply as possible. Bless God for cognates—the 20,000 words that are similar in several languages including English and Spanish. When read they are easy to translate. When pronounced, not so much. Still the three words were: Grande (a Spanish 101 word which means Big…Marlene held her arms wide though just in case my brain was still a blank vacuum), Violeta (thank God this was the choice she used for purple instead of morado or lila or even púrpura because the others may not have made it through my haze) and then televisión (and you all know what that means.)

Bravo! Ka-rum-ba! They were talking about BARNEY, for God’s sake. No wonder they continued to give me a chance to figure it out. I work with little kids after all. I had raised a couple of my own in the shadow of this jolly purple being and they were telling me that sometimes Joaquin dressed up as Barney to teach the kids when his NGO visited the countryside. My God, did we laugh…until my sides ached. Voy a reír (I’m going to laugh.)

I think this might be a story I’m supposed to keep under my hat for some reason. I mentioned it to Janet a couple days later when we were all together for Matagalpa’s anniversary celebration (that’s a story in itself). Given the way eyebrows flew and lips curled when I started into it, I decided to message Marlene before posting.

She, and Joaquin too, gave me permission to share this tale. I am still not certain why there might be any hesitation. It could be the Santa Claus phenomena…when someone is dressed in a great costume they become the character and that’s all there is to it. No one has permission to mess with the fantasy life of children. Anyway, that’s the way it is with my Spanish…I miss the details and have to rely on my read of body language and basic intuition a lot. Luckily over the years I’ve come to trust both of these ways of knowing in addition to what the words tell me.

And some tales just beg to be told, especially when the joke is on me, the teller, or the listener as it were. After all, in our parts we never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Who’d want to do something silly like that?

Valentine’s Day began shortly after midnight on the 14^th when my love Rob Reid picked me up at the airport after a long trek back from Managua, Nicaragua. Early the morning before, I’d had the good sense to swim in Laguna de Apoyo, before ten hours in the air and finally un abrazo grande (big hug) in the welcoming arms of my favorite husband. Since Valentine’s Day fell on a second Wednesday, I slept a few hours and then joined my creativity circle—The Jewels—for our monthly rendezvous. Ordinarily this might have exhausted me. Instead I had enjoyed ten days away and each day I had carved out time by myself to draw, meditate and reflect—a strategy I’d learned as part of this very trio. Being with these two good friends on my first day home seemed like an extension of my trip, the perfect antidote to re-entry jet-lag and a way to let the beauty of liminal space carry on.

And this trip…why so special?…why so necessary?

Some background: Three years ago my Dad died. Then my dog died. Then I published my book, Bridging Languages, Cultures and My Life, essentially about my five years traveling back and forth to Nicaragua and learning Spanish in middle age. It’s also about being at home…and learning to take this feeling of contentment and basic pleasure with me wherever I go. My creativity practices help in this quest. In fact they are life-giving.

I have marveled at others who travel around the world, moving seemingly effortlessly across borders, between languages, back-and-forth, to family, to work. People who stay well and don’t seem to stress much about it.

I realize, bless Pat, after ten days in Nicaragua, finally back there with Marlene and her beautiful family, that I am one of those people.  And as an educator, I was lucky to be in Matagalpa for the first day of the children’s school year. The younger ones in my household were school-aged—one started preschool, one his first year of secondary school and another started her final year. Talk about a fun evening to be welcomed into the conversation of my Nicaraguan family.

After Marlene’s I added two days for intentional reflection at La Abuela’s, a Nicaraguan-owned refuge and cabins. It’s situated in an ecological reserve beside a gorgeous lake in a volcano’s crater. Here was a place I could swim in what Nicaraguans call agua dulce—fresh warm water that has the slightest hint of salt, not enough to taste or sting my eyes but enough to hold me up while I floated and pondered my very good fortune.

Most of this trip I studied at the Spanish school, Escuela Colibrí, newly located on the side of Cerro Apante in the mountain town of Matagalpa. In fact, they set up the homestay so that my Spanish learning continued 24/7. More to follow about Colibrí in subsequent posts. For assistance with other travel around the country, I used and highly recommend Matagalpa Tours, a sister business of the school.

Now that I am reassured I can stay healthy and have a blast, I am tempted to sign up quickly for the longest stretch a “tourist” can manage. This is definitely what my Spanish needs so I can be fluent.

What is the secret for me? Yes, drinking filtered water and washing my hands helps. And now there’s even wi-fi at Marlene’s and La Abuela’s cabins so it’s possible to stay somewhat connected, if desired. This helps too. But mostly it’s about laughing and dancing every chance I get. I also finally know how important it is for me to carve out quiet, alone time every day. My intention was clear and I re-visited it every day. These drawings are the result:

Once I calmed myself enough to help a tiny chickadee who’d flown into our cabin and couldn’t find her way out. She perched on my thumb for all of 60 seconds while I carried her out then set her free.

Yesterday we found the one hour of late afternoon sunshine to walk a two mile loop of the beach. Fierce howling wind and rain had surrounded us most of the day as we watched transfixed from our nest—snug second-floor living spaces at the beach cabin. Bundled up and finally outside, we walked then gazed in awe at the ragged bright-white caps and rainbow framing an ocean that reaches halfway around the world. We’re inside again now and it’s hailing—giant balls—through the sunshine. Somewhere out there is another rainbow.

Thus, and there are zillions of such stories over my lifetime, I have known God through nature—when I was young walking a trail with my parents and sisters and spotting one shiny orange salamander after another, being awakened in the middle of the night by howler monkeys in the tropics or hippos on a savannah, soloing through whitewater or up a rock face. Lately the majesty has extended to man-as-God creations: the music in La Misa Campesina, the mix of Latin tunes my son made for me, Sagrada Familia, the poems of Mary Oliver.

By extension, behaviors have allowed me to sit in God’s lap, to use a metaphor. Years and years of serving others—children and families through special education, health access programs, worshipping and discerning with Spanish speakers.

More recently, these behaviors have become less deed-like and more quiet and solitary. Just God and me, God in me, God as me: consistent journaling and meditation practice every morning, breath and body exercises, swimming and dancing, often alone. As a result I know the way forward.

For instance, the time recently when I was riding along with Franklin from Matagalpa to Masaya: I had planned to complete my theology homework while in Nicaragua. In fact, I’d planned ahead and brought my thin Spanish/English New Testament along, the one I borrowed from the Gideons last spring in a Florida hotel. I had already read the commentary from the heavy textbook that I sensibly left at home. I did bring notes with me though, brief summaries about I and II Corinthians and Galatians on post-its. I’d also copied the essay for the meeting after I returned so I could read it on the plane coming home and be ready. But the scripture reading itself of those three letters written by Paul just wasn’t happening. A few verses was a fine sedative but that’s about all I could say for them.

Then Franklin showed me his solar-powered audio device. He’d downloaded the entire Bible onto it and was happy to drum up II Corinthians. I could read along to an hour recitation in Spanish and call it good.

Once completed, I added my own art review to summarize the highlights of the letters. A bit of a hodge-podge yes, but my intention was clear. My assignments were complete, given this very page of reflection about how I know and experience God and how God reaches me. I know God through the creativity of imagination and through behaviors. Especially during that hour on the Pan American highway, my eyes opened and the scales of any concern fell away.

In the words of Meister Eckhart, “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God’s eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.”