Author: alwaysbridging

OK, some may consider this cartoon sacrilegious but when Easter Sunday and April Fools’ Day fall on the same date, here’s the illustration you get.

Lent was infinitely long for me. It began the day I returned from Nicaragua and waded through the news of another disastrous school shooting on the very first day—Valentine’s Day, how’s that for irony? Next I wrestled obsessively for 40 days here on the almost-retired glide slope:  “Should I work next year or not? How can I return to my beloved Nicaragua to study Spanish for an extended time? Can I possibly bear the bathroom reconstruction that is happening alongside our bedroom, not to mention Mom’s taxes and ours? How can I continue to neglect dear friends who are ailing?” To top it all off the dreaded bronchitis returned. This was certainly not the promised land, believe me.

One bright moment was when I found El Examen de San Ignacio in Spanish. I’m part of a bilingual mutual discernment group at Our Lady of Guadalupe Episcopal Church. When this group began, we had Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak in both languages. But I also wanted good discernment literature originally written in Spanish. Months ago my theology classmates recommended St. Ignatius. But alas my queries to both English and Spanish speakers and even to King Google came up dry. Finally smack in the middle of those lengthening days, I searched again, this time using a Spanish query (who knew?) and—Poof!—links by the leader of the Jesuits in his native tongue spewed forth. Momentary bliss; success was mine.

I began regularly trying the five steps of El Examen each night before slumbering soundly by the middle of Step 2 – Review the events of the day and how God might be acting. I have not scolded myself for the lack of alert five-step discipline. Instead I’ve enjoyed returning to the practice wherever I left off when I wake at night. If you could see my waistline, you’d know I’m not too big on discipline.

That said, Easter Sunday was one for the record books. My friend and usher at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle greeted us, “Merry Christmas!” and I fell for it hook, line and sinker, April fool that I am.

There were many highlights during the service including, Dean Steve Thomason’s sermon “Arise and Tell the Story.”

My favorite moment though, hands down, was one of those silent-because-we’re-in-church belly laughs. We shook the pew. First, my mother suffered a brief memory lapse and whispered an absurd question to me. At which I set her straight and we both got the giggles. Laughing about memory loss is unusual for us. Aging can be wicked and as the brain wears, like every other part of the body, it’s discouraging. I enjoyed guffawing so solidly together about this plight. Talk about Resurrection!

And then as Eucharistic Visitors we two took blessed communion bread and wine from the mass to one of those dear elderly friends I’ve been missing. And then we brunched at The Plaza on 5^th Ave with the fam and Mom’s friends. And then our son Clarke improvised jazz tunes on the lobby piano for a good long stretch. Yes, heaven on earth had returned.

When I was getting ready to head home for the traditional Easter Sunday bike ride with my husband Rob, Mom exclaimed, “Oh Penny, is there any way we can go shopping? I am in desperate need of a few things.”

Usually this kind of doorknob request (as in touching-the-doorknob-to-go-home when the real work begins) sends me reeling. But I had been buoyed with grace all day long plus spring break was a staycation this round. I had time. Rob could wait. What could be more fun than shopping for Dove dark chocolates, even if nearby Target was closed and we had to search for her favorites?

Nearing the end of our quest Mom decided to wait in the car while I did the last (successful!) run into Bartell’s for the goods. When I returned she was scribbling events of the day in a little spiral notebook.

“I want to remember everything about this wonderful day, Penny. Help me.”

Here we were at Ignatian Step 2 – Review the events of the day and how God might be acting, right in the car in the store’s parking lot in the rain. I explained the 5 Steps and we backtracked to Step 1 – Acknowledge God’s presence, then proceeded. Remarkable. Here I was, during the wide awake daytime practicing El Examen. Gratitude and feelings (Step 3) tumbled out and after a short drive, next back in Mom’s parking lot, we paused together for a few minutes to silently contemplate one of the recent events (Step 4) and finally Step 5 – Consider the future and what God might have in store for each of us:

Mom went in and I came home to a glorious all-weather twilight ride with Rob complete with practically simultaneous thunder and lightning under the blossoming cherry trees on the UW campus.

Could this day possibly get better?

Close to midnight I crashed and while I was in the middle of my second practice of El Examen for the day, our daughter Carolina stopped by to see our newly remodeled bathroom. She agreed to scratch my shoulders as I fell asleep. Who says the Easter Bunny, not to mention the Risen Christ, isn’t real? Tell me, who says? I’m here to say otherwise.

Recently I returned to Matagalpa, Nicaragua to study Spanish at Escuela Colibrí, newly located on the side of Cerro Apante beside the mountain town of Matagalpa. In almost ten years the school has grown enough to move to the permaculture site of a refurbished farm villa and new open-air classrooms. Namesake hummingbirds flit here and there.  Fresh luncheon is served to all midday. In my previous studies at Colibrí I have been impressed with the all-Spanish delivery and homestay option that comfortably extends learning about the language and culture beyond the classroom. This time I was even more enamored with the kinesthetic brain exercises, music, yoga, conversation, drawing, listening, reading and games woven throughout the lessons. These make this the best in individualized adult education. Plus it’s fun. And, believe me, the price is right.

Best of all I celebrated the school’s new digs as the student representative at a lovely dinner. About 30 of us toured the site and toasted this special circle of (primarily) women who’ve made this dream come true. Led by Noelia Corrales—though this fact would be more important to those of us in individualistic cultures—these people recognize this is an ongoing team effort. The fiesta included a piñata, party games, mojitos and carne asada (grilled meat), all topped off with a gorgeous sunset. The event ended with a wild ride back down the hill to town under a dark star-studded sky.

I’ll be back as soon as possible.

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?