Friday 3/13

I arrived half an hour late to culture class after spending an hour demolishing red tape to get a package from Dad out of customs. Oi vey. Since I was late, I missed the field trip to the market, which wasn’t the end of the world since I go with my mom to the market on Saturdays anyway. I spent that hour while everyone was gone talking to Alba, one of the Spanish teachers and a complete sweetheart. When they got back we made kickin’ fruit salad.

After getting in my internet time, I went home and studied for a few hours before my homies came over.

Julie, Sara, Darla, Leigh, and I made pizza and brownies and watched a Lindsay Lohan movie, Just My Luck, (ironically on Friday the thirteenth).

Saturday 3/14

Mummsie dearest awoke me at the buttcrack of dawn to go to the market. It ended up being a three hour excursion with Mom, My Aunt Suca, and both of my sisters, (each at a different market since we went to two). I think I’m spoiled. I just point at a fruit and say, “Que es?” and presto, Mamma Marcela buys it for my salivary pleasure. So far I’ve tried about 10 fruits that I can’t pronounce and probably will wreak havoc on my digestive system.

When we got back I helped make a cake for Marcela’s home baking business and did some more studying/sunning, (I’m quite the efficient multi-tasker). Then we ran some errands and I introduced them to No-Bakes, which were a bit dry but on the whole wildly successful.

Marcela still doesn’t believe me that kids in the U.S. wear pj’s to class and take off their shoes.

I spent the rest of the evening in lame studiousness.

Sunday 3/15

Super long run to kick off the Lord’s day. Oi vey. After that it was church and then lunch (fried rice with shrimp—heavenly). Let me tell you, I am a great lover of puns, but nothing gets my noodle going worse than a bad Spanish pun. First of all, everyone expects me to understand them. Secondly after 3 repeats it’s not funny. Thirdly, it’s a pun so it really wasn’t all that funny to begin with.

The afternoon consisted of alternately studying and napping followed by a brief walk before returning to church to work with the youngin’s. Freaking 4 year old has a fixation with clawing my throat. I suppose punting the charges across the nursery is discouraged, right . . . ?

Doing crosswords in Spanish makes me want to eat my own entrails. At least they fed me ice cream. What’s more, the ice cream lady taught me how to swear in Quichua. I talked with Isa and Marcella for a while and things got a little feisty when Isa referred to her mother as Chuckie’s mother.

Monday 3/16

Stupid Circaedian rhythm . . . I got up early to study and then went to church for our group devotional. Since it’s a major pain to go home before Spanish, I just stayed at church at ate lunch, studied, and explored.

In Spanish we watched Que Tan Lejos again, resulting in an impressive display of artistry on my left hand. The buceta failed us today, so I had to take the bus. It was freaking packed to the windows and I had to push my way out to get off and little children were yelling at me. It looked like the bus spat me out. It was seven before I finally got home (class having ended at 5:30).

A little hot chocolate and studying and chillaxin’ with Ma and Isa and I’m turning in at the hour of post menopausal retirees.

Tuesday 3/17

After demolishing the digestion/kidney quiz I had a ton of time to unwind back at the casa. In Spanish we played a game with descriptions and practiced our adjectives.

Prayer requesty: my mom broke down over lunch because she got a call from Gabbi’s teacher saying Gabbi has no friends and she’s always by herself. Apparently the kids at her school are total snobs, plus Gabbi’s going through a bit of a rebellious stage. The combo isn’t so good. Poor kid.

We went straight from Spanish to a Cuenca v. Venezuela soccer game. IN-CRE-IBLE! The game itself was kind of lame. Someone was always on the ground writhing in pain and the ball stopped a lot, so I got tired of paying attention to what was going on on the field. The real action was in the stands.

We were in the cheap seats, meaning with the rough hoods/rowdy drunks. They were a fun bunch, I have to say. Sebas, the son of Maria De Lourdes, (our director), was our guide, so we hung out with him and his friends. I have to say, after this experience I have gained a slightly sooty face, a cigarette burn on my foot, and an expansive list of vulgar terms.

We did the wave, yelled insults, and got invited to a discoteca. What a night. The stadium was packed out with pretty bold dudes who liked yelling stuff at us and making kissy faces. My fav was the drunk: “You (long pause) want- go –(pause) with- me?”

We got a ride home in our school van and shouted cheers from the windows. Go Cuenca.

Wednesday 3/18

Icky morning of watching a computer teach us about metabolic processes. On the plus side, we’re done with the info in this class.

No surgeries at the foundation, so I did some shopping with Leigh (to no avail) and went home.

The following words have me rolling on the floor when my family says them:

Nestle: “Nest-te-lay”

Maple: “Mop-lay”

(my personal fav) Pickles: “Peek-lays”

Spanish was two solid hours of grammar that had me wanting death swift and soon. Back at the ranch I went for a walk and hung out with the fam. We made bread pudding served with vanilla ice cream. Score again for the B.

I taught my lil’ sis to say “freakin’ awesome”.

Thursday 3/19

In the spirit of rest and relaxation for having no physiology, I went for an hour long run. The eventual goal is to be able to run a 10 k in May, which would be quite a feat at 8,400 feet. (hehe, feat/feet).

Instead of a devotional in the morning, they sprung culture class on us. It ended up being fairly interesting. We got an overview of the political situation and the process of dollarization.

Lunch consisted of strictly eating and finishing my Spanish homework. Spanish is kicking my butt. We’re doing weird stuff like Imperfect Subjunctive, Condicional Compuesto, and Pluscuamperfecto of Subjunctive. Oi.

I feel like I’m not really moving forward with Spanish. It’s like the more I “pick up” the more I have floating around in my head when I talk. That makes me speak slower because I’m thinking more and I’ve gotten less confident in my pronunciation and guessing cognates. Weird.

Prayer request: Yesterday a girl from our group, Katie, got an email saying that her grandfather committed suicide. I think I’ll leave it at that.

I was talking with Mama Marcela about dreams and found out that I have the honor of being the first gringa she’s dreamed about—twice in fact. Albeit, both were nightmares . . .