I have been writing this post in my head all year long, at parks, in class, while visiting artisans, at work, everywhere. And it is not finished now and never will be finished, so I finally decided just to write it as it was in my head and post it. Punto.
My goal in life is to be fluent in Spanish. I find it absolutely exciting and thrilling to speak Spanish. I also find myself capable of utter depression when I cannot seem to make words exit my mouth correctly. More than once I’ve been struck completely mute because I’m not sure how to say something really simple. After nearly a year of living in Peru, my default for how to say “what?” is still Mexican Spanish: “¿mande?” Say that here, and people look at you strangely since you have essentially just said to them, “send?”
People always say, “You speak Spanish really well!” after we’ve been conversing for 45 seconds and have covered the really easy stuff – what is your name, where are you from, how long are you here for, where do you live. And then you get into how you make a recipe or politics or phrases that involve the subjunctive and I am a little lost.
Sometimes I’ve been lucky enough to listen, distractedly, to something and later I’ve wondered whether it was in Spanish or English. I know I’ve come so, so far with Spanish this year. But how far yet do I need to go to have a job where I need to speak Spanish? That is another goal, to have to speak Spanish every day for a meaningful job or volunteer position, not just the same four sentences repeatedly, but interesting, complicated conversations in Spanish.
I used to think fluency was something you attained. It was a destination. It was the top of the mountain and I was climbing up. But the more I flirt around with Spanish, the more I study and get better and then leave off and forget it and then pick it up again several years later, the more I learn nuances and still struggle with basics, fluency looks more like a giant mountain range.
You are close to the top of the mountain now and while you realize that now you can get by with everyday interactions just fine - on the bus, at the mercado, traveling - you have so much more to learn. You still need to figure out verb tenses and subjunctive and not think so much about pronouns. You still need to be able to understand people the first time they say something, not the 3rd or 4th or never. You get to the summit and before you can congratulate yourself on how far you’ve come, you see the mountain range stretching out, infinitely, in front of you. You are exhausted and overwhelmed. There are mountains beyond mountains that you still need to climb and descend and climb again before you are fluent. Really, truly fluent.
What is fluency, really? There are so many layers and levels. I often think about other people who are speaking a foreign language fluently on one level (i.e. they get their point across just fine) but not on another (i.e. they use awkward wording or word order). Think David Sedaris’ Me Talk Pretty One Day. I am at the awkward-wording and awkward-word-order stage and I wonder if I’ll ever be as fluent as I want to be, which is native-speaker-fluent, which means probably never.
Simon is another story completely. He has been fascinating to observe and talk with as he has picked up Spanish so quickly. He understands most of what anyone says to him in Spanish, and usually answers appropriately. He has been slower to use words and phrases than what I understand most toddlers do, but of the words he uses, the most important ones are in Spanish: sí and agua. He is a Spanish sponge. He breathes Spanish in like air. He has just started to say his own name, and he says it in Spanish: Simón. That has made many a Peruvian proud, let me tell you. I wonder how long he will refer to himself with Spanish pronunciation. I hope he keeps it up for a good long while.
A quote that has been omnipresent in my mind this year is something I read in college: “You who read me, are you sure you understand my language?” Jorge Luis Borges rocked my world with that one. Here I am, thinking I am communicating just fine with someone and then sometimes I realize that they haven’t understood a word I said. I think I’m saying something like, “the sky is blue” and they hear something like, “a stamp costs too much.” And we smile at each other, nod, agree, and go our separate ways. How many times do I have this conversation and think it’s gone well, only to wonder later whether we understood what the other one meant to say at all?
As much as I want to be fluent, and fluent NOW, I’m finally starting to accept that Spanish is my life-long quest, instead of something I get to cross off of my list and say that I've accomplished. So I’m trying to tackle smaller mountains and enjoy a little more of the climb. I have been reading more books and novels in Spanish, knowing that reading in English has been invaluable for building my vocabulary, understanding nuances, etc. I celebrate when I can only come up with the Spanish words for something.
I love Spanish. We are past the flirting stage and are in a long-term relationship. There is no danger of me breaking up with Spanish, like my childhood friend Jessica so hilariously and eloquently tried to do. Hopefully Spanish won’t break up with me!
Showing posts with label inspired by writers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspired by writers. Show all posts
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
What would Louise Erdrich write?
One of my favorite authors is Louise Erdrich. I first read one of her novels as part of a Native American Literature class in college. I liked the book for several reasons: it was told from the perspective of a number of different characters, it had overlapping stories (so that you read about various events from the different, and sometimes contradictory, perspectives of several people), and it jumped backwards and forwards in time, somewhat randomly.
Then I read another one of her novels and loved learning captivating (occasionally shocking!) backstory on certain memorable, if not lovable, characters. As she tends to center her narratives on the Native Americans and German immigrants living in a small, fictional town in North Dakota, the same characters and extended families tend to pop up again and again throughout different books. Two years ago, I reread all of her fiction in an effort to get a handle on certain narratives as they changed through books and characters’ perspectives. It made me realize again just how masterful of a storyteller she is.
One of the main things I appreciate about her writing is her ability to take a seemingly unremarkable occasion, or life, and make it fascinating. She easily spins a narrative that helps me empathize with occasionally unsympathetic characters or people I wouldn’t notice otherwise.
I have thought about Louise Erdrich a number of times during our year here, mostly on two themes. The first is regarding the artisan stories we write.
Everyone has a story, whether or not it’s shared, and Louise Erdrich can make any story fascinating. While the stories Sam and I write share a bit about an artisan’s life, they certainly aren’t something you would want to curl up on the couch with and read all afternoon. As I sift through random pieces of information about artisans, I frequently wonder what kind of captivating story Louise Erdrich would build from them. Here are some examples. (Some names have been changed.)
In addition to being a silversmith, Juan is a lawyer specializing in family law.
Pablo is pretty successful based on the number of orders he receives, and yet still lives in a shack without running water or electricity. His wife tells Manos Amigas to only give her the payments and advances, since her husband has a gambling problem. While that strategy worked for some time, her husband now shows up frequently, alone, asking for payments due.
Noemi grew up in her father’s ceramics workshop and now has her own workshop. She sells jellos in the mercado when retablo orders are slow, and also studies cosmetology.
Antonio drives a mototaxi to supplement his work in ceramics.
Jacinto lived in Villa El Salvador, far on the south side of Lima. In 2000, he and 10,000 others were moved by the government to Ventanilla, far on the north side of Lima. When the government trucks dropped them off, he was stunned to see their new home: nothing but sand. No buildings, no structures, no nothing. He, his wife, and their five children slept in the sand, with only plastic and cardboard for protection.
Rosa makes stuffed vicuñas and llamas. She has had absolutely nothing several times, the first time being when her husband sold their house without telling her and kept all of the proceeds. She left him to go to Lima, where she would have more opportunities to support her and her nine children. They left with only the clothes on their backs. The second time was when an earthquake caused a neighbor’s home to fall onto her home, which collapsed. While she and her kids went for medical treatment, everything they owned was stolen. Now, 30 years later, she is a successful and elegant businesswoman. To make ends meet, she has a small storefront where she sells water, sodas, snacks, copies, phone calls, and her family's artesanía, and she also sells typical Peruvian food at a nearby kiosk.
When Melquiades was interviewed several years ago and was asked about his birth year, he responded, “1953 in reality, but 1959 is what is listed on my birth certificate.”
Hugo has been in jail for the last 10 years and his sentence is for five more, but that hasn’t slowed his pottery business. His wife brings him the clay and other raw materials. He’s built a workshop inside the jail, complete with employees: he has trained other inmates to help him. He even has a kiln.
The second reason Louise Erdrich has been on my mind is because of how she portrays the sometimes contradictory perspectives of events in her characters’ lives. It makes me wonder about the nature of truth when I try to figure out what is “true” in any given situation.
Such as: occasionally we have heard people share parts of their lives that, based on someone else’s account, cannot be true. But yet, it must be true, since it’s their own story.
For example, Alejandro and Emilio are brothers. Emilio is the eldest of four, Alejandro the youngest. We interviewed them, each in his own workshop, and each told us how their father had died when they were very young, that their mother had remarried three months later and left them and their siblings to fend for themselves, and Emilio then had to leave school and work to support himself and his three siblings.
But their stories differ on their ages when their father died. Emilio says he was 13 or 14, and that Alejandro was 6. Alejandro told us that he was 3 when his father died and Emilio was 12 when he had to start supporting the family.
Both are true, since each of them is allowed to have their own story, right? But they can’t both be factually correct. Does it matter? I don’t think it does, although I was initially worried when I thought of Manos Amigas clients who might read both Emilio and Alejandro’s stories and wonder at our fact-checking ability.
When I read Louise Erdrich and she includes contradictory accounts like this, I love it since it adds complexity to the story. When I encounter it in real life I am not always as appreciative: I want to know the right answer! Yet the right answer is that there is no truth, perhaps. Or, as one of our fair trade friends said, “there are multiple truths.” I feel like one of the characters in The Matrix: “There is no spoon!”
Louise Erdrich: what a lovely, complicated, and intriguing guide through literature and life.
Then I read another one of her novels and loved learning captivating (occasionally shocking!) backstory on certain memorable, if not lovable, characters. As she tends to center her narratives on the Native Americans and German immigrants living in a small, fictional town in North Dakota, the same characters and extended families tend to pop up again and again throughout different books. Two years ago, I reread all of her fiction in an effort to get a handle on certain narratives as they changed through books and characters’ perspectives. It made me realize again just how masterful of a storyteller she is.
One of the main things I appreciate about her writing is her ability to take a seemingly unremarkable occasion, or life, and make it fascinating. She easily spins a narrative that helps me empathize with occasionally unsympathetic characters or people I wouldn’t notice otherwise.
I have thought about Louise Erdrich a number of times during our year here, mostly on two themes. The first is regarding the artisan stories we write.
Everyone has a story, whether or not it’s shared, and Louise Erdrich can make any story fascinating. While the stories Sam and I write share a bit about an artisan’s life, they certainly aren’t something you would want to curl up on the couch with and read all afternoon. As I sift through random pieces of information about artisans, I frequently wonder what kind of captivating story Louise Erdrich would build from them. Here are some examples. (Some names have been changed.)
In addition to being a silversmith, Juan is a lawyer specializing in family law.
Pablo is pretty successful based on the number of orders he receives, and yet still lives in a shack without running water or electricity. His wife tells Manos Amigas to only give her the payments and advances, since her husband has a gambling problem. While that strategy worked for some time, her husband now shows up frequently, alone, asking for payments due.
Noemi grew up in her father’s ceramics workshop and now has her own workshop. She sells jellos in the mercado when retablo orders are slow, and also studies cosmetology.
Antonio drives a mototaxi to supplement his work in ceramics.
Jacinto lived in Villa El Salvador, far on the south side of Lima. In 2000, he and 10,000 others were moved by the government to Ventanilla, far on the north side of Lima. When the government trucks dropped them off, he was stunned to see their new home: nothing but sand. No buildings, no structures, no nothing. He, his wife, and their five children slept in the sand, with only plastic and cardboard for protection.
Rosa makes stuffed vicuñas and llamas. She has had absolutely nothing several times, the first time being when her husband sold their house without telling her and kept all of the proceeds. She left him to go to Lima, where she would have more opportunities to support her and her nine children. They left with only the clothes on their backs. The second time was when an earthquake caused a neighbor’s home to fall onto her home, which collapsed. While she and her kids went for medical treatment, everything they owned was stolen. Now, 30 years later, she is a successful and elegant businesswoman. To make ends meet, she has a small storefront where she sells water, sodas, snacks, copies, phone calls, and her family's artesanía, and she also sells typical Peruvian food at a nearby kiosk.
When Melquiades was interviewed several years ago and was asked about his birth year, he responded, “1953 in reality, but 1959 is what is listed on my birth certificate.”
Hugo has been in jail for the last 10 years and his sentence is for five more, but that hasn’t slowed his pottery business. His wife brings him the clay and other raw materials. He’s built a workshop inside the jail, complete with employees: he has trained other inmates to help him. He even has a kiln.
The second reason Louise Erdrich has been on my mind is because of how she portrays the sometimes contradictory perspectives of events in her characters’ lives. It makes me wonder about the nature of truth when I try to figure out what is “true” in any given situation.
Such as: occasionally we have heard people share parts of their lives that, based on someone else’s account, cannot be true. But yet, it must be true, since it’s their own story.
For example, Alejandro and Emilio are brothers. Emilio is the eldest of four, Alejandro the youngest. We interviewed them, each in his own workshop, and each told us how their father had died when they were very young, that their mother had remarried three months later and left them and their siblings to fend for themselves, and Emilio then had to leave school and work to support himself and his three siblings.
But their stories differ on their ages when their father died. Emilio says he was 13 or 14, and that Alejandro was 6. Alejandro told us that he was 3 when his father died and Emilio was 12 when he had to start supporting the family.
Both are true, since each of them is allowed to have their own story, right? But they can’t both be factually correct. Does it matter? I don’t think it does, although I was initially worried when I thought of Manos Amigas clients who might read both Emilio and Alejandro’s stories and wonder at our fact-checking ability.
When I read Louise Erdrich and she includes contradictory accounts like this, I love it since it adds complexity to the story. When I encounter it in real life I am not always as appreciative: I want to know the right answer! Yet the right answer is that there is no truth, perhaps. Or, as one of our fair trade friends said, “there are multiple truths.” I feel like one of the characters in The Matrix: “There is no spoon!”
Louise Erdrich: what a lovely, complicated, and intriguing guide through literature and life.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
The strangest, saddest city
It’s almost winter here and you can tell. The mostly sunny days, the days when it would even turn occasionally hot for several hours in the morning, are over. If the sun comes out at all, that is cause for celebration. The air is cool and grayness is settling in.
Herman Melville called Lima “the strangest, saddest city” and on the colder gray days, I can understand why. The garúa blowing in, the gloominess, the chill in the air, not seeing the ocean when we are staring directly at it, all take their toll. It’s easier to feel low on these days and think about what I miss about home.
While I love living here and would stay much longer if it were possible, what I think about most are friends. I am really looking forward to being close to people we love and who love us back. I value this time with Sam and Simon, our daily adventures, doing nearly everything, including work, as a family. But going for a year without friends to hang out with has been hard at times.
Just like at home, La Leche has been a lifesaver in connecting me with several other moms, adding in some social interactions on a monthly basis and establishing a couple of friendly relationships.
And we have a lot of casual conversations at parks with other parents, which can be nice. But few people seem interested in actually getting together. Perhaps that is a casualty of living in another country: you get tired of meeting other people who are here for a limited engagement and therefore you decide not to invest any time or energy in them. I get that.
In Ann Patchett's most recent novel says, “Never be so focused on what you’re looking for that you overlook the thing you actually find.” That quote has stayed in my mind all year, as I struggle with Spanish, parenting, feeling friendless, and missing various comforts of home. What I've been looking for was fluency in Spanish, not necessarily friends. I have certainly found my journey with Spanish interesting and compelling, enough to keep me fixated for a long time on continuing to learn it. We have found interesting work, Simon is enraptured with his two favorite playmates, and we have become explorers throughout all parts of Lima. I love our opportunities here. All of these are certainly gifts. And yet, still these strangest, saddest days come and go.
Herman Melville called Lima “the strangest, saddest city” and on the colder gray days, I can understand why. The garúa blowing in, the gloominess, the chill in the air, not seeing the ocean when we are staring directly at it, all take their toll. It’s easier to feel low on these days and think about what I miss about home.
.JPG) |
| Staring at the ocean... compare it with an identical photo with the sun out. |
Just like at home, La Leche has been a lifesaver in connecting me with several other moms, adding in some social interactions on a monthly basis and establishing a couple of friendly relationships.
And we have a lot of casual conversations at parks with other parents, which can be nice. But few people seem interested in actually getting together. Perhaps that is a casualty of living in another country: you get tired of meeting other people who are here for a limited engagement and therefore you decide not to invest any time or energy in them. I get that.
In Ann Patchett's most recent novel says, “Never be so focused on what you’re looking for that you overlook the thing you actually find.” That quote has stayed in my mind all year, as I struggle with Spanish, parenting, feeling friendless, and missing various comforts of home. What I've been looking for was fluency in Spanish, not necessarily friends. I have certainly found my journey with Spanish interesting and compelling, enough to keep me fixated for a long time on continuing to learn it. We have found interesting work, Simon is enraptured with his two favorite playmates, and we have become explorers throughout all parts of Lima. I love our opportunities here. All of these are certainly gifts. And yet, still these strangest, saddest days come and go.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Be
Welcome to our 2011 holiday letter, making a guest appearance online this year as trying to mail cards & letters from Peru was slightly impractical and cost-prohibitive!
This is a different end-of-year letter to write than we normally do; typically this is one of the few times per year we write about what is going on with us for our fabulous but far-flung community of family and friends. But this year I’m writing every week or so, trying to capture interesting or meaningful experiences as we have them, not only to share with you, but also to help us preserve these memories after we’ve returned home. Bear with us as we straddle the line between writing a year-end missive without including too much that is already posted on this blog.
As mentioned elsewhere, we are spending Sam’s sabbatical year in South America, mostly Peru, and the three months we’ve been here so far have been amazing. Since those months are fairly well chronicled here and on Sam’s blog, I won’t say too much about them, other than they are going by very quickly. (If you are interested in having future posts delivered to your email inbox, type in your email address to the box on the top right corner of the blog that says “subscribe by email”. Ditto for Sam’s blog, which you can find via the link at the top, right.)
We tend to pick a word that represents our motto for the upcoming year, and look for a quote that helps illustrate what we mean.
Simon has continued to amaze and amuse us with his energy, good nature, cheerfulness, adaptability, and all-around fun-ness. He is pretty fabulous. He loves mopping, sweeping (both of which come in handy daily here), loading the laundry, and helping us make coffee and juice each morning.
What a huge help he is! He’s starting to want to “help” on the stove; yikes! He’s started waving hello and goodbye to strangers as well as whenever cars honk, which means he’s incessantly waving; he likes playing with other little kids at the playground and is currently only sliding down the slide backwards. But more than anything or anyone else, he loves playing with Dieuwe, Yannina’s 11-year-old daughter, and Giuseppe, Christina’s 6-year-old son. He runs to the window to wave goodbye to Giuseppe when he leaves for school, and when we see Dieuwe at Manos Amigas he screams with delight and off they go to play.
Sappy or simplistic as it sounds, a lot of this year was just about enjoying life during long talk/walks with friends and their kids, and the anticipation of the sabbatical in South America. Besides being in Peru or planning for Peru, other significant and/or special happenings for me (Alison) this year included:
I finished the book of Jared’s blog, finally. We threw a party to celebrate.
Some of the backstory: When my brother, Jared, was diagnosed with leukemia in 2007, he started a blog on CaringBridge. After he passed away in 2008, I didn't want his blog to just disappear. I wanted his sons (so young when he died: Caleb was 2 years, Noah 4 mos) to get to know their father as they grew up, through his writing as well as what other people remembered about him. I wanted them to see a gazillion pictures of Jared, encompassing his entire life instead of just the 8 months of his leukemia fight.
So, I decided to make a book of his blog, with additional sections for Jared's obituary, memorial services, letters & stories from friends, some of his widow Anne's posts, and two memorial events at Camp Friedenswald. I wanted to make five copies of this book - one for each of his sons, Anne, my parents, and myself.
I worked with a designer to place the text and photos and create the sections somewhat close to how I'd envisioned them. I formatted the text & cleaned up all the abysmal spelling from the comments. In August 2010, I finally dropped off the printed copies of the book to a bookmaker, who had agreed years before to stitch and hand-bind each book.
And, three years after I started working on this project, the five copies of this book were finally completed. They are gorgeous. I wish I would have taken photos of them all together, but alas, that opportunity is gone. As each book is over 800 pages long, it takes some serious reading to get through it. The professionals I worked with did an amazing job. I am so grateful to have his elegant and honest writing, with silly and serious photos, in a beautiful package for our family! My uncle blogged about the book too; read what he had to say.
I worked part-time during the summer, covering some duties during a maternity leave for a friend and former co-worker. It was fun to get back into the work force a day or two per week, and Simon had a blast with his babysitter friend Kelsey. It helped me better consider various factors I’d like to have when I go back to work in a more permanent employment situation, as has my part-time volunteering here with Manos Amigas.
I also really, really enjoy continuing to help run the arts committee at my church. We got an arts space (MennoArts Gallery) up and running with several shows this year, and had a number of projects in the hopper before I left. It will be fun to step back into those projects, and whatever is next on our plate, when we return.
And now, switching to Sam…
This year has felt like a year of preparation for my sabbatical and our year in Peru. This is something Alison and I have wanted to do for years and have been plotting for as long to make it happen. But a whole new level of planning was needed to make the actual jump.
I spent much time laying the groundwork for my absence from Global Gifts. An important and insightful task was writing out my job description. As Global Gifts has grown over the years my responsibilities have changed significantly. I had to sit down, think through, and write all that I do. It was insightful because before that exercise, I think I would have had a bit of difficulty explaining my job in detail. The next step was hiring and training my replacement and splitting up my job responsibilities between that person and other people on staff. In the middle of all of this transition, we needed to move one of our stores to a new location. This involved much negotiation with landlords, handwringing, and the logistical challenge of closing one operation and opening another. We had the grand opening for this new store September 9, and we left for Peru the following week (just under the wire). I’m pleased to say that things are going very well in my absence and it looks like Global Gifts is having a record sales year. That success is a real tribute to the many people involved with Global Gifts. Our time in Peru and meeting many artisans reminds me just how important it is that Global Gifts continues to do well.
In addition to my responsibilities with Global Gifts we needed to find renters for our house and move out. This experience was not too unlike opening the new store in terms of handwringing, negotiations, and logistical challenges. But on the plus side, it did prompt us to get rid of a lot of extra stuff.
During those last few months before we left, I kept thinking, when I get on that plane, I’m going to breathe a huge sigh of relief and enjoy the slowness of my sabbatical. It didn’t quite turn out that way but gradually life has slowed down. Spending so much more time with Simon, while not relaxing, is a real joy and a great benefit of this sabbatical year.
While blogs are great for keeping up with what is going on in someone else’s life, it’s certainly no match for an actual conversation or visit. As you have the time and interest, we would love to hear (or read!) what is going on with you and your family.
Much love,
Alison & Sam
This is a different end-of-year letter to write than we normally do; typically this is one of the few times per year we write about what is going on with us for our fabulous but far-flung community of family and friends. But this year I’m writing every week or so, trying to capture interesting or meaningful experiences as we have them, not only to share with you, but also to help us preserve these memories after we’ve returned home. Bear with us as we straddle the line between writing a year-end missive without including too much that is already posted on this blog.
As mentioned elsewhere, we are spending Sam’s sabbatical year in South America, mostly Peru, and the three months we’ve been here so far have been amazing. Since those months are fairly well chronicled here and on Sam’s blog, I won’t say too much about them, other than they are going by very quickly. (If you are interested in having future posts delivered to your email inbox, type in your email address to the box on the top right corner of the blog that says “subscribe by email”. Ditto for Sam’s blog, which you can find via the link at the top, right.)
We tend to pick a word that represents our motto for the upcoming year, and look for a quote that helps illustrate what we mean.
I like to walk alone on country paths, rice plants and wild grasses on both sides, putting each foot down on the earth in mindfulness, knowing that I walk on the wondrous earth. In such moments, existence is a miraculous and mysterious reality.
People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child - our own two eyes. All is a miracle.
Thich Nhat HahnIt’s funny how, once we’ve settled on a word, it jumps out at us in a number of situations. I tend to be tense and want to make projections, plans, nail down specifics. Sam tends to want to keep options open and make decisions a little later. With the move to Peru, there have been so many things that we’ve simply needed to wait for (such as finding friends, improving Spanish, various pieces of information) that many of our conversations have ended with some iteration of “Let’s just be. Let’s just enjoy the moment.” Simon, having fun with beginning to say recognizable words, has also enjoyed reminding us to “BEEEEEE!” He’s a good reminder for that in general.
Simon has continued to amaze and amuse us with his energy, good nature, cheerfulness, adaptability, and all-around fun-ness. He is pretty fabulous. He loves mopping, sweeping (both of which come in handy daily here), loading the laundry, and helping us make coffee and juice each morning.
What a huge help he is! He’s starting to want to “help” on the stove; yikes! He’s started waving hello and goodbye to strangers as well as whenever cars honk, which means he’s incessantly waving; he likes playing with other little kids at the playground and is currently only sliding down the slide backwards. But more than anything or anyone else, he loves playing with Dieuwe, Yannina’s 11-year-old daughter, and Giuseppe, Christina’s 6-year-old son. He runs to the window to wave goodbye to Giuseppe when he leaves for school, and when we see Dieuwe at Manos Amigas he screams with delight and off they go to play.
Sappy or simplistic as it sounds, a lot of this year was just about enjoying life during long talk/walks with friends and their kids, and the anticipation of the sabbatical in South America. Besides being in Peru or planning for Peru, other significant and/or special happenings for me (Alison) this year included:
I finished the book of Jared’s blog, finally. We threw a party to celebrate.
Some of the backstory: When my brother, Jared, was diagnosed with leukemia in 2007, he started a blog on CaringBridge. After he passed away in 2008, I didn't want his blog to just disappear. I wanted his sons (so young when he died: Caleb was 2 years, Noah 4 mos) to get to know their father as they grew up, through his writing as well as what other people remembered about him. I wanted them to see a gazillion pictures of Jared, encompassing his entire life instead of just the 8 months of his leukemia fight.
So, I decided to make a book of his blog, with additional sections for Jared's obituary, memorial services, letters & stories from friends, some of his widow Anne's posts, and two memorial events at Camp Friedenswald. I wanted to make five copies of this book - one for each of his sons, Anne, my parents, and myself.
I worked with a designer to place the text and photos and create the sections somewhat close to how I'd envisioned them. I formatted the text & cleaned up all the abysmal spelling from the comments. In August 2010, I finally dropped off the printed copies of the book to a bookmaker, who had agreed years before to stitch and hand-bind each book.
And, three years after I started working on this project, the five copies of this book were finally completed. They are gorgeous. I wish I would have taken photos of them all together, but alas, that opportunity is gone. As each book is over 800 pages long, it takes some serious reading to get through it. The professionals I worked with did an amazing job. I am so grateful to have his elegant and honest writing, with silly and serious photos, in a beautiful package for our family! My uncle blogged about the book too; read what he had to say.
I worked part-time during the summer, covering some duties during a maternity leave for a friend and former co-worker. It was fun to get back into the work force a day or two per week, and Simon had a blast with his babysitter friend Kelsey. It helped me better consider various factors I’d like to have when I go back to work in a more permanent employment situation, as has my part-time volunteering here with Manos Amigas.
I also really, really enjoy continuing to help run the arts committee at my church. We got an arts space (MennoArts Gallery) up and running with several shows this year, and had a number of projects in the hopper before I left. It will be fun to step back into those projects, and whatever is next on our plate, when we return.
And now, switching to Sam…
This year has felt like a year of preparation for my sabbatical and our year in Peru. This is something Alison and I have wanted to do for years and have been plotting for as long to make it happen. But a whole new level of planning was needed to make the actual jump.
I spent much time laying the groundwork for my absence from Global Gifts. An important and insightful task was writing out my job description. As Global Gifts has grown over the years my responsibilities have changed significantly. I had to sit down, think through, and write all that I do. It was insightful because before that exercise, I think I would have had a bit of difficulty explaining my job in detail. The next step was hiring and training my replacement and splitting up my job responsibilities between that person and other people on staff. In the middle of all of this transition, we needed to move one of our stores to a new location. This involved much negotiation with landlords, handwringing, and the logistical challenge of closing one operation and opening another. We had the grand opening for this new store September 9, and we left for Peru the following week (just under the wire). I’m pleased to say that things are going very well in my absence and it looks like Global Gifts is having a record sales year. That success is a real tribute to the many people involved with Global Gifts. Our time in Peru and meeting many artisans reminds me just how important it is that Global Gifts continues to do well.
In addition to my responsibilities with Global Gifts we needed to find renters for our house and move out. This experience was not too unlike opening the new store in terms of handwringing, negotiations, and logistical challenges. But on the plus side, it did prompt us to get rid of a lot of extra stuff.
During those last few months before we left, I kept thinking, when I get on that plane, I’m going to breathe a huge sigh of relief and enjoy the slowness of my sabbatical. It didn’t quite turn out that way but gradually life has slowed down. Spending so much more time with Simon, while not relaxing, is a real joy and a great benefit of this sabbatical year.
While blogs are great for keeping up with what is going on in someone else’s life, it’s certainly no match for an actual conversation or visit. As you have the time and interest, we would love to hear (or read!) what is going on with you and your family.
Much love,
Alison & Sam
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Ann Patchett book club
Back home I am part of two book clubs. I used to think I could participate in several more, such is my love of reading and discussing books, until I coordinated a year-long book club on the politics of food. Three was too much. And then I had a child and keeping up with two became challenging. But my love of books hasn’t abated, of course. I have been dreaming about starting a Spanish language book club when we return; we could read books aimed at the teen or tween reader for an easier time with Spanish.
This summer, I lent one of my favorite books, Bel Canto (by Ann Patchett), to my lovely friend Gabi. Just before we left for Peru, Gabi gave me Patchett’s latest book, State of Wonder, which she had just finished and knew I’d been coveting. Both books are set in South America. Bel Canto is in Lima, although it’s never explicitly stated. But the garúa, the thick, gray fog that blankets the city for most of the year, is practically a character in the book. State of Wonder is mostly in Brazil.
Knowing that Ann Patchett is a spellbinding writer, and that the book would be an escape as well as a transition of sorts (from regular life in Indianapolis, through scary new beginning in Lima, to adjustment to our new normal), I wanted to make it last as long as possible.
I normally race through books as quickly as I can read them. But two other times I’ve forced myself to go slower, both with Barbara Kingsolver books. Right after Simon was born, there were several weeks during which every day, like clockwork, I got depressed at 4 p.m. So Sam suggested that, during that daily window of feeling low, I read Kingsolver’s latest book, The Lacuna. He’d given it to me for Christmas but I had been saving it for a special occasion. He thought that having something special to look forward to every day would help, which it did. And for Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, I could only read it on the bus ride to and from work every day, to make it last longer.
So instead of reading at my normal pace, I tried to read slooooowly, to savor it. I could only read it in the evenings, after Simon went to bed (and, when we were in Spanish school, after homework was considered, if not completed). I couldn’t read it every night. Moreover, each time I picked it up I reread the section I’d just finished the last time. I was kind of reading it twice before finishing it for the first time.
And what a delight it was. It took me almost six weeks to read it this way, piecemeal. That drove me nuts because I just wanted to know what happened, but deep down I knew I needed to just enjoy the amble towards the end of the book.
Poor Sam: when I was incredulous at various plot developments, I’d try to tell him why such-and-such was incredible or shocking or just not possible. And he’d listen and nod and try to look interested, but he was really thinking about the stock market. (And then he’d try to tell me about the latest developments on the stock market and I’d listen and nod and try to look interested, but I was really thinking about my book.)
Both of these books are similar in that you are lulled into a certain rhythm or pace by the plotline and then in a matter of pages, even paragraphs, that world completely changes. Then you are left dying to compare your elation, sadness, euphoria, not to mention plot points, with someone. At least, I was!
Therefore, when I finished it late one night, I immediately emailed Gabi and asked her when we could Skype.
It took a while for our schedules to align – well, it took a while for a window to open in Gabi’s ultra-busy schedule. But finally, between conference calls, during her son’s nap, and after convincing her daughter to play with markers, we got to talk about these fabulous and surprising books, their skillfully crafted characters and excellent plotlines.
It is so satisfying to me to share the excitement of a book with a fellow book lover. There’s the shared understanding of known characters and their quirks, shared language about plot developments, shared pain at difficult points and losses. It’s a world come alive for the people who have chosen to enter it.
The ending was hard to read, not only because of the plot but also because this story was coming to an end. As Gabi said, you know these characters so well it’s hard to leave them. It was so lovely to compare notes via our virtual book club meeting and filled the book club void of the past few months.
I would share more about State of Wonder but since I abhor knowing details about plots before I read a book, I will just say that I highly recommend it. (Bel Canto, too, of course, although since I’m fresh off of my State of Wonder high, I’m more reverent about it!)
My honeymoon of reading books written in English is now over and I’m slowly working my way through books in Spanish by Isabel Allende and Paulo Coehlo. Slowly, not because I’m trying to savor them… slowly, because I read at a snail’s pace in Spanish. Hopefully I’ll have them finished by the end of next summer when we return. And then we can talk about them!
This summer, I lent one of my favorite books, Bel Canto (by Ann Patchett), to my lovely friend Gabi. Just before we left for Peru, Gabi gave me Patchett’s latest book, State of Wonder, which she had just finished and knew I’d been coveting. Both books are set in South America. Bel Canto is in Lima, although it’s never explicitly stated. But the garúa, the thick, gray fog that blankets the city for most of the year, is practically a character in the book. State of Wonder is mostly in Brazil.
Knowing that Ann Patchett is a spellbinding writer, and that the book would be an escape as well as a transition of sorts (from regular life in Indianapolis, through scary new beginning in Lima, to adjustment to our new normal), I wanted to make it last as long as possible.
I normally race through books as quickly as I can read them. But two other times I’ve forced myself to go slower, both with Barbara Kingsolver books. Right after Simon was born, there were several weeks during which every day, like clockwork, I got depressed at 4 p.m. So Sam suggested that, during that daily window of feeling low, I read Kingsolver’s latest book, The Lacuna. He’d given it to me for Christmas but I had been saving it for a special occasion. He thought that having something special to look forward to every day would help, which it did. And for Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, I could only read it on the bus ride to and from work every day, to make it last longer.
So instead of reading at my normal pace, I tried to read slooooowly, to savor it. I could only read it in the evenings, after Simon went to bed (and, when we were in Spanish school, after homework was considered, if not completed). I couldn’t read it every night. Moreover, each time I picked it up I reread the section I’d just finished the last time. I was kind of reading it twice before finishing it for the first time.
And what a delight it was. It took me almost six weeks to read it this way, piecemeal. That drove me nuts because I just wanted to know what happened, but deep down I knew I needed to just enjoy the amble towards the end of the book.
Poor Sam: when I was incredulous at various plot developments, I’d try to tell him why such-and-such was incredible or shocking or just not possible. And he’d listen and nod and try to look interested, but he was really thinking about the stock market. (And then he’d try to tell me about the latest developments on the stock market and I’d listen and nod and try to look interested, but I was really thinking about my book.)
Both of these books are similar in that you are lulled into a certain rhythm or pace by the plotline and then in a matter of pages, even paragraphs, that world completely changes. Then you are left dying to compare your elation, sadness, euphoria, not to mention plot points, with someone. At least, I was!
Therefore, when I finished it late one night, I immediately emailed Gabi and asked her when we could Skype.
It took a while for our schedules to align – well, it took a while for a window to open in Gabi’s ultra-busy schedule. But finally, between conference calls, during her son’s nap, and after convincing her daughter to play with markers, we got to talk about these fabulous and surprising books, their skillfully crafted characters and excellent plotlines.
It is so satisfying to me to share the excitement of a book with a fellow book lover. There’s the shared understanding of known characters and their quirks, shared language about plot developments, shared pain at difficult points and losses. It’s a world come alive for the people who have chosen to enter it.
The ending was hard to read, not only because of the plot but also because this story was coming to an end. As Gabi said, you know these characters so well it’s hard to leave them. It was so lovely to compare notes via our virtual book club meeting and filled the book club void of the past few months.
I would share more about State of Wonder but since I abhor knowing details about plots before I read a book, I will just say that I highly recommend it. (Bel Canto, too, of course, although since I’m fresh off of my State of Wonder high, I’m more reverent about it!)
My honeymoon of reading books written in English is now over and I’m slowly working my way through books in Spanish by Isabel Allende and Paulo Coehlo. Slowly, not because I’m trying to savor them… slowly, because I read at a snail’s pace in Spanish. Hopefully I’ll have them finished by the end of next summer when we return. And then we can talk about them!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Beach bums
We’ve enjoyed South American springtime this week on Peru’s northern coast, close to the Ecuadorian border, just outside of Máncora. Our hotel is about 40 minutes away from Máncora proper if we walk up the beach, or 10 minutes by mototaxi on a sandy road that is begging to be graded.
It has been divine to be here. We are right on the ocean, with the attendant sounds of waves crashing into the beach. It has been a wonderful backdrop to everything – every meal, every conversation, every falling asleep and waking up.
The weather has been ideal, probably mid-70s as the high every day, with sunny skies and less humidity than Lima. This is the low season, so we haven’t seen many people around our hotel or on the beach. Apparently high season will start around December, when summer begins. I think that is also when the prices skyrocket, so I’m doubly glad for our beach time now.
While it’s been quiet, there’s been a lot of activity that we’ve witnessed, if not participated in. Two dogs trade off security duties here; we see them on their rounds… or during their naps. Horses trot down the beach. Vendedores walk down the beach in pairs or threes, selling hats, sunglasses, cover-ups, magazines, newspapers. Pelicans ride the air currents just above the waves. Crabs scurry to and from sand holes. Sam pointed out a whale jumping several days ago. Fishing boats are plentiful. An occasional sighting of a lizard has me excited, a reminder that we’re in the desert.
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| Pelicans riding the air currents |
We’ve spent the week being very low-key. We haven’t needed to do much, so there is a luxury in opting to do nothing. We eat, we play on the beach or in the water, we sleep. Repeat. Sam has been especially diligent in reviewing his Spanish notes. The other night we saw a sky full of stars – a new sky view for us, southern hemisphere constellations – and the Milky Way was even visible!
Our food is mostly fish and seafood, so fresh and delicious. We even get to have multiple cups of coffee in the morning, a luxury we’ve missed, and the coffee as strong as we’d like it, which is super strong. I was confused the first morning when we went to breakfast. Where was the coffee? I asked our waiter. He pointed to a tiny pitcher, the kind you’d put cream or milk in. I hadn’t even looked in that, not having considered that coffee would come in such a small container. There was a larger container of hot water. You mix it to taste. That tiny pitcher is enough for Sam and I to each have a cup of very strong coffee – again, divine. It seems so logical that everyone can mix it to their own strength preferences.
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| Tiny pitchers of condensed milk and coffee |
We’ve consolidated the need to go into town for groceries, diapers, bus tickets as much as possible. It’s been nice to limit the town exposure, since I’m not sure I would enjoy being there more than we have been.
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| Main street Mancora, full of mototaxis |
Mancora is apparently a year-round surfing hotspot, and we saw a fair number of surfer types on our town days. Sam decided to take a surfing lesson, so below are a couple of pictures of him in his surfing glory (he’s the one riding a wave in the background)!
Simon loves funny things right now, things I’m thankful that he’s enjoying, like putting on sunscreen... and rubbing it in on others.
This morning I read a quote I’d scribbled in my notebook earlier this year when I was reading Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams: On a day like today when the air is dry and smells of salt, I have found my open space, my solitude, and sky. So fitting!
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