Screaming from the roof tops

2007-02-18T11:42:00.000-08:00

the heat was cut in the tender hours of friday. a merciless thunderstorm ripped across the sky. the rain was light but fell with fury.

yesterday we had a high of 73 and a low of 61. Leslie, Gabi and I bundeled up. Coats, cardigans, scarves. We sat in the balcony of the most perfect bar. looking down at the animation below. a bosa nova band. red wine. outside it was "freezing" Inside was steamy. There was a new energy last night...rolling through the streets of San Telmo. Girls wore cute summer dresses layered with jeans and cardies. Boys wore cordaroy jackets. in the air....the kiss of fall.

2007-02-15T15:00:00.000-08:00

Last night...

was hot and sticky. friends...some old and some just met and still fresh...and i sat on a 7th floor balcony. we watched shooting stars (who would have thought they existed in ba) and marveled at the constelations scorpio and orian. it was my first time seeing scorpio.

on the way home a lovely taxi driver and i talked about the universiality of music like the blues, tango and flamenco. agreeing that they are all arts of the earth. we talked about flowering trees that line nueve de julio and i mentioned he was driving with such care and thanked him.

in the end in slow and shaky english he began to talk. when i got out he said "por suerte.....good luck"

2007-01-22T17:29:00.000-08:00

Busy?

What are my days filled with? Sun. Sun is one. The sun is strong here and it draws sweat from my back and under my arms. The men sit on the edges of side walks, and although they are gross, maybe missing a tooth or two and swigging back liters of cold beer I still hold in my stomache.

There is also English classes and things are a bit more relaxed. My students, I have known them for almost a year now. Even the beginners can have perfectly fluid conversations with me and I think....wow, who taught them English?

Today I held down at least four cups of coffee. I have a habit of not refusing anything for free....and Argentines love to offer me coffee. There is also a lot of wine and cold beer to be had. Empanadas, pizza slices, salame sandwiches, apples, yogurt, steak, salad, chickens and water. These are what my belly is full of on a regular basis.

I am still walking and feel and see the effects of this lazy excercise. My legs are strong and I can pound out almost 20 blogs in 15 minutes if I have the energy or time is not on my side.

Life is full of day dreaming and frustrations. I want to create but don´t feel the inspiration. In the past I was lucky. There were always sparkles, yards of fabric, strings of delicious yarn, dancing, fanciful music, fantastic words and insanely inovative minds. I had surrounded myself with people who didnt say "well, i dont know." Instead they said "how about this way?" Sometimes I have to remind myself that I gotta hold up the fort.

Spanish. It seems I do very little with my day. Mostly I have two activities I dedicate myself to. Or maybe only one. Languages. English in the morning and then a good 4 hours of Spanish class and studying Spanish. I think about only these two activities and how they are just that...two. But then I think, hey, 4 hours is a hell of a lot of time. Then I think about my ability of not only understanding someone for two hours in Spanish but also talking for two hours....and I think....when did I learn that?

And today....today I have decided to add another activity to my list. F2 called me today.

"Leees, heeeeellllllooooo. Como te va?"

"hey, I´m hungry" I say.

"What are you going to eat?" he asks

"Well, I don´t know. I dont have food."

I realized I have been stuffing myself with not really good tasting things. Things that leave me empty and not really enjoying. I also realized that I want to be creating right now...but I´m not. I found a apple cake recipe today and my panza did little flip flops. "I´m making that!" I screamed to myself in my head.

When I walked back from the corner store I felt real good. I was going to make cake for under 6 pesos...whoop whoooop!!

I like to make soul food. Yes, soul food in the sense that I like butter, and I like fatty cupcakes, and rich soups. But I also like to make things that have all the energy I can punch into my food...I like to see peoples eyes bulge as big as their bellies and I love to see people lick their lips and I like to fight over letting them have "just one more taste".

My apple cake is in the oven and its warm smells are wafting through out the house...and maybe the building. I hope my life is more full of this too.

And at the end of the day...Estoy contenta. I am happy. Happier than I have really been in a long time.

2007-01-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

Huh

I had a dream this morning. In the dream everyone´s lusty pirate Johnny Depp was in a rock n roll band and I was watching them. The room was empty and at the end I made eye contact with Johnny....he averted his eyes and made eye contact with my friend Erin instead....they exchanged smiles.

In the next scene I am sitting behind Johnny D on a motorcycle. He is going fast and taking risks. I squeel and tell him I like to smell my armpits.

huh.

2007-01-13T06:29:00.000-08:00

For real!!

Holy mother. It´s 11:36 and the temp outside is a crisp 90 degrees. But at home....kids, you got 16!

I have started on this new kick called "Soy una porteña" (I´m a native of Buenos Aires). Some of my students squeel with laughter when I say this and agree. Mainly after I have pulled out some of my random Argentine slang that I keep hidden up under my sleeves for the last 5 minutes of class. But really I´m not. You see, Porteños love to complain....about everything. And generally I say, "when life gives you lemons, dance".

BUT....

If there is one thing I like to complain about it´s the weather...and generally it´s the unfairness of what I have here compared to what is happening in Western Washington. I love weather extremes. I like it drippy hot and I like it so cold you have to wear three pairs of socks to bed and it´s so cold that your nose can´t even run....and babies. You got it. Not only do you have that but you also have had big snow storms and huge wind storms. And I know....maybe its not fun for you, but you can have home made hot chocolate parties and snuggle up. I want to have hot chocolate and I want to snuggle...but when it´s 90, there is no way I am getting within 10 feet of a human and forget hot coco...I´m taking a cold shower.

2007-01-04T07:49:00.000-08:00

Preggers

Today I went back to work. At Aerocargas everything was a buzz and slowly my students started trickling through the reception area and excitedly saying good morning. After not seeing them for two weeks I was both happy and amazed at how fluidly they were saying good morning, asking me about my holidays and the time spent with my dad.

Vivi´s face lit up when she saw me...like it normaly does. I thought about how beautiful she is. Then I saw her gently wrap her hands around her belly and look down.....I gasped and a sly smile spread across her face....Vivian is pregnant.

Normaly when I hear a friend is pregnant there is at least a small hint of doom that is mixed in with everything else....the people I know don´t want to have babies...at least not completely. But I know this is not the case with Vivian. Every once in awhile I would look in at her sitting at her desk...and there she was, rubbing that little baby belly of hers. And I am happy. Happy for this beautiful lady that is going to have a beautiful baby and hopefuly she will raise the beautiful baby to be as beautiful as her.

PS: I don´t know...but I hope she has a girl.

2007-01-03T08:57:00.000-08:00

December 31, 2006

2006 and its the last day of the year. It´s hot and the sun is delicious. Drawing sweet dew that trickles down my forehead. Red wine. Nina Simone. A light breeze. No mosquitos. For the hour no cocroaches. Coffee. This American Life. Love the radio. Fuck the tv. I love how with the radio you are only half engaged. Your eyes aren´t trapped by a pulsating, convulsing screen. Leslie (the temp roomate), Erin. Does biteable boy have chest hair? The goodness of a good ole pinning. Otis Redding and Melanie. I think about her husky voice and all I can picture is her long hair. Hot suffocating air. Scortching pavement. Standing in the middle of 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world, listening to tango. Wine....did I say that already? Juicy pork ribs. Toasting F2 and his roomate at midnight. Fireworks. The frightened tick tick tick of Rositas frantic little toenails on the floor. Slow dancing. The roomates slow shy smile. Talking in Spanish....the most amazing thing. Goofy happy smiles the whole night. Not wanting to be anywhere else in the world. Happy New Year.

2006-12-06T15:39:00.000-08:00

The boy who looked like Juan

Dark skin, soft broad arching nose. Raven black hair shaved short. Same serious mouth that could be crushed into the most beautiful smile.

Where is he? My childhood friend. The class clown?

In my life I have known so many Juan´s. The chubby smart mouthed kid with the soft smooth voice. He taught the skinny girl with the gap between her teeth and cowlicked hair that is better to have them laugh with you than at you.

My secret shame burns hot and fresh. When we got older I sold out. Sold him for the cheap price of "normality" and popularity. My friend-my equal-my other.

Years later seeing him at the restaurant he was working at back home. I was embarressed. I realized, seeing him there, how "above it" I thought I was. How silly, trying to deny my home. I felt in those short moments, talking to Juan, so disgraced. I was not better than my town. If anything Juan was. I had let my past beat me by running away from it. Abandoning it. Juan had not. He told me I looked really good. It was a lie. He was the beautiful one. That radiating smile. His simple kindness.

Two summers ago on a night lit up by blazing stars Mom told me he was sick.

Very sick.

The worst sick there is.....

that sick.

She asked me if I wanted to go see him at the hospital. The stars crashed down from the sky in giant bursts. Blinding me. That night-that clear beautiful night-there was no up or down. No right or wrong, no day or night, love and hate. There wasn´t the relief of death. Only sick. And the guaranteed future of more sick.

I tried to drown in my tears. Felt the ribbons, streams, and rivers of snot and salty sadness, fear and regret splash off my chin, down my armpits, across my stomache. I felt the sheets absorbing 25 years of heart ache.

I didn´t know how to face the mortality of my childhood friend. All I could think about was Juan. Juan and soft fragile fluffball kittens in our jackets. How they tickled. How good it felt to hold something so small and new. Protecting something and discovering the joy of caring for something.

I refused to go to the hospital. Mom drove me there anyway. Drove us there. Drove us there to say hello to a friend. Someone we loved. Someone who needed to know we loved him. I remember hating my mother and clinging to her. I had a mantra. Let it be ok.

let it be ok. let it be ok. let it be ok. let it be ok. let it be ok.letitbe ok. letitbeok.letitbeok.letitbeok.letitbeok.let it. beok.

He was asleep.

We returned with a huge bundle of flowers. They were beautiful and garish and obscene. I love color. Love smells...love flowers. This was all I could give him. Beauty. Or so I thought.

I sat on the heater in the window dangling my legs. We gossiped. We turned into 10 year old kids again. Wide eyed and new. I stared at the boy who had somewhere.some how. turned into the man who layed before me. And Juan did the same.

And so today I see this man at the bus stop and I think of Juan. My heart brakes, I choke and my heart sings the stories I have of Juan. My childhood friend. I hold these memories, like fragile kittens...in my jacket close to my heart.

2006-11-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

Underpants

Today is hot and I have just come home from work. Today is hot and I am happy. Alan moved out today and so now, in the dead heat of the 6:30 afternoon I am able to accompany my pomelo soda with a little wearing of the underpants.

Being able to wear underpants around my apartment was one reason I wanted to live with a girl. I always felt weird walking around in my underpants with Alan and so I didn´t do it. But today....this afternoon...Alan moved out and I am able to wear just my underpants while I drink my pomelo soda.

This afternoon was sad, exhausting and sweet release all wrapped up in brown paper with white string, stamped, and ready for delivery to Uruguay. Alan and I somewhere along the past two months stopped talking to each other. He never left his room, would leave the house without saying goodbye, and made me feel weird and strange when I had to knock on his door. In return I was argumentative and irritable. A relationship we both hated and I am sure confused both of us. We had a great relationship at one time and I don´t understand where it went. Today Erin came over as Alan was leaving and he was the person I remember him being. The person I liked. I was hurt and jealous....why didnt I get to see that person anymore?

And so I let him out of the apartment and he waddeled away with all of his bags....mind drifting with the strong south eastern wind. I stood there...watching him and not saying a word. Not wanting to say goodbye for fear of what would happen. With an uncomfortable laugh Erin reached out to him...broke his distraction and said goodbye.

2006-11-28T12:49:00.000-08:00

The Spar Cafe

Today I read, in my old local paper, that The Spar closed. The Spar. 4th Ave, green carpet, tobaco loose and moist sold in fat glass jars, extra extra thick milkshakes, and homemade bread on your toasted cheese sandwich.

The Spar wasn´t my favorite place in Olympia. But the happy hour drinks were cheap and it was a place you could go with your professor after class to get a gin and tonic or something like a Maker´s Mark. It was a place where fat and jolly politicians rubbed their wet and chewed cigars between their fingers. It wasn´t my favorite...but there is history.

Eating there when Mom and I came to check out Evergreen. I had short hair. I wore a red sweater. I was wildly insecure and giddy.

Breakfast with my new floormates the second day of orientation. I don´t talk to many of those girls any more...in fact the ones I talk to now are the ones I didn´t talk to then....namely Mariah and Serena....

Breakfasts with my Dad when he "popped by". Breakfast with Mom and Lew...and maybe lunch too.

Drinks. drinks drinks and drinks. Jazz and cigar smoke. Old pictures of loggers. Harreld. Harreld loved The Spar. I went there for him.

And of course...the milkshakes. The tea and coffee, the chili and those greasy toasted cheese sandwiches on the honied thick slabs of homemade bread. Sitting at the counter with Jeff...feet dangling down to the ground. Sucking on those thick milkshakes until I was cutting my cheeks with my teeth.

And now, 7 years later, I have these memories. Salty, and dusty like the Spar.

2006-11-25T13:07:00.000-08:00

Hugs

Amma the hugger...it is believed she has hugged over 20 million people. Wow. I was just heard a story about her and the Americans who have been touched by her. The hugs sounded nice but not good enough to make you feel peaceful like a "pond" as one woman described. I started thinking about Americans...hugging Americans. Do we like to touch? No not really.

I personaly feel I can be an affectionate person...can be. Depending on who it is. Over all though, I am a bit cold. A bit uncomfortable when touching people in general....even can find it hard to look people in the eyes....intimacy problems. When I was a kid my mom used to ask for a hug and kiss goodnight. I would snotily tell her I couldn´t...I had run out of hugs and kisses for the day.

I think a lot of Americans are like this. Hugging over all seems to be a special occasion activity. But here in Buenos Aires they like to touch. Touch touch touch. You get touched on the bus, in lines at the grocery store, you get kisses and give kisses. Sometimes, especially kissing other Americans.... when I don´t know how new they are to the kissing....I feel a bit strange. I feel very aware with my body and the space between us. I know we are going to bump heads and I grit my teeth.

But then there are other people. My students for instance and even my closer friends. I remember the first good cheeck kisser (check kisser) I met. His name is Adrian. He is a student. He grabs my shoulder and pulls me to him giving me a quick kiss. He is affectionate with his kiss and I love it. And now I am really getting into it. I pull people in close...especially when I haven´t seen them in awhile...when I am happy to see them. The cheek kissing has moved into other sectors. I touch people on the shoulders leaning in closer and make more eye contact. And I love it.

But something is still wrong. I don´t hug anymore. Some days all I want is a hug. I am beginning to think that for me hugging is more intimate...probably because I kiss so much during the day and it is so quick. But I do...I miss that extended contact that is in the hug. I miss the feeling of being helped held up....when you hug someone for a moment someone is supporting you.

Please, hug someone today.

2006-11-23T22:40:00.000-08:00

What are you thankful for

I have been thinking about this question for two days and there is un montón. So many things to be thankful for. Tonight, Thanksgiving, ended a bit shitty...in a silly sort of way. And I have come home and gotten a message from Kaili.

My sister.

And this is what I am most thankful for....my sister.

2006-11-22T11:52:00.000-08:00

Baking

Last fall the Hays Ranch/Estrodome was given 6 beautiful sugar pumpkins. Becky told me I had to make something with them. I decided to learn how to make pumpkin pies.

I am thinking about this now while I am in the process of making a calabaza pie. I have the dough in the refridgerator cooling and have gone to Barrio Chino for the spices I need, and purchased a calabaza. I am now waiting for Quin and Brian, my neighbors down the way, to be home so I can get their pie plate.

I am making the pie for Thanksgiving...which is tomorrow. But the pie doesn´t seem like it will be "enough". When I bake I like to bake in excess. Last Thanksgiving Mariah and I planned, baked and cooked for days. I remember going to Top Foods one Sunday night at about 11pm. Mariah and I were stuck. There were so many different kinds of turkey...we didn´t know where to start. In a matter of seconds we had a large group of women, Thanksgiving veterans, standing around us with their 16 oz triple shot caramel, vanilla, gingerbread, woo-woo Starbucks drinks (it was 11pm, like I said, but these ladies were in the long haul...no sleep til Friday) These women were pecking at us, squawking, and arguing over each other....telling us how to bake a turkey. What turkey to buy, what side dishes we needed to prepare. In the end we walked out of the grocery store with enough food to feed a small army. We had brought Mel´s food stamps and in the end 80 dollars of food turned into costing about 15.

Mariah and I worked as a well oiled machine. We brined the turkey in an aromatic bath of salt, lemons, oranges and spices from our garden. I baked 4 loaves of bread and at least three pies. The table was set and Mariah did the table decorations. Jenga made stuffing and Eoin a salad.
It was the best meal that any of us had had. Mariah threw out abuses egging people on to finish just one more plate of dinner...one more slice of pie...JUST DO IT she barked.

And here we go....this 22nd Novemberber. I am trying to make a calabaza pie and as I said it isn´t enough. Mariah isn´t here to keep me focused....I seem to remember at one point we went out to buy some last minute things and ended up slurping down daiquiris in fruity flavors at a Mexican restaurant...we had our priorities.

I don´t bake in rational amounts and I don´t bake to curb hunger. I do it because I like to see people eat. Like to see their faces as they hungrily look at whatever I have placed in front of them. I like to see them piggishly lick their plates clean. And so this Thanksgiving I am not only going to make Calabaza pie but I am also going to make ginger snap cookies. Not because I have to but because I need to. I need to get stressed about this...and I need to see peoples eyes bulge at the possibilities

2006-11-12T18:55:00.000-08:00

Doin it outdoors

Bottles of wine were passed around in the plaza amongst our little cluster of friends. I am soft eyed and feeling fuzzy like a feather boa. Tonight I went to Plaza Dorrego to see my first milonga. The dancers were beautiful and inspiring. I wish I had it in me. The ability to lose control and just "be".

One thing I love about this city, and probably all cities, is that when the weather is nice you live our life out doors. You go to outdoor milongas and movie theaters. You sit on your steps and just watch the city roll by and best of all...you have barbaques in the streets.

2006-11-12T16:30:00.000-08:00

Despedidas

Merponies swimming in a field of daisies.
When was the last time you danced in the dark?

This weekend shot past like a sneeze. Erin mentioned this today, Sunday afternoon, and I had to blink. I didn´t know what she was talking about...then it hit me....this weekend was far to quick. I don´t remember what made it go by fast. Was it the busieness of the weekened or was it the ability to forget what days were? One thing is for shizzle. It is raining friends.

This past week I have been husslin trying to find a roomate. I found a lot of duds but also a lot of girls I would like to get drinks with and sit under trees with on hot summer days. And it feels good. I have spent almost 9 months missing my ladies back home. Feeling some how empty and every day being thankful that I am the type of woman who can understand the power of having lady friends. And it looks like I might have found myself a new roomate. A German lady, Miss G. The exciting part of it is that we both seem to be excited about living together.

Last night was the desepedida for Donald Rumsfeld. It was a dance party and I brought my shoes. I danced and danced and danced. I sweated through the sweat. Roger and I had a dance off. I stole one of Jim V.s moves...the toaster and won the dance off hands down. But I think what got me the A+ was my oso hormiguero dance...who knew I could dance like an ant eater?

2006-11-09T03:42:00.000-08:00

Gasp!

There are not many birds in Buenos Aires. I see palomas (which can be white doves but more commonly are pigeons. I dont see why they have the same word for different birds. Once I was in English class and I realized why I am so disgusted by the word paloma for both birds. In the States dove´s are pure, white, clean. Pigeons are dirty, will poop on your head...are rats. My student then realized "dove soap" clean! But anyway, I thought that was an interesting observation, the cultural difference...here they dont have the same ideas about palomas and palomas)

So anyway. Birds. There isnt much diversity here. In the city, I know, it´s a city...there aren´t going to be many birds. Yesterday as we chugged through the Palermo parks on bus #130 I saw a gaggle of fat geese with babies in different stages of feather fluf. How great it was to see these long necked little fatty flufballs.

After the slow process of getting out of Palermo and down towards the center we passed the USA Embassy "Hello USA!! Have any fresh apple pie today?" I was mindlessly looking out the window....lazily day dreaming about the lives of everyone on the bus. When I gasped. A long dry sucking gasp! I gasped before I realized what I saw!!!!!!!

A flock of little parrots!!!!!!!!! Little green parrots. About 20 of them. Living in a city with parrots! how great is that.

2006-11-08T15:04:00.000-08:00

There is no Central Park here

The big push. I am still feeling it. Not enough time in the day. I don´t know if I have ever felt such a strong need to get rid of the electronics. The tv, computer and cellphone. With that extra hour I could be doing something.....better.

Last night I felt the push. Then like a soft pearl swollen and dewy the moon was gently waning in a pillow of cotton balls.. Still heavy from the full moon´s madness she was still marked with the crease of release. Like a flood line there was a hint of what she was a few days ago. In the cut edge of the windowpane she was pulled so hard that she popped into two. Two moons. Like two wide and soft cat eyes she slowly blinked at me.

Like a tide I was pulled to her. Thrusting my head -POP!- like a turtle out the window my nose twitched like a dogs. I have a good nose and this time it didn´t fail me. If there is one smell I know and love most of all it is that of the sea. I looked to the sky and three stars singing with glee looked down at me.

This spring has been fierce. There are lovely purple bloomed flowering trees and these other trees that grow massive avocado looking pods that burst into Peter Rabbit cotton tail explosions. In areas jazmin hangs heavy and rich. I bury my face deep into the petaly blanket, chokinging on the aroma. Sweet sweet grass pops up all over the city and it makes me thirsty. My head, like a puppy dog´s head as it hangs out bus windows. My hair flaps around my face as if it was a pair of ears belonging to a dog and I HHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWLLL at the twisted trunks and bushy pom poms of the trees.

I remember the day about two weeks ago when I confusedly realized the patchy trees had filled in with leaves forming solid blotches of fluorescent green. In my cozy concrete palace I do not notice these things. Nature majestically unfolds around me....in front of my blind eye. Amongst the cracked sidewalks and under the constant mist of conditioners I exist. And so does nature. Taking its course.

The other day I was joyfully ease dropping on an American girl and her mother on the #10 bus. We rolled down one of the most decadent streets in BsAs and they chatted about green spaces in the city.

"I mean, there is no Central Park in Buenos Aires. You can´t find a place where there aren´t any buildings."

And she was right. If you go to a park here you are surrounded by buildings. They are so high and crouch so close that they appear as if they are about to topple over on you. Splintering the massive trunks and making embarrassed toothpicks from the trees stoic bases.

You can not get away from "the city" in this city. There when you are most absorbed in the mindless twitter-tweet of a bird you will hear the angry intrusion of a car going by. Or just when you have opened your lungs to full capacity so that you can inhale the delicate smell of Spring a bus coughs in your face. Burning your nose and throat.

And this is why I love the sky so much, in Buenos Aires. The city can´t steal its magic. The colors of sunset are brilliant, the clouds lumpy and full, the moon iridescent. And although the lights of the city may try they can not stamp out the map of stars.

2006-11-04T18:08:00.000-08:00

And so here we are.

I changed my blog. Decided it was time to move away from Travel Blog. Am I traveling? No, not really....I am journeying. And here I am in my new home (Mom, be releaved, this blog has spell check)

Back to journeying. Here I am. I have been my whole life. I remember before I left for Argentina I wrote my parents, all four of them a letter. I think maybe only two of them saw it. It was in their house journel. Left like a little secret or a fluttering feather......or maybe I didn´t write the letter in the journal. Maybe I thought I did and like little secrets it fluttered away. In the letter (that was for all four of them but maybe only two saw) I wrote about my journey. They had taken me to a point and now it was time. We often think college is the time to "spread our wings". College was just flight school. Here, miles, heart aches, tears, giggles and flipped upside down I am in Argentina. No matter how strong my wings are they can not take me home. I am buidling my own nest.

And so this is my place. My place for my nest. My little hollowed out hole, crook in a tree...shield from the gritty south eastern winds.

for anyone who wants to relive the past 8 (!!!) months of my life here is my present to you