For my MA and then my unfinished PhD theis, I wrote about how the emotion we label as Shame can affect us in speaking our second languages. It's a lot more complicated that than sentence above, but more or less that's what I wrote about. Reading all the materials I did, papers, books, talks and more, I realized how much shame, named or unamed, is a motivating factor for so much what we do or do not do as adults. And, I can remember intense moments of shame in my own life, that have somehow defined who I am, or am not. One of the fascinating elements of faith, and especially if you are not focused on the Christian institutions, but rather Christ himself, is His whole ministry focused on love and not following what a shame-based culture said he should and shouldn't do. He should have never touched a woman who was bleeding, dead bodies, lepers, and women in general. But he did. And they were made whole, healed, raised from the ...
Posts
It has been decided, from this blog and other musing, that I'm going to write a book this year, and see where things go from there. I've had some really interesting encouragement to do so, mostly from people who just don't know me, and only have ever read what I've put here or on social media. The best encouragement comes from a very prolific author of over 40 books who told me she's not really a person of faith but has enjoyed my writing the last several months. I'm, as the Brits say, gobsmacked, and truly delighted by her praise. Since 2012, my writings have been mostly either academic or deeply personal correspondence, and as of late, more business correspondence. More and more, my time has been dedicated to social media, rather than long format, so the last three or so months of stretching my legs out on this blog writing what I want to say has felt rather delightful, and incredibly therapeutic. I think some of the most important things to keep in mind, and...
When I studied theology and the bible for my university years, I don't think I would have ever imagined sitting here today in Spain, clutching my laptop on a Sunday morning, telling you about what this strange life is like. This last week, I found myself wandering the coast of Spain in two different directions with my reluctant-to-be-called boss, Miguel Angel. The first journey on Wednesday took us to a town called Albunol, where we finally signed in the notary for a home that we initially began selling in February. Like many country homes, it had been added to, and it was not reflected in what we call the nota simple, or simple deed, that is reflected in the public record. In order for a home sale to occur, this doesn't usually present a problem, except when the buyers wish to mortgage the home. Even though these buyers were already in their 60s, they felt the need to take out a mortgage and thus began the months of descending into the Sp...
Almost three years ago, Andrew and I were shocked to hear that Jose and Sara got into their car to do some last-minute shopping and never came home, killed by a drunk driver in Texas that day before Thanksgiving evening. It stung and ached then, and it still does. A couple of months ago I drove over by their old flat and I suddenly could hear Jose's voice peal with laughter and it was as if he told me how proud he was of Andrew and I. I burst into tears and missed them dreadfully. Backing up, Sara and Jose were here when we first arrived in 2003 and stuck around for a year or so after we came. He was from Granada, she was from Texas and Andrew and Jose practiced their languages together. We were part of a rather scrappy bunch of 20 and 30 somethings and ate a lot of bad food and laughed alot together. But, Jose wanted to stretch his wings and so they moved to Texas, they made a life, had two boys and would occasionally come back and visit. I always assumed that they would come and...
One of the things I've promised in this blog of ramblings is to cover more of the last several years and connect the dots between my earlier posts from 2007 to 2015, to suddenly appear on the blogger map again in 2023. For many reasons, 2020 was a massive year of upheaval and change, and for my husband and myself, it affected our lives physically, emotionally and spiritually. As Covid began to take its toll on the world, we found ourselves packing bags for my brother's long awaited wedding. We went, we danced with a feeling that it was the end of the world as we knew it, and then we faced 4 months of living with my parents as the world turned and burned. We said sad goodbyes to my uncle as Covid took his tired, worn-out body from us. We cooked a lot, waited a lot, and talked on the phone a lot with people in Spain as I watched my business implode and then surprisingly restart, but only to succumb to second lockdowns and curfews imposed in October of 2020. And finall...
Olive oil makes the world go around where I live. Property is measured in how many trees it possesses, how many kilos of olives it produces, and its subsequent liters of liquid gold. This year, one of my learning curves, is about this element of olive oil, and how it makes the world go around in Southern Spain. For the last two years for Christmas, my landlord has brought me a bottle of olive oil from Montefrio, and it is some of the best. It's so good, I use it for tostadas and salads, and never for cooking. The other day I finally ran out and it was a sad moment. And I asked God for more. See, I think God cares about the tiny details because that's what life is really made up of. The oil, the parking spaces we need in the city, the daily bread, that's why in what we call the Lord's prayer, He tells us we are to ask for it. ...give us our daily bread... In the midst of Covid, Andrew and I lost the whole business and a lot of hope. Just as we lost the business, someone ...
I wandered this weekend to just a few meters from my own home, and went to a conference meant for real estate agents. Since 2021, I've found myself counted in this group of individuals, and I've attended meetings, parties and gatherings, but on a local level. This time was national, and as a linguist I was both overwhelmed and fascinated by the dozens of accents and ways of speaking just in Spanish alone, let alone the few of us foreigners that have infiltrated the scene. It was to put it briefly, overwhelming. Even though I am 20 years immersed in this Spanish speaking world, I still find myself in situations that I have no effing clue, or that I feel I've been thrown into the deep end or a very rough sea, and made to survive. Although the crowd was probably around 30 percent women or more, I still found myself at a table full of men for lunch, and in both languages I can hold my own in those situations. However, even though I've been here a very long time, I've g...
The unholy holy....a phrase given to me by someone whom I respect very much...and it's rolled around in my head this weekend and today again. My current home city has been that for almost 20 years, this week in fact we complete 20 years here. I've grown nostalgic on another post, so I won't do that here, but instead I will wax eloquent about it. It's one of the most beautiful cities in the world, so much so song, poetry, dance and more have been created about it. Conservative and elegant, yet cutting edge and growing, it still never ceases to amaze me. But compared to where I grew up, it's a different world. I've been catcalled and chased after asking if I want boyfriends. Recently in a street in one of the nearby towns, I was presumed to be a prostitute, in the middle of the day, the men in the car were insistent that I join them. Once, a few years back ( long time actually) I wore a beach dress into the supermarket and even though my beach dress was modest on...
These posioned tables have been like the scene in C.S. Lewis book, The Silver Chair, which is an often overlooked part of the Narnia Series. The Prince is enchanted, and by that, a bettter more modern word would be bewitched, and the Silver Chair is controlling him to stay underground and not possess the kingdom that is rightfully his, and instead and Evil Witch rules over all. The Prince is so bewitched, so possessed by this Silver Chair, that he cannot see what is really happening, and that is he is completely bound to it with chains. It takes courage from a creature called a Marshwiggle, who burns his feet and snuffs out the incense-laden fire which is poisoning the air. The Marshwiggle pays no mind that he might burn his feet, but understands he must do so to end the enchantment. The first poision I realized that so many people have drunk, is that to be a Christian in a respectable church with dignified ceremony and theology, is to give away the freedoms they have. This can be...
I mentioned in the previous blog that we have been removed from various tables at which we were being poisoned. I wish to delve deeper into this, but first some thoughts as to where I'm at now. One of the things that is giving me more courage to do this, was last week meeting an old friend who has worked for The Kingdom of Heaven for a long time. As a very young almost woman, I went and visited him and his wife in an exotic place. He and I had several pivotal conversations during that time that made me think deep thoughts and almost 30 years later, have continued to form my thinking about what this world is and isn't. One of his main complaints then and even now, is that most of the organizations that call themselves churches or the church are just that, organizations. They have lost their true ideologies or missions, and have instead sunk to the level that many institutions do, working at controlling those men and women dedicated to their growth. I have agreed for a long time,...
In 2011, I began my postgraduate journey at the University of Granada with an MA in English Literature and Linguistics. I chose my emphasis to be linguistics and my MA thesis deals with shame and how it directly affects those of us learning to speak a second language as we do so in our adult stage of life. This blog isn't about my MA, but, to deal with a minor topic within it, one of the main critiques of it, and my writing later in my unfinished and unpublished, PhD, that I lack my own voice. Since I can remember, I have read and written. I can't hardly remember learning how to read, and I started writing shortly thereafter. Journals and poetry as a kid and later young adult, and now I do more personal writing on social media and occasionally here. I've had all sorts of horrific critiques in my more formal writing. I don't have a voice, I use too much passive voice, I need to write more, I need to be more concise, blah blah blah blah. And since I finished, or rather, s...
I sat last night in Andrew's office as we listened to several voice messages sent to us by my uncle Peter. Twenty years ago, we were packing our bags and giving away our life as we knew it to move to Spain. The first night we arrived it was chilly and rainy and dark and we cried ourselves to sleep not knowing what we had gotten ourselves into. The next morning with sunshine and snow gleaming off the Sierra Nevada, we knew it was going to be better. All my clients, both long and short term now, have reams of knowledge due to the internet/social media, and more about the city they are coming to see. We had a shaky picture of the Alhambra and mountains in 2003, and a bit of knowledge having been to Malaga in 2001 for two weeks. What we did know was that an apartment was waiting for us. It was ok, too big and furniture in which lurked Franco's ghost, but we called it home, even with the worst mattress we had ever lived with. And not only were these popcorn walls waiting for us, bu...
It's been a long time, and a longer journey since I last posted in this blog. I've decided to take it back up for various reasons, the primary one is that writing for me is a journey that helps me process and remember. Until this past Jan, I was busy for 2 and 1/2 years with an MBA. In the middle of the pandemic, I lost my business. Twice. It's a long and boring story, but those of us who worked and still work in the hospitality industry understand. I realized in the middle of 2019 and 2020 that I was a better businesswoman than an academic, and while the world stopped, I realized I could use some more formal materials and hooks to hang my ideas on, and so I began studying online with University of the People This isn't an ad or even a sponsored post for them, but I highly recommend it as I had a really positive experience. It's almost free, and for a fraction of the cost, I have an accredited MBA that kept me from following down the social media rabbit holes and ...
Several months ago, at the peak of new projects, the beginning of summer, and all that life entailed (wedding, cousin's son newly diagnosed with cancer, etc, etc, etc) someone wrote me an email. It was ill timed in so many ways. I came home excited on a Sunday evening, jet lagged from my sisters wedding (so on a high and low from both the wedding and coming home) and also just juiced to be part of a new project here in Granada when it comes to "church". And...someone wrote me a letter...and I had the audacity to open it before I went to bed. This women is not a friend, but still wrote me, expressing emotion, but at the same time trying to solicit my own feelings. At one point she expressed concern stating that , "you must feel alone in Granada because of a 'family situation'". I don't think she meant it as an offense, but I was offended. Me? Alone? I was so excited that after an incredibly intense year of friendships, everyone was leaving for t...
Triathlons, Aloe plants and how we are all connected.
And life, like that, is back to its crazy rythmn. Life in a university town means you never leave the university schedule. Late nights, sometimes late mornings, centered around the next holiday/vacation means that life is either on or off around there. We needed off time. On time means intense, never stopping hardly to catch your breath around here. Off time was good. But this weekend we were back on, taking pictures for a race here in Granada. I took my perch up on Llano de Perdiz, a hill behind Granada. I waited in the rain as each particpant ran/walked/climbed over my hill and seemed to appear from nowhere, and took pictures. As the rain intensified, my friend said, "Go, find a warm, dry spot." and I said, "No, I will wait for the last ones. I am always last, so I will wait." One of my friends was one of the final ones, mostly due to the fact that a number of people pulled out. He arrived spent, happy, ready to finish and happy to see us. As he and I talk...
So....the story of Tony Gallopin continues...and I think it's appropiate to recount it here. After his day of wearing the yellow jersey and supreme suffering, they all had a rest day. He told everyone later that he sat down with his father, a former pro cyclist, and his fiancee, a pro cyclist as well, and looked at what the next day's race would look like. They realized it was going to be a lot harder than what the race organizers had stated it would be. So..the played it out, and yesterday, Tony let his legs get used to the bike, and stayed with the pack, then broke away 5km before end. He sprinted so hard UPHILL, that no one could chase him down, and he won the days stage, placing him now 5th in the overall standings, 3 minutes and a little bit behind the Grand Nibabli. This gutsy little cyclist is inspiring me, as much phsycially as metaphysically. To have seen his face of extreme suffering, my heart cried out for him. I didn't get to watch the Tour yesterday bu...
I know this blog has been long forgotten in the last several months, but today I want to revisit it. First, I have this feeling,and it's been hard to describe, until today. Today, Andrew and I watched the last few minutes of today's stage of the Tour of France. This is a grueling 3 week race that most Americans didn't know existed until Lance Armstrong dominated the scene. Andrew and I weren't ever fans, until we started to become weekend warrior cyclists. We do some cycling and understand a small portion of what these incredible men do. One rider today, Tony Gallopin, wore the yellow jersey. He only wore it for today, and he worked so hard to be true to it. He called today's stage, "Four hours of suffering" as these men tried to in pouring rain and then a huge climb up Le Planche des belles filles. He got to the end, not first, and had to relenquish his yellow jersey. They showed him being stopped after the fnish line, dripping sweat, snot and tea...
I sit alone in a hotel room, just a little over 24 hours left to 2013. I'm in Chicago, and have celebrated Christmas with my family, as well as helped in what I'm calling, the Great Move. This year has been incredible. I saw three good friends get married, in three distinctly beautiful weddings. I went to two conferences to present my original ideas on Second Language Acquistion, and I was accepted into a PhD program at the University of Granada. I threw parties, I saw my husband race 2 different olympic distance races and complete them well. I ran my own races, including my first sprint race. I finished. But the one memory that sticks out in mind, besides the surprise birthday party, the weddings, the joys and the lows, was one of my lower moments this year. The Race I didn't Finish. It was supposed to be my first sprint triathlon. Surrounded by my team, as I began to swam out, I panicked. My asthma compounded by my nerves created The Perfect Panic Attack. I tried ...
Sal
This summer we met and heard a musican named Alex Sampedro, I had heard this song before, but when I heard it live, I wept along with the rest of the audience. Below I will translate the song. El verano pasado, conocimos y escuchamos a un muisco se llama Alex Sampedro. Lo habia escuchado la cancion antes, pero cuando lo escuche en vivo, llore como el resto de publico. I have a bible that doesn't say anything A cruxifix that doesn't save A faith that is tired of mountains I have prayers with no focus And I have preached so many times in the valley of the dry bones I have news, but no hearers I have people waiting for fish But my nets are broken The wine is vinegar and the bread has no taste The salt no longer is salty The church no longer goes out into the streets Their light is under a table and the virgin doesn't care The yeast is in the fridge and my armour is rusty I have silver and gold, but the lame do not dance. I h...
I have realized that this year I have written very little, but for me this has been an incredible year of wandering around the world and yet staying close to home at the same time. In just a little over a year, I've traveled to three separate countries in order to present my MA thesis, and have had it received quite positively. I didn't write about my time in Poland this year and I have a few memories I'd like to add to this blog. I traveled alone this time, as the two previous times I had either Liz or Andrew with me. I have traveled alone on various occasions, but this time was rather nerve wracking. My first country in which I didn't know any of the language all by myself since I have been married. I took the bus to Madrid, slept a bit in the airport and then off on the umpteenth Ryanair flight for this year. It took almost 4 hours by plane to get to Krakow, and then I walked tentatively to the train station, following signs and other travelers. You completely ...