Madrid Me Mata

And we're back in Madrid. Never have I had such mixed emotions about a place. I found a post card once while meandering the back streets of the center of the city and it summed up my relationship with Madrid in one catchy phrase.  "Madrid, Me Mata" it said, alongside a sketch of a pretty women with a black mysterious, somewhat piratey eye patch.  In English the translation is; Madrid, it kills me.

It's sort of like this:

 For months I rode my bike through the city everyday, it was my only and favorite transportation. Whizzing through the traffic in the hot sun or that freezing cold; it didn't matter, I loved every minute of it. My blood pumped freedom, thrill, excitement. There's nothing like rediscovering the bicycle after a stint of not having transportation. How much faster than walking, how much less stressful than driving! And then I started noticing the ache in my throat every evening. Or that somehow breathing became painful, my nose almost reeling at the thought of having to draw in air. That along with the combination of either nosebleeds or black snot and I realized for the first time in my own body the concept of traffic pollution.  Even after being in the countryside, each return to the center of the city causes the same body bio feedback message to my brain - avoid breathing!

There are the beautiful parks and yet I yearn for the kind of natural wild unruly growth that can never be designed by the hand of a landscaper.

A country in a real crisis and yet they have a rich King still, who takes public money.

The many markets and quantity of things to buy and then my empty wallet.

The picturesque apartment overlooking the river that's ours to live in if we gave all our waking hours over to working in a job market where there is no work available anyway.

The many lovely people to have thrilling conversations with if only I didn't mind all of their incessant chain smoking. 

Madrid will dazzle you with her sparkling array of Christmas lights, keep you busy in amazing museums and exhibits for years, overwhelm your tastebuds with tapas, gazpacho, jamon, tortillas and paellas, thrill you with soccer games,and seduce you with the notion that afternoon naps are built into the schedule of society.

It's where half our family is. My first experience in city living. The place that taught me Spanish. The home of mi companero. And how I try so hard to love her. And yet, I synchronize most with a postcard that says, "Madrid, me mata." But we are here now and I try again to let the charms of this place flood my life. It's good practice for me and my illness of perfectionism. Not everything is perfect. Life is not a game of comparing. Just see what's there and take it for what it is, not what it could be if only....

The most unexpected Winter Solstice, ever.

After writing the last post I packed up my computer and left the library, jumped in the van and we started driving. We had been invited to a winter solstice celebration in the next province and we were running late. Friday hit me hard, like it did the nation and the world. There are some tragedies that crawl into every nook and cranny of my being, haunting me with thoughts and images and what-ifs. And then all the yoga classes and meditation sessions and Buddha books invade my mind too, trying to teeter me over to the side of not loosing hope and reminding me that the only thing I can and should do is to send out my love and blessings and strength to those families that are in the midst of this nightmare.

And so we were on our way to this party, me, certainly not in a party mood. I dreaded having to put on a happy cheerful face to hide what was really twirling and swirling inside. And I dreaded even more the opinions I was sure would come (while traveling you learn that everyone, everyone always has an opinion about the United States, and often it's not a pleasant one.) In this case I was imagining being baraded with advice on how to fix our gun policy and having to take it as if I'm actually the person that creates the gun policy, or listen to comments about our healthcare system, or foreign policy, etc.  Or even worse, the question that makes me reel the most - "what's happening with you people over there, anyway?" Most of the time I try to take it all in stride. Afterall I am a US citizen (a proud one because I know so many good things too), it is my country, and yes, we've got a lot of issues; many of which affect the rest of the world. But this Friday, I just didn't want to hear it.

So we finally arrive over an hour late after getting lost once, missing a turn off and somehow getting on a toll road instead of the free road. The good part was the scenery was breathtaking. Through the mountains of pine and cork with patches of silvery aspen trees and little villas nested into the mountain sides. I tried to let my mind wander there for a while. In the beauty and peace and calm of the country. There is a quote out there somewhere and I can't remember it exactly, but it is something to the effect of "I am in every leaf, every flower, every blade of grass...." And as I watched the trees sway in the breeze images of smiling children came flooding over me.

We parked in the drive, I plastered a smile to my face and we ambled up the path to the house. And low and behold we were greeted first by a puppy. So the seconds before meeting our host, the puppy worked a little magic and somehow transformed my plastered smile into a genuine one.

The house was huge. An old estate with a kitchen so massive it even had one of those big stone hearths that you can practically stand in. The estate is owned by a cooperative, a group of vegetarians that made an organization and created this space for workshops and retreats, summer camps and family gatherings.  One of our hosts, the cook let us know the kitchen was her kingdom so we couldn't help cook, but we could sit at the table and chat and keep her company. Turns out that we weren't late at all. In fact we were about an hour early.

So a while later another few people came. They entered the kitchen, plopped down some bags and scrolls of paper on the table and after the introductory kisses and name exchange they put us to work. We were instructed to make two giant pictures of mountain scenary to be the backdrop of a marionnette performance. Meanwhile the two other ladies sat down on the other side of the table and started making yarn pom-poms. Could this be real? Mind you that Jota and I had never met these people before. We knew almost nothing about them. They were strangers that had invited us to their celebration after getting their contact info from our local librarian. We had no idea what to expect - what their rendition of a solstice party would be. So my surprise, shocked and relieved self settled into a chair, crayon in hand and started drawing. How could they have known this was exactly what I needed? How could they have known when I hadn't even know what I needed?

So a few hours passed. Carmen cooking away in the kitchen, a few others making a giant fire in that giant hearth, Grandma making pom-poms, the children and teenagers making the puppets and Jota and I along with a trickle of other adults scribbling away at our community picture. No questions, no politics. Just laughing, innocense, open hearts and a joyous mood.

We ate dinner together- salad, vegetable lasagna and broccoli soup with homemade bread. I felt restored in the goodness of the world, the goodness of strangers. We enjoyed sparkling cider (it's a no alcohol, no smoking place!) and dessert and then started our marionnette performance.

Like I said before, I didn't know what to expect of this evening.  So when everyone started climbing the stairs inviting us along, I was a bit nervous. Upstairs? What's up there? What kind of entertainment will this be anyway?  So I followed Grandma up the stairs carrying my doubt with me, but my curiosity too.  When we all settled onto cushions on the floor in a circle I looked around and saw a family, a community. At their gatherings this group always brings self-entertainment. As in- people bring a story, song, instrument, skit, comedic act, something to share with the group, something to entertain, make people smile, make people feel welcome and connected. I looked around in anxious anticipation for clues as to what this "entertainment" would be. A couple started off with telling a story and then hitting the play button on the cd player. You know what came out booming? Julia Andrews and "A Few of My Favorite Things." Really? Could this actually be happening, I thought. And so sing-alongs to the  Sound of Music ensued along with a group spontaneous marionnette performance, goofy games, a few jokes and a few stories. It was "child-ish", silly, fun  and something so perfect I couldn't have thought of any better medicine to restore my faith in humanity. I sang and danced and smiled and laughed with all those children and teachers alive in my heart. Sometimes the world surprises me in ways I wished it didn't. But then again, sometimes it surprises me in other ways too.

(pictures to come, the internet is too slow here to post them now...)

only love

I had a list of things I wanted to write about in my blog. The organic farming workshop, the bicycle edition, the hidden basket workshop, the tiny ancient villages nestled into the mountains and glowing with Christmas lights, the secret to finding land here, the winter solstice celebration we were invited to by our librarian.

And then I read the news. And now the tears are flowing and my heart is breaking. And so I will have to save those stories for another day. My energy is elsewhere. It's certainly not in writing today.

Wishing I could embrace you all, but a simple written "I love you", will have to do. I'm not even sure who is reading this blog - but it doesn't matter. I love you all. This world needs it. It doesn't matter who you are. For our children's sake, I love you all.

Those teachers in my life whether I met you as a small child or as a fellow teacher, know that you are brave, you've made such a difference in my life and I am eternally grateful. To the parents I wish you all the healing in the world and as much unconditional love as you share with your little ones everyday. And to the children, I wish that you have no fear, I wish you childhood, I wish you joy, I wish you life. If I could fit you all on my lap in a tight hug and read you a comforting story I would, for now I'll just have to hold you all in my heart as that's the only place that will fit everyone.

Silent Spanish.

"I listen to the space between the words others speak. I live in the silence where knowing dwells. I make room for life by creating stillness." - author unknown (but I found it in a little book of meditations that is always buried in the bottom of J's backpack.)

Hmm, how to create stillness when we move every few weeks - if not every day in a van that's not exactly a smooth and quiet ride. That'll be the challenge of the day.

43 days here before another RI tour. I've been here, I don't know how many days, but in total over a year. And here's a secret - I'm not fluent in Spanish (although I am an expert at Spanglish ; ) Some people pop on over to a country and the language seems to seep into their body while they sleep, in a matter of months words flowing eloquently out of their mouth, not a misunderstanding to be found. That's definitely NOT my story.

 I tried to take a Spanish class here, but I gave up after the third time my teacher left in the middle of class to go buy a Coca-Cola across the street, leaving me to "practice" with the only other person in the room - a dude from England who had such a think accent I couldn't even understand his English, let alone Spanish. And the first time she picked up her phone to chat with her friend in the middle of class, I thought positively and tried to justify it as "authentic-learning material". But then when I wasn't learning squat and my money was a-flowing out the door I decided to cut my losses and try the more lossey-goosey way of learning...hit the town and learn from the locals.

Turns out locals have really bad Spanish (well really bad Spanish for learning Spanish.) I mean, they all understand each other, but my scatterbrained mind just wasn't getting it. I did however learn all the swear words in all of maybe a week. Proof that repetition is the best way to learn. But all the other Spanish that isn't a swear word- when you don't know enough to sort out the jargon from the Spanish and decipher the tense from the verb endings with no hint of a pronoun, it's hard, like really hard.

Ok, so I needed a little order. I wanted verb charts and study sheets and vocabulary lists. I wanted to get homework, turn it in and then get it back covered in red ink. That's how I learn - showing my mistakes to the world. I learn a lot from my mess-ups, which makes me realize that old teacher saying of "there's no such thing as a mistake" is right in my case anyway.

So I went to the library. I checked out their Spanish books and started trying. And then after a few days of hardcore studying, I would get sidetracked by life, forget the routine and then have to return the library books anyway. So now I'm on about the millionth cycle of this and hoping maybe this time I can just stick with it. My not-orderly, but ever desperately wanting to be orderly mind made a calendar with a chart - what I will learn each day until coming back to RI where I'll probably forget everything in the three weeks I'm there before returning to Spain again. Here's to hoping I have my great-grandma's genes and I too live to be 104. I think I'll need it.

I should say last August I had a little glory moment where somehow my Spanish muse came, sneaked into my brain when I wasn't looking and somehow managed to eloquently debate, argue, and persuade (in Spanish) with the Immigration Officials to give me my gosh-darn residence permit that they were 3 months late in giving me. I was so proud. And so shocked. I had no idea there was such a repertoire of Spanish hiding somewhere inside. And then again,  I spoke really good Spanish (I thought anyway) when living in a little village full of French people who had beautiful accents and mixed in their "oui's" with a little Galego Spanish and then some Castellano Spanish too. Somehow that combination really worked for me. The second best is the Frenchy-Spanish over here in Catalonia. Somehow I understand them too. Now if only my Spanish muse would return and then I could have a really lovely conversation in say- Castilla La Mancha.

Sometime last year in my anguish over learning another language I made a little list of things that help a second language learner (or third or fourth or fifth language.) Maybe you want to know them. Maybe there is someone in your life that has a different song singing inside and they are just scrambling to keep up with the other tempo that surrounds them. So here are my tips:

1.) speak slow - I mean not so slow that it's demeaning, just not at an unmindful runaway pace.
2.) speak clearly - As in, again, be mindful because lazy, slurry, sleepy speech sounds like gobble-dee-gook. The only reason other native speakers can understand it at all is because they already know all the words in the word bank and can use process of elimination and context to figure it out - imagine trying to do a word scramble in a language you don't know and without a word bank. Exactly- it's not possible.
3.) Don't speak entirely in slang, euphamisms, and figures of speech. They mean nothing to the language learner and it's super frustrating because maybe we understand the literal meaning of the word, but it has zero context. A slang phrase here and there is fine, but just like with food, "everything in moderation."
4.) Use subject pronouns. Please. Especially if the language in question has a million different verb endings. Maybe it's easy for the native speaker to figure it out based on the ending, but for the learner; using the pronouns makes it possible to learn the connections between the endings and the subject!
5.) When I make a mistake, don't tell me what I did wrong by repeating the mistake - it pisses me off and I don't learn squat. Instead repeat back to me the correct way of saying what it was I was trying so hard to express.
6.) Be patient, really listen and help naturally fill in the words I'm stuck on so that the conversation can flow. I learn more this way and the whole experience is a tons more enjoyable for both parties.
7.) Smile - as in control your facial muscles in a positive way. I'm trying here. I get you might be confused, but so am I and a distorted/judgemental face does nothing to calm the stiuation and create the environment condusive to a lovely interchange. A question face is fine - just as long as it's a friendly one.
8.)Use the same questions, words and phrases repeatedly. There's a reason why the swear words are what I'm fluent in right now! If only we repeated verbs and adjectives and adverbs as repeatedly and I'd be a regular Miguel de Cervantes (he wrote Don Quixote).
9.) When having a conversation treat it just like a really good novel - help set the stage so to speak. Give context. It helps if you speak slow in the beginning of a conversation (or each time you change a topic within a conversation) so that I kind of get the big picture. And well the three R's are helpful here too - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle! Oh an if there are others in the conversation too be aware that speaking with more than one person is super duper hard - so be a good role model and set a good example. If chatty Cathy is talking a million miles a minute, ask her questions to clarify which will slow her down and help me to catch up.
10.) When you use big or new words, pair them with their more simple synonyms so I can learn. I don't necessarily need the word translated - because I am smart after all, if you use other words within the language that are simpler to describe I bet I'll get it and learn so much more in the process.
11.) And lastly - always speak the language with me. Don't fall back on my native language - I won't learn anything that way. 

Well that's my two cents. My two cents for an adult perspective. If the language learner is a child I'd suggest smile more, sing more, laugh (in a good way) more, tell more stories and give them space and time to play and figure it out. Or then again, maybe that's exactly what us adults need too. I'm remembering a little boy that knew Spanish and was learning English in our school. To witness his process was amazing. I think of him often now and try to do what he did. He watched a lot. He was quiet at first, absorbing everything. He said "Ms. Sam, can you button my pants?" about 3 times before I had any idea of what he was talking about and then another two weeks worth of school before what he was asking really sounded in English what he was trying to say. He didn't give up. He opened his mouth  and let escape whatever came out. He repeated himself unfalteringly, never seeming bothered by the fact that I was slow at understanding him. He taught patience, humbleness, courage, and drive. And I'll never forget that smile and twinkle in his eyes the very first time I understood the first time. Those twinkling eyes showed everything - we clicked, we communicated, we got each other. He said it and I understood it. It was the "YES! Whatever came out of my mouth this lady finally understood! Alright!" moment. I don't know who was prouder, him or me. I was grateful in that moment for the open-ended assessment system we used in the classroom because this was a milestone that definitely couldn't be documented in a simple flow-chart multiple choice system. This was way more than that. And one of these days I'll feel that understood in Spanish. Hopefully sooner rather than later because I don't know if I have the perseverance that is naturally built into a 4 year old.

A poem or two

I've missed a few days of quotes. Yesterday I pulled out an old travel journal and found many quotes to share. So here's to make up for what I missed:

"Things are resting, sleeping, stirring.
The cold fire called Spring inside me" - Graham Brown

Dreaming the Real by Linda France
"I'm lying down looking at the colour
of sky falling through trees, dreaming
the real, tasting what it feels like to love it
Why did it take me so long to let go, simply
exhale, so the day could breathe itself in
and open without me standing in the way?
How could I forget the grace of my own body,
strong as this blue, tender as the white
of the wild blossom, warm as midday light
Let me practice a patience bold enough
to hold every weather, trusting the elements,
the beauty of rain, all its shades of gray
I want whatever's real to be enough. At least
it's a place to begin, and to master the art
of loving it; feel it love me back
under my skin."

Monte Jalama
"The wings of the Spanish Magpie
      open.
         So begins
            our morning prayer.
Under the bright sun swells
infinitely slow the mountain song.
Ancient god, half forgotten,
herdsman of the rain,
every stream here
      every bush and every tree
            whisper your name.
I give my feet into the cool
     running water.
I give my gaze into the glitter
     of dancing fish
          and dragonflies.
Their mirrored choreography.
The smell of lavender.
Voices of distant children.
Even the clouds
       don't move on their own."
Bhikkhu Abhinando


". . . I love to wait
for the shadows on the leaves,
to light candles
and listen to the owls screech
across the valley,
when the sun is just out of reach
and the world is a breath
of purple haze.
On a plank wood floor,
barefoot,
night in the doorway,
on the threshold of silence."
- Ayya Medhanandi

Lunch at the Monastery

We left an hour early. With a quarter tank of gas we started up the road to the monastery. One minute up the road and the views were already breathtaking. The monastery is located in the middle of a National Park covered in steep mountains that drop right into the Mediterranean Sea. We had no idea how steep, twisting and narrow the road would be and we certainly thought a quarter of a tank of gas would be more than sufficient. However, ten minutes in and the gas gauge had plummeted, the orange light dangerously blinking low. Do we continue the 7 miles through the National Park in the mountains to get to the monastery, or do we turn back and fill up the tank?

While Jota is trying to get a GPS signal on his telephone, I'm rationally using my third grade math word problem skills to figure it out:  if 10 minutes took a 1/4 tank of gas, and we still have thirty minutes to go, how long will it really take us before the van runs out of gas and I either have a heart attack from trying to push the van while in neutral up a slope that seems Himalayan in quality or we all roll off the side of the road into the rocky crevasses below. And then I try to have an optimistic outlook and start equating how long it will take to hitchhike to the bottom, fill up one of our empty water jugs with diesel and then thumb a ride back. At any rate, it was clear we were going to be arrive with Spanish punctuality - atleast a half hour late.

It would be interesting to mention here the van's new nickname. We called her Jada maybe like the first week. But there is nothing Jada about her. Upon her first check-up with our good mechanic in Barcelona he craned his neck up from underneath the hood of the van and told us frankly that we, "had bought a potato." Or in Spanish - La Patata. A couple days later as we were driving on the highway, cars zooming past while we slowly (but steadily) puckered along, Jota and I at the same time blurted out - "she's totally a POTATO!" And the name has stuck ever since. We're thinking of plastering her name in paint on the side. In the meantime I've decorated her for Christmas...

Anyway, back to the side of the road in the mountains. We did the smart thing and turned around. Funny enough, Potato's gas guage registered as having a quarter of a tank again once we got all the way to the bottom. Jota did not find this amusing, at all. We filled her up anyway and started back. Amazingly enough we were only 20 minutes late and the director was another 20 minutes late more than us, so prefect.

The monastery is an old palace. Someone with a lot of money built it with the dream of making an agricultural park. I can barely imagine how they got all the supplies up there to even build. Now it's a Buddhist Monastery. There is a beautiful stuppa with prayer wheels encircling it and paths through the trees and fields. We ate in a big dining area, a large wooden Buddha sitting in the middle. It must be the only Buddhist Monastery that serves meat. Boy was I surprised. We met with the director and threw some ideas out there. He was very receptive. Looks like maybe we'll get a chance to help create a garden to feed the monastery.

 Apricot trees

 View over the park right to the sea

 View from where we parked the van for the night

The rosemary is in bloom and the mountains are humming with honeybees - literally

 Drops of honey from my breakfast - dessert for the bees I guess

Which reminds me of my best breakfast= toast with honey and tahini (toasted tahini)

Monastery Memories

It was over a year ago. I was in Thailand, a small city in the North. I went to the temple, my favorite in Chiang Mai, sat down in front of the golden statue and had a chat with my buddha. Something I had done almost everyday that I was in Thailand. It was so enjoyable, so easy. The temples were always beautiful as if they radiated the love and care that all the neighbors shower upon it everyday. The fresh flowers, the wafting incense, that smiling calm buddha just sitting, waiting, watching. And I would sit as the rowdy school groups would come in, the quiet old women, the dedicated adults, the families, the young professionals, basically the whole neighborhood; they would all bow- 3 times. To the buddha, to the dharma, to the sangha. Or in other words, to the teacher, the lesson, the community. People would come and then go as if it was just one of the many breaths in their day, something so common and natural yet reverent too. I don't know all their reasons for coming, I never asked anyone actually. But watching, it looked as though they came to remember something.

That April day was not an ordinary day at the temple though. There were more flowers, more candles, more people, more feeling. I had watched as they all lined up to take a turn at blessing the Buddha by pouring a cup of water on him. It was the Thai New Year - full of new beginnings and a time to wash away all that is unneeded in our lives. I soaked the Buddha, spun the prayer wheel and scribbled a blessing on the gigantic ribbon that later would be encircled around the temple. And then I did what so many others went to do - I went out and bought a water pistol, and with my passport wrapped in plastic, I went into town. Imagine a city-wide water fight where everyone is playing the game. Water guns, balloons, super soakers, and even giant barrels brimming with water. Anything that walked, ran, biked, scooted, drove, or  skipped past was soaked. There seemed to be more water in the streets than in the canals that moated the city. And so I played the game for a long while. I got thoroughly drenched and when I had my fill I retreated back to the guesthouse, got into dry clothes, packed by pack and hit the road. No sooner had I turned the corner from the guesthouse and I was nearly soaked again. I looked down the street and saw all the neighbors - hoses, water guns and trash barrels ready and waiting for me. Hmm, definitely would have to find another way of getting to the bus stop, I thought. This was the first time I took a tuk-tuk; something between a 4-wheeler/golf cart/ and taxi cab. We zoomed past the crowds and I managed to only get a little damp before arriving at the bus stop.

So I'm settled onto the local bus that will take me North to the Monastery where I will spend the next few weeks. When we passed out of the city and onto the country roads the other passengers flung open the windows and doors to let in the fresh air. It was a hot day after all. But we were mistaken. Being out of the city did not mean we were safe from the water fight. Neighbors sabotaged the road and came running, barrels and buckets over head ready to throw as we drove past. Water gushed in every window opening. I had picked the wrong seat...right next to the side door. After 2 hours there wasn't a dry spot in the bus, it literally oozed with water, dripping and trickling everywhere. By the time the bus dropped me on off at the entrance to the monastery road I was thoroughly wet and worried about a possible busted laptop and not having any dry clothes to present myself with.

I sauntered up the road 2 km, reminding myself that I would be met by Buddhists and my disheveled appearance wouldn't matter. And sure enough the Abbott gave me the best hut to stay in and welcomed me to the monastery. I happily accepted the warm linen clothes - everyone wears white at the monastery. And began another adventure.

I could write a book about the 10 days I was at this monastery. So many things happened in such a short time, I will save those stories for another day. However, when thinking of a quote or poem to offer for a day of Advent I remembered a small book of poems I found nestled deep in the back of a dusty bookshelf in the monastery library. It was in English, which was the main reason I first grabbed it. But with each poem I read I was captivated. When I finally got to 'The Monastery' by Graham Brown I could think of nothing more to write in my journal about my experience at the monastery, for this poem somehow described it all. Yesterday as I found myself walking the grounds of another monastery, this one in Spain, the poem came flooding back and thought I would share it here.

The Monastery by Graham Brown

once I knew, nothing in life could save me
& the monastery will wake you up in the cold mornings
it will kick you & drive you with more efficiency
than any alarm-clock, it will bore you with its routine
then seek forgiveness with a bowlful of food
& the monastery will always be showing you
that you are nothing & restore a sense of wonder
at the falling of a leaf, the monastery will turn you
into a giggling child & a crying child & a wise old man
whose mission is telling the world that it has to let go
& the monastery will dredge up all the horrible
secrets from the corners of the mind of a long-dead boy
screaming the truth of misery to the birds & trees
& the monastery will show you acceptance
in a good friend, the poetry of restraint & the patience
of sitting with restlessness & you will hate it & hate it
because your love is stronger & the monastery will get in your blood
more exciting & depressing than alcohol & you know
the monastery will forget you if you leave
& remember you with gratitude when you return
& the monastery will give you the open silence
you will be unable to receive they say until years later
they say the monastery will give you the strongest of feelings
& you will want to run away & curl up & die
& be born again like the greenness of a beech & the monastery
will make you want to dance & sing & regret those times
when you could & you didn’t & the monastery will protect you
like an island & you will want to swim & like a kind parent
the monastery will remain where it is

Holy Moly a free spa

"I will tell you, I am in every flower, every rainbow, every star in the heavens and everything in and on every planet rotating around every star. I am the whisper of the wind, the warmth of your sun, the incredible individuality and the extraordinary perfection of every snowflake. I am the majesty in the soaring flight of eagles, and the innocence of the doe in the field; the courage of lions, the wisdom of the ancient ones. Every day is sanctified. Every minute is holy. This is now, this is the Holy Instant." - Neale Donald Walsch

Today was awesome. Woke up, threw open the van doors and welcomed in the hot sun and the sound of the waves crashing the shore. Sat and did my homework for a while and then found out that the local sports complex was free today. My aching back so welcomed the pool, the dry sauna, the steam sauna, the hydromassage pool and the jacuzzi's and you all know how I feel about hot showers. It certainly felt like a holy day to me. And I still can't believe it was free. Someday I'll will win the lottery and I'll build a free pool/spa/hot spring complex for Wakefield.

Tomorrow we pitch a gardening idea to the local Buddhist Monastery over lunch. More on that tomorrow!

Day Four: Holiday Blues

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond. ~ Rumi

It's the second Christmas in a row that I will not be with family. I'll be honest, it sucks. There's always the possibility to try and replicate the same traditions, but it's never the same if you don't have all the people around you that are usually co-creating the holiday. But trying to be that optimist that I know must live somewhere deep in my bones, I try anyway. I do understand now why there is such a thing as the holiday blues though.

So after a few moments of despair yesterday, I wiped the tears, pulled myself together and got tough. I walked to the library. Searched in vain on the library catalogue for navidad in Castellano and then Nadal in Catalan and when nothing came up, just before falling back into my gloom I typed in Christmas - in English. And wow, lots appeared! Who would have thought typing in English into a Spanish computer system in a province that has their own language would actually recognize my English!

So I checked out A Jumpin'Rockin', R&B Christmas, Christmas with Louis Armstrong, The Beach Boys Christmas Harmonies (didn't even know they had a Christmas album!), Snoopy's Christmas, and lastly, Christmas With the Stars featuring Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. For kicks, I went to the children's section and looked through their Christmas books. I found A Christmas Story by Charles Dickens in Spanish (perfect for practicing!) and went to the check out line.

Then I bee-lined it for the van, hopped in, and popped in the first CD. Literally music to my ears. The first song, Jingle Bell Rock managed to jingle a little happiness back into my weary spirit and before long I was crooning along, sandwich in hand, feet on the dash and a smile on my face. I tried to read A Christmas Story all at the same time just to completely flood myself with that Christmas spirit, but I can't exactly multi-task in the same way across two languages at the same time. I even found a new favorite x-mas song - The Boogie Woogie Santa Claus by the Lionel Hampton Orchestra with Sonny Parker. Check it out!

A phone call with my Mama and photos of the Christmas lights on our house in Wakefield topped off the day. Oh how I can't wait for Christmas next year!

3rd day of Advent and a cake recipe

"Come! Come wherever you are! Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving, come. This is not a caravan of despair. It doesn't matter if you've broken your vow a thousand times, still come and yet again come! - Rumi

 

I like the quote for today. I've used it many times. I have "fallen off my bike" many times and always gotten back on, however as an adult sometimes it's helpful to have a little flowery poetry to remind us of the lessons we've known since we were young. We can always choose to try again, no matter the task.

Which strangely enough brings me to my cake recipe. I've had a rather love-hate relationship with baking. I always loved the idea of making something with my own hands, but by the time I got to the step of pulling the pan out of the oven I always managed to have either forgotten to set the timer so my masterpiece was burned beyond perfection, or I forgot an ingredient, or my favorite mistake- I added 1TBSP of salt and only 1tsp of cinnamon instead of the other way around. Sometimes I felt as though there was a tricky pixie hiding in the corners of my kitchen, popping out to spread her mischief when I wasn't looking.  At the revealing of each mistake that head slapping - "oh man!, really?!" moment would wash over me and I'd swear I would be that much more diligent the next time. And then another mistake happened and another and another. Sometimes I swear I followed all the directions but cakes continued to come out more the thickness of pancakes, cookies always more like hardened doggy biscuits and my bread never filled the house with the intoxicating warm aroma of a homemade fresh loaf.

Then I started teaching. In a Waldorf program. Baking isn't an extracurricular it is the curriculum (well, part of it anyway). With a group of children surrounding me, ours could definitely not be a caravan of despair! Their smiling faces and anticipating hearts expected nothing less than something miraculously delicious. When we finally had a real oven to use (I won't go into the details of the mishaps of using a bread machine,) the first time baking with children was nothing short of a miracle. I still don't get it. The bread came out good. I mean, like really good. And the next time too, and the next. It didn't matter if the bees accidentally gave us more honey one day (aka an overly excited child poured in double/triple/or quadruple the quantity) or any other what-I-used-to-consider-mistake happened. Yes the outcome was always different, but it always came out not only edible, but enjoyable. The children ended up becoming my kitchen pixies, only whatever they added when I wasn't looking was something lovely indeed!

And then I started trying to bake without my helpful kitchen fairies and I started to actually make tasty things. Like that Stollen Loaf/Cake I made my Dad one year for Christmas. Or the pumpkin-raisin bread or the chocolate zucchini cake. And bread, the most challenging of all started to come out of the oven always delicious. And then, we moved onto our bicycles and into a tent. No more electricity. No more oven. And another kind of "Oh, man!" feeling washed over me.

Oh how I've missed my oven, or rather, any oven. But again, this is not a caravan of despair! So I turned to trying to learn how to cook; another skill I have yet to figure out. We did have a camp stove after all. A year later and now it's only about 50% of the time whatever I cook is a flop (that's an improvement, believe it or not.) And then sometime between missing my oven and wondering when the cooking fairies were going to show up, a friend let me in on a wonderful secret!

You can make a cake without an oven!

Depending on the ingredients you add it can either be as sophisticated as any other oven cake, or more like boy scout campout fare.

The Recipe: Cookie Cake

• Pick out a bowl or dish that will hold the size of cake you wish to make. (You won't be baking it, so it can be wooden, glass, ceramic, tin, whatever you have.
• In another small bowl pour or squeeze in some orange juice. (The quantity will depend on how big of a cake you are making) As a guide- a regular size 8inch cake pan would need about 1 orange worth of juice. However, if you're planning on sharing with anyone I recommend making more than that because I could personally eat an 8inch cake pan's worth easily in one sitting.
• Have a large pile or bowl of cookies on the side. If you homebake them, that's how to create a sophisticated cake, but then again you need an oven for that. If you don't have an oven (or time) you can buy the cookies.
• Heat up some chocolate bars or chocolate chips (they don't have choc.chips in Spain, so I just use regular chocolate bars) in a double boiler. Or if you are like me and don't have a double boiler, just heat up some water in a big pot and then place a smaller dish, cup, mug, frying pan (whatever you have that will fit) into the pot. Place the chocolate in the smaller dish/cup/mug/whatever, making sure that the water and chocolate don't mix. The stove will heat the water which will melt the chocolate. You can heat the chocolate directly on the stove, but it burns so easily that I wouldn't recommend that. While you are assembling the cake you want the chocolate to stay melted, so keeping it in the double boiler contraption after it has melted (even if the stove is off) will maintain the warmth. Also a mix of dark and milk or all dark chocolate tastes, in my opinion, the best. 
• Dip one cookie quickly in the orange juice and then place it in the dish you are using. Repeat until you have made one flat layer of cookies in the cake dish. 
• Then repeat so you have two layers of cookies one on top of the other. Depending on the shape and size of your bowl, you might have to stack the cookies like brick work to make the layers flat and level. Try not to break the cookies though, or if you do only break them in half.
• Spoon the melted chocolate over the layer of cookies and do your best to even it out so there is a layer of chocolate. This is tricky though because often times the cookies start to move. Better to have flat cookies and uneven chocolate than the other way around. 
• Sprinkle shredded or flaked coconut over the melted chocolate.
• Repeat the process. 2 more layers of cookies that have been dipped in orange juice, melted chocolate, coconut. 
• When the cake is the height you wish, put it in a cool place for the chocolate to harden. A refrigerator would work really well. But I've also placed ours in a cold stream or even in the front seat of the van in the shade (this works in the winter - it would have the opposite effect in the summer, obviously.)
• Then with a spoon/fork/camp knife/fingers dig in and enjoy.
• Side note - with the orange juice you can add a little bit of liqueur for a little something extra.
• Another side note - the cookies you use should be hard and crunchy. If you use soft ones, then when dipping in the orange juice they'll just turn to mush and it will be a really weird texture. 

That's all for now.

And the second day of Advent....

For Advent: Day 2

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now, perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer." from Letters To A Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke.

And in blogging news:
So there are a few earth shattering things I've learned about food while traveling.

The first is that you really don't need a refrigerator. After this experience of living without electricity and most useful things I've found there are quite a few modern appliances that I would consider either essential (hot water heater!!!) or very, very helpful (washing machine, sometimes a clothes dryer when you live in a place that rains 6 days out of the week and the 7th day is too cold to dry anything, a blender, an electric saw.) However, there is one thing that I don't miss and that is the refrigerator. Honestly, I don't miss it at all. There has never been a moment where I've said, "oh man! if only we had a refrigerator!" In fact my fruit tastes a whole lot better. I never realized how much the coldness of the refrigerator takes away from the pleasure of eating a piece of fruit. And I've never been a fan of the smell of the refrigerator either.

Now growing up in the States and taking home economics class I learned that a refrigerator was absolutely essential. The message I picked up on in class was that not having a frig was like asking for salmonella poisoning, ruined vegetables before I had the chance to eat them and a lower quality of life. So that's why I say it was Earth-shattering to learn through my lack of having a frig that it is not essential.

• Eggs don't need to be refrigerated (even in the summer - ours never went bad and the oldest egg we had was 4 weeks old.) And we've had both the lovely fresh chicken eggs from our neighbor chickens that ate our kitchen scraps as well as the not so nice eggs from the grocery store that I'm embarrassed to even say we've bought. In most places of the world eggs are not sold in the refrigerated section of the grocery store (actually the USA is the only country I've ever seen them in the refrigerator)
• Vegetables - surprisingly the trickiest part about not having a fridge, but absolutely do-able. You just have to think about what you're buying when you're at the market. In Spain, chard/kale gets less desirable after two days, carrots about 3 days, lettuces if freshened up every now and again with some water last 4 days or so, eggplants 5/6 days, potatoes, tomatoes, onions and garlic last weeks. And really, vegetables loose their nutritional value with each moment they spend in storage anyway. Best to eat them fresh! So you might then say- "I only go grocery shopping once a week." And I would say, "that's perfect!" I rode to the market on my bike only once a week because my legs couldn't bear to ride the 20 km any more than that. Somehow it always managed to work. We ate the meals with the most perishable food sooner and saved the veggies that last longer for later in the week! And you can always cook up a meal  and then that extends the life of the veggie because here's another shocker - you don't need to refrigerate left overs! (more in the next bullet)
• At first, this totally grossed me out. I couldn't do it. I tried to just be really good about guessing how much to cook and avoid at all costs having anything left over. And whenever there would be something to save my mind would start to race with visions of little bacteria multiplying and infesting my dish with their evil germs. But, leftovers happened. And then happened again, and again and again. And guess what? I'm still here. I have gotten food poisoning from other things, but not yet from leftovers! The secret is to keep it covered, eat it in the next day or two (sometimes three) and make sure to cook it through. That and smell it first. And if you have an overactive imagination, then have someone who's not a germ-a-phobe smell it instead. (The mind can most certainly play tricks on you.)
• Another super shocker. I know you're not going to believe me. Maybe even think it's dangerous of me to say. But I'm going to say it anyway. You don't need a refrigerator even if you want to include meat in your diet. I know, I know. It's heresy. But seriously. Slowly, over time meat has found it's way into our kitchen. As a used-to-be-vegetarian I thought I would never find a hunk of flesh in my kitchen. But, well I'm in Spain. It's normal to have a meal with every type of animal category included and only one vegetable. Anyway, you still don't need a fridge. Just buy the meat fresh from the market the day (or day before) you want to cook it. Apologies to any vegetarians, but I'm going to list the types of meat we've had experience with just for examples. Chicken, beef, cod and squid have all made their way into our bellies with no ill effects and no refrigeration. Best if kept in a shady place and most certainly covered. Same smell rule applies. And there is a slime rule with this one too. If it's slimy-shiny it's a no-go. And yes you can eat it as unrefrigerated leftovers too! And they say you should limit your meat intake anyway, so one or two meat meals a week is probably right on.
• Butter, peanut butter, tahini, olives, vinegar,  opened jars of tomato sauce (if used within a few days) all don't need a refrigerator. 

All that being said. I get not every place is the same. For us it's worked. In Madrid, it's hot, but it's dry. In Galicia we did it with very humid weather, but not too much hot weather. So maybe your place needs a refrigerator. That and we don't eat dairy. Cheese gets sweaty out of the fridge and well milk is probably an item that must be kept cold. And I get it wouldn't work for everyone, but wouldn't it be cool, if we all reduced what we did put in the fridge and then we could have smaller refrigerators that wouldn't use as much energy?!

(our not at all refrigerator - refrigerator....it's a wooden fruit box we salvaged from the recycling at the farmers market.)

(breakfast of toast, tomato salad and an egg - all unrefrigerated!)

And a gift for Advent

A quote a day for advent time....

For today:

"Patience is not sitting and waiting, it is foreseeing. It is looking at the thorn and seeing the rose, looking at the night and seeing the day. Lovers are patient and know that the moon needs time to become full."
      - Shams Tabrizi

Wishing you all a Happy Sunday.

 View from the van this morning

A little visitor at our breakfast table