España 6/03/2010

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La Gente de Espana-

David Robles: The pastor of the church in Leon. A TMS graduate, and our contact for coordinating the STM. The Timothy to Henry Tolopilo's Paul. Married to Loida, with two kids, 3 and 5.

Manuel: Our host at El Campamento. Loida's dad. He's been running the camp facility for many years. He speaks some English, and is a pastor (associate?) at the church. Married to Pili.

Pepin: El Jefe. He's neighbors with Manuel, and quite a handyman. He gave us nearly all our marching orders while we worked. Great sense of humor, very little English, and married to Blanca.
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David got to witness to two people on the plane. A girl named "Mima" was local to L.A., and said she'd like to go to Foundation! Very cool.

La cocina tiene una perra, se llama "Nesca". En un otra idioma de Espana (Basque?), "Nesca" es mas o menos la palabra "chica". Es una perra buena y ahora, es mi amiga. Ella tiene siete anos, y se gusta cuando tiro la pelota. Hablo con Arturo en Ingles y Espanol. Arturo tiene mucho legendas de brujas y magicas en Mexico.

"Es mi dia primero!"
First work day. Painting. We moved a bunch of furniture, rugs, and awesome artwork to the downstairs back room of the house on Calle Mejor, and threw dropcloth everywhere.

Definition: La Casa de Calle Mejor. It was owned by a rich guy, and it is a huge mansion. Not a Mr. Burns or Daddy Warbucks kind of place, though. This place looked like old California. Spanish Califorina. Zorro California. The owner was NOT a believer, and in fact didn't like Pepin or the church. However, when the economy took a dive, he lost a lot, and wanted to sell off the place mas rapido. I can't remember the price, but it was probably half what the place was worth. It needed fixing up, but it is / is becoming Efeso, the bible institute that David Robles has been running. There's an excellently redone room upstairs that looks like one of the nicer classrooms at CSUN. Best I could figure it, Efeso works like the D.Min program at TMS; personal work and study + occasional weekends at the school. There are a lot of rooms upstairs that have been converted to be little motel-style rooms (bed, dresser, tiny bathroom / shower). That's where we come in.We're gonna paint all the rooms that Senior Pepin wants done. Ceilings, bathrooms, halls, stairways. Are we going to get dripped on? Splattered by paint? Muscles taxed? Bring it on.

Arturo did all the ceilings, and the rest of us are doing the walls and the touch-up. Worked a lot with Cathy today. I will forestall all the praise I want to heap on her... for now.
Cathy's Top Five (in no particular order):
Earth, Wind, and Fire
Third Day
MercyMe
Journey
60's Rock & classic Jazz
I hope to create something that when packaged bears the words "Strike Anywhere".

So, amongst the art we moved there was a great painting of the Queen (by marriage) of Belgium. She was / is Spanish, and according to Manuel, her husband set aside his kingship for 24 hours in the 1970s when abortion issues were being decided, so as to not hurt his conscience, seeing as he is / was Catholic. Interesting story, but weak-sauce morality for a king. Glad my King's always righteous.

As I write, it is so hard not to try to write in Spanish. Espanol esta en todo al mundo. My brain only wants to think of things I can express in both languages. It's hard to explain, and if you haven't felt it, I dare you to go on a missions trip and find it. Dare ya.

Oh, and for every meal there's excellent bread served. It's made fresh in town en la panaderia. (as I type this down, I still miss it). The coffee is the bomb. It's smoother and less acidic than what I'm used to from Starbucks, and whenever they have coffee, they also include a kettle of hot milk to add. I mix it half and half and add a spoon full of sugar. Bring it on, coffee purists; me gusto café con leche y azugar. Muy bien. Vale.
And their Coke has real sugar in it. Not corn syrup. It's in 330ml cans; they look a little smaller than in the States. The States... wow, look who's gone European.
The cereal served en el encampamento todo el group se gustamos. It's like corn flakes, cocoa krispies, sugary fritos, chocolate honey smacks and kix mixed together. I had it with every breakfast while we were in Toral.
Today we found out that David's mom had to go to the hospital. Stopping and praying for her as a group was awesome. I don't remember doing that in Malawi.
David Robles came this afternoon with Henry Tolopilo. Pastor Tolopilo may have eaten too much local prosciutto ham. So cool to see and talk to him in a different country. He's very quick and clever.

We worked all afternoon painting and Vera hummed hymns. Nothing against humming, but [Note to self: next time bring an iPod or something]. Arturo scared us all with his gung-ho scaffolding ideas.
We went for a walk late at night, and saw a castle that had been converted into a museum and bar with stork nests on top of its peaks.
We had amazing chicken and rice and potatoes for lunch, and quiche, snap peas, y flan con Pina por la cena.
Translating is a blast -- great kid, don't get cocky.
Oh, and I fell asleep tonight while reading and hit myself in the face with "Mere Christianity". Bonk.

España 6/02/10 (part 4)

6/2 12:00pm
Left my first pen on the last plane. So it goes. Flying to Madrid from Frankfurt now.
The pat of German butter on my lunch tray says "82% Fett". Boba?
The water bottle that came with my meal speaks nine languages. I might speak two. They've got leather seats in this plane; it's like being in my car, but thousands of feet up, and thousands of miles away. Sleepy. Coffee in a tiny cup is my friend.

6/2 3:36pm
Starting a four hour bus ride to Leon. Cute little Spanish girl (maybe two and a half) saw a sign for the airport shuttle bus and said "chu-chu" to her mom. She was so happy, despite being tired. Vera jumped right in and helped out the girl's mom with her stroller and diaper bag. She's a great grandma.
It's hot here in Madrid; summer camp heat. All the Arrowhead campers know what I'm talking about. David Robles is cool already; a taller Ruben Videra. He's stickin' back in the city to pick up Henry Tolopilo for a conference some time in the coming week. We're riding in a huge van or a small tour bus; we each have our own double-seat bench. "Vogue" by Madonna was playing when we got in. Right now it's Bedingfield's "Unwritten". They drive on the right like in the States, and there are VWs and Sprinters everywhere. I think I’m gonna fit in.

6/2 4:36pm
An hour later. I must like writing, or at least "hearing" my own voice. Everyone but the driver is asleep. I keep wanting to text someone, anyone. Maybe Ed, maybe not. To share this awesomeness. To joke, to poke, provoke, invoke.
The rocks on the side of the road are jagged here; square, wrinked and kinked. Wind-powered generators on the hills and my shirt. Highway quiet and straight ahead. On my way. Speed limit changes every few thousand feet. What do I miss? Parallel lines, perpendicular ones, complex tangential ones?

6/2 8:08 pm
This place is great. This is the Europe that I thought only existed in romantic tales of Tolkien and... Melville? Hemmingway? The paint in my room (my OWN room? Are you kidding me?) is seafoam green; the doors across the street are faded blue. There are short railings around all the second story doors and BIRDS! Not rats with wings, but dive-bombing little swallows. A WWII motorcycle just passed. If I saw Jason Bourne run up the marble steps past me, I would think "this is how it's supposed to be".
There's a warm bleach smell to everything, like Hurricane Harbor, the scent of swimsuits, parties, and summer.
Maybe I'm lonely and lying to myself about what I should do. Can't believe I'm here. Both in life and body. I can't NOT hope. It's raining now; endless semi-vertical ellipses down the window. Slashes of splashes on glass.
I'm reading the third book in the "Hitchhikers" trilogy, "Life, the Universe, and Everything". It includes a scene where the main character(s) look up from the planet into a starless sky. I turned the light off, and tried to stare into the darkness of my room, only to discover that the ceiling was covered with glow-in-the-dark stars. It was magical, the kind of magic that you want to share. Exactly what I needed. I love this.

España 6/02/10 (part 3)

Fruit cup with my in-flight meal. Best. Pineapple. Ever. "Substitute" by The Who, and "The Mighty Quinn" by Manfred Mann on Station #14. Hahaha, I’m remembering an old SNL sketch where Bill Murray’s a frequent flyer in first class who keeps sharing with people what they ought to do on an airplane. He starts yelling to the plane "Bill Cosby on #5, the chicken-heart... it's classic!"

"Valentine’s Day" is playing for the whole plane to see. Sorry, Garry Marshall, I don’t feel like watching cute couples being cute or whatever the plot of this mess is. Maybe I’d be less cynical if I could see more than 50% of the screen from my seat. Heh heh. I think I'm getting punchy.

Last year I at least had a name, a thought, a direction I was casting my gaze. Not so much this time. Such different thoughts. I’d love to declare a major, wear team colors, sign the lease. Again, Joel Barish, ladies and gentlemen.
Top 5 lists are immature, right?

In that case, I'll postpone it... trust my King with everything.

España 6/02/10 (part 2)

In-flight entertainment included "Uncle Donald’s Ants" and that Pluto cartoon where the father and son coyote try to steal sheep ("Pluto, Sheep Dog"). I love that 1940s view of the southwest. The thought of sleeping outdoors in the wide open desert with only a Navajo blanket sounds a lot more breathable than a window seat next to two humid Pakistani businessmen. Not complaining, though. This is fun.

Now I'm writing sloppy... just flecked my pillow with pen ink. Sorry Luftwaffe, err... Lufthansa.

So, blast from the past, they just played an episode of "Goof Troop". I kid you not, I remember the episode, too. So many old memories leak out of me now; memories without reason or rhyme. Chip & Dale: Rescue Rangers (I was Dale, Ed was Chip). Darkwing Duck. TaleSpin.
I think Peg Pete might have come from the same neighborhood as the Boggs in "Edward Scissorhands". She was always too nice for Pete Sr.; what did she see in him? Goofy was a better guy, a stand-up dude -- just like Barney Rubble, Ed Norton, Al Borland, and any number of second-bananas from sitcom history. And how come Fred and Betty’s eyes, and Wilma and Barney’s eyes matched, huh? That always bothered me as a kid. Oh, and the answer is Betty.

España 6/02/10 (part 1)

(all the times will be Spain time; 9 hrs ahead)

Wow. I feel like I haven’t written anything in forever. Chalk it up to business, the murder mystery, and a few cranks on the ol’ cardiac tourniquet.
Just flew over Disneyland. It looks like it would be a good day to be there. Last time I was there I was texting “knock knock” jokes. Quite unique. Yes, I did just write a sentence fragment featuring two ‘q’ words. Hmm. I could sure go for some warm Mission tortillas, too.

One of our flight attendants (initials K.M.) was crying next to the ticket counter right before we checked our bags. She’d lost her bag of personal stuff and was many thousands of miles from home without it. She's a totally German blonde with a pleasant demeanor; looks somewhere between my friend Laura S. and Amy Poehler. Her face looked taut and worriless, and the wrinkling and folding of the her face when she stared to cry seemed like it was hurting her even worse. Poor girl. I’m glad she had a fellow flight attendant with her, otherwise I would have had to give her some airport chocolate and a bear hug. (p.s. another employee found her stuff before takeoff; very cool)
This is such a different team from last year. Half girls, not a bunch of tough blue collar cops and construction workers. I miss those guys. I should look 'em up.
This window seat is great; I hope I don’t have to crawl out, though.



Every word I write runs through my head sounding like Joel Barish. Can he be the one to read my audio book? As I try to remember / doodle a painting of Clementine, I really wish I were better at drawing. Maybe after the half-marathon, yeah?