The sun rose today at 7:29 AM in Iowa City, and will set at 4:38 PM, leaving us with 9 hours and 9 minutes of daylight, the shortest day of the year, the Solstice.
*****
In my house we still have no Christmas tree up, although Augusto did hang the lights outside and they look nice.
Outside the ground is an ugly brown, the one snowfall we've had this year having melted some time ago.
And yet, I feel at peace. More peaceful than I have felt in a long time. I am enjoying life, those who it presents to me, the activities that this busy mind searches out, all the wonderful literature in Spanish and English available to absorb.
In two days I will again be in the presence of my family. It has been over a year since we were all together in the same place at the same time, and I am very thankful for the time and financial abilities we have to be able to celebrate together.
I heard via telephone yesterday from my Venezuelan family; they are also peacefully busy with holiday preparations, the recent political happenings notwithstanding. I have been blessed with so many families: my wife and kids, my dad, brothers and sisters, my loved ones in Venezuela still in my life 15 years after leaving, the Peruvians that are our newest family after a two month adventure last summer. I hope to create much more family as the sun ebbs and flows.
Peru beckons and will continue to do so; I am hoping that one summer soon we can live in Cusco, the ancient Inca capital, alive with millenia of indigenous history, a tremendous local pride, salt of the earth people with rosy cheeks. But not this year.
For the year, in many ways, is beginning anew. Tomorrow we'll have more sun than today, and more the next day, and the day after that, for six months, when another solstice awaits us, almost 15 hours of daylight, Iowa green, corn and soybeans surging upward, baseball game after baseball game after baseball game.
*****
It all seems so far away, in the dark and cold of December. And in some ways it is. But when we're not paying attention, the days have this way of melting into one another, and winter slips into spring, the days clicking one after the other, disappearing before our very eyes, just like the sunlight does on this shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice.
May peace be with you and yours in the year to come. Mark
Monday, December 21, 2015
Friday, November 27, 2015
Committee, ESPN Continue to Struggle with Undefeated Iowa Team
Note: This blog is intended as satire. Any reference to any real people is entirely fictional. Seriously. Except the part about Kirk Ferentz wanting bubble gum.
November 27, 2015
BRISTOL, CONN. - For casual football fans, the University of Iowa Hawkeyes' undefeated season has been a nice storyline. And obviously, fans in the Hawkeye state are thrilled. But that same enthusiasm has not affected the "guys who have all the fun",
According to several sources deep in the bowels of ESPN's College Football Division in Bristol, several sources, insisting on anonymity for fear of job repercussions, that "the brass is rattled over Iowa," and "they just don't know what the fuck we're going to do with the Hawkeyes." It seems that ESPN has been willfully ignoring Iowa's surge of victories this fall, dismissing each one as a fluke and quite confident that they would eventually stumble or, perhaps, even better, just cease to exist.
Olivia Bolero was not surprised when she was summoned to her bosses' office at ESPN in late October for what was termed in the email subject line "A chance to get everyone on the same page". She knew her bosses would want to discuss her desire to mention the Iowa Hawkeyes during discussion of possible so-called "play-off spots" that are given to the best four teams in Division 1 FBS college football.
"I'd had Iowa on my radar for a while," she said. "They beat Wisconsin on the road in their Big Ten opener, they were pretty balanced, they hadn't--I believe--given up a rushing touchdown at that point. I mean, I wasn't saying they were gonna win it all or anything. I just thought we should mention them, like 40-some-odd other teams we were mentioning."
Bolero is no homer. Born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico, she attended Syracuse University in New York to study Communication and Broadcasting.
"It's one of the best schools in the country for that particular field of study," she said.
Bolero had several job offers upon graduation, but her passion for sports, particularly college football, led her to ESPN, where she toiled for several years before being being promoted to senior Gameday assistant producer.
"It was like a dream," she said. "I'd finally be having some influence on content."
Her superiors seemed to approve as well, she said. She had been mentioned as the next Beth Mowins, known for being the first female play-by-play announcer for college football. But that started changing in October.
"At first it wasn't a big deal," she said. "I mean, yeah, whatever."
After Iowa blew the shit out of Northwestern on the road, Bolero began to put her foot down.
"I said, 'Look, we have an 8-0 team here. We're not doing our jobs if we don't make them part of the conversation.'"
Her superiors didn't agree. She says that she may have let it go had someone given her a straight answer, but all she got were remarks like "Nah, they don't pass the eye test." "What, do you think we're actually in the business of talking about who wins games and doesn't lose them?" "I'm not even sure where Iowa is. They grow potatoes there, right?"
The day of the fateful meeting was the Tuesday after the Northwestern game, when planning began in earnest for that weekend edition's of "College Gameday".
"At first they were all buddy-buddy. You know, "We value your opinion" and "We know you're a team player."
Bolero wasn't asking for much. She wanted to insert a one minute segment on how the Hawkeyes were 8-0, despite a rash of serious injuries, including to Iowa's All Big Ten defensive end Drew Ott. That's when things got terse.
"Olivia, seriously now. Let's be frank. This thing isn't about wins and losses. It's about passion, prestige, teams with maroon [Alabama and Oklahoma, presumably] in their uniforms, head coaches who wear visors."
Bolero again laid out her case: an 8-0 team, a balanced offense, solid defense, convincing victories, "I would have even given on the time. But I really felt like we needed to give our viewers something. They depend on ESPN for the best college football coverage."
Her bosses then presented her with a choice:
"Either you let Iowa go, get on board with our SEC West-Ohio State-Big 12 script, or you're going to find yourself covering curling next week."
Bolero refused, and she was summarily, in her words, "asked to leave, and not to let the door hit her on the ass on the way out."
Reached for comment, Bolero's immediate supervisor, Jeff Long--oops, I mean Dan Stevenson--said, "We all know Olivia is frustrated. But you know, we're trying to build a narrative here, and we need all hands on deck. Besides, we all know that there's only one show in town in Iowa, and it's the Buckeyes."
Further phone calls and emails to ESPN executives were not immediately returned.
"You should see these guys," said a sound man speaking on condition of anonymity. "Olivia hasn't seen anything. They were just shitting their pants when it became apparent that we were going to have to say something about them being 11-0 for the Nebraska game today. Luckily, Nebraska's uniforms are red, which is sort of close to maroon, and they were playing for bowl eligibility. So they jumped on that angle and agreed to show some stock footage of Brad Banks almost winning the Heisman to cover their ass."
Asked how high up the disrespect went, Bolero sighed. "You know, I hate to say this, but I think it goes all the way to the top. Everybody likes Kirk Herbstreit, of course. Helluva nice guy. But he sees (Oklahoma quarterback) Baker Mayfield and his eyes just glaze over. Lee Corso, he's just batshit crazy. They just give him costumes and he fucks around with them and then says some crazy shit. And Rece Davis--well, I guess I can say it now that I don't work there--Rece is just a fuck. A complete fuck."
But Bolero, who accepted a position at the FOX affiliate in her hometown of Albuquerque, suspects an even deeper ignorance.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the CFPC (College Football Playoff Committee is in on it," she speculated. "I mean, think about it. These people meet in the bowels of Texas and take two days to rate teams. Two days? Texas? There's no way that's all about football. Keep in mind, it is legal to drive with an open container and loaded firearm in Texas."
Jeff Long, president of the CFPC, categorically denied that charge, but then seemed to go off on a tangent.
"Absolutely not. Our time is spent relentlessly discussing which teams have the best body of work at this point in the season. When considering bodies of work, of course we consider wins and losses....but you know, we do like maroon. That Bob Stoops, he has one hell of a visor. Really projects confidence. I think you take an average team, dress them up in maroon, they immediately get better. Oh, and a maroon team in the SEC--don't get me started..."
When reminded that the original question had concerned Iowa, Long seemed to be dazed. "Oh yeah. Well yeah, You say they haven't lost? Well, I guess that has to be a factor. Any way they can wear maroon their next game? Potatoes, right?"
When asked for comment, Iowa coach Kirk Ferentz initially declined to comment. However, when offered a package of Hubba-Bubba, he immediately agreed to be interviewed.
"I don't know how good we are, but we play hard. No question. Damn, this bubble gum's good. Can you get me a case?"
When pressed on the issue, he relented just a bit.
"Well, certainly we'd like to recognized. But I always tell the guys, we just have to take care of what's in front of us. If we do that, the details will take care of themselves. Except for Corso. That dude was batshit crazy back in the 80's when he coached Indiana and we played against them with Hayden (Fry). God, we loved playing them. Got any more of that gum?"
Now that the Hawkeyes have beat Nebraska--thus crumpling another ESPN narrative--Bristol is on red alert.
"They're looking for something, anything," said the sound man. "I've been in this business a long time, and I've never seen anything like it. I've seen mysterious briefcases, hard drives being handcuffed to people's wrists, the gamut. My guess? I wouldn't be surprised if the dome at Lucas Oil Stadium suffered 'a mysterious incident' and they couldn't play the Big Ten Championship Game. Then they'd invent some bullshit excuse like 'the conference didn't have a clear winner' and find some other maroon teams to go in there."
Bolero agrees.
"I'm not saying they're going to win in Indy. That's a tough game, whoever they end up playing. But let's say they win. The absolute last thing they're going to do is say, 'Wow, Iowa has won all their games, lost none, won their conference, and deserve to play for a championship.' It wouldn't be that tough to do it. You know, 'We take our hats off to them' and all that jazz. But I'm not terribly optimistic. Some of the greatest minds in sports work at ESPN. They'll figure some way to delegitimize a 13-0 Iowa team."
For his part, Long equivocated.
"Well, I'm not saying we wouldn't take an undefeated Iowa team. I'm not saying that at all. But I do have problems comparing them to, say, an 11-2 Alabama team, or a 11-1 Oklahoma team. I mean, Bob Stoops, Nick Saban--they're just complete assholes. The committee respects that."
Meanwhile, its seems to be All Systems Go at ESPN. The latest inquiry, via email, received an automatic "out of office" reply:
"Your questions are important to us and we will get back to you as soon as possible. And don't accuse us of being anti-Iowa. We're eating potatoes with every goddamn meal."
November 27, 2015
BRISTOL, CONN. - For casual football fans, the University of Iowa Hawkeyes' undefeated season has been a nice storyline. And obviously, fans in the Hawkeye state are thrilled. But that same enthusiasm has not affected the "guys who have all the fun",
According to several sources deep in the bowels of ESPN's College Football Division in Bristol, several sources, insisting on anonymity for fear of job repercussions, that "the brass is rattled over Iowa," and "they just don't know what the fuck we're going to do with the Hawkeyes." It seems that ESPN has been willfully ignoring Iowa's surge of victories this fall, dismissing each one as a fluke and quite confident that they would eventually stumble or, perhaps, even better, just cease to exist.
Olivia Bolero was not surprised when she was summoned to her bosses' office at ESPN in late October for what was termed in the email subject line "A chance to get everyone on the same page". She knew her bosses would want to discuss her desire to mention the Iowa Hawkeyes during discussion of possible so-called "play-off spots" that are given to the best four teams in Division 1 FBS college football.
"I'd had Iowa on my radar for a while," she said. "They beat Wisconsin on the road in their Big Ten opener, they were pretty balanced, they hadn't--I believe--given up a rushing touchdown at that point. I mean, I wasn't saying they were gonna win it all or anything. I just thought we should mention them, like 40-some-odd other teams we were mentioning."
Bolero is no homer. Born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico, she attended Syracuse University in New York to study Communication and Broadcasting.
"It's one of the best schools in the country for that particular field of study," she said.
Bolero had several job offers upon graduation, but her passion for sports, particularly college football, led her to ESPN, where she toiled for several years before being being promoted to senior Gameday assistant producer.
"It was like a dream," she said. "I'd finally be having some influence on content."
Her superiors seemed to approve as well, she said. She had been mentioned as the next Beth Mowins, known for being the first female play-by-play announcer for college football. But that started changing in October.
"At first it wasn't a big deal," she said. "I mean, yeah, whatever."
After Iowa blew the shit out of Northwestern on the road, Bolero began to put her foot down.
"I said, 'Look, we have an 8-0 team here. We're not doing our jobs if we don't make them part of the conversation.'"
Her superiors didn't agree. She says that she may have let it go had someone given her a straight answer, but all she got were remarks like "Nah, they don't pass the eye test." "What, do you think we're actually in the business of talking about who wins games and doesn't lose them?" "I'm not even sure where Iowa is. They grow potatoes there, right?"
The day of the fateful meeting was the Tuesday after the Northwestern game, when planning began in earnest for that weekend edition's of "College Gameday".
"At first they were all buddy-buddy. You know, "We value your opinion" and "We know you're a team player."
Bolero wasn't asking for much. She wanted to insert a one minute segment on how the Hawkeyes were 8-0, despite a rash of serious injuries, including to Iowa's All Big Ten defensive end Drew Ott. That's when things got terse.
"Olivia, seriously now. Let's be frank. This thing isn't about wins and losses. It's about passion, prestige, teams with maroon [Alabama and Oklahoma, presumably] in their uniforms, head coaches who wear visors."
Bolero again laid out her case: an 8-0 team, a balanced offense, solid defense, convincing victories, "I would have even given on the time. But I really felt like we needed to give our viewers something. They depend on ESPN for the best college football coverage."
Her bosses then presented her with a choice:
"Either you let Iowa go, get on board with our SEC West-Ohio State-Big 12 script, or you're going to find yourself covering curling next week."
Bolero refused, and she was summarily, in her words, "asked to leave, and not to let the door hit her on the ass on the way out."
Reached for comment, Bolero's immediate supervisor, Jeff Long--oops, I mean Dan Stevenson--said, "We all know Olivia is frustrated. But you know, we're trying to build a narrative here, and we need all hands on deck. Besides, we all know that there's only one show in town in Iowa, and it's the Buckeyes."
Further phone calls and emails to ESPN executives were not immediately returned.
"You should see these guys," said a sound man speaking on condition of anonymity. "Olivia hasn't seen anything. They were just shitting their pants when it became apparent that we were going to have to say something about them being 11-0 for the Nebraska game today. Luckily, Nebraska's uniforms are red, which is sort of close to maroon, and they were playing for bowl eligibility. So they jumped on that angle and agreed to show some stock footage of Brad Banks almost winning the Heisman to cover their ass."
Asked how high up the disrespect went, Bolero sighed. "You know, I hate to say this, but I think it goes all the way to the top. Everybody likes Kirk Herbstreit, of course. Helluva nice guy. But he sees (Oklahoma quarterback) Baker Mayfield and his eyes just glaze over. Lee Corso, he's just batshit crazy. They just give him costumes and he fucks around with them and then says some crazy shit. And Rece Davis--well, I guess I can say it now that I don't work there--Rece is just a fuck. A complete fuck."
But Bolero, who accepted a position at the FOX affiliate in her hometown of Albuquerque, suspects an even deeper ignorance.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the CFPC (College Football Playoff Committee is in on it," she speculated. "I mean, think about it. These people meet in the bowels of Texas and take two days to rate teams. Two days? Texas? There's no way that's all about football. Keep in mind, it is legal to drive with an open container and loaded firearm in Texas."
Jeff Long, president of the CFPC, categorically denied that charge, but then seemed to go off on a tangent.
"Absolutely not. Our time is spent relentlessly discussing which teams have the best body of work at this point in the season. When considering bodies of work, of course we consider wins and losses....but you know, we do like maroon. That Bob Stoops, he has one hell of a visor. Really projects confidence. I think you take an average team, dress them up in maroon, they immediately get better. Oh, and a maroon team in the SEC--don't get me started..."
When reminded that the original question had concerned Iowa, Long seemed to be dazed. "Oh yeah. Well yeah, You say they haven't lost? Well, I guess that has to be a factor. Any way they can wear maroon their next game? Potatoes, right?"
When asked for comment, Iowa coach Kirk Ferentz initially declined to comment. However, when offered a package of Hubba-Bubba, he immediately agreed to be interviewed.
"I don't know how good we are, but we play hard. No question. Damn, this bubble gum's good. Can you get me a case?"
When pressed on the issue, he relented just a bit.
"Well, certainly we'd like to recognized. But I always tell the guys, we just have to take care of what's in front of us. If we do that, the details will take care of themselves. Except for Corso. That dude was batshit crazy back in the 80's when he coached Indiana and we played against them with Hayden (Fry). God, we loved playing them. Got any more of that gum?"
Now that the Hawkeyes have beat Nebraska--thus crumpling another ESPN narrative--Bristol is on red alert.
"They're looking for something, anything," said the sound man. "I've been in this business a long time, and I've never seen anything like it. I've seen mysterious briefcases, hard drives being handcuffed to people's wrists, the gamut. My guess? I wouldn't be surprised if the dome at Lucas Oil Stadium suffered 'a mysterious incident' and they couldn't play the Big Ten Championship Game. Then they'd invent some bullshit excuse like 'the conference didn't have a clear winner' and find some other maroon teams to go in there."
Bolero agrees.
"I'm not saying they're going to win in Indy. That's a tough game, whoever they end up playing. But let's say they win. The absolute last thing they're going to do is say, 'Wow, Iowa has won all their games, lost none, won their conference, and deserve to play for a championship.' It wouldn't be that tough to do it. You know, 'We take our hats off to them' and all that jazz. But I'm not terribly optimistic. Some of the greatest minds in sports work at ESPN. They'll figure some way to delegitimize a 13-0 Iowa team."
For his part, Long equivocated.
"Well, I'm not saying we wouldn't take an undefeated Iowa team. I'm not saying that at all. But I do have problems comparing them to, say, an 11-2 Alabama team, or a 11-1 Oklahoma team. I mean, Bob Stoops, Nick Saban--they're just complete assholes. The committee respects that."
Meanwhile, its seems to be All Systems Go at ESPN. The latest inquiry, via email, received an automatic "out of office" reply:
"Your questions are important to us and we will get back to you as soon as possible. And don't accuse us of being anti-Iowa. We're eating potatoes with every goddamn meal."
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
GIVING THANKS, or: Of Kuemper High School and a Big, Fat, Yellowish Moon
El octavo día Dios, después de tanto trabajar,
Para liberar tensiones, y luego ya de revisar,
Dijo --Todo está muy bien, es hora de descansar--
Y se fue a dar un paseo por el espacio sideral
"Octavo dia", Shakira
*****
Well, I probably haven't worked all THAT hard, certainly not as hard as God did for the first seven days, BUT, I am off of work for the next several days, and everything is okay, right now, so I decided to go for a little walk. I didn't--couldn't--walk in space like He/She/It/They did, but, you know, I had to get something for supper, so--Hy-Vee?
Good enough for me.
*****
I START OFF NORTH. Something I realized this afternoon, walking to Hy-Vee, is that I always sort of walk in a square, thus going in each of the cardinal directions at some point during the walk. I'm not sure if I do this on purpose, on a subconscious level, or if that's just reading too much into things. I have a habit of doing that, you know. You probably know that, if you're reading this.
I got an unexpected little surprise right before my walk. Found out both my kids would be staying at friends' houses for the night. I was already expecting a nice, relaxing evening at home, but wow. No kids!!! That means "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" without worrying if the kids can hear the curse words. That means I can eat supper out of a can and not feel guilty. It means I can go to bed as early or as late as I want, thank you very much.
As far as I'm concerned, that in and of itself is worth giving thanks for.
*****
WEST. THE SUN IS JUST ABOUT below the horizon, just on top of the tree line. Ten minutes, tops, until sunset. One thing I just started doing is tracking sunrise and sunset times and including them in my journal entries. I'm not sure where this idea came from, but I like it. I know, for example, that the sun being where it is, it's gotta be about 4:30. I also know that this is very early.
Winter fucking sucks. It just. fucking sucks. But as I walk, I know that the solstice is less than a month away, and after that the sun will start being out a little longer each day, and that is part of how I deal with the constant cold and darkness.
My mind wanders. It's wandering to Cuzco, Peru. My students have been researching the Inca empire; Cuzco was its capital. I've been there, eight years ago. I'm thinking maybe we should go back, me and Sonia and the kids. We lived in Lima last summer, and it was all right, but it was just...not us. Cuzco, that's more us. You're high up in the mountains and life moves slower and it's a little harder to breathe but nothing that some coca leaves can't fix, and the people there have rosy cheeks, and their Spanish has just a hint of sing-song in it, and the Incas are practically living with you, what with their rocks and walls and food and language around. And the people, they're just SO incredibly nice, and I think it would be the perfect place to have a living room with a fireplace and bedrooms with little portable heaters and Inca blankets, and play sapo on the weekends and drink chicha, and learn and live in another culture, because that's the addictive crackish thing about traveling, that opportunity to be in another culture and think about what's really what.
I'm not sure I could miss another baseball season, though. Especially with the way the Cubs are looking.
*****
VEERING SOUTH. There is a young boy, Niko or Orlando's age, not any older or younger, playing outside. He's by himself but that's okay, if there's snow. We got a nice little batch last four nights ago. Not a ton but more than a little, enough to have to move out of the driveway. Enough that Orlando was up constantly throughout the night, asking us if he could go outside yet. Him and Niko played outside for HOURS on Saturday.
Today, there's not too much left. That's what happens when it snows this early in the season: it warms up again and melts the snow and the kids don't have any left to play with. This kid is piling up snow but there just isn't enough to do much with; when he moves the snow, there's just grass underneath. And it's still green, that's what's really crazy. It snowed so early, then melted so quickly, that there are patches of snow next to bright green grass. It would be hard, even if one were a pretend aspiring writer, to find a more perfect metaphor for the intersection of the seasons.
*****
I ARRIVE AT HY-VEE AND reflexively check my pockets. I have my phone, but no wallet. How am I going to buy what I came for? I can't buy anything. The trip was a waste....
*****
I MAKE MY FINAL TURN, EAST, and immediately I see the moon, a big, fat, yellowish moon, hanging just over the trees like the sun was a few minutes before. It's almost full, not sure if it's waxing or waning, not sure if I'm even sure what those words mean, but it's a pretty moon, pretty enough that I notice it, and there are an awful lot of things I don't notice.
When I was 18 years old--twenty years ago, now--I went on this retreat for church. We drove over two hours to get there, to Carroll, Iowa, to Kuemper Catholic High School. It was, and I assume continues to be, an old high school, nooks and crannies everywhere and just that FEELING, you know, a lot of kids have been through here. My principal reasons for going were not of a religious nature. I wanted a) to meet girls and b) meet more girls. And I did. We even had a dance, the 30 or 40 or 50 or so of us on this retreat. Tip for young men: do church stuff. The ladies will always outnumber you.
A funny thing happened, though. We had some session. I don't remember anything about what it was supposed to be about, and I don't remember anything that we said. But when we were leaving the room I was thinking about my mom, who had died just a couple of months before this. And it must have shown, because when the session ended some girl in a cardigan, wearing heavy makeup, some Kuemper girl, not one of the religious goodie-two-shoes, a "normal" girl, some girl I really didn't even know all that well, asked me, "Mark, are you okay?" And I turned around, and--and this is really uncharacteristic of me--I said "No." I said, "I miss my mom." And she said, "Oh." and she hugged me. And I cried and cried and cried, that nose snorting, heavy sobbing body cleansing cry, and I soaked her cardigan in tears and snot, and she didn't say a word, and it was the perfect thing to say.
*****
HOME. TWILIGHT. ALL FOUR DIRECTIONS duly walked, I turn around. The last rays of the sun are splashing, low, across the sky, and it's pretty, and it reminds me, because sometimes I forget, that God, even when you're forgetting about Him/Her/It/Them, has a way of finding you, even if you're actively trying to avoid Him/Her/It/Them in search of the opposite sex, He/She/It/Them has a funny habit of hanging a big fat yellowish moon where you can't help but see it, of putting a kind young woman with too much makeup in a hallway with you, of splashing a pretty, but not splendid, sunset across the sky, and if I should go Home anytime soon, there are definitely worse images in the world to have in my mind.
Para liberar tensiones, y luego ya de revisar,
Dijo --Todo está muy bien, es hora de descansar--
Y se fue a dar un paseo por el espacio sideral
"Octavo dia", Shakira
*****
Well, I probably haven't worked all THAT hard, certainly not as hard as God did for the first seven days, BUT, I am off of work for the next several days, and everything is okay, right now, so I decided to go for a little walk. I didn't--couldn't--walk in space like He/She/It/They did, but, you know, I had to get something for supper, so--Hy-Vee?
Good enough for me.
*****
I START OFF NORTH. Something I realized this afternoon, walking to Hy-Vee, is that I always sort of walk in a square, thus going in each of the cardinal directions at some point during the walk. I'm not sure if I do this on purpose, on a subconscious level, or if that's just reading too much into things. I have a habit of doing that, you know. You probably know that, if you're reading this.
I got an unexpected little surprise right before my walk. Found out both my kids would be staying at friends' houses for the night. I was already expecting a nice, relaxing evening at home, but wow. No kids!!! That means "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" without worrying if the kids can hear the curse words. That means I can eat supper out of a can and not feel guilty. It means I can go to bed as early or as late as I want, thank you very much.
As far as I'm concerned, that in and of itself is worth giving thanks for.
*****
WEST. THE SUN IS JUST ABOUT below the horizon, just on top of the tree line. Ten minutes, tops, until sunset. One thing I just started doing is tracking sunrise and sunset times and including them in my journal entries. I'm not sure where this idea came from, but I like it. I know, for example, that the sun being where it is, it's gotta be about 4:30. I also know that this is very early.
Winter fucking sucks. It just. fucking sucks. But as I walk, I know that the solstice is less than a month away, and after that the sun will start being out a little longer each day, and that is part of how I deal with the constant cold and darkness.
My mind wanders. It's wandering to Cuzco, Peru. My students have been researching the Inca empire; Cuzco was its capital. I've been there, eight years ago. I'm thinking maybe we should go back, me and Sonia and the kids. We lived in Lima last summer, and it was all right, but it was just...not us. Cuzco, that's more us. You're high up in the mountains and life moves slower and it's a little harder to breathe but nothing that some coca leaves can't fix, and the people there have rosy cheeks, and their Spanish has just a hint of sing-song in it, and the Incas are practically living with you, what with their rocks and walls and food and language around. And the people, they're just SO incredibly nice, and I think it would be the perfect place to have a living room with a fireplace and bedrooms with little portable heaters and Inca blankets, and play sapo on the weekends and drink chicha, and learn and live in another culture, because that's the addictive crackish thing about traveling, that opportunity to be in another culture and think about what's really what.
I'm not sure I could miss another baseball season, though. Especially with the way the Cubs are looking.
*****
VEERING SOUTH. There is a young boy, Niko or Orlando's age, not any older or younger, playing outside. He's by himself but that's okay, if there's snow. We got a nice little batch last four nights ago. Not a ton but more than a little, enough to have to move out of the driveway. Enough that Orlando was up constantly throughout the night, asking us if he could go outside yet. Him and Niko played outside for HOURS on Saturday.
Today, there's not too much left. That's what happens when it snows this early in the season: it warms up again and melts the snow and the kids don't have any left to play with. This kid is piling up snow but there just isn't enough to do much with; when he moves the snow, there's just grass underneath. And it's still green, that's what's really crazy. It snowed so early, then melted so quickly, that there are patches of snow next to bright green grass. It would be hard, even if one were a pretend aspiring writer, to find a more perfect metaphor for the intersection of the seasons.
*****
I ARRIVE AT HY-VEE AND reflexively check my pockets. I have my phone, but no wallet. How am I going to buy what I came for? I can't buy anything. The trip was a waste....
*****
I MAKE MY FINAL TURN, EAST, and immediately I see the moon, a big, fat, yellowish moon, hanging just over the trees like the sun was a few minutes before. It's almost full, not sure if it's waxing or waning, not sure if I'm even sure what those words mean, but it's a pretty moon, pretty enough that I notice it, and there are an awful lot of things I don't notice.
When I was 18 years old--twenty years ago, now--I went on this retreat for church. We drove over two hours to get there, to Carroll, Iowa, to Kuemper Catholic High School. It was, and I assume continues to be, an old high school, nooks and crannies everywhere and just that FEELING, you know, a lot of kids have been through here. My principal reasons for going were not of a religious nature. I wanted a) to meet girls and b) meet more girls. And I did. We even had a dance, the 30 or 40 or 50 or so of us on this retreat. Tip for young men: do church stuff. The ladies will always outnumber you.
A funny thing happened, though. We had some session. I don't remember anything about what it was supposed to be about, and I don't remember anything that we said. But when we were leaving the room I was thinking about my mom, who had died just a couple of months before this. And it must have shown, because when the session ended some girl in a cardigan, wearing heavy makeup, some Kuemper girl, not one of the religious goodie-two-shoes, a "normal" girl, some girl I really didn't even know all that well, asked me, "Mark, are you okay?" And I turned around, and--and this is really uncharacteristic of me--I said "No." I said, "I miss my mom." And she said, "Oh." and she hugged me. And I cried and cried and cried, that nose snorting, heavy sobbing body cleansing cry, and I soaked her cardigan in tears and snot, and she didn't say a word, and it was the perfect thing to say.
*****
HOME. TWILIGHT. ALL FOUR DIRECTIONS duly walked, I turn around. The last rays of the sun are splashing, low, across the sky, and it's pretty, and it reminds me, because sometimes I forget, that God, even when you're forgetting about Him/Her/It/Them, has a way of finding you, even if you're actively trying to avoid Him/Her/It/Them in search of the opposite sex, He/She/It/Them has a funny habit of hanging a big fat yellowish moon where you can't help but see it, of putting a kind young woman with too much makeup in a hallway with you, of splashing a pretty, but not splendid, sunset across the sky, and if I should go Home anytime soon, there are definitely worse images in the world to have in my mind.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Hockey season!!
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<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> at <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
DATE : 10/27/2015
<B><FONT COLOR="#000000">GOALS 1 2 3 OT F</FONT></B>
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 0 0 0 0 0
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 1 1 0 0 2
SHOTS 1 2 3 OT F
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 9 8 11 0 28
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 4 19 5 0 28
S C O R I N G S U M M A R Y
1. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT>(2)( <FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT>, <FONT COLOR="#000080">ALEX PIETRANGELO</FONT> ): 1st 0:53
2. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT>(1)( <FONT COLOR="#000080">JAKUB VORACEK</FONT>, <FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MOULSON</FONT> ): 2nd 12:27
P E N A L T I E S S U M M A R Y
1. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">ANDREW MacDONALD</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 1st 16:24
2. SBA. <FONT COLOR="#008000">CRAIG SMITH</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 2nd 0:24
3. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">BRENDEN DILLON</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 2nd 19:12
4. SBA. <FONT COLOR="#008000">MATS ZUCCARELLO</FONT> - 5 Minutes: 3rd 18:37
5. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT> - 5 Minutes: 3rd 18:37
I N J U R I E S
NONE
Player Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B>
PLAYER +/- SOG G A PIM PP SH FO-W AC IT TA HIT SP AS
<FONT COLOR="#008000">MATS ZUCCARELLO</FONT> -1 0 0 0 5 0 0 0-0 27 14:45 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NIKOLAI KULEMIN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 18 10:26 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">COLIN WILSON</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:41 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">CRAIG SMITH</FONT> -1 0 0 0 2 0 0 1-0 30 17:55 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">GUSTAV NYQUIST</FONT> 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 29 16:41 0 0 1 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ALEX GALCHENYUK</FONT> 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 1-0 26 14:41 0 0 1 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NICK BJUGSTAD</FONT> -1 2 0 0 0 0 0 4-2 30 17:55 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">TRAVIS ZAJAC</FONT> -1 7 0 0 0 0 0 4-2 34 18:53 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">JEFF SKINNER</FONT> -1 1 0 0 0 0 0 1-1 27 14:45 0 1 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">BRAD BOYES</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 19 10:34 1 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">MIKE HOFFMAN</FONT> -1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 31 18:03 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">BRIAN CAMPBELL</FONT> -2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 40 22:19 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">VICTOR HEDMAN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 44 25:04 1 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ANTOINE VERMETTE</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1-0 15 8:26 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ERIK JOHNSON</FONT> -2 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 39 22:11 0 1 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ALEC MARTINEZ</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 45 25:12 2 2 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ANDREW FERENCE</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 21 12:32 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NATE GUENIN</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 21 12:32 0 1 0 0
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTAL -10 28 0 0 7 0 0 12-5 6 8 2 8
Player Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
PLAYER +/- SOG G A PIM PP SH FO-W AC IT TA HIT SP AS
<FONT COLOR="#000080">EVGENI MALKIN</FONT> 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 1-1 29 16:54 1 0 2 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">PATRIC HORNQVIST</FONT> 1 4 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 31 17:54 0 0 0 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT> 1 3 0 1 5 0 0 0-0 34 19:54 1 1 1 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">JAKUB VORACEK</FONT> 1 4 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:33 2 0 0 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT> 1 3 1 0 0 0 0 4-4 31 17:54 1 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#000080">SEAN BERGENHEIM</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:54 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ERIK CONDRA</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 19 10:34 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">VINCENT LECAVALIER</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:54 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT> 1 5 1 0 0 0 0 4-1 29 16:33 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">VERNON FIDDLER</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3-1 19 10:34 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ANDREW MacDONALD</FONT> 2 0 0 0 2 0 0 0-0 39 22:05 2 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MARTIN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 15 8:26 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MOULSON</FONT> 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:33 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">NICK SCHULTZ</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 24 14:40 3 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ERIK GUDBRANSON</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 25 14:48 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ALEX PIETRANGELO</FONT> 2 0 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 41 23:57 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">BRENDEN DILLON</FONT> 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0-0 39 21:10 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ZACH BOGOSIAN</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 39 21:10 4 1 0 0
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTAL 10 28 2 4 9 0 0 12-7 18 4 3 9
Goalie Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B>
PLAYER MIN SHOTS GA ENG GR GRS
THOMAS GREISS 60 28 2 0 5 3 105
ANDERS LINDBACK 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Goalie Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
PLAYER MIN SHOTS GA ENG GR GRS
SERGEI BOBROVSKY 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
CALVIN PICKARD 60 28 0 0 0 0 105
POWER PLAY OPP GOALS
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 2 0
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 1 0
STARS OF THE GAME
1st star - CALVIN PICKARD from Long Island
2nd star - <FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT> from Long Island
3rd star - <FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT> from Long Island
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<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> at <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
DATE : 10/27/2015
<B><FONT COLOR="#000000">GOALS 1 2 3 OT F</FONT></B>
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 0 0 0 0 0
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 1 1 0 0 2
SHOTS 1 2 3 OT F
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 9 8 11 0 28
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 4 19 5 0 28
S C O R I N G S U M M A R Y
1. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT>(2)( <FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT>, <FONT COLOR="#000080">ALEX PIETRANGELO</FONT> ): 1st 0:53
2. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT>(1)( <FONT COLOR="#000080">JAKUB VORACEK</FONT>, <FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MOULSON</FONT> ): 2nd 12:27
P E N A L T I E S S U M M A R Y
1. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">ANDREW MacDONALD</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 1st 16:24
2. SBA. <FONT COLOR="#008000">CRAIG SMITH</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 2nd 0:24
3. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">BRENDEN DILLON</FONT> - 2 Minutes: 2nd 19:12
4. SBA. <FONT COLOR="#008000">MATS ZUCCARELLO</FONT> - 5 Minutes: 3rd 18:37
5. LIS. <FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT> - 5 Minutes: 3rd 18:37
I N J U R I E S
NONE
Player Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B>
PLAYER +/- SOG G A PIM PP SH FO-W AC IT TA HIT SP AS
<FONT COLOR="#008000">MATS ZUCCARELLO</FONT> -1 0 0 0 5 0 0 0-0 27 14:45 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NIKOLAI KULEMIN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 18 10:26 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">COLIN WILSON</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:41 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">CRAIG SMITH</FONT> -1 0 0 0 2 0 0 1-0 30 17:55 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">GUSTAV NYQUIST</FONT> 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 29 16:41 0 0 1 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ALEX GALCHENYUK</FONT> 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 1-0 26 14:41 0 0 1 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NICK BJUGSTAD</FONT> -1 2 0 0 0 0 0 4-2 30 17:55 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">TRAVIS ZAJAC</FONT> -1 7 0 0 0 0 0 4-2 34 18:53 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">JEFF SKINNER</FONT> -1 1 0 0 0 0 0 1-1 27 14:45 0 1 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">BRAD BOYES</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 19 10:34 1 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">MIKE HOFFMAN</FONT> -1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 31 18:03 0 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">BRIAN CAMPBELL</FONT> -2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 40 22:19 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">VICTOR HEDMAN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 44 25:04 1 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ANTOINE VERMETTE</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1-0 15 8:26 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ERIK JOHNSON</FONT> -2 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 39 22:11 0 1 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ALEC MARTINEZ</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 45 25:12 2 2 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">ANDREW FERENCE</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 21 12:32 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#008000">NATE GUENIN</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 21 12:32 0 1 0 0
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTAL -10 28 0 0 7 0 0 12-5 6 8 2 8
Player Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
PLAYER +/- SOG G A PIM PP SH FO-W AC IT TA HIT SP AS
<FONT COLOR="#000080">EVGENI MALKIN</FONT> 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 1-1 29 16:54 1 0 2 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">PATRIC HORNQVIST</FONT> 1 4 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 31 17:54 0 0 0 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">JADEN SCHWARTZ</FONT> 1 3 0 1 5 0 0 0-0 34 19:54 1 1 1 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">JAKUB VORACEK</FONT> 1 4 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:33 2 0 0 2
<FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT> 1 3 1 0 0 0 0 4-4 31 17:54 1 0 0 1
<FONT COLOR="#000080">SEAN BERGENHEIM</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:54 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ERIK CONDRA</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 19 10:34 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">VINCENT LECAVALIER</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:54 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT> 1 5 1 0 0 0 0 4-1 29 16:33 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">VERNON FIDDLER</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3-1 19 10:34 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ANDREW MacDONALD</FONT> 2 0 0 0 2 0 0 0-0 39 22:05 2 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MARTIN</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 15 8:26 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">MATT MOULSON</FONT> 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 26 14:33 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">NICK SCHULTZ</FONT> 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 24 14:40 3 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ERIK GUDBRANSON</FONT> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 25 14:48 0 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ALEX PIETRANGELO</FONT> 2 0 0 1 0 0 0 0-0 41 23:57 1 0 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">BRENDEN DILLON</FONT> 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0-0 39 21:10 0 1 0 0
<FONT COLOR="#000080">ZACH BOGOSIAN</FONT> 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0-0 39 21:10 4 1 0 0
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOTAL 10 28 2 4 9 0 0 12-7 18 4 3 9
Goalie Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B>
PLAYER MIN SHOTS GA ENG GR GRS
THOMAS GREISS 60 28 2 0 5 3 105
ANDERS LINDBACK 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Goalie Stats For <B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B>
PLAYER MIN SHOTS GA ENG GR GRS
SERGEI BOBROVSKY 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
CALVIN PICKARD 60 28 0 0 0 0 105
POWER PLAY OPP GOALS
<B><FONT COLOR="#008000">South Bend Ambush</FONT></B> 2 0
<B><FONT COLOR="#000080">Long Island Sheldon Orabs</FONT></B> 1 0
STARS OF THE GAME
1st star - CALVIN PICKARD from Long Island
2nd star - <FONT COLOR="#000080">MIKKO KOIVU</FONT> from Long Island
3rd star - <FONT COLOR="#000080">RYAN JOHANSEN</FONT> from Long Island
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Thursday, August 13, 2015
38 years!! and la Avenida Brasil
There are two Perus. There is Lima, and there is everywhere else. It is important to me, when I tell people about our summer, to say we were in Lima, not just Peru. Lima is its own world--enormous, loud, never-ending: you can drive for three hours and not leave the city. Hell, you can live wherever in Lima and not leave a 5 block radius if you don't want to. Over a third of Peru's population resides in Lima, although many were not born there: many times, I would ask my taxi driver if they were from Lima. If they said no, the follow-up was inevitably "Soy de provincia" (I'm from a province). It didn't seem to matter which one, although I always asked. At this point my driver would almost inevitably become much more animated, telling me how beautiful their their homeland was, how different it was from Lima, how I had to go visit it even though it was far away. My response was always the same: "En otro viaje" (On the next trip).
This answer was mainly formulated on our budget, which depended on us staying in Lima with minimal extra travel. On another level, though, I was determined to simply get to know Lima the best I could with the two months we had. It is a city of infinite variety, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, ornate and utilitarian. It is, quite simply, everything in Peru, in a way that no city in the United States really is: it is the political capital, the cultural capital, the economic capital, the educational capital, the technological capital, the port capital. Imagine New York City, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, Silicon Valley, the docks of New Jersey, and the Ivy League all in one city. Now, imagine that over 100 million people live in that city, and the other 2/3 of the U.S. was left among the remaining territory.
This is Lima.
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One week ago today we started the day in Lima and ended it in Iowa City. We left Adita's apartment at 1:00 A.M. A 4:20 A.M. flight to San Salvador. An 8:45 A.M. departure for Chicago. Landed a little after three P.M. Went through all the bullshit of renting a car and arrived home at 11:00 P.M.
All in all, it's great to be home. I haven't gone through (at least not yet) that reverse culture shock that I have with other trips, and I'm not sure why not. Maybe I just haven't been back long enough. Probably my favorite thing about being back, besides not having to boil my water just to drink it, is the extra daylight: it was winter in Peru, and dark by 6:15. Here it's 8:15.
I have taken many evening walks the past week, and the biggest difference is the space. A house, thirty or forty feet of open ground, another house, another huge gap. If I walk for a mile around my house, I may walk by, say, 50 dwellings. In Lima I would have passed 50 dwellings within about 300 feet of my front door.
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I walked a lot in Lima, as well, although not so much in the evenings, as I was feeding and bathing kids. If I walked at night it was mainly to get something to eat, like some pasta or eggs. There were 10 such stores within a 500 foot walk from my house. The supermarkets are used by the middle and upper classes; everyone else buys at these local entities. Inevitably, you begin to prefer one or two over the others. Our store was ran by an older couple, parents of five children, all grown, one daughter in Atlanta, where my sister Teresa lives.
They were "de provincia". Juliaca, in the province of Cuzco. They are planning on visiting in October. The old woman's eyes shined every time she talked about their upcoming trip; who knows how long it had been since she'd been home. It isn't so easy to get back and forth in Peru. One young woman I met had moved to Lima "de provincia" five years ago. She hasn't been back since. She hasn't seen her mom in five years. It would cost her about 400 soles, or $130, for a round trip ticket in bus. She can't afford the bus fare or the time off work.
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It is another gorgeous, warm, sunny day in Iowa. It is so nice to see the sun shine again. We had a few days of sunshine in Lima, but it was winter and that generally meant cloudy skies and high humidity. The high was always around 70 but the humid breeze off the ocean made it feel cooler when the sun wasn't shining. I hesitate to say forever, but I don't know if I'll ever miss another Iowa summer by choice. We go through so much shit in winter, it seems wasteful not to take advantage of summer, even if it does get a little warm. I can't wait to go read the newspaper on the deck after I finish writing this. Hell, maybe I'll just take a break and do it now.
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I loved reading the newspaper in Lima, too. A cup of coffee and newspaper is one of my main gateways into a country's culture. There were SO many different newspapers published, I'd say around twenty dailies. They were sold at little kiosks and usually closed by three in the afternoon. Most of the newspaper were fairly trashy tabloids; only a couple really impressed me with their journalism. The best one, El Comercio, was incredibly conservative; it made the Wall Street Journal look central in comparison. It was a little hard on this lefty, but it reflects its country; Peru is a very conservative country, where boys play soccer and girls play volleyball and that's the way it is.
The newspapers also reflected the Lima/provinces division, I think without really trying to. If something happened outside of Lima you generally didn't read about it until at least page 10. One of the exceptions was when the departments of Cuzco and Puno, up in the mountains, received about 15 inches of snow, an incredibly rare occurrence brought on by El Niño. Several dozen people died, but what many of the people were worried about was keeping their livestock warm; their livestock is, in economic terms, all they have. Lima was back on the front page the next day, but there was a great cartoon on the opinion page, with a little kid in Puno standing in a foot of snow and a light jacket listening to a nurse say, "Now, little boy, the best way to avoid pneumonia is to make sure your hands you wash your hands."
The little boy in the cartoon, and most of those who live outside of Lima, are often referred to as "cholos" ("cholas" or "cholitas" in the case of women). I don't particularly care for this term, as it reflects an ethnic and socioeconomic bias among the people of Lima who use it, but it kind of becomes impossible not to use it if you spend enough time in Peru (or married to a Peruvian :)) Cholos aren't from the capital, and the term, although broadly used, generally applies to people of Native American descent (although pretty much all Peruvians have Native American blood). My shop tenders, then, would be cholos; and so would the young woman who hadn't been home in 5 years to see her mom. I really don't think Peruvians use it pejoratively, at least not always and on purpose; it is just another one of those markers, this one linguistic, that divides Lima and the rest of Peru.
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We actually got up in the mountains for a few days. Not the REAL mountains like Cuzco and Puno, but a province called Canta, technically still a part the department of Lima, but culturally a million miles away. We went in the middle of the week and did the whole trip, lodging and transportation, for under $200. We left Adita's apartment at 11:00; it was 1:00 before we were actually leaving the city of Lima. As we got to the northeast edge of the city, in a district called Carabayllo, the terrain started sloping up and gradually the population density began to decrease. On the hillsides you could see homes constructed out of leftover materials: they were the beginnings of shantytowns, which will eventually become more and more populated as people try desperately to move into Lima, using whatever they can for materials. Our driver said that in twenty-five years Carabayllo will be the most populous district in Lima, and I think he's right.
It was 2:30 when we arrived in Obrajillo, a little town of probably less than a thousand people where we stayed. Three hours from Lima but it felt like we'd changed countries. The streets were dirt and they were shared by people, huge trucks, and farm animals. We rode horses, we hiked, we explored waterfalls, a spotted dog accompanying us most of the time. There were no newspapers available to buy or internet cafes, and since I don't watch much TV, I pretty much lost track of the outside world. There was an older cholita who would, literally, spend all day sitting on the corner and watching the passers by.
One day we followed some roads in search of a trout farm, finally finding it, asking if they served food. They did. We ate at a table in front of this family's house, all their chickens and cats and walking around us as we dined. $16 for four freshly caught trout dinners, served to us by a ten year old girl named Teresa, whom I challenged to race Niko. Niko's a fast kid but they tied. And there was our spotted dog: turned out this family owned him, and his name was Pirate.
Two days later we returned to Lima. Canta became Carabayllo, Carabayllo became Comas, Comas became Los Olivos, Los Olivos became San Martin de Porres, and then we were back in Cercado de Lima. My ears didn't pop until the next day.
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I need to finish this. It's just too nice of a day to sit here and write, you know? It's my birthday tradition, though, and I'm glad I've done it. I guess I'll take this spot to go ahead and thank everyone for all their birthday wishes, and repeat as I always do that I have a great life, and that's all due to all of you, my loved ones, family and friends, who span several continents and languages, but all are in my heart. I'm thrilled to be 38, because, well, that means I'm not dead yet. There's more joy in that phrase than it might sound like.
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On one of our last days in Lima, Sonia was busy doing something with the kids, so I went to the gym. My gym was a fifteen minute walk, then a fifteen bus ride away, in Jesús María, close to the kids' school.
I finished my workout around 6:30 and then showered. I LOVED showering in my gym because the water pressure was great and the hot water was like here, not electronically warmed as it was in most houses. It was a cool but pleasant evening as I walked to the Avenida Brasil to get my bus, where the big military parade would be held in a week's time. My particular bus had to make two turns and didn't come along too frequently, but that night I didn't mind waiting. I felt great after my workout and although it was dark, the streets were still teeming with people.
People sell things at bus stops. Candy and drinks are the most popular, but it is really amazing what you can find sometimes just at a bus stop, like headphones or textual guides to C++. On this night there was an older cholita woman selling little bags of popcorn and, since I had to wait for my bus, I heard her call out several times, trying to make a sale and earn a few soles. "Canchitas, canchitas, un sol". As had happened so many times on this trip, I was amazed at how hard people worked just to make a few soles.
My bus finally showed up. As I climbed aboard, the cholita and I crossed right by each other. When I actually looked at her face, I was shocked. She was actually not older--she was young, quite a bit younger than me, probably in her twenties. It was only her clothing and the way she went about her work that made me think she was older. I reflected on how these two people happened to intersect with one another: me, thirty-seven (soon to be thirty-eight), upper middle class, on la Avenida Brasil because I had spent money using exercise machines. Her, young, needing money enough to sell popcorn at the bus stop on la Avenida Brasil. I wondered what she did with the money she made selling popcorn. Did she have a child? More than one? Was she supporting an older relative?
I got on the bus and sat down. "I didn't mean to think of you as 'cholita'," I thought.
The bus swerved into traffic. Ahead of me stretched the mighty Avenida Brasil. Behind me, framed by the streetlight, I watched the young woman call out to her prospective customers, "Canchitas, canchitas, un sol."
This answer was mainly formulated on our budget, which depended on us staying in Lima with minimal extra travel. On another level, though, I was determined to simply get to know Lima the best I could with the two months we had. It is a city of infinite variety, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, ornate and utilitarian. It is, quite simply, everything in Peru, in a way that no city in the United States really is: it is the political capital, the cultural capital, the economic capital, the educational capital, the technological capital, the port capital. Imagine New York City, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, Silicon Valley, the docks of New Jersey, and the Ivy League all in one city. Now, imagine that over 100 million people live in that city, and the other 2/3 of the U.S. was left among the remaining territory.
This is Lima.
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One week ago today we started the day in Lima and ended it in Iowa City. We left Adita's apartment at 1:00 A.M. A 4:20 A.M. flight to San Salvador. An 8:45 A.M. departure for Chicago. Landed a little after three P.M. Went through all the bullshit of renting a car and arrived home at 11:00 P.M.
All in all, it's great to be home. I haven't gone through (at least not yet) that reverse culture shock that I have with other trips, and I'm not sure why not. Maybe I just haven't been back long enough. Probably my favorite thing about being back, besides not having to boil my water just to drink it, is the extra daylight: it was winter in Peru, and dark by 6:15. Here it's 8:15.
I have taken many evening walks the past week, and the biggest difference is the space. A house, thirty or forty feet of open ground, another house, another huge gap. If I walk for a mile around my house, I may walk by, say, 50 dwellings. In Lima I would have passed 50 dwellings within about 300 feet of my front door.
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I walked a lot in Lima, as well, although not so much in the evenings, as I was feeding and bathing kids. If I walked at night it was mainly to get something to eat, like some pasta or eggs. There were 10 such stores within a 500 foot walk from my house. The supermarkets are used by the middle and upper classes; everyone else buys at these local entities. Inevitably, you begin to prefer one or two over the others. Our store was ran by an older couple, parents of five children, all grown, one daughter in Atlanta, where my sister Teresa lives.
They were "de provincia". Juliaca, in the province of Cuzco. They are planning on visiting in October. The old woman's eyes shined every time she talked about their upcoming trip; who knows how long it had been since she'd been home. It isn't so easy to get back and forth in Peru. One young woman I met had moved to Lima "de provincia" five years ago. She hasn't been back since. She hasn't seen her mom in five years. It would cost her about 400 soles, or $130, for a round trip ticket in bus. She can't afford the bus fare or the time off work.
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It is another gorgeous, warm, sunny day in Iowa. It is so nice to see the sun shine again. We had a few days of sunshine in Lima, but it was winter and that generally meant cloudy skies and high humidity. The high was always around 70 but the humid breeze off the ocean made it feel cooler when the sun wasn't shining. I hesitate to say forever, but I don't know if I'll ever miss another Iowa summer by choice. We go through so much shit in winter, it seems wasteful not to take advantage of summer, even if it does get a little warm. I can't wait to go read the newspaper on the deck after I finish writing this. Hell, maybe I'll just take a break and do it now.
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I loved reading the newspaper in Lima, too. A cup of coffee and newspaper is one of my main gateways into a country's culture. There were SO many different newspapers published, I'd say around twenty dailies. They were sold at little kiosks and usually closed by three in the afternoon. Most of the newspaper were fairly trashy tabloids; only a couple really impressed me with their journalism. The best one, El Comercio, was incredibly conservative; it made the Wall Street Journal look central in comparison. It was a little hard on this lefty, but it reflects its country; Peru is a very conservative country, where boys play soccer and girls play volleyball and that's the way it is.
The newspapers also reflected the Lima/provinces division, I think without really trying to. If something happened outside of Lima you generally didn't read about it until at least page 10. One of the exceptions was when the departments of Cuzco and Puno, up in the mountains, received about 15 inches of snow, an incredibly rare occurrence brought on by El Niño. Several dozen people died, but what many of the people were worried about was keeping their livestock warm; their livestock is, in economic terms, all they have. Lima was back on the front page the next day, but there was a great cartoon on the opinion page, with a little kid in Puno standing in a foot of snow and a light jacket listening to a nurse say, "Now, little boy, the best way to avoid pneumonia is to make sure your hands you wash your hands."
The little boy in the cartoon, and most of those who live outside of Lima, are often referred to as "cholos" ("cholas" or "cholitas" in the case of women). I don't particularly care for this term, as it reflects an ethnic and socioeconomic bias among the people of Lima who use it, but it kind of becomes impossible not to use it if you spend enough time in Peru (or married to a Peruvian :)) Cholos aren't from the capital, and the term, although broadly used, generally applies to people of Native American descent (although pretty much all Peruvians have Native American blood). My shop tenders, then, would be cholos; and so would the young woman who hadn't been home in 5 years to see her mom. I really don't think Peruvians use it pejoratively, at least not always and on purpose; it is just another one of those markers, this one linguistic, that divides Lima and the rest of Peru.
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We actually got up in the mountains for a few days. Not the REAL mountains like Cuzco and Puno, but a province called Canta, technically still a part the department of Lima, but culturally a million miles away. We went in the middle of the week and did the whole trip, lodging and transportation, for under $200. We left Adita's apartment at 11:00; it was 1:00 before we were actually leaving the city of Lima. As we got to the northeast edge of the city, in a district called Carabayllo, the terrain started sloping up and gradually the population density began to decrease. On the hillsides you could see homes constructed out of leftover materials: they were the beginnings of shantytowns, which will eventually become more and more populated as people try desperately to move into Lima, using whatever they can for materials. Our driver said that in twenty-five years Carabayllo will be the most populous district in Lima, and I think he's right.
It was 2:30 when we arrived in Obrajillo, a little town of probably less than a thousand people where we stayed. Three hours from Lima but it felt like we'd changed countries. The streets were dirt and they were shared by people, huge trucks, and farm animals. We rode horses, we hiked, we explored waterfalls, a spotted dog accompanying us most of the time. There were no newspapers available to buy or internet cafes, and since I don't watch much TV, I pretty much lost track of the outside world. There was an older cholita who would, literally, spend all day sitting on the corner and watching the passers by.
One day we followed some roads in search of a trout farm, finally finding it, asking if they served food. They did. We ate at a table in front of this family's house, all their chickens and cats and walking around us as we dined. $16 for four freshly caught trout dinners, served to us by a ten year old girl named Teresa, whom I challenged to race Niko. Niko's a fast kid but they tied. And there was our spotted dog: turned out this family owned him, and his name was Pirate.
Two days later we returned to Lima. Canta became Carabayllo, Carabayllo became Comas, Comas became Los Olivos, Los Olivos became San Martin de Porres, and then we were back in Cercado de Lima. My ears didn't pop until the next day.
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I need to finish this. It's just too nice of a day to sit here and write, you know? It's my birthday tradition, though, and I'm glad I've done it. I guess I'll take this spot to go ahead and thank everyone for all their birthday wishes, and repeat as I always do that I have a great life, and that's all due to all of you, my loved ones, family and friends, who span several continents and languages, but all are in my heart. I'm thrilled to be 38, because, well, that means I'm not dead yet. There's more joy in that phrase than it might sound like.
--------
On one of our last days in Lima, Sonia was busy doing something with the kids, so I went to the gym. My gym was a fifteen minute walk, then a fifteen bus ride away, in Jesús María, close to the kids' school.
I finished my workout around 6:30 and then showered. I LOVED showering in my gym because the water pressure was great and the hot water was like here, not electronically warmed as it was in most houses. It was a cool but pleasant evening as I walked to the Avenida Brasil to get my bus, where the big military parade would be held in a week's time. My particular bus had to make two turns and didn't come along too frequently, but that night I didn't mind waiting. I felt great after my workout and although it was dark, the streets were still teeming with people.
People sell things at bus stops. Candy and drinks are the most popular, but it is really amazing what you can find sometimes just at a bus stop, like headphones or textual guides to C++. On this night there was an older cholita woman selling little bags of popcorn and, since I had to wait for my bus, I heard her call out several times, trying to make a sale and earn a few soles. "Canchitas, canchitas, un sol". As had happened so many times on this trip, I was amazed at how hard people worked just to make a few soles.
My bus finally showed up. As I climbed aboard, the cholita and I crossed right by each other. When I actually looked at her face, I was shocked. She was actually not older--she was young, quite a bit younger than me, probably in her twenties. It was only her clothing and the way she went about her work that made me think she was older. I reflected on how these two people happened to intersect with one another: me, thirty-seven (soon to be thirty-eight), upper middle class, on la Avenida Brasil because I had spent money using exercise machines. Her, young, needing money enough to sell popcorn at the bus stop on la Avenida Brasil. I wondered what she did with the money she made selling popcorn. Did she have a child? More than one? Was she supporting an older relative?
I got on the bus and sat down. "I didn't mean to think of you as 'cholita'," I thought.
The bus swerved into traffic. Ahead of me stretched the mighty Avenida Brasil. Behind me, framed by the streetlight, I watched the young woman call out to her prospective customers, "Canchitas, canchitas, un sol."
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Momentos...
...como cuando esa primera vez que eché mi cabeza en tu hombro y me negaste...como cuando estuve en el sótano y mi hermana nos llamó...como los cantos de niños en la calle que aún no saben lo que es la preocupación...como cuando mi O estuvo sangrando en la cara y lo tuve que llevar a emergencias...como aquellos en que bajábamos de las montañas al estilo montaña rusa y todos nos enfermamos...como aquello en que empecé a soñar en castellano...como aquello en que mi di cuenta de que esto no significaba nada...como cuando mi hermano me llamaba para jugar wiffle ball en el patio...como aquello en que mi familia cenábamos...como aquello en que la música rompía mis oídos y la muchedumbre y unas cosquillitas porque no sabía bailar salsa...como cuando leía un libro y no lo dejaba para nada...cuando te vestiste de blanco y caminaste al altar y me dijiste que sí...como aquellos en que descubrí los océanos, su belleza, su poder, su majestad...como aquellos en que mi hijo me dice el mejor papá del mundo...como cuando me balanceaba en piedras para echar una vista a las cataratas...como ver la cholita sentada en la esquina, todo el día, todos los días...como aquello en que ella estuvo bailando y sonrió como jamás la había visto...como aquellos bebiendo en la tarde fingiendo ser importante...como cuando me metí en el bar esperando una rumba y fui el único...como dejar mi primer trabajo y ver un millón de caras sonrientes...como bailar con una española que no sabía bailar...como cuando mi mamá me sonreía y me tuvo piedad en el Monopolio...como aquello en que me bajé el pantalón para una enfermera peruana sesentona para que me inyectara para mi bronquitis...como sentir la mano tuya en la mía, sabiendo que éramos el uno para el otro...como el esperar que venga la noche y luego extrañar el día...como aquello en que mi di cuenta que tuve una nueva mejor amiga...como aquello en me sentí solo en una ciudad de diez millones de personas...como aquello en que me dijeron. "Se nos ha ido"...como llamar a una amiga para que me abrazara, porque ya no había nada más que hacer...como cuando dos cabecitas salieron de ti y me entregaron mis hijos...como cuando comimos comida chatarra y vimos novelas mexicanas...como ver a una señora cholita en la Avenida Brasil vendiendo cotufas en el paradero y darme cuenta que era más joven que yo...como aquello en que me di cuenta que la mejor manera para esconder mis secretos era no tenerlos...como cuando el día se me acaba y la noche limeña se me cae encima y escribo y vivo...
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Actualizándome / A few things to get you caught up (Mostly English)
To all who were following our South American adventure...my deepest apologies. Life is crazy in the big city!
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I REALLY have not had time to write, and here´s why: My most heartfelt salute to all single parents out there. I´ve done the single parent for a week or so at a time in the past, but this is COMPLETELY different. Every activity, every school dropoff, every meal is mine. Everything they need, is mine. When they need a stern hand, it´s me. When they need sweet, it´s me. I have a learned about myself the last few weeks. You learn to appreciate a half hour to read while they watch TV. By the time they´re in bed, I´m too tired to write. And I´m not even working--I can´t believe I thought about trying to do that.
I know all the single parents are saying "Wow. Three weeks. Big deal." And they´re right. But I wanted to mention it.
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That being said, I have to also salute my life partner, Sonia Yvonne Cuba de Plum. Sometimes it takes something like this to realize how big a role your partner plays in your life. We make a great team, baby, and I love you. See you in 10 days!
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A ver...un resumen breve de algunos acontecimientos grandes desde que escribo:
--Orlando is healing well from his accident. Stitches came out on day 5, Steristrips for two weeks, and now we just put cream on the scar three times a day with the hope that the scar will fade.
--Both kids are signed up for soccer--between the two of them we´re at the bleeping soccer park six days a week. Sometimes, we (meaning I) just need a day off. Coaches aren´t happy with that, but it is what it is.
--El fútbol es una cosa BIEN distinta a lo que es en EE.UU. Es un juego mucho más agresivo, ningunas de las reglitas que tienen allá. Es a todo dar, todo el tiempo. Niko, quien sobresalta en su equipo en Iowa, es tan solo otro jugador acá. Orgulloso de los dos por defenderse y adaptarse al juego sudaméricano.
--The kids are also in school: Santa María de Fátima, (supposedly) a bilingual school, although I get the impression very little English is actually used (kind of like Spanish in the U.S.) While they´re in school, I have been going to Gold´s Gym (I know, really Peruvian, right?) to work on this belly of mine. The kids aren´t thrilled about going to school, but it´s a great place for them to be around the language, speak it with peers, And, by God, I NEED those four hours a day.
--I did make one concession on school: we will skip one day a week to do something fun. We´re on vacation, right? Last week, we called in sick on Thursday and went up to a part of Lima called Miraflores. Miraflores is considerably more upscale than Pando, where we are living. Most importantly, it´s on the OCEAN. We wandered a while trying to find the hotel I stayed at in 2007, Inkawasi, when I was here, and then stumbled upon a beach. We rolled up our pant legs and let the Pacific bathe our feet. Probably my second favorite part of the trip so far (see below). I made a commitment: We´re gonna go see the ocean at least once a week while we´re here.
--After that I took the kids on the Calle de las Pizzas, where about a dozen restauranteers try VERY hard to get you into their establishment. Eventually we wrangled free lemonade for the kids and a free pizco sour for Papi. The kids LOVED it.
--Then we found Incawasi. SO proud of myself!!
--Monday was a particularly fun day. Peru was playing in the semifinals of the Copa America, so the kids and I went over to Palomino, where Sonia´s grandpa lives, and they were cooking out. The kids played for hours with all the kids from the neighborhood (one girl wrote in a heart "Niko y Orlando"). I spent time with Sonia´s childhood friends, doing "La Rueda". One particularly inebriated gentleman asked me where I was from at least six times. Then the game came on. Peru lost, 2-1, but the experience was great.
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Y ahora: la gente. No puedo decir lo suficiente de la gente en este viaje. El amigo de Sonia, Daniel, nos recogió en el aeropuerto al venir. En el fútbol y la escuela han sido SÚPER amables. En Palomino, me tratan como si me hubiera criado allí.
Pero sobre todo, tengo que reconocer la familia con la cual nos estamos hospedando. La amiga de Sonia, Ada, su esposo, Luís, y su hija, Kiara, nos han aceptado como su propia familia. Hemos ido de compras, a comer, al cine. Hemos, sobre todo, convivido. Y luego uno se da cuenta que uno no sólo está viajando, sino también formando otra familia. Ahora tengo mi familia biológica, la cual es increíble, en EE.UU.; tanta familia en Venezuela; y mi nueva familia limeña. Ojalá y Dios siempre me esté bendiciendo con semejante familia.
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PROBABLY THE CRAZIEST THING FOR THE KIDS--AND THE ONE SONIA BEGGED ME NOT TO TAKE PART IN--is the public transportation. She wanted me to use taxis, which, to be fair, are not particularly expensive. But yáll know me: I am one cheap son of a bitch. So I immediately began learning how the buses ran.
In Iowa City, it works like this: the bus comes either once an hour, or twice an hour. If you´re not there at the appointed time, oh well. The city runs the buses. Sometimes it seems you need a Masters degree just to figure out the schedule. When the bus does come, you very calmly walk on, pay your money and sit down. Then, right before your stop, your ring the bell, and you calmly walk off.
In Lima, it works like this: each bus, though sanctioned by Greater Lima, is its own business. It consists of a driver and a person (usually a guy, but sometimes a woman, almost always younger because you jump on and off a lot) in the door of the omnibus yelling out the streets and landmarks it will be passing and trying to get you on. Once you´re on he goes around and collects your money. These people have incredible memories. At any given time, they have, say, thirty different people on their bus, and they remember who has payed and who hasn´t, and moreover, where you´re going to (it costs more if you go further). Then they go back to the door and yell: "Todo Bolívar, Universitaria, Universitaria, övalo, óvalo, súbese, súbese". Once they´ve got all the customers they can get, they bang the roof the vehicle, and the bus lurches into motion. And remember, in Latin America, everybody is constantly changing lanes, passing, breaking, so if you are unfortunate enough to not have a seat, you damn well better have a good sense of balance (so far, most people have been nice enough to let Orlando sit down; Niko´s had many occasions to show his athletic prowess). Then when you get to your stop, you have to yell "Baja!! Baja!!" and the bus wildly swings into the right lane and they practically throw you off the bus (at this point they´re not making any money off of you).
The other night, the bus was super crowded, and apparently had like a one second time limit for getting off. We hadn´t even gotten to the door yet (it was in the back) and the bus started moving again. I yelled out "BAJA!! BAJA!! CAAAARAAAAJJJJOOOOO!!" (a Spanish expletive) and the bus stopped again. I got Orlando off, jumped off myself, holding onto Niko, and I´ll be damned if that bus wasn´t in motion before Niko´s foot was off the step.
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Okay, so I´ve had a little fun with the buses. But the fact is, it´s a hard fucking job. Dealing with all that traffic, dealing with people that are constantly trying to underpay (partially because they´re always trying to overcharge), wind, heat, dirt. They make their living one passenger, one sol (33 cents) at a time. And kids aren´t good business. If they´re wearing a school uniform, they only pay half. They take up seats. And worse, they take SO GODDAMN LONG getting on and off the bus, which just eats away at their business model.
Most operators tolerate kids. A few have been just short of hostile.
But about a week ago, my favorite part of the trip so far happened. Orlando had finished soccer practice and it was getting dark. We walked down to the bus stop and a bus pulled up; the door guy had to be sixty and was bow legged to the point where he had trouble walking. But when I said "Molitalia?" he smiled and said "You bet, hop on!" There were open seats in the back. The bus swerved into motion and the old man made his way to the back. He had a huge smile on his face. I gave him our money and he said to Orlando "You a soccer player? You look like you´re a good soccer player!" And he asked Niko "I bet you play soccer too. That´s great. And Papi takes good care of you!"
Then he shuffled, bow-legged, to the front of the bus. When the bus crosses from Callao into Lima, it has to register. The old man forgot. The driver yelled at him to go register. "Oh yeah!" the old man said and ran, best he could, to the registration taquilla. Then he jumped back on, still smiling. The bus swerved back into traffic, the old man fought for balance. When we got to our stop he gave us all pats on the back and said, "Soccer players, keep up the good work!" The bus roared off down Venezuela Avenue, into the eerie city night. All the way home all I could think about was that old guy´s smile, and the realization that I couldn´t stop smiling, either.
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I REALLY have not had time to write, and here´s why: My most heartfelt salute to all single parents out there. I´ve done the single parent for a week or so at a time in the past, but this is COMPLETELY different. Every activity, every school dropoff, every meal is mine. Everything they need, is mine. When they need a stern hand, it´s me. When they need sweet, it´s me. I have a learned about myself the last few weeks. You learn to appreciate a half hour to read while they watch TV. By the time they´re in bed, I´m too tired to write. And I´m not even working--I can´t believe I thought about trying to do that.
I know all the single parents are saying "Wow. Three weeks. Big deal." And they´re right. But I wanted to mention it.
---------
That being said, I have to also salute my life partner, Sonia Yvonne Cuba de Plum. Sometimes it takes something like this to realize how big a role your partner plays in your life. We make a great team, baby, and I love you. See you in 10 days!
--------
A ver...un resumen breve de algunos acontecimientos grandes desde que escribo:
--Orlando is healing well from his accident. Stitches came out on day 5, Steristrips for two weeks, and now we just put cream on the scar three times a day with the hope that the scar will fade.
--Both kids are signed up for soccer--between the two of them we´re at the bleeping soccer park six days a week. Sometimes, we (meaning I) just need a day off. Coaches aren´t happy with that, but it is what it is.
--El fútbol es una cosa BIEN distinta a lo que es en EE.UU. Es un juego mucho más agresivo, ningunas de las reglitas que tienen allá. Es a todo dar, todo el tiempo. Niko, quien sobresalta en su equipo en Iowa, es tan solo otro jugador acá. Orgulloso de los dos por defenderse y adaptarse al juego sudaméricano.
--The kids are also in school: Santa María de Fátima, (supposedly) a bilingual school, although I get the impression very little English is actually used (kind of like Spanish in the U.S.) While they´re in school, I have been going to Gold´s Gym (I know, really Peruvian, right?) to work on this belly of mine. The kids aren´t thrilled about going to school, but it´s a great place for them to be around the language, speak it with peers, And, by God, I NEED those four hours a day.
--I did make one concession on school: we will skip one day a week to do something fun. We´re on vacation, right? Last week, we called in sick on Thursday and went up to a part of Lima called Miraflores. Miraflores is considerably more upscale than Pando, where we are living. Most importantly, it´s on the OCEAN. We wandered a while trying to find the hotel I stayed at in 2007, Inkawasi, when I was here, and then stumbled upon a beach. We rolled up our pant legs and let the Pacific bathe our feet. Probably my second favorite part of the trip so far (see below). I made a commitment: We´re gonna go see the ocean at least once a week while we´re here.
--After that I took the kids on the Calle de las Pizzas, where about a dozen restauranteers try VERY hard to get you into their establishment. Eventually we wrangled free lemonade for the kids and a free pizco sour for Papi. The kids LOVED it.
--Then we found Incawasi. SO proud of myself!!
--Monday was a particularly fun day. Peru was playing in the semifinals of the Copa America, so the kids and I went over to Palomino, where Sonia´s grandpa lives, and they were cooking out. The kids played for hours with all the kids from the neighborhood (one girl wrote in a heart "Niko y Orlando"). I spent time with Sonia´s childhood friends, doing "La Rueda". One particularly inebriated gentleman asked me where I was from at least six times. Then the game came on. Peru lost, 2-1, but the experience was great.
---------
Y ahora: la gente. No puedo decir lo suficiente de la gente en este viaje. El amigo de Sonia, Daniel, nos recogió en el aeropuerto al venir. En el fútbol y la escuela han sido SÚPER amables. En Palomino, me tratan como si me hubiera criado allí.
Pero sobre todo, tengo que reconocer la familia con la cual nos estamos hospedando. La amiga de Sonia, Ada, su esposo, Luís, y su hija, Kiara, nos han aceptado como su propia familia. Hemos ido de compras, a comer, al cine. Hemos, sobre todo, convivido. Y luego uno se da cuenta que uno no sólo está viajando, sino también formando otra familia. Ahora tengo mi familia biológica, la cual es increíble, en EE.UU.; tanta familia en Venezuela; y mi nueva familia limeña. Ojalá y Dios siempre me esté bendiciendo con semejante familia.
---------
PROBABLY THE CRAZIEST THING FOR THE KIDS--AND THE ONE SONIA BEGGED ME NOT TO TAKE PART IN--is the public transportation. She wanted me to use taxis, which, to be fair, are not particularly expensive. But yáll know me: I am one cheap son of a bitch. So I immediately began learning how the buses ran.
In Iowa City, it works like this: the bus comes either once an hour, or twice an hour. If you´re not there at the appointed time, oh well. The city runs the buses. Sometimes it seems you need a Masters degree just to figure out the schedule. When the bus does come, you very calmly walk on, pay your money and sit down. Then, right before your stop, your ring the bell, and you calmly walk off.
In Lima, it works like this: each bus, though sanctioned by Greater Lima, is its own business. It consists of a driver and a person (usually a guy, but sometimes a woman, almost always younger because you jump on and off a lot) in the door of the omnibus yelling out the streets and landmarks it will be passing and trying to get you on. Once you´re on he goes around and collects your money. These people have incredible memories. At any given time, they have, say, thirty different people on their bus, and they remember who has payed and who hasn´t, and moreover, where you´re going to (it costs more if you go further). Then they go back to the door and yell: "Todo Bolívar, Universitaria, Universitaria, övalo, óvalo, súbese, súbese". Once they´ve got all the customers they can get, they bang the roof the vehicle, and the bus lurches into motion. And remember, in Latin America, everybody is constantly changing lanes, passing, breaking, so if you are unfortunate enough to not have a seat, you damn well better have a good sense of balance (so far, most people have been nice enough to let Orlando sit down; Niko´s had many occasions to show his athletic prowess). Then when you get to your stop, you have to yell "Baja!! Baja!!" and the bus wildly swings into the right lane and they practically throw you off the bus (at this point they´re not making any money off of you).
The other night, the bus was super crowded, and apparently had like a one second time limit for getting off. We hadn´t even gotten to the door yet (it was in the back) and the bus started moving again. I yelled out "BAJA!! BAJA!! CAAAARAAAAJJJJOOOOO!!" (a Spanish expletive) and the bus stopped again. I got Orlando off, jumped off myself, holding onto Niko, and I´ll be damned if that bus wasn´t in motion before Niko´s foot was off the step.
---------
Okay, so I´ve had a little fun with the buses. But the fact is, it´s a hard fucking job. Dealing with all that traffic, dealing with people that are constantly trying to underpay (partially because they´re always trying to overcharge), wind, heat, dirt. They make their living one passenger, one sol (33 cents) at a time. And kids aren´t good business. If they´re wearing a school uniform, they only pay half. They take up seats. And worse, they take SO GODDAMN LONG getting on and off the bus, which just eats away at their business model.
Most operators tolerate kids. A few have been just short of hostile.
But about a week ago, my favorite part of the trip so far happened. Orlando had finished soccer practice and it was getting dark. We walked down to the bus stop and a bus pulled up; the door guy had to be sixty and was bow legged to the point where he had trouble walking. But when I said "Molitalia?" he smiled and said "You bet, hop on!" There were open seats in the back. The bus swerved into motion and the old man made his way to the back. He had a huge smile on his face. I gave him our money and he said to Orlando "You a soccer player? You look like you´re a good soccer player!" And he asked Niko "I bet you play soccer too. That´s great. And Papi takes good care of you!"
Then he shuffled, bow-legged, to the front of the bus. When the bus crosses from Callao into Lima, it has to register. The old man forgot. The driver yelled at him to go register. "Oh yeah!" the old man said and ran, best he could, to the registration taquilla. Then he jumped back on, still smiling. The bus swerved back into traffic, the old man fought for balance. When we got to our stop he gave us all pats on the back and said, "Soccer players, keep up the good work!" The bus roared off down Venezuela Avenue, into the eerie city night. All the way home all I could think about was that old guy´s smile, and the realization that I couldn´t stop smiling, either.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
This is definitely not Orlando's week (Translated)
Note: All translations are via Google Translate. Google Translate is an amazing but imperfect tool. If at all possible please read the original. I am not liable, nor ethically nor morally nor legally, for the products of Google Translate.
Ojo: Todas las traducciones son por Google Translate. Esta es una herramienta asombrosa pero imperfecta. Si es posible es mejor leer la original. No tengo responsiblidad, ni por ética, ni por moralidad, ni por ley, por los productos de Google Translate.
(Note: "Points" is "stitches")
Now, ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I'll break this very sacred concept we know it as the chronological order, to tell what happened yesterday, which forces me to have before I forget the details, before I leave those feelings I had as strong, before escaping me the truth and only the facts remain.
-------
A seven-thirty last night I was talking with Sonia by phone, our daily call. Everything was fine: we had gone to the market, grandfather's house to investigate a gym to lose some of the fat, and the park to teach local that mysterious thing called baseball. Niko, Orlando, and Kiara were playing pleasure: pa'acá screams, cries pa'allá. I did not recognize that one of those cries was desolate, and not for pleasure, until Niko, weeping, came to me and said, "Dad, fast walking, that Orlando is bleeding."
--¿¡Orlando Is bleeding !?
--Yup !! And a lot !! Of the head !!
.
--¡¡Coño !! I have to go my love, I'll call - and I hung up my wife.
And so it was. Orlando was lying on the floor with blood all over her face. I picked him up and took him to the bathroom and put it clean. In a trice Adita arrived, our host of heaven, and also nurse, and she took care. He cleaned it, put pressure on the wound (measuring 2/3 of an inch) and had there, caressing, whispering, until finally stopped bleeding and Adita put a tape over.
To me I looked too wide the wound.
'I think you will need it sew - I said to Ada.
--¿Tú You think? I would say no.
'And nurse, how much security do you mean?
--Cincenta Percent.
And what I thought. Adita too confident, as own aunt, but I knew I had to this decision in this case as a parent.
--Best Take him to the doctor. It would make me feel better.
Now for some Adita know: he is an angel. Although he played his own daughter to go to sleep, she was commissioned to her mother and insisted on coming to the hospital. He undertook to negotiate with the driver and get to the hospital entrance. He undertook to explain to the staff there had happened. Only when we had to go to the emergency room and let that one adult accompany the child was that I was alone, I needed would see my son.
---------
A SONIA ALL THIS WAS LEFT WAITING. Remember that the last thing he heard was "Orlando is bleeding !?". Poor thing, three thousand miles, just knowing that his son was bleeding, and nothing else. How was it for her in Iowa, wondering what would have happened, and probably imagining the worst?
And my Nikito. So precious. Crying for her brother, caressing, telling her everything would be all right, is only on these occasions is really the love between brothers. He also insisted on going with us to the hospital, his eyes full of tears, worrying about the welfare of his brother.
--------
ORLANDO and I entered a gate called "Surgery". The doctor removed the tape that had put Ada and almost immediately said:
--this As it is for points.
--you Believe?
--Yup. The wound is very wide.
He handed me a document that said "Priority II" and told me I had to leave to enter the box. I no fucking idea who was entering a box. But our little angel Adita helped. In the case of entering we were told that as we were not citizens, had to go to pay first. I fear. What if he had not enough to pay money? He had about three or four hundred suns, a little over a hundred dollars. We went to the cashier to pay.
--They Are eight soles, sir.
I --¿Ocho?
I 'Yes sir.
Eight soles are less than three dollars. I paid and returned to the input box, where we got some papers and were sent back to surgery. I relieved: this would not be as difficult as had been feared.
-------
I had counted my eggs before they opened, as you say in English. Surgery, again he removed the tape and was in accordance with the first doctor: Orlandito going to need stitches. He sat down and began to write a list. I was not quite sure what he did, but waited patiently.
--Mire - He told me to finish writing - these are all things that we need to put the points. You need to go to the pharmacy to buy, and already having everything, you will get the points.
--no Understand - I said. I --¿Tengo to go buy the materials that you use in the procedemiento?
--so Is Lord.
I Q: But where is the pharmacy?
--There One right here, sir. And if you do not have everything, there are several outside pharmacies where you can buy necessities.
I was gringo, as we say in Venezuela. But either way. We went to the hospital pharmacy, who was twenty meters Surgery.
--------
IN HOSPITAL PHARMACY they had roughly half the things that Orlando would need. The Lord pointed out the things that did and said we were four pharmacies in the same corner.
--Vamos - I told my O, silent, nervous, afraid, but acting like a man.
In the first pharmacy they had not the first thing on the list, which, according Adita, was the most important. "No way," I said, and went to the second. Nor they had it. On the third we were lucky, or at least thought at the time. I ordered the man who filled my list as I could and then we would see.
-48 Soles - he said. $ 15. I handed him the silver.
Sir, if not too much trouble, can check all that does not have that in the next pharmacy they can say what they miss me?
I 'Yes sir. Here it is.
I saw the list. Again I felt relieved. All the things that he did not, if he had the hospital pharmacy. Back there and I showed up at the pharmacy.
--These Are the things that I need - I said to the Lord - but you expecting everything that is on the list said.
--A See - I said, and started playing with his computer. Then: 'We have all these things, but we just finished this gel. You will have to go out and buy. Otherwise, here it is a piece of paper. Go and pay in cash to pay, and handed.
"No way," I said. We went to the cashier to pay.
--They Are five soles and eighty cents sir.
Two dollars. I paid. Orlando had my hand. He looked tired, and lost. I wondered if I looked the same. We left the hospital for the second time. This time we had more luck: the first pharmacy had the gel we need.
--16 Soles sir.
$ 5.
'Thank you.
We enter the hospital again and went to the pharmacy there. They gave me things that I had paid in cash to pay. "At last," I said, "have it all. Now, on to the doctor, and he will point to my O."
It's bad habit of mine to have victory before the time runs out.
--------
THE DOCTOR WAS PUT TO SEE OUR SUPPLIES. When he got to see a small purple package and delayed in view, I began to nerves again. Something was not right.
--Mire - I said - this needle is not right. Do you see where it says SD? TC has to say.
--no Understand - I said - How do you?
--This Needle is useless. If in his hand, yes. But on the whole face it is more delicate. The tip has to be thinner. TC has to say.
'But if I showed what you sent me.
--no I know what to say sir. It gave the wrong thing. You should go to change before we can proceed. Furthermore: no gloves or gauze I ordered. You also have to get that.
'But at the pharmacy they told me that the list was complete.
--I Can not speak for the pharmacy. Just I know that lacks these three things: gloves, gauze, and needle. And I can not do anything until you have those things.
---------
ORLANDO remained faithful to me. Poor, poor child. They bulged blood droplets occasionally from his wound, cleaned it with my shirt, which is not healthy, I know, but what remedy?
Again, to the pharmacy. Again, pay box. Again, the pharmacy, which already had gloves and gauze. Again, we left the hospital. Again, ask for a needle, a needle that by this time seemed more of a myth. By some miracle they had the needle. For the fourth time, and I came to Orlando Surgery.
And now he presented us with another challenge: the doctor had gone. Most likely he was attending another child in our absence, but no one said anything. And we were not the only ones: a lady standing before me with a child who suffered from a less long but deeper than the Orlando court. A mother carrying her son who had two strong cuts on the forehead. On the other side there were other problems: children with asthma, fevers, broken bones, crying everywhere. Parents wore simple clothes, poor people, people who asked nothing more than the health of your child.
We have waited over half an hour until the doctor appeared. Orlando was half as good, I let the other moms were seen, to begin the process of getting things eternal pharmacies blessed.
And finally, FINALLY, the doctor said those magic words:
Let us go into suturing go to this little.
--------
ENTER INTO THE HALL OF PROCEDURE. Upon entering I saw something that will always be with me on a cot lay a baby, six pounds maximum, clearly suffering I do not know what. His mother, with his humble facade, its portfolio on the cot, sitting in a cheap chair, his head on the cot, asleep. How it would be like this, with such a small baby, you can not say anything, you do not know what's wrong, no resources, no other choice but to sleep beside the cot your little baby?
'And his son, cooperate - asked the doctor.
Q: How so?
'Or is there some children who move a lot, and we have to hold them. Otherwise, if your child can stand still, we have to not hold.
No, he did cooperate. Afraid, but he is still.
Very well. That is up to the cot.
I lifted the cot. Orlando had tears in his eyes but said it would be hard because it was important to care for your body. Okay, I said. He began the doctor to get their tools for the procedure.
'And Lord, who gave this tube?
I felt as if they had given me hard in the belly. Sir, excuse me. What tube?
--this.
--Mire, Sir, I'll be frank. I've been to so many sides that neither know where it came what. What happens now?
--it Had to be tiny, one centimeter. This is great.
'But what I got your list ....
Yes, but not served. Is going to change.
'You mean I got something wrong again?
--so Is.
'And the child?
--Se Stays here. Go fast and change.
Back to the pharmacy. Again pay box. Back to the pharmacy. I was practically running. I came back and handed it.
Q: So wanted?
--Yup. We've put the gel to not feel anything.
I --What well.
Sir - I asked - what country are you a citizen?
--of United States.
'And the child, too?
--Yup.
'Well. I do not think I've fully understood. Please be saying the things I say in English, so everything will go better.
--Listo.
And he brought the needle.
---------
ORLANDO erupted in tears when the tip of the needle penetrated his wound. She cried until it passed the pain and kept crying until she realized she no longer hurt, but felt nothing. The doctor worked quickly but accurately. She left a stream of blood and then could start sewing. He noted that with each movement of the needle side of the cut until he was soon closed it.
Q: How many points are - I asked.
--Three.
--so I imagined.
The doctor said he was ready now. And can you believe it ?: A Orlando I had to wake up so we left.
---------
There are many details I did not include in this story. I suppose I could tell you how Ada and Niko waiting with a hamburger for Orlando, as I urged a Coke because I was dying for lack of sugar, such as upcoming appointments Orlando. And I suppose I could also take this opportunity to compare health systems in two different, or make comments societies countries.
But I do not want to everything. Most of all this story for me it was a way to vent, let me think so happened, but at the same time has passed, and although it was a moment of despair, everything will be fine. It may be corny, but I think the experience I had yesterday I have a very big impact, and that really is saying something, because for my age there are so many things that impact one.
I remember that horror to learn that Orlando was bleeding, and good care Adita given. I remember the face and voice and Niko's hand, shouting his love for his brother. I remember the decision to take him to the doctor in a country and an unknown system. I remember that going to heal me or in the taxi we kill almost a hundred times due to traffic. I remember the confusion it was me who was responsible to look for things that will sutured. I remember running from pharmacy to pharmacy, me or beside me, scared but strong because he trusted me. I remember her crying to feel the needle in his wound, and blood, and sewn, and they had to wake up later. I remember that a friend like Adita no way to reward what he did, I'd have to accept as a gift from God.
And most of all remember my hours in that place surrounded by many people who are less fortunate than I, who probably did not have the necessary resources to buy needles and gloves soles. And I remember conversations with parents of the children that every story was different but at the same time. I remember the wild cries of the children who could not stand the pain, X reason to be. And fit doubt remember that your baby lying mom so fragile that frankly do not know if still alive.
And I remember that after all this wave of recognition as rich, even under ugly circumstances, that for every person who inhabits this earth, for all our differences and disputes, there is one thing that never changes for anybody: that when someone to whom we are sick or hurt, he's our son, our father, our partner or our friend, the only thing - the only thing - that we care about in all this world full of misfortune is that our loved one can be improved, either anyway, without even matter how many pharmacies that touches us in the process.
Ojo: Todas las traducciones son por Google Translate. Esta es una herramienta asombrosa pero imperfecta. Si es posible es mejor leer la original. No tengo responsiblidad, ni por ética, ni por moralidad, ni por ley, por los productos de Google Translate.
(Note: "Points" is "stitches")
Now, ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I'll break this very sacred concept we know it as the chronological order, to tell what happened yesterday, which forces me to have before I forget the details, before I leave those feelings I had as strong, before escaping me the truth and only the facts remain.
-------
A seven-thirty last night I was talking with Sonia by phone, our daily call. Everything was fine: we had gone to the market, grandfather's house to investigate a gym to lose some of the fat, and the park to teach local that mysterious thing called baseball. Niko, Orlando, and Kiara were playing pleasure: pa'acá screams, cries pa'allá. I did not recognize that one of those cries was desolate, and not for pleasure, until Niko, weeping, came to me and said, "Dad, fast walking, that Orlando is bleeding."
--¿¡Orlando Is bleeding !?
--Yup !! And a lot !! Of the head !!
.
--¡¡Coño !! I have to go my love, I'll call - and I hung up my wife.
And so it was. Orlando was lying on the floor with blood all over her face. I picked him up and took him to the bathroom and put it clean. In a trice Adita arrived, our host of heaven, and also nurse, and she took care. He cleaned it, put pressure on the wound (measuring 2/3 of an inch) and had there, caressing, whispering, until finally stopped bleeding and Adita put a tape over.
To me I looked too wide the wound.
'I think you will need it sew - I said to Ada.
--¿Tú You think? I would say no.
'And nurse, how much security do you mean?
--Cincenta Percent.
And what I thought. Adita too confident, as own aunt, but I knew I had to this decision in this case as a parent.
--Best Take him to the doctor. It would make me feel better.
Now for some Adita know: he is an angel. Although he played his own daughter to go to sleep, she was commissioned to her mother and insisted on coming to the hospital. He undertook to negotiate with the driver and get to the hospital entrance. He undertook to explain to the staff there had happened. Only when we had to go to the emergency room and let that one adult accompany the child was that I was alone, I needed would see my son.
---------
A SONIA ALL THIS WAS LEFT WAITING. Remember that the last thing he heard was "Orlando is bleeding !?". Poor thing, three thousand miles, just knowing that his son was bleeding, and nothing else. How was it for her in Iowa, wondering what would have happened, and probably imagining the worst?
And my Nikito. So precious. Crying for her brother, caressing, telling her everything would be all right, is only on these occasions is really the love between brothers. He also insisted on going with us to the hospital, his eyes full of tears, worrying about the welfare of his brother.
--------
ORLANDO and I entered a gate called "Surgery". The doctor removed the tape that had put Ada and almost immediately said:
--this As it is for points.
--you Believe?
--Yup. The wound is very wide.
He handed me a document that said "Priority II" and told me I had to leave to enter the box. I no fucking idea who was entering a box. But our little angel Adita helped. In the case of entering we were told that as we were not citizens, had to go to pay first. I fear. What if he had not enough to pay money? He had about three or four hundred suns, a little over a hundred dollars. We went to the cashier to pay.
--They Are eight soles, sir.
I --¿Ocho?
I 'Yes sir.
Eight soles are less than three dollars. I paid and returned to the input box, where we got some papers and were sent back to surgery. I relieved: this would not be as difficult as had been feared.
-------
I had counted my eggs before they opened, as you say in English. Surgery, again he removed the tape and was in accordance with the first doctor: Orlandito going to need stitches. He sat down and began to write a list. I was not quite sure what he did, but waited patiently.
--Mire - He told me to finish writing - these are all things that we need to put the points. You need to go to the pharmacy to buy, and already having everything, you will get the points.
--no Understand - I said. I --¿Tengo to go buy the materials that you use in the procedemiento?
--so Is Lord.
I Q: But where is the pharmacy?
--There One right here, sir. And if you do not have everything, there are several outside pharmacies where you can buy necessities.
I was gringo, as we say in Venezuela. But either way. We went to the hospital pharmacy, who was twenty meters Surgery.
--------
IN HOSPITAL PHARMACY they had roughly half the things that Orlando would need. The Lord pointed out the things that did and said we were four pharmacies in the same corner.
--Vamos - I told my O, silent, nervous, afraid, but acting like a man.
In the first pharmacy they had not the first thing on the list, which, according Adita, was the most important. "No way," I said, and went to the second. Nor they had it. On the third we were lucky, or at least thought at the time. I ordered the man who filled my list as I could and then we would see.
-48 Soles - he said. $ 15. I handed him the silver.
Sir, if not too much trouble, can check all that does not have that in the next pharmacy they can say what they miss me?
I 'Yes sir. Here it is.
I saw the list. Again I felt relieved. All the things that he did not, if he had the hospital pharmacy. Back there and I showed up at the pharmacy.
--These Are the things that I need - I said to the Lord - but you expecting everything that is on the list said.
--A See - I said, and started playing with his computer. Then: 'We have all these things, but we just finished this gel. You will have to go out and buy. Otherwise, here it is a piece of paper. Go and pay in cash to pay, and handed.
"No way," I said. We went to the cashier to pay.
--They Are five soles and eighty cents sir.
Two dollars. I paid. Orlando had my hand. He looked tired, and lost. I wondered if I looked the same. We left the hospital for the second time. This time we had more luck: the first pharmacy had the gel we need.
--16 Soles sir.
$ 5.
'Thank you.
We enter the hospital again and went to the pharmacy there. They gave me things that I had paid in cash to pay. "At last," I said, "have it all. Now, on to the doctor, and he will point to my O."
It's bad habit of mine to have victory before the time runs out.
--------
THE DOCTOR WAS PUT TO SEE OUR SUPPLIES. When he got to see a small purple package and delayed in view, I began to nerves again. Something was not right.
--Mire - I said - this needle is not right. Do you see where it says SD? TC has to say.
--no Understand - I said - How do you?
--This Needle is useless. If in his hand, yes. But on the whole face it is more delicate. The tip has to be thinner. TC has to say.
'But if I showed what you sent me.
--no I know what to say sir. It gave the wrong thing. You should go to change before we can proceed. Furthermore: no gloves or gauze I ordered. You also have to get that.
'But at the pharmacy they told me that the list was complete.
--I Can not speak for the pharmacy. Just I know that lacks these three things: gloves, gauze, and needle. And I can not do anything until you have those things.
---------
ORLANDO remained faithful to me. Poor, poor child. They bulged blood droplets occasionally from his wound, cleaned it with my shirt, which is not healthy, I know, but what remedy?
Again, to the pharmacy. Again, pay box. Again, the pharmacy, which already had gloves and gauze. Again, we left the hospital. Again, ask for a needle, a needle that by this time seemed more of a myth. By some miracle they had the needle. For the fourth time, and I came to Orlando Surgery.
And now he presented us with another challenge: the doctor had gone. Most likely he was attending another child in our absence, but no one said anything. And we were not the only ones: a lady standing before me with a child who suffered from a less long but deeper than the Orlando court. A mother carrying her son who had two strong cuts on the forehead. On the other side there were other problems: children with asthma, fevers, broken bones, crying everywhere. Parents wore simple clothes, poor people, people who asked nothing more than the health of your child.
We have waited over half an hour until the doctor appeared. Orlando was half as good, I let the other moms were seen, to begin the process of getting things eternal pharmacies blessed.
And finally, FINALLY, the doctor said those magic words:
Let us go into suturing go to this little.
--------
ENTER INTO THE HALL OF PROCEDURE. Upon entering I saw something that will always be with me on a cot lay a baby, six pounds maximum, clearly suffering I do not know what. His mother, with his humble facade, its portfolio on the cot, sitting in a cheap chair, his head on the cot, asleep. How it would be like this, with such a small baby, you can not say anything, you do not know what's wrong, no resources, no other choice but to sleep beside the cot your little baby?
'And his son, cooperate - asked the doctor.
Q: How so?
'Or is there some children who move a lot, and we have to hold them. Otherwise, if your child can stand still, we have to not hold.
No, he did cooperate. Afraid, but he is still.
Very well. That is up to the cot.
I lifted the cot. Orlando had tears in his eyes but said it would be hard because it was important to care for your body. Okay, I said. He began the doctor to get their tools for the procedure.
'And Lord, who gave this tube?
I felt as if they had given me hard in the belly. Sir, excuse me. What tube?
--this.
--Mire, Sir, I'll be frank. I've been to so many sides that neither know where it came what. What happens now?
--it Had to be tiny, one centimeter. This is great.
'But what I got your list ....
Yes, but not served. Is going to change.
'You mean I got something wrong again?
--so Is.
'And the child?
--Se Stays here. Go fast and change.
Back to the pharmacy. Again pay box. Back to the pharmacy. I was practically running. I came back and handed it.
Q: So wanted?
--Yup. We've put the gel to not feel anything.
I --What well.
Sir - I asked - what country are you a citizen?
--of United States.
'And the child, too?
--Yup.
'Well. I do not think I've fully understood. Please be saying the things I say in English, so everything will go better.
--Listo.
And he brought the needle.
---------
ORLANDO erupted in tears when the tip of the needle penetrated his wound. She cried until it passed the pain and kept crying until she realized she no longer hurt, but felt nothing. The doctor worked quickly but accurately. She left a stream of blood and then could start sewing. He noted that with each movement of the needle side of the cut until he was soon closed it.
Q: How many points are - I asked.
--Three.
--so I imagined.
The doctor said he was ready now. And can you believe it ?: A Orlando I had to wake up so we left.
---------
There are many details I did not include in this story. I suppose I could tell you how Ada and Niko waiting with a hamburger for Orlando, as I urged a Coke because I was dying for lack of sugar, such as upcoming appointments Orlando. And I suppose I could also take this opportunity to compare health systems in two different, or make comments societies countries.
But I do not want to everything. Most of all this story for me it was a way to vent, let me think so happened, but at the same time has passed, and although it was a moment of despair, everything will be fine. It may be corny, but I think the experience I had yesterday I have a very big impact, and that really is saying something, because for my age there are so many things that impact one.
I remember that horror to learn that Orlando was bleeding, and good care Adita given. I remember the face and voice and Niko's hand, shouting his love for his brother. I remember the decision to take him to the doctor in a country and an unknown system. I remember that going to heal me or in the taxi we kill almost a hundred times due to traffic. I remember the confusion it was me who was responsible to look for things that will sutured. I remember running from pharmacy to pharmacy, me or beside me, scared but strong because he trusted me. I remember her crying to feel the needle in his wound, and blood, and sewn, and they had to wake up later. I remember that a friend like Adita no way to reward what he did, I'd have to accept as a gift from God.
And most of all remember my hours in that place surrounded by many people who are less fortunate than I, who probably did not have the necessary resources to buy needles and gloves soles. And I remember conversations with parents of the children that every story was different but at the same time. I remember the wild cries of the children who could not stand the pain, X reason to be. And fit doubt remember that your baby lying mom so fragile that frankly do not know if still alive.
And I remember that after all this wave of recognition as rich, even under ugly circumstances, that for every person who inhabits this earth, for all our differences and disputes, there is one thing that never changes for anybody: that when someone to whom we are sick or hurt, he's our son, our father, our partner or our friend, the only thing - the only thing - that we care about in all this world full of misfortune is that our loved one can be improved, either anyway, without even matter how many pharmacies that touches us in the process.
Ésta no es la semana de Orlando
AHORA, DAMAS Y CABALLEROS, si me permiten, voy a romper ese concepto tan sagrado que lo conocemos como el orden cronológico, para contarles lo que pasó ayer, cosa que me obliga contar, antes de que se me olviden los detalles, antes de que se me vayan aquellos sentimientos que experimenté tan fuertes, antes de que se me escape la verdad y quéden sólo los hechos.
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A LAS SIETE Y MEDIA ANOCHE estuve platicando con Sonia por el teléfono, nuestra llamada diaria. Todo estaba muy bien: habíamos ido al mercado, a la casa del abuelo, a investigar un gimnasio a que pierda algo de esta gordura, y al parque a enseñarles a los locales esa cosa misteriosa que se llama el béisbol. Niko, Orlando, y Kiara estaban jugando a todo placer: gritos pa´acá, gritos pa´allá. Lo que no reconocí es que uno de aquellos gritos fue por espanto y no por placer, hasta que Niko, lagrimeando, me vino y me dijo, "Papá, corta rápido, que Orlando está sangrando".
--¿¡Orlando está sangrando!?
--¡¡Sí!! ¡¡Y mucho!! ¡¡De la cabeza!!
.
--¡¡Coño!! Me tengo que ir mi amor, te llamo--y le colgué a mi esposa.
Y así era. Orlando estaba tumbado en el suelo, con sangre por toda la cara. Lo levanté y lo llevé al baño y me lo puse a limpiar. En un dos por tres llegó Adita, nuestra anfitriona del cielo y, además, enfermera, y ella se encargó. Lo limpió, le puso presión a la herida (que medía 2/3 de una pulgada) y lo teníamos allí, acariciándolo, susurrándolo, hasta que por fin dejó de sangrar y Adita le puso una cinta encima.
A mí se me veía muy ancha la herida.
--Creo que va necesitar que lo cosan--le dije a Ada.
--¿Tú crees? Yo diría que no.
--Y de enfermera, ¿con cuánta seguridad lo dices?
--Cincenta por ciento.
Y lo pensé. Confío demasiado en Adita, como una propia tía, Pero sabía que en este caso como padre, me tocó esta decisión.
--Mejor lo lleve al médico. Me haría sentir mejor.
Ahora para que sepan un poco de Adita: es un ángel. Aunque le tocaba a su propia hija ir a dormir, se la encargó a su mamá e insistió en acompañarnos al hospital. Se encargó de negociar con el taxista y conseguir entrada al hospital. Se encargó de explicárselo al personal de allí que había pasado. Sólo cuando tuvimos que entrar a la sala de emergencias, y dejaban que un sólo adulto acompañara al niño, fue que fui solo, Veríamos lo que necesitaba mi hijo.
---------
A TODO ESTO SONIA SE QUEDÓ EN ESPERA. Recuerdan que lo último que oyó fue "¿¡Orlando está sangrando!?". Pobrecita, a tres mil millas, sólo sabiendo que su hijo estaba sangrando, y nada más. ¿Cómo fue para ella, en Iowa, preguntándose que habría pasado, y probablemente imaginándose lo peor?
Y mi Nikito. Tan precioso. Llorando por su hermano, acariciándolo, diciéndole que todo iba a estar bien, Es tan sólo en estas ocasiones cuando se ve de verdad el cariño que hay entre hermanos. Él también insistió en ir con nosotros al hospital, sus ojos llenos de lágrimas, preocupándose por el bienestar de su hermano.
--------
ORLANDO Y YO ENTRAMOS A UNA PUERTA llamada "Cirugía". El doctor le quitó la cinta que le había puesto Ada y dijo casi de inmediato:
--Esto como que es para puntos.
--¿Usted cree?
--Sí. Es muy ancha la herida.
Me entregó un documento que dijo "Prioridad II" y me dijo que tenía que salir a la caja de ingresar. Yo, sin puta idea que fue una caja de ingresar. Pero nuestra angelita Adita me ayudó. En la caja de ingresar nos dijeron que como no éramos ciudadanos, había que ir a pagar primero. Yo, con miedo. ¿Y si no tenía plata suficiente para pagar? Contaba con unos tres o cuatro cientos soles, un poco más de cien dólares. Fuimos a la caja de pagar.
--Son ocho soles, señor.
--¿Ocho?
--Sí señor.
Ocho soles son menos de tres dólares. Le pagué y regresamos a la caja de ingresar, donde nos dieron unos papeles y nos mandaron de nuevo a Cirugía. Yo, aliviado: esto no sería tan difícil como había temido.
-------
HABÍA CONTADO MIS HUEVOS ANTES DE QUE ABRIERAN, como bien decimos en inglés. En Cirugía, de nuevo le quitó la cinta y quedó de acuerdo con el primer doctor: Orlandito iba a necesitar puntos. Se sentó y se puso a escribir una lista. No estaba bien seguro lo que hacía, pero esperé con paciencia.
--Mire--me dijo al terminar de escribir--éstas son todas las cosas que vamos a necesitar para ponerle los puntos. Usted necesita ir a la farmacia a comprarlas, y ya teniendo todo, le pondremos los puntos.
--No entiendo--le dije. --¿Tengo que ir a comprar los materiales que ustedes usan en el procedemiento?
--Así es señor.
--¿Pero en dónde queda la farmacia?
--Hay una aquí mismo, señor. Y si no tienen todo, hay varias farmacias afuera donde usted puede comprar lo necesario.
Me quedé gringo, como bien decimos en Venezuela. Pero ni modo. Fuimos a la farmacia del hospital, que quedaba a veinte metros de Cirugía.
--------
EN LA FARMACIA DEL HOSPITAL TENÍAN más o menos la mitad de las cosas que Orlando iba a necesitar. El señor señaló las cosas que no tenían y nos dijo que habían cuatro farmacias en la misma esquina.
--Vamos--le dije a mi O, callado, nervioso, con miedo, pero portándose como todo un hombre.
En la primera farmacia no tenían la primera cosa en la lista, que, según Adita, fue la más importante. "Ni modo" me dije, y fuimos a la segunda. Tampoco la tenían. A la tercera tuvimos suerte, o al menos lo pensé en ese momento. Le encargué al señor que me llenara la lista como pudiera y de ahí veríamos.
--48 soles--me dijo. 15 dólares. Le entregué la plata.
--Señor, si no es mucha molestia, ¿puede marcar todo lo que no tiene para que en la próxima farmacia les pueda decir lo que me falte?
--Sí señor. Aquí lo tiene.
Vi a la lista. De nuevo me sentí con alivio. Todas las cosas que él no tenía, sí las tenía la farmacia del hospital. Regresamos allí y me presenté en la farmacia.
--Éstas son las cosas que me hacen falta--le dije al señor--pero dijo usted que cuenta con todo lo que está en la lista.
--A ver--me dijo, y comenzó a jugar con su computadora. Después: --Tenemos todas estas cosas, pero justo se nos acabó este gel. Va a tener que salir a comprarlo. Lo demás, aquí tiene un papelito. Vaya y lo pague en la caja de pagar, y se lo entrego.
"Ni modo", me dije. Fuimos a la caja de pagar.
--Son cinco soles con ochenta centavos señor.
Dos dólares. Le pagué. Orlando me tenía la mano. Se veía cansado, y perdido. Me preguntaba si yo me veía igual. Salimos por segunda vez del hospital. Esta vez tuvimos más suerte: la primera farmacia contaba con el gel que necesitamos.
--16 soles señor.
5 dólares.
--Gracias.
Ingresamos de nuevo al hospital y fuimos a la farmacia de allí. Me entregaron las cosas que había pagado en la caja de pagar. "Por fin" me dije, "tenemos todo. Ahora sí, vamos con el doctor, y él le pondrá los puntos a mi O."
Es mala costumbre mía contar victoría antes de que el tiempo se acabe.
--------
EL DOCTOR SE PUSO A VER NUESTROS SUMINISTROS. Cuando llegó a ver un pequeño paquete morado, y demoraba en verlo, me empezó a dar nervios de nuevo. Algo no estuvo bien.
--Mire--me dijo--esta aguja no está bien. ¿Ve donde dice SD? Tiene que decir TC.
--No entiendo--le dije--¿Cómo así?
--Esta aguja no sirve. Si fuera en la mano, sí. Pero en la cara todo es más delicado. La punta tiene que ser más fina. Tiene que decir TC.
--Pero si le enseñé lo que usted me mandó.
--No sé que decirle señor. Se lo entregaron la cosa equivocada. Hay que ir a cambiarlo antes de que podamos proceder. Además: no tiene los guantes ni la gaza que pedí. También tiene que conseguir eso.
--Pero me dijeron en la farmacia que la lista ya estaba completa.
--Yo no puedo hablar por la farmacia. Sólo sé que le faltan esas tres cosas: los guantes, la gaza, y la aguja. Y no puedo hacerle nada hasta que tenga esas cosas.
---------
ORLANDO SEGUÍA FIEL A MI LADO. Pobre, pobre niño. Se le salían gotitas de sangre de vez en cuando de su herida, que la limpiaba con mi camiseta, cosa no saludable, lo sé, pero, ¿qué remedio?
De nuevo, a la farmacia. De nuevo, a la caja de pagar. De nuevo, a la farmacia, donde ya tuve los guantes y la gaza. De nuevo, salimos del hospital. De nuevo, a pedir una aguja, una aguja que ya para estas fechas me parecía más bien un mito. Por algún milagro tuvieron la aguja. Por cuarta vez, Orlando y yo llegamos a Cirugía.
Y ahora nos presentó otro reto: el doctor se había desparecido. Lo más probable era que estaba atendiéndo a otro niño en nuestra ausencia, pero nadie nos dijo nada. Y no éramos los únicos: una señora estaba delante de mí con un niño que padecía de un corte menos largo pero más profundo que el de Orlando. Una madre cargaba a su hijo que tenía dos cortes fuertes en la frente. Por otros lados hubieron otros problemas: niños con ásma, fiebres, huesos rotos, llanto por todos lados. Los padres llevaban ropa sencilla, ropa de gente humilde, gente que no pedía nada más que la salud de su hijo.
Tuvimos que haber esperado más de media hora hasta que apareció el doctor. Como Orlando estaba medio bien, dejé que las otras mamás fueron vistas, para que empezaran con el proceso eterno de conseguir cosas de las benditas farmacias.
Y por fin, POR FIN, el doctor dijo aquellas palabras mágicas:
--Vamos a ir a suturar a este pequeño.
--------
ENTRAMOS EN EL SALÓN DEL PROCEDIMIENTO. Al entrar vi algo que siempre quedará conmigo: en una catre yacía un bebito, de seis libras como máximo, claramente sufriendo aunque no sé de qué. Su mamá, con su facha humilde, su cartera en el catre, sentada en una silla barata, su cabeza en el catre, dormida. ¿Cómo sería, estar así, con un bebé tan chiquito, que no te puede contar nada, que no sabes qué le pasa, sin recursos, sin otro remedio que dormirte al lado del catre de tu bebito?
--Y su hijo, ¿coopere?--me preguntó el médico.
--¿Cómo así?
--O sea, hay ciertos niños que se mueven mucho, y tenemos que sujetarlos. De otra forma, si su hijo puede estar quieto, no lo tenemos que sujetar.
--No, él sí coopere. Tiene miedo, pero estará quieto.
--Muy bien. Que se suba al catre.
Lo levanté al catre. Orlando tenía lágrimas en los ojos pero dijo que iba a ser fuerte porque lo importante era cuidar a su cuerpo. Muy bien, le dije. Empezó el doctor a sacar sus herramientas para el procedimiento.
--Y señor, ¿quién le entregó este tubo?
Sentí como si me habían dado duro en la panza. --Señor, disculpe. ¿Cuál tubo?
--Éste.
--Mire, señor, le voy a ser franco. He ido a tantos lados que ni sé de dónde vino qué cosa. ¿Qué pasa ahora?
--Es que tenía que ser más chiquito, de un centímetro. Éste es muy grande.
--Pero es lo que me dieron de su lista....
--Sí, pero no sirve. Tiene ir a cambiarlo.
--¿Quieres decir que me dieron otra vez algo equivocado?
--Así es.
--¿Y el niño?
--Se queda aquí. Vaya rápido y cámbielo.
Otra vez a la farmacia. Otra vez a la caja de pagar. Otra vez a la farmacia. Estuve practicamente corriendo. Regresé y se lo entregué.
--¿Así quiso?
--Sí. Le hemos puesto el gel para que no sienta nada.
--Qué bien.
--Señor--me preguntó--de qué país es usted ciudadano?
--De Estados Unidos.
--¿Y el niño también?
--Sí.
--Bien. No creo que me haya entendido del todo. Por favor esté diciéndole las cosas que yo diga en inglés, Así irá todo mejor.
--Listo.
Y sacó la aguja.
---------
ORLANDO ERUPTÓ EN LLANTO CUANDO la punta de la aguja penetró su herida. Lloró hasta que pasó el dolor y seguía llorando hasta que se dio cuenta que ya no dolía, sino que no sentía nada. El doctor trabajó rápido pero con precisión. Salió un chorro de sangre y después pudo empezar a coser. Observaba que con cada movimiento de la aguja los lados de la cortada hasta que pronto estuvo todo cerrado.
--¿Cuántos puntos son?--le pregunté.
--Tres.
--Así me imaginaba.
El doctor dijo que estaba listo ya. ¿Y pueden creerlo?: A Orlando lo tuve que despertar para que nos fuéramos.
---------
HAY MUCHOS DETALLES QUE NO INCLUÍ en este relato. Supongo que podría contarles como Ada y Niko nos esperaban con una hamburguesa para Orlando, como me urgía una Coca-cola porque me moría por falta de azucar, como las citas pendientes de Orlando. Y supongo que también podría aprovechar de esta oportunidad para comparar los sistemas de salud en dos países distintos, o hacer comentarios de las respectivas sociedades.
Pero ya no estoy de ganas para todo eso. Más que todo este relato para mí ha sido una manera de desahogarme, de dejarme creer que sí pasó, pero a la vez que ya pasó, y que aunque fueron unos momentos de desesperación, que todo estará bien. Puede que sea cursi, pero creo que la experiencia que tuve ayer me tendrá un impacto muy grande, y eso sí es decir algo, porque ya para mi edad no hay tantas cosas que impactan a uno.
Recordaré ese espanto al saber que Orlando sangraba, y el buen cuidado que Adita le dio. Recordaré la cara y la voz y la mano de Niko, que gritaban su amor para su hermano. Recordaré la decisión de llevarlo al médico en un país y un sistema no conocido. Recordaré que yendo a sanarlo a mi O en el taxi casi nos matamos cien veces debido al tráfico. Recordaré esa confusión que fui yo que era responsable a buscar las cosas para que le suturaran. Recordaré el correr de farmacia en farmacia, mi O a mi lado, asustado pero fuerte porque confiaba en mí. Recordaré su llanto a sentir la aguja en su herida, y la sangre, y la cosida, y que lo tuve que despertar después. Recordaré que a una amiga como Adita no hay forma de recompensar lo que hizo, que lo tienes que aceptar como regalo de Dios.
Y más que todo recordaré mis horas en ese lugar, rodeado de mucha gente que es mucho menos afortunada que yo, que probablemente no contaban con los soles necesarios a comprar agujas y guantes adecuados. Y recordaré las conversaciones con los padres de los chiquillos, que cada cuento era distinto pero a su vez igual. Recordaré el llanto descontrolado de los hijos que no aguantaban su dolor, por X razón que fuera. Y sin que quepa duda recordaré de esa mamá tendida a su bebé tan frágil que francamente no sé si aún siga vivo.
Y recordaré que al fin y al cabo aquella ola de reconocimiento tan rico, aunque sea bajo circunstancias feas, que para cada persona que habita esta Tierra, por todas nuestros diferencias y pleitos, hay una cosa que no cambia nunca para nadie: que cuando alguien a quien queremos se enferma o se lastima, que sea nuestro hijo, nuestro padre, nuestra pareja o nuestro amigo, lo único--lo único--que nos importa en todo este mundo lleno de desgracias es que nuestro ser querido pueda mejorarse, sea como sea, sin importar siquiera la cantidad de farmacias que nos toque en el proceso.
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A LAS SIETE Y MEDIA ANOCHE estuve platicando con Sonia por el teléfono, nuestra llamada diaria. Todo estaba muy bien: habíamos ido al mercado, a la casa del abuelo, a investigar un gimnasio a que pierda algo de esta gordura, y al parque a enseñarles a los locales esa cosa misteriosa que se llama el béisbol. Niko, Orlando, y Kiara estaban jugando a todo placer: gritos pa´acá, gritos pa´allá. Lo que no reconocí es que uno de aquellos gritos fue por espanto y no por placer, hasta que Niko, lagrimeando, me vino y me dijo, "Papá, corta rápido, que Orlando está sangrando".
--¿¡Orlando está sangrando!?
--¡¡Sí!! ¡¡Y mucho!! ¡¡De la cabeza!!
.
--¡¡Coño!! Me tengo que ir mi amor, te llamo--y le colgué a mi esposa.
Y así era. Orlando estaba tumbado en el suelo, con sangre por toda la cara. Lo levanté y lo llevé al baño y me lo puse a limpiar. En un dos por tres llegó Adita, nuestra anfitriona del cielo y, además, enfermera, y ella se encargó. Lo limpió, le puso presión a la herida (que medía 2/3 de una pulgada) y lo teníamos allí, acariciándolo, susurrándolo, hasta que por fin dejó de sangrar y Adita le puso una cinta encima.
A mí se me veía muy ancha la herida.
--Creo que va necesitar que lo cosan--le dije a Ada.
--¿Tú crees? Yo diría que no.
--Y de enfermera, ¿con cuánta seguridad lo dices?
--Cincenta por ciento.
Y lo pensé. Confío demasiado en Adita, como una propia tía, Pero sabía que en este caso como padre, me tocó esta decisión.
--Mejor lo lleve al médico. Me haría sentir mejor.
Ahora para que sepan un poco de Adita: es un ángel. Aunque le tocaba a su propia hija ir a dormir, se la encargó a su mamá e insistió en acompañarnos al hospital. Se encargó de negociar con el taxista y conseguir entrada al hospital. Se encargó de explicárselo al personal de allí que había pasado. Sólo cuando tuvimos que entrar a la sala de emergencias, y dejaban que un sólo adulto acompañara al niño, fue que fui solo, Veríamos lo que necesitaba mi hijo.
---------
A TODO ESTO SONIA SE QUEDÓ EN ESPERA. Recuerdan que lo último que oyó fue "¿¡Orlando está sangrando!?". Pobrecita, a tres mil millas, sólo sabiendo que su hijo estaba sangrando, y nada más. ¿Cómo fue para ella, en Iowa, preguntándose que habría pasado, y probablemente imaginándose lo peor?
Y mi Nikito. Tan precioso. Llorando por su hermano, acariciándolo, diciéndole que todo iba a estar bien, Es tan sólo en estas ocasiones cuando se ve de verdad el cariño que hay entre hermanos. Él también insistió en ir con nosotros al hospital, sus ojos llenos de lágrimas, preocupándose por el bienestar de su hermano.
--------
ORLANDO Y YO ENTRAMOS A UNA PUERTA llamada "Cirugía". El doctor le quitó la cinta que le había puesto Ada y dijo casi de inmediato:
--Esto como que es para puntos.
--¿Usted cree?
--Sí. Es muy ancha la herida.
Me entregó un documento que dijo "Prioridad II" y me dijo que tenía que salir a la caja de ingresar. Yo, sin puta idea que fue una caja de ingresar. Pero nuestra angelita Adita me ayudó. En la caja de ingresar nos dijeron que como no éramos ciudadanos, había que ir a pagar primero. Yo, con miedo. ¿Y si no tenía plata suficiente para pagar? Contaba con unos tres o cuatro cientos soles, un poco más de cien dólares. Fuimos a la caja de pagar.
--Son ocho soles, señor.
--¿Ocho?
--Sí señor.
Ocho soles son menos de tres dólares. Le pagué y regresamos a la caja de ingresar, donde nos dieron unos papeles y nos mandaron de nuevo a Cirugía. Yo, aliviado: esto no sería tan difícil como había temido.
-------
HABÍA CONTADO MIS HUEVOS ANTES DE QUE ABRIERAN, como bien decimos en inglés. En Cirugía, de nuevo le quitó la cinta y quedó de acuerdo con el primer doctor: Orlandito iba a necesitar puntos. Se sentó y se puso a escribir una lista. No estaba bien seguro lo que hacía, pero esperé con paciencia.
--Mire--me dijo al terminar de escribir--éstas son todas las cosas que vamos a necesitar para ponerle los puntos. Usted necesita ir a la farmacia a comprarlas, y ya teniendo todo, le pondremos los puntos.
--No entiendo--le dije. --¿Tengo que ir a comprar los materiales que ustedes usan en el procedemiento?
--Así es señor.
--¿Pero en dónde queda la farmacia?
--Hay una aquí mismo, señor. Y si no tienen todo, hay varias farmacias afuera donde usted puede comprar lo necesario.
Me quedé gringo, como bien decimos en Venezuela. Pero ni modo. Fuimos a la farmacia del hospital, que quedaba a veinte metros de Cirugía.
--------
EN LA FARMACIA DEL HOSPITAL TENÍAN más o menos la mitad de las cosas que Orlando iba a necesitar. El señor señaló las cosas que no tenían y nos dijo que habían cuatro farmacias en la misma esquina.
--Vamos--le dije a mi O, callado, nervioso, con miedo, pero portándose como todo un hombre.
En la primera farmacia no tenían la primera cosa en la lista, que, según Adita, fue la más importante. "Ni modo" me dije, y fuimos a la segunda. Tampoco la tenían. A la tercera tuvimos suerte, o al menos lo pensé en ese momento. Le encargué al señor que me llenara la lista como pudiera y de ahí veríamos.
--48 soles--me dijo. 15 dólares. Le entregué la plata.
--Señor, si no es mucha molestia, ¿puede marcar todo lo que no tiene para que en la próxima farmacia les pueda decir lo que me falte?
--Sí señor. Aquí lo tiene.
Vi a la lista. De nuevo me sentí con alivio. Todas las cosas que él no tenía, sí las tenía la farmacia del hospital. Regresamos allí y me presenté en la farmacia.
--Éstas son las cosas que me hacen falta--le dije al señor--pero dijo usted que cuenta con todo lo que está en la lista.
--A ver--me dijo, y comenzó a jugar con su computadora. Después: --Tenemos todas estas cosas, pero justo se nos acabó este gel. Va a tener que salir a comprarlo. Lo demás, aquí tiene un papelito. Vaya y lo pague en la caja de pagar, y se lo entrego.
"Ni modo", me dije. Fuimos a la caja de pagar.
--Son cinco soles con ochenta centavos señor.
Dos dólares. Le pagué. Orlando me tenía la mano. Se veía cansado, y perdido. Me preguntaba si yo me veía igual. Salimos por segunda vez del hospital. Esta vez tuvimos más suerte: la primera farmacia contaba con el gel que necesitamos.
--16 soles señor.
5 dólares.
--Gracias.
Ingresamos de nuevo al hospital y fuimos a la farmacia de allí. Me entregaron las cosas que había pagado en la caja de pagar. "Por fin" me dije, "tenemos todo. Ahora sí, vamos con el doctor, y él le pondrá los puntos a mi O."
Es mala costumbre mía contar victoría antes de que el tiempo se acabe.
--------
EL DOCTOR SE PUSO A VER NUESTROS SUMINISTROS. Cuando llegó a ver un pequeño paquete morado, y demoraba en verlo, me empezó a dar nervios de nuevo. Algo no estuvo bien.
--Mire--me dijo--esta aguja no está bien. ¿Ve donde dice SD? Tiene que decir TC.
--No entiendo--le dije--¿Cómo así?
--Esta aguja no sirve. Si fuera en la mano, sí. Pero en la cara todo es más delicado. La punta tiene que ser más fina. Tiene que decir TC.
--Pero si le enseñé lo que usted me mandó.
--No sé que decirle señor. Se lo entregaron la cosa equivocada. Hay que ir a cambiarlo antes de que podamos proceder. Además: no tiene los guantes ni la gaza que pedí. También tiene que conseguir eso.
--Pero me dijeron en la farmacia que la lista ya estaba completa.
--Yo no puedo hablar por la farmacia. Sólo sé que le faltan esas tres cosas: los guantes, la gaza, y la aguja. Y no puedo hacerle nada hasta que tenga esas cosas.
---------
ORLANDO SEGUÍA FIEL A MI LADO. Pobre, pobre niño. Se le salían gotitas de sangre de vez en cuando de su herida, que la limpiaba con mi camiseta, cosa no saludable, lo sé, pero, ¿qué remedio?
De nuevo, a la farmacia. De nuevo, a la caja de pagar. De nuevo, a la farmacia, donde ya tuve los guantes y la gaza. De nuevo, salimos del hospital. De nuevo, a pedir una aguja, una aguja que ya para estas fechas me parecía más bien un mito. Por algún milagro tuvieron la aguja. Por cuarta vez, Orlando y yo llegamos a Cirugía.
Y ahora nos presentó otro reto: el doctor se había desparecido. Lo más probable era que estaba atendiéndo a otro niño en nuestra ausencia, pero nadie nos dijo nada. Y no éramos los únicos: una señora estaba delante de mí con un niño que padecía de un corte menos largo pero más profundo que el de Orlando. Una madre cargaba a su hijo que tenía dos cortes fuertes en la frente. Por otros lados hubieron otros problemas: niños con ásma, fiebres, huesos rotos, llanto por todos lados. Los padres llevaban ropa sencilla, ropa de gente humilde, gente que no pedía nada más que la salud de su hijo.
Tuvimos que haber esperado más de media hora hasta que apareció el doctor. Como Orlando estaba medio bien, dejé que las otras mamás fueron vistas, para que empezaran con el proceso eterno de conseguir cosas de las benditas farmacias.
Y por fin, POR FIN, el doctor dijo aquellas palabras mágicas:
--Vamos a ir a suturar a este pequeño.
--------
ENTRAMOS EN EL SALÓN DEL PROCEDIMIENTO. Al entrar vi algo que siempre quedará conmigo: en una catre yacía un bebito, de seis libras como máximo, claramente sufriendo aunque no sé de qué. Su mamá, con su facha humilde, su cartera en el catre, sentada en una silla barata, su cabeza en el catre, dormida. ¿Cómo sería, estar así, con un bebé tan chiquito, que no te puede contar nada, que no sabes qué le pasa, sin recursos, sin otro remedio que dormirte al lado del catre de tu bebito?
--Y su hijo, ¿coopere?--me preguntó el médico.
--¿Cómo así?
--O sea, hay ciertos niños que se mueven mucho, y tenemos que sujetarlos. De otra forma, si su hijo puede estar quieto, no lo tenemos que sujetar.
--No, él sí coopere. Tiene miedo, pero estará quieto.
--Muy bien. Que se suba al catre.
Lo levanté al catre. Orlando tenía lágrimas en los ojos pero dijo que iba a ser fuerte porque lo importante era cuidar a su cuerpo. Muy bien, le dije. Empezó el doctor a sacar sus herramientas para el procedimiento.
--Y señor, ¿quién le entregó este tubo?
Sentí como si me habían dado duro en la panza. --Señor, disculpe. ¿Cuál tubo?
--Éste.
--Mire, señor, le voy a ser franco. He ido a tantos lados que ni sé de dónde vino qué cosa. ¿Qué pasa ahora?
--Es que tenía que ser más chiquito, de un centímetro. Éste es muy grande.
--Pero es lo que me dieron de su lista....
--Sí, pero no sirve. Tiene ir a cambiarlo.
--¿Quieres decir que me dieron otra vez algo equivocado?
--Así es.
--¿Y el niño?
--Se queda aquí. Vaya rápido y cámbielo.
Otra vez a la farmacia. Otra vez a la caja de pagar. Otra vez a la farmacia. Estuve practicamente corriendo. Regresé y se lo entregué.
--¿Así quiso?
--Sí. Le hemos puesto el gel para que no sienta nada.
--Qué bien.
--Señor--me preguntó--de qué país es usted ciudadano?
--De Estados Unidos.
--¿Y el niño también?
--Sí.
--Bien. No creo que me haya entendido del todo. Por favor esté diciéndole las cosas que yo diga en inglés, Así irá todo mejor.
--Listo.
Y sacó la aguja.
---------
ORLANDO ERUPTÓ EN LLANTO CUANDO la punta de la aguja penetró su herida. Lloró hasta que pasó el dolor y seguía llorando hasta que se dio cuenta que ya no dolía, sino que no sentía nada. El doctor trabajó rápido pero con precisión. Salió un chorro de sangre y después pudo empezar a coser. Observaba que con cada movimiento de la aguja los lados de la cortada hasta que pronto estuvo todo cerrado.
--¿Cuántos puntos son?--le pregunté.
--Tres.
--Así me imaginaba.
El doctor dijo que estaba listo ya. ¿Y pueden creerlo?: A Orlando lo tuve que despertar para que nos fuéramos.
---------
HAY MUCHOS DETALLES QUE NO INCLUÍ en este relato. Supongo que podría contarles como Ada y Niko nos esperaban con una hamburguesa para Orlando, como me urgía una Coca-cola porque me moría por falta de azucar, como las citas pendientes de Orlando. Y supongo que también podría aprovechar de esta oportunidad para comparar los sistemas de salud en dos países distintos, o hacer comentarios de las respectivas sociedades.
Pero ya no estoy de ganas para todo eso. Más que todo este relato para mí ha sido una manera de desahogarme, de dejarme creer que sí pasó, pero a la vez que ya pasó, y que aunque fueron unos momentos de desesperación, que todo estará bien. Puede que sea cursi, pero creo que la experiencia que tuve ayer me tendrá un impacto muy grande, y eso sí es decir algo, porque ya para mi edad no hay tantas cosas que impactan a uno.
Recordaré ese espanto al saber que Orlando sangraba, y el buen cuidado que Adita le dio. Recordaré la cara y la voz y la mano de Niko, que gritaban su amor para su hermano. Recordaré la decisión de llevarlo al médico en un país y un sistema no conocido. Recordaré que yendo a sanarlo a mi O en el taxi casi nos matamos cien veces debido al tráfico. Recordaré esa confusión que fui yo que era responsable a buscar las cosas para que le suturaran. Recordaré el correr de farmacia en farmacia, mi O a mi lado, asustado pero fuerte porque confiaba en mí. Recordaré su llanto a sentir la aguja en su herida, y la sangre, y la cosida, y que lo tuve que despertar después. Recordaré que a una amiga como Adita no hay forma de recompensar lo que hizo, que lo tienes que aceptar como regalo de Dios.
Y más que todo recordaré mis horas en ese lugar, rodeado de mucha gente que es mucho menos afortunada que yo, que probablemente no contaban con los soles necesarios a comprar agujas y guantes adecuados. Y recordaré las conversaciones con los padres de los chiquillos, que cada cuento era distinto pero a su vez igual. Recordaré el llanto descontrolado de los hijos que no aguantaban su dolor, por X razón que fuera. Y sin que quepa duda recordaré de esa mamá tendida a su bebé tan frágil que francamente no sé si aún siga vivo.
Y recordaré que al fin y al cabo aquella ola de reconocimiento tan rico, aunque sea bajo circunstancias feas, que para cada persona que habita esta Tierra, por todas nuestros diferencias y pleitos, hay una cosa que no cambia nunca para nadie: que cuando alguien a quien queremos se enferma o se lastima, que sea nuestro hijo, nuestro padre, nuestra pareja o nuestro amigo, lo único--lo único--que nos importa en todo este mundo lleno de desgracias es que nuestro ser querido pueda mejorarse, sea como sea, sin importar siquiera la cantidad de farmacias que nos toque en el proceso.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
The Trip: Adventures in Arrival, Part One (Translated)
Note: All translations are via Google Translate. Google Translate is an amazing but imperfect tool. If at all possible please read the original. I am not liable, nor ethically nor morally nor legally, for the products of Google Translate.
Ojo: Todas las traducciones son por Google Translate. Esta es una herramienta asombrosa pero imperfecta. Si es posible es mejor leer la original. No tengo responsiblidad, ni por ética, ni por moralidad, ni por ley, por los productos de Google Translate.
Here I am in the house of our friend Adita. It's eleven in the morning and am with a cup of coffee (past, not instant - more on this at a later date). I've read the paper today and my input of the Bible (the kings as corrupt, what will). The boys are enpiyamadas, thoroughly entertained by their tablets, happy life because here we have Wifi, which we did not know if we were going to have. And perhaps most importantly, we enjoy a light breeze passes through the open windows wide, hear the sounds of constant construction that is in this area, the car horns, the cries of the neighbors ... in Finally, all that is living in Lima, in another city, in another world. And we are comfortable.
-------
Arriving here was not easy. I guess that was not so hard, anyway, but at the same time with two children traveling to another continent is always going to be challenging. Chicago arrived at the airport with no problems. Sonia handled because he had to learn for when you come in July, and did a great job. We spent no security problem and then we started to wait on the fly easy.
There he began the day. Due to some advice I received, I do not even remember where or from whom, I decided it best to give the guys a little Benadryl so they were calmer in flight. Niko swallowed it easily, but I Orlandito fared slightly more complicated. And as a good father I am, I insisted, and the next thing I knew my hand was in the mouth of Orlando, filled with what had once been in his stomach, and ran to the bathroom, but vomiting was not imported we had to get to the bathroom. And to get my poor son had finished vomiting. "What goes" I said and wiped his mouth and his clothes as best I could. Then we went to wait for the flight back, despite how stubborn I am, I no longer insisted him to take Benadryl. "We survived the first," I said, "and I hope there are no more".
-------
No way. O'Hare is perhaps the closest thing to hell on earth exists. We boarded the plane forty minutes late, which is not so bad, but then spent an hour and a half on the runway waiting to get us permission to detach. At last we did, and at first everything was fine. Niko was entertained with TV, and my O slept it, though not having swallowed Benadryl. Until Dad fell asleep for a while, but he did using (may God bless the Xanax in flights). When I woke up I found that Orlando would not speak. He was not sure why, but I noticed that her cheeks were somewhat inflated, which I found very interesting. We communicate the next two and a half hours with hand signals, and in San Salvador aterrizarnos drove him straight to the bathroom.
--Háblame - I said.
He shook his head no. "Now you fucked" I said. "It will have some psychological wound and not speak on the journey and everything will be because I insisted to take Benadryl and its first flight was a nightmare."
-which You tell me - I said.
Again he shook his head.
--A See - I said, and gently crushed cheeks. He went a little saliva. I crushed a little more, and came out. In that I decided I had to throw everything and kept crushing although he insisted no. And then came a new jet, and the poor child vomited and vomited for a full minute.
You --¿te feel better - I said.
'Yes - I said.
And I, relieved that he would not have why take him to a psychologist. At least, not until he messes up again.
-------
For the delay cost us in Chicago. We lost our connection to Lima. But Avianca, unlike the fucking gringo lines, took great. The biggest problem was not the airline, but three women shouted loudly that they had somehow Avianca them reach their final destination, but build a new aircraft to do so. We were put in a terrific hotel, we paid a dinner and a breakfast of kings, and even gave me three minutes to call USA, because my phone does not work in other countries. So Gringolandia we had been in the fucking airport, paying disgusting food, but in El Salvador watched TV and ate quietly, and I gave a deserved shower. We lay in comfortable beds and slept eight hours God sends.
In the morning we went to breakfast, and then, as we had to be at the airport not until twelve, went outside to read my newspaper (my tradition when I travel), surrounded by palm trees encircling a pool of super blue water. Niko accompanied me.
--Lástima We have no swimwear - he said.
'But mind your pants - I answered.
--Me Feel sorry.
--no Worry. Nobody cares.
Only that needed. He took off his clothes and dived, screaming with pleasure. Soon came my O and he also got. They came a few gringos of Illinois, also bound for Lima, and began to play with my kids. I, with my music and my newspaper, in this tropical land, hearing the cries of pleasure of my children, I was more than happy. Neither rain that came and went affected us: It is, I think made it even more enjoyable. And although we had not yet come to Lima as we anticipated, it gave me satisfaction that the first phase of our adventures were nothing more than a complete success.
Ojo: Todas las traducciones son por Google Translate. Esta es una herramienta asombrosa pero imperfecta. Si es posible es mejor leer la original. No tengo responsiblidad, ni por ética, ni por moralidad, ni por ley, por los productos de Google Translate.
Here I am in the house of our friend Adita. It's eleven in the morning and am with a cup of coffee (past, not instant - more on this at a later date). I've read the paper today and my input of the Bible (the kings as corrupt, what will). The boys are enpiyamadas, thoroughly entertained by their tablets, happy life because here we have Wifi, which we did not know if we were going to have. And perhaps most importantly, we enjoy a light breeze passes through the open windows wide, hear the sounds of constant construction that is in this area, the car horns, the cries of the neighbors ... in Finally, all that is living in Lima, in another city, in another world. And we are comfortable.
-------
Arriving here was not easy. I guess that was not so hard, anyway, but at the same time with two children traveling to another continent is always going to be challenging. Chicago arrived at the airport with no problems. Sonia handled because he had to learn for when you come in July, and did a great job. We spent no security problem and then we started to wait on the fly easy.
There he began the day. Due to some advice I received, I do not even remember where or from whom, I decided it best to give the guys a little Benadryl so they were calmer in flight. Niko swallowed it easily, but I Orlandito fared slightly more complicated. And as a good father I am, I insisted, and the next thing I knew my hand was in the mouth of Orlando, filled with what had once been in his stomach, and ran to the bathroom, but vomiting was not imported we had to get to the bathroom. And to get my poor son had finished vomiting. "What goes" I said and wiped his mouth and his clothes as best I could. Then we went to wait for the flight back, despite how stubborn I am, I no longer insisted him to take Benadryl. "We survived the first," I said, "and I hope there are no more".
-------
No way. O'Hare is perhaps the closest thing to hell on earth exists. We boarded the plane forty minutes late, which is not so bad, but then spent an hour and a half on the runway waiting to get us permission to detach. At last we did, and at first everything was fine. Niko was entertained with TV, and my O slept it, though not having swallowed Benadryl. Until Dad fell asleep for a while, but he did using (may God bless the Xanax in flights). When I woke up I found that Orlando would not speak. He was not sure why, but I noticed that her cheeks were somewhat inflated, which I found very interesting. We communicate the next two and a half hours with hand signals, and in San Salvador aterrizarnos drove him straight to the bathroom.
--Háblame - I said.
He shook his head no. "Now you fucked" I said. "It will have some psychological wound and not speak on the journey and everything will be because I insisted to take Benadryl and its first flight was a nightmare."
-which You tell me - I said.
Again he shook his head.
--A See - I said, and gently crushed cheeks. He went a little saliva. I crushed a little more, and came out. In that I decided I had to throw everything and kept crushing although he insisted no. And then came a new jet, and the poor child vomited and vomited for a full minute.
You --¿te feel better - I said.
'Yes - I said.
And I, relieved that he would not have why take him to a psychologist. At least, not until he messes up again.
-------
For the delay cost us in Chicago. We lost our connection to Lima. But Avianca, unlike the fucking gringo lines, took great. The biggest problem was not the airline, but three women shouted loudly that they had somehow Avianca them reach their final destination, but build a new aircraft to do so. We were put in a terrific hotel, we paid a dinner and a breakfast of kings, and even gave me three minutes to call USA, because my phone does not work in other countries. So Gringolandia we had been in the fucking airport, paying disgusting food, but in El Salvador watched TV and ate quietly, and I gave a deserved shower. We lay in comfortable beds and slept eight hours God sends.
In the morning we went to breakfast, and then, as we had to be at the airport not until twelve, went outside to read my newspaper (my tradition when I travel), surrounded by palm trees encircling a pool of super blue water. Niko accompanied me.
--Lástima We have no swimwear - he said.
'But mind your pants - I answered.
--Me Feel sorry.
--no Worry. Nobody cares.
Only that needed. He took off his clothes and dived, screaming with pleasure. Soon came my O and he also got. They came a few gringos of Illinois, also bound for Lima, and began to play with my kids. I, with my music and my newspaper, in this tropical land, hearing the cries of pleasure of my children, I was more than happy. Neither rain that came and went affected us: It is, I think made it even more enjoyable. And although we had not yet come to Lima as we anticipated, it gave me satisfaction that the first phase of our adventures were nothing more than a complete success.
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