I'm still alive!!!

Hello Everyone,

Sorry it's been awhile since my last entry - I got wrapped up in just living here, getting by each day where at times I felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails!!! Things have settled down quite a bit, I received my credit cards via FedEx (had them sent to a FedEx office where I was able to pick them up - an American friend had told me months ago that this was the only way to get anything, should've listened!), I've gotten into the swing of things with my job, the children are beginning to understand what I'm saying, speaking a bit in English, and some are even translating to the others after I have said something - it's quite fascinating to see the process of six and seven year olds learn a second language - and in the meantime I'm trying to learn Spanish via osmosis, which is not easy. Although when I listen to and understand whole conversations or am able to read an article, I realize I know more than I think. I hope that eventually I will be able to speak like a normal person - I just get so hung up on thinking how idiotic I must sound, and this holds me back. Not speaking English on a regular basis is rusting my native speaking skills as well, which is more than embarassing.

I was also teaching adults English every Friday afternoon, a piece of my schedule that I was beginning to loathe, and the more these students wanted grammar rules and tests the less I cared to continue the lessons, because let's face it, that is BORING!!! And for an extra $20 a week, not worth my time. I will happily teach conversational English. Anyway, the weeks went on, none of us was saying anything but the dissatisfaction was mounting on both ends, I was constantly apologizing that I did not know the specific name for a specific tense and my whole body definitions for words they didn't know wasn't getting anyone anywhere. So yesterday they told me that Leandro, my male student, would be leaving us to go back to his true passion, psychology and the other student wasn't sure how she could afford more lessons. LIES!!! I said I was probably moving to a farm in Lujan anyway in a month or so (true, I am looking into this...). I cannot tolerate liars and dishonesty. So this morning I sent an email saying let's be honest, the lessons weren't working out for any of us. And you need more practice speaking with a native speaker (not tests). They offered a going away party next Friday for our next lesson, but what kind of idiot do they take me for? I said let's meet for coffee and have a conversation, no more lessons (PLEASE!). I feel good about this, it was one of those things I needed to snip out of my life (ok, so I was snipped out first, but does that matter?), it was taking energy that I need to focus on other things, such as possibly opening a Montessori school here in Buenos Aires. I am talking with someone at the moment who would take care of the business side while I cover the academics.

We'll see.

Like I already mentioned, I am looking into moving to a farm in Lujan. I am interested in learning more about farming and being closer to my workplace. This would also support me in further enhancing my skills and knowledge necessary if I ever wanted to work at a Montessori farm school (or start my own). Maria Montessori came up with the idea of having a farm school for children 12-15 or so, where they can channel all of that teenage energy into manual labor while learning the makings of life through agricultural study. I wish I'd gone to a farm school at that age rather than being assigned a special seat where none of my friends could sit by me because I had a compulsive talking problem.

I've had the good fortune of being invited to a friend of mine's family farm twice now in Entre Rios and the only word to describe this place is enchanting. While there, I felt as though I was in a trance, hypnotized by the colors of the sunrise and sunset (did not miss one!). Waking up with the animals, going to sleep with the sun puts you in tune with nature and balances everything out, leaving you with a feeling of complete connectedness. I hadn't been on a horse in maybe six years and quickly got over my fears, only to find myself addicted to galloping down the roads and in between trees as fast as I could. It was the most fun I've had in ages!! We ate pumpkin from the pumpkin patch and fresh honey from a wasp's nest that was being smoked out by some guachos (although I later learned wasp honey can be toxic to humans and didn't eat any more).

When I got back to Buenos Aires after the first farm visit, I spent the next week daydreaming about the sunset colors, horseback-riding, the quiet, the fresh air (I swear the air pollution and lack of oxygen is making my hair fall out - I'm beginning to feel like that crazy lady in Five Easy Pieces, who wants to move to Alaska to get away from all the filth, and I don't think she's crazy, but right!!!). Anyway, it's a strange feeling to so quickly go from one polar opposite environment to the other and I would rather live on and with the land than monitor the now three-week old puddle of blood pooled in the crevice of a cracked sidewalk tile that I walk past every morning to my bus.

Since this is the first weekend I've had in a while with some down time, I decided it was time to get my bi-annual haircut and as a treat, a pedicure. My feet were beginning to resemble a kitchen that's been neglected for weeks with dishes piling up and maybe a few fruit flies (not that my kitchen has ever reached this state). My haircut was fine. The hairstylist kept asking if I wanted to touch up my grey hair, but after I got it colored the last time back in November and my scalp was burned from the dye and red for days, I insisted no. I am also afraid of doing anything that might make more of my hair fall out.

Then it was time for my pedicure, so I went up another level (this salon has 5 floors and the whole place smells like cooking wax - I walk by it everyday to and from the shuttle to Lujan and you can smell the cooking wax along the entire block). I met my pedicurist, a woman with long black fingernails and hair that was so peroxided and brittle that one can imagine it breaking off in wind that is just a bit too strong. So we went into a little compartment where I took off my shoes and socks and rather than putting my feet in a sudsy tub of warm water, the pedicurist wiped my feet with a wet-wipe. Then she put god know's what on the dry-skin parts to which she then stuck strips of cotton. After that, it was cutting and filing interspersed with cold spritzes from an atomizer, taking off old polish - I yelped in pain one or two times to hint that she was being a bit too rough. After the cotton came off, more wet-wipes, pausing in between to blow her nose with her rubber-gloved hands (I wondered how she fit them over her Elvira fingernails?). Then the razor blade on a stick. Did I have any open wounds yet? I occasionally glanced at what was going on while trying to focus intently on the Argentine magazine in front of me and realizing, wow, I really know a lot of words, I should read more! She left for a moment and when she returned had a power tool in her hand and was wearing a face mask. Hmmmm. Focus focus focus on the article about the girl from San Isidro who distributes tea and lived in Paris. This will be over soon. After the sanding was over, she left and came back with a tub of flourescent orange wax. Put my feet in. Wrap in cellophane. Then time for a color. Something light. French?? No. Just plain. When she was finished, I took a look at the result. I could still see my old polish underneath; the new polish was all over my cuticle beds. And my nails were a bit jagged. I expressed some dissastifaction with her work, but she said it looked like that because I chose such a light color. She gave me her card and said that when I come back, we'll put a brighter color on and it will look much prettier (yes, this was all in Spanish!). I thanked this woman for her work and left, hoping that in the coming days this pedicure will not result in infection, an in-grown toenail that needs surgical removal, etc. I guess this salon is not the place for pedicures and I will probably think twice next time before spending twenty bucks to be tortured.

Well, now it's time for another instant coffee and a trip to the gym - my way of maintaining balance in the city!

Until next time....

Besos,
Anne