discovering
we have three trees. (one threatening to take over the front yard, but not without a sense of compassion - it offers its branches for tree-swings, and its roots for bumpy makeshift seats) (the other two huddle close knit in the backyard, not allowing even a woven hammock to come between them)
our neighbors have a tree with some sort of red berry. at first we were annoyed by the overt color. but now, the product: the berries have fallen onto our land and have produced brightly colored stalks of green with a red top hats on.
the yard slopes, and the weathered windows do what they want (they're eighty years old - they have earned the right). sometimes they even allow animals in, such as at this morning's breakfast, when we were startled to see a white cat making itself at home by our blue armchair.
the spare bedroom has a deep and slanting closet. it would have been my favorite place as an eight year old, because it's mysterious. a secret door leading to a dusty garden would make sense there.
helado de muerte
quito, ecuador
life's been a whirlwind....we said goodbye to our apartment (i went through each room, and told each one why i liked it) and began the frenzy of making our new 1920's place in northeast a home. we welcomed ruthie & trishawna as roommates, and then immediately left to visit peter's parents in ecuador. we're exhausted, but similarly exhilarated by everything we've seen - old spanish haciendas from the 1600s, the indigenous quicheua selling their alpaca wares in the god-forsaken blistery highlands, jungle trees so thick with humidity you can touch it, ecuadorian emergency rooms at 3:30 AM for peter's special case of stomach sickness (we're blaming it on some ice cream we ate at a market - peter has begun referring to it as "helado de muerte" - "ice cream of death") .....even right now, your typical latino music is playing on someone's radio outside the apartment.
the poverty didn't begin to bother me until this afternoon, our last day here. we were by a market in a park in the central city, and two little boys approached us with heavily accented "hello" and "what's your name"s. they wanted to shine our shoes. we'd been approached so many times before, but i don't know why these boys seemed different. peter & i showed them our chacos, saying that we didn't have shoes to shine, but they insisted. we started to walk away from them, but then i started crying behind my sunglasses....uncontrollably - there was no way my 50 cents would get these boys what they needed (no doubt, they were working for someone else and wouldn't see much of our money), nor could i even begin to help every other begging child and adult we had seen.....we eventually made our way back to the little boys, and happily our sandles to be shined, and they ran towards us.....we talked about their favorite soccer teams and how old they guessed us to be - either 18 or 29 years old - they weren't sure which.
it's so overwhelming, i don't even know what to do. so much of it is cultural, which i can't and wouldn't want to change. but other things could be different here ....i wish i was idealistic enough to do something bigger about it.
