Popurrí

I have been in Sevilla for one month--long enough to have established a daily routine but not long enough to feel like my routine isn't special. So every time something unexpected/funny/foreign happens, I get excited and file it away in my brain, saving it for emails, this blog, and stories for my grandchildren. In the states, when something unexpected/funny/foreign happens, I take less than a second to think about it and throw it away. But here, my brain is quickly growing crowded with those unexpected/funny/foreign happenings. So today's post is a little bit of potpourri, or as it's called here, popurrí.

Jorge's Latest Shenanigans

1. Jorge walked in on me getting into the shower. He ran into his room, very upset. I like to think that I was cool as a cucumber in this situation, saying I didn't care and that now he has hard evidence that I do NOT have a culo gordito.

2. Jorge has chicken pox (maricela). I have also had chicken pox so I know I won't get it, but I certainly can get shingles. Which is why I grow very upset when he comes into my room and rubs his face on my pillows and clothes. Which he has done more than once.

3. Jorge has taken to picking up cushions from the couch and waving them at me, yelling "TORO! TORO!"

4. Yesterday I walked into the apartment, greeted by Jorge shouting, "hola fea, Papa está haciendo caca!" Roughly translated, "whaddup uggo, Dad's pooping!"

Hermanitas de los Pobres

I realized I couldn't handle working with the people who were really mentally out of it. While working with them was an emotional drain, I think what actually made me decide to seek a change was my inability to communicate. They couldn't understand a word I said, and the few times they spoke, I couldn't understand what they said. They also kept asking me to take them home (or to their rooms) or just let them leave. When I could find an actual employee to tell them that the elderly person was tired and wanted to rest, they told me I wasn't allowed to take them back to their rooms.

I decided I was awful company for them and that I was not getting enough practice speaking Spanish. I went to Nancy, the gap year coordinator/mother hen here and told her I was unhappy with my volunteer situation. She ironed things out for me so that the next time, I only worked with people who could carry on conversations about things that exist. I helped in a computer class and sat in on a memory class. My time in the computer class is sort of how I pictured all of my time in the elderly home going: talking to people, helping them, making them laugh. I was seeking grandparent-grandchild relationships with these people, and I could feel that (sort of...a little...hopefully) happening in the computer class.

Then, during their memory exercises, I had a great time even though I wasn't really helping out. María, the occupational therapist whom I follow around and try to assist, read the elderly folks a paragraph about a man celebrating his birthday. Then she gave them a copy of the paragraph with some words, names, numbers and dates left out so they could fill in what they remembered. Chaos ensued as everybody started cheating off each others' papers and mouthing answers to one another from across the table. It was so funny to see these elderly folks--who until this point had seemed so dignified--go a little nuts with the exercise. I am hoping that from now on I can take a more active role; I would feel better being more helpful and getting to interact with some of the ancianos.

Sevillanas Class

I haven't really said that much about Sevillanas yet. This four-part dance, a Flamenco derivative, is practiced at the Feria de Abril, a week-long fiesta that takes place every--yes, you guessed it--April. Feria is a huge deal here: every year a new gate is constructed at the mouth of the fair grounds. The gate is huge and glitzy and very close to where I live, so I have been keeping tabs on its development! The dresses are also a big deal; every self-respecting Sevillana owns at least three. My host mother, Helena, owns five, including one for when she is pregnant. Since Feria is so important, the CIEE girls decided it would be embarrassing if we couldn't participate even a little. We haven't discussed the fact that we might not get to put our moves to use because Feria is really for true Sevillanos; the casetas, or dance tents, are all invitation-only. Putting aside that small snag, we threw ourselves into intense study at a dance school in Triana. It is a lot of fun, as public humiliation often is if you can master the art of self-deprecation. The CIEE girls make up the majority of the class, but there are a couple of 8-year old Sevillanas who kick our asses twice a week from 7-8 pm. We tend to ignore them because they have an advantage (it's in their DNA, I'm serious).