so this is life

I finally have a cell phone. If you care to call me, its free for me! Which is rather exciting on this end. But you might want to check with your phone company how much it will cost you. My number is 504-892-8410. Im not positive what the country code is here. Ill try to find that out for you.

This week we had exams, only two of my kids failed in two classes. For Honduras, thats good! School is going well, Im starting to see how much work it can be being a teacher, especially at the end of the semester. But I must say, I certainly enjoy teaching. Normally I have one or two favorites, but with a class of only 11, I have about 11 favorites, all for different reasons.

The apartment is coming along, slowly but it is. Today at school we had a cake to celebrate our boys futbol team victory in the tournament (two of the boys that received medals are in my class!). One of the teachers asked if anyone wanted to keep the cake box. I said I would. My students asked me what I would use it for, and I told them to hold my socks in my closet. WHHHHAAAAAAAAAAT! said one of them. Yup. Its true. I have a box of underwear, one for socks, one for tshirts. My closet is more like an open air pole and shelving unit. Theres not much to it, but I really learning to make due with what I have.

Im also learning more and more about my consumer mindset. Its a difficult lesson to learn, but its good for me. My apartment to my eyes looks rather bare and empty. However, I have a new outfit everyday. Something that my neighbors cannot say is true for them. I keep thinking of all the stuff I can get when I return to the states for a little while in the summer. My mind swims in thoughts of Wal'mart, and I become sad thinking that I wont be able to fit all I want in my suitcases to bring back here. This is probably one of the hardest things for me. To leave behind that mentality seems impossible.

I wish I could send pictures of my students, they are all so cute. Hopefully I will have some when I return so you can have some faces to go with the names of them.

Genas stupid act of the week:

I went to the bathroom and forgot to put the toilet paper in the garbage. Instead I plopped it in the toilet. You should have seen my eyes pop out. I was laughing at myself but at the same time, thinking FREAKING CRAP now i have to stick my hand down there and get it out. Yeh, life down here is grand.

oh p.s. weve been told that we must reduce our time on the internet at the school due to rising costs. therefore if you send me an email but I dont reply right away, it is because my internet access has decreased, not because I dont want to write back.

Amphibians, Reptiles, and other coldblooded creatures

The word "frog" right now brings many thoughts to mind right now. In my science class, I am teaching about the five main types of vertebrates: Amphibians, Reptiles, Birds, Mammals, and Fish. I think about Amy, one of my students whose answer to the question "These type of animals have bones," was "frogs!" (I was looking for vertebrates there) And I think of semana santa last week when Amy's uncle David taught me the word for frog in Spanish "sapo". I told him I was positive that frog was "rana" and "sapo" must then be "toad," but we had no access to a dictionary utnil a few days later.

I finally got into my apartment on Sunday. I'm learning to deal with rather large cockroaches. Thank God for RAID, my new best friend, which prevents me from hearing that awful crunching sound when the cockroach meets its nemisis, Adidas. The size of these creatures are about as big as my first finger, sometimes as long as the "bird" finger, as Stephanie calls it. I think Im gaining ground though, I haven't seen one in my apartment for a whole day!

Teaching is going really well. I love my class, even though I often have to yell QUIET! I tell them that their butts need to kiss their seats. Oh yeh, Im a GREAT teacher. hah. That's all for now from this skim-milk drinking, warm-blooded mammal.

El Baile

At first there were only the musicians on a small, wooden box of a stage. The acoustic guitarist seemed to be running the show. The flute, the bass, and the percussion all had their eyes fixed on the guitar, watching his fingers so they knew what to do next. There were no music stands, no notes to read, simply music. After two songs, a woman elegantly dressed with long curly black hair and an immense amount of makeup on her face sat down next to the guitarist. Though the makeup was more than sufficient, it didnt make her look fake or gaudy in any way. Her eyes were fixed on the guitar as well. Her voice followed the guitarist fingers. To the ear who is accustomed to hearing music that seems to flow together well, a flamenco song can almost be labeled as noise. But for those who know the meaning behind it, the agony expressed throughout the lyrics is, in its own very paradoxical way, beautiful. After she sang one song, the dancer came out in a black and white polka-dotted traditional dress. Suddenly, everyone on stage shifted gears. All eyes were on the dancer now, the guitar moved to her beat, she called the shots.

Although this only lasted about half an hour in total, it must have been one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The rhythm was purely fascinating, the talent - beyond incredible. It seemed as though there were no rules, but the guitarist and the dancer were making them up as they went along...and somehow the others instinctively knew exactly how to follow them.

Last night I went with my cousin and her friends to a salsa club. They have taken classes for about a year and a half. There is a group of about 8 in their mid-20s. Even though I once won a can of Mountain Dew at a dance-off, my dancing skill means nothing in light of them. It was a similar feeling I had watching the Flamenco when I watched this group dance. They owned the dance floor. Yet, unlike the Flamenco, there was no audience for these guys. Sure, they show off their moves, but they do not make money from it or even care if others watch. Somehow, the reward of all their hard work in learning each move, is simply dancing those same moves. Even when a partner would go dance with someone else, and no one else wanted to dance, these guys would dance by themselves. There was no second guessing what one was to do when the salsa music was playing.

I suppose it is how anyone feels when they are able to show off (for lack of a better phrase) the talents they have attained. There is freedom that comes from putting into practice what one knows. For instance, when I was in Spain, I was so excited that I could speak the language and understand what was going on around me (well at least a lot more than I can here in Italy). The flamenco dancer was free, alive, and content when she was doing what she has cultivated her life around. The same for my cousin and her friends while dancing. The pain, the hardship of dancing the wrong steps so many times, of saying the wrong word or in the wrong tense, the agony of feeling you can never get something right and you want to just give up...this is what turns into freedom. Like a catepillar into a butterfly, like a seed having to die to bring forth life.

Spain, Florence and Venice

"Do you know where this street is?" "No, Mi dispiace." "Do you want to take a ride with me in my car?" "Oh absolutely, you are probably about 50 years older than I am, I met you two seconds ago, and you have already given me the cheesy line of 'Youre the most beautiful thing Ive seen in all of Rome' Yes please, open your car door because in all honesty I cant think of a better way to spend my Saturday night." NOT!

So for some reason, and I cant understand why, all the men that show interest in me are older than my father. No joke. There are plenty of beautiful Italian guys my age, but nope, they dont say one word to me. Lovely.

Oh and just a little detail for those in the Ruocco family, this man's name was Stefano. No lie. But no, he wasn't smoking a cigarette. But Im sure if he was, I would have fallen in love! (Just kidding Meema)

Ive been all over the place lately, I went to Spain for a week with a friend from the TEFL course. Her and I had quite the adventure on the ferry ride which should have taken 16 hours and ended up being more than 24. I still am amazed that I did not puke from the tipping back and forth of the boat. In case that wasnt enough, about 75 percent of the ferry was filled with Italian teenagers who seemed to spread out in the lobby and discoteque area like a contagious disease. No offense to the teenagers reading this. It just seemed as though the only place to be was in the hall or in our small sleeper room which consisted of two bunkbeds and a tiny bathroom. But in contrast to the sleepers on the trains, it was a luxurious ride! Sherry and I met a girl named Maggie who lived in Italy but was from Hungary. She had a friend in Barcelona who was going to help her get a job there. He too was Italian, but he spoke some Spanish. Maggie spoke very little English. So, when all four of us sat down to eat once we were on land (although it felt as though the ground was still rocking back and forth) Andrea had to speak through me if he wanted to talk to Sherry. And if I really wanted to say something to Maggie, I had to tell Andrea and he then translated to her. We contemplated the idea of all livnig together in Barcelona. We decided that probably after 2 or 3 months, we'd all be trilingual or quadralingual.

On the train to Madrid, Sherry and I were in a sleeper car. This Spanish woman was directing all of us in the cart where to go and what to do with our stuff. These sleepers hold six people, two columns of 3 beds. This woman decided that she should press her body up against mine to help us lift Sherry's suitcase onto the top bunk. That imagine in itself isnt very pleasant. But let me add more. She smelled bad, and she was one of those people who wears clothing about 10 times too small. Maybe she was trying to suck in the rolls of fat with the tight shirt, Im not sure. All I know is that the body smudge was not very pleasant. I had to get out of there. So Sherry and I went to the snack bar cart to sit down and eat our recently purchased canas (pastries) and drink our water. But there, we encountered a lovely man behind the counter who yelled at us and said if we wanted to eat there, we must purchase something from him. Grrr. I let all the atmosphere get to me and instead of charming the man and trying to work something out, I just became incredibly agitated and rather ticked off. I went and sat on the floor and ate my pastry which turned out to be not so good. Why should it be?

But then we arrived in Madrid, saw some beautiful sights, Sherry got a job, and looking back on it all, it makes for quite the story. In addition, in Barcelona, we saw a Flamenco show for all of five euros. I must say that was the best thing Ive probably ever spent my money on. Because of my Spanish culture class in college, I knew a little behind the history of the dance and really appreciated actually seeing what I had studied. I also saw some famous Spanish paintings both in Barcelona and Madrid which I studied as well. Spain is a fascinating place and Im sure I will return there again soon...just hopefully not on a ferry!

I returned to Rome and the following day my family arrived. Mom, dad, jordan and anna. We too had quite the adventure seeing as much as we possibly could in Rome, then heading to Florence and Venice. One night, we went to Zio Franco's house and had some of Zia Marias good cooking, shared gifts with the family and attempted to talk in Italian and English. It was a lovely night, and I am definitely going to miss Franco and his family.

My poor family had no time to sleep and no time for jet lag as we were constantly on the move. Overall though, it was a great time I just wish we had more than one week to see what we saw. Train jumping (catching the wrong one once which put us an hour behind...my bad!) and sleeping in a hostel...oh yes my mother slept in a hostel. Clean sheets though and one big room all for us. Not a bad deal for 21€ each. We had a lot of good food and mom and dad took way too many pictures. I hate looking like a tourist. It was inevitable though.

This is a rather long blog, sorry, I dont like writing this much. But I finally had the chance to sit down at the internet and catch up on whats been going on. Tomorrow I head back to the states, but not for long. I got a job in Honduras as a teacher at a montessori school there, so in two days time, Ill be in Central America again. I will keep you all posted.