new blog

okay, kids, this is just an informative entry: I am making a new blog! The address is http://corazonesyhuesos.blogspot.com/ and again, you can sign up using your favorite feed reader or subscribe via email to get new updates. I'm still working on it, so it will get prettier (I hope), but for now, it's there, and there's even an entry. check it out, if you wish. Otherwise, thanks for reading here, it's been fun. Hope you enjoy the new one.
Hearts and bones,
Lindsy

circles and lines

I've been avoiding writing for a bit; not sure where to start. So many endings and beginnings. Hugs and kisses and goodbye's that I don't want to be goodbye's. Hello's, too.

summary? I'll try:

- left Portugal, back to Granada
- finished my thesis/project
- went to Barcelona, visited friends, went to tournament in Roses (north, almost in France)
- back to Granada, presented thesis--and not only passed but got a good grade! yay!
- lots of hanging out with close friends, trying not to let them be goodbyes...- to Madrid, more hanging out with close friends
- flight Madrid-> D.C. , picked up by good friend and taken to hang out in Charlottesville, VA w/ cousins + friends!
- up to D.C. again to see more cousins/friends and stroll through the monuments/museums, etc.
- flight D.C. -> Denver -> Tucson, picked up by Mom and Dad
- back in NM, doing laundry and eating green chili
- being daunted by next steps, and missing people like crazy


it might be time to retire this blog...

nós

my Portuguese dental adventure

So, remember a while back when I was so proud of myself for having avoided (at least temporarily) a big expensive crown-job in the U.S. by going to a dentist in Granada and getting my filling taken out, tooth cleaned, and a new filling put in? Yeah, it wasn't actually that long ago. 'Bout two months. Well, about a month later I was chewin' on some tasty baked-in-a-wood-burning-oven bread from the paderia here and thinking to myself, 'you know, it's been a while, but I still need to be careful with this tooth, to make sure...*crunch* ...uh...don't tell me, DO NOT TELL ME...yup. broke my tooth. awesome.'

Turns out there was so little left of the tooth that it just wasn't very strong. Or something. Anyway, so I broke me tooth, and didn't really know what to do about it, being home alone and car-less at the time. "Well, does it hurt?" my parents asked when I told them about it. "Mm, no...just worried I'll break it more and will really mess things up..." "Well, keep it clean, and see a dentist as soon as you can. Maybe they can do something temporary to make sure it doesn't break more and then you can get it fixed when you get home."

So that's what I did--although the as-soon-as-you-can dentist visit was a little prolonged...due partially to valid delays and partially to what could be chalked up (or down? kind of an odd expression) to laziness.

Today I finally made it; Maria called for me earlier this week and got me an appointment. She ended up having to go to Lisboa, though, so I found me some bus routes and times and headed out to get my poor little toofy looked at. Alfarim-> Santana, no prob. I asked the bus driver to tell me where to get off, and some nice ol' lady also helped out. Then once getting off I asked in a little antique shop where the primary school was (knowing the clinic was next to it). Some other nice ol' lady was just leaving the shop in that direction and the shopkeeper told me to go with her, and thus the senhora became my guide. I explained that I actually wanted to go to the clinic, which I thought she understood (note: this should probably be, "I thought I explained" as I'm the one with limited language skills, not her) but apparently not, because she asked if I was sure it was open... "Yes, I have an appointment at 5 in the afternoon." "Oh, okay, then. There is a front and back entrance, will you be wanting the front one?" Um... yes? Then she asked if the senhora (me) would be here this year. I wasn't quite sure about that question, but I answered that I was just here for two months in the summer. Then we met someone she knew on the street and mentioned that I was going to the school, to which the other replied, its closed... "No, no," I assured them, "I want to go to Clinica do Campo, but I was told its right next to the school, so I thought it would be easier to ask for that..." Comprehension dawned on my guide and her friend waved us good-bye. "Its here, right after the school." Nice. She left me at the entrance, I thanked her three times, said good-bye twice, and then said thank you again. (They are very polite in Portugal. Sometimes the say "excuse me" before hanging up the phone.)

The clinic was probably the cutest dental office I've ever been in. Just think quaint. (Embarrassing confession: it seriously took me like 3 minutes to spell that word...jeez.) The building looked like a little cottage, with front yard and everything, and you had to go down this little curvy steps to the W.C. or the radiography room. There was an old safe-lock underneath the stairs which I had to touch, and there was a distinct basement smell down there. I don't know if that's quaint or not, but anyway, back to the story.

After nearly-successfully giving all my personal information to the receptionist (a term which here means that I didn't have my current address written down anywhere and had to just give the village name and contact info of Maria) I sat down in the waiting room and watched a boring interview of someone who knew the person recently condemned to seven years of prison. Then the assistant came in and started leading me down the anti-handicap accessible staircase for X-rays.... "Um... is it necessary?" "Yes, of course, because..." "Well, I just..." And I managed to convince her that I wasn't going to be a returning patient, had recently had X-rays done, didn't want a cleaning or anything and that I just wanted my broken tooth looked at. She went and talked to the Doctor, who agreed to take a look first, though an X-ray might be necessary later. Fine. Perfect. So I sit down and and she asks how much longer I'll be in Portugal, and if I speak Portuguese or if she should speak English. I'm learning, please speak Portuguese and if I have trouble then maybe you can use some English. So she begins giving me a brief med-history interview, and then we move on to more interesting topics like where I was living in Spain. She'd been to Granada twice to go snowboarding. Niiice.

She takes a look at my tooth, tells me she's just going to do a little something (I though put some temporary filling material?) to the side there, where its broken, and it should be okay until you get home. Awesome, thanks. She does a little grind-grind on the corner of my tooth (okay, I realize that sounds a bit funny, but after that realization, any combination of "grind" and "my tooth" sounded equally amusing, so just deal) and asks how it feels. "Oh, no pain," I say. "No, no, with your tongue, is it okay?" "What? Oh, yes, its fine." "Ok, just be careful with it so it doesn't break any more and you should be okay until you get back to your dentist." That's it? "Okay, that's all, then?" "Yep, see you later." Okey-doke... that took about 3 minutes. On my way out I waited until the receptionist was done talking to someone else to see if I had to pay something (although kind of thought I wouldn't). "That's it." "That's it, no? Okay, thank you (thank you, see you later, bye-bye, thank you)."

I even made it back to the bus stop in time to wait for the same bus I rode in on to do its loop and come back around to go the other direction. Same driver and everything. I was grouchy about not having bought the round trip ticket (which I realized after hearing to woman behind me buy it on the way there, but the driver wouldn't--and couldn't, I'm sure--let me change). But it's not every day that one goes to the dentist without spending any money OR getting at least mild pain inflicted upon oneself. Plus I'd just had some pretty complicated (well, maybe not...) conversations in Portuguese, so I was feeling pretty good about that. (Apparently I'm feeling good about my English, too, from the length of this post...next stop: SPANISH THESIS, GO!) I celebrated by buying some nectarines and little chocolate things for my trip back to Spain on Sunday. But I will not write now about that, because I might start crying again (not for a lack of wanting to go back to Spain, but rather sadness for leaving here). And its tea-time (a frase which here means that Lindsy will happily sip some Aveda deliciousness from a mug, edit some bibliography citations, pet the puppy, and then go to sleep).

love

me n' the Samster

Jano + Sami

deliciousness cooked by our Italian friend who was here for a visit last week


abandoned monastery on the top of a cliff


odd, vaguely arabic-looking sanctuary built to honor the Virgin of Cabo Espichel who saved fishermen by calming a storm from the cliffside. also, she was dressed in white and riding a burro. hmm..

walking in the steps of the ancient ones

I have a sleeping puppy on my lap. That's your cue to go *aawww*

In other news, today I walked above the clouds, above the sea. And I sat in the footprint of a dinosaur to watch the sunset.

--------

And today is a good day to translate the poem from before:


POORNESS, Eduardo Galeano

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who have no time to waste time.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who haven't silence and cannot buy it.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who have legs that have forgotten how to walk,
like the wings of chickens who have forgotten how to fly.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who eat garbage and pay money for it as if it were food.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who have the right to breath shit,
as if it were air, without paying anything for it.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who have no more freedom than to choose between one channel and another on the television.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who live passionate dramas with machines.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who are always many and are always alone.

Poor,
is what the poor say,
they are those who know not that they are poor.

-------
translation from the original in Spanish by Lindsy Glick 2010
traducción del original por Lindsy Glick 2010

poem.

Guys this poem is awesome. I'll translate it another day, for those of you who don't follow the español. Its about those who are classified as living in poverty ("developing countries") saying that the reverse is true--"those who call us poor are the poor ones." I'll leave it at that for now.

POBREZAS, Eduardo Galeano

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que no tienen tiempo para perder el tiempo.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que no tienen silencio ni pueden comprarlo.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que tienen piernas que se han olvidado de caminar,
como las alas de las gallinas se han olvidado de volar.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que comen basura y pagan por ella como si fuese comida.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que tienen el derecho de respirar mierda,
como si fuera aire, sin pagar nada por ella.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres
son los que no tienen más libertad de elegir entre uno y otro canal de televisión.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que viven dramas pasionales con las máquinas.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que son siempre muchos y están siempre solos.

Pobres,
lo que se dice pobres,
son los que no saben que son pobres.