In Which We Become Ugly Americans

Our second day in PV has been a bit of a bust. We slept late, rolled off the boat around ten, and ambled down to the docks to see if we could find a short whale-watching trip. The only one we found was from one to five, though, and the boat's leaving at 3:30, so that didn't work. The tour operator offered us a private trip for $200. I know buyers are expected to bargain in Mexico, but I just wasn't up to it, so we told him we weren't interested.

Walking back to the cruise pier, we saw two Mexican soldiers with machine guns and grenades casually guarding the tourist docks. Mind you, this is inside the cruise complex, which is surrounded by fencing topped with barbed wire and guarded by private security guards who check cruise ID at the gates. (Getting off the boat, one of the HAL crew had told me, "Be careful with your belongings!") After seeing the machine guns, Gary decided that he wasn't up to exploring. I'd wanted to amble around old PV when I thought I could get there on foot, but having to take a cab -- and not being sure how reliably I could get one back -- made me chicken out, too. If I had more energy today, and if we'd had more time, I'd have gone for it anyhow, but I'm exhausted. I've been having a lot of nightmares on this trip (the nuclear news from Japan certainly hasn't helped), and last night's was a long, complicated dream about losing my job, so I didn't wake up feeling very refreshed.

So what did we do? We crossed the street and, heaven help us, went to the mall, where I bought a Nike swimsuit I've wanted and hadn't been able to find in the States. Then we went to the Starbucks and had iced coffee. I used my tiny bit of Spanish only to apologize for the fact that I speak only a tiny bit of Spanish. The Nike saleswoman and I communicated largely with hand gestures.

On our way back to the ship, it occurred to me that one isn't supposed to drink iced beverages in Mexico. I just hadn't been thinking: we were in an American-style mall, buying from an American chain, surrounded by Americans on their laptops, but that doesn't change the fact that the fauna's different down here. I'd committed the very definition of a stupid tourist mistake. Whoops. Back on board, I talked to a member of the crew, who rolled her eyes and told me I'd probably be fine, but that if I got sick I should call the medical department.

So far we're okay, but the crew member said it takes twenty-four hours. In the meantime, we ate lunch. Gary's pacing the deck; I'm blogging. I wanted to take a nap, but our stateroom's right above the showroom, where there's a rehearsal for some extravaganza with thunderously loud bass, so that wasn't going to happen.

The ship's internet cafe is ten decks up. From up here, the view's lovely, and I just saw two pelicans fly by. That's the highlight of the day so far.

I'm so glad we have an excursion booked for Cabo tomorrow. I just hope we're healthy for it.

Synchronicity

I went to church this morning, rather than afternoon, for the ten a.m. Lessons & Carols service, which I always love. A handful of people from my old church were there, including our deacon and his wife; he's going to start serving at the new church on Christmas Eve, so I'll definitely go to that service, now that I'm going to be in town. (We had awful weather all day today -- snow, rain, snow, wind, snow -- and lots of other people have cancelled plans that involved crossing the mountains.)

It was nice to see old friends.

This church has a pre-service slideshow of various announcements and visuals. This morning, I looked up to see a slightly different version of the image above, one that acknowledged the source of the quotation as C.S. Lewis' The Silver Chair. After my previous post, this was -- again -- perfect.

In Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott describes her conversion as the feeling that "a little cat was following me," and says she finally told the cat -- as it wound around her ankles at her front door -- something like, "Oh, all right, you can come in."

I guess mine's a big cat.

In other news, yesterday I used my very wobbly Spanish for the first time at the hospital. I'd introduced myself to a patient and her family; the husband said they didn't speak much English, so I said I speak a little bit of Spanish. I tried to ask the patient if she wanted prayers or a warm blanket, but when I used the phrase "manta caliente" (which I'd gotten from Google Translator a few weeks ago, since it's something I say all the time at the hospital), the family merely stared at me in evident alarm. I pantomimed being cold and wrapping myself in a blanket, and she said yes, so I got her a blanket, and I believe I succeeded in asking the man if he wanted some water, which he declined. But by then they'd switched back to speaking English -- much more fluently than I speak Spanish! -- and they gave me such odd looks whenever they saw me afterwards that I hope I hadn't asked her if she wanted a spicy manta ray, or something worse. ("No, thank you. Spicy manta rays are what landed me in the ER in the first place.") Later I asked one of the housekeepers who speaks Spanish how to say "warm blanket," and she suggested "savannah caliente." I'll use that next time.

A student who's a paramedic told me the story of an English-speaking colleague of hers trying to coach a Spanish-speaking woman through labor in the back of his ambulance. He kept telling her to push, and couldn't understand why she and her husband were getting so upset at him. Turned out that the word he'd been using for push was "puta."

Ouch. I hope my own gaffe wasn't quite that awful.

Well, at least I tried. And I have to say that in all my years of studying languages (six years of French in junior high and high school, Old English in grad school, a grueling summer of intensive Latin in grad school), this is the first time I've ever tried to use another language in a real-world situation.

After my hospital shift I got a haircut and then wandered into Ross to look, unsuccessfully, for a cardigan sweater. I heard a small child sobbing, "Quiero!" and managed to deduce that he was crying, in the phrase so beloved of kids, "I want it! I want it!"

With any luck, he wasn't pestering his mom for a spicy manta ray.

No Hablo Nada

I'm sure that's completely incorrect Spanish, but the translation is, "My cold has morphed into laryngitis and I can barely speak." I croaked my way through today's Spanish lesson, through a phone call from an old church friend who now lives in Massachusetts, and through a phone call from another church friend -- here in Reno -- who was just calling to see how I was doing on the first post-closure Sunday.

It looks like the paper will never run that story about our last Sunday. I may be able to get copies of the photos anyway, since I know the reporter's parents. At some point, I'll post my own pictures, although they're of things -- the altar, the view from the parish hall -- rather than of people. My people shots didn't come out well, and I knew the reporter had that covered, so I didn't worry about it. Now I just hope I'll have a chance to see her shots.

Anyway, I'm doing okay, considering that I have amost no voice. I swam a little and went to the tiny, peaceful 5 PM service at my new church. Now I'm going to grade for a few hours. Whatever I don't get done tonight, I can finish tomorrow morning. If I have any voice at all tomorrow, I'll croak my way through classes; if not, I'll e-mail in sick.

I hope next year is less eventful than this last one has been. I also hope I get better soon, and stay that way for a while. These constant physical stresses -- the bad knee! the bad back! the bad cold! -- are becoming very tiresome.

On a more cheerful note, Gary and I both think that maybe Bali's shedding less. Maybe the Feliway's working.

Happy Advent, everyone.

Language Instruction as Cultural Critique

Today's Pimsleur lesson -- which I'll definitely have to repeat, since my clogged head made it hard for me to hear the tape clearly -- included a scene in a restaurant. Stressed-out tourist says, "I only have eight minutes to eat a sandwich."

The waiter responds, "I understand. You're American, and you have no time."

Ain't that the truth?

Eat, tourist, eat! Run, tourist, run! Run back to the dock while frantically chewing your sandwich, so your cruise ship doesn't leave without you!

Tomorrow's lesson: "Does anyone here know the Heimlich maneuver?"

I still feel like I'm underwater, but I plan to go to work today anyway. We're watching a video in both of my classes, so it should be low-key.

Sick

I woke up at six this morning with a screaming sore throat; this is much the same thing that happened to me in Auburn, and it's probably also a function of allergies. I was at a dinner party the other night where I wasn't as careful about what I ate as I should have been, so I suspect I'm being clobbered by dairy, which always goes straight to my throat and sinuses. In Auburn I felt better after a few hours. This thing seems to be hanging on longer than that, although, luckily, there's no fever.

We had a lot of snow here today. That, plus my feeling cruddy, were a bad combination. My health club's pool opened today after a two-week overhaul, and I'd really been looking forward to swimming again. Weather and health both mitigated against that, but I knew that doing laps would help my back. So, possibly unwisely, I hauled myself into the car after lunch and drove down to the gym. My half-hour swim was indeed lovely, and the driving wasn't even too bad; the hardest part was getting back up our short-but-tilted driveway when I got home, even though Gary had shoveled.

Right now my head and throat feel awful again, but at least my back and the rest of my body feel better than they did before I swam (and I really do think my ailment's allergies, and not anything contagious, or I wouldn't have gotten in the pool). We'd been thinking of going to a concert tonight, but between icy roads and the fact that I once again feel like I've been hit by a truck, we're staying home. I have a huge stack of papers to grade and had planned to start on that today, but I don't think it's going to happen. I'm going to drink a pot of peppermint tea and then crawl into bed.

The story about Sunday's service at St. Stephen's doesn't seem to be in the paper yet, which disappoints me. My friend Mary loves her socks, though! And in Spanish news, I know how how to say those all-important phrases "How much does this cost?" and "Where's the bathroom?" Today's lesson was obsessed with beer. Since I don't drink alochol, I hope a future lesson will discuss coffee.

Easily Amused

Last night I wound up having a giggling fit in the middle of my Pimsleur Spanish lesson, which asked the student to participate in a conversation that went roughly like this (but in Spanish, of course):

"Hello! Where are you?"

"I'm in the hotel. Where are you?"

"I'm in the restaurant, but I don't have any pesos."

"You don't have any pesos?"

"No! I don't have any pesos!"

"Do you have any dollars?"

"I have two dollars, but I want pesos! Do you have any pesos?"

"No, I don't have any pesos. I only have dollars."

I had a vivid mental image of some poor schmuck, having just devoured the most expensive item on the menu of the pesos-only restaurant, going in panic through his wallet and then making a frantic call to his equally pesos-deprived traveling companion.

Moral of this story: Make sure you have enough of the local currency before you order the lobster.

This evening, we will practice the following conversation:

"I'm sorry, sir, but you will have to wash dishes in the kitchen."

"Wash dishes in the kitchen? But I don't want to wash dishes!"

"Either you wash dishes in the kitchen or we call the police."

"The police! I don't like the police! And I also don't like dishes!"

"Well then, sir, we need pesos."

"But I have no pesos! I have two dollars! Do you want two dollars?"

"We are calling the police, sir."

"Do the police want two dollars?"

"The police want you to give us pesos, sir."

"I do not like the police, and I do not have any pesos. Take me to your dishes."

In other news, we're still waiting for the snow to start, but the storm's now expected to be less severe than originally anticipated. With any luck, I'll get to church tomorrow.

Updates

Amazon's now added the customer reviews to the Kindle Fate of Mice page.

Also, I now have six inches of the new qiviut scarf. Tonight I noticed one mistake -- a row of garter stitch that should have been stockinette -- but it's only three stitches, and I don't think it shows that much (certainly not as much as a mistake in one of the lace panels would), and I don't think it's worth trying to frog an inch and a half to fix it. So I'm leaving it as is.

A knitting error! Proof this item was handmade!

Yesterday I talked to our vet about Bali's shedding problem. She says it's probably stress, and recommended a kitty pheromone, Feliway, that's supposed to relax cats (much better than kitty prozac). The problem is that humans are instructed to put a diffuser of this stuff in the room where the cat hangs out the most, but Bali hangs out all over the place. So I'm not sure what to do. Does anyone have any ideas?

We're expecting a big snowstorm this weekend, with possible accumulations of five inches by Sunday morning. I really, really hope we don't have to cancel our last church service because of weather. That would, well, just suck.

Tonight I listened to Lesson 5 of the Pimsleur Spanish, but my brain froze often enough that I definitely need to repeat it tomorrow. They say you should go ahead if you get about eighty percent of the lesson, but I was at sixty to seventy-five tonight. That's okay; it's still fun, and there's no rush on this. Anything I learn is more than I knew before, so it's all good, although anyone listening to my hideous pronunciation might not think so.

And now, speaking of painful audio experiences, I'm going to practice my viola.

In My Copious Spare Time

So my latest little project is to try to learn at least a teensy bit of Spanish using the Pimsleur method, not just because we're spending Spring Break in Mexico (where everyone at the resorts will speak English), but because it will be really useful at the hospital if I ever get up the courage to try to use it.

I've downloaded the first five lessons from Audible. Lessons One and Two were really fun -- one does this a little bit a day, for about half an hour -- but today I repeated Lesson Three, because I keep using the wrong verb conjugations and noun endings. Also, I'm getting tripped up by having studied French, which I didn't even think I remembered (hi, Jean!), but which is definitely affecting my pronunciation. Of course, my pronunciation is so rocky anyway that it may not matter.

At least I'm trying.

I gotta say that languages with masculine and feminine nouns are really annoying. "Morning" in Spanish is masculine; "afternoon" and "evening" are feminine. What kind of sense does that make? (Gendered nouns always drove me crazy in French, too.)

I mentioned this project to a friend who's moving to Miami, and she said that a mutual acquaintance was raving about Pimsleur, which she used to teach herself Hebrew and Greek before traveling in Israel and Greece. So I think my friend's going to try to learn some Spanish while she drives herself and her dog across the country.

Meanwhile, after two false starts -- which had me nearly in tears last night, and also up way past my bedtime -- I think I've finally succeeded in starting a knitting project with the qiviut yarn I bought in Alaska in May. Longtime readers will recall that I made a very messy scarf for my mother, from pure qiviut, two years ago. Working with that was so difficult and nervewracking -- it's like knitting with very fine, fuzzy cobwebs -- that in Alaska I was careful to buy qiviut blended with wool or silk, hoping the other fibers would make the stuff easier to handle. (The blends are also slightly less expensive, although certainly not cheap: last night I wasted some yarn I couldn't frog successfully, and it hurt!)

Tonight I knit two un-messy inches of a scarf which will, if I can keep going successfully, be very lovely, if I do say so myself. (It's a Christmas gift for someone, but I'll post pictures after Christmas if the project ends well.) I've discovered some secrets of knitting with qiviut, at least for me:

* Using the blends really does help.

* Good light's essential. Also, make sure you're calm and rested, and don't knit too much at once. If I can manage two inches a day on this scarf, I'll be happy. Fatigue leads to mistakes. Mistakes in qiviut knitting are an unmitigated disaster.

* Along with good light, contrast matters. Because I'm using dark yarn, I'm using pale needles, so I can see what I'm doing.

* Divide the pattern into very small sections with stitch markers. That way, you can make sure you have the right number of stitches in each section before going on to the next. This is especially crucial when knitting lace, which is what I'm doing and is what most people do with qiviut, because lace patterns make this oh-so-precious yarn last a bit longer. If you've just knit a lace panel, make sure you have the right number of stitches in that section before you go any further! A missing or extra yarnover is still fixable at this point, if nerve-wracking. Later, it will cause you a world of hurt and may necessitate frogging the entire project.

* Frogging qiviut, while possible, isn't easy or fun (see above): the fiber's so fuzzy, even in a blend, that it's very difficult to see what you're doing. So being slow and careful is the ticket.

* Although I usually like wooden needles, I'm using a pair of plastic circulars my mother gave me. The smoothness of the plastic, and the fact that the needles and the cable are all one piece, means there's nothing rough to snag the yarn.

* Qiviut knitting is best done without cats on the premises.

Knitting's so relaxing, isn't it? Yeah: this is what I do for fun. (I'm also knitting a really easy pair of socks for myself, on big needles with worsted yarn. That's my decompression/TV knitting, since I don't have to look at it.)

Speaking of cats, Gary and I are concerned about Bali, who's been shedding large clumps of fur. He has so much fur that it doesn't look like much is missing -- although tonight I saw a bald spot on his belly which seemed sensitive to the touch -- but we've been finding clumps all over the place. So tomorrow I have to call our vet. Both cats have been very anxious since Harley died, and I know anxiety can create skin problems for cats, so I suspect that's what's going on, but I still want to talk to our vet about it. The problem is complicated by the fact that he fears his carrying case above all things, so if the vet needs to see him, she'll need to make another house call.

Oy!

On a happier note, last week my friend Claire sent me this wonderful story about a program that uses babies to combat bullying in grade school: during visits with babies, older kids learn to empathize with the baby and be gentle with it, which makes them kinder and gentler with each other, too.

Dang. As Claire said, how great a rickety contrivance is that? If my junior high school had had this program, maybe I wouldn't have gotten beaten up every day.

The story's also a wonderful riff on Christmas: God sent us a baby so we'd be nicer to each other. Works for me!