Cello gigs

A couple of weeks ago an acquaintance asked me play cello with them for a few songs at their gig.  I did and it was fun.  Then, less than a week later, I found out about an arts benefit at a restaurant on the beach and offered to play a little for that.  They agreed.  At the arts benefit, I was supposed to play alone but a woman who was going to be doing silks (think Cirque du Soleil) asked if we could do our "acts" together.  I thought that would be fun and that went well.  I was asked by the restaurant to come back the next night to play for Wine Wednesdays.  A Bossa Nova act and I took turns.  One of the owners asked that the guitarist (who also plays saxophone) and I work something up together (him on saxophone and me on cello) for the next week.  The following evening I get asked by the woman who did the silks if I could possibly play at a circus show they are doing and could I rehearse tomorrow morning at 10?  I say that I can as long as I can bring along the kids.  The answer is yes and I'm excited.

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For those of you who are confused:  Yes you read correctly and yes, I play viola (and occasionally violin).  But cello is what I have here in Nicaragua (to be a pseudo-teacher for Ari) so that's what I play here.  

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That brings me to Friday.  The kids sleep in and wake up at 8 or 8:30.  I offer to get donuts at my favorite donut place (Día de los Donuts). We stop and do a couple of errands and then we head to the hotel.  It's near one of the beaches that's about 20 minutes away from town.  We are driving down the road.  It's sunny and beautiful.  The kids are singing along to their recent favorite CD.  It's a musical called "Something Rotten" and includes such lines as, "...he's such a pompous little man" and "I try and emulate Shakespeare" and it's FUNNY to hear the kids sing along and also funny to see the cello in the passenger seat as the truck bounces down the road.  We get to the hotel and they are just setting up the silks and lira rings so we jump in the pool and swim and play on the putting green and have hummus and veggies (!) until it is time to play and the kids behave well and we are there until 1pm but we're having a great time.  We finally leave and the rest of the day is fun- we chat with friends, eat good food and relax.  And I think that this is the life.

Until I start vomiting on Saturday morning.  And then suddenly it's the worst thing that I am in charge of two kids and that I have a gig that evening.   A friend comes to my rescue and takes the kids to the beach with her kid for a few hours and that gives me a chance to pull it together (and sleep) and by the time I need to leave for the gig I think I will make it through the evening OK.  But then, just as  Ari and I are about to get in the truck, the cello wobbles and falls to the ground (the hard hard ground) in its case.  I look inside but I already know.  It's broken. A neighbor uses the new word for broken I just learned and I am relieved I understand but sad to have to answer in the affirmative. It can be fixed but not in less than an hour.  Ari and I go back home.  I email/text/call people to let them know I am not coming.  Ari draws a picture of a cello for me to cheer me up.  When I manage to tearfully tell Stuart he, of the you-can-fix-this-the-show-must-go-on-ilk, tells me to use Ari's cello.  I think the idea is ridiculous at first but then I see the appeal of at least showing up for the gig and I rush out. They are agreeable after hearing me play a little on this instrument that is a). not very good and b). 4 sizes too small for me and I start playing.  I am asked to stop because it is too soft and too squeaky. I am asked to just play at intermission instead when people are eating.  I do that but am asked to stop again.  I COMPLETELY agree and understand but am not in great mental shape to overcome the embarrassment of being asked to stop playing.  But (and this is one of those times kids are just so great) I HAVE to overcome it because Ari is there and what else am I going to do? so we just enjoy the rest of the show (it was fabulous!!!), Ari has a yummy meal and then Ari falls asleep on the way home and I contemplate how fabulous life seemed the day before and how depressing it seemed so quickly and how, truth be told, it's all good and I have nothing to complain about.

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Tsunami drill

March 17th, 2016

Today was the last day of school before Easter vacation (a very big deal here!).  It was also my first Tsunami drill.

Yesterday I learned that Ari's class would be getting out early, at 10:45.  THIS morning I learned that Calhoun's class would be getting out at 10:00.  I will refrain from commenting about how helpful it is to find that sort of thing out the day of when you are trying to run errands, plan things etc...  Anyway, I was also told that there was to be a tsunami drill and that there would be a parent meeting at 10:50. Another parent contacted me and asked me if I could pick up their child, Ari´s friend, as they were unable to change their schedule to accommodate this sudden change.  I said yes.

Perceived schedule:

7AM: Drop off one child at school
8AM: Drop off the other child at school
10AM: Pick up one child from school
10:45AM: Pick up 2 children from school
10:50AM: Attend a parent meeting (with children in tow, I guess, so I am not sure why I picked them up at all)

Actual schedule:
7AM: Drop off one child at school
8AM: Drop off second child at school
9AM: One child arrives at door with school cleaning lady because she vomited (Ari, not the cleaning lady.)  They somehow were wandering around town for a while even though Ari knows where we live and even though I wrote my phone number down at registration.
10AM: Leave Ari at home watching a video to pick up 2nd child.  But alarms are going off because the tsunami drill has started.  They asked us to pick up the kids DURING the tsunami drill. ¿¿?? So I walk with Calhoun up an extremely steep hill.  4 people are pushing a girl in a wheelchair.  The wheelchair is made of out wheels drilled into a cheap plastic chair.  It looks scary.  Calhoun is not going fast enough so the principal offers to carry Calhoun.  Calhoun refuses but wants me to carry him.  So now I feel as if I am SUPPOSED to carry Calhoun up this ridiculous hill.  The doctor speeds past us on a moped.  The drill is running smoothly.  We hang out on the top of the hill in the sun for a while.  I eventually ask if we may go so I can attend to my sick child.  We may.
10:48AM:  I leave my children (thank you YOUTUBE) and go to pick up Ari's friend.  I am 3 minutes late so she is crying.

Later on I see a girl from the place I volunteer teaching English who also attends Ari's school.  She informs me that Ari vomited at assembly.  She asks what she had for breakfast.  I explain she had yogurt.  She tells me the vomit is green.  I explain that the yogurt was not green and that perhaps Ari was celebrating St. Patrick's Day.  She doesn't get my joke.

The Hill.  

The Drill.

Homework

Calhoun

Yesterday Calhoun's homework was to "draw a boy with 2 qualities".  I felt that I understood the Spanish but had no idea what he was supposed to draw.  His class seems to be working on parts of the face so I thought that perhaps what was meant was that he should draw two parts of his face.  So I went to ask our neighbor, Matilde.  It was obvious to her.  He was to draw two different emotions.  But on one boy?  

Two pictures of the same boy having two different emotions.  Done (see attached).

Ari

I found two photocopies of a drawing of a flower in Ari's backpack last week.  If I had found them in Ari's backpack in the States I would have assumed they were just for fun.  But they don't just give out paper here.  So I kept them.  A couple days later I was asking our neighbor if there was any homework and she mentioned something about a flower and the stations of the cross.  She didn't seem to have more information except that Ari was to hand them in on Monday when she has Religion.  As the due date approached, I asked Matilde again but either she didn't understand the assignment or I couldn't understand her explanation.  So I turned to the other gringa mother. She's lived her for years and her daughter speaks Spanish well.  

She wrote me back:

"I think it has to do with the stations of the cross.  I believe there are 14 (??).  I got [my daughter] to write one on each flower, 1 word on each petal.  The teacher didn't say it was wrong.  But she didn't say it was correct either."

Wait!  Why had she already turned it in???  I thought it was due Monday?  So Ari and I got to work.  I explained the stations of the cross so that she would have some idea of what she was writing.  We looked at them in English and then we set about putting my idea of a Spanish phrase that captured the essence of that station on each petal.  Except each flower had 8 petals.  So that left two blank.  She turned it in.  They gave it right back to her and had her color it.  Our time might have been spent better counting to 120.  

And while we are on the subject of school I should state that I have a really hard time understanding why you would require any kids, but especially those 3-5, to wear white shirts.  I drop off Calhoun in a white shirt and he returns to me in a brown-streaked shirt with the occasional splash of red or blue from ridiculous candy that the nuns give him for free because he's charming.  

But Ari and Calhoun seem to like this school (perhaps having to do with the aforementioned ridiculous candy) so I will cease complaining.  For now.  

 

Magic wands and pretty boys.

I am trying to plow my way through the 5th Harry Potter book in Spanish.  It's taken me three weeks so far and I am only in the 200s.  But if anyone brings up wands, spells, owls or lightning-shaped scars in conversation, I AM SET!  The book is from the local library here and I cannot say enough about how wonderful it is to have a library nearby.  Last year when we were here we spent at least 3 hours a week there.  We have a busier life this time around but we still love the staff, books and free WiFi.


I went back to Minnesota recently and I:

1. had a hard time throwing toilet paper in the toilet (versus in the waste basket beside the toilet).
2. assumed the power had gone out when the garage door opener didn't seem to work one day (I hadn't hit it hard enough).
3. slept astonishingly well with no roosters, dogs or kids to wake me.


What else do I want to say?  A month ago we moved into a (much) smaller, cheaper place.  Our other place was very fancy and although we miss the view (and the microwave) we are a 3-minute walk from the kids' school, we live next door to a girl in Ari's class so I can ask her mother when I don't understand the homework, and we have extra cash to go out to eat/go swimming at local hotels more often. Ari is doing well in school and Calhoun is his charming self.  Calhoun  asked me the other day what "Que lindo!" meant.  I explained it meant, "So handsome" and he immediately shot back, "No, 'Que guapo!' is 'So handsome." I explained that "Que lindo" meant something more like "How pretty!" but for a boy but he didn't really accept that explanation.
 
And what about the lechero???  Same guy from our last neighborhood.  It took me a couple of weeks to figure out when he wends his donkey-cart through this neighborhood but now I know (8:20-  the water guy comes around about 11) and we are kept in milk.