A whole year?

No pain, all gain

Alicia couldn't be a better exchange student. She's polite, but not shy. Considerate, reliable, nice, friendly, never complains, and has a good sense of humor. Tonight we left the funeral and were in the car, which takes a while until the back seat warms up. I asked if she was getting warm and she said, "Yeah, I am. I'm good." I turned around to see her rubbing her fleece-gloved hands together: "Oh, you are not." Busted: I caught her being polite, denying that she was still cold. She laughed. It takes a certain level of intelligence to understand teasing in any language, especially if it's your third.

Outside the church where the funeral was, Alicia said it didn't look like a church. I teased again and said she was a church snob. "What is snob?" "You don't think it's good enough." She laughed again. She's used to big, old, elaborate churches and cathedrals, so these plain, slightly dumpy little churches must not seem official. Besides, according to my grandma, if it's not Catholic, it doesn't really count. How can any serious salvation get done if you're not intimidated by the grandeur of a church, which serves to remind you of your own insignificance and relative imperfectness?

At the end of the service Alicia was keeping up with the Lord's Prayer until they got to theYours is the kingdom . . .  part, when she got a surprised look on her face. I looked over at her and said, "You don't know what that's all about, do you?" She shook her head with a funny look. So I told her it's a Protestant thing. If I hadn't been raised Catholic and known about the difference in the prayer (which, by the way, I only ever knew as the Our Father), she would have gone home thinking that it was an American difference. We'd covered "What is Protestant?" in a previous session, when the easiest way I could think of to explain it in terms she'd understand was, "Not Catholic."

Worlds collide

It will be impossible to accurately convey the unlikeliness of the following scenario, but I'll try to come close. Tonight we got home from the funeral and Alicia said she had a voice message on Chloe's cell phone. I checked it for her and heard this:

Hi Aleesha, this is Whoever and I met a guy at a party who said he had a Spanish exchange-student sister and that her name was Aleesha and she was at his house but I don't know if he was messing with me or not. I don't remember his name, but, I don't know, his name might have been Chris. But he was probably just messing with me.

Chris is my next stop: did you meet a guy named Whoever who was talking about Alicia? And if so, how is that possible?

Oh, yeah. We went to Gig Harbor and I hear this guy talking and I hear Vashon, so I start listening because Vashon is not a word you normally hear when in Gig Harbor. Then he goes off on how he met this Spanish exchange student who goes to Vashon. So I said, "What's her name?" And he said "Aleesha." So I said,

"First of all, it's Aleethia."

"No way, it's spelled like with a C or something. How would you know?"

"Because she's a Spanish exchange student and she's living at my house right now."

"No way. You're just messing with me."

Then he goes on about how he wants to go out with her and blah, blah, blah.

Stop right there, son. Blah, blah, blah is not an adequate representation of the conversation in this case. What specifically did he say? And why did you not think this was a worthy topic of conversation until I brought it up?

He said he wants to go out with her and he really liked her. But he was a moron. So I told him, Dude: Her dad doesn't even like nail polish and you know he's going to hate you.

Yeah, right, ha, ha, ha.

I'm not kidding. He'll fly over here tomorrow and then he will kill you.

Then he started to say something about Chloe and Brett said, "Son, listen here. I've never seen this guy mad before. He's not an angry guy. We probably don't want to see him angry. You just mentioned his sister. I suggest you stop talking now."

Alicia is listening to this and giggling like a, well, like a schoolgirl. When he got to the part about her dad she laughed harder and nodded her head.

So far, an unremarkable exchange. But Alicia first met this guy when she was with friends in Seattle. She doesn't think he lives on Vashon and he doesn't go to school there. People don't go to Vashon, they return there from somewhere else. Unless you live on Vashon Island, there is little reason to go there (unless you're a commuter student), especially since you have to pay about $15 to drive on the ferry, unless you want to swim. There is a whole universe of worlds here that seldom collide: where we live, Vashon, Seattle, Gig Harbor, Chloe, Christopher. Chloe and Christopher are four years apart in school so they don't have the same circle of friends. That Christopher would meet someone who knows Alicia is even more unlikely. Alicia was still giggling when she went to bed.

Birthdays yet to come

Alicia went to mass with my mom tonight and came home with a St. Gabriel Parish calendar. The first thing she told me was that her birthday in October was on a Friday next year. That's very good because if it's on the weekend, you don't get "Happy Birthdays" (said in a sing-songy voice accompanied by air quotes) from your school friends and many people don't know it's your birthday, and if it's on a Friday that's good because it is the weekend and everyone can go out and celebrate with you. Well, they would, anyway, but they can sleep later on Saturday morning.

I thought it would be kind of cool to hang a church calendar from an American parish in one's Spanish bedroom. But that pales in comparison to discovering that one's birthday is situated for maximum attention from the most number of acquaintances.

Gift identification

Another item on the kids' lists for topics for dissection with their future therapists is Christmas codes. Years ago I decided to not put the kids names on their presents so that it would be harder for them to guess the contents. A package that is a certain shape and has a Christopher tag on it is sure to be a scale-model die-cast car. But with an anonymous code, who's to say it's not a Barbie Dreamhouse liposuction/yoga studio? I started out with two each, because the first time a kid shook a box of Legos he or she would know that all of the packages with Christmas trees were Christopher presents. Last year I was up to at least four symbols each, knowing that the chances of them deciphering all eight symbols were low. In their stockings I put a card with each kid's codes on it. I think it's great good fun, finally discovering who gets the stockings and who gets the candy canes, but every year they look under the tree as the first wrapped packages make their appearances and wail, "Not the codes again!" I'll be doing that even after they bring the grandkids over for gift-unwrapping.

I was thinking with some sadness that there's no need to do that this year. Then it occurred to me that I could do it for all three kids (three because Alicia's sister will be here). Four codes each, times three, which means there's a one in a-really-big-number chance of them figuring out who each package belongs to.

Comfy conversation

We'd purchased the basketball shorts for Alicia and funeral pants for me and were waiting to meet a couple of family members for lunch at the mall (and for my pants to be hemmed – for free, cuffs and all, in less than an hour). We'd just sat down in the cozy chairs under the down escalator at Nordstrom – piano man playing Christmas songs under the up escalator opposite us – so I could call to see where we might meet. Just as I was sorting through my purse to collect my Palm (with the phone number, of course) and my cell phone, Chloe called. So we had our conversation to live piano music, which was lovely. Damned noisy, but lovely.

She told me about the Gala, that she'd done nothing all day, and that she was still in her pajamas at 11-something PM. I told her that Alicia was probably a little bored by now (Alicia has never complained about being bored – I'm just always worried that she must be), but that after lunch we were going to the paper store to get the paper for the memorial-service programs. Chloe thought that would perk Alicia's day right up, because "you know how that's one of my favorite things to do." Ha! Alicia liked the paper store. She even bought some Christmas cards to send to friends and family. I have to import a kid from Spain to get one that doesn't whine about having to add incessant trips to paper and office-supply stores to their long list of things to discuss with their therapists when they're old enough to pay for their psychoanalysis themselves.

Thanksgiving

Alicia had her first Thanksgiving and Chloe had her first no-Thanksgiving. Alicia would have been bored to tears if she wasn't so polite, so instead she was just patiently bored. It was a quiet Thanksgiving with only a few adults and a four-year-old girl. Charming as we all were, I think the quiet Thanksgiving was a letdown for a first-timer. If we'd been good hosts and had been concerned about producing a memorable first-time Thanksgiving for this Spanish girl, we would have gotten drunk and thrown china at each other while screaming that mom always liked you best.

Chloe was happy to get real mashed potatoes at the other exchange student's house. I fogot to ask about turkey and stuffing. She said she missed the crescent rolls, corn, and apple pie at Nana's. So did we. I told her that Alicia was probably bored at Thanksgiving dinner and she identified with that: being with a family group and not only not understanding the family things they're talking about (and having no desire to, really), but the language.

Chloe's Spanish teacher gave her a surprise test at lunch, then told her to come back after school to take another one. So Chloe did, but the teacher didn't show up. The exchange experience has made Chloe a little more assertive, and I'm guessing that next time she will just say no, I won't come back after school. The Spanish teacher will randomly start talking to Chloe in French. Chloe politely reminds her that she barely speaks Spanish and she certainly doesn't speak French. She has, on more than one occassion, suggested that this teacher is insane. Nice, but insane.

Getting to go to a Baywatch beach? A little over a grand.

Today was another boring day for Alicia because I was working on the memorial-service program and other uninteresting things. She doesn't have friends on this side of the ferry dock so there is nothing, really, for her to do. But she was cheerful about it. Tomorrow is a big day – we're going to Tacoma Mall to buy basketball shorts! And a trip to the ATM!

We did spend some time on finding details about the end-of-the-year Rotary trip. I've asked for information and hadn't heard anything, but she finally got a message from one of the other exchange students. She was so excited to get the details and was eagerly waiting for her parents to call so she could ask them about it. She calculated that her father had been up for at least twenty minutes and still had not called her and she couldn't wait any longer to talk to them about the trip (she just found out about the trip an hour before they were scheduled to call). I was holding my breath while she talked to them, afraid they'd disappoint her with their answer, but they said yes.

Her sister doesn't want to go on this trip because it's a month after she's finished with school and she doesn't want to miss the beginning of San Fermín. Sounds like she's going to look for an east coast trip. I told Alicia that she can go to San Fermín next year. She said, "and the next year and the next year and the next year." She's okay with giving it up this year in favor of Los Angeles, Hollywood, Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, San Francisco, Disneyland, Universal Studios, and a Baywatch-esque beach: "What is Baywatch?" Two people here tried to describe it, and they both resorted to an alternating bouncing motion while cupping their hands in front of their chests. Today Alicia found out that 34 of the 54 spaces for the trip are filled, so time is of the essence.

We also spent some time figuring out what to do while her sister is here. I think we've got it pretty well planned out. I asked about the zoo, knowing that no one in her family likes animals "because we live in the city." Seems like those are the kind of people who would enjoy looking at elephants and tigers and giraffes and bears. She said maybe they could walk around the zoo and eat ice cream, so it would be okay. I feel the same way about zoos that I do about parades – not particularly interested. But I feel bad about that because what kind of a monster doesn't enjoy happy parades designed to do nothing more than put a smile on the bystanders' faces? And observing exotic animals? She suffers no such compunction. She said there is nothing to do in Seattle really, so on one of the days we'll be there maybe they would go to the cinema (she's been to that theater twice so far – I've never been there). Nothing to do in Seattle? The Downtown Association, and the baboons, will be dismayed to hear that.

Normal stuff

What a normal day. I didn't go to the hospital because, well, there is no one there now that I know. I went no further than the ferry dock, stayed home, and vacuumed. Alicia got done with basketball practice early so we ate dinner at a semi-normal time. The end of the trimester is tomorrow and she has journalism for three hours so she didn't have any homework at all. Today she had a final in English and they were supposed to write two conjunctions in a sentence, or something like that. But it wasn't clear that they were supposed to write sentences, so he didn't count that question. Good news for the many kids who wrote down was as one of their conjuctions. The new trimester starts Monday so she'll have a four day weekend where she couldn't do homework even if she wanted to.

I know nothing about basketball and so I'm probably not showing as much interest as I should. I asked Alicia today if she's been assigned a position (only because someone asked me that, and I realized that it wouldn't have occurred to me to find out), and she said she didn't think so: "I don't think they are so professional as that." She has practice on Friday at 9:00 AM and a Jamboree on Saturday. But JV doesn't play at the Jamboree, so it's looking like the day after Thanksgiving will be a family day that doesn't include basketball practice but does include sleeping past the time she'd need to leave to get the 8:20 AM ferry.

My sister-on-law was using the computer while I was vacuuming so she got to see the dirt in the vacuum canister (yes, I made her look). She seemed suitably impressed. I've actually considered taking pictures of the vacuum-canister dirt and sending them to Chloe. Okay, I took pictures, but I didn't send them.

Death and life

A while ago I had to tell Chloe that our dog had probably died (she was expecting that news sometime this year), but the next day I was able to tell her false alarm, CC came home in the morning (we still have no idea where she was or how she got there).

Today, however, I won’t be able to call her and tell her Good news! Ike didn’t die yesterday, after all.

Our kids got shortchanged in the grandparent department because three out of four of them (the grandparents) died young, so Ike was the only grandfather figure Chloe had ever known on her father’s side. She knew this was coming, but it’s still not an easy thing to say. When this happens, families pull together, make plans, support each other, reminisce about good times. But, more importantly, when a loved one dies we find out how many truly caring, decent people there are in our lives. It’s not fun and we’d prefer a happier reason to come together, but it’s a valuable time nonetheless. A time when we learn more about each other’s – and our own –  strengths and weaknesses and how we complement each other when we work together. It’s a part of growing up and Chloe won’t be a part of it this time.

Tonight I was looking at a picture of her and Ike, Chloe holding the framed Presidential Award for Academic Excellence that she collected at her sixth-grade tea. They are both proud, and they are both happy. She won't be able to come home and show Ike her pictures or tell him what she learned about the world, so this picture will have to do.

Tolerance, schmolerance

By the moment (that's how Alicia says it), Chloe is happy to be in Spain but even happier that she doesn't have to live the rest of her life there because of culture shock in the form of chauvinism. Chloe hasn’t grown up with a strong sense of what it means to be a woman or what it means to be a man, but rather what it means to be a person. Steve makes dinner more often than not because he loves to cook and it’s a way to unwind from the day. We sort of got that habit started when Christopher was two months old and needed to be fed cereal because he was always hungry. Steve would come home from work to see a limp rag doll propped up on the couch, gooey rice cereal all over his face and my hands (it’s not easy to feed glop to a baby who can’t yet hold his head upright), and I’d say, “You can finish feeding him or you can make dinner.” Dinner won every time. It’s not unusual to hear him call me for dinner when I’m out mowing the lawn or whacking down a wall in the house.

Steve is big and strong and works harder than anyone I know. He will set tons of rock in a single day, many of those tons by hand because that’s the only way he can set the rock to his specifications, then come home and whip up a nice apple crisp before starting on dinner, after which he’ll finish digging the ditch across the driveway to bring water and power to the llama barn. And he’s not unusual among many of the men we know.

So what excuse does a little man, who works in an office all day, have for complaining about the size of the portion that his wife dishes him up for dinner (the dinner she cooked after she got home from work) because it’s beneath him to dish up his own food? That makes him dependent, not in charge. He won’t eat pizza or any fast food because it hasn’t been prepared freshly for him. The first time anyone complained about the size of the scoop of rice I put on his plate is the last time he’d have the opportunity to complain about it.

I read that it wasn’t until the early 1970s that women in Spain were allowed to hold jobs without their husbands’ written permission. Now, many of them work, but their husbands have not increased their participation in household chores. I don’t get why it’s manly to have your wife work twice as hard as you do. Yeah, yeah, I know: it’s a cultural difference and these things take time. But lumping things under the Cultural Identity banner doesn’t automatically make them all okay.