thought one: from The Monja´s stare...
women´s lib would have been impossible without corresponding technology.

they were just too valuable to be liberated before the anemities of the 20th century.
before, one couldn´t buy a dish washer, microwave, washing-machine, or Lean Cuisine... he had to marry one.

off subject, but did i mention that Dr. Garcia won? yeahhh! non-anarchy for 5 years (we hope!)

thought two:
"The basic idea behind the metaphor of "filling" is that the Holy Spirit is an all-pervasive presence in the lives of those who have believed the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, nothing is beyond the purview of the Spirit's attention and influence."
-J. Kranzusch

thought three: the Peruvian soundtrack to life
one of the principle delights of this delectible place is how you get a real, live soundtrack to virtually every place you go. maybe it´s the same in the US, and i just don´t notice, but here it´s inescapably intertwined with all memory...

it started with Phil Keaggy´s Lights of Madrid tape in the deck of Lenin´s Corrola "esteishon" on my first trip here. 10 hours in the Andes, slightly nauseaous, with classical guitar animating it all. everybody everywhere always ("generalizing, i´m making a generalization," as mila would say) has a radio going. sitting in the grass in front of the house in Tambillo, somebody across the mountain lends us the sad harps,voices, and panpipes of huayno to accompany our UNO game. in Huanuco, the shops pulse with reggaeton, and American/Puerto Rican rap/carribean import. the restaurants serve up salsa. on the streets, a marching band laments somebody´s passing. from the patio in Tambillo at the right hour, you can hear the Evangelical call to pray float up: strong singing determinedly amplified across the town. some thoughtful body at an internet cafe places a speaker outside the window to share the tunes with the passersby.

...and the musics so unequivocally PERUVIAN, even when it´s American disco in a taxi. the air puts the Andean trademark on the soundwaves, i think. it´s all sad... all desperate music. mouring, even the trumpets... the beat´s the same as somebody plodding up his millionth mountain trail, or starting his taxi for the upteenth morning. electronica from an internet cabina interweaves with the Huayno music video on the television.

what a country.

thought four: a profile
let me tell you about one of the foremost deejays in this mix, a joven named Franklin.

(actually, his name is Stalin, but he doesn´t go by that. the origin of his middle name, "Franklin" is somewhat dubious but is probably in reference to FDR. he is, by the way, Lenin´s brother and the 2nd born of the Soncco Trujillos.)

he´s eternally associated with sound... either talking, singing, or within a hearing radius (meaning half a mile) of a stereo. we always know when Franklin´s the first one up in the house, ´cause our sleep is soon accompanied by the Latino praise songs or Andean choruses... (for being such a courteous culture, they sure don´t have the same norms of sound courtesy...) yesterday, a group of us got up at 5 to run. i´m trying to be all subtle about it, worried about waking the whole house, when the sound system in the living room starts showing its skills. it´s franklin, greeting the morning.

he is a mover and a shaker. (i would say a hustler, but that has mixed connotations.) he does not sleep. he eats very little, usually while talking on his RPM (cell.) he does that a lot. a more sociable chap you have never met.

oh yeah, he´s saved. for real. which always fills my soul with delight and rejoicing (redundant, but i´m making a point). there is a story of when he was "new," and a friend of his wanted to borrow some clothes. the guy wasn´t too well-off, so of course Franklin´s like sure thing... until he hears that he wants them to look alright for an upcoming fiesta. oh no no no no... "My clothes are HOLY! they will NOT be used for unrighteousness..."

he´s a good guy.

very chill, too. my first trip, about 20 of us are loaded into the back of one of those big trucks they use for construction in the US. (here it´s called a big taxi.) we´re going to the river for a picnic, the road is unpaved and the ride is a little on the rough side. Gary leans over to Franklin and remarks, "sounds like a screw´s loose!" franklin looks around, nods his head, "yeah, probably."

the girls were showing off their english the other day at the table. franklin tells them to take advantage of his english skills while he´s around. "hey franklin, i bet you don´t know how to say ¿cómo estás? in english!" "ahhh... pay close attention: how are you?" ("i taught you well," says Marisol, little imp.)

"then what does "open the door" mean?" Yimy asks.
"please, girls... ´abre la puerta.´"

the girls think for a second. "alright then, how do you say ´apaga la television´ (turn off the television) in english?"
Franklin smirks, "apagashun la televisashun."

beat that.

thought five: grammaticks to un-uncouth me
In blessed English, when we want to address someone, we use the second person subject pronoun, YOU, pronounced, "yu." Spanish (or Castellano as it´s called down here) has two forms to address someone: USTED (pronounced "usted") and TÚ (pronounced "tú"). usted is for important or unknown persons (formal) and tú is for friends or inferiors (informal).

you get used to them, generally. except in my life, i´ve mostly spoken spanish to friends and children. my "usted" hasn´t gotten the exercise i need. so i have to consciously analyze when to use usted and conjugate the verbs to fit it. (no i´m not whining... i like spanish)

the problem is when to switch to "tú." if you meet someone new, you use usted until... when? (they don´t teach you that.) what generally happens here is that with people to whom you want to show both affection and respect, you use the "usted" as a direct address and the tú form of verb conjugations. bad grammar, but useful to fit the practical application of courtesy.

now that was very drawn out, but grammar´s cool... really.

thought six: patience having her perfect work...
The other day, I waited 3 hours for a ride that didn´t come. (and it wasn´t even my own.)

Me and 2 of my girls walk to the end of our road at 6:45 am to wait for Damaris´dad to pick her up for the weekend. I start off cool. Yeah, waiting is so in my bag. Got this one down. ... until 45 minutes later.

then i start getting American... hello... ride... where are you? (Damaris tells me he had said "seven or eight...") alrighty then. impatience, slightly peeved. i pace.

...until an hour and a half go by. then i start getting chill. whatever... it´s a saturday. we don´t have classes. i can study after lunch... Lenin and Franklin drive by, going into town for the day. "If he doesn´t come in 10 minutes," they say, "go home. it´s not worth it." Awww... but Damaris really wants to go home to Tambillo for the weekend.... we can wait a while longer.

Reyna walks up and waits with us for a while. now it´s almost festive.

after two and half hours, i don´t even care whether the truck comes or not. i can wait till i´m dead and it´s all good... we sing a little bit. buy fried potatoes from a vendor going by... Reyna and Marisol offer to go home and bring us some quaker and coffee for breakfast. cool...

Reyna comes back at 10:15ish, tells us to go on home. "Ya, Damaris? Let´s go. We´ll go into Tambillo next week..." alright. we go home, eat quaker, bread and coffee and have a nice rest of the morning.

At about 2, Damaris´s dad calls. He came by at 11 (you can´t blame someone that has to depend on others for transportation, especially south of the equator) and would be going back at 2:15ish. we go wait. a little bit no más. i bring my Bible and notebook. it´s all good.