August 2. A Winery.
Today I helped harvest a vineyard just outside of Waco. The work wasn’t grueling, yet the monotony of it all tends to become uncomfortable after a while. So where was my lesson for the day? I mean harvesting a vineyard…there must be some parallels or parables there, right?
Oddly, I’m not sure that I learned much from picking grapes from vines. The beautiful part was the conversations that took place among perfect strangers. About 15 people were sent out to harvest six rows of white grapes. The three other guys I went with quickly split up and did their own thing. The other 11 intermingled with us in a way that conversations were timed by the progress one was making down the vine. When anyone found themselves too far away to hold a natural conversation, the conversation ended. We’d work in silence for a while until the next person came along the other side of the fence/vine to work. I heard from doctors, teachers, etc. about their life experiences, their recent vacations to Hawaii, their kids, their passions (side note: any twenty-something who thinks the future of a progressively green nation lies OUR hands alone is so so wrong. I couldn’t believe the naturally green lifestyles of these older people. “What do we do with the grapes once they’ve been squeezed?....They’d make a great compost pile.” Really? I LOVE it!
What I don’t understand is why we don’t open ourselves up to such experiences more often. These are the best conversations and they always seem to happen while something productive//manual labor is being done—whether that’s in India, Mexico, Spain, or in the hot summer heat of Waco.
The other thing that excited me about today was the fact that the owners of the Vineyard are Swedish. They have the same accent as one of the Swedish girls who went to SLU-Madrid last semester. It’s refreshing to hear languages I can’t begin to understand. This couple has lived in the U.S. for about 15 years and they haven’t lost their European touch. Experiencing them today was like experiencing part of my home in Europe. It makes me proud to be alive, to call this planet my home. They live it up. The husband lives for wine. He knows everything anyone could ever know about it. Though he wears nice clothing, he appears more like a little kid in a candy shop than anything else. And his wife runs the wine-tasting bar inside their house. She gives us free samples of all of their wines and ports (even the ones that cost $40/bottle). She asks us “which one is your favorite” with joyful inquisition, a curiosity spurred on by the immense pride and authentic enjoyment that she reaps out of her lifestyle. She reminds me of a tame Willy Wonka showing off his candy factory. She cooked us lunch—delicious. She holds occasional dinner parties with up to 18-20 lucky people. She cooks them all types of American classics—New England Clam Chowder, Jambalaya from the south, and Cherry Pie from Nebraska…all to be washed down with her vineyard’s tasty port and maybe a piece of dark chocolate.
Flavor flavor flavor. Europe has definitely not left their core essence.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
chemical fireflies
Last night was something to be remembered. My friend Chad was singing Crowder's song "Everything Glorious" with a group of 100 tired americanos and mexicanos.
I was running powerpoint for him in the palapa (a big hut used in hot countries like Mexico and Africa). All of a sudden, i looked to my left and saw one of the most simple and beautiful scenes of my life...no kidding. About 20 of the staff's children were on the soccer (futból) field, jumping, frolicking, and throwing their luminous glow-in-the-dark wristband glowsticks up in the air. It was just dark enough to where i could see the outline of the ever-present mountain range in the distance (only this time it was a dark shadow serving as a background for the colorful dancing glowsticks). What a beautiful little ray of light. What a testament to the purity and joyfulness of G-d's own heart, the heart of a child.
"My eyes are small but they have seen
the beauty of enormous things
which leads me to believe
there's light enough to see that
You make everything glorious."
I was running powerpoint for him in the palapa (a big hut used in hot countries like Mexico and Africa). All of a sudden, i looked to my left and saw one of the most simple and beautiful scenes of my life...no kidding. About 20 of the staff's children were on the soccer (futból) field, jumping, frolicking, and throwing their luminous glow-in-the-dark wristband glowsticks up in the air. It was just dark enough to where i could see the outline of the ever-present mountain range in the distance (only this time it was a dark shadow serving as a background for the colorful dancing glowsticks). What a beautiful little ray of light. What a testament to the purity and joyfulness of G-d's own heart, the heart of a child.
"My eyes are small but they have seen
the beauty of enormous things
which leads me to believe
there's light enough to see that
You make everything glorious."
Saturday, May 3, 2008
untitled
It can't be real. I'm sitting in the parque del Templo de Debod, studying not very hard for my Art History final. It's a cloudy day, though the sun still pushed its way through the clouds from time to time. I look up and a girl, about my age, is walking toward me. She asks me something and I see that she has a book in hand, so I determine--very brokenly--that she wants to practice a presentation (on me). She tells me it'll take about 10 minutes, and I tell her "está bién" in the way that I tell gypsy beggars "no thanks" at 4 in the morning. She takes it differently and sits down next to me. Great. She opens her book, then closes it and begins to recite something, occasionally glancing at the black and white photograph she's holding over the cover of the book (as if for inspiration). It's a picture of a woman dressed in early 20th Century Spanish garb. All I could think of was that it reminded me of those super old postcards you might find in Goodwill or in newly purchased picture frames.
So she continues to read, to recite in performance-like tones. Her poem/story/quick anecdote was beautiful and spoke directly to the two largest issues existential to me at the moment: Immigration Syndrome and Singleness (as separate concepts...haha)
According to Sociology, Immigration Syndrome is this idea that after a few years of immigration, one may lose any sense of "home" identity. For example, in Sigur Ros' "Heima," one of the band members explains that "Heima" means "home." After years of touring the world, they played a tour in Iceland, their real heritage...pretty sweet. From the guy's expressions, anyone could tell his excitement about that--to be with family, to see familiar sights, to feel that indefinable joy that is "home."
Although I've only been in Spain for four months, my move to Texas three years ago has left me displaced. Anywhere I go, there's the distinct chance that I'll be longing for the people I miss from the other places...Cincinnati, Waco, Monterrey, and even Madrid, at this point.
The second phenomena she spoke of was "Singleness."
This one's quite easy to comprehend. Imagine one person. check.
There are some excellent perks to being single. I've always thought that maybe I'd spend my whole life that way (I know, weird, right?) until recently...(don't worry mom, there is no lucky lady at this point.)
She said, "You travel and travel. You have no home (or better put, multiple homes). You turn around and one day (she turns around) and you are the only one there."
Five minutes go by and she ends her recitation. We talk for a few minutes. I tell her that I'm a foreigner, that I'm a traveler. She asks if I'm German (first time I've ever gotten that!). "No, Texan." That never fails to get a response.
She hands me a very artistic and clearly hand-made business card that says "UNO A UNO, todos somos mortales. JUNTOS, somos eternos" -Apoleyo. (One and one, we're all mortals. Together, we're eternal). Interesting.
As odd as this little encounter was, I am SO thankful that it transpired in my last few days here. What a world. a random, thought-provoking, beautiful world. In the words of our skydiving instructor: "makes me giggle."
-griff
So she continues to read, to recite in performance-like tones. Her poem/story/quick anecdote was beautiful and spoke directly to the two largest issues existential to me at the moment: Immigration Syndrome and Singleness (as separate concepts...haha)
According to Sociology, Immigration Syndrome is this idea that after a few years of immigration, one may lose any sense of "home" identity. For example, in Sigur Ros' "Heima," one of the band members explains that "Heima" means "home." After years of touring the world, they played a tour in Iceland, their real heritage...pretty sweet. From the guy's expressions, anyone could tell his excitement about that--to be with family, to see familiar sights, to feel that indefinable joy that is "home."
Although I've only been in Spain for four months, my move to Texas three years ago has left me displaced. Anywhere I go, there's the distinct chance that I'll be longing for the people I miss from the other places...Cincinnati, Waco, Monterrey, and even Madrid, at this point.
The second phenomena she spoke of was "Singleness."
This one's quite easy to comprehend. Imagine one person. check.
There are some excellent perks to being single. I've always thought that maybe I'd spend my whole life that way (I know, weird, right?) until recently...(don't worry mom, there is no lucky lady at this point.)
She said, "You travel and travel. You have no home (or better put, multiple homes). You turn around and one day (she turns around) and you are the only one there."
Five minutes go by and she ends her recitation. We talk for a few minutes. I tell her that I'm a foreigner, that I'm a traveler. She asks if I'm German (first time I've ever gotten that!). "No, Texan." That never fails to get a response.
She hands me a very artistic and clearly hand-made business card that says "UNO A UNO, todos somos mortales. JUNTOS, somos eternos" -Apoleyo. (One and one, we're all mortals. Together, we're eternal). Interesting.
As odd as this little encounter was, I am SO thankful that it transpired in my last few days here. What a world. a random, thought-provoking, beautiful world. In the words of our skydiving instructor: "makes me giggle."
-griff
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The sound everybody needs to hear
You've heard spoken many times before: "I heard the sound of silence and it changed me." Yesterday I went up to the Valley of the Fallen, an enormous cross monument created as a memorial for those who died in the bloody Spanish Civil War. When I was there, I wondered how many tourists came home with identical pictures of the thing--once you're at the base of it, there's little room for photographic creativity. Every picture shows what an ant must see when it looks up at a human.
So this cross is on top of a mountain in a secluded area (there's a functioning monastery 100 feet away). Although the occasional car drives by in the far distance, this is a place where you can hear the beautiful sound of silence. Usually when I hear it, I think something like, "Come on wind and trees, speak to me!" But this time I had no revelations. I just sat there for a minute and thought about how nice it was to hear nothing.
As I write, some idiot is renovating his apartment next door. Mr. Renovator isn't always drilling things. He seems to also have an insatiable taste for bad American music...bands I typically only listen to to have a good laugh. I'm talking about Nickelback, the Backstreet Boys, Rihanna, and yes, Evanescence (thanks again, Mr. DIY...p.s. http://www.thewebshite.net/nickelback.htm).
Anyway city life is great. The adjustment hasn't been drastic at all. I thought it might have had obvious repercussions, but things are not so noticeably different. Sometimes, though, it's essential to escape this huge silence-poverty, sit on a mountain, and hear nothing but the wind and the trees.
-griff
So this cross is on top of a mountain in a secluded area (there's a functioning monastery 100 feet away). Although the occasional car drives by in the far distance, this is a place where you can hear the beautiful sound of silence. Usually when I hear it, I think something like, "Come on wind and trees, speak to me!" But this time I had no revelations. I just sat there for a minute and thought about how nice it was to hear nothing.
As I write, some idiot is renovating his apartment next door. Mr. Renovator isn't always drilling things. He seems to also have an insatiable taste for bad American music...bands I typically only listen to to have a good laugh. I'm talking about Nickelback, the Backstreet Boys, Rihanna, and yes, Evanescence (thanks again, Mr. DIY...p.s. http://www.thewebshite.net/nickelback.htm).
Anyway city life is great. The adjustment hasn't been drastic at all. I thought it might have had obvious repercussions, but things are not so noticeably different. Sometimes, though, it's essential to escape this huge silence-poverty, sit on a mountain, and hear nothing but the wind and the trees.
-griff
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Wedding Dress in Bloom
i look up from the ground
see a tree with her gown
she most certainly has a bride.
the buds of her branches
sway over the city
begging to be noticed.
the sun is her spotlight
and she is beautiful.
see a tree with her gown
she most certainly has a bride.
the buds of her branches
sway over the city
begging to be noticed.
the sun is her spotlight
and she is beautiful.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
XXX/Darkness
So what I’m about to say really requires two posts, if not more. I’ve had quite the whirlwind of travel recently…in the last three weeks, I’ve been to Amsterdam, Vienna, Budapest, Krakow, and Prague. While I enjoyed the baths in Budapest and seeing Freud’s house (!) in Vienna, two places will stick with me for the rest of my life, without a doubt. Amsterdam and Auschwitz. Random story begin…now: The colors in Amsterdam are dark and beautiful. The ships with their yellow stripe and black exterior against the dark water gives the place a distinctly European feel (just like in the Sigur Rós documentary, Heima, which I still have not seen). The bikers are joyful and the sound of their bells in the distance unceasingly makes life just that much happier. One guy almost ran into me going very slowly and still used his horn. It sounded like a duck, so I laughed at him. All I could think of was my friend Alex, who, as a child, used to point to items on the dinner table when he wanted them. His mom would kindly scold him: “Alex, use your words, honey.” Maybe you have to know Alex and Mrs. Cool for this to be funny, but it still gets me every time I think of it.
XXX:
Everybody asks me if I was able to get to the Red Light District. (I did.) The name makes it sound like some sort of hell where prostitutes attack from all directions and drugs fall from the sky. The gate to enter is guarded by none other than Satan himself, with the tail and horns and all.
NO! It’s totally not like this. Many people call Amsterdam the “Venice of the north,” mostly due to it’s 1,500+ bridges and surrounding canals. Bikes are everywhere (the #1 form of transportation). The whole scene is surreal and beautiful in a way that I’ve never seen beauty before--even the red light district.
The red light district wasn’t as bad at night as during the day. By this, I only mean that it hit me harder during the day. At night, the prostitutes sit in their windows and lure customers in with their eye contact and dance or strip or rub themselves loudly against the window. Welcome to the world.
Daytime in the RLD is enough to make one sick. I, for one, was floored. I’m sure the people with me were as well. If you can, try to imagine walking down the street in the middle of the day (canals, bridges, bikes, and cobblestone all around). Little kids walk with their parents. The smell of fresh pastries is in the air. Some of them are special pastries. You look to the right and she wants you. She’s wearing a tiny amount of clothes and she pulls on them like she’s dying to get you in bed. She pulls on her bra to expose and put into motion her two picture-perfect breasts that “real” people never have. Her body is the image that most girls want and most guys would kill for. Her eyes are stunning, though bloodshot from all the coke or mj she’s been using to keep her body moving. Like I said, she wants you. It’s the middle of the afternoon and for 50 euros, you can have her get on her knees. For 100, you can spend an hour and a half with her and she is yours--all of her. I wonder what the little kids think when they walk by. I wonder what the girls think when they look out from their windows and see the kids. I wonder what the hell the parents are thinking for bringing their kids here! I wonder what the girls are thinking by being there. Honestly, it’s a bearable sight until you see a man dive into a place and the curtains close, deeper in the room. The man’s two friends have just come out of two different windows. “Their girls” can now be seen redoing their makeup and lipstick as the two guys zip up their pants outside.
So we decide to wait to see the third guy leave. Ten minutes later, he opens the curtain and exits. “His girl” redoes her makeup, watches the men walk away, and immediately looks for the next customer, placing herself in only the most suggestive positions that might catch the eye. Welcome to the world.
Darkness [Auschwitz].
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. In this case, 50 pictures = 50,000 words. A movie might be worth 1,000,000 words. But real life–a real movie, a scrolling piece of art—can not be explained. We have heard of horrible things. We have seen movies about them. But it is only once we have walked in the footsteps of the victims that we can begin to feel the weight of the world on our very own shoulders.
We stand outside in the snow where they once stood, inadequately dressed. Little drops of wonder drip from the sky and melt as they fall into hell. Our numbered days are spent in this death factory. Here, you will not find grace. You will not find friendship. You will not find civilization, for who would call this “civilized?” You look around for an Almighty G-d, but you do not see Him anywhere except in the past, through the eyes of your starving friends. They can’t find Him either. Some have and some still believe in hope and goodness. Within weeks, their hope will be carried through a chimney and scattered across the penetrated earth. Nothing is beautiful.
As my friend Ben said (in response to an African slum), this is an “ocean of shit.” Even these three little words cannot possibly achieve much. They seem cheap and hollow when compared to the reality of things. Go and see. Enter. Walk in the footsteps of your distant mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and you will experience darkness.
-griff
XXX:
Everybody asks me if I was able to get to the Red Light District. (I did.) The name makes it sound like some sort of hell where prostitutes attack from all directions and drugs fall from the sky. The gate to enter is guarded by none other than Satan himself, with the tail and horns and all.
NO! It’s totally not like this. Many people call Amsterdam the “Venice of the north,” mostly due to it’s 1,500+ bridges and surrounding canals. Bikes are everywhere (the #1 form of transportation). The whole scene is surreal and beautiful in a way that I’ve never seen beauty before--even the red light district.
The red light district wasn’t as bad at night as during the day. By this, I only mean that it hit me harder during the day. At night, the prostitutes sit in their windows and lure customers in with their eye contact and dance or strip or rub themselves loudly against the window. Welcome to the world.
Daytime in the RLD is enough to make one sick. I, for one, was floored. I’m sure the people with me were as well. If you can, try to imagine walking down the street in the middle of the day (canals, bridges, bikes, and cobblestone all around). Little kids walk with their parents. The smell of fresh pastries is in the air. Some of them are special pastries. You look to the right and she wants you. She’s wearing a tiny amount of clothes and she pulls on them like she’s dying to get you in bed. She pulls on her bra to expose and put into motion her two picture-perfect breasts that “real” people never have. Her body is the image that most girls want and most guys would kill for. Her eyes are stunning, though bloodshot from all the coke or mj she’s been using to keep her body moving. Like I said, she wants you. It’s the middle of the afternoon and for 50 euros, you can have her get on her knees. For 100, you can spend an hour and a half with her and she is yours--all of her. I wonder what the little kids think when they walk by. I wonder what the girls think when they look out from their windows and see the kids. I wonder what the hell the parents are thinking for bringing their kids here! I wonder what the girls are thinking by being there. Honestly, it’s a bearable sight until you see a man dive into a place and the curtains close, deeper in the room. The man’s two friends have just come out of two different windows. “Their girls” can now be seen redoing their makeup and lipstick as the two guys zip up their pants outside.
So we decide to wait to see the third guy leave. Ten minutes later, he opens the curtain and exits. “His girl” redoes her makeup, watches the men walk away, and immediately looks for the next customer, placing herself in only the most suggestive positions that might catch the eye. Welcome to the world.
Darkness [Auschwitz].
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. In this case, 50 pictures = 50,000 words. A movie might be worth 1,000,000 words. But real life–a real movie, a scrolling piece of art—can not be explained. We have heard of horrible things. We have seen movies about them. But it is only once we have walked in the footsteps of the victims that we can begin to feel the weight of the world on our very own shoulders.
We stand outside in the snow where they once stood, inadequately dressed. Little drops of wonder drip from the sky and melt as they fall into hell. Our numbered days are spent in this death factory. Here, you will not find grace. You will not find friendship. You will not find civilization, for who would call this “civilized?” You look around for an Almighty G-d, but you do not see Him anywhere except in the past, through the eyes of your starving friends. They can’t find Him either. Some have and some still believe in hope and goodness. Within weeks, their hope will be carried through a chimney and scattered across the penetrated earth. Nothing is beautiful.
As my friend Ben said (in response to an African slum), this is an “ocean of shit.” Even these three little words cannot possibly achieve much. They seem cheap and hollow when compared to the reality of things. Go and see. Enter. Walk in the footsteps of your distant mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and you will experience darkness.
-griff
Friday, March 7, 2008
A day in the life...
Sometimes the simplest things are just enormously difficult for me.
Preface: Like today I tried to buy a movie from those portable dvd renters for one dollar. It was freezing outside. Long story short, this adventure took like an hour, and I came out of the deal with no movie. Guess how much I actually wanted to watch the movie in the first place? Umm, only slightly. But I had commited to the idea, and if I stopped now, I would be a quitter. Nobody likes a quitter. The machine kept freezing up, maybe because it was snowing outside. Probably because I was entering a pin number when it wanted a zip code for the card. So, maybe i didn't read the instructions and I made an assumption. I called customer service and they called me retarded. So why didn't i get the movie by just entering the zip code then, you ask? Well that brings me to the next problem.
I didn't know the zipcode for the card. Gee Whiz, can't a man just get decent one dollar movie around this town? What is this world come to?
It was my girlfriends credit card. Luckily she was in class so she couldn't call me back.
My EggMcmuffin was getting cold.
Why didn't I use my own credit card, you ask?
I lost my wallet yesterday. yes this another of those simple things: keeping up with a wallet. An easy enough task, just put it in the storage device on your pants called a pocket, it’s what most people do. But I fail miserably at this task. This happens on a monthly basis, here is another good example and this is the story i intended to tell before that tangent:
February 5th, a day not unlike any other day.
So, I can’t find my wallet. I’ve looked everywhere, my room is in shambles from looking, my car is in shambles from looking. And I think maybe my life is in shambles “cuz I still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” (if I may quote the anti-Christ here.) Where in the name of Kensington is my effin’ wallet? The lake! It must be, I was there earlier today and must have left it on the beach. Glory! So I drive out there without a wallet. And then I get stopped by a police officer who gives me a ticket for not having a license. (well, that’s a lie about the cop, but it’s good for the story) so, after driving 15 miles, I get to the gate of the lake where i paid four effin’ dollars earlier that day for admission into the “park”, (having park benches and kitty litter next to lake waco now qualifies as a park I guess. Go taxes.) I slow down to explain to the sweet old man my situation. And here goes the conversation,
Me: “Hello sir! I left my wallet on the beach, may I go look for it real quick?”
Old Man: “That will be four dollars to get in.”
Me: “Oh I was here earlier, I just need to go look for my wallet, for like 2 seconds.”
Old Man: “It cost four dollars for me to let you through this gate though so...”
Me: “Yea but I’m coming right back.”
Old Man: “I don’t know what your gonna do out there, or when your coming back, do I?”
Me: “Umm, I’m going to look for my wallet, and I will coming right back, so yea...”
Old Man: “But it cost four dollars... If you were here earlier, where is your day pass?”
Me: “You gave me a sticky note for a day pass, it probably flew off somewhere, I dunno, you saw me earlier today, c’mon!”
Old Bastard Man: “Well, it cost four dollars to get in here, that’s what my job is to do.”
Me: “Holy mother of Hasselhoff, are you being for real?”
Old Bastard Man: “Yep.”
Me: “How am I supposed to pay you if my money is my wallet and my wallet is on the beach? Freakin’ unbelievable.”
So, maybe I’m a little frustrated at this point. After looking through my car, for four dollars worth of spare change, (under the seats, cupholders, the trunk, etc.), all while the ole bastard man is watching amused, I finally find enough to pay and he lets me in. Praise the Lord.
Walking along the beach, the air is crisp and my thoughts are optimistic...
But...
My wallet is not on the beach. This, my dear friends, was not the place I lost my wallet.
As I drive through the exit, I grip my fingers to the wheel tight and unflinching, so as not to give the old man any goodbye gestures.
Late to class. Missed the quiz.
When I get home, I call the credit card company, and I cancel my credit card account.
They tell me, “You will receive a new card in 5-7 business days. If you recover your old one, we cannot activate it again, you must wait for the new one in the mail. Is this what you want?”
Me: “umm, Yes.”
I hang up the phone and reach for my computer in my backpack. My hand instead touches something leathery.
That would be my Wallet.
Yes, my life has become a series of trivial inconveniences...so... i have decided today to become a minimalist. you can't lose what you don't have. oh man, that was brilliant, i hope you all caught that.
; )
jorbs
Preface: Like today I tried to buy a movie from those portable dvd renters for one dollar. It was freezing outside. Long story short, this adventure took like an hour, and I came out of the deal with no movie. Guess how much I actually wanted to watch the movie in the first place? Umm, only slightly. But I had commited to the idea, and if I stopped now, I would be a quitter. Nobody likes a quitter. The machine kept freezing up, maybe because it was snowing outside. Probably because I was entering a pin number when it wanted a zip code for the card. So, maybe i didn't read the instructions and I made an assumption. I called customer service and they called me retarded. So why didn't i get the movie by just entering the zip code then, you ask? Well that brings me to the next problem.
I didn't know the zipcode for the card. Gee Whiz, can't a man just get decent one dollar movie around this town? What is this world come to?
It was my girlfriends credit card. Luckily she was in class so she couldn't call me back.
My EggMcmuffin was getting cold.
Why didn't I use my own credit card, you ask?
I lost my wallet yesterday. yes this another of those simple things: keeping up with a wallet. An easy enough task, just put it in the storage device on your pants called a pocket, it’s what most people do. But I fail miserably at this task. This happens on a monthly basis, here is another good example and this is the story i intended to tell before that tangent:
February 5th, a day not unlike any other day.
So, I can’t find my wallet. I’ve looked everywhere, my room is in shambles from looking, my car is in shambles from looking. And I think maybe my life is in shambles “cuz I still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” (if I may quote the anti-Christ here.) Where in the name of Kensington is my effin’ wallet? The lake! It must be, I was there earlier today and must have left it on the beach. Glory! So I drive out there without a wallet. And then I get stopped by a police officer who gives me a ticket for not having a license. (well, that’s a lie about the cop, but it’s good for the story) so, after driving 15 miles, I get to the gate of the lake where i paid four effin’ dollars earlier that day for admission into the “park”, (having park benches and kitty litter next to lake waco now qualifies as a park I guess. Go taxes.) I slow down to explain to the sweet old man my situation. And here goes the conversation,
Me: “Hello sir! I left my wallet on the beach, may I go look for it real quick?”
Old Man: “That will be four dollars to get in.”
Me: “Oh I was here earlier, I just need to go look for my wallet, for like 2 seconds.”
Old Man: “It cost four dollars for me to let you through this gate though so...”
Me: “Yea but I’m coming right back.”
Old Man: “I don’t know what your gonna do out there, or when your coming back, do I?”
Me: “Umm, I’m going to look for my wallet, and I will coming right back, so yea...”
Old Man: “But it cost four dollars... If you were here earlier, where is your day pass?”
Me: “You gave me a sticky note for a day pass, it probably flew off somewhere, I dunno, you saw me earlier today, c’mon!”
Old Bastard Man: “Well, it cost four dollars to get in here, that’s what my job is to do.”
Me: “Holy mother of Hasselhoff, are you being for real?”
Old Bastard Man: “Yep.”
Me: “How am I supposed to pay you if my money is my wallet and my wallet is on the beach? Freakin’ unbelievable.”
So, maybe I’m a little frustrated at this point. After looking through my car, for four dollars worth of spare change, (under the seats, cupholders, the trunk, etc.), all while the ole bastard man is watching amused, I finally find enough to pay and he lets me in. Praise the Lord.
Walking along the beach, the air is crisp and my thoughts are optimistic...
But...
My wallet is not on the beach. This, my dear friends, was not the place I lost my wallet.
As I drive through the exit, I grip my fingers to the wheel tight and unflinching, so as not to give the old man any goodbye gestures.
Late to class. Missed the quiz.
When I get home, I call the credit card company, and I cancel my credit card account.
They tell me, “You will receive a new card in 5-7 business days. If you recover your old one, we cannot activate it again, you must wait for the new one in the mail. Is this what you want?”
Me: “umm, Yes.”
I hang up the phone and reach for my computer in my backpack. My hand instead touches something leathery.
That would be my Wallet.
Yes, my life has become a series of trivial inconveniences...so... i have decided today to become a minimalist. you can't lose what you don't have. oh man, that was brilliant, i hope you all caught that.
; )
jorbs
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The impossibility of cliché
There is no room within us to be stale. “Stale” is such an excellent descriptor. It reminds me of those croissant-looking pastries that you might see in any local bakery. From the outside, they look incredible—dusted with sugar and spice and everything nice (a.k.a. cinnamon). The second you bite into them, however, you experience a mouthful of air—and have never been so disappointed. First of all, you’re sad that you just paid money for shell of a pastry…and secondly, you’re hungry!
May we forget that the word “cliché” ever existed. Things only become cliché when they become stale, and we all know how much fun that is. My really old friend G.K. Chesterton wrote the following in his chapter “The Ethics of Elfland,” from Orthodoxy (read it slowly and soak it in because it is glorious): “A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE.”
What a perspective! Read it again, it’s so good! As I mentioned before, I read a book that my friend Pat wrote. Pat’s obsessed with sunflowers, so naturally, one whole chapter in the book is essentially devoted to them. Well one day, I woke up and couldn’t help but think of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (you guessed it, SUNFLOWERS!). It really is an exciting flower to look at. It stares at the sun all day—all bent and contorted—just to bask in the glory that is its life-giving purpose for existence. It doesn’t just peek its head out the window in the morning and then go back to sleep. It is irrevocably and irreversibly attracted to the thing that makes it green and yellow and alive. Indeed…an eternal appetite for infancy.
-griff
p.s. G.K. was known for being a very, very large man. He must have never ordered the hollow pastries. I was going to say he was “obese,” but it’s not really very funny to make fun of obese people.
May we forget that the word “cliché” ever existed. Things only become cliché when they become stale, and we all know how much fun that is. My really old friend G.K. Chesterton wrote the following in his chapter “The Ethics of Elfland,” from Orthodoxy (read it slowly and soak it in because it is glorious): “A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE.”
What a perspective! Read it again, it’s so good! As I mentioned before, I read a book that my friend Pat wrote. Pat’s obsessed with sunflowers, so naturally, one whole chapter in the book is essentially devoted to them. Well one day, I woke up and couldn’t help but think of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (you guessed it, SUNFLOWERS!). It really is an exciting flower to look at. It stares at the sun all day—all bent and contorted—just to bask in the glory that is its life-giving purpose for existence. It doesn’t just peek its head out the window in the morning and then go back to sleep. It is irrevocably and irreversibly attracted to the thing that makes it green and yellow and alive. Indeed…an eternal appetite for infancy.
-griff
p.s. G.K. was known for being a very, very large man. He must have never ordered the hollow pastries. I was going to say he was “obese,” but it’s not really very funny to make fun of obese people.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sunday February 17, 2008
Today was my most boring day yet, so get ready for an exciting post! It was a day of rest after a weekend (I have all Fridays off!) of rest, and therefore, entirely unnecessary.
Here’s what my day looked like:
10:30- Wake up.
11:15- stretch (I want to be able to touch my toes after this semester. No, I can’t right now.)
12:00- take a shower
1:00 PM breakfast
1:30-2:30 read, write
2:30-3:30 watch Colbert Report/Daily Show/South Park online.
3:30-5 read a book my friend wrote (it’s a legit book-165 pages!)
5-5:30 more Daily Show (I have to catch up on my political humor…)
So now I’m in the park by my apartment. It’s not a park day at all- about 45 degrees, cloudy, and windy. I brought “Living Buddha, Living Christ” and my iPod so I could be entertained for an hour or so. It’s too cold to read, so I’ll just listen to all 10 of my (not) illegally downloaded As Tall as Lions songs. Watching the world go by with music on is kind of like entering into an independent movie—try it sometime. Ten feet behind me is the Templo de Debod, a two thousand year old Egyptian temple (in Spain…kind of strange, right?). Directly in front of me is a fountain/pond that reflects the city below and the grey sky above with utter clarity. I want to enjoy this without having to look for meaning—the leaf tornados that grab my attention (just once in my life I want to take a picture of one. How lucky would that be?), the new mom playing airplane with her all-too-amused infant, the middle-aged guy playing fetch with his rat of a dog (sorry, but it was one of those dogs). I wonder if maybe the dog thinks he is playing fetch with the guy? The wind blowing ripples across the water like I do with my hot tea every morning, the comforting sound of the fountain, the lovers, the goths and their dreadlocks, the little kid amusedly throwing sticks into the 2” deep pond, the list goes on...
I hate offering conclusions since I’m only 20 and still very naïve. But all I can think of is how happy I am to know that in fifteen minutes, I’ll enter the warmth of an apartment, run my cold, aching hands under some warm water, and eat some dinner. How fortunate I am.
-griff
Here’s what my day looked like:
10:30- Wake up.
11:15- stretch (I want to be able to touch my toes after this semester. No, I can’t right now.)
12:00- take a shower
1:00 PM breakfast
1:30-2:30 read, write
2:30-3:30 watch Colbert Report/Daily Show/South Park online.
3:30-5 read a book my friend wrote (it’s a legit book-165 pages!)
5-5:30 more Daily Show (I have to catch up on my political humor…)
So now I’m in the park by my apartment. It’s not a park day at all- about 45 degrees, cloudy, and windy. I brought “Living Buddha, Living Christ” and my iPod so I could be entertained for an hour or so. It’s too cold to read, so I’ll just listen to all 10 of my (not) illegally downloaded As Tall as Lions songs. Watching the world go by with music on is kind of like entering into an independent movie—try it sometime. Ten feet behind me is the Templo de Debod, a two thousand year old Egyptian temple (in Spain…kind of strange, right?). Directly in front of me is a fountain/pond that reflects the city below and the grey sky above with utter clarity. I want to enjoy this without having to look for meaning—the leaf tornados that grab my attention (just once in my life I want to take a picture of one. How lucky would that be?), the new mom playing airplane with her all-too-amused infant, the middle-aged guy playing fetch with his rat of a dog (sorry, but it was one of those dogs). I wonder if maybe the dog thinks he is playing fetch with the guy? The wind blowing ripples across the water like I do with my hot tea every morning, the comforting sound of the fountain, the lovers, the goths and their dreadlocks, the little kid amusedly throwing sticks into the 2” deep pond, the list goes on...
I hate offering conclusions since I’m only 20 and still very naïve. But all I can think of is how happy I am to know that in fifteen minutes, I’ll enter the warmth of an apartment, run my cold, aching hands under some warm water, and eat some dinner. How fortunate I am.
-griff
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Thoughts from 2 seconds ago, now 3, now 4. etc.
The future is a tricky thing indeed. It brings hope to the hopeless when it confuses fatal ideology. Yet it can send the hopeful to their knees in confused desperation. It completely disassembles all assumptions and predications. But this concerns me not at all. What I fear is that the future might be a precise fulfillment of the present. This type of future requires present action. A future that requires us to “be the change.” And sometimes that feels like an enormous responsibility. And then there is God’s grace. And this keeps me going.
-jorbe
-jorbe
Friday, February 8, 2008
a change in direction
so from the get-go, we (yes, we) have been trying to set up a different type of blog. A blog is a very introverted (sometimes dangerously, no?) type of thing. In light of this, I don't want it to be only MY little stories from across the ocean. Maybe something a little closer to home would be nice? The idea of farfarawayathome is comforting to me, since I know that though I am across an ocean, I am very much at home here on this little planet. At the same time, I'd love to hear stories from my true home...the United States. Every time I eat an oreo or drink a dr. pepper, it reminds me of that far away place where so many wonderful people live...Texas (and Ohio represent!)
So from now on, my good friends Jordan Bellamy and Ben Carroll are going to hop on this little deal. If YOU have anything you'd like us to post, please send it to me: Griffin_Kelp@baylor.edu.
Gracias!
Griff.
So from now on, my good friends Jordan Bellamy and Ben Carroll are going to hop on this little deal. If YOU have anything you'd like us to post, please send it to me: Griffin_Kelp@baylor.edu.
Gracias!
Griff.
"give us this day, our daily rabbit."
So i just got back from the soup kitchen again. If this is your only way of hearing about my trip so far, you'd probably think i live there. i don't. i've been there twice in a month and it's not part of my daily routine. i do enjoy going though. it's refreshing to be around such happy (and ornery) old people serving the hungry and the poor. i say ornery only because once i got there today (alone this time, without amigos), an elderly man told me to stack 3 boxes of chips "vente aquí" (get over here) "colocarlos bien" (stack them well). yeah well that took about 3 seconds...thanks man.
I peeled garlic with a guy named Marcos. He's an 18 year old, pure-blooded madrileño (from madrid) in semenario (catholic seminary?). It was hilarious to hear his view of the United States. Marcos: "Where are you from?" Me: "Texas." Marcos: "When you think of Spain, you think of bullfights and Toledo, right?" Me: "Si." Marcos: "Well when people here think of the United States, they think of cowboys. Are you a cowboy?" Me: "No."
I guess I was wearing plaid...
Another thing that struck me today was the manifestation of Jesus' sample prayer ("our father"...) We all prayed it together (they also prayed something to mother mary. i hung out in the background for that one). "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread..." A hundred people can say that every day, Jesus gives them a meal (i'm not pointing at myself here. plus, i shaved before the trip so the so-called "Jesus-beard" is no longer seen with that plaid shirt.) If ever another person becomes homeless (hopefully not!), they will know who to get food from.
I walked home from the soup kitchen (about 35 minutes) through some of the more busy and beautiful streets of Madrid. Google 'em if you want: Calle del Sol, Puerta del Sol, Calle Gran Vía, Plaza de España). There, your ears will never be lacking the sound of street musicians playing odd instruments--ones i can't even name--, political lobbyists yelling messages to the masses, and homeless people begging for change. The streets have a distinctly european feel to them. Maybe it's the fact that a mini cooper could beat the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of any other of the cars on the road. Maybe it's the rounded architecture of the buildings. I don't know. But i do know i'm enjoying it and if you ever get the chance, you should come check things out!
And finally, to end this lengthy post, I'd like to admit something. I ate rabbit for dinner tonight. Yeah, that's right. The cute little furry animal that frolics around places in search of tasty carrots. Maybe my vision's better now? Honestly though, it was brutal. I never know what I'm eating here. My señora (host-family) always tells me what I'm eating AS I'm eating it. Trout with ham was pretty obvious, as I was handed a plate with a fish on it (yum!).
But this rabbit thing was a new one. I was 1/2 way through and not particularly enjoying it, whatever it was. She walked by and said, "Es conejo con salsa." My heart sank. I was like Holyfield half-way through the Tyson fight. Stunned. I think my vision got a little blurry. Sorry for all the boxing references, but I felt like Rocky (when he reaches the top of the hill to "Eye of the Tiger") after training when I finished it. If you come to Europe, I don't recommend Spain's local dish (rabbit) any more than i recommend trout with ham or peanut butter with bouncy balls. I guess rabbit's very lean and almost entirely fat free though, so on the other hand...bon apetit y buen provecho.
Peace!
Griff.
I peeled garlic with a guy named Marcos. He's an 18 year old, pure-blooded madrileño (from madrid) in semenario (catholic seminary?). It was hilarious to hear his view of the United States. Marcos: "Where are you from?" Me: "Texas." Marcos: "When you think of Spain, you think of bullfights and Toledo, right?" Me: "Si." Marcos: "Well when people here think of the United States, they think of cowboys. Are you a cowboy?" Me: "No."
I guess I was wearing plaid...
Another thing that struck me today was the manifestation of Jesus' sample prayer ("our father"...) We all prayed it together (they also prayed something to mother mary. i hung out in the background for that one). "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread..." A hundred people can say that every day, Jesus gives them a meal (i'm not pointing at myself here. plus, i shaved before the trip so the so-called "Jesus-beard" is no longer seen with that plaid shirt.) If ever another person becomes homeless (hopefully not!), they will know who to get food from.
I walked home from the soup kitchen (about 35 minutes) through some of the more busy and beautiful streets of Madrid. Google 'em if you want: Calle del Sol, Puerta del Sol, Calle Gran Vía, Plaza de España). There, your ears will never be lacking the sound of street musicians playing odd instruments--ones i can't even name--, political lobbyists yelling messages to the masses, and homeless people begging for change. The streets have a distinctly european feel to them. Maybe it's the fact that a mini cooper could beat the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of any other of the cars on the road. Maybe it's the rounded architecture of the buildings. I don't know. But i do know i'm enjoying it and if you ever get the chance, you should come check things out!
And finally, to end this lengthy post, I'd like to admit something. I ate rabbit for dinner tonight. Yeah, that's right. The cute little furry animal that frolics around places in search of tasty carrots. Maybe my vision's better now? Honestly though, it was brutal. I never know what I'm eating here. My señora (host-family) always tells me what I'm eating AS I'm eating it. Trout with ham was pretty obvious, as I was handed a plate with a fish on it (yum!).
But this rabbit thing was a new one. I was 1/2 way through and not particularly enjoying it, whatever it was. She walked by and said, "Es conejo con salsa." My heart sank. I was like Holyfield half-way through the Tyson fight. Stunned. I think my vision got a little blurry. Sorry for all the boxing references, but I felt like Rocky (when he reaches the top of the hill to "Eye of the Tiger") after training when I finished it. If you come to Europe, I don't recommend Spain's local dish (rabbit) any more than i recommend trout with ham or peanut butter with bouncy balls. I guess rabbit's very lean and almost entirely fat free though, so on the other hand...bon apetit y buen provecho.
Peace!
Griff.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
dance and dance and dance
so i've been wondering a lot recently about the proper attitude on War. What might happen in we (America) laid down our weapons of mass destruction? What might happen if we took our guns and turned them--through a process of heating and bending--into statues of peace? Thich Nhat Hanh is right when he says, "Even if we transport all the bombs to the moon, the roots of war and the roots of the bombs are still here, in our hearts and minds, and sooner or later we will make new bombs. To work for peace is to uproot war from ourselves and from the hearts of men and women." Also, "Nonviolence does not mean non-action. Nonviolence means we act with love and compassion." G-d, we have to lay ourselves down. David writes, "For your sake we are killed every day; Wake up, O Lord! Why do you sleep? Get up! Do not reject us forever. Why do you look the other way? Why do you ignore our suffering and oppression? We collapse in the dust, lying face down in the dirt. Rise up! Come and help us! Save us because of your unfailing love." Well my question to the world is this: Who is being slaughtered like sheep in the name of peace? Is it the Christians? Is it America? Is it anybody? (please tell me who the world sees as peacemakers). What might happen if we marched right into the belly of the beast and offered our neighbors some freshly baked cookies and a chance at peace, renewal, forgiveness? Maybe then we would become the bloodlust scapegoats (and maybe we would see a new world). And we know that whether we are high in the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord, the ultimate scapegoat and neighbor and friend.
We don't have to live like this.
We don't have to turn on the t.v. and watch African tribes enact genocide on one another. We don't have to watch the United States add to the destruction and death that is already so prevalent in this world. We don't have to support the lazy energy companies who would prefer dirty old technologies to new, shiny, clean ones. We don't have to buy cars and clothes and coffee that have bloody pasts. We don't have to be or feel guilty (since guilt is far from the real issue).
We can be the change we wish to see in the world. We can have peace and know peace and be peace and love in this world. We can wait patiently and confidently to see a new kingdom manifest itself in our own hearts and in the hearts of our neighbors across the entire earth. We can dance and dance and dance our way to our clean and bloody graves.
"May flowers and peace and happiness manifest with every step you take."
We don't have to live like this.
We don't have to turn on the t.v. and watch African tribes enact genocide on one another. We don't have to watch the United States add to the destruction and death that is already so prevalent in this world. We don't have to support the lazy energy companies who would prefer dirty old technologies to new, shiny, clean ones. We don't have to buy cars and clothes and coffee that have bloody pasts. We don't have to be or feel guilty (since guilt is far from the real issue).
We can be the change we wish to see in the world. We can have peace and know peace and be peace and love in this world. We can wait patiently and confidently to see a new kingdom manifest itself in our own hearts and in the hearts of our neighbors across the entire earth. We can dance and dance and dance our way to our clean and bloody graves.
"May flowers and peace and happiness manifest with every step you take."
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The boundaries of politeness
So I have just moved houses. Here’s the story:
Or perhaps it’s better to begin (and end) like this: They say it takes money to move. I have just successfully moved for approximately one US dollar (less than one euro). Life lesson number one: If someone every gives you this option, do NOT take it. Pay the 7 euros for the taxi ride. Here’s what the one dollar option entails:
1) walking 15 minutes to the metro (subway) station with over 70 pounds of everything you own either on your back or in the rolling suicase behind you.
2) carrying all that stuff down a few flights of stairs
3) looking like an idiot (hey, you get used to it as an American in Europe!) with all your stuff on the metro. I literally heard a group of girls say “mira esta con la maleta” (look at this guy with the suitcase!). The best part though is trying to blend in with all the stuff, like “oh, yeah, this is how I usually roll. No problem here. Just doing the usual…” (yeah like ANYone bought that!)
4) getting off the metro, climbing back up escalators and stairs, finding daylight, asking a group of old men for directions, and finally, reaching home.
Here’s what the taxi option entails:
1) get in taxi and give the driver directions
2) get out of taxi and say “thank you.”
But here’s the real kicker (why I’m sometimes just unfortunately unintelligent…): My host family offered to move me to my new place. In many ways, my host family had already accommodated me, so…of course I was like “oh…don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough already.” Hindsight is 20-20!
If someone gives you the option to move for one dollar, do not take it.
Check.
Or perhaps it’s better to begin (and end) like this: They say it takes money to move. I have just successfully moved for approximately one US dollar (less than one euro). Life lesson number one: If someone every gives you this option, do NOT take it. Pay the 7 euros for the taxi ride. Here’s what the one dollar option entails:
1) walking 15 minutes to the metro (subway) station with over 70 pounds of everything you own either on your back or in the rolling suicase behind you.
2) carrying all that stuff down a few flights of stairs
3) looking like an idiot (hey, you get used to it as an American in Europe!) with all your stuff on the metro. I literally heard a group of girls say “mira esta con la maleta” (look at this guy with the suitcase!). The best part though is trying to blend in with all the stuff, like “oh, yeah, this is how I usually roll. No problem here. Just doing the usual…” (yeah like ANYone bought that!)
4) getting off the metro, climbing back up escalators and stairs, finding daylight, asking a group of old men for directions, and finally, reaching home.
Here’s what the taxi option entails:
1) get in taxi and give the driver directions
2) get out of taxi and say “thank you.”
But here’s the real kicker (why I’m sometimes just unfortunately unintelligent…): My host family offered to move me to my new place. In many ways, my host family had already accommodated me, so…of course I was like “oh…don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough already.” Hindsight is 20-20!
If someone gives you the option to move for one dollar, do not take it.
Check.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Day 1,2,3,4, etc...
Ah…where to begin? The nuns of mother teresa’s order, the club, the luxurious Canary Islands, the paella, the language…
I’ve never done a blog before, so this is a totally fresh experience. I think if you were to look at my profile, you'd find that I'm an accountant in Afghanistan (help?) It’s challenging, you know, to know what to write that people will care about whatsoever. I guess in the U.S. people expect Europe to be this constantly exciting place, full of smart cars, local corner restaurants with scenic views, and night life that never ends. Well, I’ve found all of these and they’ve been great. However, I still don’t feel like I’ve found “it” yet, and I’m excited to do so. I went to a soup kitchen yesterday afternoon with a couple of guys (It’s run by the monks of mother teresa’s order!). It was your typical deal—about 100 people come in, say a prayer, eat, and leave. I was struck by the abundance of this place, however. To start with, people were given a bowl of soup, 2 plums, 2 small cartons of yogurt, bread, a hard-boiled egg, Sprite, and water. Maybe I shouldn’t have put “Sprite” right next to “hard boiled egg”…that sounds kinda gross. Anyway, after that, the thirty or so volunteers walked around with pots of extra soup, serving people until everyone was full. Scenes like this make me appreciate (and want to stay connected to) the Christian Church. These people come in every day around 5:00 and receive the same treatment. Every day at 5 o’clock in Madrid, if you are hungry, you can be fed.
I’ve never done a blog before, so this is a totally fresh experience. I think if you were to look at my profile, you'd find that I'm an accountant in Afghanistan (help?) It’s challenging, you know, to know what to write that people will care about whatsoever. I guess in the U.S. people expect Europe to be this constantly exciting place, full of smart cars, local corner restaurants with scenic views, and night life that never ends. Well, I’ve found all of these and they’ve been great. However, I still don’t feel like I’ve found “it” yet, and I’m excited to do so. I went to a soup kitchen yesterday afternoon with a couple of guys (It’s run by the monks of mother teresa’s order!). It was your typical deal—about 100 people come in, say a prayer, eat, and leave. I was struck by the abundance of this place, however. To start with, people were given a bowl of soup, 2 plums, 2 small cartons of yogurt, bread, a hard-boiled egg, Sprite, and water. Maybe I shouldn’t have put “Sprite” right next to “hard boiled egg”…that sounds kinda gross. Anyway, after that, the thirty or so volunteers walked around with pots of extra soup, serving people until everyone was full. Scenes like this make me appreciate (and want to stay connected to) the Christian Church. These people come in every day around 5:00 and receive the same treatment. Every day at 5 o’clock in Madrid, if you are hungry, you can be fed.
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