Two days
ago Zach & I celebrated our first Thanksgiving together here in Sevilla!
Have to admit that it did not feel like Thanksgiving at all. I tried really
hard to feel it. And by “it,” I don’t mean the thankfulness part, but just that
feeling, that ambiance, that sentiment I feel when I’m at home surrounded by
family and food all day and the football game on in the living room and the
happy Chloe running between my legs and the feeling of the cold autumn air
rushing in when the front door swings open. I tried to imagine it but it was
kind of hard, especially when the holiday just doesn’t exist in Spain. Haven’t
felt the familiarity of “home,” whether it be at my parents’ house or the
Borchardts, for so long it seems. After getting married to my best friend,
“home” has taken on a different meaning. It’s simply wherever and whenever I’m
with Zach. We both longed for our families, but were reminded that this year is
particularly meant to strengthen our dependence on each other. A wonderful thing
for our marriage. Here’s how the day went:
No classes
for Zach, so we got to sleep in.
I still
made my visit to La Caridad, where I took a fair share of blood pressures. (The
men basically line up out the door to get it taken on Thursdays. They like to
know their stats. J) I learned that my saint’s (Santa Cristina)
day is July 24th. [Every day, all 365 of them, is a particular
saint’s “day” here in Spain. Saint Cristina was a young martyr in Italy in the
9th century who was beheaded when the attempt to drown her failed…
boy. Cristina, you poor thing, I salute you. And I look forward to meeting you
someday.]
Later, I was
passing out meds in el comedor when an old man named Pachón tried to get my
attention. I’ll admit to mentally writing him off as a little crazy in the past
when we’ve interacted. He doesn’t always seem to be all there. On this particular morning he was holding up
both hands, demonstrating 5 and 1 (in reference to the weekend’s futbol game
outcome) and shouting something about Sevilla beating Betis. Rafa noticed my
confusion and explained, “He’s telling you about the game this weekend.” He
looked at the old man. “Have you told Cristina you used to play for Sevilla?”
He shook his head no; my mouth gaped open in disbelief. I asked Pachón if
Rafa’s words were true. He nodded proudly, and Rafa told me to wait as he ran
up to the old man’s bedroom to retrieve a photo. Pachón started mumbling some
things about futbol, I think, (he is very hard to understand!), and soon Rafa
was back and the 3 of us looked on at the old framed black-and-white picture
together, Pachón recalling every teammate’s name perfectly. The old man was
Sevilla’s 1948-1949 goalie. I was very impressed to say the least, and equally delighted
to discover this little fact about ‘just another old man’ at La Caridad. Now
I’ll know what to talk about with him next time we meet. :)
Lunchtime brought good pasta and conversation with Sandra and Juan Lu. We tried to
explain why we celebrate Thanksgiving in America but they didn’t really
understand. Their response to Zach’s and my over-simplified explanation of
“Thanksgiving started when the pilgrims came to America and had a feast with
their Native American friends” was, “That’s a little strange, no?” Haha. Of course it made more sense to just explain
that traditionally it’s a holiday meant for the gathering of family with a lot
of food involved and reflecting on the blessings that God’s given. But this
just led to the couple asking, Well what about the poor? How can they be
thankful when they have nothing? At these questions I started to feel very
uncomfortable, probably because I’ve been wrestling with the same types of
questions lately… Of course, now I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about the
ironic event that happens only in America the day after we celebrate all the things we’re thankful for. This really
would have baffled them.
So after
lunch I just felt a little unsettled. Maybe because I just wanted this
particular aspect of my culture to be understood by these Spaniards whom I
love. And for sure I was missing our families. Was grateful to have Zach to
confide these things to, yet even more grateful to know that the Lord saw my
uneasiness and longings as He always does. There is such peace in that.
Whatever
distresses I was finding myself in earlier in the day were soon forgotten when
I went to tutor my girls later that evening. They are my suns, those kids. So
precious in their own ways, all 6 of them. It was a Marta and Mercedes night,
and we talked about girly stuff like usual. They love talking about boys and
asking about being married and showing me pictures of when they were little. On
this night I discovered their talent for doing hair. I felt myself just beaming
as they chatted away while twisting my hair and shoving bobby pins here and there.
They were readying me for the special Thanksgiving dinner I was going to right
after leaving their home, and dang I looked good. ;)
The rest of
Thanksgiving evening consisted of a fancy dinner with the other American
students at a Cuban restaurant complete with American-ish foods, gifts, friends
and laughter, pumpkin flan, and best of all: Salsa dancing! Zachary and I didn’t
make it home until close to one in the morning, and by that time my Menchaca
family back home in Columbus was gathered around waiting for a Skype call.
Getting to see all their faces, including Chloe, on one screen contented my
heart and was the perfect ending to the day.
And just like that, as I am typing this novel of a blog-post late into the night, another weekend has ended. The next 3 weeks to come will be busy, and I aim to post shorter entries more frequently! We’ll see how that goes..
To you,
kind reader,
with love,
from Spain.
Kristen
xoxo
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