Stillness

Looking for an infirmary? Come on over to our house. 

          Friday, the day after Grandpa returned from the hospital, John decided to treat himself to some American coffee. The owner of JavaMeUp, our FAVORITE coffee shop in the Dallas area, gave us a nice big bag before we left. Puerto Ricans; however, don’t drink regular coffee. Many people don’t even have coffee makers at all. Here, it’s all about the expresso con leche. A tiny bit of coffee with a lot of hot milk. Craving nice dark aromas, John set forth on a mission. In addition to having black coffee…John sadly ended up with a second degree burn on his wrist from the hot water. Turns out all is well—they learn, like, doctor things in chiropractic school because they’re, like, doctors.  After two trips to Walgreens, he treated himself. The nice big blister popped itself sometime in the middle of the night, and, as I type, it’s on the road to healing. 

Grandpa's stitches--day 2

Right after the burn happened. :(

John's shaving Grandpa with the bandage on his hand.

          Saturday, I promised Grandma that I’d take her to the market that’s only open on the weekends. She didn’t feel amazing, but she got ready anyway, and we climbed into La Abeja. When we were halfway there I wondered if I should just turn around. She was complaining of stomach pains with supplementary moans and whines each time we hit a bump. Although the market was supposed to open at nine in the morning, only a few stores were open at eleven when we arrived. We stopped at one of the open stores to ask about this, and my Grandma moaned the entire time we were speaking to the owner. One of the workers took pity on her and brought her a chair. It was a Saturday morning at a well-known spot, so there were a lot of Americans around. "

                "If you buy that machete, you’ll hold all of us up security! You can’t fly those things!” One of them said to another. 

                “Okay, okay,” a sad teenage boy conceded. 

                “Just wrap it in a towel and put it in your checked bag.” I interrupted. I wanted to say that I’d bought knives at nearly country I’ve ever visited, but I didn’t say it. They just needed to let the boy buy the machete. Anyway, there was an older woman with them who smiled at Grandma as I helped her out of the chair. “Good morning, how are you?” She asked Grandma. 

                “Oooooh…I have such pains….” Was the reply she received in typical Grandma fashion. If you’re my friend, and you think I have a tendency to be dramatic, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen this one. The poor older woman didn’t know how to reply other than a simple, “I’m so sorry.” With that, we headed to the car and went home. 

              After being home for an hour or so, John and I realized that, minus the dramatic moans, there really was a problem going on with Grandma’s stomach. We gave it a little more time, and then John decided to take her to the ER. Hospitals in Puerto Rico are MUY FRIO!! No joke! It’s the one place Puerto Ricans who don’t live on the mountains get to bust out their hoodies and sweaters. We didn’t think about this when John and Grandma left, but Grandma made sure everyone in the waiting room knew she was cold. An “Ooooh…” here, and a “Brrrr” there. Before the end of the wait time, a woman had given Grandma her own sweater and John ended up coming home to get a blanket and a pillow. She may have missed her calling to the stage as a young person, but it turns out some of her moans, although overly theatrical, were legitimate. She has a kidney infection.            

Grandma wrapped up like a cacoon in the hospital. This picture isn't the
best quality because it's a picture of a picture on John's phone.
Hey, you do what you have to do. :)

          Sunday, John and I were invited to the house of a chiropractic married couple. It was a great day, but I powered through it with toilet paper in my purse just so I could blow my nose every five minutes. My nose has been running since Friday, but I figured it was allergies. It’s not allergies…Sunday night and Monday morning I had a fever, consistently higher than 101.

      

              Is there a message today?  A lesson to learn from the past week? I don’t feel well enough to conjure one up. It’s going to be a quiet day at the Alvarez/Barrington home.  Maybe that’s the lesson. Be still. Be still and know that He is God. It’s funny that despite the fact that it’s never quiet here—cars are racing by with their radios loud, horses are galloping on the concrete, roosters are crowing, and people are yelling—it is quiet here.

            That sounds good. I’m going to go be still now—with chapstick, apple juice, and toilet paper next to me while my head is propped up on a folded pillow, and MasterChef is on Hulu. Thank you, God, for Hulu. And for stillness. In the middle of any storm, thanks for stillness.

Sirens

Preface: Everything is all right. 

                Today, I had to make a decision. To pick and choose what I share, or to try and really capture todo, everything. For my sanity, I think I’ve chosen the latter. At least maximo.

                At nine o’clock last night all of the doors on our little property were locked. The main house was sealed up like Azkaban, and our casita was closed up as well. While watching MasterChef on Hulu, we heard John’s name being yelled into the night. It was Grandma. She had unlocked everything to get our attention, and the cry was panic stricken—terrifying. We both scurried for shoes and glasses to answer the call as quickly as possible. 
                John beat me to my grandparents’ bedroom, and I’m so glad he did. He has medical training, but most all, one of the qualities I adore in my husband the most is his ability to stay calm during any storm. He instructed grandma and me to get a towel and call 911; Grandpa had fallen. 
                “Mi Espanol es muy malo…mi abuelo…eh…cayó…en la…room…” I scrambled. Speaking my terrible Spanglish—waiting for a phenomenon like Pentacost to miraculously allow me and the dispatcher (and everyone else for that matter) to understand each other. That doesn’t happen, but she understands. While on hold, I gave the phone to my Grandma to finish with the details, and, under Grandma’s instruction, mopped up the blood on the floor with water and bleach. 
                Grandpa was stuck on the floor, twisted in his walker. John had a towel wrapped around his head, and was holding pressure to it. In order to get Grandpa untangled, John asked me to hold the pressure—worst job ever. Once unraveled, I gave him the job back, and I became the person who unlocked the fifteen million locks necessary to open the front door…we rarely open the front door. I saw the lights pass by our house despite my manic waving. The phone rang asking for clarification of the address. They found our house and made their way in. The cut on Grandpa’s head was small, but it was a reopened old wound. When they removed the pressure to look at it, it began to swell up like cartoon figures’ fingers do after being jammed in a door. God is good though, and Grandpa knew the answers to the all of the “check for concussion” questions. 
                John, then, quickly began working with Grandma. Her heart condition scared us with the commotion, and she needed to sit down. He pointed to his chest, and then to her, and the workers understood. Slyly, the paramedic began checking her out to make sure she was all right.
                After thinking I was going to drive myself to the hospital because of misunderstandings, I typed, “Can I ride with you?” into Google translate and showed my phone to medic. “Soy la nieta,” I managed. Ultimately, I ended up in an ambulance for the second time since arriving here. The emergency room was frio, like every other hospital in this country, and I regretted that, in the rush, I ended up in shorts and flip flops. As Grandpa received ten stitches, a CT scan, and X-rays; I sat with a Melody Carlson novel and tried not to turn into an iceberg. At dos de la mañana, I was told the person who reads the CT wouldn’t be at work until ocho, and it was all right for Grandpa to sleep if he wanted. Without hesitate, he took that cue. John came to pick me up, and I don’t even remember falling asleep because it happened so quickly when my head hit the pillow at three o’clock. 

                Today, we woke up early ready to get a quick start. Grandma’s nurse comes on Jueves, so John and I figured we’d both go to the hospital, and leave her at home. She had different plans. All of us at the hospital—nurse, nurse’s mom, and nurses’ daughter included. After a few moments, Grandma went off on her regular day plan while John and I stayed behind. They discharged Grandpa at ten-thirty and told him to rest and take Tylenol…We praise God he’s well, but this, my friends, is the problem with socialized medicine. For the elderly, they fix the surface, but not the cause. 

We are so grateful for the prayers and concerns of others. Let’s pray no necesitamos más sirenas.

Una Visita Virtual

Welcome! Here is a tour! :) 

Nuestra Casita

“Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.”
-Sarah Ban Breathnach




        I don’t know if Sarah Ban Breathnach is a believer, but her basic thoughts on living simply align with God’s word. All we have is more than what we need. Please understand when I say these things, the lessons we’ve learned in this month have not all been easy. God has taught us things I’m not sure He could have taught any other way. Well, He’s God…He could have, but He didn’t. He has done it this way.
  
        When my dad, my brother, and I visited in February, the little house behind my grandparents’ house was being treated like a storage shed. It lodged a rusty dryer, an old commode for the elderly, a foldable twin bed, and other random items covered in dust and dirt. It was 234 square feet (18x13) and it contained one door and four windows. 
        My grandparents worked hard watching other people work hard to get it ready for us. We didn’t want them to spend the money on additions but they insisted, and when we arrived here in June, we came home to a little house with two doors, four windows, and a tiny bathroom in the corner. All of the items remained, and, instead of being covered with dust and dirt, they were now also covered with wood shavings and paint splatters the builders so graciously left for us. 
        John and I worked our behinds off when we arrived on the island. We scurried to purchase a mattress, an air conditioning unit, screens for the doors and windows, and a place to hang our clothes. John decided to build a bed instead of buying one, so we set out for the nearest Home Depot (we are SO blessed to have one close because there are only four on the island!) for wood and other necessary items. Several weeks into being here, we decided to paint the new walls. Then, John built a wall shelf with the leftover wood from the bed and the builders.  It is my FAVORITE thing in the room! 

        Now, we are so proud of our nuestra casita; however, it doesn’t come without lifestyle changes and inventiveness. We took the foldable twin bed that was being stored, and now it is our “daybed” by the wall. Under our bed, we have a suitcase and three boxes that all serve as drawers. By boxes, I do mean cardboard; they were the boxes we shipped to ourselves. I told you we are creativity in human form. Grandma will not let us get rid of the dryer. She says it works. We say if we turn it on, we’ll burn down the neighborhood. So, it serves as a storage container and table for our air conditioning unit. It is a window unit, but we can’t put it in a window because of bars, so we improvised. Totally safe, don’t worry. The only thing we have to do is to keep a bucket behind the dryer for the air conditioner’s condensation. Nothing goes to waste! So, the water is used to hydrate the plants in the garden, or it is put into the toilet because sometimes the toilet doesn’t produce enough on its own. 
        For the kitchen, I have an electric oven, my kitchen aid, and a juicer. I use the main house to cook almost everything though, keeping my knives and smaller gadgets in a bag that I tote from house to house.
         Because we don’t have enough electricity, our shower doesn’t have hot water—explaining the solar shower from previous posts. The problem is that, despite popular belief, the sun does not always shine on a tropical island. There is this thing called rain that happens often. When it rains, my shower water is muy frio. Lacking consistent hot water with good water pressure is definitely a luxury I sincerely miss; however, that’s what it is: a luxury. 
        If God has taught and is teaching us anything--it is to be content. Have I been unfailingly content for the past month? No way. Mini breakdowns have unquestionably taken place. Ladies, you know how that goes. Nevertheless, we cannot thank the Lord, family, and friends enough for the prayers and encouragement during this transition. We are grateful. Grateful, like Breathnach says, that at this moment we have all we need.

A Day in the Life

      After 21 days, this Barrington family has embraced adaptability. Our days have been spent learning the routine of two 80 year-olds, fixing the abandoned garden in the backyard, and making the small building we’re living in livable. The grandparents have done their fair share of adapting as well, so that makes the effort we put in a lot more satisfying.

        For as long as I can remember my grandpa has been the schedule maker. Each morning he would go out to get his paper, groceries, and lottery tickets to return home before anyone else in the house was awake. He’d have his coffee while we had breakfast. At 11:00am he’d have lunch. That was his big meal of the day; it still is. At 3:00pm, there would be coffee. At 5:00pm, dinner, and it would be avena, outmeal.  

        When John and I arrived, we didn’t see the Grandpa of my memories. He’d had a fall a few weeks before, lost 26 pounds, and stayed in bed all day. Very few outings. The times he did go out, he was paying a scumbag twenty bucks a RIDE to drive him five minutes down the road. It took several days, but Grandpa has allowed us to bring him back to his routine as much as possible. He has painful arthritis and balance problems, but we’ve convinced him to use a walker and to let us wake up early with him so that he doesn’t have to call the jerk who takes financial advantage of old men. He has good days and bad days with his mental and physical health. Some days he’s all here all day. Some days, he refuses to eat and there’s nothing we can do about it. On the best ones, he’s out with us for hours, yelling to his friends out of the window of our abeja, bumblebee. That’s the name of our car; it’s yellow. We take him to the bank, the post office, the grocery store, and anywhere else he wants to go.

Trip to the barbershop.

My view when I join the boys on
their morning outing.

       

        Lunch is still ready by 11:00. Sometimes Grandma cooks. She makes rice and beans, chicken legs, limber, and pasteles—all with the flavors of the island infused. When she doesn’t cook, we have found that our grandparents frequent three main places: El Meson (a sandwich place that also has newly discovered frappes, discovered by my grandma, that is), Kentucky (known to the rest of the world as KFC), and Nueva China (just like it sounds). They LOVE those places. The workers there know their orders. It’s a little ridiculous. Actually, as I write, she just walked in with El Meson. It makes me laugh out loud!

Pasteles!!

        On most days, a nap happens after the lunch mess has been cleaned up. On a tropical island, we’ve found that’s perfect because it’s normally when the rain happens too. John and I let the kids sleep, and do our own thing. If it’s raining, we read, sleep, or watch movies. If it’s sunny, we go to the beach, work in the garden or the house, or run some of the many errands necessary when you move to a different country. Like going to Claro, the internet company, several times and still NOT having internet after 21 days…like that. [[Praise be to God if you’re reading this because that means we HAVE WIFI!]]

We LOVED getting the things we shipped ourselves in the mail.
We also LOVE getting things in the mail...period. ;)

I did laundry while John worked on fixing
our bathroom door and making a bookshelf.
Example of many afternoons.

        If we want to help with dinner, we need to be home by 3:30pm. They claim 5:00pm is dinner, but lately it’s been happening an hour early. Grandma fixes the avena and two chicken nuggets (they each get one). John and I wait…because honestly…who wants to eat dinner at 4:00pm every day? Other than my grandparents, I mean. Okay…maybe sometimes we eat with them. Just to be social.

        Things start to calm down after dinner. They may watch a little TV or read the paper. Grandma has her chamomile tea around 6:00pm, and the doors close soon after. Most parents can’t leave the house after the kids have gone to bed, but it’s the best time for me and John. Oh—except that many parts of the island are also 80 years old. The mall, for instance, closes at 7:00pm just like my grandparents’ house! We’re still on the lookout for non-bars open “late”. In the words of my older brother, it’s silly. 

If you know of a Baptist church, a trustworthy hair stylist, or a fun place that’s not a bar and abierta, open, after 7:00pm, suggestions are welcome. J

Week One

        Every single day of the first week has a memorable story attached to it. We were locked out of the house on day two because we arrived from Home Depot after 7:30pm. What were we thinking being out so late!? We should have gotten keys, you say? We did have keys, but Grandpa locks THREE deadlocks from the INSIDE. The United States Army couldn’t break into the house after these two folks hit the sack. We were going to sleep in the car, but Grandma came, loudly lecturing, to the rescue! Still no air conditioner…

        On day three I cleaned out their refrigerator and cabinets. I found baking powder from 1994—no joke. Grandma and I also argued about how long fish stays good enough to eat. An eerie argument, but I guess the woman’s still alive, so old food hasn’t killed her yet.

       Day four, John cut up his first coconut. I was excited to finally be able to use the cutting board and chef’s knife I brought with me, but when I took them out Grandma just laughed. She called me a bad word in Spanish, and said, “You can’t cut a coco with that!” A minute later she came out with a machete. John proceeded chopping the coco in half, only after drinking the coconut water, of course.

                Day five, my grandmother’s nurse called 911 on my grandpa. Don’t freak out, it was because his primary doctor told him to go to the hospital a week earlier, and he wouldn’t let anyone take him. I spent the day in the emergency room with Maria crackers (really, really good!) and an Angela Hunt book. John apparently made my grandma spaghetti for lunch. We had the perfect plan when I climbed into the ambulance. John kept our newly purchased 2001 Ford Escape, and he would come get me once they admitted Grandpa to the hospital. Two things went wrong with our plan. Thing 1: I had the keys to the truck…with me…at the hospital. Beautiful. Thing 2: They discharged grandpa saying his recent mental and physical decline can be attributed to old age. Fantastic. God is good though, and a relative helped us get home, but that was one heck of a day.

        On day six, John and I almost died. You see, the majority of the people on the island don’t have water heaters. Well, at least not the kind American brains picture. The only water in the house that gets heated is the shower, and the only way it gets heated is by an electric heater that is attached to the showerhead. Sounds safe, right? If you have enough electricity, it actually is. If you don’t have enough electricity, it’s not. We don’t have enough electricity. Did you see that coming?  After John was shocked twice putting it up. He thought he fixed the problem. Being the trusting wife that I am, I took a shower. We had just purchased a shower caddy that just so happened to be metal, so one reach to the soap, and BZZZZZZ. We took the heater back to the store, and we bought a camping solar powered shower bag. We fill it every other day, put it on the driveway, let the sun do its thing, and then hang it up in the shower. Resourcefulness at its finest, we know.

 Day seven, I stopped keeping track. John and I went on a date, and we realized week one is just a snapshot of the weeks to come. At least we have the ocean. Walking in the faith that God knows what He's doing.

      








      

The Genesis

“Do you know when the mountain goats give birth? Have you watched as the wild deer are born?...The ostrich flaps her wings grandly, but they are no match for the feathers of the stork. She is harsh toward her young, as if they were not her own. She is unconcerned though they die, for God has deprived her of wisdom. He has given her no understanding. But whenever she jumps up to run, she passes the swiftest horse with its rider. … Take a look at the mighty hippopotamus. I made it, just as I made you. It is a prime example of God’s amazing handiwork. Only its Creator can threaten it.”
—God
 (from Job 39-40)

         What a Creator! What a divine plan. A humorous divine plan filled with hippos and stupid ostriches. No, really, ostriches are stupid. God, the Almighty, says it Himself! That’s one reason I love these chapters in Job. So often, we think of God as perfect, and, for whatever reason, we equate perfection with boredom. No way. Perfection can’t be boring because then it wouldn’t be perfect! Our God is funny. He is sarcastic. He is organized, logical, creative, motherly, fatherly, and the list goes on. And I’m so grateful that it does. Knowing our Lord is all of those things helps me see Him in the daily comedy and hardships experienced in our new household. I believe He watches us like a reality television show. We are saved on His DVR and next on his Queue… because we’re just that entertaining. 

         I don’t know the exact time or day the topic of moving to Puerto Rico came about in our household. My dad’s parents live in Cabo Rojo and have taken ill the past year or so. My husband, John, and I were discussing options after his graduation from chiropractic school. Because of student loans, full time ministry really couldn’t be an option just yet. We looked into India, Australia, Europe, and one day at dinner said, “Why haven’t we considered Puerto Rico?”

        The question ate at us, situation after situation seemed to confirm, and, we believe, the Lord spoke. We sure hope He did. The thought was seen through to fruition only a few days ago, June 14th, 2012, when we arrived at San Juan International Airport. I decided that I would need something to challenge my intellect (in addition to learning a new language), and family and friends asked for frequent updates—this is both.

        I grew up visiting this island, and each “first day” has almost always been the same. My grandparents typically greet us at the door with hugs and kisses. We unload the car, and we hang out at the house. Not this time. No one greeted us because it appeared no one was home. The worrisome aspect was that the main door was opened and the screen door was locked (Normally both doors are locked when my grandparents leave). Worried, I called my dad in the states. He spoke (over the phone) to a relative two doors down who thought she saw an ambulance at the house.

        Have I mentioned John and I can’t speak Spanish? Funny, right? I told you. Anyway, after more phone calls than can be counted to relatives, hospitals, and neighbors we were about to have the police open the door because of fear Grandma or Grandpa were in the house unable to speak or answer it. We were going to CALL THE POLICE! Can you believe that?!

        No worries though! The joke’s on us. Grandma had stepped out with a friend and, you know, not called her granddaughter who happened to be arriving THAT DAY.

        After that great adventure, John and I proceeded to spend the night in their guest bedroom where the air conditioner was, drum roll, please….broken. I had never slept in Puerto Rico without an air conditioner before that night. God, help us not continue to feel like the ostrich.