Monday, November 30, 2015

To Assuage The Avid Reader's Fury

My Dear Reader,

Yes, you are correct. I did just post 5 new blog posts (or six, if you include this one).

I would like to formally apologize. They were by no means spread out over the course of my past three months here at the Finca. Anyone trying to keep up with me will surely have failed, not only because of my lack of posting, but also because I have been nigh impossible to contact by other means.

I hereby give no excuses, only apologies.

At the moment I've gotta run. I filled a bunch of individual-sized coca cola cans with sand and found a bocce ball. I'm going to try and teach house 4 bowling.

Thanks For Caring Enough To Read This (and/or to try and contact me!),
Kevin

P.S. I'm doing well!

(See title below... I couldn't get "Re" to be crossed out in this thing)

ReSurgence of the Coolness of Kevin: Baby Steps in Defense of the King

Okay guys, we all know that I'm pretty uncool. It is quite an established fact. Particularly if we're talking about the teenage guys, but in fact amongst all of the finca boys, I generally fall pretty low on the totem pole. I'm not great at soccer, I lose arm wresting contests on a pretty regular basis, and I generally make a face rather than laughing every time someone decides to release some methane into the atmosphere. That last one isn't even really normally a factor they consider in the rankings... but it still drops me another couple of places out of puro confusion.
Anyway, I would actually sit down and write out the ranking of every male on the finca, but I think I'd get a bit saddened about where I fall, so I'm not going to. Please just rest assured that the aforementioned categories are the sole factors by which one's manliness can be measured (apart from the top ranking people not liking you, of course).
The point of this blog post, then, is to let you know that I'm moving up in the rankings. Yes, I technically can now beat almost half of the house 5 boys in arm wrestling, and I've somehow convinced most of the kids (through no effort whatsoever on my part) that I played a ton of soccer in the states and came back much better. However, that's all shadows and mirrors... or the placebo effect... or something.
The reality is that there's another factor in the rankings. This factor was added over the course of the 8 months that I wasn't here. You, of course, are trying to guess what it is. Is it foot speed? Is it the ability to eat massive amounts of food? Is it the ability to aguantar a ton of picante? Is it how willing I am to pick on the younger kids? No.
Here it is, here's the secret: chess. It turns out that my nerd years as the president of my high school chess club are actually finally producing positive results! I knew this would happen sooner or later!
Over the past eight months, the finca boys  have begun to play massive amounts of chess. I have no clue how it started. I tried to start it myself by bringing several chess sets down to the finca, but it never caught on during my time here. In my absence, however, the kids have arrived at the point where during the middle of a game, they'll have a conversation of, "Shoot man, why didn't you castle?" "Oh, I don't like castling that early.. I often get caught in  back-row checkmates" or "Dang, José, you should totally have focused on releasing that pin" "No man, that pin isn't that bad, and I'm taking this opportunity to further strengthen my own attack! Look at the three-pronged attack I just set up on the king's pawn!" "Yeah, but with that pin he could totally crown one of his pawns in two turns!" "Oh shoot! You're right!"
To be honest, I had no idea where they got the vocabulary from until I started to get overwhelmed by questions like "Kevin, which country is Capablanca from?" and "Have you ever met Bobby Fischer?" Given that almost nobody outside of chess circles knows about Capablanca or what a pin is, I asked and discovered that they had a book on chess that all of them had read front to back.
They aren't yet by any means at grandmaster level, but these kids aren't too shabby either. I can't help but being a bit curious as to how the 12-or-13-year-old version of me would fare against these kids. Given that they do occasionally beat me now, the younger version of me might have been in trouble.
Luckily, though, I can probably take most if not all of the kids in nine games out of ten. Who would've thought my chess skill would've been the catalyst responsible for sparking a Kevin coolness  revolution* in the eyes of our youth?
Having said that, let's be honest, I'm still quite far down on the totem pole. Baby steps.


*Not to be confused with a Kevin Kuehl-Ness revolution (a revolution of which I have no idea what to think (except for that Kevin Kuehl is an awesome former finca missionary and 'Ness' reminds me vaguely of something Nintendo-related and/or a Loch (Lock? Lach?)))

100% Catracho (Or in other words, an attempt at speaking only in English and Honduranisms)

¡Bah!
The coso that fulano and mengano left in the lugar... We comosellamarlo.
Sujano is almost nimaleando out of puro comosellama.
¿At the very least could you be macizo about the nimal?
There's a reason we're catratchos and not chapines.

Vaya pues. Cheque.

A community of two.

In a community of two, if someone skips community night, the rest of the community is sad.
In a community of two, conversation flows in strange patterns.
In a community of two, the box containing Settlers of Catan is great as a paperweight.
In a community of two, community decisions are either really easy or quite impossible.
In a community of two, anything on the pizarra that the missionaries les toca is really easy to fill.
In a community of two, the pizarra can display the Alvarez - Mader tax plan for more than a week.
In a community of two, you have someone with whom to celebrate.
In a community of two, the prayer before meals gets awkward, because you both cooked. Especially if the community still holds hands.
In a community of two, puntos de luz and coronas can be easily forgotten, especially cause that whole meeting last about four minutes.
In a community of two, there's a temptation to spend your entire time outside of the missionary house.
In a community of two, visitors are always welcome.
In a community of two, the teacher from Mojaguay learns the rules to Catan.
In a community of two, the largest argument to date could be over the correct usage of a word.
In a community of two, interesting conversation often involves at least one devil's advocate.
In a community of two, finca kids learn how to play hearts.
In a community of two, it may still be impossible to get any reading done because the community talks too much.
In a community of two, you can speak any language you want.

In a community of two, senses of humor merge.

The Great Refrigerator Parade

I couldn’t stand it any longer. Our refrigerator, shared with our long-time arch-rivals Casa 6, was ridiculously disgusting and had been ever since I’d arrived. Given that my arrival brought to its conclusion a reign of several months during which Casa 6 should’ve had complete control over the contents of the refrigerator, it was entirely clear to me that they needed to get their act together and get what had been solely their refrigerator under control. After a brief debate as to whom was largely responsible for the current state of affairs, the situation was resolved. With great fanfare, they entered our house and pulled everything out of the fridge and freezer and filed past me on the way to the trash can.
Having now worked with Casa 6 to clean out the refrigerator, I stand as a testament to what was discovered inside. I’ve attempted to document the information as well as possible, but may very well have missed some items. For comic relief from the pain and torture of this topic, I’ve tried to give titles to most of the items. Without further adoing (or adon’ting for that matter), the refrigerator contained the following:
1.       Mystery Liquid Number 1: An ordinary-sized glass of a vaguely orange viscous liquid.
2.       Mystery Liquid Number 2: A fruit-punch-sized container containing something that looked like it might’ve been trying to pass as milk, except for the fact that it was way too watered-down. It also contained many of those chunks, particularly near the bottom, that are characteristic of less than ideal dairy products. Experimentation suggests that those chunks had a consistency roughly of nothing. They chose to disintegrate rather than push back on my finger.
3.       The Green Bag of Death: A plastic bag with a bunch of green juice in it. The Casa 6 girls seem convinced that the juice was at one point a cucumber. Brief observation seemed to confirm the hypothesis.
4.       The Four Sarita Containers (Sarita is a type of ice cream, but we use the containers afterwards like Tupperware) Containing the Following:
a.       Pieces of a cake that I tried making for Santa Teresita’s feast day (October 1st) when all of the Finca came to our house. The first attempt wasn’t cake-like material, but still tasted decent so I saved it. It reminds me quite a bit of Nilla Wafers.
b.      Watermelon chunks cut last night by Beto.
c.       Pineapple chunks that seem to be past their prime. Not composite, of course (ha! Math joke!), but rather about 80% alcohol, 20% pineapple-like material.
d.      Something that could be taken for rice pudding or white vomit. As an aside, my opinion of rice pudding clearly isn’t that great.
5.       The In-Flight Meal: A bag that said Delta on it and contained within a Kit Kat, Mayonnaise, and a half-sandwich. I know you are thinking that that has Casa 6 written all over it, but lo and behold, Harrison (or Nils?) actually asked me if I wanted the sandwich because otherwise he was going to throw it out… a month and a half ago. I said yes, I wanted the sandwich.
6.       Random Hobby Junk: Two different packaged/bottled methods of making cheese out of milk.
7.       The Fuzzy Multicolored Papaya: A piece of papaya on a plate, uncovered. Slightly white or blue, depending on where you looked.
8.       The Fourth of An Avocado: I didn’t realize how black the inside of avocados usually are.
9.       Doing Mustard Economy-Style: A giant mustard container filled with, well, mustard. Who would ever want that?
10.   Chicken a la Manteca Flakes: A completely frozen box of something akin to soup with very clear Manteca-like substances coagulated on top. It apparently smelled vaguely of pollo (I wouldn’t know cause I can’t smell) and the educated guess offered by several members of Casa 6 was that it was the chicken broth from one of the recent Quinces. In my mind chicken broth normally isn’t dark green, but who am I to speak on such topics?
11.   Mac and Bleu Cheese: A very small container holding leftover macaroni and cheese from when Beto and I ate dinner about three weeks ago today. I don’t recall it being quite as blue or green before.
12.   The Coffee From A Saber Cuando: The missionaries (dating back to my time as a missionary in the late 2013-2014 period (shortly after the Jurassic)) used to make themselves iced coffee by making coffee and storing it in the fridge. Yeah, that´s right. It was still there.
13.   The Cookies I Was Supposed to Give to A Mr. Joseph H. Pastor: Don’t tell his sister. She specifically didn’t eat those on her birthday in order to leave them for him. What kind of silly and/or irresponsible missionary wouldn’t have remembered about those?
14.  
So I actually got distracted for about a month and a half between numbers 13 and 14. I have no clue how the rest of this list was supposed to finish. You get the point. I’ll give house 6 credit for Mustard and Manteca Flakes. I could even blame them for not having dealt with the random things that had been in there for the entire time they were the sole owners of the fridge. In fact, let’s give them all of the swing-votes of those arbitrarily so-beaten-down-that-we-didn’t-really-know-what-they-were items. Sadly, it still seems quite apparent that the missionaries were more at fault than house 6. Just don’t tell them, or we’ll never live it down! Maybe they didn’t realize it at the time!

Also, just to bring up old missionary debates, in my defense, I voted against the refrigerator =)

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Fear and Hope: A Gradual Conversion?

The dust kicks up on the road as the bus driver swerves to avoid another pothole. I stare out the window as the African palms fly by in their perfect rows. Those perfect rows mask an underlying conflict between the ordinary campesino and big business, a past as imperfect as the rows are straight. A man steps onto the bus, trapped in a giant basket filled with various treats. Quesadillas! Good Prices! His cheerful voice and attitude sell, but his weary eyes hint at the other 45 buses he’s boarded today and every day for the past 20 years.
It has been eight months since I was last in Honduras. That time I was here for two and a half years. I'm back for another. The first time I arrived, I was embarking on an unknown adventure, off to a Catholic orphanage to save the world. I entered a scene of perfection, of children laughing and playing, of joy and Christ-centered faith. The last time I left, I left broken. I left fully aware that some kids experience more hardship in their first eleven years than most can imagine. I left understanding that it is all too tempting to pass that hurt and pain on to others. I left willingly, gladly, hoping that a new batch of missionary recruits could continue what I no longer could.
I’m supposed to be starting a graduate degree. I’m supposed to be moving on with my life and getting a real job and setting myself up so that I can provide for a future family, if the right girl ever comes along. I'm actually on a bus, headed towards a place that holds both love and hurt in overwhelming quantities. They twist and turn together until I'm unsure of where one ends and the other begins. I loved the place dearly, but I got out of there for a reason. I burned out and headed home, grateful when my time was up, grateful for an excuse to leave, to recover.
Yet here I am, sliding over to make space in the tiny seats designed for american school children. Somehow the place is calling me back again.
Dear God,
It better not just be the place that's calling me back. Sincerely, Kevin
Amen.
P.S. But seriously, I hope this was part of Your plan.

P.P.S. Either way, can You still send some of that grace this direction?