Sevilla

We have started some interesting volunteer work with an organization called La Gota de Leche (A Drop of Milk). They help at-risk children eat healthier food and teach their families about better nutrition. We go into the elementary school and serve breakfast to about 50 kids between the ages of 4 and 10 (it is a far cry from Glorietta’s Gopher Gourmet). Most of these children live in shacks on the outskirts of town, and are primarily of gypsy heritage. They are adorable and, of course, victims of their parents’ choices. It is a miracle is that they even get to school given their lives at home – we cannot even imagine. They have been raised on black coffee, fatty sausage, and bread at best. Charlie made an interesting observation this morning that not one child took more than one piece of toast when he offered the tray-full. We also make bag lunches for them, which they get once we’ve coerced them to drink their milk, so they eat two fairly healthy meals a day. My sister would question the nutritious value as would we, but I’m sure it’s an issue of time and money, as usual. This non-profit also has a program in Cuzco, Peru which assists adolescent mothers by giving them skills and supplies to make various crafts to sell. The beautiful items (leather coin purses, hand-knit finger puppets, leather bookmarks, etc.) are sent here and Jane is working in the shop a few days a week in order to support them.

It is amazing to me how a place, a location, can change you. We all know this to be true every day, but it continues to fascinate me nonetheless. For example, the mountains give a sense of awe, the ocean a sense of peace, the workplace a sense of stress, our home . . . well, different things for each person, right? Spain makes me happy. The sights and sounds go easily into my soul and I relish them. Sounds . . . we are very accustomed to hearing church bells. Throughout Europe we have stayed next to churches and have been awakened to their clang (I can’t call it a chime, it’s most definitely more of a bong, bong, bong). It is one thing to hear the six gongs at daybreak, but here in Sevilla, the nearby church bells must be telling someone the time of something, but we have yet to figure it out. Seventeen clangs at 9:20 or none when it’s noon . . . just one of the many charms of our neighborhood. We also hear the clickety-clack of a horse and buggy going beneath our window occasionally and the heels of flamenco dancers when we pass by the dance academy around the corner. We will always zip right back here in our minds when we hear similar sounds in the future.

Chase was invited to a professional soccer game, which he loved, and he spends a lot of time over at the city club playing ping pong (the staff isn’t used to being beat!). Mary is working diligently at her Spanish lessons and helping out in the kitchen (she says the goggles help with the onion-cutting), Jane is juggling her social life with her exercise life and her volunteer life. I’m busy keeping the apartment clean and cooking, Charlie is doing most of the shopping at the mercado each day and helping everyone stay on task. Things are turning into our routine back home!
Nah…