On November 24, 2010, Alicia and I sat down at a table in this little restaurant (Las Cazuelas in the Unicentro mall) and didn't get up for three hours. By the end of that conversation, we were each convinced that the other was a truly remarkable person.

I learned an insightful new term the other day on a site that focuses on life overseas. The author refers to a "hidden immigrant" as "One who speaks the language – looks the part – but is missing social cues and cultural meanings."

When I started college in 1977, I had lived a total of 3 years of my life in the US. The other 15 years had been spent in several parts of Colombia.

In Colombia I was clearly an outsider. I spoke fluent Spanish, but I was a foot taller than most people and had blond hair and blue eyes. Little kids used to run after me shouting, "¡Gringo! ¡Gurbai! ¡Guachirnei! ¡Sábana biche!"* I had very good Colombian friends but was usually on the edge of what was happening socially. (Introversion is not a desirable trait in Latin America.) My closest friends were other missionary kids from the US and Canada.

So when I got to college, I looked like one more gringo in a university full of gringos, speaking good English, knowing the basics of survival. But there was a lot I didn't know, and plenty that I learned but didn't care for. 

I coped by finding niches: InterVarsity Christian Fellowship (I could relate to evangelicals, especially intellectual ones); majors in Latin American Studies and Spanish (familiar language and material, people interested in Latin America); international student friends (people from home or places like it). I also traveled home as often as I could, and to Dallas where many of my high school classmates settled (their mission has a major center there). I wrote letters constantly to friends and family.

In relating to Americans, though, it felt like I was setting aside 15 years of my life and operating on a couple of years of out-of-date experience. As the years went by, I got better and better at it, and felt more comfortable. By the time I reached grad school, I felt like an 8-cylinder engine hitting on six, comfortable and competent but not fully confident.

I noticed that my mind made a big switch when I traveled to and from Colombia. When I flew into Medellín, everything looked crowded and small and messy. By the time we drove across the city and started up the mountain to our house, my perspective was restored and everything looked just right. When I flew back into the Miami airport, everything was huge and clean and people were big and fat. It usually took a couple of days for it to quit being strange. One time I was clear back in Lawrence, KS, and had to run an errand downtown. I saw someone across the street and wondered, "Who's that gringo?"

This mental switch fascinated me. I chose to study intercultural communication for my Master's, thinking I could work with people who planned to go overseas and prepare them for cultural adaptation. 

Once my classes were done, I spent a year in Honduras working with refugees. It was a wonderful environment; the agency had recruited missionary kids from Costa Rica, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, fresh out of college, because we knew Spanish and were comfortable living in primitive circumstances. It felt great to get back to Latin America and make use of those years that had been set aside.

Since then, nearly all my jobs have been multicultural and multilingual (I've deleted a few that weren't relevant):

Refugee logistics worker (Mocoron, Honduras) - 1984-1985.
Purchasing agent (self-employed, Miami; clients were missionaries and agencies in Latin America) - 1985-1986.
Administrative assistant (charitable agency in Miami serving the Hispanic community) - 1985-1987.
Community researcher (mission agency in Miami) - 1985-1987.
Admissions clerk (missionary linguistics school, Dallas) - 1988.
Missionary in training/teaching assistant (missionary linguistics school, Dallas) - 1988-1990
Adjunct professor of linguistics (missionary linguistics school and University of Texas at Arlington) - 1990-1991.
Linguistics professor (several Bible schools and missionary training centers, Costa Rica) - 1991-1995.
Teaching assistant, linguistics (missionary linguistics school, Dallas) - 1996-1997.
Professor of English as a Second Language (two language schools, a community college) - 1997-1998.
Translator (two agencies in Dallas) - 1998-2000.
High school Spanish teacher (Mansfield, TX) - 1999-2000.
Translator (another agency in Dallas and now Tampa) - 2000-present.

At this stage of my life, I'm a voluntary outsider to American culture. Alicia and I talk Spanish to each other. We eat a Colombian diet and hang out with Alicia's sister and brother-in-law and sing Spanish songs. We travel to Colombia every six months. I like living in the US but am grateful for the multicultural nature of my employment and my marriage and for the Latin grocery store nearby. I feel more fully integrated as a person than at any time in my past. 

*Three of those four expressions are attempts at English. If you read them phonetically you can figure them out.

Roberto Carlos released this song several decades ago. It's called Mi querido, mi viejo, mi amigo (My dear, my old man, my friend). I'll be singing it tonight at Cali Viejo, where my sister-in-law has a regular gig. The translated lyrics are below.

That white hair of yours, so pretty 
That tired voice, so deep,
that reads me everything written
and teaches me so much about the world
Those footsteps, slow now,
always walking with me,
already ran so far in life
My dear, my old man, my friend

That life full of stories 
and wrinkles made by time 
Memories of ancient victories 
are tears wept in the wind
Your sweet and serene voice calms me 
and offers me refuge and shelter 
It soaks into my soul 
My dear, my old man, my friend

Your past lives in the present
the experiences you felt
in your heart, conscious 
of the beautiful things in life. 
Your frank smile encourages me 
Your wise advice guides me
I open my heart and say
My dear, my old man, my friend

I've said almost everything 
and almost everything is too little 
compared to what I feel 
When I look at your beautiful hair 
I open my heart and say
My dear, my old man, my friend

When I look at your beautiful hair 
I open my heart and say
My dear, my old man, my friend

Those who know me well (my kids) know that I'm the world's biggest slob. Well, not the biggest, but definitely in the top quarter of the class. I used to work several nights a week plus Saturdays on my handyman business. Once there was less financial need for that, I started spending my evenings on my recliner watching TV and blogging, while dishes piled up in the sink, cat hair collected in the corners, and my weight crept up and up.

I played in a church summer softball league for nine years. Each year I'd vow that by next year I would have lost weight and worked out so I wouldn't embarrass myself. And each year I was several pounds heavier and slower.

Then I got reacquainted with the world's most wonderful woman, and suddenly had to deal with the responsibilities of being the world's most fortunate man. 

We got married in December and joined a gym in February. YouFit is the cheapest gym I've seen (about $15 a month) and has great equipment. They offer a free one-hour "coaching" session, which turned out to be a sales pitch for personal training. We got talked into four training sessions a month for a year.

The training didn't go that well. We didn't hit it off with our first trainer, and then had trouble finding anyone else available in the evenings, so eventually I begged off the contract. But I learned a handful of things that have been helpful.

I learned that weight training burns more fat than a cardio workout, and that the body needs to be stressed for the exercise to have an impact. Variety is good. It keeps the body off balance. You can't keep doing the same things and expect the same results because the body adapts. And it's better to work out with weights first and then follow up with cardio.

In the last month, I've lost about 8 pounds. I spend five minutes warming up on the elliptical, then do a circuit of 5-6 weight machines or free weights, 12-20 repetitions depending on what I can handle, plus sit-ups, three times around the circuit as fast as I can. I invariably work up a sweat and am panting by the middle of the second circuit. Then I go back to the elliptical machine, set resistance to 15, and plug away for 22-25 minutes until I've burned at least 325-350  calories. I'm usually done with everything in 45-50 minutes.

I've increased weights as I've progressed, to keep my body stressed, and I alternate between working the upper body one day and legs the next. If I happen to set a machine's weight too low, I do more reps. I try to complete my weight routine in 15-20 minutes, so it's very annoying when other people sit at a machine and rest between sets instead of moving on. But rather than talk to them, I skip that exercise and come back to it at the end of the circuit, or I find a similar machine.

The nice thing about doing cardio on the elliptical machine is that it keeps my arms and legs both moving smoothly, so I never end up sore from the weights. I usually feel exhausted when I start, but after ten minutes it gets easier and I can pick up the pace. After 20 minutes I set myself a series of small goals so I'll keep going: 3 miles, 300 calories, 22 minutes, 3.25 miles, 24 minutes, 350 calories, next commercial break, finish this inning... The machines have a screen where you can watch TV. (If it wasn't for TV sports, I might have quit the gym months ago.)

I've also changed my eating habits since Alicia left on her trip to Colombia. I skip supper or make a salad, and after working out I make a massive fruit shake with whatever is in the house, usually 4-6 fruits: strawberries, blueberries, cantaloupe, orange, lemon, kiwi, apple, whatever I have, plus crushed ice and milk or fruit juice and maybe a little ice cream. I put the leftovers in the freezer to be blended up another day. It tastes like dessert and is very refreshing, and is full of fiber and vitamins since I use nearly the whole fruit.

The difference is notable. My waist is smaller and I feel energetic and youthful. I still don't like going to the gym, but it's part of my schedule now. 

Last year when I wrote my Zombie Frogs stories, one of my characters raised some questions: “What do zombies think about? What motivates them?” This movie provides answers. It is unique in presenting a zombie infestation from the zombies’ point of view.

The story opens at a military base, where a private is being injected with a serum designed to make him a super-soldier. It doesn’t. The barrels of defective serum are then loaded onto a truck for disposal. The truck collides with a mysterious motorcycle, and the serum falls off and contaminates the ice cream at a bowling alley where four bored teenagers are whiling away their evening. They try the ice cream, go into convulsions, and collapse.

After they regain consciousness, the rider of the mysterious motorcycle, a janitor from the army base, arrives and explains to them about the super-soldier serum, although there is some confusion as to who has been contaminated. It is also odd that the janitor’s motorcycle handlebar is protruding from his abdomen. One of the teens helps him remove it.

They soon discover that people around them now move very fast, talk like chipmunks, are terrified of them, and want to kill them. Except the drunks. The camera flashes between the perspective of the five, who see themselves behaving normally, and the perspective of everyone else, who sees them lurching and groaning

As the evening progresses, the five try to go on with their lives. There is romance; one girl goes to a job interview; the love-struck boy has an awkward meeting with his beloved’s parents to ask permission to date her; body parts fall off; there is a bowling match; the question of whether Mexican brains are spicy is raised and answered. Meanwhile the streets are full of police and military trying to contain the apocalypse.

At the climax of the story, we discover that zombies are capable of heroism, selflessness, and loyalty. Will they make it past the military checkpoint? Will their dream of a zombie utopia be realized? You’ll have to see the movie to find out.

I appreciated the light touch of the deadpan humor, and the fact that it wasn’t as gruesome as most such movies (although there is plenty of grue). It was a vastly more satisfying experience than, say, Scary Movie. I will definitely watch this one again.

Alicia and I found some nice Tiffany-style lamps for a reasonable price at an antique store a couple of months ago.

Ever since then, I've been looking for a Tiffany-style light kit for the ceiling fan in the living room. There are some nice little shades available for the individual bulbs on a standard light kit, but at $60 apiece, that's $180 to dress up an old fan.

We found some cheap and fairly simple bedside lamps with stained-glass shades at Walmart. While I was looking at one the other day, it struck me that the threaded shaft that holds the top of the shade is the same as the kind used in a ceiling fan light kit. So I borrowed the shade from my lamp and the curved piece from the bottom of the fan and got started. I stuck the little threaded pipe through the hole and attached the two items together with a nut.

I bought this fan light replacement socket at HD or Lowe's for about $5.

It gets threaded on the pipe inside the light shade. The wires go up through the pipe.

Then the curved metal piece gets attached back to the fan with its three screws, and we're ready for a bulb. Now we have a Tiffany-type light kit on the fan, total cost about $50 instead of $180. Nothing fancy but it will do for now.

At the same antique store, we found this Tiffany-style window decoration. I hung that today, too. It was tricky because the window is not built normally and I had to drill three times to hit wood.

I also hung this shelf, at Alicia's request. The tree is made from a steel drum by an artist in Haiti. My sister Ruth sent it to us. The tree is thematic of our new life as a couple.

Ruth also gave us this hanging. (These are things that we hung up when we moved in.)

This is Salvadoran decor I brought from Dallas.

And this Colombian and Panamanian stuff. Alicia reframed the big molas. The tree we bought online. It was made 50 years ago, can't remember the brand name. Alicia painted it because this set was unpainted.

Here's the other half of the set of trees. Dang, photo's fuzzy. The paint really dresses up the trees. The print below is from Old Time Pottery.

I went out to the shop to get something, and took a look at my desk. The bubbles all popped! The finish looks smooth! It's a little tacky yet, so I'll let it dry a couple more days and then sand it and add another coat.

The drawer fronts look good, too.

The bases have a darker color than I like. Too bad.

I finished up by cleaning the cat porch and vacuuming downstairs. Then I showered and visited a nearby Hispanic church that meets at 5:30. Pleasant place, but the sound was horribly loud, even with my usual Kleenex earplugs. If we go back I'll talk to the pastor about it.

Now it's time to talk with Alicia. Unfortunately the internet is down at her sister's apartment where she's staying in Medellín. Two companies merged to form a new huge company, and were awarded a huge contract, and don't have the infrastructure to fulfill it, so the internet and cell phone service keep crashing. Fortunately Alicia's phone is with a different company, Tigo, which has been reliable.

This morning, after eating breakfast and getting a loaf of bread going, I went out to the shop to varnish the desk. I finally found some of my paint stuff but there were very few brushes. I finally settled on a sponge applicator, although sponge sometimes leaves more bubbles in the varnish than a good soft brush does. The nicest thing about a sponge applicator is that it costs less than a dollar and you can throw it away instead of cleaning it up with thinner.

Like I said, I use polyurethane, usually the semigloss. I wish this weren't fast drying. I'd like the bubbles to have plenty of time to pop.

You can't really see the contrast between the varnish and the plain stain in these photos, but if you could see the surface at an angle it would be quite obvious. I think this first one captures the stain color better than the second.

The drawer pulls look glossy and cheerful. Here you can see the shine.

If the bubbles in the varnish don't pop, I'll have to sand everything and give it a second coat. Maybe I'll have invested in a decent brush by then.

After varnishing, I raked Tropical Storm Andrea out of the yard, vast amounts of Spanish moss and twigs. This is what the storm looked like over Tampa the other day:

The waves were breaking on the concrete barriers along the causeway and spraying the cars.

And I had left the windows of my house open... (haven't gotten the ducts clean yet so we're still using just ceiling fans and natural ventilation). When I got home that day, I was amazed that it hadn't blown against our windows. It did start raining hard shortly after I got there, and I had to close some of the windows because of the wind.

All this week the lawn was littered with twigs, branches, and Spanish moss. Today I raked it into piles that I'll eventually drag out to the curb for Thursday's trash pickup.

Bread is ready. Time for lunch, right after I go to the gym.

This article reflects some of the things I was ruminating on a couple of posts ago. The author says that, besides simple economic challenges to survival, social media are always going to be superseded by the next cool thing. Facebook has survived by acquiring some of the new cool things, but the public is fickle, and the next internet generation will be looking for something new and interesting.

He mentions that some dinosaurs (like Yahoo) have survived despite losing their coolness because they have brand recognition, well-invested money, and a niche (Yahoo and Tumblr specialize in media, for instance).

He mentions three internet generations: Web, Social, and Mobile, and says "companies born into one generation can’t really shake off the past and become another." The smartest big companies acquire next-generation companies to keep them from being rivals, such as Facebook buying Instagram.

Everyone needs some Fonseca to get them cheered up and moving.

Wherever you say, I go, wherever you want, I'm there
You're the only one that moves my senses. That's why I love you
And you're my adoration, listen, you're my sun
Sweet thing, your smile transforms me and sends me to heaven
I would die for your eyes
I would go all the way around the world
And you're the reason for my stories
I thank heaven for being able to love you as I love you

My dream, you're my dream
Don't let anyone wake me
And among your dreams I want to make you fall in love with me
I'm not your owner, I just want to hold you
 
I would die for your eyes
I would go all the way around the world
And you're the reason for my stories
I thank heaven for being able to love you as I love you

The thing is, I'm dying for you
You're the only thing I want
And I wake up among your dreams
And I remain in your memories

My dream, you're my dream
Don't let anyone wake me
And among your dreams I want to make you fall in love with me
I'm not your owner, I just want to hold you