Okay, this is a bit of a cop out post. I spent all my writing time trying to get an article about learning Spanish in Newfoundland out to my editor on time.
My Spanish teacher, Julia, tells me frequently I'm poquita catracha, meaning I'm a little bit Hondureña. My dad's parents are from Honduras originally. I got very sentimental exploring the country two summers ago.
When I was in Honduras, I was pregnant with my baby and I kept whispering to her "these mountains are a part of you," and "these jungles are a part of you," and "these people are a part of you."
This place and people were in my blood, and in hers too.
But the Irish-German-American part of her drew the line when I whispered to her "these frijoles are a part of you."
After a week of fried beans with every meal, morning sickness hit me with a vengeance and didn't let up until seven months later.
A real post is in order tomorrow for my 31 days of Spanish challenge!
Adios!
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