Let me just start by saying that being a woman is hard enough.  I mean, seriously.  Guys put on pants and a shirt and life's good.  The biggest decision is between jeans and slacks, short sleeves or long.  If they gain a little weight, they don't really care.  And why should they?  They lose weight without really even thinking very hard.  I never understood that... how is it that I can eat like a bird and shun sweets like they carry the plague, yet I gain weight?  All the while, my husband eats everything he sees and never turns down a dessert and his weight doesn't change. 

So, all that to say, women already have issues with clothing and weight and all the trappings of being a woman in our North American culture.  I didn't need the added issues of changing styles and sizes when I moved to another culture.  

First was the shoes.  I needed to get shoes that are stylish, yet good for walking. There is a lot of walking here.  And it is cobblestone street walking.  Add to that the fact that Spaniards do not approve of tennis shoes unless you are actually running or playing tennis.  Tennis shoes are NOT apparel.  So, I needed real shoes.  "What size?", asked the saleslady.  Oh great... I have no idea.  I wear a 7 in the USA, but European sizes are different.  I told her that I'm a 7 in the USA, so she says, "You need a 37 or 38 here."  WHAT?  That sounds absurd.  But true... I now wear a size 37 shoe.

Then came the pants.  My pants that I had been loving and wearing for several years were now close to death and it was necessary to go shopping for replacements.  Again, no idea on size.  There is no such thing as small, medium, or large.  I looked for a conversion chart, to no avail.  So I asked the saleswoman how to figure out what size I am in European pants.  She looks at my butt (I kid you not) and announces that I am probably a 44 or 46. EXCUSE ME!!!!  I DO NOT ACCEPT THAT!  Mean spirited little stick figure woman... Except, she was correct.  A 44 is exactly what now covers my not-so-delicate derriere.

Serious depression began seeping in to my soul... how could I live with being a 37 foot in a 44 pants?  This is a serious attack on my ego...

Until I needed a bra.  Let me just say that I have insider knowledge that the average 6th grader wears a size 90, and I'm not even CLOSE to that... I might need counseling.

And underwear... again, a sixth grade girl wears a 182 panty.  I gave up... no new underwear for me.  I can't take it.  Just the thought of knowing that number is enough to make me have cold sweats and dizzy spells.  I'm accustomed to single-digit underwear sizes.  I can't do it.  37. 44. 90. 182.  This sounds like a phone number, or coordinates on a GPS system.  How can these possibly be the sizes associated with a woman's body?

So, I don't know if I'll survive the Great Size Crisis of 2015.  Being a woman in a cross-cultural context is tough...  I'm going to go eat a head of lettuce.

Sometimes, progress is barely perceivable.  Sometimes, we're just looking for BNIs - barely noticeable improvements. Tiny glimmers that let us know that something is changing.

When we moved to our current house, we were excited to be out amongst farmers again.  It seems to be our 'place' in life.  We just seem to love being around the soil, the crops, animals, and plain country folks.  We loved and missed that part of our lives from Peru.  So moving to this house in between a wheat field and a field of beans and an asparagus crop felt perfect.  And we met the farmer and his family next door.  Great people! Instant love.

However, not everyone is super welcoming and warm.  Quite the opposite for one farmer man who lives on our road.  We pass him several times a day.  He wears the same grumpy gruff facial expression each time.  Never changes. Never smiles.  Kind-of an Eeyore-type, only he appears more irritated than depressed. Almost as if just your meer presence in this world is a problem for him.

Nevertheless, we wave.  We wave at him and smile.  Every time.  No matter what.  Sarah and I stopped to talk to him once about some kittens that were at his gate, but we were not exactly met with warm glowing hugs and love.  We were definitely not feeling the hospitality.  Still, we smiled and thanked him, and waved as we left.

We affectionately named him "Mr. Sunshine".  Not to his face, of course.  We don't know his name.  He hasn't shared that information with us.  But in our car each day, we wave to "Mr. Sunshine" and smile a greeting in his direction.  Every day. Every day. Every day.

Then one day, we saw it.  A BNI - barely noticable improvement.  A twitch of his hand in response to the wave.  A very subtle tiny flick of the hand.  

That was all we needed!  The challenge was now on!  We took it on as a family project.  "We are going to get Mr. Sunshine to soften up if it kills us!" 

We continued to wave a smile. Every day.  Each time we pass his place.  Each time we see him in his vehicle.  Each time he walks down the road.  Wave. Smile. Nod the head in his direction.  Every time, we do it with the enthusiasm that says, "Hey!  Sunshine!  Great to see you again!"

I'm sure he thinks we're nuts.

Again, we saw it.  BNI.  A half-raised arm wave. Whoa!!!  There may have been some shrieks of "wow!" and some cheering in the car.

Each time we saw a little improvement, we were more determined.

So now, nine months later, we are up to a full-arm over the head wave.  Real acknowledgement!  Honest to Goodness waving!  On a good day, there is even a head nod.  Progress.  

I have dreams that one day Mr. Sunshine will actually smile.  I'm hoping for an actual conversation one day.  Maybe even grow in to his Mr. Sunshine name. Some folks are just slow to warm up.  But for now, I'm celebrating the BNIs.  

Sometimes, building relationships is about a wave and a smile - every day, every day, every day - and patience.

One of the typical foods here in Andalucia is churros and chocolate.  These aren't the churros you might know from Mexican food stands or the county fair. The Spanish version is somewhat like a funnel cake-type batter that is made in to giant donut-shaped goodness.  The hot chocolate is also not what you would expect.  It is more the consistency of homemade cooked pudding... the kind your grandma used to make on the stove.  Yummmmm!!!!!  It is typical to order churros and chocolate for a breakfast food, or for coffee time (mid-morning or late afternoon).  

Honestly, I LOVE churros y chocolate, but I don't do it too often.  It's really rich and really loaded with calories.  It is a special treat for us.  But, today was a special treat kind of a day... I was out walking Hannah (our spring intern) around town and showing her where some typical places are that she would need to know... the bank, the post office, 

I was just sitting here and realizing what a crazy multicultural mix of holiday experiences we had this year!  We try to keep many of our own family traditions in place, no matter where we live and serve.  We have added other experiences along the way. And we are always ready to learn something new and celebrate with someone else in their traditional way.

Our 'home culture traditions' that we carry with us:

• We brought some of our favorite Christmas tree ornaments with us to Spain.  Not all of them, of course, but many favorites so that decorating the tree still feels like 'home'.
• We brought our stockings with us... my great grandmother made mine when I was a little girl.  My aunt made Billy's, and later she made Ryan and Miles'.  I made Sarah's.  All are made with the same pattern and the exact same box of beads and sequins that my great-grandmother used.  All are hand-sewn with lots of love and memories.  I love those stockings for so many reasons.
• We always eat chili on Christmas Eve.  Not sure why.  But it's tradition.  And ham on Christmas day.  Period.

Some new 'other culture' things that we have added:

• We have a nativity scene from Mexico, and one from Bethlehem.
• We drink hot chocolate and eat panettone (a special sweet bread) - a custom we adopted when we lived in Peru.

Other new things that we are experiencing with the holidays here in Spain:

• Spaniards aren't really in to the actual Christmas Eve and Christmas Day thing, except to have a big meal with family.  So, for us, Christmas Eve and Day were kind of a let down as far as celebrations go.  Christmas Eve is called Noche Buena (The Good Night), and traditionally the family Christmas meal is eaten at midnight.
• Spaniards are BIG TIME into January 6th - the celebration of the day the Three Kings come and give gifts.  Children don't hang stockings... they leave empty shoes out to be filled with goodies (or coal).  The Three Kings have a big parade through town and throw candy to the crowds, too.  And the traditional food is... wait for it... King Cake!  (Somewhere in here is a connection to Mardi Gras, I'm sure!)
• We were invited to Boxing Day by our British friends this year.  Actually, at first they invited us  to 'come over for Christmas'.  So we were thinking that we were going over there for Christmas Day.  But what 'come over for Christmas' meant to them was 'Boxing Day' - the day AFTER Christmas.  We had no idea what Boxing Day was... do we need to take a box?  Or boxing gloves?  Turns out that it is pretty reminiscent of what we do on Christmas Day... big meal, traditional foods, etc.  We experienced our first Christmas Crackers (cylindical tube things that you pull apart and there is a gift inside - and a paper crown).  And we had the traditional figgy pudding (♫ "Oh bring us some figgy pudding, oh bring us some figgy pudding" ♪).
• New Year's Eve is a big thing.  It's called Noche Vieja (Night of the Old Year).  Our church had a big, churchwide dinner and prayer service.  PS... dinner STARTED at 10pm!  Because, you know, it's Spain!  At midnight, we had a toast.  Then everyone goes around and hugs and kisses everyone and tells them Happy New Year... I'm talking EVERYONE!  Like, it is not okay to miss anyone.  If you miss someone, you are hunted down and stalked until the hug and kiss and new year greeting occur.  Seriously... Today is the 8th of January and someone just fussed at me that we had not hugged and kissed and given each other the obligatory new year greeting!!!  After the greetings, there commenced a grand fiesta.  The sanctuary was no longer a quiet, nice dinner and prayer service... it was now something like a dance hall!  Pews were moved and colored lights and disco balls began twirling.  Music was blarring.  Dancing and games galore.  It was crazy fun!  Lots of laughing. The founding pastor was sitting with Billy and he commented on the scene, "I would rather them all stay here and dance the night away together than go out to the discos and bars tonight."  Children, youth, college kids, parents, middle-agers, and old guys all hung out and danced and laughed and had a great time.  UNTIL 3AM!!!!!  Yes - we were partying at the church until 3am!!!  We finally gave up the fight for sleep and went home, but we hear that many stayed until 5am.  Wow...
• Some Spaniards have the custom of eating 12 grapes at midnight, one for every stroke of the clock.  This was also a custom in Peru.  Good luck or something...some say it's one grape for each month of the year... no one really knows.  It's just a tradition.

Back to school yesterday for Sarah.  It was a nice, long Christmas break.  New traditions and new experiences.  Learning about holidays is a fun part of living in another culture!