The bread lady, the dollar store glasses and why I know that humor needs not share a language . . .

Still talking about the fantastic trip, folks, but The Wednesday Pop will return!  I want to tell these Nicaragua stories while they are filing past in my brain.  I want to do justice to the awesomeness I witnessed.  Thanks for hanging in with me.

What do the bread lady and dollar store glasses and humor have in common?  What's a bread lady?  All good questions, my friends.  Here goes . . .

In Padre Ramos, the lovely village on the northwest Pacific coast of Nicaragua where we were staying, people would amble by from time to time.  Sometimes it would be precious children carrying buckets to gather water who would travel back by toting their heavy buckets back home.  Sometimes it would be folks coming by to say, "Hello" or dropping by to see what was going on at the Youth Ranch.  Sometimes it was Andre, the sweet elderly man with the delightful smiling eyes, peddling his bananas and huge mangos.  And, sometimes it was Maria, who we called the bread lady.

I didn't think much about Maria upon her first few visits, other than noticing her strength and determination and wondering where she fell between 85 and 100 years old.  I saw her loaded down with her home-baked breads, hoping that we would buy some and lighten her load.  I didn't know where she lived or who she spent her days with or what made her heart happy and sad.  I didn't think much about her.  I considered her an interesting part of the local color and left it at that.  She was picturesque, ambling along with her tired old feet in worn out flip-flops, but I didn't work much to get to know her.

But that all changed with the dollar store glasses.  (Dollar Store glasses don't usually change things, do they?)  You see, we were having a blast creating a photo booth for the kids at the 'rancho.'  I had brought along all sorts of funny glasses and such and we had used a polka-dotted sheet on a turned up table for our backdrop.  They didn't take long to warm up to the idea that I would photograph them as long as they could last, coming up one at a time with a crazy face and a few props.  It was a blast!  It was a moment when you realize that your idea worked and the giggles and wide eyes of the kids was like a balm to this sometimes-crazy world.  I was in heaven.  The kids were laughing out loud, and I was already dreaming of creating little pieces of this day for them to keep in their homes forever.  It was a good time.  My camera holding hand was close to falling off and my squinting eye was tired of the view finder, but I was happy.  It had worked.

Finally, the kids began to slow down, and it was clear that the photobooth was about to close.  Maria, the bread lady, had wandered up and was busy talking with a few of the ladies.  I was readying to head out for a refreshing dip in the ocean.  We were almost finished.  I felt full.  But I had no idea I was about to fill up even more.

I finally grabbed a seat in one of the cheap plastic chairs to relish in the glory of a fun time, when I heard the crowd laughing hysterically.  I looked towards the cheer in time to see the bread lady smiling sneakily in the largest, most gaudy pair of the dollar store glasses!  I loved it!  We all loved it!  She really loved it!  She had beat even the giddy delight of the little children and brought us all to our knees with laughter and joy.  She had transcended her hard, hard life and thrown us all up into a place where laughter carries away everything else.

Everyone was talking and laughing, and the excitement in our little part of that beautiful country was happy, to be sure!  Maria, the bread lady, was all achatter, though I have no idea what she was saying.  I ran over to begin snapping photos of her and we laughed and laughed and laughed.  I believe she tried on every pair of cheap, crazy glasses we had.  We hugged and slapped each other's shoulders and smiled and smiled.  I was telling her how funny she was and how incredibly beautiful she was and what a strong, strong woman she was.  I don't know what she was telling me, but I know I felt love.  We touched and hugged and laughed and laughed together.  Our laughter together transcended reality.  It moved past struggles and what we don't know about each other.  It rose above the monotony of her days and made my day sweeter than I could have imagined.

Shared laughter does that, huh?  We can't laugh all of the time, because everything isn't funny.  But when we can laugh - and laugh together - isn't it beautiful?  Doesn't it remind us of how alike we all are, when the world tries to tell us otherwise?  I believe so, and I'll take this moment with me always as a reminder that laughter is ours to revel in together.  I am thankful beyond words for the moment I turned my head to see that sweet Maria's eyes light up with a twinkle that said, "I am funny, no matter what language you speak!"  I will never forget it.

I spend my days working to make images tell the story of moments.  We can't ever do it exactly, but it's worth trying.  I hope when you see these photos you will work to hear the hearty laughter, the quiet giggles, the excitement and the moment when folks let go of worry and reality and just had fun - together.  Thanks be to God, and may we always remember the power of laughing with each other - those we know well and those we are yet to love.

Traveling through Nica and discovering a few things . . .

Looking over these photos, I believe you’ll quickly spot a difference between what I saw in Nicaragua and what we see here.  You might notice a slight contrast in rules and regulations!

I spent a good portion of my time in Nicaragua traveling in the back of a truck.  It was awesome!

I SAW things.  I HEARD things.  I SENSED things that I would have missed in the cab with the windows rolled up tight, the air conditioning blowing and cool tunes playing.  My time with Together Works Nicaragua was a special one, and I’m thankful that was lucky enough to ‘get in the back’ of the truck so often.

The first day or so of the trip, I was baffled by the lack of restraints and laws and safety regulations.  I couldn’t believe it when I saw an entire family happily riding along on the highway atop a small motorcycle.  I was stunned when I saw a bus with folks filling it past comfortable.  I was astonished to see men and women and children hanging off of vehicles in the oddest places, in the most precarious spots.  I could not make sense of it at all.

The longer I spent in that different world, the more okay I got with it all.  I arrived at a different place; I saw the behaviors with a new eye.  (Let me add here that I am not suggesting that we lose our safety laws and throw caution to the wind.  Stay with me, though.  I’m looking at what we might learn from folks who live in a different way.)

I saw people getting around the way they could, taking care of business in the way that worked for the moment.  I think that’s my point . . . I was witnessing people living in the moment.  They weren’t fearing the what ifs or voicing the it can’t be dones.  They were blooming where they were planted and covering territory in the way that proved available.  And sometimes, they were enjoying being close to each other or feeling the cool wind blow.

I don’t contend that the folks in Nicaragua are without transportation woes.  Many roads are often impassable.  Public transport is hit or miss.  People can’t always get where they need to go.  There are problems.  It doesn’t always work.

I will have to admit, though, that it might not be all bad.   They are living in the here and now and smiling a whole lot!

A sweet toddler would relish sliding in between Mama and Daddy on the motorcycle to go see Grandma.

Hanging off of the back of a delivery truck, watching the world through a nice wind, would make a boring job a little more tolerable.

                                Traveling everywhere with your best friend would be nice.

I found the whole scene refreshing.  I know that accidents must happen.  I didn’t see any while I was there, but I’m not completely out of touch with reality.  I’m only suggesting that there was a lot to learn from my friends there.  I won’t forget riding along  in the back of the Toyota truck.  I would have missed so much if I hadn’t been in that spot.  I’m thankful for so much I learned there; and witnessing the way my new friends live in the moment, was among their finest gifts.

We’ve come a long way.  We’ve figured out a lot.  We have fine automobiles that will get us where we want to go and keep us in perfect comfort as we travel; but we miss some things.

I’m hoping I’ll be able to hold on to what I felt in the back of the truck.  I pray I can remember that progress isn’t always a gift and remind myself to open the windows and feel what’s going on outside of my comfy car.  I loved seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, talking to folks along the way and being in the moment.

At present, I’m working to figure out ways for my kids to experience what I did.  I don’t want any horrible accidents, but I sure wish they could feel what I felt.

As a matter of fact, I wish we all could, from time to time.

List 41 - Fifteen pieces of perspective . . .

This week's list is a bit different.  I hope it works.  My intent isn't to make anyone angry or to start a dialogue over the pros and cons with the USA's work on poverty.

A thought just keeps coming up in my head this week, and I can't help but say this . . .

The 'disaster' on the cruise ship this week sounded awful.  It sounded hot and miserable and gross and stinky.  It would be a great disappointment to finance and look forward to a wonderful trip, only to have it end up as a slowly sinking failure.  That's just it, though.  It would be disappointing.

And then the folks from the trip could go back to their 'real lives' and eat a big, juicy hamburger, take an extra long hot shower, adjust the air to their liking and tell some awesome vacation gone wrong stories. There is no doubt that it was a miserable experience.  I'm glad for them that it is over.

Actually, after some of what I saw in Nicaragua, I'm glad for them - period.  The travelers aboard the cruise ship were dealt a shoddy hand.  They had bad luck.  They were forced to endure conditions that most of us don't ever see.  I'm sorry it happened; but oh, how I wish one of them would use their fifteen minutes of fame to underscore the reality that millions of folks live in conditions far worse than the ill-fated cruise ship and they do so every day of their lives.  I wish just one of them would acknowledge that the situation was a complete mess, but that they are fortunate not to live that way all of the time.

I met people who live in a dump; and though they aren't the majority of the fine folks of Nicaragua, their story and their realities haunt me still.  They live in the midst of a mess.  They don't have running water.  There are no bathrooms.  They don't have enough food and no boat comes in with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  The babies didn't choose to be born into that, and I hope I never forget what I saw.

So, today, just a few photos that show people - often smiling, happy people - who were born into something different than you and I know.  Today, a list of photos . . . to help us all remember that sometimes our yucky, smelly, hot, dirty, unlucky, ill-fated disasters might not be the 'worst thing that can happen.'  I hope everybody has a great weekend.   If I have my own cruise ship gone bad story, I hope I'll remember to keep it all in perspective.

(I promise I have stories that aren't about the dump . . . but some memories just scream out to be told first.)