Definitely not picking up what I put down

I will probably be updating a lot this week as Sarah is out of the country (as well as Emily) and I don’t have to fight for computer time. I don’t even have to fight for internet speed because hardly anyone is in the office these days. I am slowly working on getting all my ideas, recipes, and future goals together and into a manual so the Green Pharmacy can live on once I skip out of town.
Yesterday I was feeling particularly scholarly so I went to the back bookshelf in the Foundation’s house. The back bookshelf does not contain your everyday reads. The back bookshelf is full of revolutionary texts from Fonseca, Oscar Romero, Che to name a few as well as many books documenting the struggles of Nicaragua and Latin America. There are also Latin American fiction books on the back bookshelf in Spanish for when I want to make my head explode. So I peruse the back bookshelf, wondering if they had any E.F. Schumacher (they don’t) but they did have “The Revolutionary Writings of Father Camilo Torres” Okay, sounds interesting… who is this? Father Torres was first a priest, then a sociologist, then a guerrilla fighter in Colombia in the 1960s. I take the book home.
Shortly after dinner (which would mean it was about 6p) I sat down at the mesa with the book and my notebook. I begin to write down my thoughts on what I have read so far. Lots to do with urbanization, rural development and (my favorite) agrarian reform. However, sitting at the table at this time of night invites anyone from the neighborhood to come and distract me. Katherine walks by throwing the usual greeting my way. Then she stops, walks over and asks if I can help with her homework, which was just some English-Spanish translation.
It is a lot of fun to help with the homework, as it is good practice for me as well. So we are getting into the words, Katherine repeating them after me (and occasionally Alex in the background singing them as well.)
“Good morning” “Yoo moring” “Yooooo moooooring!”
“furniture store” “furnishure soar” “furrrrrrrrrnijurrrrrr shorr”
“Black berry” “black berrrrrrry” “black berry?”
Alex wants to know what a black berry is and Katherine informs him:

“It’s a cellular phone. There are tons of games, and the internet too. Everyone in her country has one.”
“Es la verdad, Alicia? Tiene un black berry?”
I laughed at Katherine’s idea of a black berry, explaining the Blackberry cell phone and the fruit as well. Our conversation quickly turned to the type of things people buy in the US and how expensive it is as well. Katherine got a kick out of pointing at things I had or was wearing and laughing about how much it costs in the US.
“Your shoes! How much were your shoes?!”
$40
“baaaaaaaahahahahahahahahah!”
“Your shirt! Your shirt!”
$20 (I was wearing my STL-Style "Hey Windy City... BLOW ME" shirt)
“WAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAH”
”And tell me, Alipali, why do all you Americans come down here and give away so many clothes? Always leaving clothes here for us! Then you go home and buy new clothes? Aliali, does nobody buy anything usada in your country?”
I explain to them that yes, there are used clothing stores and there are people who do buy from them. Then I try to explain garage sales and spring cleaning. Alex was so confused.
“You mean I could throw out this table in the front yard and someone would come and take it? Without paying me? Just gracias-adios!”
Yes.
“HUH?”
I tried to explain the whole “one mans garbage is another mans treasure” idea, but he really wasn’t having any of it.
“No way. Not here. You throw out something and no one is going to come pick it up because it is broken and ugly. Or else you wouldn’t be throwing it away! You people are crazy! You take peoples broken things!”However, something tells me that, if he were to get used to the idea, Alex would be a fantastic garage sale shopping partner.