Situations

Situation 1: At the police station.  Surrounded by 5 male police officers.  Smiling mischievously, one of them asks me “Why do you look so scared?”  What I’m thinking, but not saying: “Colombia.  Police station.  Five guys with guns…” I just smile, and soon they're trying to entertain me by showing me fake $100 bills and explaining how fingerprinting works.

Situation 2: Walking down the street yesterday, I smelled pickles.  It happens in life that you can go a long time without smelling something familiar, and then one day, when you smell it again, it’s like waking up from a dream.  I had forgotten about pickles.  They had ceased to be part of my world until, just like that, they re-entered it.

Situation 3: It’s mango season.  Even here in the city, it’s noticeable.  In the park that I walk through on my way to work, the ground is now scattered with green mangos that are busted open and exposing their bright orange interiors.  It’s charming.  Until you consider that a mango falling from 40 feet above you could sting a little.

Situation 4: I woke up today to the sound of rain hitting my window.  That’s not easy for someone who comes from the rain capital of the world.  It sounded like pebbles shattering against the glass.  But the real surprise came when I went into the living room.  It was as if the apartment had been re-located to the base of a waterfall.  I felt like I was IN a river, consumed by the sound of the water around me.  There’s a saying here “Abril: mes de lluvias mil” (April is the month of a thousand showers).  Yeah, that’s an understatement.   But it was a magical moment.  Those moments don’t come very often.  Honestly, the last one that I can remember clearly happened about 7 years ago.  I had just pulled into the university parking lot, when it began to snow.  It was early and the sky was still completely dark.  I was the only one there.  And I just stood there, my face tilled up to the black sky, staring at the flakes as they emerged from the darkness above me.  They were big and fluttery and there was a silence that I felt inside and out. Even after 7 years, that moment, that memory, is still amazingly vivid in my mind.

History: A few days ago I saw a woman selling roses in the street.  It’s something that I’ve seen a dozen times here in Colombia, but something that always gives me a strange feeling.  Six years ago, after watching a Colombian movie called the Rose Seller, I decided that my place was in Colombia.  The movie is about a young girl who runs away from home and begins selling flowers in the street.  It’s a tragic story, not filmed with actors but with people who actually lived in the streets of Medellin.  Street children.  Drug addicts.  Gang members.  After watching the movie, I couldn’t stop thinking about Colombia.  While there are many places in the world were help is needed, few compare to Colombia in terms of constant and prolonged conflict and social struggles.  “There,” I decided, “is where I need to be.”  It was a long road to get here, but I made it somehow.  And now, when I see someone selling roses in the street…

Modernity: I’ve been here 15 months.  I have a nice apartment (which I share with 3 young professionals), I enjoy my work (4 hours a day, from 6am-11am with a 1 hour break), and I live in the land of eternal May.  The weather hovers between 65 and 85 degrees year round.  Currently, in the afternoon I volunteer teach English at a foundation in the northern part of town.  It’s the part of town I was told I should never go to.  Everyone told me that if I went there I would certainly be robbed, raped, and killed (not necessarily in that order).  While I may be trying to paint myself as a fearless adventurer, the reality is that I’ve become accustomed to hearing dark-predictions whenever I go into parts of town that belong to a lower economic sphere.  I’ve realized that those fears are often exaggerations.  And it helps that I never carry anything worth stealing.

Bucaramanga is a pleasant city.  Most of the neighborhoods are well organized, clean and full of apartment buildings of about 20 stories.  The northern part of town lies in a deep valley and looks like it belongs to another country.  There, the houses are cement block-houses that attach to one another and more streets are unpaved than paved.  I take a bus to get there and then catch a “pirate” back to the center of the city.  A “pirate” is an unofficial, unmarked taxi that you can recognize when the driver slows down in front of you and shouts “center!” through the open window.  In between arriving and leaving, I spend 3 hours with students in grades 6-11^th practicing dialogs, learning verbs, and trying to show them that they are capable of determining what their futures will be like.  After all, the neighborhood is called “esperanza.”  Hope.

Each time I go to the north, the same thoughts tickle my mind.  “What if I had been born here?  What would my life be like? What kind of person would I be? Would I have finished high school?  Would I have gotten pregnant at a young age? Would I have become a sad statistic or would I have found a way to make a good life for myself?”  I am so fortunate for the family that I have and the opportunities I’ve been given. Unbelievably fortunate.  And yet, so often, I am completely ungrateful.  I look at those around me, who are earning a lot, have nice things, don’t worry about expenses, and I think “That’s not fair.  I’d like to be able to live like that.”  Why is it always our tendency to look at those who have more and get jealous instead of looking at those who have less and being grateful? 

While I like it here in Bucaramanga, I don’t imagine myself here for much time.  Something just doesn’t fit.  And so I spend hours thinking about where I SHOULD be.  Something I’m beginning to realize (finally!) is this: WHERE I am, is less important than WHO I am.  In other words, wherever I am, I need to take advantage of the challenges and opportunities to grow.  Hopefully, I'll remember that tomorrow. 

Seattle, I miss you.

Cartagena, my heart is still there with you.

Bucaramanga, thanks for welcoming me here.

A new CITY, but no PLACE

It’s been two months since I decided to change my life via a change of location.  I said goodbye to the Colombian coast and moved into the center of the country, to a small city called Bucaramanga.  I feel like the wind must have carried me here because, now, after just 2 short months, I can’t remember why I decided to re-create my life here.  When people ask me, I always answer “I wanted to experience life in another region of Colombia” and while that’s true, it doesn’t really answer the question “Why Bucaramanga?” 

During my year in Cartagena, I had felt alienated by the tourism there.  My appearance immediately caused me to be associated with a group that knows and understands very little about life in Cartagena.  While I wanted to be accepted as a part of the community, I felt myself separated by unseen barriers from everyone else.  I felt a push to look for a place where I could actually belong.  Sending out my résumé to various schools, institutes and universities around the country, I received a job offer in Bucaramanga that sounded appealing and, fearing being deported after my visa expired, I accepted the offer.  Then, in my last 2 months in Cartagena I found the connection to the community that I had been longing for.  I met people that while they weren’t senseless to my foreignness, they were still sensible that that was only one aspect of who I am.  The timing couldn’t have been worse.  My decision to leave had already been made.  The day I left Cartagena, I felt like my heart would break.  Even the excitement of visiting a new place couldn’t drown my sadness for leaving a place (and people) that I had begun to love. 

My first several weeks here were miserable.  Even though I desperately wanted to like my new home, my heart was unwilling to accept it.  Instead of seeing the beauty and the lovely aspects of life here, I just mourned the differences between here and the coast.  I remember feeling waves of nostalgia hit me and take the air out of my lungs.  Crying was a regular part of my daily routine.  But now, while I still wonder why the wind carried me here, I have learned to appreciate this new city and new life.  The people are polite, the city is well-organized and clean, the weather is perfect, my job is fun and very low-stress, my co-workers are sweet and funny, and my housemates seem to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs. 

But even though everything seems to be going well in my life, lately I’ve felt lost, out of place, and without direction.  I haven’t been doing the things I imagined myself doing when I came to Colombia. My dream was to work with disadvantaged teenagers, find ways to encourage them, help them define and outline their goals and make good decisions so that they can reach them.  It seems so simple and yet the logistics of it aren’t.  There are few points where my life crosses with the lives of kids in difficult situations.  We’re in the same city, but we belong to different worlds.  Even if we had a reason for interacting, why should they listen to me, believe what I say about them and their potential, or accept my advice?  My solution to this dilemma has been to use English as a door into their lives.  As a volunteer English teacher I have a chance to speak to them from a position of authority, develop trust with them, support them in their problems and encourage them in their dreams.  At least that’s the idea.  But it’s been two months and I’ve been too caught up in my own stuff (visas, work, housing, friends, etc) to dedicate myself to finding a school that will accept my offer.  I’ve been ME-focused.  And now that my situation is comfortable, I wonder “Is this it?  Is this what I’ve been working for: a comfortable life?  Don’t I want something more?  To contribute in some way to making the world a better place?  To help those who haven’t been as fortunate as me?”  And I make myself a cup of coffee (the best coffee in the world!) and make plans about how SOON I will start doing the things that say I came to do…

In the last 2 months, I've...

-traveled to Venezuela to get a Colombian work visa

-changed houses 3 times

-spent about 200 hours Skype-ing with people back home and friends from Cartagena

-developed the perfect quick-fix lunch (turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, mayonaise and mustard)

-rediscovered that true friends are there when you need them, even if you had selfishly abandoned them for a while

-taught 5 groups at the Colombo (Level 3A, Level 4, Level 8, Conversation 2 and Conversation 3)

-lost my cellphone and dropped my new cellphone about 15 times

-felt perfect, inexpressable happiness followed by deep, soul-shattering pain

-started and (temporarily) stopped learning Portuguese

-crashed a free university dance class for students (I attend every Thursday, and I think everyone knows but nobody says anything...)

-experienced, momentarily, what life is like in a small Colombian town

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And the odds are good that tomorrow will bring new experiences, new frustrations, more opportunities to screw-up, learn, grow, and continue questioning..........................

A Symbol

As I was cleaning my room this morning, I found my Peace Corps patch that I received when I finished my Peace Corps service in Colombia.  When I saw it, I froze.  Standing there, I stared down at it.  It’s the symbol of an organization that has had a huge impact on my life over the last 3 ½ years.  The logo consists of an American flag, in which the stars ripple and are gently twisted until the final star looks like a dove.  The flag reminded me of a conversation I had a few weeks ago:

During my last couple of months in Cartagena, I fell in love with the city.  After trying to make friends for a year, I finally found a group of people that I could spend time with, enjoy, admire and learn from.  We went out almost every day of the week.  It was marvelous!  One night, we went out dancing and finished the night in a neighborhood called Getsemani at a salsa bar with a dance floor.  As we were leaving, we passed a parked-vehicle that had pictures of several flags on the back of it.  I saw the American flag and reached out to touch it.  In the exuberance of the moment, I think I murmured something like “Home!”  My companions chuckled and we continued without on our way without comments.  

It was a week later, when I was sitting talking to a friend, that he reminded me of that night.  He said “Do you remember when we were walking and you saw the American flag and reached out to touch it?”  I smiled, wondering if he was going to start teasing me about being a gringa.  He continued, “That really impacted me.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.”  He looked away, searching for the words to express his thoughts.  “Here, every time we see the American flag, it’s accompanied by images of the military.  A symbol of imperialism.  In the news, people in foreign countries are burning it.  It’s always something negative.” Deep pause.  “Never had I seen someone react positively to that flag.  Then I saw you touch it.  I saw your warmth for that symbol of your country and I realized that it’s not all about war and capitalism for you.”

I don’t know if he saw the tears come to my eyes.  I don’t think they made it into my voice as I explained what the flag means to me.  I know about the ugly side of American foreign policy.  I studied it.  I know the wars we have caused, directly and indirectly, while trying to protect our economic interests.  It hurts me to think that my country has been one of the primary causes of so much suffering, especially in Latin America.  Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Chile, Argentina, Colombia….

But for me, the flag doesn’t just represent the military and government interests abroad.  It represents a place that has offered me such opportunities and such freedom.  A country that while very imperfect still, for me, is a symbol of a remarkable faith in humanity.  

Goodbye Peace Corps

Where to begin?  This is always the hard part.  I only sit down to write in my blog once a month and I have to man-handle myself to keep me seated in my chair long enough to produce something.  And as those of you who have been following my blog this year can testify, that something is just about anything. 

This is probably (almost certainly) the last blog I will write as a Peace Corps volunteer.  Who knew when I joined Peace Corps in July of 2008 that it I’d still be serving in December of 2011, 3 ½ years later?  Peace Corps has been good to me.  My life in Kyrgyzstan was tough.  Really, really tough.  But I learned so much through my experience there that I otherwise may not have ever seen or understood.  Now Peace Corps has brought me to another continent, this time in my hemisphere, to teach me more about the world and about humanity. 

Everything has been different this second time around.  Instead of freezing winters huddled around coal-fed stoves, the tropic sun warms my skin and bleaches my hair.  Instead of visiting a public bathhouse (with all the women of my community) once every few weeks, I have a private bathroom and I shower daily.  Instead of travelling 2 hours to a neighboring city to use the internet, I have wifi in my house.  And instead of going months without access to fruit or vegetables, I buy the most delicious and exotic fruit from street venders and eat it wherever and whenever I like. 

But there are some similarities.  In both countries, divided by oceans, culture, climate, and religion, one similarity is that the education system is completely broken.  Students who don’t study, still pass to the next year.  The biggest lesson to be learned in school is that studying isn’t important, because no matter what everyone passes in the end.  While no teenager in the world wants to study, it’s their parents’ responsibility to make sure that they do it.  To make sure that they understand that one has responsibilities as well as rights.  That success requires effort and determination.  Without those lessons at home, the teacher’s work in the classroom multiplies 100 fold.  And if that teacher doesn’t have disciplinary support from the school’s principal and vice principal, the task nearly impossible. 

And just like in many places in the U.S., schools focus on preparing students for standardized tests and not for real life.  The teach them to memorize facts and quickly find key information in a text, but don’t teach them to be critical of the source of those “facts” or to analyze the information contained in the text to be able to apply it to real life situations and decisions.   Parents, family, friends, citizens, I appeal to you!  Education is the foundation of a healthy, rational, flexible, and industrious society. An investment in education (quality based) is the best investment we can make. 

Having stumbled into education, I continue in it as something I love and am passionate about.  I still haven’t decided where I’ll be working or living next year, but somewhere here in Colombia (si Dios quiere).  After two months of sending my resume to anyone and everyone, I received two job offers that are both very appealing for different reasons.  Before I got any job offers, I was having to serious think about a border-jump to get a new visa.  I was considering crossing the border into Venezuela, Panama or Ecuador so that upon re-entry I would be given a tourist visa that would give me more time to find work.  Thank God it now looks like that won’t be necessary. 

I have been very blessed to be able to live like I do.  I hope I never take it for granted. 

Goodbye Peace Corps. 

A Different Route

While some people attempt to make their blogs coherent and cohesive, uniting their ideas toward a clear, educating conclusion, I prefer to go another route.  I call it the “What the…?” route. 

THE START:

Over the last 2 days I’ve helped 2 elderly women cross the street.  That makes me a hero, right?  Yesterday was the first time in nine months that I’ve had the opportunity and then today, surprisingly, it happened again.  Both were delightful encounters.  While most Colombians assume that I don’t speak Spanish and try to talk to me using gestures, these women seem to assume that I’m a local.  I don’t know if it’s failing eyesight or just a motherly-desire to welcome all into the fold. Here’s how it happened:

I was looking for my opportunity to cross traffic when a little lady approached me from a few feet away, asking “Are you going to cross?”  Before I could answer, she had her arm in mine and was saying, “I’ll cross with you.  It scares me to cross these streets!  It’s so dangerous!”  I hid my smile at her openness and responded “Yes! It’s terrible.”  She continued, “Just yesterday a man was hit by a bus right over there.  So of course I’m cautious.”  Of all the dangers in the world, crossing the street has never been one that scares me.  We were across the street in less than a minute and as soon as we were on the other side, she released my arm, waved at me as if she were going off to war, said “Thanks so much!” and was heading in the other direction.  That was it.

FROM EARLIER THIS MONTH:

Although it seems like our progress in English class is painfully slow, I’m enjoying getting to know the students more.  Currently my counterpart and I are working on a presentation on relationships for all the students at our school.  The idea is to do the presentation in each group (there are 4 groups of 10th graders and 3 groups of 11th graders).  A week ago Monday was the National Day of “No” to Pregnancy.  Obviously they meant “no” to adolescent pregnancy, though that wasn’t clear in the title.  The statistic that I read was this: In Colombia, one in every 3 adolescents living in situations of poverty is pregnant or is already a mother.  One in three.  Incredible.  This year we have 4 pregnant girls in 11th grade.  It’s hard.  There are so many factors that make it hard to make smart decisions in relationships: machismo, a very sexual culture, lack of role models and parental control, lack of employment opportunities, etc.  In our discussion we focus on how men and women view relationships differently, how love is different than sex, what is self-esteem, and how to be assertive.  I think it’s information that every teen needs to know.  They’ll make their decisions, but I’m hoping that through this presentation they will be better equipped to make the right decisions for them.   

SIDE NOTE:

The tiny ants on my desk have suddenly grown to regular size sugar ants.  If they continue growing at this alarming rate, I might have to ask them permission to stay in my room…

JUMP TO NEW TOPIC:

I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately.  I’ve recommended that she read this blog several times, but I’m quite certain she’s never made it here.  For that reason, I feel perfectly safe writing about her now. 

My sister and I are very close in age, so whatever my mother said to one of us, went for both of us.  As I walked to this café where I am currently sitting, I had to jump off the sidewalk several times because the people walking toward me couldn’t consider stepping behind one another so that others could have some space on the sidewalk.  Every time this happens I think “Ok everybody, single file!” because that was what my mother always said it to us.  As children, every time we were walking side-by-side and someone needed to pass she said that.  When I repeat it in my head, I think it’s her voice I hear.  Mothers, do you know that your voice will always be in your child’s head?  Do you know that when they are 25 they will still hear the words you spoke to them when they were little?  I love my mom.  I adore her and admire her intensely.  She hasn’t done everything right, she hasn’t had the life she probably imagined having when she was young, but she is strong and loving and kind.  And to me, those are the traits that make a person worthy of admiration. 

IN UNRELATED NEWS:

Two days ago my counterpart Jesus and I were leading a discussion: Myths about Sex.  Here’s the scene:

Thirty eleventh grade students were all sitting scattered around the classroom and Jesus and I were sitting next to each other. He was talking about STDs and how in some cases the diseases eat-away at the sexual organs, they discharge puss, and other really gory details.  Suddenly, he turns towards me and says to everyone, “Micah knows about this.  She has lots of experience with it.” He nodded at me in a ‘go ahead’ way, and continued “Ask her!” 

I stared at him horrified.  What?  What was he saying?  Surely I misunderstood him… The students looked at me stunned, waiting for some kind of explanation.  I sat staring at him, trying to figure out what he had MEANT to say.  At my look of confusion and the students’ initial repressed laughter, Jesus realized that he might have forgotten to include some context for what he had said.  He hurried to explain “What I mean to say is that she works at a center for pregnant teenagers and the stories they tell about infections and diseases are terrible.”  But the students were already lost to their laughter. 

OTHER THOUGHTS:

I have 1 ½ months left with Peace Corps.  My service ends on December 16^th.  While most volunteers will go home to spend Christmas with their families, I’ll be staying here.  If I still haven’t found work by that time, I will be desperately searching for it.  I still don’t know where or how or what, but some things have recently become a lot clearer for me.  God’s with me in this, He’s got something in mind.  It may not be something I currently want or hope for, but it’s exactly what I need.  The stress is diminishing even as the need to find work is growing.  Some things don’t make sense.  Sometimes it’s better that way.

By bus at night

Last night I saw a kitten fighting with a cardboard box.  It was a tiny, dust-colored kitten, more fur than anything else.  The box lid-flaps were folded shut and the kitten was sitting on top and boxing them.  Its weight as it jumped caused the flaps to open and digest the kitten whole.  After that, I just saw a bouncing box.  The kitten continued fighting the box from the inside.  It wasn’t clear to me whether this was its strategy from the beginning or if it was merely adjusting to the change in situation.  A few more knocks from inside the box and the kitten’s head emerged.  It clawed its way back on top of the box and lay resting for a moment, content in its victory.  But gravity was on the side of the box, and once more the cat’s weight caused the top flaps to collapse and down into the belly of the box it fell again.

I felt like there was a life-lesson to be learned from that scene, but I was too tired to catch it.  My eyes closed involuntarily and my head bobbed with the jerking bus. 

Luckily, after falling asleep for a moment on the bus, my panic about missing my stop usually keeps me awake for the rest of the ride.

You see so much from the window of a bus.  Especially late at night.  The city is the dirtiest at night and the least appealing.  Throughout the day, people drop their garbage carelessly on the ground and it accumulates in the streets.  At night (and sometimes during the day) people pick through the trash looking for bottles, cans, and anything that can be recycled for cash.  Last night, on the 20 minute bus ride I passed about 20 people who seemed to be living in the streets.  There was one young person but most were older.  All were as dirty as the streets.  What do you think when you see homeless people?  Do you wonder what THEY think about?  Do you wonder how they view their situation, their world, OUR stares from inside the bus?  When you see homeless people, what do you think?  How do you feel?  Most importantly: what do you do?

The reality of a country is never how you imagine it.  I once picked up a travel book, and on the first page the author expressed how, when he finally got to a country he had been trying to visit for years, it was exactly as he had imagined it would be.  I put the book down.  There’s no way that was true and I wasn’t in the mood for fiction.

Cartagena, the city where I live is surprisingly developed.  In certain ways.  The major streets are paved and the buses and taxis (and motorcycle taxis) that fill the streets are usually nice.  There are 6 cinemas that show new movies on the same day that they are released in the states.  A lot of my students have internet in their homes.  Personally I have WiFi.  Most of the teachers have laptops.  Is that what development is?  Ease of life?  The idea exists here that if you study hard, work hard, get an education, you can be successful and live the life you want.  After 8 months here, I still don’t know how real that is.  People talk about how jobs only exist for those with connections and that for an honest man it’s hard to get ahead.  Every time I take a bus there’s an average of 4 people who jump on and try to sell their wares (bracelets, bananas, snacks, bags of water).  Officially, those people are “self-employed.”  Apparently it doesn’t matter that what they earn in a day keeps them well below the poverty line. 

One day I did the math to see how much a man would earn if he sold the whole box of gum that he carried.  I priced it at a bulk-food store and checked how many packages it contained.  He would earn about $2.50 if he sold all 100 packages.  On the bus that I was on, I was the only one who bought gum from him.  He earned 2.5₵.  The bus ride itself, if he had had to pay for it, would have cost him $0.75. A bag of water costs $0.25.  Two-fifty doesn’t go far.

I’m sorry this blog is so scatterbrained.  I’m still going to post it.  It’s more than 2 weeks overdue as it is.  Still, I hope that it helps you picture Colombia in a more concrete way.  The unknown can never be exactly as you imagine it.  No matter how clear the picture on the discovery channel. 

Debilitating heat

The word “debilitating” has taken on new meaning due to my studies of the Spanish language.  As some of you might know, the word “debilitating” is derived from the Latin word “débil” meaning “weak.  So in this expression we refer to a heat that makes one feel weak.  Here in my room, with the temperature hovering around 106, this heat is tangible.  It makes you feel like you’ve just finished a marathon, mostly because you’re sweating as if you had. 

Summing up my astounding strength of character and determination, I find a way to push through the heat: air conditioning.  There’s air conditioning in the teacher’s lounge at my school.  It sure beats showering with cold water and then laying naked on my tile floor with the fan blowing directly at me.  That cool feeling doesn’t last long.  Not like I’ve tried it, I’m just saying…

Before I left for vacation in the U.S. we finished second period at my school.  This marks the halfway mark in the school year.  Thankfully about 2/3 of my students passed English, compared to 1/6 the first period.  It seems like were making some progress, not just with the students’ knowledge, but also with their attitudes towards learning.  In the past it seems like their teachers were in a hurry to move them on to the next grade, whether they knew the material or not. Obviously, this led to a complacent attitude in them.  Based on their behavior, their internal dialog must have been something like: “School is just a required waste of time.  I’ll be here while I have to, but you’re not getting any more than the bare minimum from me.”  And that bare minimum was really almost nothing.  I hope and pray that they’re beginning to see the value of a good education and that all good things require sacrifice.

I try to understand where these kids are coming from, but it’s hard.  While I was a poor kid from a broken home, I had a lot compared to them.  Poor kids in poor neighborhoods, violence around every corner, lack of support from adults around them, media that declares that what you are is what you have and what you look like.  Hunger, abuse, waste, frustration, anger, hate, disillusionment.  And they’re 16 and 17 and trying to make some sense of something.  And they’re brave, funny, playful, smart, compassionate.  Quite amazing really.  And I’ll do whatever I can to help them overcome the obstacles and be a source of joy and hope in this world.

For those of you that want more concrete details about my life:  I’m still working Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday at my high school.  On Thursdays I still volunteer at a foundation for pregnant teens.  In my free time I go to the beach and try to stay cool while not getting burned.  I feel guilty about not being around my family more.  It makes me sad to think of all the things I’m missing as my niece and nephew grow up.  I’m ok with the sacrifice I made in coming down here, but it hurts that my family also had to make a sacrifice in letting me go.  I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what my life will be like for the next 6 months, but after that I’m clueless.  It’s tough being unsure. 

My friends and family, I love you all dearly!  You’re in my heart, my thoughts and my prayers.  Cuidense!

Micah