A Basque in Boise

Cheet-ugh Girls

Nine o’clock and I just finished having dinner. Folks in the Basque Country probably won’t think anything of it, but it’s kind of late for this side of the Atlantic. Usually I’m done with dinner by 7:30, but today I didn’t have anything to work on in the evening (finally!) so I hanged out with the kids on the sofa.

We started the night watching the end of a movie Maitane chose yesterday, which I blame for my lack of appetite. I might just make it a habit and watch “The Cheetah Girls” every evening after work. I’ve been meaning to lose some padding before summer anyway. What a revolting, corny, and all around embarrassing movie! Ugh! It makes “Hanna Montana the Movie” look like “Gone With The Wind”. I get it’s a movie meant for teenage girls, but c’mon! Being teenage girl driven doesn’t mean it has to make you cringe while you watch. Take “10 Things I hate about you”, “Bend It Like Beckham”, or “Saved”, for example. They are teen movies, but potable. I’d even go for “She’s All That”, and THAT was corny, ok?

Luckily, Andoni had been relentlessly asking (numerous times a day) for the last week to go watch “Diary of a Wimpy Kid 2″, but I couldn’t find it anywhere so I rented the first movie. I was super hungry by the time it was over. My favorite part is when Rodrick says to Greg that his mom always tells him to be himself and everyone will like him. Greg tells him that’s right, but just if Dedrick was another person. That made me laugh. This movie was cool, funny and with a message. Not that “The Cheetah Girls” didn’t have one — actually, both movies deliver more or less the same message in the end (friends stick together even after a fall-out), but “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” doesn’t make you wanna puke while getting this point across.

It’s up to you which one you end up watching. I guess it all depends on how you want to look this summer at the swimming pool.

I don't see what the problem is

Phew! I didn’t think the day would come when I could sleep like a baby again, the day when all fretting would stop, the day when we found out that President Obama truly qualifies to be President Obama. Finally, some good news in this unsettling week .

I was driving to work this morning, listening to the news after dropping the kids off at school, and I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm when I heard that the White House released President Obama’s long form birth certificate, after many had been questioning its validity for a long time. Thank God for Donald Trump, who finally put his foot down and convinced the president to disclose the document. Apparently, one of the president’s counsels had to fly all the way to Hawaii (poor thing), to personally go into the Hawaii State Department of Health, who made an exception to release a copy of President Obama’s long form birth certificate. I’m sure that was really hard, you know, to get the Department of Health to make that exception for the President of the United States. I hope that this lawyer got to fly in first class, and not only that, I also hope he didn’t have to rush back and was able to spend a couple of days hanging out at the beach. This is a very important matter, and no limit should be placed into the amount of money necessary to put it to rest. What other unemployment issues, for example, could be more important?, I thought this morning while I put $70 worth of gas on my Saab.

Then again, as I’m writing this post and researching the web to make sure I quote accurate information, I come across this one article, and I am disheartened once again. Apparently, the birth certificate is still raising questions. Oh no! I wish I were wrong, but as you can see for yourself I am not lying. Maybe this birth-questioning Trumps are onto something after all.

That's what I was wondering

So this Easter Bunny thing got me all confused. It looks like Easter Sunday is similar to Christmas Day, but with a colored-egg-laying bunny instead of a plump dude dressed in red, and I had no idea. I’m positive I’ve messed this holiday up. Mike calls the other day to remind me about having the kids’ Easter presents ready for Sunday. Huh? What presents? We are going to Grandma’s, does that count? Apparently not.

I have to be honest. I’m a little bit bothered by this Easter Bunny business. It seems like every month there is something going on that calls for a shopping trip somewhere. I thought for a second about rebelling and buying nothing. But I know the kids will be expecting something and who wants to see the disappointment in their faces, right? Then I think about how it’s time to update their wardrobe, and how maybe I could kill two birds with one stone: I’ll get them some clothes as their Easter present! How clever! So I get out and buy them dresses, t-shirts, shoes, and a couple of swimsuits. I get home super excited and… 1) Andoni couldn’t care less. It’s not an iTunes card, so zero interest; 2) Maitane is super happy. Yey! But when she tries the shoes and they don’t totally fit, she immediately throws a tantrum. You should have seen her, wow… She even beats me in the drama queen department. Impressive.

Besides, who the heck is this Bunny anyway? How did he get all mixed up with Easter? And why does he bring chocolate eggs of various colors? Luckily, we have Google now. Best invention since coffee. Did you know the Easter Bunny goes as far back as the 16 century? It appears to have originated in Alsace and the Upper Rhineland (France and Germany, respectively). The egg-laying bunny idea did not arrive into the US until the 18th century, though. And, do you know why he brings eggs? Eggs were forbidden to Catholics during the fast of Lent, so there were a ton of them left by the time Easter came around. Interesting.

Also, another interesting, shocking and truly quite disturbing fact about bunnies and hares is that the females can conceive a second litter of offspring while still pregnant with the first. That’s horrible, ok? I wish I’d had this piece of information during the last couple of months of my first pregnancy, when I kept thinking my belly couldn’t possibly get bigger. (No, seriously, it can’t get bigger now. Now for sure it can’t. Ok, now it can’t really be possible.) I’d have felt way better knowing that someone had it rougher than me, even if it were just a rabbit. What can I say? Misery loves company.

Anyway, back to my story. So we go to a birthday party, have coffee at Diana’s house, and make it back home. We have dinner, watch “Bend It Like Beckham” and, what do you know? Maitane wants to know when the Easter Bunny is coming! And I’m like, wait… He already came! Didn’t I show you all your dresses? But, she pouts, won’t he even bring us candy? O-M-G. I got no candy at home, and I’m not going to the store at midnight to buy some. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t tell them about the swimsuits.

Swimsuits are better than candy, right?

Right…

I was driving to work this morning listening to KBOI, and I heard that some guy went into the Jackson’s Food Store in Wilder about 2 AM this morning and robbed it. He told the cashier to lay down on the floor and stay there while he took the money out of the cash register. According to the news report, “The Jacksons security cameras captured images of the robbery, and a camera from an adjacent business recorded the suspect as he fled the area.”

So my question is, if they got pictures and video of the guy WHILE he’s committing the crime, how come he is still “the suspect”?

Looks like a joke, but...

I got a call yesterday from some mom to invite Maitane to her daughter’s birthday party on Saturday. I had no clue with this mom was, or her daughter for matter, which is pretty troublesome in itself. Apparently the kids know each other from the after school program we use when there is no school. In any case, I asked this mom to please send me an email with all the info, as I was driving and couldn’t write it down. Besides, even if I wrote it, unless it was on my phone, I’d lose it anyway. So I get her email last night, and the first thing I notice is that it comes from a her_name_&_his_name_his_last_name@provider.com email address. What, were they holding the mouse together while they clicked? Maybe one wrote the message and the other one sent it? Do they both use the same email address for sure? Or do they only have it for sending out birthday invitations and Happy Christmas messages?

I know. I will probably go to hell for being so… Gee, what’s the word I’m looking for? Me, I guess. But please, feel free to comment on the post and I will approve your comments, or not. I will if I agree with them. I have some good friends that do this joint email address thing, and I still don’t get it, especially when I know it’s the woman that writes the emails and checks these accounts. Just as it is the woman who will spend hours getting those Christmas cards ready and eventually resort to signing her husband’s name herself so they can go out on time. I did the Christmas card thing for a few years, but I stopped about three winters ago and starting sending my good wishes by email instead (from my very own email address too!). It’s my own special way to help the environment.

The her_name_&_his_name_his_last_name@provider.com annoys me in more ways than one. If I was going to have a joint email address and I’m the one using it, I’d like to at least have it in her_name_&_his_name_HER_last_name@provider.com format, right? This might have more to do with the fact that we don’t take our husbands’ last names where I come from (although we had something similar) than with being such a chauvinistic tradition. Why, oh why, are women expected to change their last name to their husband’s last name when they get married? What? Do they magically stop being who they are to become some type of possession? I know, I know it’s just a custom, but it originated from something, didn’t it?

I remember seeing my parents’ visiting card long, long time ago, when I was a kid. They (well, mostly my mom, ummm, surprise!) used these cards to leave them at funerals so the grieving family knew they’d attended the service. It read: Fernando Chico & Maria Jesús Jiménez de Chico. I’d be pretty mad if it wasn’t for the fact that I still can’t help but chuckle when I think about it, as everybody knows a way more truthful statement would have been: María Jesús Jiménez & Fernando Chico de Jiménez.

Awwww… I feel so much better now!

John Bieter

I just came back from the Basque Museum, where John Bieter, Associate Professor in BSU’s Department of History, gave an educational presentation on Basque Migration to the American West. I had never seen John speak before, and I really enjoyed it. The topic was already appealing to me as an immigrant, but John kept it interesting and made it fun by cracking a couple of jokes here and there.

However, what I found most interesting was the setting. If you’d gone into the Basque Museum and seen the arrangements, you’d had thought nothing of it: three rows of chairs made into a semicircle facing a big projector, and a table by the back wall with a plate of cookies, coffee and sodas. About five minutes into the presentation, though, you’d have realized this wasn’t your typical lecture. Hadn’t it been for the small group of Radiology (??) students from BSU, this could have been a gathering of friends and family reminiscing about past times and remembering those who are no longer with us. As John went from one slide to another, it seemed less like a presentation and more like we were going over the pages of an old photo album. It was so cool watching the people get all excited as they pointed out to the familiar face of a relative or friend! Even one of the attendees, Dave Lachiondo, was featured as a child in one of the pictures from the Basque Center’s inauguration.

John gave a general overview of the migration patterns of Basque people and the places they chose as their new home. He talked about the various generations of immigrants and the difference in their goals. He urged us to forget about the present and put ourselves in their shoes. According to him, we are polluted by our current views and we often forget how the first generation of Basque immigrants couldn’t care less about their identity because they were too busy trying to survive. The second generation was concerned with fitting into the American way of life and put aside the customs and language of their ancestors. Finally, the third generation – the one closer to us and the more familiar – started going back to their roots in an effort to revive the culture and language forgotten by their parents.

John wrapped up his lecture with a real life anecdote from his time in Oñati. He told us how the university had printed some T-shirts with “Oñatiko Unibertsitatea” in the front of them, and all the American students were proudly sporting them around town. He was taking a walk one day and he could see this Basque person approaching from the opposite direction. As he got closer, he started to make out the print on the guy’s t-shirt: UCLA.

I guess it’s a human condition to desire what we don’t have. Or maybe we had it once, but we took it for granted. In any case, we miss it all the same.

Korrika! Korrika!

The kids and I are pretty Basque-d out once again after the fun weekend we’ve had. On Saturday we attended the Anniversary Dinner at the Basque Center, which was followed by a dance featuring Amuma Says No. Today we drove to Mountain Home – about 45 minutes from Boise – to take part in the Mountain Home Korrika.

The 3-mile run was organized by Euskal Lagunak Basque Club of Mountain Home, Idaho. About sixty of us came from different parts of the state to participate and support the Basque language. The kids and I arrived at the Mountain Home Basque Park about 1:30 PM, with plenty of time to register before the Korrika started at 2:00 PM. The run was then followed by social hour and a potluck style picnic.

I have to say, I’m really proud of my 7-year old. He wasn’t that excited before the run while we waited for the last participants to sign up and get ready, but once he saw everybody running, he didn’t waste one second to follow suit. He ran the whole 3-mile course and was tired but very proud of himself when he reached the finish line. I had explained to them before hand why we celebrate the Korrika, and Andoni understands how important it is to keep the Basque language alive. On the flip side, our beloved Euskera would die the quickest death EVER if left to Maitane. She “walked” about a half a mile with me before I decided to turn around so we could finish at the same time as everyone else. She’s not the lightest 5-year old I know, and I’m still sore from piggybacking her butt.

But hey! Now I’m all warmed up for the Boise Korrika!

It happened to me

Remember when people would get mad and come up to you or give you a call to let you know they were upset? Sure, there were still people who would simply quit talking to you, but nothing, I repeat nothing, compares to that feeling of despair that comes along with finding out you’ve been defriended on Facebook. Just like that. Cold. No explanation. You get up in the morning, cup of coffee in hand, check your list of friends and… What!? I had 386 friends last night and only 385 this morning? Not the best way to start the day, is it? Someone out there doesn’t think you’re worth it. That’s quite the blow to your ego and self-esteem. It’s even worse when you actually know who took you off their friend list. OMG. How did s/he dare? Even if you expect to be taken off, unfriending someone on Facebook without previous notice it pretty cruel. And if you didn’t expect it, you mighty start suffering form anxiety as you go over and over the last few days with that person, trying to figure out what happened.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve unfriended some people as well. Just last month I took my old boss from my list. But she was never really my friend, we didn’t hang out, she was just my boss. So when I was getting ready to quit the company, I quit her too. But if you are my friend, a real friend, one that I care for and like, I wouldn’t do that. In every relationship there are ups and downs, good times and times when you’d like to strangle the other person. That’s all part of being friends. And when you have a problem or you are upset, unfriending someone on Facebook instead of picking up the phone to work it out doesn’t seem to me like the best way to solve a problem. Sure, you might end up talking it out and becoming Facebook friends again, but the damage is done. I mean, they de-friend-ed you! It’s like super hard to recover from that, ok?

Soccer girl

There are now co-ed soccer teams for school-age kids in the Basque Country. Girls can play too, and not only that, they can play with the boys. Maybe this is old news for you, but it was a first for me. I was hanging out with my dad, cousin, and uncle at the Otxartaga Berri on Saturday, when I see a group of kids come out of the changing rooms and into the soccer field to warm up before the game. I was pleasantly surprised when I noticed a little girl, red headband in place, running around among all the boys. And I had barely recovered from the shock when I hear people speaking in Basque at our very own Ortuella soccer field. Indeed, not everything remains unchanged.

I like going back to Bilbao and seeing how some things never change. These ones are everywhere, so typical of the Basque Country. I’m talking about the tendederos (clothes line), forever present on buildings’ façades and balconies, whether it’s 3º or 30º Celsius outside. You never see them in Boise, as only a small percentage of the population lives in apartments, and even then, we all use dryers.

I get off the plane and onto my friend’s car. The first time back in two years and I keep looking out of the window, making sure everything is still pretty much how I left it last time. Yep. The tendederos are still there, clothes and sheets and towels of every color hanging and being swayed by the wind, some of them even arranged by size, type, and color (I swear! I even got a brief lesson on the process: “Clothes have to be hanged in order. Long clothing items on the outside, and short ones on the inside, and the shirts with the shirts.” Ummm… Ok. Thanks, friki friend.) A pang of nostalgia shakes me and I feel homesick, even though I’m Bilbao already.

Then I think to myself, seriously, Henar. Snap out of it! I mean… I’ve hardly hanged anything but maybe a t-shirt, my bathing suit and the towel after a trip to the swimming pool, much less I’m going to do it in order. I lived with my parents until I got married, so my mom always took care of the laundry. And when I moved out I ended up in Boise where – as I mentioned before – we use the dryer. Besides, hanging clothes not only can be dangerous (what if you live on the 10th floor? Who wants to lean so much out of the window just to do it?), but it also means you have to iron the items after they dry. It’s just too much work!

At least this is what I think about when I start missing life in Bilbao. That, and how my hair would always be curly and my face full of zits because of the humidity, and I might even start smoking again. Not to mention having the stores closed on Sundays, probably drive a 5-speed, 3-door Seat (if I’m lucky), and no Wal-Mart.

Ummm… Living in the US sounds just fine!