Category Archives: home

Are You Proud of Where You’re From?

I’m from Indiana. And before you start assuming that we’re all bunch of corn-fed, down-home hicks, let me just tell you’re wrong. Flat-out wrong. I’m proud to be a Hoosier. We’re number in basketball. We’re damn nice people. And we know how to react when it snows.

Growing up, everybody wanted to get “out” of Indiana, to travel far away for college, to leave behind what we saw as boring, as nothing, as not worth knowing. Growing up, we were naïve. Far too good we had it, back in my hometown, with teachers who cared, basketball games on Friday nights, and after-school jobs at the local ice cream shop. We grew up in a slice of americana, if you will. Not everyone shares my experience, but a lot of us do. It was a blessed, innocent time in our lives.

So we left. We spread out. Some of us stayed home, some of us left for college around the country, some of us dreamed of leaving but couldn’t. Some of us studied abroad; some of us never came back. But those of us who left have a unique perspective. We know what it’s like to be the foreigner, the different one. We know how it is to defend one’s country, one’s state. Because of this, many of us become (absurdly?) prouder of our home, of our families, of our way of life.

I’m proud to be from Indiana.

In Spain, I’m the American. I’m the one people question when something absurd has happened with our government, when there is a shooting for the umpteenth time, when there is a snowstorm … I represent the States for many of my husband’s family members. It’s a bit like being an ambassador, except the pay is kind of crappy and you don’t get invited to any VIP parties.

There are bad things about the US. But living abroad teaches me to remember the good, to hold it close and cherish it. There are small things I love: smiles on the street, free refills, basketball, tailgating, skyscrapers, tator tots (what?), music. There are the big things: resilience, entrepreneurship, Title IX, universities, the first amendment, natural beauty, diversity, generosity.

I’m proud to be from the US.

In Spain, my adopted home is Zamora. Zamora is beautiful, quiet, full of Romanesque treasures. It’s situated on the Duero River, which is the heart of the city.

Ha sido y es la memoria, la fuerza a veces incontrolada de sus avenidas que todo lo arrasa, los juegos, las aventuras, los amores… la barca y el barquero.
De él llega la niebla, pero también el aliento, esa luz especial relacionada con la vida y el movimiento, que en diálogo con la estática urbe da forma a ese tiempo interno, elíptico de la ciudad, y el aire para respirar y las aves, y los colores.
Él fue la energía que movió el comercio y la industria harinera y a través de él llegan las estaciones, las noticias o las historias ya desarrolladas porque el Duero en Zamora es ya Don.

Zamora, according to Henry IV, was (and is!) a “most noble and most loyal city.”

I’m proud to be an adopted zamorana. And I know many of my husband’s family are proud to be from Zamora.

As proud as I am to be an American, I don’t see that pride from Spaniards about their country. Oh sure, get them talking about their food or their region or their local traditions … they’ll talk your ear off? But Spain in general. You might just hear crickets!

I’m not criticizing. At all. It’s a phenomenon I think that many of we foreigners have noticed. There’s not point in blind patriotism, but the lack of it altogether sometimes bewilders me.

Do you notice more local/regional pride in your part of Spain? Do you have an adopted region?

About these ads

Thankful for 2012

4 Replies

In 2012, life changed. Life changed fast. I could say it all to you, in one breath, a rush of words and emotion that would leave you reeling. I could replay the year over in my head, wondering how I got to this point, this place right here—November 22, 2012.

In 2012 I did so many things. So many things changed in my life, in my family’s lives, in my friend’s lives. These things, there were good. They were wonderful and magical and joyful. So, dear 2012,now it’s my turn. Thank you. Thank you for:

July 7. On this day, I married Mario. I don’t have words for this day. It was a day full of sunshine and laughter and red scarves and dancing. It was rich with tears and photographs and the grasping of hands. I wore a white dress; he wore a suit. We joined hands, and we said yes.

New family. I’ve gained some new family this year: in-laws, cousins, aunts, uncles. I’m no longer the American; I’m prima or hija. I’m part of this family here in Spain, a grand family who has taken me in without a second thought, who has taught me to cook, lavished me with presents and love and welcome. I couldn’t be more grateful for my mother-in-law, Pepita, who worries about me as if I were her daughter or my father-in-law, Jesús, who emails me to wish me a happy Thanksgiving in his newly acquired English. I am so grateful to them and for them.

Old family. One is silver, but the other’s gold? I don’t really buy this saying, but I am aware that my family has always been there for me, ever since the rainy Monday almost twenty-six years ago. My family has supported me through my on-again, off-again relationship with Spain, and I don’t think I could have done it without them. They love Mario like their own son, and they would do anything for us and for my brother and his wife. You couldn’t ask for more dedicated parents, the kind that go to every single sports event in high school, the kind that never say a word about driving six hours there and back to pick you up at the airport, the kind that pay for a brother and future-sister-in-law’s plane tickets just so that they can all be together on the most important day of the bride’s life.

Thanksgivings past. My extended family was never one to fight. Our holidays were filled with food, laughter, and kids’ tables. There was no yelling, no hurt feelings, no real problems. As a girl, I took this for granted. Now I couldn’t be more grateful for an extended family that knows the value of togetherness.
New friends. I’ve met some new people here in Madrid recently, and I’m really excited to see where these friendships lead. You cannot underestimate the value of a nearby friend.
Old friends. Where would I be without my constant source of encouragement and laughter, Hilary? Roommates in college, friends for life. I cannot say enough about my cousin Bailey, just seven months older than me and already on her way to having her second child. It’s hard to reconcile what was with what is, but our friendships will never shrivel and die, just change and grow as we do.
This blog. This blog has been a source of encouragement for me over the past few years. I started it without knowing what would come of it, and I am ever so grateful for the readers who comment, email, tweet, or Facebook me. Thank you, readers! Thanks for reading, for caring, for helping me see things in a new light. Without you, I know I wouldn’t keep writing. Thank you.

So happy Thanksgiving, dear friends! If you’re in the States, please eat some stuffing for me! And—oh yeah—give your mom and dad a hug! They’re the only ones you’ve got.

Not Just a Flyover

13 Replies

Esta entrada va dirigida a aquellos españoles que siguen mi blog, y, por eso, escribo en castellano. Además, nunca viene mal escribir en el idioma que quieres perfeccionar.

Como he trabajado con muchas personas de todas las edades aquí en España, creo que puedo decir con confianaza que la mayoría de vosotros querría visitar los EEUU algún día. Pues me alegro de que lo estiméis un buen sitio para visitar. Pero la verdad es que no me alegro de que sólo queráis visitar Nueva York. Nueva York no tiene nada de malo, pero… quiero animaros a visitar otros sitios, otros estados, precisamente sitios que no se encuentren en las costas.

¿Por qué? Os lo voy a explicar.

Soy de Indiana y, si lees mi blog, pues, a lo mejor ya os habréis familiarizado con mi estado (lo conoceréis por el nombre y no porque hayáis estado. Sólo Mario habrá estado, supongo.) Pero cuando me presento a la gente, no suele saber ni dónde está. Tengo que decirles que cerca de Chicago. Y lo entiendo. No es Nueva York, no es California y no tenemos famosos ni el Empire State Building ni Times Square ni la Statue of Liberty. No somos tan interesantes y no nos consideramos tan interesantes.

Mario piensa que somos interesantes, sin embargo

Pero EEUU es más que Nueva York. Es más que California. Somos un gran país, lleno de maravillas, naturaleza y gente maja. Tenemos de todo: playas, montañas, géiseres, grandes llanuras, atracciones turísticas estrafalarias (Wall Drug), la Ruta 66, el Gran Cañón del Colorado… y no he hecho mas que empezar.

Insisto en que el Midwest, como lo llamamos nosotros, no es una zona flyover (el término flyover se refiere a las regiones de EEUU entre la coste este y la costa oeste. Normalmente se usa en un sentido peyorativo, cuando uno quiere referirse a las regiones sobre las que se vuela en los vuelos transcontinentales.) Como he dicho, soy Hoosier (término que se refiere a la gente de Indiana). En mi estado no existen muchos sitios turísticios, pero, si alguien va a estudiar a una zona como Indiana, yo diría que qué bien, porque esa persona va a aprender cómo es la gente normal de EEUU, va a poder ver la vida diaria, va a conectar con la gente. De hecho, si va a cualquier estado del famoso Medio Oeste, también podría decir lo mismo.

Disfrutando de Chicago

En fin, a lo mejor un día vas a Nueva York. Y lo disfrutarás, seguro. Pero si tienes una oportunidad para volver, vete a otro sitio. Vete a recorrer la Ruta 66, como hicieron mis (nuevos) primos este verano. Vete a ver Yellowstone y las preciosidades naturales que alberga. Vete a las montañas de Colorado o Tennessee. No te decepcionarán.

A lo mejor podrás ver un mogollón de autobuses como Mario

De Boda

8 Replies

How was your September? Can you believe it’s already October?

We’ve been waiting for October 1st since March, when Mario got hired by a big-shot law firm and when we decided we were Madrid bound. I’m so proud of him, and I’m sure he will succeed in his new venture. I mean, he does get (to share) a secretary. I mean, if you have a secretary, you’re pretty important, right?

Anyway, I thought I’d share some photos with of our wedding-filled September:

Wedding 1: Family Friends

A cute, simple outdoor wedding means no hair updo and no fancy dresses for me

Wedding 2: My baby brother (sob!) and my new sister, Colleen

Bacheloretting it up

Reading

SethColleen

Cutest

The groom’s cake was in the form of IU, of course

Wedding 3: Mario’s cousin

Unfortunately, I didn’t have my handy-dandy iPhone camera, so I don’t have any good pictures. But here are some anyway.

My new cousins

Wedding 4: Mario’s friends

I went kind of Instagram crazy with this one, but hey! It’s all in good fun.

So there you are, here’s to four weddings and September and no more (until next year, that is)!

Tapeando in the US—Possible?

20 Replies

Last night, I had the pleasure of going to eat at BARcelona Tapas in Indianapolis with my mother, my father, and a family friend. Obviously, it is a “tapas restaurant.” I was excited to return to the restaurant. I had been there once before, back in 2007, before I ever went to Spain. I wanted to evaluate it now that I knew what the real experience is like.

[Source]

I wrote a post on tapeando already. Tapeando is, basically, the art of going for tapas. As I said in the earlier post, the point of tapeando is not to stay in one bar. It’s not a sit-down dinner at all. Ideally, you can hit up anywhere from three to six bars in one night, depending on your hunger and stamina. When I go out with Mario and his friends, we all put a set amount of money in the bote and put someone in charge of it. Then, we go from place to place, not worrying about it, as the person in charge will take care of paying. At each place, everyone orders a drink: beer, wine, or water (usually). With this order, we get a free tapa to eat. There are all sorts of tapas, and I don’t have the time to get into all of them, but they can be very, very good and, of course, not so good. You have to know where to go!

In the US, the craze for tapas is just starting. Tapas restaurants are popping up everywhere. Spanish cooking is beginning to get the recognition it deserves, thanks in part to chefs like José Andrés, who as this Wall Street Journal article states, arrived in the US in 1991 with little money, back at a time when basically no one knew what Spanish cuisine even consisted of.

My favorite tapas are usually cheese-related. (Surprise, surprise!) To me, nothing is quite as good as a slice of queso manchego with dulce de membrillo (a type of quince jam, which my mother-in-law makes at home). I also love patatas alioli, smoked salmon with cream cheese and bread, croquettes, and olives. Se me hace agua la boca.

Tapas are great, no doubt about it. What’s so great about them? It’s not just the food. It’s the atmosphere, the fun you have standing up in a noisy bar with your friends, drinking and eating great food. It’s walking from place to place after a few cañas. It’s the shared experience.

With that said, I wonder whether the tapas experience can ever truly triumph in the States. Most of all, it’s because we just don’t have the walkability of Spain—except in big cities of course. But I’ve always had the most fun in a small town, Zamora, because Mario grew up there, and he knew all the best places. We love going to El Chillón, a bar known for its tortilla con salsa de callos (a Spanish potato omlette with tripe sauce. Yep, you read that right. It’s delicious!) I know that in Crawfordsville, my home town, there is really no such thing as walkability. We have to drive everywhere, unless we want to walk an hour and a half to the grocery store. The real tapeando experience would not work here, nor would it in the majority of US cities.

[Image from Notes from Madrid.]

Nonetheless, the idea of introducing good-quality Spanish food is a good one. Many people believe (falsely) that Spanish food is similar to Mexican. It is not. Spanish food is not spicy. Many people go to Spain and leave believing that all Spaniards eat is pork. While they do love their pork and other pig-based products, Spanish food is extremely varied and usually delicious. I’m glad that BARcelona Tapas is doing good work. That said, some of my favorites from last night:

Alcachofas fritas—Crispy artichokes with Romesco sauce and shaved Manchego cheese.
Empanadas de espinaca y champiñón—Spinach and mushroom pastries with cumin garlic alioli.
Trigueros con Romesco—Grilled asparagus with Romesco sauce and Manchego.
Tres quesos—Manchego, Cabrales and goat cheese with Spanish picos.

What do you think? Will the art of tapeando ever really triumph in the US? Or maybe just the tapas?

BARcelona Tapas

201 N. Delaware
Indianapolis, IN 46204
317.638.8272

Looking to the Future

17 Replies

I read a lot as a child: cereal boxes, magazines meant for middle-aged women, the entire series of The Babysitters’ Club books, The Kids’ Almanac more times than I can count. I read a lot now, and since my father owns approximately a thousand biographies, I read those, too. A lot of these biographies talk about growing up in America, about the so-called “simpler times.” You know what I mean: when kids could stay out until the streetlights came on; when the general store was the only place in town to buy your flour, milk, and eggs; when Cokes cost $0.50 and came in dusty glass bottles—those sorts of times. I find them fascinating, because my life looks nothing like that and most likely never will. Those idealized times are gone. I ask myself a lot, is that type of lifestyle gone too?

In those days, there was something to be said for consistency. You might hold the same job all your life, an honorable feat, an example of your unswerving dedication to your family. You might be born, live, and die all in the same small town. Your friends you had as a child might be the same friends you had after high school, when you had kids, when you retired, when you were elderly. Those things … they were feasible then. Are they still now?

I think of my life. I grew up in a small town in Indiana, a stone’s throw from Indianapolis. I lived in the same house from age two to age eighteen. I formed friendships in grade school that carried me through my senior year of high school. We shared a bond, a consistency, that can never be replicated.

But nowadays my life seems chaotic. Since graduating high school, I’ve lived in seven different cities, sometimes on and off. (My hometown seems to be a landing spot.) Soon enough I’ll be on to the eighth. Eight cities in seven years? The same friends I had seven years ago aren’t really the same now, nor will the ones I have now necessarily be the same in a year. Because of this, sometimes I feel off-kilter, like my life is rushing by me, and there’s nothing to grab onto, nothing consistently the same year after year.

I’ve chosen a different life than most, I suppose. I sometimes forget this as I get lost in the blogosphere, where everyone seems to be like me—travelers, expatriates, transplants. But then I find myself firmly in the “real world,” and no one’s like me. Right now, back home for a month in my hometown, I can’t help but feel different. And by different I don’t mean superior, because who’s to say which way’s better? If I hadn’t met Mario, I know I wouldn’t be living by myself in Spain or any other country; I’m not as adventurous as I might seem.

I also read blogs of the people who have returned, who aren’t going back to Spain, and they talk about missing it. Perhaps they miss the no pasa nada way of life, perhaps they miss the food, perhaps they miss the sun and the paseando and the people they met who changed their lives … but they certainly miss something. And so I ask myself, How do you deal with a life full of longing for something that will never be the same, that you’ll never really have back? There’s no real good answer to that. It’s as difficult to answer as another question I frequently ask myself, How can I live a life where someone is always over there?

Mario, celebrating his graduation, without me. Right now, he’s “there.” I’m “here.”

Right now, my life is in yet another transition stage. Who knows what I’ll be thinking, feeling, doing in six months? I only know a few things for certain: we’ll be together, I’ll miss home, and the inexorable path toward the future will continue.

I’m the Foreigner, or Is He?

12 Replies

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been away from Mario this year. [Sadface] I came back from Spain in June and haven’t returned since (although I’m going back in May!). He did come to visit for one glorious month, one full of tailgating, barbecues, football, and eating in general. We ran countless miles with my dog Molly, cooked dinner together regularly, and learned yet again how precious time is. Especially time together.

It’s easy to forget about time, its omnipresence. Time flies, time doesn’t stop, time drags … cliché phrases that convey cliché ideas. Nonetheless, this year I’ve learned to cherish it. How? By dating Mario, by being away from Mario. It’s not that taught me this because he really gets it (although he does) but that we’ve had very little time to spend together. We’ve had even less time without a date looming over heads, a date that tells us this is gonna end, now be sad. He’s good about living in the moment, not worrying, and trying to get me to do the same. But I’m not the type of person to just let worryable things pass by without, you know, worryingabout them. Give me something to worry about—I’m the world’s most consistent worrier.

So when Mario came to Indiana in late October, I couldn’t help but keep thinking about November 29, the day we’d drive him to O’Hare airport, the day I’d inevitably end up in tears, the day I’d watch him walk past security, a wry smile on his face as he struggled to be the strong one. (He always is. Last June, I saw him almost tear up, and—believe me—I never want to see that again. I’m the crier in this relationship, damn it!) He would try again and again to tell me to forget about it, to live in the moment, to just be. I did my best, and I deem this time more successful than the last. Hey, at least I’m improving.

Every moment of that month seemed significant: chopping vegetables at my kitchen counter, coming home to see him dressed in my brother’s sweatpants and sweatshirt (he was deprived of his Spanish house clothes), laughing as we drank wine at the dinner table, snuggling up next to him on the couch after a long day.

There are moments you’ll remember all your life: the day you graduate from high school, your first night in a college dorm room, the day you say yesto the love of your life, the day you stand together at an altar and pledge to live this life together, the day your first child (and second and third) is born, the day someone close to you passes away … these days you’ll not easily forget.

But I maintain that being with Mario has taught me to make “mental photographs” of the everyday, the mundane, because it? It matters too. In the end, it might matter most of all.

So here’s to Mario, here’s to being in a sometimes-incredibly-difficult relationship with a man born thousands of miles away from me, here’s to appreciating what life’s given us, here’s to the future we’re building together. Here’s to you doing the same, no matter if you have a significant other or not.

Cherishing the moment.

So Sorry, So Boring

7 Replies

Do you still read this blog? It’s okay if you don’t. Except you’d be lying. You’re reading this right now.

I realize my life lately hasn’t been all that exciting, but I wanted to tell you all—exciting things are right around the corner. I know, I know; I wish I could post about them now, too, but it wouldn’t be prudent, and, you see, I’m all about being prudent. Bo-ring.

My cousin, Bailey, and me

So, here’s a few little life updates for you:

My super-smart, fantastic boyfriend received some amazing news that he totally deserves because he worked his you-know-what off for four years to get a very difficult degree. He would go to class from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. and then study afterwards. Dedication—it pays off. Good job, amor!
My favorite basketball team, the Indiana Hoosiers, are doing super well—and, well, that makes me happy. Go Hoosiers!

I am studying for the DELE exam, which, for those of you who don’t know, stands for the “Diplomas of Spanish as a Foreign Language.” It’s a diploma issued by the Cervantes Institute in Spain saying you talk real good in Spanish. Okay, it’s not just speaking, it’s also comprehension (reading and listening), and general knowledge of Spanish. I’m going for a tough one and can’t devote a ton of time to it (hello, full-time job!), but I’m going. Slowly. It helps to have Mario quiz me and give me helpful hints. I have my own personal practice examiner!
People are getting married: I just attended my cousin’s wedding (congratulations to Bret and Kelsey) and my brother’s wedding is in September. My “baby” brother. See also: smart, successful, and has a beautiful fiancé! Plus, there are others (who shall not be named)! Also, doesn’t it seem like everyone on Facebook is either heading for holy matrimony or having a kid? When did we get so old?!

I know, lame post, Kaley. But there has been a lot of exciting news lately, not the least of which is that Mario has picked up a new hobby: paddle tennis. This is totally a thing in Spain. Also: he’ll be running a half marathon later this month, most likely (100%) way faster than I could.

¡Vamos Mario!

Behind the Scenes

18 Replies

Behind the scenes of this blog, a lot of stuff is going on. Or, rather, we’re waiting for it to do so.

You see, although having a blog is inherently narcissistic (in that I enjoy getting positive feedback, interacting with other bloggers, and knowing that somewhere out there someone’s reading), I don’t tell you everything. Surprise! Although I may seem like a chronic oversharer, I promise – there are people out there way worse than me.

I’m working a nine-to-five job, balancing work with relationships and trying to not gain forty pounds from my desk job. I’m slowly memorizing the Chicago Manual of Style. I’m learning whether the verb should be lie, lay, laid, or lain. (Yes, it does exist.) I’m trying to keep my apartment clean and my kitten from biting my legs.

He did this on purpose to look innocent. He is not.

But, if you know me, there are always a million things swirling around in the back of my mind. The future, you see, is still up in the air. We’re waiting on a few things. While we’re waiting, I’m here; he’s there. We talk every day – we Skype, chat, email, text, Facebook…you name it, we use it.

Kelly wrote this great post about technology and study abroad – its pluses and minuses. I could say the same for the Internet and my What Ifs. I get sucked into the vortex of the Internet and emerge, hours later, starving and wondering just how I got started down this series of tubes.

You may now understand my lack of writing. I want to tell you, but I also am afraid of putting myself out there, getting too personal, and – you know – looking like a fool in the end.

So, if you ever want to know more (and I understand that you might), please email me: kalhendr[at]gmail[dot]com. I’m more than willing to dish over Gmail. Or add me on Facebook. You can see all the sappy, lovey dovey photos that you always seem to be searching for.

2011–To Spain and Back Again

22 Replies

I started 2011 in good old Indiana—my home, my high school stomping ground, the place I always feel the most me.

Even if it does entail a little snow.

In January, I returned to Zamora, where my high school students still refused to speak to me in English. Not long thereafter, though, Mario and I were off to Belgium.

Although bitterly cold, it was a magical place full of chocolate, waffles, moules-frites, and French. Luckily, Mario speaks French. (Why can’t I speak four languages?!)

February went by slowly, especially as I was now living in Zamora instead of Salamanca, far away from my studious, always-has-his-nose-in-a-book boyfriend. My 30-minute walk to class could seem interminable. As I had received a Kindle, though, I walked to class reading. My fingers nearly froze off a few times!

March meant heading off to what Mario and his cousins referred to as a primada, a play off the Spanish word for cousins, primos. We headed to a casa rural, a rather common thing to do amongst groups of friends. Our casa was located in Gredos in Ávila.

A cousin with the kids: A Sergio and two Marías.

We explored a cave.

Visited a castle. You know, typical Spain stuff.

Like a fairytale wonderland.

And, of course, made jokes about smoking “el porro.” (Note: one is smoking a cigarette, one is “smoking” some straw, and the other one isn’t smoking at all.)

April brought sunshine and the first hints of warmth back to the mesetas of Castilla y León. Oh, and my parents stepped foot onto Spanish soil for the second time. My grandparents came along for the ride. And what a ride it was.

We were “those people” who take photos while our waiter stands and watches.

We visited Segovia and saw the castle.

We couldn’t not see the aqueduct. My grandma brought along our local paper.

Next came the coastal town of San Sebastián, home to some of the worlds best pintxos and food.

Grandma learned how to sit on benches like any good Spaniard.

We even got some hiking in.

Next came Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor with my favorite guy in the whole world.

We met the parents, too. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Mario’s parents don’t speak English; my parents don’t speak Spanish. Mario and I were the intermediaries. Nonetheless, they hit it off. My dad even hugged them at the end of the trip – not really something Spanish people do, but it worked.

Next came Semana Santa, my first in Zamora. I got to see what it was like to be a member of a cofradía.

Los dos hermanos.

It’s not as frightening as it looks.

In June, Mario and I headed to a wedding held in the most gorgeous place.

And yes, I’m one inch taller than Mario, but with my high heels I am an Amazon woman.

We drank and ate lots of pork products. Claro, hombre.

(L-R) Víctor, Jesús, Pepita, Mario…and me!

Oh yeah, and we went to London. Typical American, that’s me.

Mario took me to a hummus restaurant. The man gets me.

Finally, on June 15, I headed to Madrid, cried a ton, and boarded a plane. Landing in Indianapolis felt surreal. It’s become normal by now, but I still think about how, this time last year, I was an international. Now I’m just me, not foreign or different.

I helped my brother and his fiancee move to Houston, TX.

And celebrated the good ole USofA.

Went to a baby shower for my dear cousin, who now has a gorgeous baby girl.

We shared some of the world’s most delicious wine…in my humble opinion.

I started a temporary job teaching English to ESL students in my hometown. It was fine, but I needed more—namely, insurance.

My dog dressed up for Halloween. This is obviously important in my end-of-the-year recap.

In October, however, I was anticipating the arrival of none other than…Mario, of course! My blog posts dropped to about zero as I spent 24/7 with him.

He learned about “American rugby” from my dad. Yes, Indiana does suck at football, why do you ask?

We introduced him to the art of tailgating with pulled pork sandwiches, a vegetable tray, chips and salsa, guacamole, and mojitos. Living large.

He learned what the real sport is in Indiana – basketball. Hoosier basketball. Purdue does not matter.

He’s an expert at roasting hot dogs now.

We got to be all lovey dovey, too

When Mario left, I started a new job back in my hometown. I was lonely, so I got a kitty. His name is Sheldon.

Bazinga!

I don’t have the Christmas photos at my disposal, but it was spent at home with my mother and father, brother, and his fiancee, Colleen. We made hot buttered rum, played Scattergories, exchanged presents, and saw a nice snowfall. All in all, a good holiday spent with great people.

In 2011, I was blessed. I went from Indiana to Spain to Belgium to Spain to London to Indiana to Texas to Indiana. I was in four countries and lived in four cities (Zamora, Salamanca, Crawfordsville, and now Bloomington). Mario visited me and was able to experience Halloween, football, tailgating, mojitos, and Thanksgiving. We ran many miles together and shared many glasses of (red) wine. He’s gone, and of course I miss him, but it’s a good kind of missing, knowing we’ll be back together soon enough and that we have our whole lives to be together, to annoy the other one, to make dinner together, and to watch The Penguins of Madagascar while laughing until we cry.

2011 was a hard year at times, but it it came with a lot of growth. Living in another country is not usually easy, and when it is, you’re lucky. I struggled at times, but came out better on the other side. I realized a lot of things when I came home, too—namely, that I can survive anywhere. I can and I have and I will again someday. Whatever the future brings for that Spanish boy of mine and me, I’m fine with it. I just know that we’ll be together and we’ll fight these battles together.

And if it takes me cursing in two languages, so be it.

Psst – some of my favorite posts from 2011:

And maybe my favorite post: Very Little. Check it out!

Kaley…& Más