Pequeñas Cosas

I said I was posting a brief entry yesterday, but I lied. It was the usual length. Oh well; sorry to “cheat” you!

Perhaps this is a good time to bring out some trivia and fine-grain details about the journey here in Bolivia. Three tidbits for now.

A Saint Slept Here. I live in Room 4 at Convento San Francisco, on the east corridor of the cloister. Padre Juan Carlos, the guardian, lives in Room 1. Outside his room in a frame is a small metal plaque engraved with this message, which I translate: “In Memoriam: His Holiness Pope John Paul II, during his pastoral visit to Bolivia, stayed in these rooms of Convento San Francisco, Cochabamba, May 10, 11, and 12, 1988.” This was during an apostolic journey to Bolivia, Peru, and Paraguay. While in Cochabamba he addressed the diocesan and religious order priests and seminarians at the archdiocesan seminary; and he also addressed a gathering of youth at Félix Capriles Stadium. He also gave numerous other speeches throughout the journey. Anyway, I just wanted to note that I sleep three doors down and thirty years away from where a very busy saint has slept.

What’s In a Name? Recently, Joshua and I were learning how to conjugate verbs so we could properly give commands, as when giving directions to find some place, for example. We were learning how to tell someone to cross the street, turn left or right, or follow this or that road. We also learned how to tell someone to go up or down (stairs, for example). In the instance of going up the stairs, the verb subir is used; in the imperative (formal), you tell someone, Suba la escalera. The command suba can mean several things: go up; come up; raise up; move up; walk up; increase; upload; and, my favorite, rise. What am I driving at? My last name is Zuba. In Spanish, the letter Z, or zeta, is pronounced like the letter S. Thus my last name, at least to Spanish speakers, is pronounced suba. To them, my name is the command to “rise.” That’s a comforting thought to this believer in the resurrection. (On another personal note, I associate rising with my finest public speaking moment.) And now I wonder: if I introduced myself to some Spanish speaker with my full name, would she or he stand up for me?

In the Garden. Finally, I saw a dragonfly this morning in the patio garden at Maryknoll. I was waiting for a day like this. Before this, I had seen some monarch butterflies there, and they are indeed lovely. But, dear readers, the dragonfly is my favorite insect. Fine poetry has been written about it; music, too. And I saw a beautiful specimen flying swiftly around and around, never touching down on any tree leaf or any cactus or plant. It was in furious motion, spiraling, spiraling. But I could follow it nevertheless. It was a large dragonfly with a blue spine, about as long as my index finger, I would guess. I would have followed it all morning, if I did not have to return to the classroom. Anyway, at an hour when I felt my energy flagging—we were doing a lot of reading comprehension and conversation about our reading the first two hours of classes—it was good to see my swift and slender friend darting about. The next two hours were no easier than the first—more conversation and question-making and answering than I could muster—but at least I felt accompanied by a creature less earthbound than me.