My weird christmas

I always struggle with leaving home because I'm afraid I'll miss something.  I'm afraid that I won't be there when my family and close friends really need me.  Which is why this Christmas was somewhat of a mixed blessing because it's as if the universe was waiting until I got home so I could be part of it all.  This will go down in "The Life of Julie" as by far the most bizarre christmas.  I'd like to hear if someone else can top this one...

I had a rather rough last week in Nicaragua and was very much looking forward to getting home.  Only I got home and the whole house was a bit crazy.  No need to disclose all family secrets but let's just say there was a bit of an emotional tidal wave with a house of four women and my poor father.  Then we get a call....

Grandma got run over by a golf cart.  The "Grandma got run over by a reindeer" song took on a whole new meaning.  The golf cart literally just plowed into my sweet little old grandma as she stood there waiting to get picked up and taken to dinner at another house at her retirement home.  I know it had to have been an accident because my grandma is quite a lot like an elderly version of Cindy Lou Who... not even the Grinch himself could be mean to her.  And if you're trying to take out old people, you'd want to keep my grandma around the longest- there are plenty other Scrooges who should go first.

So we rushed to the emergency room and spent a fair amount of time over the next 6 days visiting her in the hospital.  Truly miraculous, not a single bone was broken- just a gash in her head and a fractured skull.  She actually stayed conscious throughout the whole extravaganza.  On Christmas day, instead of dinner at Grandma's, we all piled into her hospital room with our Martinelli's sparkling cider in paper cups and Christmas ham on plastic plates. Not a Christmas I'd ever wish to repeat, but considering the circumstances it was quite merry.

The thing is, even before this strange turn of events, Christmas felt a little strange.  It's weird to try to wrap my head around California, Texas and Nicaragua all being home.  It's weird to be in the house I grew up in and realize just how much I have.  It's weird to want to cry after reading the materialism jokes in the Christmas Day comics.  I walk into Crate & Barrel and instead of mentally picking all the things I want some day, I leave feeling slightly sick and claustrophobic.  I hold a baby at church and I have absolutely no desire to take it home with me.  I walk around the neighborhood, passing by expensive houses and just keep thinking the ones in Nicaragua are so much more lovely with the breeze from the open windows and the tropical gardens.  Just one week in the States and I already miss Nicaragua and the way of life there.  But when I'm in Nicaragua, I miss my family and friends, not to mention the general comforts of the states.

Which raises a whole bunch of strange questions: What exactly is the American dream and why do we want it?  Is it something I still want?  If I don't actually want it, what does that mean that I want?  What will my life look like?  How do you define home?  Do you ever really feel at home if you have more than one home?  I'm on an adventure and I don't want it to stop yet, but will that pass?  Do I really seriously think I could live abroad by myself? The answers that pop into my head for all of these questions surprise, excite and scare me all at the same time.

Of three things I am certain: 1) I have an amazing family that will be there for me no matter what, 2) I am becoming a person that I really love and am finally feeling good about life (for the most part), and 3) even if I didn't have those first two, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is Somebody in control who loves me, who wants the best for me and who's got my back. Don't believe me?  Ask for details.

Nothing like living abroad, business school application essays, Christmas in a hospital, family drama, cathartic tears and an upcoming best friend's wedding to make you think about things.  Hmmm...

Managua family

So it's officially December, and although it's still warm here, the christmas decorations are out in full force in the rotundas and you can't get much sleep because of all the "bombas" (translates to "bombs" but actually means very very loud fireworks).  Though I guess technically Managua has been gearing up for the holidays before all of you back in the States...  be thankful you've got Thanksgiving to keep it at bay.

All of these holiday festivities have made me very very excited to come home and see all of my family and best friends, but I have to say it's also made me realize that I've now got a sort of family here too.  So it's probably about time I told you all about them.

The gang over at Joseph & Andres for Thanksgiving

First, let's start with my neighbors.  Joce, a Nica chica wise beyond her years, lives 5 steps from my front door in the next studio.  Her boyfriend Chris lives with Robbie, Bob and Carlos.  They're all friends with my other gringo neighbor Joseph and together this pack of boys makes up my new group of older brothers to hang with.  Joseph lives with Andres, the son of Amalia who lives in the main house and gave me all the furniture I needed, even though I moved into an unfurnished place.  Joseph might possibly be the best neighbor ever because he gives me rides and teaches me just about everything he knows ( how to drive stick shift, how to cook and how to play guitar).

Then there's Pete, my partner in crime and the only other expat in the office who couldn't be a better coworker except for the fact that he's gone half the time traveling to El Salvador and Peru.  Lucky guy.

Then there's a whole church of gringa missionaries and my biblestudy girls.  And Neil and Kristen from Chaka Market, Amira & Lori from Manna Project, Emily from the Peace Corp, Eliza and Bridget from Fabretto... and all the other gringos from the embassy, other non-profits and other small businesses they've started.  I don't think I could have put together a more inviting or more diverse group if I tried.



Eliza & Bridget, and "Amigos" bottle of wine

Last but definitely not least, there are my taxi drivers, who are more aptly called my chauffeurs or just plain friends.  Javier, Ricardo, Jorge, Ramon and about 4 others constantly watch out for me- picking me up on time, taking me to my little "casita" without asking for directions, taking me to the bank and the grocery store, opening my doors for me, locking my doors whenever there are people walking around...  it's like my own personal bodyguards/assistants.  They know the ins and outs of everything... where to get the best exchange rate, what time the bank closes, where to go to catch a bus for each destination location, etc. 

So I couldn't be more blessed or more taken care of.  And while I'm so excited to see all of you back in the states, I'm definitely indebted to my new family here for making life so easy and keeping me from getting homesick.