Happy New Year! I have to get in my January post! I thought that perhaps after a little over a year of living in the US, I would be completely adjusted. I’m not. My oldest daughter seems to be the most settled of us all. My younger two continue to express their desire to return to Honduras. And even though we have found out, more so, where we fit in our community, there are still things that perplex me about this place. Things that I find hard to understand, for example, beggars in my town. Continue reading
Unfortunately, for the longest time, I had believed the myth that a Honduran woman had to have special hands to be able to make flour tortillas. And since I grew up in the south-central region of Honduras, I never learned to make flour tortillas. When I moved up north, I was told by a northern-coastal lady: “You are not a real Honduran woman if you do not know how to make flour tortillas.” But in the seven years of living in the north coast, I never really learned how to make flour tortillas; therefore, I never really felt like I was a true Honduran woman.
But… I moved back to the United States of America and I HAVE LEARNED HOW TO MAKE FLOUR TORTILLAS!!!!!! ¡Eso! One of my dear American friends provided me with the best flour tortilla recipe ever! Here it is: Continue reading
A month or two before we moved back to the US, we had our yard sales and set aside our treasures to ship. Each child got a plastic storage crate for their special toys, books, and keepsakes. We had our hammocks, our Honduran carved entry table, my guitar, special paintings, my husband’s grandma’s silverware – mainly things we couldn’t replace. Most of the items we shipped reminded us of special places and people, not only of Honduras but also of other seasons past.
Sometime after Thanksgiving 1984, after almost 3 years of living in Boulder, CO, we left for home (Read 6 Ways We Were Welcomed to the USA.) Four kids under the age of 10 were loaded in the back of a blue Subaru station wagon with most of our possessions in the cartop carrier. We were driving 2,865 miles back to our house, our family, our home in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. We stayed a night or two in Houston, crossed the border to Mexico, stayed in a few hotels along the way and made it to Mexico City by Christmas. We spent an unforgettable Christmas with Honduran friends, had the best flan I can ever remember tasting. Continue reading
I just found this handwritten note that my youngest daughter wrote. After correcting misspelled words, I had her write it down again and asked for her permission to post it on this blog. She has come a long way from the first time we announced to our kids that we were moving. She was not thrilled,at first. She expressed sadness and disappointment. “Mom, I’ve lived here all my life,” she said. We brought her here as an eight month old chubby baby. This is where she learned to walk, talk, read, write, ride her bike, swim, meet her first best friend and so many other things that mark a child’s life. Continue reading