Que Viva La Vida

"Que Viva la vida, Que siga la fiesta, las manos en la cintura, Que asi es que va esta"
                                                                                                                                       ~Wisin

Chile. It was a crazy turn of events that brought us to Santiago 17 years ago. Marek got transferred by his company because he felt that there was so much business that he could single-handedly set up distribution for his company in South America. He was 28 years old. We were married six months and he came to me with a bouquet of pink roses and asked me if he could grab this opportunity. I had just gotten accepted to nursing school, but of course, I knew what a great opportunity it was. He was fluent in Spanish, handsome, likeable, and already knew the lay of the land after spending a year rafting for Curry Expeditions. I sent him by himself, and our first year of marriage was spent online with a dial-up connection. (yawn). Six months later, I applied for a deferral and joined him. In one year, he grew the business by 400 million  dollars.
One of his colleagues was Pablo Rodriguez. Pablo was a conservative businessman, grown in the years of dictatorial Pinochet and the husband of a stout Pinochetista. When Marek arrived in Santiago, he knocked on Pablo's business door and said, "I'm gonna help you grow your business." Strong words from a guy with hair down to his waist. For me, Chile was an opportunity to explore. However, when I got off the plane, I didn't speak a word of Spanish. Chileans don't speak English. Most of the world uses English as a fallback but Chile does not. Even Argentina has more people who speak English. Chilean spanish is difficult. Chileans speak super fast, they mumble, making it hard to hear all of the syllables and sounds and they use a lot of slang. I was afraid to leave our apartment for the first month. I knew I could manage but my biggest fear was what if I got on the wrong bus? I can't ask for help because I won't understand the answer. I can't tell which bus goes where because the line is different every time and to top it off, I'm in a city of six million people. Country girls get eaten alive in big cities and I was a stupid gringa who did not need to be lost in the wrong neighborhood. My first week was spent walking, a lot. I went back and forth to the grocery store learning the names of items by looking at them (Produce, breads, cookies). However, I was not picking up the language fast enough. I signed up for classes and spent two, two-week modules trying to learn spanish. The trouble with that was that they taught the Spanish that was always grammatically correct. No slang and with an expectation that you are speaking with people of higher education, which does me no good with a Chilean taxi driver. Fortunately, for me, Santiago, Chile has an excellent subway system called the "Metro." My knowledge of geographical Santiago is limited to the lines and metro stops of this subway or at least were, until I learned the language. Despite 4 weeks of role-playing, studying, learning verbs and tenses and vocabulary, I felt like I hadn't learned a thing. Every time I left my school and interacted with my world, I was as lost as ever. This was not necessarily a bad thing because people in Chile are super nice. I was often befriended in the darnedest places where someone stepped in and assisted me with whatever my struggle of the day was. I got lucky because no one ever took advantage of me to my knowledge. Two Chilean guys took me to lunch one day. They seemed nice. It could have gone south very easily but they were genuinely kind and wanted to show me their country. Open to new experiences, I let them and had an amazing day full  of fresh,  Chilean sea bass, organically grown salad followed by ice cream and a tour of all the historic sites downtown. Again, I got lucky with that one.
I told our friend Pablo this story and he thought I was crazy. He also thought that throwing a backpack on my back and jumping on a bus to Southern Chile, Buenos Aires,  and Northern Argentina was also a little nutty. He called me "Gringa loca." When Marek was out of town, he would call and check on me. He knew I had a hard time with the language. Keep in mind that he was just a business associate, but a kind and considerate person that taught me much about how to treat people outside your culture. He invited us to his home where we met his incredible wife and their five children. I struggled with the language and I was so embarrassed. Marek often spoke for me or helped me flounder through my five or six words. The kids were so respectful and kind and listened to all ten words of my vocabulary without judgment. The oldest of the five was 8 years old.
By the way, the first time I traveled to Argentina after my Spanish classes, the bus dropped me off in downtown Mendoza. Mendoza is known for its wines and at the time, was probably the most populated city on the western side of Argentina. I'd spent 4 weeks trying to learn Spanish in Chile and felt like we wasted the money because I still couldn't understand very much. In Mendoza, I walked into an ice cream shop and a very handsome Argentinian guy asked me something in Spanish that was so clear and so easy to understand, I almost fell over. I understood EVERYTHING. I started talking to everyone and thus began my adventures throughout South America. When I returned to the bus station, Pablo was there of his own volition, picking me up and bringing me home. He was my Chilean guardian angel. Marek and I spent 2 years in Chile. I traveled all through the country and through Argentina, sometimes by myself and sometimes with Marek. We had some incredible adventures.
In 2005, Pablo suffered a brain aneurysm and died leaving behind five young children and a wife to raise them. We stayed in touch best we could but our kids were 2 and 8 months, and we were neck deep in our own issues of raising kids. In Chile, a nanny or housekeeper runs about $600 per month so it's very common to have one. Pablo's family had two, so there was a little more help in that household than in mine. Meanwhile, Mrs. Rodriguez continued to run her husband's business best to her knowledge. I sent her a Christmas card every year. She sent our girls a small gift from Chile or a note filling us in on her life. We sort of lost touch, but we always tracked her down to get our Christmas card to her. In 2013, her second youngest son, Diego, and two of his friends rode motorcycles from South America all the way to the United States. They stayed at our house for a few days and met the girls. We put them up, we fed them and had an amazing time where we learned about details of their lives that we had missed. We reconnected and our friendship was supported by the presence of facebook and digital photography.
Diego was married this past weekend to his lifelong sweetheart, Trinidad. They loved each other since they were eight years old. We received our invite and both Marek and I lit up like kids at Christmas. Of course, we sent an obligatory note politely asking if we were REALLY invited or if we should just send a gift because if we were REALLY invited, we were coming to Chile. The family was thrilled and of course reassured us that we were "bien invitado" which translates to "very invited."
It was an amazing weekend.
We met what seemed to be the entire family. Pablo's widow, Coco, remarried and they added four children to Coco's five for a total of nine. Move over Brady Bunch. Reality TV would have loved this in the U.S..  Our weekend started with dinner at a beautiful restaurant with smoked salmone, chilean seabass, steak, crepes with dulce de leche, wine, coffee.... We tried to grab the bill but one of the kids beat us to it. He actually left the table and paid before we had a chance! It was our intention to take all of them to dinner. Marek and I were sheepishly embarrassed to have botched this opportunity.
But wait, it gets better.
The following evening, they hosted us for dinner,  AT THEIR HOUSE. Now, call me crazy (and Pablo did, regularly), but who invites friends over, two days before a huge family wedding? I felt so honored because I thought the night before the wedding, they would have a rehearsal dinner with the bride's family etc. Nope. Not a tradition in Chile. Instead, you invite Gringos.  All but two kids were there only because the oldest was married, moved out and expecting his first baby and another had a previous engagement. The evening was frought with Chilean Spanish, lots of questions coming at me rapid-fire and an embarrassment when I dropped a few modernisms that apparently, you don't use in formal company. "Huevon" doesn't sound as appropriate coming from a 40-something Gringa as it does a 20-something chileno. However, the good nature of our host and hostess were kind enough to laugh along, and we all giggled about cuss words in both languages. Our personalities bubbled up in this conversation and the compatibility of our friendship became obviously comfortable.
The Ceremony was held in an unbelievably gorgeous and ornate Catholic Church with stained glass windows depicting scenes from the bible and ornate gold details. Despite a large space, it was standing room only when the service began.  The ceremony was all in Spanish and included taking communion. There was a lot of standing, kneeling, praying, reciting,  and singing, followed by more standing and a lot of Hail Mary's. It's one thing to follow along in English. It's quite another trying to recite the Lord's prayer in another language. I gave up and decided my temporary vow of silence would suffice as a tribute. This way, I couldn't screw it up.
The reception was held at a small place out in the country 45 minutes from the city. Decorated with sweet peas, hydrangeas, Gerber daisies, tulips and alstromeria, the decor was completely perfect with white tables, white chairs and candleabras hanging from the ceiling. Warm, traditional christmas lights rounded out the look along with not one, not two but THREE disco balls over the dance floor.  There were 500 guests. I've never seen a wedding so big.  Open bar, a full meal, a dessert table a mile long, a candy "bar" where you could get sweets throughout the night and a hamburger station. The couple went to every table and addressed their guests. There was no cake ceremony but there was a full dance floor that didn't shut down until 5am. Yes, 5am. The dancing began around 10 and the dance floor was never empty and pretty much packed the entire time. The DJ NEVER took a break. Note to self.  At 4am, another meal of hot dogs and sandwiches was served. The music played on and Spanish or English, it was a celebration of epic proportions.
We carried the American torch. We danced for six hours. We took selfies with everyone in the wedding party and most of the guests. While Chilean parents and grandparents sat around tables and watched and conversed about the state of their family and Chile's economy, everyone else, danced and sang and  put the newlyweds on their shoulders and danced some more. Diego's soccer team donned their jerseys and scrummed with the bride in the center and chanted chilean futbol songs. It was an unbelievable cultural experience that Marek and I immersed ourselves into and we were embraced like family.
We arrived at our hotel at 5:30am, the bottoms of my feet raw from dancing barefoot in spilled beer, Piscolas and confetti and muscles aching from six hours of moving parts I hadn't moved that abruptly in a while.
We danced with all of Pablo's children and the children of Coco's new husband who were all beautiful people inside and out. We spent time with the family prior to the wedding when they hosted us for dinner and one of Pablo's daughters took us hiking up Cerro Manquehue. The family insisted on driving us everywhere and hosting us like royalty in the midst of the biggest wedding I've ever seen. Amazing people who never stop being amazing despite significant stress.
Chile is an incredible country. Not much unlike our country, it struggles with all the same social issues. We all recognize and agree that the world is changing and how those changes affect us is yet to be told. With all of Diego's siblings between the ages of 27 and 16, they are all taking off in their own directions and setting forth a new world culture.  I am hopeful that our Chilean family will change the world for the better just in time for MY kids to see what an amazing world they have made, and inspire them to do the same.
I am so happy. I am happy to know that Pablo's wife found love, companionship, and family years after his death. I am happy that their children have become amazing, thoughtful human beings who live with heart and energy and kindness and treat everyone like friends regardless of culture or age. My feelings about the general goodness of human beings is reinforced by this experience. As with all those I love and cherish, I have adopted this family as my own. I look forward to every opportunity to participate in the lives of these people, and hope that we never lose this connection.

Livin on a Prayer

"We gotta hold on, to what we've got. It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other, and that's a lot for love. We'll give it a shot. Ooooh, we're half way there. Ooooh-oh livin on a prayer. Take my hand, we'll make it I swear. Ooooh-oh livin on a prayer."  ~Bon Jovi

Fifty. What's the big deal? 50 trips around the sun, 50 jellybeans in a jar, 50 stitches after breaking a leg. 50's nifty and I have to say, I'm getting so tired of everyone complaining about how 50 is bearing down on them or how they don't do certain things anymore now that they're "50." Really? It's a number. Traditionally, age 50 signified a slowing down, an obvious milestone that dictated that you were aging and unable to do anything. The operative word in this paragraph is "traditionally." Traditionally, the expected lifespan was 73. Now it's somewhere in the 80's and projected to increase because we realize we can't just sit in a chair and chain smoke away a gazillion NFL Sundays. The jig is up. Research shows that lifestyle changes such as exercise, healthy eating and avoiding addictions of any kind such as smoking, heroine, and that nasty McDonald's habit, can actually make you feel better about the life you are actually living. A joyful life equates to seeking positive experiences that make us happy, and happiness is what keeps us youthful. 50 means were only halfway there.
I've been in the healthcare and fitness industry one way or another for my entire life. As a nurse, I can tell from looking at you that you're a smoker, a diabetic, a heart patient, a depressive, or  a prisoner of mediocrity. It's in your skin, your shape, your hair, your eyes, your smile (or lack thereof). It's in your communication pattern, your life choices and your social isolation v. active community involvement. What is interesting is there are so many resources out there telling us how to live longer, live better, and be happy, but no one really identifies happiness as the ultimate goal. That's really up to us. I suppose our parents have an influence but at some point, we all have to suck it up and be grown-ups and decide that we want to be happy and not miserable. Instead, we've been taught to be rich, be thin, be stunningly gorgeous, to drive a car of status, to live in a big, ostentatious house. We are taught to make our mark on the world, be famous, be amazing, learn to waterski, snow ski, hang glide, fly an airplane, because if we learn and do these things, we will feel good about ourselves. Okay, I buy that somewhat but, is being happy and feeling good about ourselves the same thing? Not in my book. I think jumping out of a perfectly good airplane and relying on a paper thin piece of material to save my life is grossly idiotic and irresponsible. Who ever thought this was a good idea? "But it's such a thrill!" Well yeah, if you survive. It's one thing if that's what you pursue in life and it drives you but so many are rampantly jumping out of airplanes, looking for that thing that makes them happy. It makes them happy for the amount of time it takes to reach terminal velocity and drift back to Earth. Then it's back to their miserable job, their abusive spouse, and their crappy life.
Don't get me wrong. New and exciting experiences are the vehicle to get us to the happy place. I am guilty of this on a daily basis. I'm a kayaker, a climber, a skier, a martial artist, and a mt. biker. All of these things sort of feed my soul so I can get to my happy place but happiness is in the way we live. It's in the choices we make everyday. I've noticed that many of my friends are re-evaluating this happiness, and I'm witnessing interesting behavior everywhere. Some are going off to "find themselves." Some are looking into new and exciting ways to live their life. Some are getting divorced, finding that "special someone" after a lifetime of loneliness, and others are simply choosing to be alone. There are also friends who are engaging in their children's lives, celebrating grandchildren and making positive changes.
Despite all of this, I still see a melancholiness about crossing the fifty line, and I find it unnecessary. Research has shown us that the way we live our lives dictates what fifty will look and feel like. How you live today, affects how you will feel 10 years from now. I used to think being an athlete was a healthy practice. Come to find out,  I have worn out my body, my bones, my joints, and my cells over time and running my body into the ground is actually not a healthy practice. However, giving up and halting the practice of movement completely accelerates the damage as well. I am constantly grappling with how much exercise is enough and how much is too much. The good news is we know no amount of smoking, drinking alcohol, doing drugs or eating sugar and processed foods is ever good for you. That said, all of us should be disengaging from these behaviors and consequently, end up healthier. "50 is the new 40!" and other colloquialisms are actual possibilities. It's all about lifestyle and behavior choices.
I will be 49 in 8 weeks. I can't wait to be 50. I am so excited to cross that finish line because it means I have endured youth. I have survived my mistakes of my past, I have gutted through illness and I've gained a whole lot of wisdom. My body will deteriorate and my mind will start to let things slip. This is already in motion. However, I'm still bubbling up to the top, sharing my life with my kids and those I love at every level. I'm not afraid of anything (largely because I have wasted my adrenals completely) and I don't care what small-minded people think of me. I stand on my principles. I hold those close to me, close to me and to a higher standard which they meet. My bucket list is re-filled to meet the desires of a 50 year-old woman and not that of a child. I'm ready for 50 and everything after because I am going to do it better than anyone else.