My sons are now driving. They now have their driver’s license at age seventeen because they took driver’s ed. At first, they were enthusiastic about driving, but now that they have been driving awhile, the excitement has worn off. Especially since the car wouldn’t start up twice and I had to help them get it running again. I told them that part of driving also involves having car problems and getting stranded far away from home. They told me that driving wasn’t much fun anymore.
I remember when I first learned to drive. I took driver’s ed in high school Indiana, but I couldn’t get my license mailed to me because I had moved back home to Chicago, Illinois. So, I didn’t drive until I was eighteen and I had bought my own car. Not that I’m complaining. I always enjoyed walking and taking public transportation when I was in high school.
After high school, my friends and I all had our own cars. Whenever we went anywhere, we all drove to our destination separately, in our own cars. If we had to carpool, each one of us wanted to be the driver. The driver would drive his own car. There was an unwritten rule that no one was allowed to drive someone else’s car. Unless they were in no condition to drive.
Now that we’re older, my friends and I don’t see much of each other. When we do, we still argue over who will drive. However, the dialogue goes like this: “You drive.” “No, you drive. I drove the last time!” “If you drive, I’ll let you drive my car!”
Nike’s slogan was always remarkably effective for me. Whenever I made excuses, I would simply tell myself, “Just do it!” I often told myself this even before Nike coined the phrase, but perhaps not in those exact words. You can waste a lot of time dreaming up excuses for not doing something. In the end, I realized I could have accomplished my goal in less time than it took to make up excuses.
My former excuses for not running
It’s too hot.
It’s too cold.
It’s raining.
It’s snowing.
It’s too nice to go running.
I don’t have clean socks.
I’m hungry.
I’m too full.
I need a few more days to rest.
Who’s going to know if you don’t run?
So, whether you are going out for a run, exercising, studying for an exam. graduating, going back to school, or anything you want to achieve, don’t make excuses. Just do it!
My wife bought me a Fitbit for my birthday. I’m not even sure what to call it other than Fitbit. This device measures all the steps that I take throughout the day. So whether I’m running or walking, it’s counting my steps and converting them to distance traveled in miles. Please don’t ask me to explain how Fitbit works because I have no idea. But I like the idea of having another computer gadget!
I believe my wife bought me this Fitbit in order to encourage me to stay fit. Well, I don’t exactly need much inspiration to run. Running is my favorite form of exercise because it’s so simple. All I must do is put on my running clothes, step out the door, and run. I stopped stretching long ago because it complicated the simplicity of running.
I love running and I adjust my daily schedule to accommodate my running. However, this Fitbit thingamajig has reminded me that I have a blog. And that I used to blog regularly. I set up Fitbit to post my results on Twitter and WordPress, which in turn posts to Facebook. So, I was reminded about my blog.
Fitbit has inspired me to start blogging again. The running not so much, since I enjoy running no matter what, all year round. For the last two years, I have told myself that I will blog again, but I always find excuses for deferring my sitting down at the computer and blogging. This time I’m determined!
Rihanna es de Barbados. ¿Qué es la nacionalidad de Rihanna? ¿Sabes?
We were studying countries and nationalities in Spanish class the other day. I don’t like to brag, but I like to tell my students that I know most of the countries’ names in Spanish and their nationalities. I challenge the students to challenge me with countries not listed in the Spanish textbook. Well, one student asked me what Rihanna’s nationality was. Did I know her nationality? Of course, not! I asked the student for Rihanna’s country and he said Barbados. I still couldn’t say what her nationality was.
What to do? What to do? Well, I went to my old friend Wikipedia and looked up Rihanna. An entry with Rihanna’s biography in English immediately popped up. I know Wikipedia is still not a reliable reference source, but Wikipedia is great for translating into other languages. If you look in the left column after you find your Wikipedia article, you will see many other languages into which the article is translated. Since español is one of the top languages of the world, most of the articles are translated into Spanish.
Once I found the Rihanna article in English, I switched to the Spanish translation. I soon found Rihanna’s nationality in Spanish! ¡Rihanna es barbadense! Since my classroom has a computer with an Internet connection, I was able to tell the class Rihanna’s nationality in less than two minutes! I wish I could tell you that the class was impressed with my Spanish research skills, but sadly, they were merely surprised that I even knew who Rihanna was!
On the door of St. Petronille Church, Glen Ellyn, Illinois
Guadalupe is a common first name in Mexico. In Chicago, I have met both males and females who have this name. My sister’s middle name is Guadalupe. The adult nickname for Guadalupe is Lupe for both genders. Small children are called Lupito or Lupita, depending on their gender.
In Chicago, I knew a male Lupe who hated his name because non-Mexicans had trouble accepting his non-American name. They also mispronounced Lupe as “Loopy.” He hated this. But his name was Guadalupe Gonzalez, so he remained Lupe because he wanted to honor the name his parents had given him. He learned to not only accept his name, but also flaunt it, much to the annoyance of all non-Mexicans within earshot.
When I bought my house in Bridgeport, one of my tenants was named Guadalupe. she was a single mother with three children. As I later learned, only her youngest son was a U.S. citizen. I bought a four-flat because Derby foods was about to close down and move to Sylvester, Georgia. My plan was to rent out three apartments that would pay the mortgage while I was unemployed. All the tenants came with the building. Guadalupe lived in the second-floor rear apartment.
Guadalupe spoke hardly any English, but she understood most everything that was said. Her daughters were seven and six years old. Her son César was one. César, coincidentally, was also the name of the previous owner of my house. In fact, I bought my house from him. Well, it turns out that the previous owner was in fact César’s father, but he didn’t even worry about his son’s wellbeing at all. Guadalupe had to go to the welfare office to fill out some paperwork for her son, but she needed a ride and an interpreter. I offered to help her because she was struggling to get by. At the welfare office, I translated the social worker’s questions, which Guadalupe answered. Finally, we get to the question, “Who is César’s father?” Guadalupe has a hard time answering. The social worker turns to me and asks, “Are you César’s father?” “No,” I said. “I’m just her landlord and I was trying to help her.”
One day, she told me she couldn’t pay the rent. She was already about six months behind, but I didn’t have the heart to evict her. Eventually, I told her that I would have to evict her. I just couldn’t afford the mortgage unless all my tenants paid their rent. She was packing up one day when a nun stopped by her apartment to ask for donations. Guadalupe told the nun that she was moving out because she wasn’t working and couldn’t afford the rent. The nun said that her church could help her with the rent and find her a job. The nun talked to me and asked me not to evict Guadalupe and her children. She promised that she would pay all the back rent and find Guadalupe a job.
Well, this was a very agreeable arrangement for all of us. When Guadalupe needed repairs or rooms painted, she would make dinner for me afterwards. She didn’t like that I was always in a hurry to leave, but I was always so busy back then. Once she told me that she wanted her living room painted again even though I had just painted it about three months earlier. I wanted to know why her living room needed to be repainted so soon. She told me that her son had written on the walls with a magic marker, and she couldn’t wash the walls clean. I refused to paint again. She told me that if I didn’t paint, she would move out. I didn’t paint and she moved out.
I saw her about a year later. She had moved about two blocks away. She wasn’t feeling well. She had another baby a few months earlier and she never fully recovered from the delivery. I asked her if she had gotten married, but she said no. The father of the baby was her present landlord. She was sorry she had moved out from my building. That was the last time I saw her.
Chicago USA 