forget regret, or life is yours to miss.

Last Friday it was 65 degrees out. And at 7pm I was on 86th and Lexington in a spring jacket with no scarf or gloves on, practically dancing down the street. Almost tempted to even buy a Tasti-D-Lite frozen yogurt, I ultimately decided against it. I need to be wearing a dress for my first frozen yogurt purchase, it’s only right. Fast forward to Monday morning, and I am woken up at 6am by the sounds of men shoveling snow outside my friends apartment building in Astoria. Yes, at 25 years old I am still having sleepovers with my girlfriends. They’re better than the ones I had as a kid, because now a bottle of red wine is a part of it in addition to the pizza pie, mud masks, and movie rentals.
On Friday night I felt myself temporarily coming alive again, and by Monday morning my dreams of spring were put on the shelf as I found myself jumping over puddles and freezing on the subway platform. The winter never bothered me in the past, but what is it about this year that is driving me so crazy? We complain when it is too hot outside, and we complain when we get too many snow storms. Where is the satisfaction? I’ve decided the weather really does matter to all of us.
To set the record straight, I actually love having four seasons. I love when the summer is ending and the first time you feel relief from the heat with a nice September breeze. I love when the leaves change color, and when I buy apple cider from a farm stand on Long Island after a day of pumpkin picking. I love the Thanksgiving Day Parade, even though it is usually chilly outside…especially since that’s the day the radio starts playing Holiday music. I enjoy a good snow storm, making hot chocolate, sitting by a fire with someone you love, (or a great book…either will do), and wearing socks that come up to my knees. And when winter breaks, and the sun comes back out; the look on all of our faces when we realize sundresses and light coats are acceptable again. We can walk home from the restaurant because we won’t freeze doing so. The slushy, grey streets are no more and Central Park is filled with roller bladers, strollers, dogs, and couples literally falling in love, in public. There is definitely a cycle to our seasons, and just as much, I feel a cycle with our own personal lives. Our lives can change like the sun can rise and set. It’s supposed to happen this way.
Remember when Peter Pan instructed Wendy, John, and Michael to “think happy thoughts?” Well, if ever given the opportunity to fly with Peter, I know exactly what my happy thought would be. It’s me sitting on a beach early in the morning with a giant cup of coffee, wearing a sundress and watching the ocean. Other thoughts include (but are not limited to) a Central Park picnic in May, and eating pastries in a Paris café just like a local. Perhaps rather than wave a giant white flag to winter this year surrendering our pleasant moods….we should all be channeling our inner Peter Pan.
So, just like the seasons come and go, problems come and go too. I have learned to accept that life will not be perfect every day and every year. We have a good year, we have a bad year. Sometimes a series of wonderful things happen to us, and other times no matter how hard we try we just can’t catch a break! Transition is a part of life. But nothing is forever. And if this winter decided to trip me on 23rd street and have me airborne before falling on my side into a puddle of snow, slush, and the pavement…then so be it. Good pedestrians came over and helped me up, proving it’s not all that bad. Embarassing, yes. But not all that bad. The weather has affected my mood a few times this season, but I am feeling optimistic. We are just a few shy weeks away from March 21st, Spring Equinox. And when the snow melts away this year for the last time, we will all delight in the fact that we made it through another winter. In the meanwhile I am keeping my head up, because deep down I really do believe in all the good things. I believe in summer, wine, love, friends, family, culture, and adventure. Turns out, for a New Yorker…I’m not that sinister. So winter 2011, you can suck it. (How’s that for classy blog writing?)

Until we all thaw out,
Jess

Leftovers & Life

Wednesday night turned into leftover night. On the menu: Sautéed spinach in garlic, mashed potatoes, and lentils. What made this meal great is that it is a combination of 3 different dinners I’ve had over the last few nights. They all came together perfectly for me after 2 minutes in the microwave on the same plate. Sometimes, dinner needs to happen this way. I am typing this blog as I eat my leftover masterpiece.
So last night while out to dinner, I was told “you think a lot about food”. My response? “Well, yea. That’s why I went back to school for it”. His response: (head nodding) “…good point”. So yes, I guess I am somewhat a “foodie”. I do think about food consistently throughout the day. My brain is always counting my vegetable servings, my dark leafy green numbers, and guilty…I watch what you eat too. I don’t judge, I just observe. Yet, with all my love and passion for food, your health, and nutrition education, I still sometimes feel like the weakest link in my program at school. It’s on days when the professor walks in and asks “did you guys all read about (food subject) and the (new food law) that happened two days ago?” So many times I have absolutely no idea what he/she is talking about, yet all the other hands go up. Now I read my nutrition news when I can, but what newspapers are all these people reading? Are they on some secret website I don’t know about? I belong to the American Dietetic Association, I am on the nutrition list serve at NYU, and I over do it on Google. How the hell does everyone else always know everything!? I sometimes want to turn around and say “don’t you people have jobs? Or a yoga class to get to? Or a pitcher of Sangria to finish by the time the week is over?” Still, in my little free time that is left after the homework is done, and the sangria is finished…I do read nutrition articles, because frankly it is what I love. And I say this all half joking. I go to school with a lot of smart, lovely people. I work hard, but sometimes I just need to throw my hands up in the air and laugh. There will always be someone who knows more than you, and most of the time there will always be someone who knows less than you as well. Oh Life.

"Makin' Banana Pancakes, Pretend Like Its The Weekend Now..."

Two weeks ago I found myself at a crossing. I had been doing well on my 2011 "no more junk food" resolution (since this last holiday season, I took no prisoners when it came to cookie consumption). On the other hand, I was about to enjoy my last weekend before returning to classes again, and I will admit I was feeling some anxiety. So, being out of town for the weekend, and feeling the need to sort of throw my hands up in the air, I caved and brought with me the ingredients necessary to make pancakes. And I want to say that 1. I have no regrets, and 2. It turns out, I make awesome pancakes. Adding another skill to my rookie resume; I make awesome gluten free pancakes. And when you are in the middle of the woods in Pennsylvania, spending days and nights doing nothing but enjoying a fireplace, having some drinks, and watching Old School, I think you must say yes to Sunday Morning pancakes, no matter what your new years resolution. When those who are eating with you are gluten intolerant, you show them first hand why it is so awesome that you have the skill to make them this classic breakfast without making them ill. For the record, you do not need to be gluten intolerant to enjoy gluten free pancakes, (just like you do not need to be lactose intolerant in order to drink lactaid milk, or soy milk).
There are many people who believe adapting a gluten free lifestyle has multiple health benefits regardless of whether or not you are intolerant or allergic. I am not one of those people. I believe in the importance of whole grain consumption (and as you may or may not know, gluten is a protein derived from wheat, barley, or rye so those unable to consume it, are also unable to have that diet rich in "whole grains"). Thats not to say I havent enjoyed trying some new foods and learning to prep some though. So much of our country is developing intolerances/allergies to gluten, that food products now are required to put this information on their label as a warning if it is an ingredient. As a future dietitian, I see this as just another topic I should be well versed on (along with type 2 diabetes, and juvenille obesity). These are our leading themes which unfortunately seem to be growing at an insane pace in our population. Bottom line in my opinion, if you can't have gluten, my dear then do not eat it. If you can however (like me)eat it without having a terrible stomach ache after...please eat whole grains; they are good for your heart.

Below is the recipe I used for "brekky" this day (in Australia, breakfast is called "brekky", and all it took was me studying abroad there for 5 months to permanentely take on this term). I chose to make banana pancakes with this mix, since I think regular ol gluten free mix can at times taste like its...missing something.

1 ½ cup of Bobs Red Mill gluten free “waffle/pancake mix”
1 large egg
1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
¾ cup milk
2 bananas
I use my electric beater to blend the above ingredients (including one of the bananas, this is my little tip on making the pancake batter taste better, and giving it a better texture)
Use a ladle to scoop the batter onto the greased griddle. Keep the stove at medium to medium high heat. When you see little bubbles start to pop on the pancake, test the outer rim with your spatula to see if it is ready to flip. If the bubbles are there and the spatula is easily sliding under the pancake, then FLIP. (While I am waiting for the bubbles to appear, I take my second banana which I have sliced into small circles and drop one or two pieces onto the pancake). Now my pancakes have banana mixed in the batter, but also some nice visible pieces cooked into the middle of them.
I made about 10 pancakes, put them on a large plate and topped with the remaining banana pieces. After the maple syrup was heated in the microwave and the coffee was brewed...breakfast was served. And I can't think of much else I'd rather be doing than enjoying pancakes and coffee in the countryside on a sunday morning, with such wonderful company.
Enjoy the recipe, and enjoy your sunday mornings. <3

Kevins Blog

The greatest job I ever had was when I was working as a tutor in an East Harlem public school. I was there to help students improve their math and reading, but I was already a student at NYU taking my first nutrition courses. With my real interest being in public school nutrition, I asked if I could eat lunch with the kids every day. For an entire academic year I taught children math and reading, while observing what they ate between 8am and 3pm, as well as observing their behaviors before and after meal time. One day, I will write a book about these experiences. For now, I want to stick to the story of one, very special child.

It was when one of my students became emotionally upset after gym class one day, that I feel I first became prepared for my career. We teach children that fruits and vegetables make us “big and strong”. And In third grade, children are aware of themselves. This student, short and overweight for his age was one of the brightest kids in class. It didn’t take him long to realize he was shorter than some of the other boys, and that vegetables may help him become “big and strong”. This student, named Kevin, also loved to play basketball. During recess he would run around the pavements with the other kids, always seeking a sport to jump into. After Kevin lost a game in gym class one day, he became emotionally distraught and began misbehaving. Later that afternoon, after I caught him giving the art teacher an eye roll, I took him out in the hallway to ask him what was wrong (and sort of reprimand him for giving the art teacher an eye roll). I started with “Kevin, do you know you scored a 100 on the math quiz this morning? Do you know how smart you are? You are having a great day today, may I ask why you are so sad?” He started crying. He cried about losing the game in gym. I explained that it was only a game, and that he should be proud of how he did in math earlier in the day. His response?

“I don’t want to be a (hiccup) math star, I want to (hiccup) be a basketball star!” (I tried so hard not to laugh at this moment. As heartbreaking as it was, this kid was hilarious).

I then went on to say that he could still be a basketball star if he wanted to, but the tears kept flowing and what came next gave me a pit in my stomach. Kevin was now sobbing about what was most likely really bothering him. The child switched from basketball talk, to home life. With his hands clasped together, and his head faced down, he told me that he asks his mother to buy fruits and vegetables at the food store, but how he must eat both breakfast and lunch in the school cafeteria since mom can only afford to cook one meal a day for the kids at home. Since Kevin qualifies, he can eat breakfast and lunch at school every day for free. He continued to explain that the food at school “gives me a belly ache”. As Kevin cried that he wanted more vegetables in his diet, I started to think about just how smart he really is. What 8 year old cries because he wants vegetables? And not just any…because I asked what he would love to have and his response was “I don’t know…a cucumber? Zucchini?” (Again,I love this student with all my heart).

I believe Kevin was at an age where he was becoming aware of his height and weight. These first insecurities along with a basic nutrition education had left Kevin feeling like if he could grab a vegetable, it would only be a matter of time before he was an NBA star. As this scene played out in a hallway right outside the Art classroom, I didn’t know what to do. I was caught off guard, but I gave him a hug and told him I was proud of him for being such a good boy and listening to his mom. I promised to eat with him at lunch that day, and walk him over to the salad bar in the cafeteria so we could find some acceptable food for him to eat. I finished by telling him that his mother loves him very much, and that eating at school has nothing to do with how much she loves him, or how much she wants to do for him. We finished by skipping the rest of Art class and walking back down to his classroom where his teacher kept granola bars stocked. I gave him a granola bar, and some cantaloupe I had brought in that day and allowed him to calm down at his desk. “Do you feel a little better?” I asked. He nodded his head yes, and I smiled over the granola that had mixed with his tears and caused a sticky mess all over both hands.

The talk I had with Kevin in the hallway that day was only the beginning. Kevin will be my motivation for a long time to come. Kids are kids first. They are not doctors, or teachers, or machines. They need real food to grow, not food products; and they depend on us as adults, teachers, and care takers to get it for them. Kevins mom is doing the best she can, but the food crisis in our country is worse than many of us realize. Currently, one in seven homes in America is going to bed hungry. The school I worked in had over 50% of the student population relying on breakfast and lunch at school for meals. A single person living in New York City who relies on the SNAP program (aka “food stamps”) gets 46 dollars a week to assist in food purchases. If you live in New York, you understand how difficult that number is to swallow. Currently, we “super size” empty meals (no nutrients), subsidize unhealthy foods to sell to school lunch programs, and have a 66% overweight population (33% being obese). And when I asked my second grade class in the Bronx 2 years ago where food came from, their first two responses were “cans” and “McDonalds”. In addition to all of this over eating, super sized insanity, we are still hungry? It’s a backwards situation as I like to call it. Whether I have 21 followers on this blog, or 2,100…I like to write about this. Because we need to be aware. And Kevin wants a cucumber…or zucchini…..so lets get it done.

Veggie Taco Night

This is one of my favorite dinners to make. Ever since switching to vegetarianism, I have definitely increased the Spanish food intake. Rice, beans, cheese, and carbohydrates are just so yummy and easy to make a bunch of meals with. Also, rice and beans eaten together make a complete amino acid. And while protein is the least of my nutrients I need to worry about, I enjoy that combination especially after lifting weights at the gym. Over the weekend I had a successful trip to wholefoods where I picked up all the necessary ingredients for a successful taco night. It came out so delicious that I suggest you give it a go.
1. Dump one can of black beans and one can of pinto beans into a large pan.
2. Add ¾ cup of water, and a packet of taco seasoning (usually you use this seasoning on the ground beef, but why not just mix it with the beans? This decision was brilliant as it totally worked and I got all the taco seasoning flavor without having to use ground beef).
3. Pre heat the oven to 350 and place your taco shells on a cookie sheet. Heat shells for 5 minutes. I used Garden of Eatin' brand, blue corn shells.
4. Simmer the beans until most of the water is absorbed and then reduce heat to low.
5. Cook a pot of brown rice. I use the Success 10 Minute boil brown rice.
6. Stuff tacos with brown rice, beans, and your favorite taco toppings. I topped mine with the following: organic shredded cheese (365 brand), salsa fresca (from wholefoods), wild arugula, and taco sauce. :)
I asked my roommate “did you eat dinner yet?” He replied with “no…I have a lean cuisine in the freezer though”. I said “forget the lean cuisine, I am about to make veggie tacos and there will be a lot of food, so come in here and grab a plate. The rule though, you can only eat them if you definitely add arugula”. He asked “what’s arugula?” (aye aye aye…we don’t know our greens!) Without being rude, I just pointed to the wild arugula on the counter. When he realized it was a “lettuce” he went “oh…” But my roommate knows that when I cook food for him, I make sure he takes in his vegetables for the night (since I never see him eat anything other than peanut butter on bagels, chicken, or frozen meals). My green rule always works, since well…what 25 year old man do you know that doesn’t accept home cooked food? The tacos were a hit.

a sunday funday, with turkey bacon.

Before I have angry vegetarians tell me that I am out of the club, allow me to explain myself.
Yes I am a vegetarian. Yes, everyday for the last 3 ½ years I have chosen a meatless diet. No turkey, pork, beef, chicken, or fish. My reasons for choosing this lifestyle are largely nutritionally based and of course, my own opinion. I am a very happy vegetarian. I do not, however believe that if I eat meat I am going to die, or be individually responsible for an increase in slaughter house Co2 gasses that week. I am not trying to justify my story, but I don’t want anyone thinking that I broke some major ethical codes I had previously set for myself. I am still a vegetarian, and one incident in the kitchen doesn’t change that.
I was with my good company (that’s what we will call him for now, since I don’t like to do the “names have been changed” thing) and we were watching Kansas City play Baltimore in the NFL playoffs. It was a typical lazy Sunday that had followed a fantastic brunch, but leave it to me…3 hours had gone by and I was ready to eat again. We decided on a kitchen adventure, and pulled out all the worlds finest ingredients: cooking spray, (gluten free) bread, and American cheese. We’ve taken on this recipe before; we are pretty well versed on the “grilled cheese with ketchup” dish. This time, I saw an extra ingredient hit the counter. Turkey Bacon. “Uh, you’re using bacon in yours?” I said. “It always smells so good and then I crave it. Bacon is the only meat I kind of ..miss….at times…”. He asked if I wanted any, and I replied with “of course not, no no..I can’t. But…if some were to accidentally make it into my sandwich then it wouldn’t be my fault right?” We laughed at what I thought was a clear joke. I mean, I always say things like that. I was just trying to be funny, playing the whole “what I wouldn’t give to taste bacon again” game. Or so I thought.
Since the bread slices were small, we also made the non nutritional decision to make 2 sandwiches for each of us (total of 4 sandwiches on the stove at once). We were….hungry. So it wasn’t entirely my fault when I stopped paying attention to which was what on the frying pan. Somehow, right under my nose, my co-chef placed about a 2 inch piece of bacon into one of my sandwiches. I guess all the talk and joking around really stuck with him. I don’t know how he had the courage to do this. It was a risky move that could have went terribly wrong. When we sat to eat, it was only a matter of time before I took my first bite of sodium nitrates in 3 years and well…honestly?
…I didn’t know whether to spit it out, or thank him. I am not going to pretend that bacon doesn’t taste good. It tastes awesome. Does this mean we should over eat anything and everything that simply “tastes good”? Of course not. But is a 2 inch piece of turkey bacon that someone slipped into my sandwich out of love going to kill me? I think I am OK. I bit my sandwich, and looked up. He laughed. I said “you sneak!” He laughed some more…and I said…”oh my god this tastes so good”. “It’s not your fault Jess”, he said; you didn’t know you were going to eat it, it was a kitchen error…whoops?”
Clearly…he just wanted to make sure I got what I deep down, really wanted. He is cool like that. We finished lunch, and then I went to vegetarian confession and repented. (…joke…).


(some food humor from thanksgiving season, thanks to my clinical nutrition professor who included this image in our lecture slides that week).

Cuando Los Ninos Bailen

I know it has been an unprofessional amount of time since I wrote my last blog. Fortunately for me, this isn’t my job because I would definitely have to fire myself by now. Once again, school & work have occupied all my time…but I should tell you I have a memo pad of paper with a list of blog topics to write about, when I get my life back in a few weeks. I hope that after my semester is over (December 22nd people, mark your calendars) that I will be able to spend my 5 weeks off from NYU catching up on all the books I bought for fun (but never read), studying Spanish (my co workers and I finally ordered rosetta stone), and of course…writing tons of blogs to catch you up on all the ideas that have been floating in this head of mine. Tonight though, I put aside the other work I have to do to write a special blog while my emotions are fresh. So, here it goes:
I came home from work tonight to see a letter from Children International. As some of you may know, I have been sponsoring a little boy named Elvis for the last 3 years through this international organization. At first glance of the thick packet I assumed it was an updated picture of him. I love when I get those updated pictures. Not to take too much credit, but he used to stare awkwardly into the camera for those. Ever since last March however, (when I visited him in Honduras) he has become a huge ham for the camera! He looks happier in every one I’ve gotten ever since my visit. I like to think it’s because he knows who he’s smiling for now. We became little buddies that day.

(Elvis performing a little song for me) :)
Unfortunately, the packet was nothing what I expected. Instead, it was a letter from Jim Cook (the founder of Children International). Elvis and his family unexpectedly moved out of the San Pedro Sula area, and therefore are no longer living in an area that Children International covers. They are gone, and he is no longer my sponsored child. What followed was worse. I cannot send any final letters or photos to him or his family. Upon reading this, I did what any sensitive and emotionally invested 25 year old would do…I cried. I held the letter and sobbed. And I feel that it is important to share just how much Elvis meant to me, and the story of how I visited him in Honduras.
It was October 2007 and I was living in Hells Kitchen, nyc. I was on my way to work when yes, I fell victim to one of those teenagers on the street asking “do you have a minute to help end world poverty?” Sure. I have a minute, but isn’t world poverty a little more complicated than that? Of course, I stopped and chatted away with the young man who was trying to sell me a kid. It seemed a little strange to do something like this on the street, and it seemed a little strange that he had photos and packets of hundreds of children living in poverty around the world in his little knapsack. Of course, I was still intrigued. I was told that for only 22 dollars a month I could provide school supplies, a monthly check up, and medical supplies for a kid in need. I had been thinking about doing this for years, and I had a few particular countries I was researching volunteering in at the time, so I started asking questions. “Do you have children from Honduras? I have been learning a lot about the country and I hope to visit it one day”. Man: “Yes! We do!” (man was very excited…starts fishing for all his Honduran baby pictures in his knapsack).
“Does children international allow visits? I feel weird about giving my money away and not seeing first hand where it goes”. Man: “We encourage visits! Just tell us 14 days before you plan to travel!”
“Really?...then sir, you have yourself a done deal. I want the youngest child you have in that bag…because I plan to sponsor for a very long time and I want to be a part of his life from the beginning”. And the man pulled out this picture of a 2 ½ year old butterball named Elvis. I know this may sound insane to some of you, but when I tell you I fell in love on the corner of 49th and 8th looking at a “welcome” packet from Children International…I kid you not. Maybe I am too sensitive a person to be doing things like this, but I was truly invested in Elvis, and his well being. So, from October 2007 on I sponsored him with 22 dollars a month, and a few letters and pictures exchanged a year. I thought about him every night, hoping he was Ok, safe, and healthy. Every time an updated picture arrived in the mail I would stick it on my refrigerator. My friends teased me, “Jessica, he has a mother already…you cannot take him back to the U.S.”
I always knew I would visit him in Honduras, I just didn’t know when. Finally, in March of 2010 I was given the amazing opportunity to volunteer in Honduras. I fundraised my entire trip through beer pong tournaments, letters to friends and family, and even selling some of my clothes. I didn’t know where Elvis lived in Honduras exactly, but it looked like a small country on the map and I was willing to jump on a bus if need be. About a month before leaving, I called Children International to explain what I would be doing in El Progreso. I was amazed and thrilled when the woman on the phone told me Elvis is in the San Pedro Sula area…just 45 minutes away from where I would be staying. I can’t help but write here how I know in my heart this was all meant to be. The organization I was volunteering with thought it was great and had no problem with me skipping a day with them to go make a visit to my little munchkin. So by mid February it was settled. I was going to volunteer in Honduras, and meet Elvis. Life was beautiful.
The day I met Elvis was the best day of my entire adult life so far. Children International sent an amazing woman to pick me up from where I was staying around 7:45 in the morning. We hopped in the van and drove about an hour to the center where Elvis and his mother were waiting for us. With me, I had regalos (gifts, of course) including Dora the explorer books (in Spanish) English/Spanish flashcards to help teach reading, and clothes. I bought matching pajamas from baby gap for him, his brother, and sister. I bought his mother a journal to record all the funny things her kids probably do every day since I knew she didn’t have a camera. I had a bag of goodies and I was so excited/nervous/happy. When we pulled up to the center my heart jumped in my throat. I saw him right away on the see-saw. He put his head down and rocked back and forth pretty violently (being nervous and upset at all the attention that was now on him). He was wearing jeans with a red and white t shirt. He was the cutest 5 year old I had ever seen. His family tried to get him to look up….I just stood there trying not to cry. “I am in San Pedro Sula Honduras, and I am 5 feet away from Elvis…oh my god…how did I get here?” was all I could think. When his mom told him firmly to look up, he became very upset and screamed “No quiero!” haha…(”I don’t want to!”) His tiny voice pulled at my heart and I told my friend Bobby (who speaks fluent Spanish) “tell her its ok! I understand!” 45 minutes of crying and shyness and I started being told by staff that this is a normal occurrence when sponsors show up. “Of course it is” I thought. I mean…imagine growing up in a small town in the United States. You own no tv, no radio, you have barely been educated. A Chinese woman who doesn’t speak English writes to your kid once a month and then after 3 years shows up in a van with a bunch of other Chinese people and she has gifts and a camera. Of course this can be stressful on a child and their entire family. But I wasn’t there to take pictures for fun, or to “hand out” gifts. I wanted to convey so badly how I thought about Elvis every day. I wanted to say how I told all my friends and family about the beautiful little boy and how he inspired me to begin to learn Spanish so perhaps one day I could get a job working in public health…working to help children like Elvis. But I was not fluent in Spanish, and for now…gifts were all I really had. So, I said “Elvis, Mira!” (elvis, look!) “Yo tengo regalos”. His little head looked up and I just got down on my knees and started reading one of the books I bought him to the best of my ability. It was a dora and diego book (in Spanish) and while I didn’t know every word I was reading…I did the best I could.
Throughout the story, he slowly walked closer and closer…I mean, cmon he had to see the pictures! By the time the story was over, a woman nearby told him to give me a hug for reading to him. After I put the book down, he jumped into my arms! After 45 minutes of him playing shy, we hugged it out. We were good now. We decided Elvis would probably feel more comfortable if we left the center, and headed to his own home. So, after a quick tour of the center which included the playground, education center, and pharmacy by the staff of Children International; we got back into the van, this time with Elvis and his mother, and headed to the mountain.
Elvis lived with his mother, sister, brother, grandfather, grandmother, and 12 other relatives in one concrete house. It was located at the top of a mountain on the outskirts of San Pedro Sula. When I say this was a bumpy ride, I really just say “bumpy” because I don’t think another word exists for the level of bumpiness this was. Elvis sat next to me, and I turned back to tell his mother during the ride how famous Elvis was back in Los Estados Unidos (The United States). The van drove a good distance before telling us no mas (no more). “You need to walk the rest! The hill is too steep to drive!” I got out of the van and checked out the hill I was about to climb to get to Elvis’s home. Before I had a moment to reflect, Elvis darted past me with all his gifts in his arms (barely able to hold it all). He ran up the hill screaming for his cousins and siblings, laughing and ready to show off his stuff. The child was a completely different person from when I first arrived that morning. I always had a feeling he was an adorable kid in person, but my god I was So Right! His voice, his smile, his enthusiasm, and his humor shined. As I walked up the hill about to enter his home and sit with his family, I could not have been happier. “This kid is amazing” I said.

When you stand outside in Elvis's house, on the porch, you are among the tops of avocado trees. The view is breathtaking. We spent the morning singing and dancing, reading books, and watching Elvis try on his new clothes. At one point he was so excited to be switching outfits, he ran out in nothing but his underwear. All the other little cousins started laughing and pointing and Elvis just smiled and ran away, with his little tushie sticking out. He is a joy. While I was not fluent in Spanish, I had the help of many translators and a friend who was fluent to help me out. I was able to convey my feelings towards the family, and had a very special conversation with Elvis’s Grandpa. His grandpa told me that in their house they refer to me as the godmother. He then gave me an original copy of a family photo they took one Christmas, and said he wanted me to keep it. He finished by saying (in Spanish) “you always have a place here in our home, and you can return whenever you’d like”.

(Elvis feeling like the superstar of the day with his mama and cousins)


(Watching the rainstorm)
That afternoon, after a typical Honduran rainstorm (which makes a NY rainstorm look like a day in the park) we grabbed walking sticks to assist us in our next challenge…getting down the hill to get back to the van. Of course, I slipped and fell on my tush right in the mud. We hugged and said our goodbyes. I thought for sure, I would return next year and make this day a tradition.

(Yes, I needed a little assistance coming down the hill)

They told me how I changed Elvis’s life. But really, Elvis changed mine.
Wherever you are my little butterball, I will never forget your smile and your teeny voice. You mean everything to me, and I will think about you and your family every day. I wish I could write you one last letter to tell you that I am here with you, in your heart, every step of the way.
Yo quiero mucho, y te extrano mucho.