Some visitors from Esmeraldas
Yesterday, Karin & I went to the movie theater. The movie itself cost $6 per ticket – the only good deal in the house. Two popcorns and two drinks would’ve cost about $20. Two bottles of water would’ve cost about $10.
And then, to add insult to injury, the drinking fountains in our section didn’t work. (We did find drinking water at the other end of the building.)
We settled into our seats. The previews were uninspired.
Clearly, the movie industry is in bad decline …
… except for the Mission: Impossible series, which just keeps on getting better and better, and whose latest installment we’d come to view. (It’s one of the comforts of my old age.)
Mission: Impossible – Fallout is the “Thundergun Express” of movies. Tom Cruise hangs from a cliff, and from a tall building. He jumps out of a plane – in a lightning storm. He pilots a helicopter – in a dogfight with another helicopter, over the Himalayas. And, in Paris and London, he runs, and runs, and runs.
It’s best viewed on the big screen, what Tom Cruise manages to do.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Afterward, we stopped by my Aunt Lorena’s & Uncle John’s house to borrow a book; and, lo and behold, who should be visiting but my Aunt Lorena’s own aunt and uncle, Amparo and René Bermúdez. It’s not often that I see people I knew in Esmeraldas, as a child.
We conversed in Spanish.
“How is Ruth?” they asked, referring to Mary, my sister. “Does she still have asthma?”
“No,” my Aunt Lorena said, “she has diabetes.”
“She has both,” I assured them. We all shook our heads.
“She exercises regularly and watches her diet,” I told them. “She’s in better condition than her brothers are.”
“Ah,” they said. “And little David, who wanted to play for Real Madrid?”
“Married to an hondureña.”
“And young Stephen?”
“To a nicaragüense.”
“And your wife, does she speak Spanish?”
“No.” (Karin later told me that she understood 25% of the conversation – and, yes, the, and other words like those.)
“With whom do you practice?”
“With no one.”
“You speak Spanish perfectly.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “For an esmeraldeño.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Before we took our leave, Karin & I went upstairs to greet my cousins, Annie and Vickie. Annie was in her bedroom with Johnny, her fiancé. Vickie was in her own bedroom.
After we talked to them, we came back down the stairs.
“Was Vickie in her own room?” asked my Uncle John.
“Yes,” I said.
“Annie and Johnny aren’t supposed to be in a bedroom alone together,” said my uncle.
“Well,” I told him, “you’d better go up there and drag them out.”
And then Karin & I left.
And then, to add insult to injury, the drinking fountains in our section didn’t work. (We did find drinking water at the other end of the building.)
We settled into our seats. The previews were uninspired.
Clearly, the movie industry is in bad decline …
… except for the Mission: Impossible series, which just keeps on getting better and better, and whose latest installment we’d come to view. (It’s one of the comforts of my old age.)
Mission: Impossible – Fallout is the “Thundergun Express” of movies. Tom Cruise hangs from a cliff, and from a tall building. He jumps out of a plane – in a lightning storm. He pilots a helicopter – in a dogfight with another helicopter, over the Himalayas. And, in Paris and London, he runs, and runs, and runs.
It’s best viewed on the big screen, what Tom Cruise manages to do.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Afterward, we stopped by my Aunt Lorena’s & Uncle John’s house to borrow a book; and, lo and behold, who should be visiting but my Aunt Lorena’s own aunt and uncle, Amparo and René Bermúdez. It’s not often that I see people I knew in Esmeraldas, as a child.
We conversed in Spanish.
“How is Ruth?” they asked, referring to Mary, my sister. “Does she still have asthma?”
“No,” my Aunt Lorena said, “she has diabetes.”
“She has both,” I assured them. We all shook our heads.
“She exercises regularly and watches her diet,” I told them. “She’s in better condition than her brothers are.”
“Ah,” they said. “And little David, who wanted to play for Real Madrid?”
“Married to an hondureña.”
“And young Stephen?”
“To a nicaragüense.”
“And your wife, does she speak Spanish?”
“No.” (Karin later told me that she understood 25% of the conversation – and, yes, the, and other words like those.)
“With whom do you practice?”
“With no one.”
“You speak Spanish perfectly.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “For an esmeraldeño.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Before we took our leave, Karin & I went upstairs to greet my cousins, Annie and Vickie. Annie was in her bedroom with Johnny, her fiancé. Vickie was in her own bedroom.
After we talked to them, we came back down the stairs.
“Was Vickie in her own room?” asked my Uncle John.
“Yes,” I said.
“Annie and Johnny aren’t supposed to be in a bedroom alone together,” said my uncle.
“Well,” I told him, “you’d better go up there and drag them out.”
And then Karin & I left.