Three Oranges Remain

Sadly, I have moved into a new household and the Horta Family and I have parted ways.

Things I won't miss greatly:
1) Breakfast Sandwiches.
2) The gigantic moths who trigger the 10,000 watt motion light outside my bedroom window at night.
3) The homeade sleep remedy crafted by Grandmother Horta (made with lemon rhines and the leaves of an indigenous tree) which left me clenching the toilet for 2 hours.

Things I will miss greatly:
1) Grandmother Horta flapping her arms in a bird like motion while saying "volar volar" whenever i tried doing my dishes. (Volar= fly away)
2) Laughing to myself after one of Silvi's impromptu shoulder or ass taps.
3) The generosity of the Hortas and their willingness (even happiness) to put up with a naive foreigner such as myself.

As I metioned at the top, I have moved in with another family. They are friends of friends of friends and they're fantastic. They have 4 kids (15, 19, 20 & 24) and they all speak english far better than I speak spanish. However, the main purpose of this trip is to learn spanish, so i try to speak it with them anyway. After studdering and stumbling while saying something like "I drove the car up the dining room", they understandably request that I " just speak english."

From the moment I arrived, the tall and slightly gangly 15 year old Pedro, has shown a distinct facination with hurling objects at me or my head (especially when I'm not looking). In the last 48 hours, the following objects have careened in my general direction: a right footed flip flop, a heavily chewed (by dog) tennis ball, pebbles, a Luke Skywalker Lightsaber, one of those colorful balls with suction cups all over it, a pink fluffy thing, sparkling water (at the dinner table), a Wiley Coyote figurine, two ping pong paddles and a yellow stress-relieving ball just bounced off my head. After he does this, he laughs. On most occasions, I do too.

Pedro's english is ok, but he has a thick Chilean accent. At our first lunch, he heard me use the word 'poison' to describe a piece of food (probably salami), and since that time, whenever someone is explaining what we're eating or if I ask, he quickly chimes in with "Poison". He then laughs, sometimes adding "stupid gringo".

Yesterday, he saw me writing something in my notebook. Now, whenever he sees me with or near my notebook, he say's in a somewhat girly voice "Dear Diary" (pronounced "dier dyrie").

I like him. He is a goofball who ends each day with an endearing "good night bitch."
(pronounced 'beech' of course).