Host Family

A word about host families. The idea of a host family is a bit peculiar; the thought that someone who does not speak your language and has never met you before will welcome you into their home, cook you meals, and provide the love we all so desperately need from a mother figure seems absurd in some ways. Its sort of like taking in a stray dog who can talk and has opposable thumbs to more easily steal things, but as strange as it seems in concept this is exactly what we are receiving.
Maria Jose, our lady of the house was born to be a mother. I can only imagine her as a child, jealous of her own mother for having a child to care for. We try to help with things and she refuses to let us. We have problems with a shop owner she threatens him with a spanking. She is the most maternal of mothers I have encountered and she is incredibly sweet. She lives alone, but is visited often by her son, the most cynical little man I've met in my short time on this planet. He's 16 and loves paris hilton, but is a most wonderful guy and has little problem mocking us for any number of our small idiocies (the words for "to do" and "to be" are surprisingly similar and it is very strange to speak of doing thirsty). I of course can't speak at all and Maria tries to sit with rapt attention while I stutter for 15 minutes trying to say one sentence in the wrong tense but I will hopefully improve and it is at least a comfort that I can understand most of what's going on even if I can't speak as well. Thats all for now, the next entry will deal with the city itself. For now hasta luego. As always I hope you are well grandma.