It's Sunday. It's Father's Day. And I'm in Guatemala. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. The sky is a gorgeous shade of light blue. We are headed into San Andreas for a day at the market and of bit of sight seeing before we get down to business tomorrow. On our way to San Andreas my thoughts turn to my father. Naturally right? I have a bit of a guilty feeling for being absent, out of the country even, on this day. Especially because I will also be absent this coming Saturday, which happens to be his 55th birthday. So a little about my daddy...My father is a very quiet man. Something I believe he gets from his father who is also the strong silent type. Something I like to think I inherited from them. Those of you who know me know how quite I am and that I can be a woman of few words. My father, and his father, subscribe heavily to the philosophy that you showed your love, your value, just about anything else, through your deeds and your actions, not so much by your words. My father is not an openly emotional man and again, not a wordy one. But I have never once doubted how much he loved and supported me. I have never doubted how proud he is of me. I know I am incredibly lucky to have such an example of hard work and devotion in my life. Don't worry, lest you think this man is a saint, he does have a few flaws...
- He is already losing his hearing. Although I suspect this is a clever rouse and he really just has a super power of selective hearing.
- Procrastination: another gift he so graciously bestowed upon me.
- He can't seem to figure out why the air conditioning in my jeep works fabulously in Wyoming, but not at all in Utah.
Now we return to Guatemala....
Now we're walking down the main street of San Andreas where the Sunday market is spread before us. I wish I had the worlds to evoke all of the senses in you so you could experience as I have. The smells, both good and not so good hit all at once. The hot sun beating on the exposed skin of your arms and legs and face, warming every inch of you. The sight of each of the vendors with their fruits and vegetables of bright red, orange, and yellow. The women in their brightly colored traditional clothing doing their Sunday shopping. Taste, well taste I can't describe because I wasn't willing to chance it ;) The sound of rapid Spanish and laughter. The small child being carried to the motorcycle screaming "Quiero el helado papa! Quiero el helado papa!" It's all I can do to soak up and attempt to burn every last thing I possibly can into my memory. I close my eyes and I can still see and feel and hear it all. It's so incredible to simply be there and soak up the culture.