Martin & Hazel Frost

At the moment I’m trying to bring together the ingredients for a high-tech communication system for a kid who desperately needs one.  First component, we have accepted an offer of a working laptop from the UK, so we need someone who’s coming this way to bring it for us.  We can’t post or FEDEX it because even if it doesn’t get stolen on route (and sadly that appears to be on the increase here of late if our experience can be generalised), it will almost certainly be impounded in customs in Buenos Aires who (again from our experience) are likely to charge us 50% of what they think it’s worth in addition to "storage" costs meaning that we might as well have bought a new one here.  Hence it needs to travel accompanied as someone’s hand baggage.  Second component, I’ve located here in Buenos Aires a guy who has been innovating in the area of adapted technology and alternative communications for the last twenty years or so.  He designed the first virtual keyboard in Argentina back in 1986 in fact.  I’ve heard good testimony from someone who’s met him, and looking at his website I definitely need to fix up a trip soon.  A few years ago I would have relished a jaunt to Buenos Aires, now I think heck, nine hours each way on the bus, not to mention having to get round the city… cost… time… family… commitments; maybe I’ve become old and boring. 

So anyway, when I’ve managed to figure out how to bring together UK laptop, Argentinean virtual keyboard with a scanning feature, and a couple of foot-operated switches, I think we might have the basis of an absolutely fantastic communication system for my prime target, and then it will “just” be a case of teaching her to use it, although if she’s as bright as I suspect she is, that will probably be the easy part.  Till then, I’ve gathered some magnetic letters, and our favourite household-appliance repair man has cut me a magnetic whiteboard from the side of a dead washing machine.   I need to tape the sharp edges of same, and then we will have the basis of a low-tech communication aid.  I’m also thinking if I stick some magnetic strips to the back of some of the pictures that I’ve already been using then it might be a useful resource for some of the other kids in the group too.  Meanwhile in our garage at the moment there’s a whole pile of cut-to-size carton pieces which I’m hoping will form the basis of an approximately CAPS-esque wheelchair insert for another kid just as soon as I’ve paper-maché-ed it all together.  Sublime; ridiculous; but which is which? 

Late this morning, I’m just leaving the special school on my bike, about to go home and do a few things prior to our kid coming home from nursery in his usual whirlwind of energy and chaos, when the phone rings.  It’s “my” family from the hamlet; my mate kiddo has split his head open, they think it’ll need stitching, any chance that I might be able to come and collect them?  Give me ten minutes to get home and swop the bike for the car and I’ll be on my way.  So that took care of the next little while.  I broke the speed limit pretty well all the way there not knowing what I was going to find, but on arrival it quickly became clear that he was fine; good wide cut to the back of the head, stitches definitely required, but nothing very serious. 

Even with my Jenson Button impression, it was still an hour between me leaving my house and us arriving at the hospital.  Then we had to wait for another hour despite there only being one person ahead of us, who was seen within five minutes of our arrival.  I suspect most (all?) of the medical staff went on their lunch break at that point.  Service to the public isn’t always a strong feature of “public services” here in Argentina, but I’ve written about that before.  This gave me plenty of time to observe the cleaning staff, two women who were “mopping” the floor, (read “sloshing water”) around, rather than under, the chairs, tables, trolley beds etc.  Apart from making me wonder when (if?)those areas are ever cleaned, the best bit was the psychological warfare; they were working in parallel corridors, each of which leads to one of the only two exits in the A&E, and both were equally determined that the public should not walk down “their” corridor during the cleaning process, despite various members of the public wishing to exit the building.  I guess that little bit of sport is probably the only interesting part of their day so maybe we shouldn’t begrudge it to them. 

Then we were attended to and the offending head dutifully sewn up.  I really hoped that we wouldn’t be kept in for “observations” re head injury, since it was clear to anyone who knows kiddo that he was just fine, but of course the doctors don’t know what “normal” looks like for him.  Fortunately they agreed with my assessment, so once the blood was cleaned up we were released on our way, and he’s now safely home sporting a chef’s hat affair made out of a roll of wide bandage (I can’t imagine he’s tolerating that by now, but he still had it on when I dropped him off). 

Why am I telling this story (apart from the fact that it took up half the day)?  Because it really made me think about how isolated these guys are.  They only live half an hour from a large, middle class town, in the wealthiest province in Argentina, but that still makes it an hour to the hospital by the time someone comes out to get them.  Today we were fortunate that it hasn’t rained for a couple of weeks; if it had rained yesterday, the last three kilometres to their house would only be accessible by truck.  This was also a minor injury; if it had been time-critical, we would have been playing a game of real-life roulette.  And for every kiddo and his family, there must be thousands like them in Argentina, particularly in those provinces which don’t have anything like the infrastructure that we enjoy(?) here in Cordoba.  For these people, social and cultural constructs of life and death must take on a whole new meaning.  And finally my boggled mind is trying to get itself around the idea that if Argentina is something like the fortieth most developed country in the world (according to the UN 2009), that leaves  another two hundred countries whose populations live a reality of which I understand absolutely nothing. 

Calvin:     BU-URRP! Mum:       Good heavens, Calvin! What do we say after that? Calvin:     "Must be a barge coming through!" Mum:       WHAT do you say?! Calvin:     "That sure tasted better going down than coming up!" Mum:       Three strikes and you’re history, kiddo. Calvin:     Excuse me.

Dad:     What do you say Joni?

Joni:      “Mine, it’s mine”.

Dad:       What do you say Joni?

Joni:     "Here, put it on here!" (points to the table in front of him)

Dad:       WHAT do you say?!

Joni:     Thank you Daddy

I spent last weekend on Scout camp in Devoto, one of the first villages out of here.  It was hot and exhausting, but good fortune smiled upon me and some of the things I normally fill my life with have been cancelled or postponed for this week.  Thus I formulated a grand plan to catch up with a whole lot of admin which I normally never get round to.  I’m happy to report that so far I’ve found a whole lot of other things to do and have mostly managed to avoid the admin. 

This morning I took a rucksack into the repair place to be fixed.  I spent a little while hunting for my other rucksack to decant my stuff into, but having not found it, I grabbed a shopping bag and made do with that instead.  When I arrived at the repair place, the lady said, “oh I wondered if you’d forgotten the rucksack you left here a couple of months ago….”  Explains why I couldn’t find it at home then.  Happy reunion, claimed one rucksack, left the lady with the other one, bought some new insoles for my favourite oldest trainers; should be good for another few months before they actually drop apart I reckon. 

I’m working towards a little project to make a wheelchair insert using appropriate paper-based technology for one of the kids at the special school.  I’d done a bit of thinking about APT before we ever came to Argentina, but when we arrived, I thought that APT was probably just a bit too “third world” for the needs of folk here.  So I didn’t think about it any more and the book sat on my shelf.  However, the special school here manages to be a convincing model of a third-world enclave in a first world city.  If anything this is even worse than being a third-world institution in a third-world context, because I have a whole bunch of demotivated staff who sit around and talk amongst themselves, and when asked why they don’t do x, y or z, move into bemoaning the lack of resources.  They’ve been trained from a bunch of text-books written by people in contexts where resources are never completely absent.  In general I find Argentina lacks creativity, and this is one environment where it really shows.  So, I have a little task, not only to create something at no cost, but also to model the possibility of creating something at no cost.  And I have a prime candidate; sweet little girl slopped into the most appalling wheelchair ever, who desperately needs an insert made to fit her.  My plan for Wednesday was to measure her, but she didn’t show up at school, so hopefully that’s tomorrow. 

I’ve put my cards on the table now as far as the special school is concerned, which I hadn’t quite planned to do at this stage, but circumstances intervened.  The fact is, there is a real lack of educational activity, particularly at the primary end, where the staff quite often spend the afternoons talking among themselves while the kids crawl around the floor.  I had thought if that’s the way it is I need to bide my time and take my opportunities when they arise.  However, the last couple of weeks there has been a supply teacher in, who has worked in other institutions here, and is completely horrified by all the things that I just thought were part of Argentina.  Hence, she’s trying to introduce some changes, and I’ve taken some opportunities to support her.  Which means that if only from purely selfish motives, I’m hoping that between us we can actually achieve something that is recognised as “good” by the rest of the staff, otherwise I’m going to be sat out on a little twig on my own when my partner in crime’s supply period comes to an end.

  This is a chimango, smallish, brownish bird of prey, pretty common around here.  Joni and I saw one being mobbed by a couple of lapwings one time, and I explained that that would be because the lapwings had a nest and they wouldn’t want the chimango to eat their babies.  This made a big impression on him; for ages every time we saw one, he was say in respectful tones, “chimangos eat babies.“  I was tempted to let him think that I might feed him to a chimango if he doesn’t behave, but in the end conscience prevailed and I had a go at a better explanation.  Hence today when we saw one, he told me “Chimango eats baby birds; sparrows hatch baby pigs in the eggs.“ That’s right Joni, sort of… Chimango with overtones of the three little pigs, intertwined with the sparrows which are once again nesting in our roller blinds; I had to rescue a fluffy chick today which had managed to get itself stuck in the gap between the blind and the dining room wall. 

Yesterday afternoon I was out in the village of Quebracho with the kids at my little homework project.  As well as helping with whatever they’re doing at school, I have a selection of vaguely educational activities in my cupboard which they can choose from when they’re done, thus I have introduced them to jigsaw puzzles, colouring books, dot to dots, etc.  mostly gathered from charity shops when we’ve been back in the UK.  I decided a couple of weeks ago that my next plan would be to see what they made of a game, so yesterday I took along a Ludo set.  Some stereotypes make me want to smack the speaker around the head and tell them they haven’t a clue what they’re talking about.  The one about “They’re poor but they’re happy” would be a good case in point.  And yet, seeing those little kids looking like Christmas had come because I’d put a board game on the table… I’m not sure I’d go as far as “they’re poor but they’re happy”, but there’s definitely something about how over-pampering kids sucks out their ability to enjoy small things.  These ones played it and played it till I finally had to throw them out and lock up because I was supposed to be somewhere else.  I’m thinking for my next move I need to track down some dominoes and a “Connect 4” in time for the Christmas holidays. 

Someone must have been praying after last week’s blog entry because by the time I arrived home from paying my police fine, my Halloween talk had pretty much resolved itself.  Many thanks, whoever you were.  I went in character as an Irish villager from two and a half thousand years ago, who had dressed up as a witch in preparation for Samhuin, complete with pitchfork, vegetable lantern etc.  Points for historical accuracy probably not many, but it reduced fifty raucous kids to silence as soon as I walked in.  And instead of giving them the lecture about how dressing up in a binbag is a one way ticket to the occult, I got the Irish woman to tell her story, majoring on how different life would have been for a people who had to deal with three hundred gods who they didn’t know whether they were good or bad, hence the dressing up to hide from the evil spirits, compared to we, the fortunate, who don’t have to do all that stuff because we have one God and we know we can count on his love.   It seemed to work OK, I wasn’t sure how the leaders would react given that I was miles from my original remit, but their first response was to invite me back to do another one for Christmas, so I think that’s probably a thumbs up.  Like I say, thanks to whoever was praying! 

Sunday school this week and my group had a tedious little study to do on “what do I need to live well”, somewhat enlivened by the lad who wrote “A hundred kilos of chocolate, a new bike, kindness, and to be good to others”, which probably covers most bases, and at least it meant that one kid out of the ten scored for honesty.  He’s one of my “naughty boys” so he probably has less to lose by telling the truth.  I do struggle with the fact that we teach children (or maybe we teach Christians in general, thinking of some of the Bible studies I’ve sat through) that it’s fine to tell lies as long as we’ve got the right answer.  A different kid a few months ago answered the question “what would you do if another child hit you in the playground” with “I would pray for them”… this being the boy who was dragged home by the police for fighting on a street corner.  But we all know that “beat them up” won’t be the right answer, so we say “Jesus” and teacher gives us a star.  I think there has to be a better way of doing this. 

It’s been an interesting day in Argentina.  Today was a public holiday for the national census, happening for the first time in twenty years, so we all got to stay in our houses until we’d been interviewed by a school child with a clipboard (I imagine she was probably a university student but she looked about twelve; maybe I’m getting old).  In our case this happened around mid-day which fortunately only just coincided with Joni becoming bored with building brio train tracks on the patio.  The census started with a whole bunch of questions on the house; what is my floor made of, and the walls, and the roof?  Not being a master builder, I suggested she wrote down whatever most peoples’ houses are made of around here, which she seemed to think was a good idea.   The main surprise to me was that the whole thing was semi-anonymous; I didn’t even have to give my ID number, just my first name, but then the questions following regarding the legal or otherwise nature of my work and tax status kind of meant that that would be necessary; although given that they do know where I live, I still can’t see too many folk sticking their necks out for the sake of honesty or national statistics. 

As in the UK, Argentina’s national census would normally happen every ten years, but ten years ago Argentina’s economy was in the free-fall which culminated in riots, looting, the currency run, devaluation, five presidents in five weeks, and eventually, in 2003 the election of Nestor Kirchner as president.  So it was interesting that his death today coincided with the census, an event which could be regarded as a symbol of the relative stability and prosperity that he is credited with restoring to Argentina during his time of office.  I say relative because there is still no shortage of  marches, riots, strikes, inflation running at over twenty per cent, not to mention the trade-unionist who was murdered this week.  Notwithstanding, there is no doubt that the country has come a long way since the dark days under Carlos Menem at the turn of the Millennium.  The Kirchners (Nestor and wife Cristina, currently president) had planned an ambitious sixteen years of Kirchner rule in order to avoid Argentina’s rules on re-election; four him, four her, four him, and four her (a possible variation on the marriage service “four richer, four poorer, four better, four worse”) but with Cristina still in her first term of office, clearly the plan has gone coffin-shaped before it hit the half-way mark.  As to what happens after the funeral, there are those who say that Cristina has been little more than Nestor’s puppet as president, so there may be interesting times here over the next few months. 

Inside my own house (whatever that might be made of), I’ve been reading this book, which someone gave me.  I haven’t actually started reading chapter one yet, and I’m already in trouble.  The first several pages are the forward and the reviews, which are all given by folk who have themselves written books with titles like “Strategy for Triumph”, and “Fire begets fire” and so I’m already prejudiced against whatever the guy thinks he’s going to tell me.  In fact, if he showed up at my church on Sunday, and preached that we should beware the leaven of the evangelicals, then it would absolutely confirm my belief that he is an arrogant pipsqueak (if reading chapter one doesn’t already do that).  Which is of course exactly what the Pharisees concluded when Jesus said the same thing.  Sometimes I can well sympathise with those Pharisees.  I don’t honestly believe that Jesus is going to return as a revival-preaching Argentinean pastor; but then the Pharisees didn’t think Jesus was going to rock up looking like he did the first time either so, who knows? 

When I’m not putting off reading this book, I’m also busily putting off writing a talk I’m supposed to be giving to a Christian youth-choir this Saturday on the subject of why Halloween is a Bad Thing that Christian young people should have no truck with.  And if my problem with the above book is that it winds me up, the problem with writing this talk is that I’m finding it difficult to care at all.  I’ve read so much stuff on the internet, and even the most hyperbolic Christian writing hasn’t managed to incite me to interest.  The history of the UK is such that most of our “Christian” festivals have evolved by grafting Christian teaching onto Pagan festivals, and I suspect the main reason why we don’t get excited about that is less about the good theology of our “Christian” festivals, and more because the syncretism is working well.  So why have kittens about Halloween, and not about, say, Valentine’s day?  And exactly what is the link between a kid dressing up in a black binbag, and invoking evil spirits?  I think it was an Adrian Plass character who described the occult as Christian pornography; part of the reason why we elevate it to an undeserved position is so that we can get close enough to get titillated.  Do I approve of Halloween?  Not really, mostly because of the annoyance of having my door bell battered twenty times in a two hour period, and partly because of the actually Bad nature of some of what passes for “tricks”, but I would ascribe that far more whole heartedly to “kids in groups do worse things than they would if they were on their own”, and far less to any sort of supernatural manifestation from Evil itself.  So now what’m I gonna write?  Luckily I have a police fine to pay tomorrow (driving without my lights on; a legal requirement on main roads here and easy to forget if it’s sunny and you’re English), so that’ll probably take care of the morning, and hopefully divine inspiration, or at least the galvanising factor of an impeding deadline, will have struck by the time I make it to the computer when the kid’s gone to bed tomorrow evening. 

My computer is old, it was bought second hand to replace the (also old) laptop which was stolen nearly two years ago.  We’ve added more memory, and upgraded the operating system amongst other things, but it is still old.  The thing is, it does pretty well everything I want it to; I have Windows 7, Office 2007, I can open anything I’ve ever wanted to, play PowerPoint with video and audio, and even stream TV and videos across the globe.  So for now, I can’t really see any point in replacing it. 

However, since we upgraded to Windows 7, the one thing that it is apparently no longer sophisticated enough to do is play Microsoft’s version of Spider Solitaire (or any other form of solitaire in fact).  Now, I’m not a computer geek, I don’t work for Microsoft and I’m never planning on doing so, but I’m wondering what sort of rubbish code-writing could possibly mean that it requires a more advanced machine to play a card game than to stream and play an hour of TV (to give but one example of the many tasks that my computer still performs perfectly adequately). 

Since I’m not about to buy a new computer, or even buy any new software for this one, I’m left with a dubious freebie version of Spider that I found on the internet (the only one I could find which gave me the whole four suit game without having to pay for it).  It looks naff, it has a mountain of glitches, it cheats, it hangs, and generally it does everything it can to stop me from enjoying myself.  This may be good for my soul.  If I’m honest, the real reason why I’m annoyed is that I just wasn’t planning for 2010 to be the year I break my harmless addiction to SS, but maybe God has other plans for my life.  In the meantime, I’m sulking. 

My last Sunday’s sermon is now up, it can be accessed here or under the “sermons” tab at the top of the page.  It’s a bit different in character to my recent forays into Luke, but I think it went OK.  It’s always hard to tell because the people who talk to me afterwards are usually the ones who liked it; at least I know there were some of those, but makes it difficult to imagine how the church as a whole might have responded. 

There was another little sermon writing event on last week, which is past now, having delivered it yesterday. It’s not up on the website yet, I’ll try and get to that tomorrow for those who read Spanish.
Today was a catching up with the things that don’t get done when there’s a sermon-writing event on – day. Apart from going to the special school, the rest was taken up with trip to the supermarket, cleaning the bathroom, cutting the grass (at the behest of our child; he couldn’t give a monkeys about the cleanliness of the bathroom but he becomes strangely offended by the sight of the two foot high thistles protruding from the front lawn), and baking. Wholemeal flour has just made it to our local supermarket, so I bought some and tried it out; four small loaves, two fishes pizza bases, a batch of scones and a chocolate chip cake ought to be enough to feed the family for a few days. I grated some fresh beetroot from our garden into a salad tonight, very nice. There were also home-grown peas in lunch, not to mention the ubiquitous parsley and oregano.

All in all that just left time to have a dispute with Joni about whether he was going to have a bath – yes because I’m bigger; sometimes I negotiate, today I pulled rank, followed by a second dispute about whether he was going to get out of the bath – ditto above, from which we moved swiftly into reading the obligatory pile of stories, some of which he recites along with me, pouring him into his bed, and we’re shortly about to follow (different bed, same concept).

Bank holiday weekend, three days on a Scout leaders training camp.  There’s nothing like sleeping in a tent, running around in a field, inventing impossible gadgets out of bits of wood tied up with string, playing silly games in the river (mobile phone in pocket; oops), and coming home smelling of campfire amongst other less mentionable flavours, to make me disproportionately pleased with myself.  The site was fantastic; big eucalyptus plantation, with a grassy clearing in the middle for tents etc. and a  tranquil river (until we arrived that is) running around the perimeter. 

Today I drove to Obispo Trejo, a village some two and a half hours away, to visit the Latin Link short-termer who’s working in the children’s home there.  A five hour round trip is really too far to develop a good mentoring relationship in my un-humble opinion, (unless of course either of the two parties doesn’t have anything better to do with their life) but she seems to be an easygoing and resilient type so I think we’ll figure it out.  The home is run by an older couple from Buenos Aires who moved to Obispo Trejo to take on the leadership when they were newly weds, and are still there forty four years later.  They are now taking more of a back-seat in terms of the day to day washing, cooking and wiping noses, and at the moment the house-mother figure is Miriam, who lives in the home with her own four children, as well as being the maternal first port of call for the other twenty residents.  Her story isn’t mine to tell here, but to say that she is one of the people who Paul had in mind when he says “ever since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers” (Ephesians 1; I’m preaching on it on Sunday) She’s an inspirational lady.

Joni is fascinated by batteries at the moment having received a couple of battery operated things for his birthday. Now he thinks that he can make any of his toys do anything he wants as long as he can find a hole to insert a battery into.  He’s also decided that three weeks is more than long enough to wait between birthdays, hence yesterday he informed me that he needed a cake and a balloon and some more presents.  It’s in my diary for eleven months time.