Que hora es your mom?

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I’ve decided to learn to speak Spanish. Again.

Part of that resolution may well also include becoming a rancher in the Yucatan Peninsula.Part of that resolution may well also include becoming a rancher in the Yucatan Peninsula.

I’ve wanted to learn another language for a long time, I’ve committed to it on several occasions beyond my dismal introduction to Spanish in 7th grade, where I mastered the phrase Escuche y repita, por favor, and not much else. I have a bad habit of giving up or becoming infatuated with another idea that consumes my time and imagination, so needless to say, I’m still unable to converse in anything beyond my mother tongue.

(Hey look, a squirrel! I’m going to name it Monkey, and teach it to do tricks. I once knew a guy named Ronnie Buffalo who had a cat he called Manuel Noriega. I sometimes wonder what the chances are that Manuel Noriega had a cat named Ronnie, and then I stop thinking about things like that, so I don’t accidentally tear a hole in the space-time continuum and put a glitch in the Matrix. I believe it has become painfully evident why I have a hard time learning things that require concentration beyond 30 seconds. The End.)

In light of my newest fascination, which may or may not involve disappearing into the forests of Libre Union and becoming ranchers in the Yucatan, I’ve renewed my conviction to speak fluent Spanish. George is always happy to hear when we’re going to do new things — he’s a nomad and possibly a tweener, but that’s another story.

“I think we should spend our road time this year learning Spanish. We should probably know Spanish if we’re going to be ranchers in the Yuctan when we retire from trucking.”

“We should probably know ranching before being ranchers in the Yucatan. Anyway, they’ve got the translating earpiece now, you just pop it in and it translates for you, learn as you go.”

“I’m not looking to implant a device in my brain, I just want to learn Spanish. I’ll learn from a book. And what happens when we’re out in the middle of nowhere, trying to negotiate the price of cattle, and the translator stops? What do we do then? Hmm? Que hora es, Senor Smartypants?”

“Don’t talk about my mom like that.”

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“Seriously, man. I want to learn Spanish. I have it on good authority people who are bilingual sleep better and have less tooth decay.”

“I’m not sure those are recorded facts, Senorita.”

“I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”

“It’s 3:15.”


“It’s 3:15, you asked me what hour it is in Spanish, I answered.”

So clearly, I’m well on my way to being bilingual. My teeth feel better already. Stay tuned for adventures from the Yucatan. Or a squirrel named Monkey who does tricks. I wonder if Ronnie Buffalo spoke Spanish? How far is it to Albuquerque again?

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