Spring cleaning. Well, autumn. Autumn cleaning.

I am hardly believing it, but last week we found our new apartment, and tomorrow we are moving in.

This has been a three-month search, a search that went from exhilerating to exhausting to devastating to hopeless -- and then our two-bedroomed, high-ceilinged, light-filled, furnished, peso-accepting third floor apartment in a lovely neighborhood popped up out of nowhere. Pictures to come.

Also this week, Brent will be starting his work in his new space -- the same place where I teach yoga!  It's a hugely beneficial set up for both Brent, who loves working from a yoga studio, and the yoga teachers, who might manage to snag a few chiropractic patients for the classes.

Today, we've been cleaning the mess of 10 years out of this apartment. It was dirty when we moved in, but so desperate we were at that point to just be unpacked and somewhat settled, we did only a half-assed cleaning job to start with. Unfortunately, we never recovered, and the place has felt disgusting for these eight months. The mold is immortal, and there's nothing that could ever be done about the piles of the owner's stuff -- everything from books to files to a dusty, out-of-tune piano.

We've got our stuff packed, and have been attacking every surface with whatever anti-fungal chemical we can find. Truth be told, it's not looking too bad now that we're ready to leave. But we have not forgotten what it's capable of. We are still leaving.

Happy Day, Earth

Last Sunday was Earth Day, and the yoga studio where I teach hosted a special yoga class in park: 108 Sun Salutations in honor of our planet.

This is a trying yoga practice for even the most experienced yogi, so we weren't sure what kind of turn out to expect. There were five of us teachers, so we decided we'd be happy even if it were just us and a couple of other people.

It was a chilly day, but we ended up with about 20 people (some came a little late) in our circle. Each teacher taught a slightly different version of a Sun Salutation, so it was engaging and interesting as we breathed our way through 108 cycles.

Everyone seemed to enjoy it, challenging though it was, and hopefully we will see a few new students in the studio in the coming weeks.

Making Spanish noises.

I can't really say that I speak Spanish, though there have recently been some signs that it is coming along:

• I have managed to have two fully Spanish telephone conversations in the last few weeks.
• Non-Spanish speakers hear me make the Spanish noise with my co-workers and express surprise when they later discover that I speak English.
• People who saw me recently after having not seen me for a couple of months commented on how I have improved.
• I can hear mistakes in the Spanish used by non-Spanish speakers.
• I can spot a typo a mile away (apparently, I am bilingual as a grammar Nazi).

Continued reflection upon the learning of a second language has brought me to this: is the second language ever really yours? At what point do you go beyond "speaking" the language and start "knowing" the language?

There are certain words and phrases, at this point, that need no automatic translation in my brain. I hear them, I know what they mean, and I can act or respond accordingly without thinking of an English equivalent. However, there's still nothing that evokes any emotion. It's still just a collection of sounds, of which I occasionally know the meaning.

If someone were to call me stupid in Spanish, for example (although obviously THAT would never happen), I don't believe my feelings would be in the least bit hurt, because "Eres una idiota" has no emotional resonance for me.  "You're stupid" does.

I haven't taught any Spanish yoga classes yet, but I think fairly often about what I would say, how I would explain things. As a teacher, you strive to use clear language first and foremost, but beyond that, as long as it's clear, you also strive for poetry -- imagery that might help the student understand the pose. When I use words like brighten, expand, ground, and fly, I get a certain feeling that I can put into my body and my yoga practice. When I think of their equivalents in Spanish, that doesn't happen.

Not yet. What I'm saying is, although I am making progress, there is so very, very far to go.

Out, damned spot.

Our washing machine is making noises I am uncomfortable with. The bad news is, I already know it's broken. It hasn't been working right in a couple of weeks, and Brent took the back off to discover that the belt is worn out.  It no longer spins.  No agitation means maybe-not-so-clean, and also that the clothes come out soaking wet.

To tell the landlord or not to tell the landlord.... One of the 100 Crap Things About Renting in Buenos Aires is that the landlord doesn't take care of anything. You pay your rent, thinking you are protected in case something breaks, which at home is a great benefit of renting vs. buying.  Here, it's up to you. This is how we ended up paying to fix the toilet a few weeks ago, among other things.  So we're faced with paying to fix something that simply wore out, which means it was wearing long before we ever got here -- we just happen to be the unlucky ones holding the hot potato -- or just letting our clothes soak in soapy water as the machine makes these disturbing noises for two more weeks.

There is no good news about this, really, except that we will hopefully be moving out in two more weeks.  We still haven't found our new place, but it's coming, I can feel it.  I need a new washing machine.