Cumpleanos de Betty (Betty's Birthday)

Betty's birthday was on Monday. I don't know for certain how old she is and I don't plan on asking (though she said early in February, in passing, that she was 68). Just the two of us celebrated. I got home from night class around 9:00. I could hear Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" blasting from inside the apartment as I walked up the stairs. I thought, Wow, Betty's throwing quite the fiesta. The older the wilder. But it was just her inside, waiting in the living room with a bottle of Pisco Sour, Chile's national beverage. She forgot that I had night class on Mondays and thought that maybe I had forgotten her birthday. But no. I came prepared with flowers and cake.

As we sat there chatting and sipping Pisco, Betty confirmed for me what I have suspected since I arrived: that she's very much a solo person. I asked why her daughter and grandaughter weren't here to celebrate with us. Apparently they had exchanged gifts earlier in the day and that was that. I asked if there was anyone else that she would consider inviting. She only mentioned her brother, who lives in Santiago but who she rarely sees as he is "very different" from her. Not one mention of friends, though. If Betty has friends, as I would think a person of her kindness and generosity would, I still haven't met them.

Betty announced after one cup of Pisco that she was feeling quite intoxicated. When she does get tipsy, which is almost never, she talks and talks, which I like, because she speaks to me with an authentic Chilean accent and not a forced, easy to understand Mother-of-a-White-Boy-Struggling-to-Learn-Spanish accent. And she also talks at great length when drunk. She has lots of stories. She told me that when her husband was still alive they used to throw great big parties for eachother's birthday. Her husband must have been a fun man. From the way she speaks of him it often seems that wen he died, the fun in her died too. She misses her man, which is probably why she requests only boys to host.

Overall it was a pleasant celebration. I took a risk by buying her a piece of pineapple cake, but that's her favorite flavor, as it turns out. She let me wash the dishes after dinner, the first time I've done anything except for make my bed to help out around here. She won't accept my help around the house, though this time she accepted the gift.

My Spanish is progressing, especially in the house. Some days I'm really on and other days I can't put a sentence together for anything. Realizing more and more that they don't speak Spanish in Chile. They speak Chilean, which is like Spanish, but very, very distinct. Street talk knows very little of Spanish 101 that schools use to prep you in the States. It's all good, though. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.