Spanish Lesson. (Lesson in Spanish)

I'm "practicing my Spanish" at work with the older of the two Mexicans that share my workspace at the orchard.

A week ago, he could see I was preoccupied by something on my mind. He told me I think too much.
Probably true.

Today, a slow day at the orchard due to the rain, he and I chatted. Very difficult. Spanglish. Broken sentences. Broken words. Talking about a broken heart. (My broken heart, to be specific.) "Mi amor..." "No more." That's how clear it is. I stopped to consume the simplicity of this phrase. "Mi amor. No more." Maybe it's beautiful because it's simple. Maybe it's beautiful because it's English, it's Spanish, and it rhymes.

We continued to talk and he tells me to forget it. "No es facil," I say. (it's not easy.) And he tells me I have to say "No me importa" (don't matter to me). Any ideas communicated between us must be repeated and repeated. So he says "he come. no me importa! he leave. no me importa! no me importa! I don't care! doesn't matter! no me importa!"

Get a Job. CHECK

I work at Milburn Orchards. The sweetest fall place I never had to imagine because I've been visiting this location ever since I was too young to spit the cherry pits any farther than my chin. Best known for their apples, apple cider, apple cider donuts, Milburn Orchards is the apple headquarters of my life. Caramel covered. Apple dumplings. Apple pie. Crisp mix. Apple butter. Etc. Yummy yummy yummy. Ya'll know how I feel about EVERYTHING apple.

Current favorite apple: Honey Crisp.

Aside from all glorious things apple, I enjoy the companionship of several coworkers, none of whom are in the same life phase as I am. Thank goodness.
 I've been designated by a few as a "floater" what they mean by that is the following: I am capable of doing a greater variety of tasks than most because I have been trained as such. I control inventory in the back room. I help customers with merchandise questions. I run the register. I sweep floors and mop them. Am I too cool for that? Absolutely not. Two shifts this week will be in one position. The other three will be in another position. Oh yeah, I get 33 hours this week. WIN!

Do I really enjoy my job so far? YES
Do they pay me what I'm worth? Who cares? They haven't actually paid me any money yet ;) but my worth isn't bought with cash anyway.

...Off to work!

Lyrics. Kenny Chesney. I Remember.

I'm sittin here alone,
Thoughts of you run wild
I'm longin for your touch,
Haunted by your smile
No use in tryin to erase,
No one could ever take your place

Chorus:
I remember how it used to feel
back when our love was strong and real
And I remember tears in your eyes
And I looked at you, you said goodbye
All I want right now is to foget
Every single thing that I regret
And drown out these embers..but I remember

It's yesterday again
Here inside my mind
And I can't find a way
to leave your love behind
I wanna wake up to the day
Your memory won't stand in my way

Chorus:
Well I remember how it used to feel
back when our love was strong and real
And I remember tears in your eyes
As I looked at you, you said goodbye
All I want right now is to forget
Every single thing that I regret
And drown out these embers..but I remember

Well I wanna wake up to the day
Your memory won't stand in my way

Well I remember how it used to feel
Back when our lovve was strong and real
And I remember tears in your eyes
As I looked at you, you said goodbye
All I want right now is to forget
Every single thing that I regret
And drown out these embers..but I remember
And I remember..
Oh I remember ya baby...
All of you my baby

Ride a Motorcycle. CHECK.

Wind in my face. Solace blew through my heavy head like a light breeze. Peace was settling on the surface of my skull as I took in the sights. Lean left. Look over my uncle's shoulder. Lean right. Look over my uncle's shoulder. What's that sound? Scraping the floorboards on the turns. Where are we? New York. Mountains. Lakes. New Jersey. Back roads. No yellow lines. The air is cooler as we pass the thick pine trees. Not cold. My butt hurts. Not enough cushioning on this seat. Three hours. The sunshine is so warm. Four hours. I wonder what time it is. Not one minute is the same. A piercing memory slips in the back of my mind. It's so vivid. I rest my leather-gloved hands on the saddle bags. There were no other thoughts in my mind just moments ago. It's too real. Lift my arms to cut through the air. I don't cry. Last time I rode on the back of a motorcycle, I held on tight to the driver. Not for safety. I held on so tight. Not for fear. I held on tight. He was mine. I reminisce. Close wasn't close enough. Adrenaline. Hold on to me. Deeply in love. Don't let me go. Don't let me go.