Como esta, preciosa?

So my new roommate, Celia (Cel as in "celery") is AMAZING. We found her through Craig's List which seemed like a sketchy idea at first but I could not have self-selected a better woman for this house. She brings with her a certain steadfastness of spirit, sincerity, integrity and refreshing humility. Also, she doesn't mind that I painted half the bedroom "antique ruby" the week before she moved in.

Celia paints but claims she's a fake (and not a real) artist. She wears squishy curlers to bed so her long, dark hair is bouncy in the morning but wears little makeup. She was a Los Angeles High School prom queen. She wears shiney silver heels to church. She is a writer. She is studying to become a doctor. She is sensitive. And strong.

Celia is from Guadalajara and not too proud to let us butcher Spanish around her in our ignorance. Though I admit my verb conjugation is pretty laughable, Terry will probably be the most colorful offender. (In case you haven't met Terry before in these stories) He lives downstairs and is the house leader who explodes into faux Spanish opera whenever he's feeling exuberant. Take, for instance, the timeless classic "Donde esta mi mochilla?" or the slightly less well-known "Mi coche es blanco!" It is inspiring, soulful music I tell you. Astounding really, how one simple sentence--creatively rearraranged and delivered--can be such rich fodder for hours of self-entertainment.

Anyway, Celia es magnifica. "Como esta, preciosa?" she coos and pats my back as she passes into the room.

Keith Green has a river of life flowing out of him this morning. "Rejoice in the Lord always!" he commands from the CD player. "Again I say rejoice!"

Best obey.