Sunday

I miss my Mexican family most on Sundays.

This doesn't mean that I don't miss them during other parts of my week, but Sunday is particularly poignant. I was so involved in the church, starting things at 8, sometimes at 6 am, and working with folks until late afternoon. I loved greeting everybody with a kiss and a hug and talking about their families or new things in their lives. I loved worshipping in the Anglican tradition, with the order of service so familiar and yet so fresh through it's truth. I loved how included people were and how they were involved in so many different areas. I loved seeing my friends grow and become more confident in their role in the family of God. I loved it so much.

When I'm in the States on Sunday, I remember all of these things so clearly. I feel out of place when we don't use liturgy; I crave communion and Spanish songs. Now I'm in a new city, away from both my Mexican family and my biological family, and I'm looking for a new church. I miss you, IGP.

going away party

Felicia and I had a going-away part last Friday. My friend Yohana wanted to do my hair, so I went over to her estetica and she put my hair up. As soon as I left I started getting surprised looks and big compliments. You look so pretty! I've never seen you with your hair up like that. wow! incredible. I guess it can pay to not get all dressed up every day - people noticed the difference last Friday.

The party was really nice. A lot of our friends from church were able to come to tell us goodbye and I enjoyed being able to spend time with a lot of people at once. In the evening, after most people had gone, some of us stayed to dance. I learned the kumbia. I'm not very good but I enjoyed dancing with my friends.

Now I've left Mexico - we're waiting in Texas for a flight tomorrow. I know that I still have a lot of processing and thinking to do during this transitional time, but I am so thankful for my last few weeks. Thought they were stressful and full, I appreciated the time I was able to spend with everyone.

say goodbye

I have a week left here in Fresnillo. This fall I will be starting a graduate program in the States, so I won't be a club teacher, won't teach piano lessons, won't learn how to make Mexican food from my friends here.

I find these last few weeks to be flying by - full of packing and visiting and planning and last minute odds and ends. But I'm so glad to be able to take the time to visit and to say goodbye.

catcalling

I was going down the street, and I could see ahead of me a man that I know by name and sight and who is homosexual. Ahead of both of us, on the other side of the street, was a group of guys. I saw them stare at this man, sadistic grins curling their lips as they yelled out gross comments and humiliating insults.

Women get catcalled very frequently here, at least in my experience. I imagined that it would be even harder to be a homosexual man living in this macho culture and in this poor, poor neighborhood where so many people are already on the bottom of the social ladder and looking for anybody else to despise.

Roses and Astronauts

Since we are an Anglican church, we observe the church year very closely and celebrate the feasts. Since we are in the season after Easter but before Pentecost (next week) and Trinity Sunday (the week after) we buy flowers to put in front of the altar every week. This is my job.

I've been going every Saturday or Sunday for the past almost two months and have gotten to know the people at Florería Lupita. It's a family business, and sometimes Cristina (age 12) or Lupita (at 7) help me out. Often I'm given a rose (or two or four) for free. Yesterday, as I was walking to the van with my flowers, Lupita came running out after me, holding a white rose in her hand for me.

Once I asked Cristina if she liked working in the flower shop. She said no. It's hard because they have to be open 24 hours a day (in case of funerals). I asked her what she'd like to be. She said an astronaut. She thinks it would be so neat to float in space.

language

One of the funniest things about speaking two languages is when you say a word from one while talking to someone in the other. For instance, when you're talking to someone in English but they also understand Spanish and so you throw in a verb that expresses better what you're trying to say.

What's funny about this is the accent you throw in. The name "Ruth" sounds a lot different in Spanish than in English and sometimes the way I form my mouth to say this word bleeds over to the words around it. So I'll be speaking in English and then all of a sudden my d's are softened and I'm rolling my r's.

This also happens when I use an English word in Spanish. I think it's an interesting part of speaking two languages. Although, maybe if I became even more fluent I would be able to switch accents back and forth while I'm talking without them bleeding over to other words. Oooh...that'd be neat.

Sects

Sometimes I see the Mormons walking around. I know that they're Mormons, because they go two-by-two. White button-up shirts, black ties, backpacks. Usually there's an olive-skinned Mexican boy and a sunburnt Utah boy. I think it's neat that they always go in pairs. I think that after two years of walking around evangelizing you would either be really, really good friends with your partner, or you won't be able to stand each other.

Then there are the Jehovah's Witnesses. They come to the door and ask if there is anyone who speaks English here. Then they give you a current copy of the Watchtower in English. I once met some JWs from the US in a Starbucks here and asked them why they evangelize in English in a Spanish speaking country. They said that since there are so many Mexicans who have spent time in the US, there are some who know English better than Spanish. I, personally, think that that percentage is miniscule and that they should hand out information in the people's native language.

Hermitage

I have been apartment- and puppy-sitting for a coworker who has been on vacation for the past two weeks. She has two puppies, named Romeo and Mocha, and though many times I find myself frustrated and overwhelmed by their untrained puppy-ness, I do enjoy having them around.

It's been kind of nice, living by myself for this time. Kind of a mini-vacation in that it's definitely a change from my normal routine.

One day, I looked up, at the sky lights in the hall, and saw this:

It might not be immediately obvious due to the perspective and lighting of the photograph, but there is a plant growing underneath the skylight, growing from the cement blocks that make up the roof. I'm not sure how long it's been there or how it gets water apart from the sporadic (at this time) rains. It looks healthy and robust, with full leaves.

I thought that I should have a poignant comment or two about life finding a way, or blooming where you're planted. Mostly, I just thought it was beautiful.

Belén

Belén hasn't been coming to club at all since January, so I went all the way up the hill to where her house is. There are no roads any more, paved or unpaved; just trails. There's also often no running water or electricity. The families who live here are some of the poorest - pushed out of other houses because of their inability to pay rent, they squat on this land, building houses out of any material available to them. If they stay there long enough, the government will give them that land and they will at last own something, but it's a long time to wait.

I wandered around for a while, getting confused by the lack of straight lines and the undistinguished houses. Finally I found Belén's house and knocked. She called out without looking "I can't go!" thinking that I was going to invite her to club instead of just playing there at her house. She could play, but said her family was leaving soon, so I said we'd just play for a little while.

We played ConnectFour and Monos Locos and colored a picture and talked about praying. While we were coloring, she mentioned something about her brother Toño, two years younger than her. I didn't hear well, and just answered generally. She said "I'm sorry, but, the thing is, my brother passed away."

I was taken aback. I wished I'd been paying more attention to her first comment. She continued that he had had tuberculosis (people do get that here, along with Typhoid) and they had taken him to the hospital but that he had died in December. We sat there for a while without coloring, talking about how she felt and about her brother, and how God is always with us, even when things are hard.

After the visit, I talked to Elizabeth, the club leader, about it. Toño also was a club kid. She was shocked as well. She said she would talk to the mother, to let her know that we cared.

The thing is - Belén has been known to tell half-truths or to fabricate stories or to outright lie. She's a sweet little girl who always wants to sing me the month's Bible verse, even when she doesn't know it yet, who always wants to help pass things out in club. But she lies all the time.

I didn't think she would lie about a brother dying, but Elizabeth asked - and he's still alive. He went to the family's "rancho" (like a small, very rural town/farm) and has been there for some time.

I'm so glad that Toño is still alive, but my heart hurts for little Belén.

picoso

Before I lived in Mexico, I did not like spicy food. I remember once describing spiciness as "annoying," in that instead of letting the more subtle flavors of the food come out and mingle together, it clamored for all the attention. You couldn't enjoy the other flavors and tastes.

Now, however, along with Mexican hands (the ability to flip over piping hot tortillas; comes by burning to insensitivity the tips of your fingers), I've got that Mexican ability to eat picante foods. Dare me to eat a jalepeño; no problem. I bet I could eat more spicy food than even my Dad. Well, maybe not; but I would definitely try.

It's not that I don't taste it - I can definitely tell something's really hot by the flavor and by the blush in my cheeks and the sweat starting to glisten. But I don't mind it. Nope; I like it.

But later, maybe half an hour later, when you can feel it in your stomach and you just want to lay on your couch like a whale - oh, I don't like that. Not very much at all.