Feelings of accomplishment, success, relief, freedom, and a little apprehension, gallop through my veins on this demure winter afternoon. My teaching career has ended. I taught choir to 50 junior high and high school students for eighteen weeks.
Many people whom I am very close to are in the teaching field, firstly my two best friends and my brother. Even so, I always kind of got the feeling that people who become teachers more frequently relish high school drama, and/or are unfit for any other career. There are obvious and many exceptions, see above. And in my community, a large amount of them seem to be married to farmers, not that there's anything wrong with that, simply a job that happens to be available anywhere. So my expectations of teaching, while acknowledging my total lack of preparation or experience, were on the low side. However, my lack of connection with youth, with the exception of being one a very short time ago, was about to be critically challenged. I was ready to be changed by this experience.
After about a week into it, I realized a truth of teaching: teachers gotta have their s*** together. Teaching multiple subjects a day, coaching a sport, sponsoring extra-curricular activities, and the constant stress of dealing with hormonal teenagers. This is life-consuming, with excellent vacation and benefits. I taught one class in the morning with one hour of prep time, and two classes twice a week in the afternoons. This was not exactly a high-stress situation, yet it occupied all my limited energy resources. As often happens, my real-life experiences tend to be playing the game of real-life.
Priority Number One: Classroom management. Learning cannot happen without it. I am more prone to the win-over-by-affection type of management than the yell-and-get-angry. This works perfectly in a high school classroom of 9 girls and 1 boy. Treat them with respect, and they do the same. However, a classroom of 22 junior high students won't provide the same docility. I had indigestion for the first month. I remember being a junior high student, and still have an abiding dislike for following rules, so, truth be told, I'm on their side. I can't be mad at them for acting the way they do, which ends up condoning it. Let me put it this way: there's a reason 12-14 year olds are put in their own school. To keep them from infecting the other students. To top it off, my 1-2 classes per week with them made it difficult to establish a relationship, or to teach anything of value. I also was ill-equipped to teach them music fundamentals which they so desperately needed after years of interim teachers. So I was failing doubly, at disciplining them and at actually teaching them something. Only a few weeks into the semester did I decide I couldn't carry on with it. The issue was never their level of affection for me. What junior high student doesn't love a nice teacher with a mohawk? But it is simply their nature to challenge authority. Although I got better at teaching, it never became easier.
Being around teenagers all the time is challenging. I didn't even like being one. Their desperate vying for acceptance should waken sentiments of pity in me, but I find it repulsive. This is certainly not to say the whole thing was negative. They are also each incredible, unique individuals who are developing their personalities and viewpoints. It's spectacular to witness. The younger ones are at a jumping off point where they get to choose their life paths, and don't even know it. Within a few years they will be divided, but right now their varied backgrounds and preferences interest each other and pull them together.
Although relief is mostly flooding out other emotions, I do feel a little like I'm letting these students down in giving up on them. They deserve a great teacher, which I am not. They deserve the Shelby Leylands, Marcia Keeles and Alex Millers of the world. To be a great teacher, you have to love teaching. And I don't. So it is the right choice for me, and I hope for them. My goal in teaching has been to keep the students in love with music, and I believe I succeeded, but now it is out of my hands.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Back to School
So I'm a teacher now. What a quirky turn of events. I have spent the better portion of my life convincing others, as well as myself, that teaching is simply not my calling. I have always been secretly afraid that it is actually my calling, just because the prospect seems so terrifying. Well as of yesterday, just call me Ms. Miller. And in my line of study, how many times have I heard the words "so, you're going to be a teacher?" That's what music majors do. Apparently that's not just a stereotype, as much as I tried to fight it. I do believe it is the universe's justice to push us outside of any remnant of comfort we may have scrapped together.
I graduated from Hastings College over one year ago with the happy understanding that my major area of study would be henceforth useless, excepting the well-trained hobby it had offered me. Three months ago I moved back in with my parents with the apprehension that making a living in Lewellen, Nebraska is no easy feat (albeit with the easy optimism that making a living has never been my priority). And the jobs just started falling in my lap. I was offered the opportunity to promote sustainability in the village, exactly the line of work I was interested in pursuing. I whiled my summer afternoons lounging in a serene art gallery. I sweated a pint digging beautiful deep beds for my garden. I frequently rode my bike as a form of transportation. It seemed like I was going places. Or rather, staying place.
And then something else fell in my lap. A friend of the family and outstanding musician and teacher, Steve Lawlor, was offered the teaching job at the Garden County Schools. A resident of Toronto, Ontario, Steve was obliged to turn the job down and recommend...well. I was hesitant, but open, and now the job is mine. Three choirs: high school, 7th and 8th grade, and 6th grade. I have never instructed a single person on how to sing (with the possible exception of one Shelby Leyland, who happens to be the greatest singer in the world, and who obviously didn't need my two bits), nor directed a choir. I wasn't even in choir in high school, I was the accompanist. I was in the Hastings College Choir for one and a half years, if my memory serves. I am not exactly qualified. But the school was desperate, having found no other teacher. The elementary music is taught by a retired math teacher-current pastor with no trained background. The band is instructed by another, like myself, uncertified, although qualified. We're a ragtag team.
One never knows what life will present them, and sometime precisely the thing one wishes wouldn't happen, is the thing that needs to be. I am still not convinced as my calling as a teacher, and have not started pursuing certification. But I do hope to offer the students a passion of music, and in return, receive their gifts. What those are, I can only dream. But the dreams are beautiful.
I graduated from Hastings College over one year ago with the happy understanding that my major area of study would be henceforth useless, excepting the well-trained hobby it had offered me. Three months ago I moved back in with my parents with the apprehension that making a living in Lewellen, Nebraska is no easy feat (albeit with the easy optimism that making a living has never been my priority). And the jobs just started falling in my lap. I was offered the opportunity to promote sustainability in the village, exactly the line of work I was interested in pursuing. I whiled my summer afternoons lounging in a serene art gallery. I sweated a pint digging beautiful deep beds for my garden. I frequently rode my bike as a form of transportation. It seemed like I was going places. Or rather, staying place.
And then something else fell in my lap. A friend of the family and outstanding musician and teacher, Steve Lawlor, was offered the teaching job at the Garden County Schools. A resident of Toronto, Ontario, Steve was obliged to turn the job down and recommend...well. I was hesitant, but open, and now the job is mine. Three choirs: high school, 7th and 8th grade, and 6th grade. I have never instructed a single person on how to sing (with the possible exception of one Shelby Leyland, who happens to be the greatest singer in the world, and who obviously didn't need my two bits), nor directed a choir. I wasn't even in choir in high school, I was the accompanist. I was in the Hastings College Choir for one and a half years, if my memory serves. I am not exactly qualified. But the school was desperate, having found no other teacher. The elementary music is taught by a retired math teacher-current pastor with no trained background. The band is instructed by another, like myself, uncertified, although qualified. We're a ragtag team.
One never knows what life will present them, and sometime precisely the thing one wishes wouldn't happen, is the thing that needs to be. I am still not convinced as my calling as a teacher, and have not started pursuing certification. But I do hope to offer the students a passion of music, and in return, receive their gifts. What those are, I can only dream. But the dreams are beautiful.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Omnipresence of Lizards
Okay, so we established that I love crabs, a slow, unexpected love affair that blossomed over long contact. But I immediately fell for the lizards.
We call the ones that live in our apartment "Tara". Tara is a non-color, a bit transparent so you can see her veins and organs if you looks closely or she has light shining through her. I saw her eat a wasp larger than the side of her head. Needless to say, we appreciate her presence here. I have only once seen a Tara on the floor, she is usually to be found clinging to the ceiling and walls.
The iguanas are naturally the most impressive, and remarkably quick, running to a hiding place when startled. There is one that consistently lives in a drainage pipe near Salvatore's. We saw one as roadkill on Calle Litibu, it's head flattened, and three other iguanas surrounding it, whether offering help or anticipating feasting on it, I cannot say. The first is a bit more romantic.
A laundry day several months ago>> I was rarin' to go on our hand-crank Amish-made washing machine, and my clothes were even more ready for a good wash. I uncovered the quaint little device and opened the lid, to discover a sizeable lizard relaxing in the base. I told it sweetly that it would need to leave, because I was in need of its new home. It took this news very calmly, without moving. So I prodded it with the agitator and it still neglected to move. This is highly unusual behavior for a lizard, which are usually quickly agitated (no pun intended). Then it dawned on me...this lizard was dead. And I had just killed one several days earlier by accidental suffocation while I was shoveling soil. I had never used the washing machine, but had constructed it several months earlier, and I supposed that the latency period had caused a drawn-out starvation and a very unpleasant death. This was devastating and I wasn't up to dealing with it, so I abandoned my bag of laundry of Salvatore's porch, and ran away to recount the story to Sascha in horror. He agreed to take care of the situation the following day. We trooped up and I stood away so as to not witness my hapless victim. He moved it around and got a plastic sand castle shovel out to scoop it up and carry it away. De repente, it scuttled to the other side of the washer! It was extremely dehydrated and hungry, I'm sure, but not willing to be buried alive. Sascha yelped and hollered and we laughed. We laid the washer on its side in the sun to give it some energy, but the next day it hadn't left, so I finally scared it out and I hope it is currently living a happy and profitable life.
I will miss the lizards. I probably see an average of six per day, and the record was eight at one time, within six feet of each other by some outdoor lights at night. Reptiles are amazing.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Got Crabs? Too Cliche?
As our time in Litibu has been winding down, Sascha and I repeatedly ask each other the question, "what will you miss the most?"
He lists of names of fruit and fish which are succulently fresh, among many other things. I find the question more challenging. After five and a half months in Mexico, what have I learned to love about it?
Before I get too reflective, I would really prefer this post to be a story. It's the wildlife that I love.
Sascha and I took a walk today, an unusually cloudy day in Litibu, down our beach. We are privileged to live on a beautiful sandy beach, with little windrows of stones, and relatively few visitors. It stretches past the Litibu community into what is called Punta Negra, where a huge semi-abandoned resort full of hotel skeletons looms eerily, with a shiny 600 ft long swimming pool and sea-side showers. It's quite a hike over there, and today we walked to where the sidewalk ends.
Today also happened to be day one of the big crab season. I would categorize the crabs in our area in three ways, all with varying sizes within:
1. Hermit crabs
2. Crabs that dig perfect holes in the sand and have their eyes located on the top of their heads to peek out for predators
3. Crabs that dig caves in the sand and have eyes on the front of their heads
Hermit crabs are an easy win, it's adorable when they curl up into their tiny shells until their legs resemble an armed fortress and frolic across walkways only to get scared and roll away accidentally.
#2 crab types have been seen in abundance, the most frequent resembling spiders in size, shape and color, as they are perfectly camoflauged to the sand. Their little homes fill up with water at every changing tide, but they are always there to rebuild. I would have to add that having an eyeball on the end of a veritable tentacle seems to be a distinct advantage, and all around pretty darn cool.
And today there was some magical sign of nature which triggered #3 to come out of hibernation and get busy livin'. According to our full-time residents, this is approximately three months earlier than normal. There were crab caves, crab villages, and even a crab city. Why they would decide to shack up so close to each other is beyond my knowledge of natural food limits, but it was reminiscent of a prairie dog town, minus the chirping. They shoveled little clawfuls of sand out of their dwellings and rearranged the slipping crumbles until excavation perfection was achieved.
Our stroll-turned-hike revealed this wonder of nature, and Sascha amused himself by playing bullfight with a particularly agressive one, without the traditional ending. It grasped onto his shirt (removed from body) and hung momentarily when lifted. When we reached the end of the beach one and a half hours later, a magical cove awaited us. We were fortunate to be walking at very low tide, the best time for exploring and finding. Large flat rocks with channels carved in them housed little pools, which always house little sea creatures, like snails, and...well, crabs. A daring architect and even more daring inhabitant had built a house overhanging said cove, and at the foot of the steps there were little colonies of tiny hermit crabs. Sascha amused himself by pushing them into the sand and watching the climb their way back out, while I let them crawl over my hands and tried to avoid crushing them with my feet.
As a proclaimed seafood hater, I never expected to love crabs, but they are simply so loveable. So the first answer to the first question would have to be, I will miss the crabs. To be continued...
He lists of names of fruit and fish which are succulently fresh, among many other things. I find the question more challenging. After five and a half months in Mexico, what have I learned to love about it?
Before I get too reflective, I would really prefer this post to be a story. It's the wildlife that I love.
Sascha and I took a walk today, an unusually cloudy day in Litibu, down our beach. We are privileged to live on a beautiful sandy beach, with little windrows of stones, and relatively few visitors. It stretches past the Litibu community into what is called Punta Negra, where a huge semi-abandoned resort full of hotel skeletons looms eerily, with a shiny 600 ft long swimming pool and sea-side showers. It's quite a hike over there, and today we walked to where the sidewalk ends.
Today also happened to be day one of the big crab season. I would categorize the crabs in our area in three ways, all with varying sizes within:
1. Hermit crabs
2. Crabs that dig perfect holes in the sand and have their eyes located on the top of their heads to peek out for predators
3. Crabs that dig caves in the sand and have eyes on the front of their heads
Hermit crabs are an easy win, it's adorable when they curl up into their tiny shells until their legs resemble an armed fortress and frolic across walkways only to get scared and roll away accidentally.
#2 crab types have been seen in abundance, the most frequent resembling spiders in size, shape and color, as they are perfectly camoflauged to the sand. Their little homes fill up with water at every changing tide, but they are always there to rebuild. I would have to add that having an eyeball on the end of a veritable tentacle seems to be a distinct advantage, and all around pretty darn cool.
And today there was some magical sign of nature which triggered #3 to come out of hibernation and get busy livin'. According to our full-time residents, this is approximately three months earlier than normal. There were crab caves, crab villages, and even a crab city. Why they would decide to shack up so close to each other is beyond my knowledge of natural food limits, but it was reminiscent of a prairie dog town, minus the chirping. They shoveled little clawfuls of sand out of their dwellings and rearranged the slipping crumbles until excavation perfection was achieved.
Our stroll-turned-hike revealed this wonder of nature, and Sascha amused himself by playing bullfight with a particularly agressive one, without the traditional ending. It grasped onto his shirt (removed from body) and hung momentarily when lifted. When we reached the end of the beach one and a half hours later, a magical cove awaited us. We were fortunate to be walking at very low tide, the best time for exploring and finding. Large flat rocks with channels carved in them housed little pools, which always house little sea creatures, like snails, and...well, crabs. A daring architect and even more daring inhabitant had built a house overhanging said cove, and at the foot of the steps there were little colonies of tiny hermit crabs. Sascha amused himself by pushing them into the sand and watching the climb their way back out, while I let them crawl over my hands and tried to avoid crushing them with my feet.
As a proclaimed seafood hater, I never expected to love crabs, but they are simply so loveable. So the first answer to the first question would have to be, I will miss the crabs. To be continued...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Little Red Riding Permaculturalist and the Food Forest
The Project marches forward, as Salvatore returned this week to push us onward toward the Celestial City...aka phase I of a food forest.
We had the excellent fortune of entertaining two guests for an extended period in March. Matthew Greenwald, my cousin from Boulder and fellow Permaculture graduate, was here on Spring Break to enjoy Mexican culture, sun, beaches, beauty in general, and help us out a good deal! It was a highly productive week, as we purchased some trees, built a spiral herb garden, and mapped out and dug swales (for those who don't know, swales are on-contour ditches which hold and absorb water). We also were fortunate to have the company of Denny Storer, a retired political science professor from Hastings College, and a good friend of Sascha's. They certainly kept each other entertained and had some Mexican adventures.
Thursdays are special days here, because we get the help of the gardeners for about four hours. I always feel a tiny bit like this is cheating, as I feel the physical labor part is an important piece of what I should be learning, but they dug approximately 50 tree-sized holes in hard-pan, so I'm not going to complain too loud. Although I have to take a moment here to brag about my improving ground pick skills. Matthew, if you're reading this...sssssshh. I tend to be a bit more gentle on the gardeners than Salvatore, but it's his money, so that's understandable. Barring time spent in Spanish lessons, I believe I spoke more Spanish last Thursday than I have on any previous day, as a go-between from Salvatore to Antonio and Fermin. I am certainly not on professional translator level, but I felt pretty good about it. We have our food forest laid out, approximately half an acre in a bowl-shape, with five swales and the afore-mentioned holes for our brand new trees!
Insert related thought here>> I think Salvatore and I work well together because I am a focus-on-the-details, use what we have, keep it low budget kind of person, while Salvatore is the big picture, buy whatever we need and some what we don't, access the advice of experts kind of person. In the end, we keep each other on a straight path.
Back to the story>>Yesterday we drove over to the San Pancho vivero (nursery), the site of our class, and met with two men, Luis and Alan. Luis does bird-tours and also works at Emerald Coast, the investment agency which sponsored the now abandoned vivero. Alan is a biologist who helped design the botanical garden in Puerto Vallarta. We showed them the design which Salvatore and Dianne put together in Boulder with the help of Marco Lam, in which the fruit trees are planted in the center of a cluster of other trees, called nursing trees, which serve the purposes of mulch, canopy, and nitrogen fixing in the soil. They recommended trees, bushes, and groundcovers for us and were all around genial and generous (and Alan is guapo!). Quinn, the caretaker of the vivero, came to help us dig out trees, and we took home around 15, some of which we can take cuttings from. We also went to Alan's home, where he made us a Chaya drink, leaves from several of our new trees which have medicinal value. Alan has a lovely garden with many varieties of plants, where we took our first Noni fruit home, where it promptly ripened by turning to jelly and stinking up the apartment (apparently this means it's ready). I continue to learn heaps and this experience definitely reminded me that I am still in love with gardening!
We have about three more weeks of work to finish all our projects, including phase I of the food forest, finishing our cob benches, and making sure our giant compost bin is in good working order.
We had the excellent fortune of entertaining two guests for an extended period in March. Matthew Greenwald, my cousin from Boulder and fellow Permaculture graduate, was here on Spring Break to enjoy Mexican culture, sun, beaches, beauty in general, and help us out a good deal! It was a highly productive week, as we purchased some trees, built a spiral herb garden, and mapped out and dug swales (for those who don't know, swales are on-contour ditches which hold and absorb water). We also were fortunate to have the company of Denny Storer, a retired political science professor from Hastings College, and a good friend of Sascha's. They certainly kept each other entertained and had some Mexican adventures.
Thursdays are special days here, because we get the help of the gardeners for about four hours. I always feel a tiny bit like this is cheating, as I feel the physical labor part is an important piece of what I should be learning, but they dug approximately 50 tree-sized holes in hard-pan, so I'm not going to complain too loud. Although I have to take a moment here to brag about my improving ground pick skills. Matthew, if you're reading this...sssssshh. I tend to be a bit more gentle on the gardeners than Salvatore, but it's his money, so that's understandable. Barring time spent in Spanish lessons, I believe I spoke more Spanish last Thursday than I have on any previous day, as a go-between from Salvatore to Antonio and Fermin. I am certainly not on professional translator level, but I felt pretty good about it. We have our food forest laid out, approximately half an acre in a bowl-shape, with five swales and the afore-mentioned holes for our brand new trees!
Insert related thought here>> I think Salvatore and I work well together because I am a focus-on-the-details, use what we have, keep it low budget kind of person, while Salvatore is the big picture, buy whatever we need and some what we don't, access the advice of experts kind of person. In the end, we keep each other on a straight path.
Back to the story>>Yesterday we drove over to the San Pancho vivero (nursery), the site of our class, and met with two men, Luis and Alan. Luis does bird-tours and also works at Emerald Coast, the investment agency which sponsored the now abandoned vivero. Alan is a biologist who helped design the botanical garden in Puerto Vallarta. We showed them the design which Salvatore and Dianne put together in Boulder with the help of Marco Lam, in which the fruit trees are planted in the center of a cluster of other trees, called nursing trees, which serve the purposes of mulch, canopy, and nitrogen fixing in the soil. They recommended trees, bushes, and groundcovers for us and were all around genial and generous (and Alan is guapo!). Quinn, the caretaker of the vivero, came to help us dig out trees, and we took home around 15, some of which we can take cuttings from. We also went to Alan's home, where he made us a Chaya drink, leaves from several of our new trees which have medicinal value. Alan has a lovely garden with many varieties of plants, where we took our first Noni fruit home, where it promptly ripened by turning to jelly and stinking up the apartment (apparently this means it's ready). I continue to learn heaps and this experience definitely reminded me that I am still in love with gardening!
We have about three more weeks of work to finish all our projects, including phase I of the food forest, finishing our cob benches, and making sure our giant compost bin is in good working order.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Semana Santa...and a few food observations
In Mexico, the biggest and longest holiday of the year is Semana Santa, or Holy Week. I wouldn't even consider Easter to be the most important day, from what I observed. The Saturday eight days before Easter, they arrived. Legions of Mexicans, camping on the beach, constructing palapa kitchens, volleyball courts, fruit stands, ice cream vendors. As the week progressed, more and more arrived, with live music every day, mariachi bands with more than a dozen members. The ocean was dripping with their youth and the beach was baking with men drinking beer. Our beach is a public beach, and I almost proud of that, even if this isn't really "my" community. It is NOT a gated community, and I think the Mexicans should have complete access. A few families to whom Litibu Eco-group are especially friendly set up right on our lawn, playing games, setting up chairs and picnics, getting water from our hose, and using the upstairs bathroom. For anyone who doesn't know, our apartment has no glass in the windows, and no curtains. Only screen seperates us and the endearing sound of an electric generator and the piercing lights which accompany it after dark. I have not experienced that lack of privacy, and while it was enjoyable to watch their celebrations, adorable to watch the chubby little children, and amiable to exchange greetings on the beach, I wasn't sad to see them pack their tents first thing Easter morning. We really are spoiled here! Sascha estimated that there were 2000 people, but I would say less, in a 500 m long beach.
One of the biggest events during Semana Santa is the passion procession, walking around the village to different points and going through the Stations of the Cross. We were both looking forward to participating in this, and made it to town bright and early Friday morning, to find the church locked. We had asked five people the day before, with five different answers, and finally someone confirmed for us it was at five that afternoon. So we returned at five, to absolutely no avail. Now, the fascinating part about Mexicans and time (or distance, or population, or whatever) is that no one knows what time anything is, yet they all manage to be there. It's an amazing system. Luckily, with all the people, we had no trouble catching a ride, and wrote it off to extra exercise.
For our own celebrations, Sascha and I had been planning a trip back to Tequepexpan (see previous post for more info) to participate in a vision quest ceremony, and got as far as Sayulita. Our ride didn't work out, and Sascha was exhausted from Denny's three week visit, and had some back pain. But I, personally, was determined not to let Easter suck as bad as Christmas, Thanksgiving, or my birthday. What is it that makes holidays special days? You do something special on them. Yes, that is what we had been missing, so I planned a surprise for Sascha and hid candy, cookies, eggs, etc in the serenity garden for him to find. We also had a lovely walk on the beach, now considerably more empty, and I made us some chile rellenos for supper, which were much easier than I expected.
Chile rellenos, which are egg battered sweet peppers stuffed with cheese and fried, are the vegetarian staple at any Mexican restaurant (other than the classic quesadilla), but Janet and Miriam (the cleaning women/caretakers of Donnamarie/daughters of friend Carlos) informed us that chile rellenos, camarones (shrimp), and pescado (fish) are their traditional Easter foods. So we came to the conclusion that they really do eat the same things all the time. Sascha's family has goose, rabbit, and lamb with funky potato balls. Maybe it's because their cuisine hasn't shifted to an international palette, so their traditional food isn't on special days, it's still every day. I love rice/beans/tortillas. I even learned to love guacamole. And I admire the cultural value, which every geographical and social group of people have had, of a staple food. Corn tortillas! They go with EVERYTHING. Sascha's favorite combo is Huichol salsa (like tabasco sauce) and peanut butter.
We have eaten some diverse Mexican food. But mostly Mexicans don't eat at nice Mexican restaurants. They eat at comedores and loncherias, where they serve...yep. Rice, beans, tortillas, and probably chicken with a nice sauce which you saw running from a rooster the previous day. It's fresh, and that's no mistake! What judgment am I making about Mexican food? It's delicious, it varies little, but I respect that. It would just be hard for me to do it full time. Our grocery store, the largest in town, is smaller than my parents' living room. A healthy portion of that is taken up by beer coolers and racks of cookies. I will put it up to lack of discipline on our part that we are sometimes fatigued by the lack of selection. The grocer helped me tie my grocery bags on to my bicycle for five minutes the other day, and you can't knock that kind of service.
One of the biggest events during Semana Santa is the passion procession, walking around the village to different points and going through the Stations of the Cross. We were both looking forward to participating in this, and made it to town bright and early Friday morning, to find the church locked. We had asked five people the day before, with five different answers, and finally someone confirmed for us it was at five that afternoon. So we returned at five, to absolutely no avail. Now, the fascinating part about Mexicans and time (or distance, or population, or whatever) is that no one knows what time anything is, yet they all manage to be there. It's an amazing system. Luckily, with all the people, we had no trouble catching a ride, and wrote it off to extra exercise.
For our own celebrations, Sascha and I had been planning a trip back to Tequepexpan (see previous post for more info) to participate in a vision quest ceremony, and got as far as Sayulita. Our ride didn't work out, and Sascha was exhausted from Denny's three week visit, and had some back pain. But I, personally, was determined not to let Easter suck as bad as Christmas, Thanksgiving, or my birthday. What is it that makes holidays special days? You do something special on them. Yes, that is what we had been missing, so I planned a surprise for Sascha and hid candy, cookies, eggs, etc in the serenity garden for him to find. We also had a lovely walk on the beach, now considerably more empty, and I made us some chile rellenos for supper, which were much easier than I expected.
Chile rellenos, which are egg battered sweet peppers stuffed with cheese and fried, are the vegetarian staple at any Mexican restaurant (other than the classic quesadilla), but Janet and Miriam (the cleaning women/caretakers of Donnamarie/daughters of friend Carlos) informed us that chile rellenos, camarones (shrimp), and pescado (fish) are their traditional Easter foods. So we came to the conclusion that they really do eat the same things all the time. Sascha's family has goose, rabbit, and lamb with funky potato balls. Maybe it's because their cuisine hasn't shifted to an international palette, so their traditional food isn't on special days, it's still every day. I love rice/beans/tortillas. I even learned to love guacamole. And I admire the cultural value, which every geographical and social group of people have had, of a staple food. Corn tortillas! They go with EVERYTHING. Sascha's favorite combo is Huichol salsa (like tabasco sauce) and peanut butter.
We have eaten some diverse Mexican food. But mostly Mexicans don't eat at nice Mexican restaurants. They eat at comedores and loncherias, where they serve...yep. Rice, beans, tortillas, and probably chicken with a nice sauce which you saw running from a rooster the previous day. It's fresh, and that's no mistake! What judgment am I making about Mexican food? It's delicious, it varies little, but I respect that. It would just be hard for me to do it full time. Our grocery store, the largest in town, is smaller than my parents' living room. A healthy portion of that is taken up by beer coolers and racks of cookies. I will put it up to lack of discipline on our part that we are sometimes fatigued by the lack of selection. The grocer helped me tie my grocery bags on to my bicycle for five minutes the other day, and you can't knock that kind of service.
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