How Could I Not Miss This Family???

The Idiot Child

The Scary Captain

The Raving Lunatic

The Weirdo

Buen Fin de Semana

Tamale-making: In this pic I am smoothing oil onto the ojas for flexibility...

Out at the café: (L-R) Nimrod, Jacqueline, Israel, Meghan, and Eileen.
We were serenaded by a mariachi band twice in one night...

At Park 150: (L-R) Booz, Ali (Booz' cousin), me, Bethsaida (Booz' best friend), and Arron (Booz' other cousin). We paused here in-between jumping on balloons and popping them.

Chili Rellenos and Flan: (L-R) Meghan, me, and Eileen... good times.

Shopping for a que padre (cool) present:

On Friday after classes, Eileen and I walked down a few streets looking for toy stores. There are a ton of “5 peso” stores, but a lot of their wares are similar to party favors, and I wanted to get Booz a little bit better present for his 8th birthday.

However, I now realize that I am out of touch with my eight-year-old male self. I had at first decided to get Booz a Hot Wheels car since that is what Fernanda recommended and I knew that he would like it... but do you think we could find Hot Wheels cars anywhere? No. I found a very cool gift bag with Hot Wheels on it, but there was no sign of the cars anywhere...

So... we finally found some cars in one of the stores, and Eileen and I were trying to decide exactly which would be best: the huge tank with flashing lights? the army semi with little, green army men? the three “tumbling” wind-up cars? or the reinforced station wagon with steel-plated tires?

Let me mention here that I personally would have gone for the station wagon, but I thought Booz would enjoy the “tumblers” a bit more, not having had the experience of driving or riding in the family 1985 Chevy Silverado “shaggin’ wagon” with wood paneling...

P.S. I thought you would appreciate hearing this AP... the skirt you gave me has been attracting a lot of notice here. When I was buying Booz’s birthday present an older lady from Michoacan (dressed in traditional garb) stopped me to ask about my skirt and to tell me it was beautiful, and my professors at the school think it’s “super padre” (“super cool”).

Recital Poesia... un poco aburrido (Poetry recital... a little boring):

Friday night after conversation club Meghan, Eileen, Nimrod, and I had planned on attending a musical poetry recital at La Casa Natal de Morelos (first of all because it was free, and second because we all really wanted to attend a Spanish poetry reading, imagining that it would be similar to poetry readings that are held in cafes or coffee houses with several different people reading or singing their poetry – the impression we had gotten from reading the brochure).

However, we had told everyone at conversation club that we were going, and we ended up having a total of ten people head to the reading: the four of us, plus Jacquelyn (whose friend was performing on the piano along with the poetry), Eric (a drummer from Texas who has lived in Morelia for six years now), Israel (a young man who is moving to Cancun on Monday, but who we know from conversation club), Edgar (another young man who plays the guitar beautifully – especially traditional ballads – and speaks impeccable English), and a couple from Lawrence, Kansas – Esteban & Kiko (not their real names, but the closest translation in Spanish) – who are psychologists and have traveled all over the world, studying, writing books, and learning languages.

We were a little late arriving because we had all stayed after conversation club to listen to various people play Edgar’s guitar, but we walked in quietly and sat down toward the back. At the front, on the stage, a little woman with wildly curling, dyed (but faded) brown hair, wearing a black shawl with vivid slashes of red roses wrapped protectively around her frail shoulders, was reading her poetry with a magnifying glass. Everything about her was so frail... except her voice... which rang out across the small auditorium with passion and vitality.

Unfortunately, the poetess found it necessary to tell the entire back-story for each of her poems, leaving no room for the mystery (as Meghan said) that poetry calls to the fore within each of us. Most of the poems were about the period of revolution in Cuba, and her family and friends who knew Fidel Castro, supported or despised him, and how her emotions and actions had all been a result of the political environment surrounding her. A very interesting topic at first... but it was difficult to understand because of her accent (the Cuban accent is very, very different from the accent in Michoacan), and after twenty minutes (during which the poetess had only talked about her background and read no poetry) a piece of paper started passing between the two rows of students from the school:

“Tu entiendas? (You understand?)”
“Un poco (A little)”
“How long do you think this is?”
“Too long.”
“We can’t all leave at once...”
“Aburrido... (Boring...)”
“If you guys want to leave, we can...”

And so on... everyone was a little antsy, and ready to head to the next spot of the night, but we didn’t want to cause offense by leaving. Suddenly, someone at one end of the line started laughing silently after another ten minutes, and then everyone along our two rows was shaking in silent mirth because here we were, ten people squished into this tiny auditorium, not understanding a lot of what was being said, but doggedly determined to listen for the tiniest glimpse of poetic culture. I looked up at Nimrod who was sitting next to me, and caught his eye looking down at me at the same time and we both started laughing again, which made Meghan, on my other side, start laughing, and... well, it was equivalent to sitting in church, singing the wrong note or word, and cracking up with my sisters – when your ribs ache with suppressed laughter.

Finally, after we had heard the pianist play again (who was absolutely excellent, by the way), we all managed to excuse ourselves quietly and headed outside to reconvene on the sidewalk and decide what to do with the rest of our evening... without Cuban poetry.

We ended up heading to an outdoor cafe to spend some time chatting and maybe get something to eat and drink. We started out with six in our group at the table, but by the end of the evening we had accumulated four more people – two of Israel’s friends and Eric and Edgar (who had run back to the school for something).

I was sitting next to Nimrod, who apparently has an unheard-of passion for taking photos of each and every person at the table. I have no idea exactly how many pictures were taken that night, but the number is probably staggering. Fortunately, Meghan and Nimrod have agreed to share their photos with me since my camera is so close to ending its battery life with no hope of recharging...

At the end of the evening as we were paying the bill and getting ready to leave, an older woman selling roses came by our table. We ended up giving her leftover change from the bill, but told her we didn’t need the roses. However, despite our protestations, the lady came over to me, handed me two roses, and said, “Tu eres bonita... estos son para ti...” (You are beautiful/pretty... these are for you). I know, Dad... maybe her eyesight was failing... but it was a nice thing to say anyway... =) So, I headed home, ready for Saturday and tamale-making!

Eight hours of tamale-making:

That’s right... eight hours. We started making tamales at 4:00 on Saturday afternoon, and we tasted our first tamale at 12:30 a.m. Sunday morning. Wow. What an incredible process... I took notes the entire time, making Fernanda and Rogelio laugh as I scribbled all over the page.
However, I now have the basic ideas, ingredients, etc. outlined in my mind and am ready to give it a shot at home. I couldn’t help thinking of my piano teacher, Katherine Kendall, and how once or twice a year she and Mom would have tamales – “the real ones,” Mom told us. I can understand and appreciate now why it was only once or twice a year (it’s the same here... families only make tamales for special occasions and make a lot of them so they last) ... it’s a draining process. But... definitely worth it.

I actually enjoyed the time spent making the tamales – everyone was needed in the process. Fernanda cleaned the oja leaves (the plants used to wrap the ingredients in...), Rogelio dried them over the coals until they were the right degree of flexibility, and then I smoothed oil onto them... counting 127 wraps when we were finished. Next (please understand that I am skipping fourteen or fifteen steps in acknowledgement of time and length...) we all stood/sat around the kitchen table, spooning the ingredients into the leaves, folding them the correct way, and placing them in two huge pots. We ended up making around 110 tamales... which is insane.

My feet hurt, my hands smelled of vegetable oil, ojas, green salsa, red chilis, and chicken, my eyes were burning, and I had smears of indistinguishable materials all over my shirt and pants... and I was delighted. We all stood around in the kitchen and tasted the tamales after we had finished cleaning up and they had cooked for a couple hours over the coals in the backyard... and then we finally headed to bed.

What a cool day... ready to help me with eight hours of tamale-making, family?

Feliz Cumpleanos, Booz!

Booz’ birthday was actually on Friday, but it was easier to get everyone together for a party on Sunday afternoon. So... we got up Sunday morning, got everything around (including the two pots of tamales), packed ourselves into the Jeep and headed to 150 – the same park for children that we visited a couple weeks ago. I say “packed” because there were eight of us, about fifteen bags of food, ten bags of decorations, and a motorized Hummer that Booz got for his birthday from his parents (yes, I’m exaggerating a little on the amount of food... but it was close).

Now, all the adults except the driver had a kid on their laps, but instead I got to hold the motorized Hummer. So, I spent the entire ride to the park with my face shoved between the two front tires, and the rear bumper digging into my thighs, trying to avoid accidentally hitting the myriad of switches on the bottom. Every so often a gust of wind would come through the window and whip the mobile antennae into my glasses making a cool clinking noise... let’s just say I was ready to get to the park. I would have preferred a kid.

We had a great time at the park, the tamales were a hit, and it was a beautiful day. But, I want to share with you the incident that about made me fall off my bench laughing.

Okay... so next to our little party hut that Fernanda had rented, another family was having a birthday party. The little boy was probably only four years old or so... and he loved Spiderman. He was even wearing a Spiderman costume for his party. The party favors, decorations, piñata, and most of the gifts were in “decor Spidey,” and right before he took a shot at the piñata, his mother helped him put on the Spiderman mask... “loved” isn’t really a strong enough word in this instance.

Anyway, I digress... so Booz had been playing with his Hummer, running it up and down the ramp between the two huts, and all the other little kids had gathered around to watch... except the other little birthday boy and his friend who were playing with their plastic semi-trucks at the base of the ramp. Booz had driven his Hummer past these two little boys a couple times, and even into the other birthday hut, and apparently this little boy had had enough.

While Booz rested his big, gleaming Hummer with its glittering chrome at the top of the ramp, I watched as the little boy, in his Spiderman outfit, quickly ran up the ramp (to see the “cool” toy everyone thought), gave the Hummer a good kick in the driver’s door, ran back down the ramp, and started playing with his semi-truck again... while everyone else just sat there with their mouths open and I started laughing.

Booz looked at me with huge eyes, like, “Why are you laughing?” and I just couldn’t help it... it was so, so funny... and the timing had been perfect. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one who found it amusing – Fernanda was laughing, too, though trying to look like she wasn’t, some of the other family was laughing, and everyone was certainly amused by the outburst of tantrum. Ah... good times.

*I am finally feeling almost completely healthy again, and am certainly enjoying getting to know the new students at the school. With four weeks to go my teachers have assured me that I will have made it through all the tenses there are in the Spanish language... and everyday I feel that I learn more, though “learning” and “speaking” seem to be entering my brain at different speeds... which I learned is normal. But... all is well and life is happy... although I do have to echo my friend Aubrey when she wrote in her blog from Slovakia that she could do with a little less “heartache” – I look forward to seeing or hearing from you all soon!*

The Pics from Last Weekend

This is at the waterpark last Saturday... I know, almost a week ago... but it's been a really long week here...! Rogelio is cooking the meat in this photo while the rest of us were looking on... and in the background you can see part of the kids' area of the park.

These are the dancers I mentioned in my last post (or was it the one before? I don't recall...). They were in the square on my way to dinner... dressed in traditional outfits, they danced for a good twenty minutes straight when I was watching them (dancing for long periods of time without stopping was apparently a test of virility and strength that honored various gods and goddesses of the human cuerpo – body), and these weren’t ordinary dances...

This is the main street in Morelia, which was decorated from one end to the other with festive green, red, and white flags, banners... you name it. This image is the man who was the second President of Morelia - unfortunately, I don't remember his name... lol...

So, I am finally getting over my cold after breaking down and heading to the local pharmacy... well, not really local... there are pharmacies on almost every corner here and you can buy almost any drug without having a written prescription from the doctor. I spent $4.40 (in dollars) on medicine that would have cost me over twenty in the U.S. So... that was the uplifting part... the fact that I am still not completely over this bug is not so happy (to use a Tifani phrase). But... I am getting there... slowly...

Last night Meghan, Eileen, and I had a cooking class at the school (we made chili rellenos and flan... very good), and then went to conversation club where we met a young man from Israel whose name is Nimrod (after introducing himself he immediately said, "I know... it means moron in English") and is studying Spanish for three or four months. His father is an historian of Mexican history and speaks Spanish fluently (having written his third book in Morelia), and now Nimrod wants to work on his fourth language - oh, did I mention he already speaks Hebrew, Aramaic, and English?

Sometimes I feel so humbled...

So, tonight, Meghan, Eileen, Nimrod, and I are going to a musical poetry reading, which should be exciting. This weekend is Booz's birthday, so I am helping Fernanda make tamales in the morning, and then on Sunday we are having a birthday party at the park with his friends and some of the family...

Have a happy weekend, and I will post pictures on Monday!

"The Days of Mishap" or "Why Do These Things Happen to Me?"

(Hey all... for some reason my pictures aren't uploading, but I didn't want this post to wait and get really out of date... so I'll try to post the pictures later on in the week...)

Friday Night: We Missed El Grito

That’s right... we missed el grito. The one event that we had been planning on, that happens once a year, that is the second largest celebration in Morelia... we missed. Why, you may ask? Well... here’s what happened.
Meghan and I had decided to go with our professor, Luis, to a cafe with another couple – Paul & Marilyn – where we were going to have cena (dinner) and then walk to the center of town for el grito. Unfortunately, time flies when you’re having fun, and by the time we finished up dinner, fought over paying the bill, tasted a parting gift from our waiter (a shot of tequila con anise – tequila with anise oil), and walked toward downtown, the fireworks were already going off, and we figured we had missed the governor’s speech. Well, we had, but we decided to stay for the female singer who came on after the speech... her name is Aranza.
However, listening to Aranza was not the most exciting part of the night... what was exciting was winding our way through (literally) a million people who filled the town square, trying to avoid getting our toes stepped on, and stepping on other people’s toes. There is a definite difference in people’s comfort zones and how close they will get to you in Mexico rather than in the U.S. Luis had told Meghan and I that once we got to the square we were going to become his “girlfriends” because there were too many young muchachos hanging around that might want to get to know us a little better. So, holding hands, the three of us squeezed through to a place near the front of the stage, pressed back-to-back and almost cheek-to-cheek with everyone else. Have you ever tried involuntary dancing? That is when the entire crowd surrounding you decides to start swaying to the music and you must do the same or be constantly tossed back and forth like a wet noodle. So... we stayed for a bit, then when the concert finished, we walked around the square and the surrounding streets looking at the lights (you would have loved it, Mom), and then headed back to our vehicle completely exhausted and close to deaf.
The buses weren’t running anymore, and my professor had told me he would give me a ride home, so at 1:15 a.m. I made it to my front door, said goodnight, and got ready to sleep in for what I thought would be the most relaxing day I had had up to this point. (Let me mention here that my regular bedtime is 10:30 or 11:00 p.m. Yes, I am an old fogy... but both Meghan and I were about to crash at 10:00 – midway through our sopa tarasca.) But it was not to be...

Saturday: Red is My New Color

I remember reading a short story by Margaret Atwood that talks about how a group of young boys hide in the bushes surrounding a pool to watch the waitresses from their school slather on tanning oil and lotion, frying themselves and looking like hot, pink stretches of oily skin baking in the afternoon sun – almost like beached, uncooked chicken breasts.
Wondering why I’m telling you this? Because I got sunburned... badly. Here’s the back-story...
I woke up Saturday morning to Fernanda calling me from the pleasant fog that had been my respite for seven hours, telling me that she, Rogelio, and Booz were going to go to a water-park (balnario) with the rest of the family, and would I like to go? Hmmmm... no, I thought I would just stay home, sleep, do some homework, wash some laundry, and read. Besides, I didn’t bring my swimming suit (I thought), and I wasn’t in the mood to swim in my ropa interior. So... I went back to sleep for thirty minutes, woke up, and was eventually convinced to go with the family to the balnario – with me wearing long boy-shorts and a t-shirt to swim in after Fernanda told me that was perfectly normal.
We arrived at the water-park, met the rest of the family (we totaled thirteen all-together), and lugged all of our food, baskets, towels, etc. to a shaded table under one of the verandas. We immediately changed into swimsuits (the kids dropping drawers right out in the open in their desire to get into the water) – or in my case, shorts – and started to put on tanning lotion.
Now, Fernanda had 45 SPF sun block that she said I could use. So, I put on the sun block (applying a double-coat to my face since I had gotten burned at school on Friday having class out on the terrace... I know, on the terrace... sounds rough, doesn’t it???), somehow managing to miss my entire back and the backs of my arms... not even thinking about that fact until after I was in the water. However, the wind was freezing, so I guess I thought that I would be okay under the water. BAD mistake...
We played in the water for a couple hours, and then got out to eat comida, which consisted of six different types of meat, five different types of vegetables, tortillas (all cooked on the grill), guacamole, salad, refried beans, chips... well, you get the picture. It was rather amusing, though, because while we were trying to grill the veggies and meat, the charcoal had gotten too hot (whipped up by the wind) and we probably poured a gallon of water on the coals trying to cool them down enough to cook on... but we ended up having meat and veggies con carbon (in a word... burned). But – as usual – it was very good, and we talked and laughed as everyone relaxed around the table.
After comida the women sat around the table and played Dutch Blitz (I’m telling you, this game is really popular here...) for an hour or so until it was time to head out. As I walked into the changing room (kindly pointed into the correct bathroom by Fernanda since I hadn’t even looked at the signs on the outside) I noticed the first slight twinges of warmth in my cheeks and thought... “Oh, even the two coats on my face weren’t enough... oh, well... I don’t burn that easily.”
Right... I am stupid.
On the thirty-minute drive home I began to realize that the “twinges” in my cheeks had spread to my forehead, my nose, my neck, my shoulders, and (especially) my back. We arrived home and I checked out my back which was now on fire. Mom and Dad, do you remember what Aaron’s back looked like after working on the church roof? Take that times about three and you have the color... wow... pain. Let’s just say that if I were a piece of meat, I would have been “well-done.” What was it Dave Roever said? “Crispy Critter?” Yep.
So, I tried to put a cool washcloth on my back and sleep, which was a failed attempt. I ended up tossing and turning the entire night, occasionally getting up to wet down the cloth and try to relieve some of the heat. It was a long night...

Sunday Morning: Imprisoned in the Shower

I finally managed to sleep for over an hour and woke up relatively cognizant of my surroundings (if not completely refreshed) from the night, and (after re-wetting my new best friend, the wet washcloth) I wrote in my journal for an hour or so. It was wonderful to just be able to sit in bed and write and pray, knowing I didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything.
The rest of the household started getting around, and I eventually emerged to take a shower. Fernanda told me that she, Rogelio, and Booz were going to run to the tiendas for some supplies, but would be back for comida in the afternoon. I decided not to go with them (burned as I was I didn’t really feel like moving around too much), and climbed in to take a shower.
[Note: The rest of this tale involves... weird... a shower; so don’t freak out, I promise not to disclose anything too scintillating... lol]
About three-quarters of the way through, I noticed that my water was running out. Now, this is not an uncommon occurrence since the water for the showers is pumped up through a pipe that has to be manually turned on once in a while. So, I called out to Booz to turn the pump on, expecting it to have to run for a bit, and then to be able to continue my shower.
So, I waited. And waited... and waited... and waited... nada. This wouldn’t have been as much of a problem if I had actually gotten to rinse off... but I couldn’t get out of the shower because I was covered in suds. I heard the pump running and then Fernanda telling Booz to shut it off. Okay, I thought... here it comes. And... nothing.
I was well and truly imprisoned.
At this point, it had been about thirty minutes since I climbed in to take my shower... and I was freezing. I felt like a plucked chicken in Antarctica... and wanted to go back to Kentucky. For a couple crazed minutes I wondered if people died or had some sort of mental breakdown from getting a terrible sunburn one day, and then standing in a freezing shower for half an hour the next... and then I decided that I was having a mental breakdown because rather than telling my family the water still wasn’t working I was just standing there like an idiot.
Through chattering teeth I managed to call out to Fernanda and said, “Uh... Fernanda? No tengo agua, todavia...” (“I still don’t have water.”) I heard her gasp and she went running down the stairs to turn the pump back on... and... nothing. Apparently we had used up every bit of water in the house and hadn’t used the pump to refill anything in the past week... consequently... no water.
At this point, I started laughing hysterically, because really... what can you do? Laughing is obviously the best course of action. Fernanda and Rogelio were downstairs and heard me laughing, and then they started laughing, and yet I was still stuck in the shower! Finally, the water began to run again, and after laughingly assuring my family that I was fine, I finished my shower in relative comfort.
It had been an hour long shower... brrrrrr.

Sunday Night: My Lips are Pregnant

We had church Sunday evening in Morelia, and afterwards Fernanda, Rogelio, and I had cena (discussing how you like to pull raw turnips out of the ground, dust them off on your overalls, and eat them, Dad), and then Fernanda and I started to do the dishes. After comida and cena we always do dishes together, talking a little bit about the day, and learning new words in English and Spanish.
We were talking about getting sunburned at the water-park the day before (I wasn’t the only one... almost everybody got burned at least a little bit), and I mentioned that sometimes when my lips have gotten sunburned in the past they become swollen like leeches (perhaps a gross comparison, but true... remember, family?). I told Fernanda that sometimes my lips were embarrassing when they swelled up like that. Unfortunately, I used the word embarasado, which means “pregnant” rather than “embarrassed.” So, essentially, I told Fernanda that my lips were pregnant...
Being the kind soul she is, Fernanda started howling with laughter, doubling over and throwing soap suds everywhere as she leaned her head against the sink, shaking with mirth... while I had no idea what was going on...

Monday: A Slight Recuperation

So... after this weekend, I was a well-done, plucked chicken with pregnant lips who wanted nothing more than to drink a very large glass of tequila con anise and go to sleep. And, I realized that I had miscalculated my weeks in Morelia, and I am actually going to be here for nine weeks rather than eight... not a problem, but different. The date of departure is still the same, but I just had to readjust my mental thinking... and hope that my toothpaste doesn’t run out...
However, classes on Monday went very well (the professors enjoyed my “stuck in the shower” story), and after club de conversacion in the evening, Meghan, Eileen, and I went for 5 peso ice cream along one of the calles (streets) and then headed to the park beside the cathedral in al centro. We sat on a bench for a couple hours, just chatting (in English... we have to have a little relief every once in a while), watching the couples make out in the park (there are more young people who “neck” here than anywhere I have ever been), and listening to volunteer preachers wander up and down the lanes.
Afterward, Meghan and I headed back toward the school and had a great talk about spiritual matters pertaining to humbleness and how easy it is to fall into the trap of being seen as a “good” person without any need for something more... once again, I am so thankful for my new friends here, and thank God for their presence. Oh, and let me mention here that I appreciate the e-mails, cards, etc. from you – my friends and family back home... it is so wonderful to hear from you all, and I wouldn’t be able to be down here without your support... =)
So... I got home, watched La Fea Mas Bella with the family (it might interest you to know that Fernanda saw Leticia on television with Aldo, and now that he knows she is in Acapulco with another man will probably going tearing after her in typical dramatic telenovella-style, where hearts will be broken, mascara will run, and someone’s dead uncle will show up for a final surprise... I love it... lol), and went to bed... my throat a little sore...

Tuesday morning: Drinking Orange Juice, Lime, and Honey

I woke up Tuesday morning realizing that the sore throat that had plagued me the day before hadn’t gone away, and that it had actually gotten much, much worse. I couldn’t swallow without it giving me pain and my head felt like I was walking around with cotton jammed behind my eye sockets and in my ears. And, I had a little bit of a fever. Now I know what happens after you get burnt, then stand in a freezing shower, and then go to get ice cream in flip-flops in the rain...
I was sick.
So, I stayed in bed and decided not to go to school and infect everyone else. Fernanda made me jugo (juice) from oranges, limes, and completed with a good dollop of honey. She also had some medication to gargle with... so after gargling, drinking the entire pitcher of juice, sleeping, and taking Advil for the headache, I began to feel a little bit better... praying that my sore throat would be gone by the next day or even later in the afternoon.
However, club de conversacion was out since I didn’t want to be croaking out my sentences. And since “conversation” is the objective... what would be the point??? I watched movies, studied, and slept the rest of the day, and watched as Leticia’s drama continues every night at 8:30 p.m.

*On the other hand, I am ready for these days to be over... how were your weekends???*

Mexican Politics... a Zesty Specialty (oh... and these pictures have nothing to do with this post)

This is where the Governor of Morelia "works"... meaning they show it to visitors and say he works there (for tradition, of course), but he really doesn't.

It's okay to say this... our tour guide told me... lol.

I realized I haven't posted a pic of the school... so here is the front side... later on (when my camera dies) I will post more from my "wealth" of photos...

Let me regress for a moment: Rogelio sliding down the hill of rocks last weekend... can you imagine what I looked like? One word... pathetic...

I am fascinated by politics in Mexico... apparently this is a fascination shared by most of my teachers at the school. Maybe it’s just my personal observation, but it seems to me that anytime you find academics you also find a propensity to discuss politics... one could draw several hypothesis about such a pairing, but I will leave that to your imaginations and turn to my thoughts on the political system here and the changes that have been occurring in Mexico... sorry if you find this post boring... you don’t have to read it... lol.
Mi clase de conversacion (conversation class) is truly a joy. In fact, I have decided that “conversation” – not in any specific language, but just in general – is going to be my new occupation. Does anyone know of a job wherein discussing topics constantly (any and every topic possible), all day long, is a must? Oh wait... maybe a professor of literature??? Hmmmm....
Anyway, my teacher asked us if we had any topics we would like to know more about, discuss, etc., and I mentioned that I was interested in the Mexican political system. So... it started. We spent two days discussing the topic, then in one of my other classes the following day I mentioned that we had been discussing politics and that professor and I discussed politics the entire hour, and then the next professor and I discussed them for a half hour of the next period... it was fabulous... =P And then today (since it was Friday and a holiday... at least that was our excuse) three out of my four classes consisted completely of conversation which ranged from politics, religion, and African-American authors to marriage, obligation, and immigration (all really light topics, so you can imagine how my Spanish faired... or in this case, failed... lol).
So, here’s what I have learned this past four weeks:
Mexico is a country whose political corruption has not only been an occurrence in the last eighty years – it has almost been an expected one. Corruption from the top of the political system to the bottom has been rife, and soaring inflation, national debt, and fluctuating worth of the peso have struggled for prominence in being the most disastrous for the country as a whole, while “...the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.”
My professor, Luis, gave me a brief rundown of the political history of the last century and a little insight into the changes occurring right now. For instance, Mexico had a president from the same political party – PRI (Partido Revolucionario Institucional, a party whose placement on the “left” and “right” political scale has fluctuated severely) – for seventy years, which means that party had total control of the government through the Congress, Senate, etc. It was only in the year 2000 that a president from the PAN (Partido Accion Nacional, the “right” party, but much less conservative than the Republican party in the U.S... this party is closer to “independent”) party was elected, the first time in Mexican history where the President was elected legally and democratically (mainly as a result of the very, very strict system of voting in Mexico, which is a result of corrupted experiences in the past and makes cheating in an election almost impossible).
However, there is more than ample speculation that President Fox, who concludes his presidency this December, was never allowed to push through any changes or decisions because the Congress (whose majority is comprised of members of the PRI party) vetoed almost all of his suggestions. Consequently, many Mexicans refer to the last six years as a “standstill” or pausa (a pause) when the country has simply been waiting to see what will happen.
And now... things are happening. When candidates for this presidential election were being decided, announced, etc., the Governor of Mexico D.F. (the federal district in Mexico City), Lopez Obrador, continually denied that he would be running for President as a candidate of the PRD (Partido de la Revolucion Democratica, an extremely liberal “leftist” party... much more extreme than the Democratic party in the U.S.), despite urging from his loyal supporters. On the other hand, Obrador kept acting as though he were going to be running for President, campaigning in his own way, which involved refusing to use television as a means of advertising, since he was one of the Mexican people and he wasn’t going to resort to advertising strategies meant to ensare and exploit the average human’s perceptions and awareness. The PAN party announced its candidate, Felipe Calderón, to the general approval of many Mexican people, and suddenly Obrador was in the race for President.
At the beginning of the campaigning, political analysts believed that the majority of the Mexican people were in favor of Obrador, but Felipe Calderón’s use of television for advertising was making its effects felt, and midway through the campaigning, Obrador’s people decided to avail themselves of television anyway for advertisements. By election time, the outcome of the voting (which occurred this past August) wasn’t clear – but it ended up being Felipe Calderón who won by a slight margin.
However, here’s the rub. In the different states of Mexico, people were also voting for their Governor, their local officials, etc. Obrador refused to admit he lost and that Calderón won the election. He immediately called for a recount – of just the votes for President... he said the state official elections didn’t need to be recounted. The IFE (Instituto Federal Electoral) refused to comply, saying that the computers had been run effectively, the voting was legal, democratic, and in every way correct. However, the computer program that configures and counts the votes was designed by the company that Calderón’s brother-in-law owns, and the head of the IFE is a bosom friend of Calderón’s – Calderón was the witness who signed at this man’s wedding. As one of my other teachers pointed out, “The answer my friend is blowing in the wind...”
So... Obrador is publicly denying Calderón’s place as President, and with his party forcibly kept Calderón from giving his acceptance speech (essentially like our State of the Union). Calderón simply handed the men who prevented him from entering the auditorium a piece of paper with his speech and left (later on his acceptance speech was aired on all television channels from his office – interrupting La Fea Mas Bella I might add for those who care... lol). The Mexican people were furious that he was prevented from giving his speech, and through various actions, voicing of his opinions, and bull-headedness, Obrador is quickly losing support. However, there are still those who refuse to accept Calderón as President, and one lady who I meet with to do private lessons in the morning, said, “El no va a tomar possesion como Presidente en el primero de Diciembre.” (“He is not going to take possession/position as President on the first of December.”) There are those who are certainly willing to commit violence to ensure he is not the head of the country...
In addition, the President of Venezuela, Hubo Chávez, a good friend of Obrador’s, has also made a public statement saying that he does not acknowledge Calderón as President, and that he embraces Obrador instead as the President and as a strong ally for the future.
So... the country has been in turmoil; split down the middle with different opinions, insulting actions, and rising tempers. Students, my age and younger, have launched protests, rallies, supportive parades, etc. It’s really very inspiring to see so many young people taking an interest in the political decisions of their country... but I am a spectator here. How would I be reacting if I were a resident of Mexico? Would I march? Would I protest? Would I be willing to risk my life and my family for independence and “free” thinking? Or would I sit back as well... and wait?
I don’t know. And neither do all the people here. It’s as though everyone is waiting to see what everyone else will do... waiting to find out what will happen in the intervening two months before Calderón “takes” office.
But in the meantime... it’s celebration time and the Mexican Independence Day is tomorrow. Tonight my professor, Luis, an amiga of mine from the school, Meghan (a student from Chicago who is studying to be a youth pastor, and who wants to work with inner-city urban kids/teens after she graduates), another couple from the school, and I are going to el grito de independencia (literally – “the shout of independence”), which is happening in all the cities of Mexico tonight – essentially a remembrance of Miguel Hidalgo y Castillo’s cry “El grito de Dolores!” which is now, “Vive Mexico! Vive Mexico!” shouted by each city’s gobernador and echoed by the populace... how cool (for lack of a better word), and I am totally excited to go... or, for you Chelsie... “super excited!” And don’t worry mama y mis abuelos... I will be safe, and my professor has vowed to protect us from amorous young men... lol.
On the way here I saw men dressed in costumes dancing in the square, flags waving in the street, etc., and so I took pictures… but I can’t get them to copy over… so I will try to post pictures at the beginning of next week... until then... have a great weekend everyone! Hasta luego...

Grandma Mildred: I know what you need to do to have your plants grow more quickly and become the greatest, coolest plants in the entire world...

Simply get a bigger pot. Oh, and feed it small children every two or three days...

maybe the Stewart kids???

Maniacal Rock Climbing a.k.a. Another Long Post

Well, I have just returned from another fabulous weekend. Let me share it with you...

Rogelio, Fernanda, Booz, Chino (Rogelio and Fernanda’s nephew), and I traveled to Ixtlan, Mexico this weekend to visit Rogelio’s family and attend church on Sunday. Friday night we had decided to leave at 5:00 a.m. the next morning, which of course ended up being 7:00 a.m. (really... who leaves at 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning? We were thinking crazy...).

So, we got on the road and it was truly a beautiful morning. The sun was just starting to rise as we headed out of Morelia and we passed a couple lakes and rivers that were silver and purple with drifting tendrils of fog creeping across their still surfaces, reflecting the darker shapes of the mountains looming in the background. It truly belonged on a postcard or a postage stamp... but since I am fresh out of postage stamps and postcards you’ll just have to imagine it for the moment... =)

We arrived in Ixtlan around 9:30 a.m., met Rogelio’s mother, Carmen (a Grandma Mildred look-alike, talk-alike, dress-alike... well, let’s just say that if you were a Mexican grandma, Grandma Mildred... you would have been this woman... =P), his two sisters, their twelve birds, one rooster (which I wanted to kick... more later), one bunny, and ten million fruit trees in the backyard (I kid you not...). We all immediately sat down to desayuna (breakfast), and then headed on a short walk to the town plazza, which was a beautiful little square decorated (of course) with banners and garlands of green, red, and white for Mexico’s month of Independence. We walked around for a little bit, then headed to the mercado (essentially an open-air market for produce, meat, bread, etc.) to pick up some tortillas, fruits, and veggies. While we were talking with one of the men at his vegetable stand, another supplier walked in with a huge box of aguacate (avocados), and Rogelio and Fernanda ended up buying twelve kilos of avocados... that’s right... TWELVE kilos (probably... let’s see... forty or fifty avocados). We eat a lot of guacamole... lol... definitely a staple of the Mexican diet...!

As soon as we got back we packed up and got ready to go on our picnic and walk in the country. Forty years ago Carmen and her husband moved into town, but before that they lived in el campo (the country) outside Ixtlan, and her husband still works out on the farm every day... so we headed that direction. Before we left the house, though, Carmen insisted that I put on a sombrilla (a hat to protect my oh-so-fair skin from the blazing midday sun). Now, this was not just any sombrilla... oh no... this was a fantastic hot pink creation in the late gardening variety style with a huge front flap, and (I was so lucky) even a cute little pink bow in the back – want a better idea of the color? Think of Barbie dolls... now think of the traditional hot pink... okay, you’ve got it. I put it on amidst gales of laughter from everyone else and wore my Barbie-hat proudly out into the Mexican sunlight. The hat, for your enjoyment, is pictured above amidst the lesser colors of brown, light pink, and purple at the top of one of the hills on our walk...

We drove for about thirty minutes (encountering the herd of goats pictured above) and ended up stopping by a mining crew... they were tearing down the Mexican hills (which are essentially red rock), beating them into small stones, and hauling them to town for constructing buildings, roads, etc. Ana, one of Rogelio’s sisters, told me about one of the implements that had fallen from the top of the mountain down into the ravine when its gear accidentally shifted... fortunately the man running the machine had jumped off to take a water break... yikes.

So... there are huge piles of rocks everywhere, no one looking, and we’re wearing old clothes... that’s right, we climbed them. Now, I shouldn’t say we... I held off for the first two times, watching Booz and Ana clamber up to the top, scrape themselves to pieces, and come tumbling back to the bottom in a shower of red dirt and small pebbles. But I couldn’t resist when Rogelio started up the side throwing a challenge over his shoulder... so I handed my camera, my umbrella, and my jacket to Fernanda, and (literally) dove into the rocky hillside. I say “literally” because I have the scrapes and bruises to show for it. Ana and Booz made it look a lot easier than either Rogelio or I did (which might have something to do with weight and propensity-to-sink-into-rocks ratios... but I’m only guessing...). So, pictured above you see the success of reaching the top without the sliding descent which was a lot quicker, and a little more graceful. I’m not going to show the pictures of the way up because they are... ahem... less than flattering to put it delicately...

Ana asked me if I preferred that my name be “Stephanie” or “Estephany” while I was here. I told her it didn’t really matter to me, that I was fine with both. She then proceeded to tell me that “estephany” means “funny”... I don’t know what kind of funny she meant, though... since it’s possible that her revelation was prompted by my ignominious slide down the hill of rocks... lol.

So... we were covered in dirt, scraped to pieces, with huge smiles plastered across our faces... and we decided to head to our picnic. We went back along the road by which we had come and stopped to talk to a man along the side of the road who I soon found out was Rogelio’s father, Carmen’s husband. He opened a gate for us and we headed into a back pasture toward the old homestead. However, we stopped after about a hundred feet because Carmen wanted to steal some corn. Now, I say “steal” but it wasn’t really since the entire field and most of the surrounding fields belong to their family. No, what I mean by “steal” is that they didn’t want the grandfather to see us taking them for our “snack-break” and made Rogelio run alongside the Jeep, dashing into the field now and then to break off a particularly juicy head of corn while the women screeched, pointed, and directed him to the most choice morsels, all amidst laughter and shouting that could have been heard 500 feet away, much less 100 feet... oh, well... I don’t think they were too worried about the abuelo finding out... lol...

After picking fourteen ears of corn – two for each person – we stopped at a little cottage that the workers use for their midday breaks which is very, very old. We built a fire in a little make-shift pit that the workers use, and proceeded to heap our fourteen ears of corn onto the flames, letting them roast while we tried to avoid the eye-watering smoke. After they were done we rubbed lime juice and chile-pepper salsa on them... oh my... fabulous. Above is pictured our little rest-stop with our heaped piles of corn in the middle... Carmen is the grandmother on the left. Notice the pink sombrilla in the right-hand corner... lol...

When we were done eating and the abuelo had shown up (surprising Booz taking a huge bite from his corncob...), we all headed back to town to have Mexican tacos (with anything and almost everything on them) for comida. Now, I did mention that the Mexican culture is built around food, right? Food and family... and usually both together... it’s wonderful... lol...

After comida we got ready for iglesia (church) in the evening. I say got ready which means I took a shower, fell asleep on my bed, was awakened out of a sound sleep by Fernanda informing me that we were late, and rushing into a last-minute toilette that left much to be desired... but hey... who’s looking, right? =P

This isn’t really a service, but more of a Bible study for the kids and young adults of the church. We showed up (not too late) and listened as Mateo (Matt Gerber) gave the lesson, which was very nice. Afterward I was getting ready to go play volleyball outside on the court with the young kids when Claudia (one of the young women who lives and works in Ixtlan) came up to me, said they were planning a little surprise, and would I like to help? Of course... I love surprises (usually)... and headed to the women’s bathroom to find that five young women were crowded inside blowing up balloons, taping signs, and getting ready to decorate for an impromptu surprise birthday-party for all those individuals who have birthdays in September. We continued to blow up balloons, puffing and gasping with laughter as we narrowly avoided members of the church who needed to use the restroom, until we were ready to sneak out into the main room and decorate. Several cakes had been brought, and though the custom of smashing a person’s face into their birthday cake wasn’t observed, the birthday boys and girls seemed to have a good time anyway...! I did realize, however, that I do not know the words to the second verse of Happy Birthday in Spanish... lol.

We went back to Carmen’s house, and everyone sat in the living room and watched the live version of 101 Dalmations with actress Glenn Close... however, we were all falling asleep in our chairs and decided to head to bed... it was 9:15 p.m.

I am getting old...

Sunday morning I woke up at 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. and ended up lying in bed for a couple hours, contemplating the meaning of life which caused me to decide never to contemplate the meaning of life again since I realized it all comes back to an analogy with Cheerios. It’s okay... nothing is wrong... just ponder it for a bit and you will see the inherent truth within...

We ate a quick breakfast of tamales, sour cream, chili peppers, sweet potatoes, and yogurt (slightly different from Sunday morning blueberry muffins, huh family!?!), then got ready to go to church. I went early with Ana since she is a Sunday school teacher, and on the way she asked if I would mind playing the piano for the kids in the morning. I said, “Sure... I can do that...” (well, sort of... in Spanish... wink), and we walked in, straight to the sanctuary, up to the front... to the keyboard in front of the entire church. Apparently the kids sing songs in front of the congregation before the morning service... I didn’t know this... and became very, very nervous. Remember the whole “needing to practice” thing? Well... I haven’t. But... it went okay, and it was fun to play accompaniments to Sunday school songs that I haven’t heard in years, and have never heard in Spanish...! Mateo gave the morning service, and Marshall Heinold gave the second with Mateo translating to Spanish... I really enjoyed the messages and getting to meet the people in the church, which has about seventy attending individuals, and fifty or so active members.

After iglesia we headed back to Carmen’s house and prepared for comida since Marshall, Mateo, and Rudy (one of Matt’s friends from the States, and a nephew to Marshall who is staying for eight months in Ixtlan) were coming. Janice, Marshall’s wife, is still in the U.S. because of some complications with a medical problem and the women of Rogelio’s house took pity on the three temporary bachelors... lol. I set the table, watching with envy as Rogelio handled the slicing of the veggies, and making of the guacamole like a pro with his ten-inch knife.

I went outside to watch Rogelio’s sister frying the meat on a wood-burning grill, and for some reason the rooster (in a cage right beside where we were frying) took offense at my standing within ten feet of him and decided to crow continually every thirty seconds for five minutes. I finally looked him in his beady little eye, and said, “We are going to eat you if you don’t shut up right now, Bird-brain.” Okay... no I didn’t (mostly because I don’t know that I could have said it all in Spanish), but it would have been funnier if I had since I simply glared at him and mentally wondered how many chickens one can kick in a thirty-second time period...

Comida was finally ready and after the men had arrived we sat down to eat, enjoying a pleasant meal, good conversation, and great company. Fernanda was laughing at Rudy and I at one point, though, because we were talking in Spanish to one another (doing a fabulous job of it, of course...), not understanding a bit of what each other said, and yet not resorting to English while we doggedly kept trying to figure out what was going on. I know, ridiculous... ah well...

Later, after we had finished eating and the bachelors had left, Fernanda, Booz, one of Rogelio's sisters, and I headed to the geyser in Ixtlan which is supposedly famous for its healing powers. We paid ten pesos (approx. $1.00) to enter the geyser water-park, watched Booz splash around in the water, waded in a bit (the water in some parts was – amazingly enough – scorching... go figure...), and then sat on the side exchanging woman-talk. I don’t know exactly what qualifies it as woman-talk except that it was three women talking, so that’s what I am going to call it... lol.

At one point after looking down into the well that houses the geyser, my glasses fogged up pretty badly and I look around trying to get to cooler air and saw an older man in a Speedo... I looked the other way and saw two seventy-year-old men in Speedos... and then realized that for the most part all the people were wearing their ropa interior (underwear) to swim in... ummm... bad idea... for me to look... lol.

We finally left to head back to Morelia... exhausted, happy, still very full... and ready to tackle the homework I didn’t do all weekend... lol... procrastination, I am sorry to say, does indeed have its limits... =)

Adios, y’all...!

Travel Phobia and Bank Robbery...

Isn't this a great pic? I couldn't resist posting it... lol. This is my family in Morelia... they dress like this all the time, of course...!

So, I don't know if it's the Mexican salsa, or what's going on, but I have been having really weird dreams every night. Let me give you a brief rundown (we all realize "brief" is a relative term, right??? lol)...

Last night... I dreamed that my friends Majkin, Cody, Tyler, and I were joined by two other individuals (I have no idea who they were... they were tall, though... lol) in scheming to rob a bank. Not any bank... the First State Bank, which is where my mom works in Kiowa (by the way, she knew about this and supported it...!). For some reason we were sleeping on the roof of the bank, and managed to get down into the main area through a huge opening. Rather than robbing the bank immediately, we all bedded down for the night to make sure that no one else was going to rob the bank. I awoke (still in my dream) to realize that a shadowy figure (of course it was shadowy... it's a dream) was crawling through the hole in the ceiling. I jumped up, grabbed the person by the foot, and we both fell through the floor into a living room where a family of notorious bank robbers lived. At this point Cody, Majkin, Tyler, and the other two would-be robbers jumped through the floor (now-turned-ceiling) to help me, and Cody tried to give a "short" explanation of why we were there, which turned into a two-hour monologue... and then I realized that the girl robber was actually Diana Krall (a jazz vocalist) and I joined their band of robbers instead...

The night before... I dreamed I was flying home, stopping briefly in OKC with my family, and then headed back to Morelia for six more weeks of language training. I had a layover at the airport, and my family and I went to a partiotic celebration (which was flying Mexican flags all over the place - let me mention here that September is the month for celebrating Mexican independence and there are decorations galor everywhere here...). We ended up staying for awhile and on the way back to the airport we realized that I had missed my flight completely. We went to the information desk, and Mom left to call Junior Domnick (my bus-driver when I was in grade school) because he flew commercial flights out of Houston, Texas directly to Morelia and he could get me on another flight. Dad started crying because he had made me miss my flight, the guys at the info desk told me, "If you see a guy in a yellow pantsuit on a passport, tell him this..." (they gestured to a huge horse standing behind them - a live one, I might add - and pulled a huge feedbag up over its head), and then I turned around to see that very man walking away quickly carrying a wrinkled tie. My flight left at precisely 3:10 a.m., and I sat in the same spot for four hours to make sure I didn't miss it...

Sunday night... I dreamed that I was getting ready to travel from home (in Hazelton), and that my flight left Wichita at 11:47 p.m. For some reason, I couldn't get ready at home and had to go into Grandma Mildred's house in Kiowa to change. Dad was working on bills at the kitchen table and told me he would come pick me up at Grandma's at 9:30 p.m. so we could make it in time for my flight. At 10:47 p.m. (notice how exact these times are... lol) I called Dad to find out that he had forgotten. But I realized that I had forgotten some things at home... so as I drove home Dad tried to get my other clothes around. When I went upstairs to my bedroom, I saw that Dad had knocked over Tifani's fan (why it was Tifani's fan I have no idea...) and caught some of my clothes on fire that were hanging on the racks that we used to have on the east side of my bedroom. We knew we couldn't make it on time and so we then looked up Continental Airlines' customer service... and discovered that my flight had really left at 6:30 p.m. and that it was now 9:43 p.m. (don't ask... I apparently went back in time a little bit)...

What do you think? Any dream analysts out there? Maybe I should leave off the homemade guacamole next time...

Have YOU ever eaten shaved ice with chili powder? Second question: Do you ever want to?

This weekend has really been a wonderful time, and I am truly so thankful for the family here and the kindness and love they have been showing me. Family is incredibly important in Mexican homes and traditions, and it makes me realize how fortunate I have been with the multiple individuals and families that I have had in my life as I have grown up – thank you to those people... Grandparents (not just related ones), parents, sisters, friends, etc.
So... on to this weekend. I’m just going to start at the beginning, and hope that you don’t get bored before the end! Perhaps a futile wish for those with short attention spans... but bear with me and my overflow of words... my advice? Read this in a couple of sittings...!

SATURDAY:
Saturday morning we slept in, and then headed out for breakfast. When Fernanda had told me where we were going I caught “eating breakfast out,” “family,” “lots of walking,” and “park.” Okay, sounded good to me... so we headed out and ended up at a neat little sidewalk restaurant downtown that had a breakfast buffet.
Now, this is quite different from a U.S. buffet in that there were six entrees rather than sixty, nothing had identification tags, and there were more types of salsa than there were entrees. It was fabulous... and Rogelio assured me that we could indeed make more than one trip through the line (interestingly enough, neither he nor Fernanda could identify three out of the six dishes... hmmmm). On my second trip Fernanda urged me to try the spicy-looking meat dish on the far-end... what the heck, I thought, and scooped a good amount on my plate. Now, I am generally not afraid of trying anything at least one time. In fact, I am usually pretty good at identifying objects of food before I put them in my mouth... well, I failed. If you know my family very well, you have possibly heard the story of me eating liver when I was a young child, screwing up my face, and never wanting to eat it again. Indeed... it was liver. Covered with spices, fried into a squirming nothingness, and basted in onions... but liver it was, and there was a brief moment when I considered whether surreptitiously dumping the entire plate under the table would be a major breach of table manners...? Fortunately I denied this impulse, ladled on two spoon-fulls of the salsa verde and made the best of it. Sorry Barb & Stub... it was definitely still a no-go! “Liver and onions” will just have to wait...
On the up-side I am in love with the range of salsas here, and Rogelio and Fernanda have been impressed with the girls from Kansas (Andrea Luthi & I) who like their food spicier than most native Mexicans... whether the spicier food likes us or not is a completely different question...
After breakfast we headed to Rogelio’s sister’s house where we waited for his family to finish getting ready. I read a book that was the equivalent of “Donde esta Waldo?” (Where is Waldo?), deciding that “Wenda” is really a horrible name for me... thanks family. Sorry if you don’t understand... it’s not worth mentioning... lol...
Finally ready to leave, we managed to squeeze 9 people into Rogelio and Fernanda’s Jeep Grand Cherokee... nine. Six were adults. The three kids sat in the back. Let’s just say... we all have hips. Wow... bruises. But, we made it safely (if slightly sardine-shaped) to the various stores, and then headed to a park in the downtown area for kids.
The park was really nice, and while the kids played on the various playground equipment, the adults sat at a picnic table and talked. Fernanda, Rogelio’s sister, and I played Dutch Blitz. Now, I have never played Dutch Blitz before, and learning to play while being given instructions in Spanish was interesting... but we got it done and had a good time... until we got rained out (which isn’t surprising since it rains every afternoon and almost every night here). After waiting for ten minutes and realizing that it was going to keep raining, we headed to eat at a neighborhood taco stand. The problem? It was closed... just like the second one, third one, fourth one, fifth one... indeed. We went to six different places, and all were closed, didn’t have room for nine people, or were almost out of food. So... we headed back to Rogelio’s sister’s house and ate there.
We headed home, and Fernanda told me that she was interested in seeing Princess Diaries 2 (which I do own, and like by the way)... so, we watched the film with subtitles in Spanish while lying on the middle of the floor in the living room. Good times.

For Dad: I forgot to mention that on the way to breakfast Saturday morning we passed a New Holland and Case IH dealership in town... fascinatingly enough they had a row of corn planted where most businesses would have trees or flowers... but no, they had ten or fifteen huge cornstalks along the sidewalk in front of the store – I was completely impressed. I was even more impressed when we passed a John Deere dealership on the way home, and saw scraggly bushes and trees – what a total lack of ingenuity. C’mon... corn or bushes?
Go Big Red... =P
P.S. (I know you don’t care... lol)

SUNDAY:
Sunday morning we got up and got ready to go to church downtown. Now, I am not a morning person... we all know this. But, a cup of coffee... okay, three... generally helps out quite a bit. Rogelio brought me home some specialty cafe the other day and we tried it in the morning – oh my goodness... it was wonderful. Fernanda kept saying, “Este es muy, muy fuerte... te gusta?” (This is very, very strong... you like it?) I had to assure her that I generally prefer my coffee much like Garfield in the cartoon where he dumps it out of the mug and it stands up by itself... muy, muy fuerte indeed...
We headed to the iglesia which is called “Dios es Amor” (God is Love), and I had to laugh when I was handed the church bulletin and looked down to see, “Un Buen Esposo” (A Good Spouse) written in bold letters across the top. Now, if I was home, in an AC church, my immediate thought would be, “Wow... wonder who is going to be announced in the next week or so?” Which, by the way, is completely ridiculous since the bulletin obviously applied to married people as well as singles... but... there isn’t anyone engaged that I don’t know about, is there...? Let me know... =)
Anyway, so church was interesting and very uplifting. The only awkward point came when visitors (from other countries and places) were supposed to stand and tell a little about yourself, where you were from, and how it was you came to be here. Another family was visiting from Missouri (the father is a pastor who makes regular visits to Morelia), and introduced themselves with aplomb and grace. I, on the other hand, was trying to sink down in my pew as much as possible to avoid having to speak. Fernanda, being the kind soul she is, was poking me in the ribs with her elbow, Booz was waving his arms and pointing at my quickly-turning-red face, and various members of the congregation were spinning in their seats to smile encouragingly at me. The pastor caught my eye, smiled, and said something. I have no idea what because my heart was pounding in my ears (I know this is dramatic, and that I shouldn’t be afraid of an audience, but I am not completely confident with my Spanish skills as of yet...). However, I stood up, said, “Hola... me llamo Stephanie Bahr, y soy de Kansas en Los Estados Unidos. Estoy estudiando espanol en el Instituto de Baden-Powell en Morelia” (Hello, my name is Stephanie Bahr and I am from Kansas in the United Sates. I am studying Spanish at the Baden-Powell Institute), and quickly sat down. Short, brief, to the point... and not making a complete fool of myself. Thankfully the church was very welcoming, and they wished me the best, encouraging me to learn as quickly as possible... lol...
After church we headed to a Museum of Dulce (Candy), where we watched demonstrations of candy-making, listened to presentations on the history of the candies, and took pictures in old-time costumes. Well, Rogelio, Fernanda, and Booz took a picture... I watched, laughed, and enjoyed the retreat into the early 1900s. We tried a pear candy that was like... well, it was the texture of applesauce but sweeter... and I think I will definitely be going back...!
And then... to catch you up on the title of this post... we headed to a tienda called “Hawaiian Paradise” which sells shaved ices, smoothies, etc. I decided to be really experimental and try a concoction from the “Explosivos” section... bad idea. It had mango, lemon, and chile = chili powder. It was probably one of the most disgusting things I have ever eaten in my life. A little chili powder... great. A medium amount... okay. Half a container like this had? Not so good... But, I managed to finish three-quarters of it, thinking the whole time, “I will laugh about this later on... I really will.”
I figured we were headed home after the shaved-ice experience, but we crossed the street and entered a Hindu Vegetarian restaurant. Rogelio and Fernanda know that before coming to Mexico I was a vegetarian, and Fernanda bought a soy replacement for me to try last week (even though I told her it wasn’t necessary), and apparently this restaurant is one of their favorites. THERE WAS SO MUCH FOOD... I am not kidding. A bowl of soup, a bowl of rice, a bowl of... something with lots of vegetables, a plate of meat-replacement stuffed with cabbage, mayo, and peppers and covered in lime juice (which was fabulous, by the way), a chunk of bread, a cabbage and carrot-stuffed wheat croissant, a cup of yogurt, and a cup of tapioca. Wow. And that was for one person. We each had our own tray (which only cost 34 pesos apiece – roughly $3.50), and... well, we walked back to the vehicle rather slowly...
After arriving back home, we all sprawled out in the living room and watched Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory on DVD in Spanish. I had no idea that so many of my films were in Spanish, but hey... it helps me learn...! Even though no one can echo Gene Wilder’s voice... en mi opinion, por supuesto...
I loaded a bunch of photos from my camera onto my computer, then, and we looked at my pictures of family, friends, and trips. Rogelio, Fernanda, and Booz were especially fond of the videos of Chelsie’s biff at the lake on the knee-board, the German clip of people falling into the “water”-bed, and the Crescent Roll clip. Once again... good times.

So... this has been horrendously long, and I apologize... but this is exactly what I would have told you if we had chatted on the phone! Hope all is well, that your eyes aren’t giving out on you, and that you don’t have to try shaved ice with chili powder in the near future... Adios mis amigos!