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!*