Flies and Family

I kill flies. I’ve made it my personal mission, or new career of sorts.

I understand that the flies are part of ranch life. But it is a part that I do not embrace. Normally they are not bad. But one barbeque can summon them from neighboring ranches and they descend like a plague.

I’ve purchased fly swatters in a variety of colors and keep them like a bouquet in a vase. I pass them out to friends when they visit and we sit outside. But my friends lack my skill.

I’ve killed as many as five with one swat. Sometimes I swat the flies while they are on my friends. This has not gone over well.

I like to kill two at once, while they are mating. When this happens I feel that I have not only destroyed their coital bliss, I have also prevented future generations from ever haunting me.

I’m on my second handyman. Eleazar, the first one, vanished in the middle of painting the living room. Alex and Andrea showed up to play a board game and Eleazar bolted for the storage room. We took off to buy some cheese and when we returned, he was gone leaving open paint cans and wet brushes and roller. Hours later he still hadn’t returned.

“What was his name?” Alex asked.
“Eleazar.” I responded.
“I wonder if that is the same Eleazar that was our driver and we fired him for stealing.”
“This guy is young, married and lives in Rodriguez.”
“That’s the guy.”
“What did he steal?”
“He used to go out for supplies and make a deal with the store to up the amount on the receipts and then split the difference with the shop person.”

Clearly he recognized Alex and his car and whatever guilt he had was enough for him to abandon the job. And he seemed so nice, worked well and quickly. One just has to be careful. So now we have Roberto. He came highly recommended from some friends. But now I purchase all the materials myself.

I am learning how big families operate. I was raised as an only child and I find the dynamic is quite different. A few weeks ago seven members of Rodrigo’s family, five adults and two children, came for the weekend. I came home late from a party and expected to find people sleeping on couches throughout the house. Somehow, all seven packed into the two guest rooms. I know that there were air mattresses involved but I still don’t get how they did it.

After a dramatic wailing scene between Santiago, the four year old, and Melissa, the two year old, (cousins who had to be torn from each other’s arms) half the family was headed North while Aunt Chelito and cousins Pancho, Chelo and Melissa were to stay another night before heading back to Mexico City. Rodrigo went off to work and left me to take them to the botanical gardens. Quite a work-out for my Spanish as none of them speak English.

Speaking of speaking Spanish. If one is a beginner in a language, I don’t recommend going through a Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru in a foreign country. Trust me, after screaming your order into the crackly little speaker, you never know what will actually end up in your box. Go inside. It helps when you can point.

This weekend I hosted a baptism for my new god-daughter, Enya. Since the father, Maurico, was raised Catholic and is non-practicing, and the mother, Karla, was raised Mormon and is non-practicing, we had a non-denominational service performed by Rodrigo and my 75 year old friend, Reverend Nancy Anderson. Nancy read in English and Rod in Spanish. I had rented a tent and tables to accommodate 40 people and we were filled to capacity. Since the father is a bass player in a rock band, the crowd was quite interesting. I don’t think some had slept in awhile. I hired my maid’s family to cater the event. It was a wonderful day albeit long and draining.

Now Karla speaks English – lived in the states for a period of time. So when she said, “I will come back tomorrow and help you clean up,” I really thought that it would be just her and maybe Enya. We planned to heat up some leftovers for lunch. Instead, down the driveway come Mauricio, his cousin, Karla, Enya, Karla’s mom and Karla’s aunt. We already had Rodrigo’s cousin Gus staying with us. So the day I had envisioned myself lying on the couch and watching movies, ended up being dinner for eight adults. They stayed all afternoon, eating, drinking beer, reading magazines, talking, feeding the baby, etc. I learned later that this is common in this culture. They even have a word for it. “Recalentado” which means to re-heat. But it has evolved to mean, “The day after the big party when everyone shows up to eat the leftovers.”

I’m scared to death as to what Christmas will bring.