The Christmas Party

Some months ago I received a flyer in my mail box that said, “Enhance your Mexican experience. Become an English teacher.” So I did. I signed up as a volunteer teacher at the San Miguel School of English, an adult education program that has been around for over 50 years.

“Here are your books,” the President of the organization said. And that was the extent of my training. I am the youngest teacher in the group.

I have second year students and was told that my class size was to be around 30 students but I’d lose 30% of those before the end of the semester due to family or work conflicts, or just because it is too hard. I had determined that I would be such a great teacher that I’d have a much lower attrition rate. As predicted, I’m down by 30%. However, one of the other second year teachers has resigned and moved to Mazatlan so they are splitting her class between mine and one other (so I’ll be back to 30 students when the semester begins again). However, attendance is all over the board so each class tends to down by five or more.

What a strange language, English. Try explaining that, “They’re”, “There”, and “Their” are all pronounced the same but have different meanings. Or “Two”, “To” and “Too”.

I find that I get annoyed thinking, “Shit, I have to teach tonight. I’d better sit down and do my lesson plan.” But once I’m in front of the class, at the board, I get into it.

Alex decided to come observe one night, to see if it might be something he’d like to do. Before we even got into my classroom, the President had enlisted him in a month of substitute teaching for one of the teachers who was traveling. (Volunteer organizations can be ruthless.) He enjoyed the experience and helped conquer his fear of public speaking. (“Look at it this way,” I said, “All you have to do is stand up there and talk and you’re providing more than they’d get otherwise.”) For the time, he replaced me as the youngest teacher.

I was told that we could have our Christmas party in the classroom, or, some teachers offer to hold the party at their home. The students bring absolutely everything. The teacher just provides the space. Given that I live out in the “campo” I thought they’d opt for the classroom. Guess again. They had their meeting and handed out tasks. I handed out maps.

Most of the regular students, the ones with good attendance, participated. As I was told, they brought absolutely everything. The food was traditional and delicious. We had a chocolate gift exchange. After a few hours I was wondering how long they were going to stay. As if reading my mine, one of the women walked by wearing my cowboy hat and said, “We are leaving when the tequila is gone.” The bottle was half full.

People milled about the living and dinning room and walked outside to look at the stars. Martha had brought her seven-year-old daughter so I put “Finding Nemo” in the DVD player in Spanish. Martha and her daughter ended up leaving shortly after the move started but a group of the adults plopped themselves down with their tequila and watched.

I came out to the group. I hadn’t intended to but a couple of people asked me if I lived at the ranchito “solo”. In my Spanish (about the level of their English) I explained that I had recently split from my “Novio” (boyfriend). “Novia” (girlfriend) they corrected me. “No, novio,” I corrected them. There were murmurs in Spanish and a general wide opening of eyes.

They asked how long it had been and I must have started to tear over when I said only a few weeks, because everyone began comforting me, telling me that I’d be fine after time. I got hugs from everyone when they left, even the men. The acceptance of this community continues to impress me.

The Process of Healing

I often wonder if I am less efficient than others when it comes to recovering from breakups. Logically, I’m able to look at the situation and conclude that, yes, it didn’t work and it wasn’t going to work. Why then, do I subsequently spend so much time living in a fog? Probably because instead of living in what was and what is, I tend to live in what might have been. I walk through life as if my mind is swimming through jello. People talk to me, and I hear them, but it is as if their voices and my responses are passing through some sort of filter, slowing everything down. In my head I play and replay past conversations as well as future conversations that will never be had. Emotions ricochet between sorrow and sympathy, acceptance and anger, loss and betrayal, abandonment and enthusiasm.

There must be some comfort derived from having a familiar person around even if that person is annoying as hell. At some level I guess bad company was better than no company at all.

After my previous relationship I didn’t date seriously for 10 years. And that relationship only lasted 9 months where this one was nearly three years (although the entire last year pretty much sucked). How long before I’m normal again? Can someone please give me a deadline?

Time always seems to move so quickly except after a breakup. Everyone says that time will heal. Why then do the days seem longer than 24 hours, the weeks more than seven days and months take forever to end?

Continuing On

A couple of people have objected to my deleting the blog. I think the most poignant was from Jenny in London:

“Can I urge you not to delete the blog?? It's a really lovely history of your time there so far, and Rod apart, includes many wonderful people, places and photos which all go to make up your life. You don't have to read it, but others will continue to enjoy it. Blogs are what will make up the history books of the future as fewer and fewer people put pen to paper, so these are the things that will survive. So leave it!!”

So there you have it. She makes a good point. Rod was not the story but just a chapter. Life goes on and I’m at the stage where I’m nearly done missing him and am beginning to celebrate the things that I don’t miss about our life together . One of the most difficult changes has been altering my vocabulary from “we” to “I”. (Funny, the opposite was true when we first got together.)

I learned some things about myself and what to look for (and what to look out for) in a relationship. I learned that I do not necessarily want to be a life-long single person. I also learned that a broad gap in economic status, hobbies, interests, age, life experience, communication skills and culture are not a good recipe for success. I learned that seeing someone’s potential does not mean that it is healthy to endure in the hopes that you’ll see it materialize.

But this brings about another question; where do I meet someone single (and gay) in similar circumstances? How many single gay men are retired at 47 and no longer pursuing the brass ring? How many have said, “Ok, that’s enough money, now I want a simple life.”? Clearly no one who lives in a major metropolitan city. Someone who still needs to work 60+ hours a week in order to live the “upscale – disposable income” lifestyle that is so expected of gay men.

I once received an astrology reading as a birthday gift. It was years ago, before I retired and moved to Mexico. I’d been single for about 10 years. The astrologer told me that he did not see me as a life-long single person. He went on to say that the type of person that I should be with is a real “salt of the earth” type. (This description clearly does not fit my last choice in partners.)

Where are the gay “salt of the earth” types? After my 30’s, I was never attracted to the bar scene, the circuit club scene, environments where 50 year old men dance with their shirts off as if they were still in their 20’s, taking drugs on weekends and shopping for designer clothes when they're not. Been there, done that, in my 20’s; not about to go back.

Should I leave Mexico and return to work? I think not. Not corporate America anyway. I can’t imagine ever working a nine-to-five job with limited vacation, ever again. Should I move? (This is a very small town in which to co-exist with an ex.) If so, where? Someplace else in Mexico; maybe Costa Rica or Spain? It has to be affordable on a fixed income.

Not that I’m in any hurry, mind you. I need to let the dust settle. I’m done with relationships for some time and plan on working on myself. I started this adventure with a couple of goals in mind. Between the death of my parents and starting a new relationship, I was totally side tracked. I seem to remember that writing and learning a new language were the original goals.

Back on track now, I think. Or soon anyway. In the mean time, I’m planning to visit dear friends in Tennessee for Christmas and then go explore someplace new in Mexico for a month or so. I think getting away will allow my head and my heart to heal, and help me figure out where life’s journey is to take me next. Not someone else’s plan, but my own.

On the lighter side, I just got a fairly reasonable estimate for converting the dog house to a rather kick-ass guest house. (Some people grieve by eating or shopping, I remodel.)

The Final Chapter

Rodrigo and I are finished. If you peel away the symptoms and break it down into what was really the problem, I’d have to say the age difference.

When you’re in love, it is easy to focus on the good qualities in a person and ignore the things that don’t work; but only for a time.

I take comfort in the words of don Miguel Ruiz from The Four Agreements:

“If someone is not treating you with love and respect, it is a gift if they walk away from you. If that person doesn’t walk away, you will surely endure many years of suffering with him or her. Walking away may hurt for a while, but your heart will eventually heal. Then you can choose what you really want.”

That being said, this blog is at an end and will be deleted soon. At some point I’ll probably start another, when my head and my heart heal.

For those of you who have been with us through this process, thank you for your kind words of support.

Princess Olivia

No discernable actual royal blood, but a bit of a princess none-the-less, Alex’s younger sister came to visit (from Miami) with her Moroccan boyfriend Youseff.

“We need to drink champagne and play croquet,” she had said after her first visit to the ranchito. That evening when it was getting cool, Olivia asked, “Do you have a Patagonia that I could borrow?”

“We don’t have any Patagonia,” I said, “Would you settle for something from the Gap?”

Olivia’s birthday was to occur during this visit so Alex and I decided to put together a croquet party for the event. But Olivia had other plans and in order to incorporate both, it turned into Olivia’s birthday weekend extravaganza.

We met at Alex and Olivia’s mother’s home in centro where Olivia and Youseff had planned a roof-top dinner with the Parroquia shimmering in the background. After dinner the flamenco dancers arrived with their back-up musicians and put on an amazing performance. Afterwards, as if on queue, fireworks erupted around the Parroquia for some local celebration. It was already getting late when I had to remind everyone to save some energy as the festivities were to continue the next day.

The next morning I put the filet mignon in the oven and set about putting out chairs, a tent and setting up the bar. People looked a little haggard from the night before but once the champagne and mimosas began flowing, everyone was up for round two of the celebration.


In fact, they were SO back into the swing of things that they stayed long past comida and I had to riffle around the kitchen to figure out what we could put together for the second meal of the day. Karl came to the rescue and with some frozen shrimp, pasta with jarred pasta sauce, leftover bread and wilted leftover salad, we fed the group a far less fabulous meal than the first.

Happy birthday Olivia. We’re still recovering.

Living Will

Last night, Rodrigo and I were sitting in the living room and I said to him, "I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine, and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug."

He got up, unplugged the TV, and threw out my wine.

He can be so annoying .....

(Thanks for the joke Hank. I found it so on point that I had to apply it to myself.)

The Rainy Season

Rodrigo tries his hand at broadcasting.

The Rainy Season (2)

Ode to Christine

My first memory of Christine is at Alex’s house. (She says we met before but it was at La Cucaracha so big surprise that I don’t remember.) A group of us were helping put together a benefit for the workers at the pyramid. Christine walked in the door. “Sorry I’m late. I had to go have my poop checked.” I liked her immediately.

When we met she was a school teacher at a local bi-lingual school. Since then she has worked as an office manager, personal assistant, wedding planner, project manager and most recently, a Real Estate Agent. She has had enough of trying to scratch out a living in Mexico. Shortly she will be moving back to the states.

The truth is San Miguel is not a great place for a young person to make a living. One is never going to get ahead working for someone else. Wages are just too low. If one has sufficient capital and builds a business, there is probably still opportunity; but not as an employee.

Over the years, we have convinced many people that Christine is my daughter. Given that there are 20 years between us, it is possible. And since we are both blonds, people buy it. They are also impressed by what a modern family we are, given Christine’s great relationship with her stepmother Rodrigo.

As a bi-lingual blond attracted to Mexican men, she has left a fair share of broken hearts in her wake. One night, at La Cuca a man wanted to go home with the two of us for a three-way. It took about a nanosecond for us to say that, as close as we are, that would be beyond the scope of our relationship.

We have traveled together, laughed together, fought and cried together. We tease each other, play jokes at each other’s expense, and when drunk we solve the problems of the world. Rod and I know and love her family and when they visit, they are our extended family.

We usually see her multiple times every week and love her beyond words. Her departure will leave a hole in our lives, an emptiness that will be impossible to replace. But this is what is right for her and for her future, so we understand.

And she is taking Mario, her Mexican boyfriend with her. So she got what she came for.

Sorry Christine, but below is your payback for leaving us!

Snakes

A few minutes ago, I found Noche, or El Gatito (our Persian kitten) playing with one of these on the patio. I threw Noche into the house, grabbed an old wine box (we have a few of those lying around) and placed it in front of the snake. He went right in. I carried him to the fence and threw him over. Then I came into the house, walked over to the computer and typed in, “Photo Baby Rattlesnake” and, among many photos came this one. Same pattern; I’d swear by it. I’m a little freaked out.

(The photo isn’t very good but I didn’t have the foresight to photograph the little fella before throwing him over the fence.)

So far, Noche seems fine.

Paul Potts singing Opera

Nothing to do with Mexico, but everything to do with following your dreams.

San Luis Potosi

About 2 hours from San Miguel de Allende, is a city of about a million people called San Luis Potosi. Mark and Victor moved there approximately six months ago and are nearly finished remodeling their new house (which they bought for a song compared to San Miguel).

“The city is so clean you can eat off the streets . . .” Mark kept telling us. Intrigued by their stories and haunted by their invitations, Christine, Mario, Rodrigo and I set out for an overnight trip. (We also had Victor to guide us since he had taken the bus to San Miguel a few days prior.)

When we arrived, Mark gave us a tour of their modest five bedroom home, including hardwood floors (how I miss those), enormous walk-in closets, beveled glass sliding doors, a modern kitchen to kill for, a garage and a separate entrance where Victor intends to open a café/gallery; all this walking distance to the historic center.

I begrudgingly put down Griselda, their eight week old Chihuahua, and we set out for dinner. We had been told that San Luis has scored number three in the world as a “City of Lights” (behind Paris and Prague) because of the way they illuminate their historic district at night. In addition, it has to be the cleanest Mexican city that I have ever visited.

We had a delightful dinner at a restaurant called Apicus http://www.apikus.com/, overlooking the square. As we were leaving it began to rain. We darted into a local gay bar (unlike San Miguel, San Luis has several gay bars) where an extremely young crowd was gathered. So young, in fact, that I began to feel a bit like a chaperone. So after we consumed the free beverages that were included with our cover charge, we departed for our second venue. By this time we had to jump small rivers to get into taxis.

(Apparently, back in San Miguel, it was raining as well, because Christine received a call from one of her co-workers. He had borrowed his boss’s daughter’s car and the water level in town had risen so high that the car was beginning to float down Canal Street.)

Mark & Victor

Me & Strippers

Wherever we went, Christine, Mark and I were the only gringos. It was really endearing when I would order in Spanish and the waiters would respond in English, apparently eager to practice. “How’s my English?” one waiter asked me. “Better than my Spanish.”

It was still raining when we left at 4:00 AM. Declining Mark’s offer to take us to yet another venue, we couldn’t find taxis to take us home. “It’s only about five blocks,” Mark said. I didn’t count but those seemed an awfully long five blocks at 4:00 in the morning in the rain.

Mario & Griselda (after running in the rain)

The next day we walked to a breakfast place in an old mansion and later, while Christine was getting a pedicure, we briefly walked the neighborhood. We had a late lunch at a wonderful Sushi restaurant, where the floor was Plexiglas over a goldfish pond. (How traumatic that must be for the goldfish, constantly thinking, “I could be next.”)

Rodrigo and I at the park near Mark & Victor's home

Barely resisting the urge to pack Griselda in our overnight bag, we left for the Casino on our way out of town. Mark has won over $30,000 USD playing the slots since moving to San Luis. We were not so lucky and hit the road after sinking a few hundred pesos each.

The rains have continued daily, usually in the evenings. The grass is growing faster than the gardener can cut it. Two places on the road to our property are either covered by mud or a moving stream, and our poor maid walks to work. She told me that while we were gone, she had to wade through the stream to get to work, and her pants got wet to just below the knee. Since we were not home she removed her pants and worked the rest of the day with a towel around her waist. So off we went to the store where I bought her some rubber “botas”. She is sporting them with pride.

Pet Recycling

Rodrigo received a call from our friend Pablo who lives in Queretaro, about 45 minutes from San Miguel de Allende. Pablo was contacted because the owner of a 1-year-old female Great Dane is dying from cancer and his children don’t want the dog. They told Pablo that if he didn’t find a home for her in one week, they were putting her down. “Bring her here,” Rodrigo said, “We’ll find a home for her.”
Her name is Doris and we’d had her little more than 24 hours when Cynthia came up to drop off a movie. For some time now, we’ve been introducing various dogs and cats to Cynthia, encouraging her to become a pet owner. Most of these were small and cute. As a joke, Rodrigo pointed to Doris and said, “We have a present for you.”

“I want her,” said Cynthia, “She’s magnificent.”

We were delighted and Cynthia took her home that night.

Maybe I’ll get Cynthia to write a guest piece for this blog because her stories about getting Doris in and out of the car and teaching her to walk up and down stairs are pretty comical.

Here at the Ranchito, we’re down to five dogs. Rodrigo gave Saru, the Affen Pinscher, away because he was not show-dog quality and I had set the limit at six dogs. Now he believes that he can get another. I imagine that the negotiations will heat up once he finds a dog that he wants.

Last night Rodrigo looked out the back window and saw a strange bird eating the grass seed that I had put out. We see birds all the time and this spring we’ve had our share of babies that have fallen out of nests. And then there are always the parts of birds that our cat Tisha leaves as gifts on our patio. This bird didn’t look like any we’ve seen before.

Rod went outside and upon closer inspection, discovered that it was an Australian parakeet that was missing tail feathers. I’m not really comfortable with keeping birds in cages but he has no possibility of surviving in the wild or for that matter, surviving Tisha.

So the count is now: five dogs, two cats, about 15 gold fish and koi (in the pond), and a parakeet.

The New Barbeque

You may remember this photo from the Collapsible Barbeque entry.

This is the new one.

Casa Escuela

The ranch, La Cañada de la Virgen (see previous posts and link), is an enormous property about an hour and a half from San Miguel, and it has been very much part of my life since moving here and meeting the family.

Among other things, La Cañada de la Virgen is a working cattle and horse ranch with real cowboys (some of whom are rather hot if one is into cowboys). There is no electricity on the ranch, it is difficult to haul propane out there and consequently, life is rather primitive. Alex’s family does not live on the ranch. He and his mother live in town and his sisters elsewhere in the world. However, they do have rooms adjacent to the caretaker’s quarters, called Casa Chica, for those occasions when they chose to spend a night or two.

The caretaker, Pedro, and his wife, Elena, are up to 8 children and there are countless dogs, cats, chickens and turkeys running around the common areas. To afford herself some privacy and escape from the commotion, Alex’s mother Regina had a small house built for herself on the other side of the river, away from the ex-hacienda ruin and caretaker’s home, on the site of the old school house; i.e., “Casa Escuela”. Alex is putting the finishing touches on the place, including a solar hot water heater and enough photovoltaic electricity to operate a couple of light bulbs. He asked me to help with the landscaping and setting up the furniture, and to spend the night so we could check out the infrastructure of the place; like does the solar hot water heater work and will it last through two showers.

The morning of our departure we met at a nursery to pick out plants. We debated over various varieties (“That takes too much water, that won’t survive the sun . . .") and at points argued like an old married couple. (I should mention that Alex is one of my straight friends.) I think the proprietor was amused.

Both cars were filled to capacity, mine with plants, Alex’s with tools, food and supplies.

Upon arrival we set to work unloading and moving plants around, trying to decide where they should go. We were smart enough to clean out a bedroom and set up single beds so that we could crash when we ran out of energy. It had not rained in months so the ground was as hard as rock in many places. We worked our asses off. I don’t think I’ve ever worked that hard on my own home.

Exhausted, we carried a cooler over to Casa Chica where Elena had prepared us dinner. We ate outside and were served by one of Elena’s daughters, a shy pretty girl who could barely look me in the eye, even though I’ve met her on countless occasions.

I’m accustomed to having all the dogs around while we eat. They don’t beg, per se, but lie close by in case we get sloppy and drop something. What was new to me was the turkey. He walked over, stood next to me and didn’t take his eyes off my plate the entire meal. We were eating chicken so I wondered if he’d had a bad run-in with a chicken and this eating it thing rather appealed to him. Whatever, his beady black eyes were slightly unnerving. If I pointed my finger at his head, like I was going to poke him or something, he simply puffed up his feathers and sat down, his eyes never wavering. A begging turkey; a first for me.


After the meal the blood rushed to my stomach and I thought that I was going to fall asleep in my plate. Alex arranged for a couple of guys to help us move furniture the next day at about 1:00 PM, and then set off to check on the new well-water system. I picked up the cooler and headed back to Casa Escuela.

As I stumbled back I had to pass a rather large bull who was eyeing me curiously. I then became aware that the cooler that I was carrying was bright red. I avoided eye contact and stepped up my pace.

Back at Casa Escuela we opened the wine and summoned the energy to dig a fire pit and build a fire. About 1:00 in the morning we staggered off to bed.

I awoke the next morning about 10:00 AM, with a splitting headache, and walked out of the bedroom to find a cigarette. I stepped over the threshold and looked up. Staring back at me were two young men and about five small children. There I was, in my pajamas, hair sticking up, eyes undoubtedly red, facing a small audience. “Buenos dias,” I said.

“Buenos dias” they replied.

I talked to the young men and was able to glean that they had come early to help with the furniture because they needed to be elsewhere on the ranch that afternoon. I went to inform Alex.

“How long have they been waiting?” he asked.

“I don’t have a clue. What I don’t get is what the kids are doing here.”

“They’re probably bored and wondering what the heck we’re doing. That is totally not cool. What if my mother was here and walked out of her room in her nightgown? She would not be happy.”

Alex got dressed and went out to tell the young men to meet us as Casa Chica in 20 minutes.

We turned Casa Chica upside down. It had been my idea to turn one of the bedrooms into the living room and to turn the living room into a dining room. Alex also wanted to rearrange all three of the bedrooms. Where we had problems was with the size of the furniture and how to configure it in each of the rooms. The poor young men were hauling stuff back and forth and we’d have to stop them time and time again and re-think our design.

We finally figured it out and sent the men off. (They were terribly good sports.)

Back at Casa Escuela we set up Regina’s bedroom and dressed her bed. I took a king coyote pelt and curled it up in the center of the bed to look like a sleeping dog.

As we drove off I had to wonder what these ranch people say about us after we’ve gone. These gringos who have only a remedial grasp of the language and tend to butcher what little they speak. Guys who stay up long after the sun goes down and sleep well after it has risen. Guys who decorate rooms and plant gardens. Guys who are unnerved by a begging turkey.

A week later my cell phone rang. It was Regina who was positively gushing about our work. She is even leaving the coyote pelt on the bed. Her enthusiasm made it all worth while.

Alex and I spent the day in Queretaro yesterday, shopping for things for Casa Escuela. This week it is being painted and the floors sealed. We lost some of our plants to leaf-cutter ants and will need to replace them. Next we tackle the kitchen and living room.

Pork Loin in Mango Salsa

I’ve decided to broaden the scope of the blog a little, and include Mexican recipes that you may not find elsewhere. (There is some risk as I will be doing the translation myself.)

The most common use of pork, in this region, is to cook the whole pig, chop it all up, and serve it in tacos. The dish is called “carnitas”. They’re tasty but if you ask me, a waste of good loin meat.

When we began preparing this pork loin dish (from the state of Michoacán), the butcher asked our maid what she was doing with this particular cut of meat. When she explained, the butcher asked her for the recipe.

One day before:

1 ½ lb pork loin
½ medium onion
1 clove of garlic, peeled
½ cup of white wine
¼ cup Worcestershire sauce
Salt & pepper to taste
2 tablespoons cooking oil

Place the onion, garlic, white wine and Worcestershire sauce in a blender or food processor, and puree.

Poor over the pork loin and refrigerate in a covered container, overnight.

The next day:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a fry pan, brown the loin on all sides in oil and then place in roasting pan (NOT on a rack). Roast for 35 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the salsa (see below). (If loin appears to be drying out, add a little white wine or water to the pan.) Remove the loin from the oven and spoon a light layer of the mango salsa (which you should have ready by now) over the loin, and return to oven for 10 minutes more.

For the salsa:

2 fresh mangos (this doesn’t really work well with frozen mangos)
1 tomato, peeled, seeded and chopped
1 green chili (a serrano chili is what we use but you may want to start with half a chili and be sure to remove the seeds)
Juice of one small lime
1 tablespoon of honey
1/3 of an onion, chopped
Salt & pepper to taste

Place all ingredients, except salt & pepper, in a blender or food processor and puree. Empty liquid into a pot and bring to a boil. Let simmer for five minutes. Season to taste.

Slice pork loin and place on plate. Spoon a small amount of the mango salsa over and enjoy.

(Serves 4)

A Marriage of Challenge

I’m going to perpetrate a local rumor that has been represented as fact.

Maria de Jesus, Christine’s maid, is a woman in her 60’s. Not a particularly attractive woman, and from a poor family, she married late for a Mexican woman, probably in her 30’s.

Maria de Jesus had heard, from her sisters and friends, about the act of sex and was intrigued. On her wedding night she shivered in anticipation. But nothing happened. Not that night or any of the nights to follow.

Maria de Jesus settled into married life without the carnal benefits. After two years of performing the role of wife and housekeeper, she began to wonder. What was missing? Clearly the role of motherhood. And, as she understood, sex was required before one could become a mother.

She finally rallied her nerve and approached her husband with the subject. He begrudgingly explained to her that sex was not an option because he did not have a penis. When he was a small boy, he was bitten on his penis, by a spider. The site became infected and inflamed and subsequently, his penis had to be removed.

Given that he had not disclosed this prior to marriage, Maria de Jesus approached the Catholic Church and promptly had the marriage annulled.

There was a movie made in the U.S., called “The 40-Year-Old Virgin”. The lead character was male. Rumor has it; Maria de Jesus might be able to top his story. Or at least surpass his timeline.

Semana Santa

Semana Santa or Holy Week (ie., Easter) began the onslaught of house guests, visitors and events. The events included dinners, parties, and sightseeing. It didn’t stop at Semana Santa but continued for weeks thereafter.

One set of guests included one of Rodrigo’s gay cousins (there are several) and his partner. Both in their 30’s, they were bilingual and health nuts. (Also extremely well traveled, as I could hardly mention a country where they had not been.) Rod’s cousin went for a 17 kilometer jog while his partner alternated between an ab-roller and free weights on the back patio. They prepared protein shakes and made us enormous breakfasts. They spent most of their time wearing not much more than workout shorts (something our maid seemed to enjoy). We took them to a party and Rod’s cousin pulled out his guitar and sang. Our hosts approached me and said, “You not only brought the hottest guys to the party but the entertainment as well!” They were wonderful house guests who, being from Mexico City seemed to enjoy just soaking up the country life.

Christine’s landlord, Robin from Arlington Texas, decided to visit his house in San Miguel on short notice, and it happened to be the same weekend that Christine had out-of-town guests. So I offered our guestroom since we know him well and like him very much. The same weekend our friend Christian called from Mexico City and asked if he and a friend could stay. I said yes and after Christian left, his friend lingered with apparent interest in Robin. They split the bill for a very expensive comida as a thank you to Rodrigo and me. Christian was mortified when he found out that his friend had spent another night here after he (Christian) had left for Mexico City. “Get over it,” I said, “He made a nice playmate for Robin. And he bought us lunch at La Landetta!”

Karen and Bob came to their beautiful vacation home here, with Bob’s sisters and their spouses, and seemed to be gone before we had the opportunity to spend much time with them. Fortunately, they return frequently.

Shortly thereafter, Robert, Rudy and Rudy’s mother, Rita, came and stayed at Bob and Karen’s house. They seemed to be gone in a flash as well, but not before we were able to have them over for dinner. Since Rodrigo has started his business, he has felt that he is losing touch with his spiritual side. He and Rita spent some time together discussing the subject and Rodrigo came away saying, “I feel like someone sent me an angel.”

Then another gay cousin of Rod’s (Abram, one of the gay twins) came to visit with his new boyfriend. This cousin has been living in Canada, speaks Spanish, English and French perfectly, and is only in his early 20’s. He was part of the first gay marriage in Canada and the first gay divorce. (Both he and his identical twin are gay so if there are any questions about genetic pre-disposition about being gay, this should help to settle them. This is the second set of identical twins where I have found this to be true.)

Rodrigo’s cousin Abram (right) and his new boyfriend Juan Manuel. The only physical difference between Abram and his twin Moises is the scar above his right eyebrow.

Abram now works for an internet trouble shooting hotline in Mexico City and told a story about helping a rather remedial customer.

During the call, Abram asked the client, “How many windows do you have open?” “A lot,” was the client’s response. “Ok,” Abram said, “You need to close them all so we can diagnose the problem.” Then the client seemed to disappear for five minutes. The line was open so Abram couldn’t hang up. He kept saying, “Hello?” with no response but he could hear background noise.
I think you get it by now. The client didn’t understand that Abram was talking about browser windows and ran around his house closing all the real windows.

In general I’m very happy about one thing in particular. In the past it was usually my friends who were coming to visit. I’m glad to have more visits from Rodrigo’s family members and have the opportunity to get to know them better. It is, after all, a huge family and if I am to be part of it, it is nice to know the players. It should make the next family Christmas even easier and more enjoyable than the last. It also stretches my Spanish skills. I need this very much.

There is so much about living in another country and culture that one misses when one is not fluent in the native language. I need to get back to school. Living with a bilingual native is not much help. If I ask him a question in Spanish he answers in English. I guess he programs himself. ("I speak English to this person and Spanish to that.")

What I Don’t Like

I’ve written a great deal about aspects of living in Mexico, that I find wonderful or interesting. However, in the spirit of providing a balanced report, it is only proper that I also describe the things that are not so great. Some of these are specific to living in Mexico. Others relate to the difference between city and country life.

Litter

It baffles me how little respect so many can have for the environment. This is probably my biggest peeve. Garbage service is free (although I’m not sure that it is provided to the people out in the campo) yet vacant lots and roadsides are strewn with debris. Most of it non-biodegradable plastic and glass bottles and snack wrappers. A favorite place to through trash seems to be rivers and creeks. Recycling has yet to arrive and it is so desperately needed.

Service Failure

If you are unable to provide a service, or merely unwilling for whatever reason (maybe the job is too small), tell me. I’ll find someone else. Apparently it is rude to tell someone “no” in this culture. It is more acceptable to say “yes” and then never follow-through or show up. Also, if you can’t make an appointment or are going to be late, CALL. Don’t just show up some other day or time and expect me to be available.

Driving

In town is not bad. Even though one may need to drive up on the sidewalk and fold in a mirror in order to pass another vehicle on a narrow cobblestone street, no one is going very fast so it is not that bad. However, surprise potholes on highways are scary. So is a lane being resurfaced that is several inches lower than the other lane and there are no warning signs. Slow moving trucks can make you slam on your brakes when you round a curve and then worry that someone is going to hit you from behind; because if you’re not a slow moving truck, you’re probably moving well above the speed limit. For a people who are known for being “laid back”, why are they in such a hurry when they get behind the wheel of a car?

Water Issues

A quarter inch line is not sufficient to supply water to four properties. If a hose is turned on in one part of the yard, turning another on will completely eliminate the pressure from both. Sprinklers will not operate. My workers, gardener and maid are competing for water. I just leave the property and think, “Let them work it out together.”

And the water is so full of lime that it stains the sinks, toilets and fountains. I went out and bought these fancy designer sinks with special surfaces that can only be cleaned with mild or neutral cleaners. As a result, our sinks look dirty all the time. To scrub the lime off would be to remove the special patina. (The next time I will only buy regular white porcelain sinks and chrome fixtures that can be scrubbed with the scrubby side of a sponge or soft steel wool.)

Cost for Certain Comforts

Decent clothes, electronics and comfortable furniture are imported, therefore subject to import tax and nearly twice as expensive here. We wait to buy these things when we go to the states or have them made. (Being patient and having things made can save one a bundle.)

Electricity

Or a lack thereof. The electric company here is rumored to be bankrupt. Solar is prohibitively expensive (because the materials are imported). We’re paying nearly $300 USD per month in electric bills for a two person home. (We are not negligent energy users.) And after a big storm (or for no apparent reason) we can be days with a brown-out or a complete blackout. This complaint is not unique to us. There have been protests at the electric company offices. How can a poor Mexican family be expected to pay these prices?

There are other issues but they exist in the states as well. Maybe just a little more so here. Poverty, animal abuse or population control issues, smog (not so much in San Miguel but in the big cities), dry dusty summers and petty crime.

I miss central heat two months of the year. I miss wood construction of homes (they are how I was raised and seem warmer to me).

Preferring not to end on a negative note, I’ll reiterate some of the things that I love:

I love being able to afford a maid and gardener.

I love waking up to blue skies and temperatures above 70 degrees Fahrenheit 300 days of the year.

I love the family culture.

I love good, cheap Mexican food.

I love paying $10 for a haircut and $45 for a massage.

I love living in a big open space and wild flowers during the rainy season.

I love not having a mortgage or paying rent.

I love low property taxes (i.e., $300 USD a year).

I love not working.

I love my friends and “alternative family” that I’ve met here, as well as the diversity that this town offers.

Firing Jesus

Jesus, our new gardener, showed up one Monday looking like he either had been up all night or was drunk. However, to my surprise, he had some woman with him and they decided to have a little picnic at the stone table in the back yard. Later I was sitting at the computer and out the window I say him hurl an empty plastic soda bottle into the vacant lot next door. (I made him go pick it up and put it in the garbage.)

It seemed to me, that after only four days of service, bringing your girlfriend to your new job for a picnic reflects very poor judgment. (If his judgment is so bad this early in his employment history, what other mistakes might he make?) And deliberately littering non-biodegradable products makes my skin crawl.

Wednesday morning Rodrigo was getting ready to leave for work. “Don’t leave before we fire the gardener,” I said, “I may need your help.”

He looked uncomfortable. “I’ve never fired anyone before.”

“This will be good practice. I’ll do it but if he argues or something I’ll need your help with the language.”

“I have a pit at the bottom of my stomach. Don’t you?”

“The first time I fired someone I cried afterwards. After a 100 people or so, you get used to it. Help me write out a script in Spanish and I’ll read it. Just something like, “We’ve discussed it and your services are no longer required.” We don’t want to provide a lot of details because those just become potential points of argument.”

So Rod wrote out a note and we took it to the back yard where Jesus was on his knees pulling weeds. “Jesus,” I said, “Lo hemos pensado y ya no te necesitamos. Gracias por tu servicio. No necesitas terminar lo de hoy.”

Jesus looked shocked but acknowledged that he understood. Rod made a beeline for his car and left for work. I went back into the house.

A few minutes later Maria came into the house and told me that Jesus wanted to talk to me. He wanted to apologize for bringing his wife to work. He didn’t realize that I would be so offended.

I had no desire to discuss anything with him. My decision was made, he needed to leave. If he wanted to talk to someone he could talk to Human Resources. But wait, I don’t have a Human Resources department anymore. So I called my friend Andrea who has experience with these things. Andrea graciously agreed to speak with him so I had Maria take him the phone. A few minutes later he left.

After Jesus was gone I took over his chores. This time of year it is all about watering. We have very limited water pressure so watering involves dragging hoses and buckets all over the two acre property, in the blazing sun. My desire to green-up the property has created a watering nightmare this time of year. (The rainy season starts in June and I can hardly wait.)

After a couple of hours Maria came across the yard with the phone. “Rodrigo,” she said, and I took the phone from her.

“Hi,” he said. “I’ve been trying to call you. Where have you been?”

“Out in the yard, watering. My cell phone is charging so I don’t have it with me.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to reach you. When I came back to the clinic after picking up some dogs, I came around the corner and Jesus’ car was parked in front of the clinic. I drove really slow hoping that he would leave but he didn’t. He wanted to apologize for bringing his wife to the property and explained that she was helping him. He didn’t think that you would mind because you didn’t say anything when his son was helping him the week before. He also said that you probably thought that he was drunk but he doesn’t drink. He says you can call anyone that he has worked for and they will tell you that he is a good worker.”

“I didn’t have a problem with his son because it was semana santa (holy week) and kids were out of school. But there was no reason for his wife or girlfriend or whoever she was, to be there. You don’t bring a stranger to our home without our permission. Plus, that thing with throwing the bottle over the fence. My decision is made and I’m not inclined to reconsider.”

“I don’t think that he wants his job back. He just wants to make sure his reputation is not damaged.”

“Well we’re not going to bad mouth him to any potential employers.”

“That’s what I told him.”

In defense of Jesus, he drives a taxi on weekends and there is a possibility that he hadn’t slept. In retrospect, he probably enjoyed the job, working with the earth rather than being stuck in a taxi dealing with tourists in 12 hours shifts. He has two young children and however small was the extra income, it probably helped.

I feel torn. Was I too hasty? Had he been a long time employee and he’d made these mistakes, I would have discussed and forgiven them. However, it seemed a warning sign when it happened after such a short time. Then I wonder if I’ve committed a cultural blunder. I doubt in a Mexican corporation that it is acceptable to bring family members to work without notice. But in small businesses and little shops it is probably common. Andrea assures me that it was the right thing to do. But I do wonder.