Mi Historia

The following is an example of my homework for this week. In it I am using the preterit to describe when I was young:


Mi Historia
Yo naci en tejas durante el ano mil novecientos setenta y siete. Cuando era joven, mi familia vivía en muchos pueblos in tejas. Nos movíamos mucho, y no teníamos mucho dinero. Un día mi papa obtuvo un buen trabajo y mi mama ganaba empleo en el misma compañía. Por eso, no era necesario cambiarnos nunca más.
En ese tiempo mi familia vivía en Ponder, Tejas y yo tenia seis o siete anos. Yo Solía jugar juegos y deportes y montaba caballos también. Yo estaba contento y tenia muchos amigos.
Teníamos veinte anos que estaban viviendo en Ponder cuando mis padres cambiaron a Muenster, Tejas.
Yo Salí de la casa en Ponder después de terminar la escuela. Yo nunca he vivido en Ponder nunca más.

Los Veranos


Cuando era joven mi familia y yo viajábamos a mi tío quien vivía in sulfer springs, tejas. Mi tío tenía un Ranchito con caballos y vacas. Un día, mi tío nos enseno mi hermana y a mi como ordeñar las vacas y dar de comer los vaquitas con un botella.
Durante esas vacaciones mi hermana y yo jugábamos en los riachuelos con mis primos. Las vacaciones eran especiales.

Javier and Thelma

Javier and Thelma are in my conversation class. Luckily they let me be a third wheel. These guys remind me too much of my friends back home. We've had a grand time getting to know one another and swapping stories. This picture was taken Saturday at a street vendor in the Jardin. After celebrating Thelmas birthday at the local pool hall, Limerick, they stopped for some late dinner. I was told by, Javi and Thelma that the hamberguesas were muy bueno. I left them sitting on the escalitas of the jardin and jumped into my 20 peso taxi to catch up on my beauty sleep. The next day, Thelmas birthday, Javier proposed. I wasn't there for that one.

Javier introduced Thelma and I to the cucaracha. If any of you are brave enough I'll initiate you when I get back to Texas.

Teusday we are going to a free violin concert at St. Paul's Church. The violinist, Turkkan Osman Macias, will be playing his 250 year old violin in a concert he has dedicated to the people of San Miguel for their support. He will be attending the Manhattan School of Music in New York this coming fall. After the violin concert, on the escalitas, steps, of the Parroquia there will be the opening ceremonies and songfest for the International Children's Chorus.

There is music here every day and night of all kinds. I experienced my first Organ concert last week. I've seen Mariachis, a jazz band, a duo performing "Under the Board Walk" in Spanish and "Cocain" in English. I also spent some time in a Mexican Karaoke bar where the only song I recognized was "Summer Lovin'" from grease( I think I even have a video clip).

Oh,The Thinks You Can Think

Dr. Seuss was wrong. I don't have to think very hard for the pearls of wisdom that pop randomly in and out of my head. For example, There are many many dogs here. Some are vagabonds that roam the street some are loved by Mexican families and some are on vacation with their owners from all over the world. There is one thing that San Miguel is lacking and that is grass. I saw a dog on a leash sniffing for a place to pee and decided the side walk was the best place. The sidewalk is also where dogs poop (and sometimes horses too!). So on passing a fresh steaming not quite a pile, I think to myself, "I wonder if dogs get sick to their stomach in Mexico too?" I mean really are the dogs drinking the filtered water? Do they have to "adjust" like I have. I think if you asked one of these dogs if SMA was a great vacation spot for pets they would say "No". Think of it, grass equals toilet to our furry friends and if you had the runs and no commode how great would your vacation be?

Mexi-coma

For the past two days my schedule has been: go to schoool from 9-1, eat, take a siesta, wake up read, eat, read and go to bed. Tuesday it rained so I had a good excuse for being inside, but yesterday I had a touch of Moctezuma's Revenge so I didn't really feel like going out. Staying inside made me mucho homesick.

Today i've joined the masses of North Americans at San Miguel's public library. Masses is really an overstatement, but it definitely feels like I'm back home in the computer lab at UNT. I can connect to the internet for only 10 pesos.

I ate at a little restaurante, something something Dona, where I had two huge gorditas. One was chorizo and the other aguacate, avocado, and an aqua fresca, sort of like mango juice, for only 30 something pesos. It was the best thing I've eaten here in SMA.

The keyboard here is different the return, shift and question mark keys are all in a different position. It'll take some getting use to.

I'll be posting pictures but I didn't know if I could use a thumb drive here or not.

The Intensity of Washing

The washing machine and I are having a language barrier problem. It’s holding my clothes hostage, but I don’t know what it wants from me in order to get them back.

The maid comes on Wednesday, but today is Monday and my linen pants are too baggy to wear another day without being laundered. How hard could it be to wash my own laundry? I do it all the time at home. On approaching the machine, I’m comforted, nay tricked, by the two inch letters reading: EASY. This has proved to be the understatement of the day. Finding Radio shack yesterday was easier than washing a small load of whites.

This machine is new, clean, top of line with three knobs for: Nivel de agua, which means water level, (there’s a little symbol that looks kind of like a wave) Temperaturas, need I say more, and Intensidad de Lavado, intensity of washing, meaning delicates, extra dirty etc… I congratulate myself on knowing the proper settings: Medio, Manchas ligero, and Normal. I press the button reading Inicio, nothing, I press it again nada. I then start jabbing it repeatedly. After praying for serenity, I realize it isn’t plugged in. I Plug in black cord, lights come on, but hey what does that mean: Ciclos ecologicos? Ahh! It’s good for the environment, but wait there are more choices. Words I can’t comprehend: Remojo, Enjugar Exprimir and Lava. So once again I return to jabbing the selección button until the light is under the one word I understand, Lava, wash.

Whew, the machine begins to fill with water, so I add detergent, clothes and shut the lid. I hear it click softly behind indicating the safety lock is on, and I go inside to study.

Once inside I notice it is one o’clock, only an hour until siesta. After studying for a half hour, I assume my laundry is ready for the dryer. Boy was I wrong. As I approach I notice the mocking red light glaring at me like some devil from the underworld of washing, and there my close sit in a tepid gray pool of soapy water. It’s at this point I return to mashing buttons and muttering, “I just want clean clothes. I just want clean clothes.” I realize all this button pushing is the equivalent of screaming English at a foreigner and expecting them to understand, and like a foreigner the washer begins to shake it’s head. “Hooray” I celebrate the spin cycle, but this time I’m too cleaver to turn my back on the machine. I watch through the tempered glass top as it first drains then spins, then adds water, then spins, then adds water, then spins. It’s an endless cycle. I stand there watching becoming motion sick, when I decide it’s time to take matters into my own hands.

I push pause and then poke the red eyed monster until it selects exprimir. “Why not?” I think. This entire episode has been an experiment. Again with the spinning and spinning, I wait with my finger above the pause button should more water spit out into the machine. It stops, testing my patience. The door is still locked, so what do I do. Turn the fucker off. That’ll show you. Ha, no electricity no lock, or so one would believe. It’s at this point I contemplate running out into the street with a pleading, “Ayudame, ayudame” but what do I tell the person who decides to help. I accept defeat. With a glimmer of hope in my heart, I plug the machine back in wishing it will forgive my endless poking and cursing. Maybe just maybe, the machine will decide to relinquish its control of my clothing before the maid arrives on Wednesday.

I come inside look at the clock that reads 2:51 and think, “Tequila, now would be a good time to buy some tequila.” faintly I hear the chug-chug whirl of the machine and the faint whisper of a click. I charge at the door like Don Quixote attacking a windmill and rip the lid up before it decides to lock again. Hugging my clothes to my chest, I turn to the dryer and breath a sigh of relief for it reads: Whirlpool with end of cycle signal.

Fiesta Friday

I’ve arrived in Queretaro, Mexico. It’s la fiesta de las iglesias, so there are fireworks in the sky.

I've just arrived at my lodging for the evening and have been welcomed by two true free spirits,
David and Zoe Sherill are wonderful people. He’s from Dallas, she’s from Ohio. The B and B is filled with handpainted tiles from Dolores Hildago, Handcarved wooden bed and mirror. This couple has retained the charm of a 300 year old casa while updating for guest use. Their knowledge of Queretaro has been extremely helpful and settling. I'm very glad I chose Quinta Zoe as my 1st stop in Mexico.

En Avion, on the air plane, I spoke with a nice college kid, in English, about Queretaro and San Miguel, but I stumbled over my fat tounge when I first tried to speak Spanish. So I went to the curb to “hail” a taxi only to stand there with a bewildered look on my face while everyone else was put into a taxi. Finally a nice senor asked, “tienes un boleto?” to which I replied, “aye, No” thankfully he didn’t laugh but instead directed me to the taxi desk where I became a stuttering Stanley, “bbbbbbbuenos dddddd noches” the lady is unimpressed doesn’t even take her eye from her cellphone and says, “donde vas”. Now I know what that means and how to reply to the question but my teeth, tongue and lips were revolting and refused to answer so I just handed her the paper with the address on it, to which she replied 160 pesos. Luckily my brains wasn’t on strike and I handed her the twenty dollar bill. My tongue decided to catch up but apparently not my vocal cords so I whispered, “dolares estan bien” aye aye aye, what a start. In the taxi I was too mortified by my mummified tongue to speak without out planning the conversation in my head, by that time I figured it was to late to just start blurting out the only phrases I had worked over in my brain. Luckily 15 minutes into the ride the lady with TB next to me asks “vacacione in Queretaro” to which I reply “Si”, it’s on open door so I run with my prepared phrases, “en la manana voy a San Miguel “ we have a short talk where I find out she has a sister in Huston but she herself is from Monterrey and is visiting a friend for 10 days. The cab driver was a handsome man who spoke way too quickly but had a kind face. At the end of our journey together the woman tells me that she has a dictionary for when she goes to Huston but doesn’t want to change ( I think she meant learn English but she could have been telling me she had cancer, I’m not certin) Near the end of our journey the woman turns to me and says “solo?” to which I nod yet again, smile and say “SI” I am alone in Mexico, now I’m going to see the fireworks.

Montana to Mexico

I've just returned from spending time with Kevin and his boys in Montana. This trip itself was a whirlwind, first the packing up of his stuff from the Texas house and then moving it first into a uhaul storage space, then out again only a few days later. Whew, exhausting but so worth it.

I'll be heading to Queretaro, Mexico tomorrow before heading to San Miguel. I can't wait.

Palm to Palm

Do they still put foot and hand prints of newborns on birth certificates? I remember the first time I looked at my baby book as an adult. I was awed by the tiny black smudges on the yellow tinged certificate. My father came upon me as I was tracing my finger along the delicate imprint of my beginning, and he said to me, "You were so small, your mother carried you on a pillow afraid you would slip through her hands. As you grew, I would hold our hands up in comparison." At this he took my hand and held it against his own palm to palm, finger to finger. "The last time we did this you said, ' you're so big and strong.' Now look at you. I'm so proud." With tears in our eyes we hugged, and I put that conversation away in my heart.

Who knew ink and paper could forge such a bond. I closed the book and tucked it into my box and together we loaded my car. He stood there with his arm around my mother and one hand held up as I drove away from the only home I had ever known. Long after his outstretched palm receded from my rear-view I could hear his words echoing in my head and they gave me the strength to move on. For the next few years when I missed home or felt like a failure I would pull out that scrap book and look at the first marks I had made in life. This review would always remind me that like those first few foot steps as a toddler I would falter and possibly fall, but my father’s words would be there to pull me up and help me along.

Years later, he was there helping me move out of the last in a string of college towns and into my own home. As we were unloading my things, my pa came into the room holding up my baby book, "Ma, look at this." The three of us sat cross-legged on the shiny hardwood floor of my new house looking at the clippings, scribbles and pictures that made up our past. In the book I had pasted things from high school and college. It was thick with memories and only a few pages remained blank. I grabbed a pen and traced each of my parent's hands into the back of my book, and told them, "just in case I forget how much I've grown." I asked my father if he remembered the day I left for college, the last time we looked at that book together. He smiled knowing it was a moment we both cherished.

Through the years I've called upon him to fix this or move that. This spring for the first time, I noticed the flag in my father's step. I saw the arthritic curl in his fingers, and reacted by trying to unburden him of his load. He put his gnarled hand on mine and said: "Let me get that; it's too heavy."

I'm 32 now and my father is 66. I've already made his Father's day card and across the palm of my grown-woman hand print the sentiment reads: Papa you're still so strong.


This is a tribute to family bonds, while it's written from the heart and some of the elements are true, it's not a memoir. It is a true portrayal of the love I have for my pa. It was written as an article for helium.com.

Negligence

I've been extremely negligent with my post the last two weeks due to travel and infirmity.

I did go to Phoenix and visit my brother. I was in luck and it was overcast so we actually got to go outside without suffocating in the sweltering heat. I had a grand time with Gary and Angel. His band, The Enginears (their spelling not mine), played at a local sports bar & grill, Dillion's. It was surreal seeing Gary up there singing and playing his guitar. Reminded me of the first time I met my brother way back when I was 6 or 7 and he was in his twenties. I think he even looked younger being in his element like that.


During my trip, what I thought was an allergic reaction to dog hair morphed into a grotesque case of pink eye. Seeing how I was away from home and currently with out insurance, I decided on the homeopathic rememdy which I am pleased to say worked beautifully. The OTC product, Similasan, took a few days to work, but it didn't sting like steroid products do and I didn't have to get a perscription.
Apparently once I returned from Arizona, I was still a hot bed for bacterial infection. Kevin's family was coming in on Thursday and Friday of last week for Cody's graduation.


Thursday, I had a sore throat was dog tired and woke up in the middle of the night with a high fever. I spent the festive graduation weekend in bed with what I am calling the strep-flu. Not sure what it was, but I think I may have had an out of mind experience.

Now everyone is gone, and I am back to normal. I'm hoping to get back into my posting habit, so while I'm in Mexico I'll be posting daily.