Accordion Cowboy

The soundtrack of my life here would include a lot of accordion music. About once a week, usually at lunchtime, an older gentleman ambles up the street, playing his accordion as he goes. The music adds a festive atmosphere to my street, which normally only grooves to the constant hum of truck engines.

His music makes me happy and usually brightens my day.

Except for the fact that he's out there at all.

It's no news that there are more people in this country than there are jobs, particularly well-paying jobs. Even in the US, those crossing into the senior citizen bracket often have a real tough time finding work after they've found themselves laid off. Here, it's nearly impossible. And so many seniors need jobs so badly.

Mario's biggest lament about living in this country is often echoed when we go to the grocery store. In supermarkets here, bagboys (and girls) are not paid by the store. They work voluntarily for tips. It's a job traditionally done by kids in upper elementary school or junior high, and it's really not a bad job for kids. However, in recent years, more and more "bagboys" are men and women in their seventies or eighties. After years of experience in a variety of fields, so many of Mexico's seniors find it necessary to bag groceries for tips. As Mario often comments to me, "where did we go wrong as a country?"

There's no easy answer. At least, there's no easy answer to that question that would also involve a practical solution. If there were, Mexico's (and the rest of the third world's) problems would be fixed already.

Happy San Jose Day!

When in Indiana, March 19th is known as Mom's Birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom!

However, living in the San Jose neighborhood of Saltillo, March 19th is San Jose Day. The street closes, food stands and carnival rides take over, matachin drums can be heard all day, as can the bells for masses for nearly every hour in the evening. I love it!

Clara and I headed towards the church for the noon mass, celebrated by Saltillo's bishop emeterius, who posesses a lovely baritone voice. Due to symptoms of being nearly ancient, he spoke so slowly that it was almost difficult to follow him, but he was still beautiful to listen to. Clara was in rare form, as she flirted with everyone around us and kept up a untiring game of "pass the teddy bear" with the lady next to us. Fortunately, lady was a grandmotherly sort and didn't seem to mind.

After Clara's 2+ hour nap (awesome!) we headed back down the street to enjoy tamales. Makeshift restaurants were set up along the street and sidewalks, complete with tables and chairs. I dug into six of the tiniest chicken tamales ever while Clara merely turned up her nose after trying three bites. Her loss.

When Mario got home after work, he was actually willing to walk down the street again with me--shocking as he normally HATES anything that involves loud noises and lots of people. I eyed the bingo tables (3 peso for 6 cards), but shied away from them in the end. Had I more time after Clara went to bed, I may have tried my luck, as I've never played bingo at a fair setting, and no fair is complete without at least one large table of bingo. Plus, I could have won awesome prizes like bleach and dish soap. Maybe next year.

No saint's day in Mexico is complete without fireworks, and my community was no exception. At 11pm, I jogged down the street as soon as I heard the sporatic BOOMs that told me the fireworks were starting. They set off a number of impressive fourth-of-July-style huge fireworks from the patio behind the church. Then for the grand finale, they had attached a tower of fireworks to the bell tower and front of the church. Apparently there's no better way to celebrate a church's 100th anniversary than by doing one's utmost to burn the building down. And it was awe-inspiring.

Part of the beauty of Mexican fireworks is the huge potential for danger. Throughout the show, sparks and firework debris rained down on the crowd in front of the church. None ever came TOO close to me, but I was glad that I wasn't any closer to the front of the church once that tower was lit. And the danger of disaster is very real, as every year in small towns (or not-so-small towns) throughout the country, revelers perish in fiery blazes or get trampled in stampedes from crowds fleeing an out-of-control fireworks display. I kept this in mind while gasping at the sparkling spectacle of light raining from the bell tower.

And I thought to myself, "what a way to go."

Milestones aren't just for the baby, baby!

I hate driving. I always have. Driving around town in high school nearly always flooded me waves of panic, fearing that I'd do something wrong, piss someone off, or just get into an accident. Oh, the stress!

Eventually, I did get over that. But I never enjoyed driving.

Upon moving to Mexico, I was really excited about the thought of living somewhere that has a reliable, cheap, and fairly efficient public transportation system. Wherever I have lived in Mexico, I have taken full advantage of the buses, combis, and taxis and gloried in the fact that I had absolutely no need to maneuver a car in the midst of Mexico's freakish traffic.

However, Saltillo's traffic follows fairly standard rules. Turning left from the right lane is actually discouraged here and the traffic police here really do have some clout. For example, taxi drivers insist that passengers in the front seat buckle up because they know that otherwise they'll get fined. Again, I was shocked and charmed by the level of civilization here.

This also means that I ran out of excuses for why I could procrastinate my mastery of the standard transmission vehicle that Mario owns. Reason #2: the heavier that Clara gets the less fun it is to strap her to my back while we ride the bus. Reason #3: while I'm beginning to find friends, they all live on the OTHER side of town. Boo.

So after months (OK, years) of touch-and-go "how to drive a standard transmission car" lessons, I finally traversed town by myself, with Clara shouting encouragement from the backseat, a few days ago. I feel like a real grown-up again.

Despite the fact that I'm back to the whole knotted-stomach, driving-induced stress that I experienced in high school, I know I can do it. The stress will pass eventually.

This made me think of Clara and her "quest" for increased mobility. I put quest in quotation marks, as she has made it clear that creeping and rolling around on the floor is as mobile as she wants to be, thank you very much. Quite like me and my satisfaction with the buses and taxis. It doesn't matter that she is over a year old and most other kids her age are at least experimenting with walking. I was over the age of thirty and had no desire to drive a car, like a "normal" adult.

Like me, she just needs some real incentive coming from deep within to make it worth all the effort of getting her legs under herself. She almost had it this morning when she really, really wanted a cup that was on top of the coffee table. But, like me driving the car, it will just take a lot of practice to get it.

She'll get there.

The Torquelich

My parents were just asking if I had any new photos of Clara. Nope. We haven't done much that's interesting recently, and all the pictures that I get of her playing look the same, because she generally does the same thing all the time. She's really hooked on the Container Game. She finds something that fits well into a container and then takes it out. Puts it in, takes it out. Ad nauseum. I made this even more exciting for her the other day when I gave her an old baby bottle, some diaper pins, and the sticks for her bottle-dryer. Hoo-nelly! What fun! She plays with these for about a half hour at a stretch. The bottle is particularly challenging as she can't jam her chubby little fist inside to get the pins back out. While she's figuring out physics, I get the dishes washed. Oh, boy.

However, I did take this video recently. Enjoy!

For those of you from camp, do you remember the Torquelich skit? I love that Clara makes the same noise that the Torquelich makes when it's hungry. And she came up with that all on her own. Isn't she so smart?

And if anyone knows how to turn these videos vertically, please fill me in (they're opened with Windows Photo Gallery).

Meaty Fridays

Mario, my husband, loves meat. He would happily eat it for all three meals a day in disturbing quantities. He loves living in northern Mexico, where the "nortenitos" are famous for sitting by a grill, beer in hand, consuming vast quantities of charred cow for hours at a time. Whenever Mario finds himself at a parrillada, he finds that he has to quit far too early. Despite being a rancher's grandson, he just isn't able to ingest quite as much beef as a true norteno.

I, however, could happily be a vegetarian if it weren't for tacos, Thanksgiving turkey and barbecued ribs. Therefore, the custom of giving up meat for Fridays in Lent is really just wasted on me. In fact, when we were dating, Mario suggested that would be more of a sacrifice for me to eat meat on Fridays during Lent than to abstain from it. Good point.

So I do try to cut decadence from my diet on Fridays (no alcohol, gooey desserts, etc). When a huge chocolate craving strikes, it's just a reminder that Jill does not live on chocolate alone. And that's what the whole "giving up something for Lent" is all about, right? After all, God doesn't really care whether we give up something or not. It doesn't benefit God in any way. But if doing so helps me grow, that's great. Like any parent, I'm sure God likes it when I grow. So that's really just my intent.

However, last week I went to a baby shower. It was one of the most fabulous, over-the-top events I've been to in a long time. We were each asked to bring food to share, and there had to be at least 30 women there. Spinach artichoke dip, pumpernickel bread, blueberries, blackberries, deviled eggs, cupcakes, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies--these women outdid themselves. It was delicious.

And I totally forgot that it was Friday.

Now, as I mentioned before, I don't really think that God cares whether I pig out at a baby shower held on a Friday during Lent. However, I knew that I failed myself. But as soon as I thought that, I could hear that little voice of God in my head say, "that's OK. It's all forgiven."

And that really IS the point, isn't it?

Sure, overeating isn't really a bit deal. There are far worse things I could do and have done. But it's all forgiven. Like my pastor said a few weeks ago, Lent should be a time of joy and celebration, not a sad, mournful time. During Lent we tend to get all hung up in the whole "I'm not worthy" attitude, completely forgetting the fact that Good Friday and Easter happened just because God said, "yes, you ARE worthy. I made you worthy." It's during this season that we can better reflect on the mercy and forgiveness demonstrated once and forever on Good Friday and Easter. Isn't that the best thing ever? If that doesn't make you happy, what can?

So thanks, God.

She's Getting Bigger and Better

In typical Clara fashion, last week she reached a major movement milestone (sitting up on her own) and then promptly forgot about it. Or just doesn't care. Except that she really likes to sit up, so I'm thinking that she just can't remember how it was that she got herself up to a sitting position last week. Two months from now, she'll no doubt remember, once again giving me hope that she just may become mobile.

Now that she's gotten really good at getting a loaded spoon to her mouth, I thought I'd see what she would do with a full banana.

It took awhile, but she figured it out!

This evening she also asked for a napkin so she could wipe her mouth off. What a little lady!

That, or she just really likes playing with napkins.

Mission Accomplished!

Way back in the fall, thanks to a fit of local pride and possible inspiration from Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I decided that instead of buying nuts from the grocery store, the Rodriguez Douglas family was only going to consume local nuts, as pecans are one of northeast Mexico's most abundant crops and in season in the fall. I happily bought two kilos of local pecans.

Problem is, they don't come shelled.

I thought to myself, "no problem! I need something to do with my hands while I watch Clara spend hours and hours playing on the floor, right?"

Right.

Back in 2001, I did a lot of pecan shelling when I lived in New Mexico and had a pecan tree in my backyard. I recollected that it was a lot of work, but rather satisfying in the end. So I rolled up my sleeves in November, sat down to work, and gloried in strewing pecan shells all over the backyard. I did enjoy it after all, and Clara rocked out to the sound of unshelled pecans dropping into a metal pot.

Furthermore, these pecans tasted divine. For the flavor alone, I may never go back to buying Soriana's already-shelled variety. After a long day of shelling, I'd set the finished product on the kitchen table, Mario and I would spend our evenings clustered around the computer, watching Top Gear on YouTube, while polishing off the "fruit" of that day's labor.

Now, four months after I started, I finally finished shelling all two kilos of pecans. How many pecans do I now have to eat? About half a cup.

Taking into account how much the shells weigh and how much work it took to get those pecans out of their shells, Soriana's price of 50 pesos for a quarter kilo isn't really too far off the mark. I bought one kilo of unshelled pecans for the same price. I don't know that I really saved much money by buying in bulk and shelling by hand.

But that sweet, nutty, fresh taste made it so worth it.

I'll be shelling pecans again soon.