Merry Christmas!

We had hoped to visit Indiana for Christmas this year, but Mario's factory only shut down for the 25th, so going anywhere was out of the question. Fortunately, Mario's family was able to come and visit us. And fortunately, Mario's brother just bought a new minivan, so both Mario's parents, his aunt, brother, sister, sister-in-law, and 2 nephews could make the 10-hour trip in "relative" comfort. Last March we saw the same amount of people squeeze into Nacho's Pontiac Grand Am . . . yikes!



Mario's family arrived at about 10pm on Christmas Eve and immediately commandeered the kitchen, warming up bacalao, a traditional Mexican Christmas fish dish, and a variety of other food they brought with them, even though Mario spent all evening making pork. Christmas dinner in Mexico is traditionally eaten after the late-night mass on Christmas Eve, so generally around midnight. Ugh. I'd so rather be in bed at midnight. But I can't fight tradition.


As my nieces and nephews get visits from the 3 Kings on January 6th, Santa Claus tends to skip our house. Therefore, only Clara was up at the crack of dawn (which of course had nothing to do with the fact that it was Christmas). Once all eleven of us made our way in and out of our only bathroom, the plan was to attend mass downtown and then come back home and feast on leftovers. However, eleven people don't more through one bathroom very quickly, especially after staying up well past midnight the previous night, so we wandered around downtown until the 6pm mass. The Plaza de Armas has been decked out for Christmas for the past month, and we meandered down to the children's playground in the Alameda so the boys could run off some steam.



Clara decided that she had all the Christmas she could handle, and dozed off on the way to the park.

All in all, it was a great day, and I've loved having Mario's family here!

She's On A Roll!

Yes, I realize she's about 5 months behind schedule, but Clara has finally decided that rolling over may just be a useful skill to master.

And master it, she has!

She also learned this week how to take off her sweater, provided it's a cardigan and the buttons aren't buttoned. I'm so glad she figured this out in the middle of December in a house without heat.

Ah, the Christmas market!

Hands down, my favorite thing to do in Mexico in December is visit the Christmas market. I can wander through the stalls selling nativity scene figurines, twinkle lights, Christmas ornaments, fireworks, Christmas trees, candles, and tamales for far, far too long. In fact, that's just what Clara and I did all Friday afternoon.

We went in search of a Maria and Jose for our nativity scene. Now, nativity scenes are a bit of a national obsession in Mexico. These market stalls sell the traditional Holy Family, shepherds, wise men, and then they add all variety of barnyard animals, fish, cactus, women making tortillas, etc. Most Mexican nativity scenes are very extensive (to put it mildly). My mother-in-law's takes up half of their garage. Hers is just average-sized.

I could see myself getting swept up in this quest for collecting the most outlandish figurines. Therefore, early on, I gave myself a limit. One new figurine every year. As this is the third Christmas for the Rodriguez-Douglas family, we are on to a grand total of three figurines--the Holy Family is complete! But imagine the menagerie I'll have when I'm eighty--it will take all month for me to set up the nativity scene!














We ended our trip with a visit to a tamale stand. Knowing that my in-laws are visiting this coming week, I am quite sure that we'll wind up with more tamales next week than we'll know what to do with. But it's been so long since I've had one, that I couldn't resist! Topped off with a mug of champurrado (a thick drink made from corn and flavored with cinnamon, rather like atole) it was a perfect December picnic!

Hubiera

I'm trying to talk with Clara more in Spanish because, despite living in Mexico, we've realized that she just doesn't hear enough Spanish. In one of my conversations with her, I stumbled across my new favorite word.

"Clara--si hubiera hecho esto . . . "

[thought to myself] "Ooo--'hubiera'--that's pretty cool!"

It's cool on two fronts:

1) it's pronounced Ooo-bee-air-ah. What an awesome string of vowels! How pretty is that?

2) I feel smarter using this word, as it's a verb in the past subjunctive form. Now, if you've ever learned a foreign language for any length of time (at least a European foreign language other than English), the subjunctive form of verbs gives students apoplectic fits--provided that student speaks English as their first language. Why? English doesn't have a subjunctive tense (unless we add the word "may" before another verb). So we get all bent out of shape and spend years trying how to figure out when the right time is to use this verb form.

And I've got it down!

But, at the same time, the word has its downside. After all, it means "would have", and is generally proceeded by "if".

"If I would have . . . "

I hate to say that too much, because I don't want to regret things I've done or failed to do (even little things, like not doing the laundry until it was too rainy, like yesterday). What's done is done. Or not done, as the case may be. Why be looking back and second guessing myself?

Fortunately, I don't say it all that often.

And it is a pretty word.

Bananas

The other day Clara was really into playing with her banana while I fed it to her on a spoon. As I was peeling it back, I thought, "hmm . . . what would she do with this?"

Wow.

As you can see, she went to town. I think she wound up eating the entire banana that night. She's pretty into feeding herself now. Unless her papa is around and she can get him to just stick food directly in her mouth, like a baby bird. Or if she wants a drink of water, she'll pick up her sippy cup and just hand it to me instead of bringing it to her own mouth.

But she's getting there. And it's usually pretty entertaining--for me, at least.
she's apparently convinced that she can't do it herself. )

Happy Guadalupe Day!

It's bigger than Cinco de Mayo, bigger than New Year's Day, and rivals Independence Day. Happy Guadalupe Day!

On December 12, 1531, after a week of sidetracking Juan Diego on his way to visit his sick uncle, Guadalupe asked Juan Diego to gather roses from Tepeyac hill, north of Mexico City, in order to present more validity for his (her) request that a church be built on that hill. Much to Juan Diego's surprise, when he opened his cloak to present the roses to the Archbishop, an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe had imprinted itself on Juan Diego's cloak. [Note: roses are a European flower and did not grow in Mexico at the time, particularly in December.]

My professor, a Mexican Methodist minister's wife, commented that it's hard to believe this story 100%, and yet it's also hard to deny the story. Given that Protestants in Mexico are generally loathe to give any credibility to Guadalupe, that she conceded that Guadalupe's appearance at Tepeyac may have possibly happened was a pretty strong testimony. After all, we weren't there. So who are we to say it didn't happen?

Generally, I don't really know what to think about visions like this. However, Guadalupe came at a crucial point of Mexican history. The Spanish had just conquered Mexico 10 years earlier. The Spanish were divided as to whether the Indians had souls worth saving. Thanks to Guadalupe's appearance, as she has dark hair and communicated with Juan Diego in Nauhatl, discussion on this issue reached a close. Indians do have souls worth saving. For this alone, she deserves more than a little recognition.

Beyond her obvious Catholic ties, she also has a number of ties to Aztec dieties. The hill she appeared on was sacred to the "Mother God" of the Aztecs. While, at the time, these Aztec ties may have helped bring more Indians to the Catholic faith, they also help to preserve versions of Mexican Catholicism as a strange mix of Roman Catholicism and native traditions.

There are a number of other quirks about Guadalupe's appearance at Tepeyac and her image imprinted on Juan Diego's tilma that are worth mentioning.

[The following facts are taken from www.corazones.org. Translation mine.]

• "'Guadalupe' means "crushing the head of the serpent" in Nauhatl, the language of the Aztecs. This is reminiscent of a prophesy from Genesis 3:15."
  

• "The image is detailed exactly as described in Revelations 12:1. 'A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head.'"

• "In Mary's eyes, they have discovered miniscule human images, so tiny that no artist could paint them. They are of two scenes, and both scenes are repeated in both eyes. The image of the Bishop Zumarraga in the eyes of Mary was enlarged through digital technology, revealing in his eyes an image of the indian Juan Diego, opening his tilma in front of the bishop. The size of this image? One fourth of a millionth of a millimeter."
  

• "They have not been able to discover any trace of paint on the fabric. In fact, at a distance of 10 centimeters from the image, one can only see the raw maguey fibers--the colors disappear. There is no trace of brushstrokes or other known painting technique."
  

• "The maguey fibers that constitute the fabric of the image normally does not last more than 20 or 30 years. A few centuries ago, a replica was made on similar tilma made of maguey fibers. This replica disintegrated after a few decades. Meanwhile, nearly 500 years after the miracle, the image of Mary remains as clear as on the first day."
  

• "The stars visible on Mary's cloak reflect the exact configuration and position of the stars in the sky that would have been visible in Mexico the night that the miracle happened."

Hmm . . . interesting. So go on and entertain your friends and family members around the dinner table with these new factoids.

46 Evenings

This month, I've found myself turning into a middle-aged Mexican woman. Why? We'll need to rewind a few weeks to answer that one.

Remember how I was all excited about being invited to join a Bible study with the ladies from my church. It's still fairly exciting (or a good opportunity to get to know other women). A week or two into the class, Panchita (the woman who invited me) busted out a list for the Great Rosario Host, for lack of a better name.

What is the Great Rosario Host? For 46 days before the Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, women in neighborhoods all over Mexico get together to pray the rosary. Every night. For 46 nights. Yikes.

Why 46? Because the Virgin of Guadalupe has 46 stars on her robe. Of course.

Panchita asked me if I wouldn't want to host a night. While I still don't know quite what to make of the rosary, and the thought of praying it for nearly two months every night was a bit daunting, I added my name to the list with relish. After all, it gave me the potential to meet 46 more neighbors! Sweet!

I meant to attend quite a few of the rosaries, but what with Mario working second/third shift during November and Clara deciding that bedtime was sometime around 7, I wasn't often able to make it, as the rosary ladies met up at 7:30. Regardless, Panchita took me out last week a few times, and then I hosted it at my house on Monday night. I loved opening up my house for my neighbors and I truly did feel blessed as they prayed for any number of good things for our home and family.

But, as mentioned above, I'm conflicted about how I feel about praying the rosary. I do it because it is a great meditation tool. All those Hail Marys give the distracted part of my brain something to do while the rest of my brain can reflect on various stages of Jesus Christ's life and ministry. The times I've prayed it, it's been a positive and powerful experience. However, as one who grew up Protestant, it does pose a few sticking points for me.

1. I realize that we only pray to Mary to ask her to interceede for us. It's just like asking any friend to pray for us, and that's totally accepted in any Christian circle. I'm down with that. Were I simply sending Mary a shout out to keep a certain situation in mind as she hangs on the ear of God, that would be fine in my mind. However, it takes roughly a half hour to pray the rosary. Isn't it a better use of time to spend that time talking directly to God?
2. In Matthew 6:7, Jesus instructed his disciples, "when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words." What do we do when we pray the rosary? Say the same thing over and over and over and over. Yes, it's a great tool for meditation, but if Jesus said not do, why do we do it?

If anyone has any good answers to my hang-ups, please comment.

When all is said and done, it has been nice to get to know a few more people in this neighborhood and I've enjoyed being included in a community again. After moving around as often as I have, it's that sense of community that I miss the most, and I thank mine for including the "new girl" in their prayers this year.

Love Song to the Chilaquil

WARNING: copious amounts of Spanglish!

Chilaquil, chilaquil
para ti, hay un mil
de razones
to have my fill.

inside munchy
outside crunchy
dismay my hubby
as I order for my lunchy

inside green
outside cream
fried in pig
they're not lean

Oh! se pica
aunque sabe rica
mi plato--
no es nada chica

bathed in salsa
no hay nada falsa
con trocitos de queso
Ay! Que riqueza!

Little green hill
cuesta casi nil
All for Jill
That's my chilaquil.

"Umm . . . what's your name?"

I'm changing my name.

Jill is nearly impossible to pronounce/understand in Spanish (unless the person I'm talking to has an excellent command of English). First of all, the letter J in Spanish is pronounced like an English H. The sound for the English short "i" doesn't exist at all, and the double l is pronounced like a y.

"Como se llama?"

"Jill."

"Como?"

"Jill."

"Uhh . . . [very long pause] . . . Jeee?"

"That's it!" I reward ANY attempt at pronouncing my name with a huge smile and a confidence-boosting, "Yes! Exactly! That's me!"

I even fear that the non-pronounceability of my name has costed me a friend. Way back in March, I met a woman at the park who had just moved to Saltillo that week, didn't know anyone apart from her husband and daughter (who is just 4 months older than mine), and seemed to be just as excited to meet me as I was to meet her. We exchanged phone numbers with promises to call each other the following week.

I tried to call her. But her number was a cell phone. All my past experiences with cell phones in Mexico has taught me that 044 or 045 needs to be dialed before the number. But I wasn't having any luck getting through to Marisela. Finally, after a month of trying her without any success, I just dialed her number like it was a regular long-distance number. Bingo. I left a message. But was she still using that cell phone with her number from Tampico?

She may have tried to call me. But if she was unsure about how to pronounce my name, would she have called? I can only imagine having a piece of paper with a super-short unpronouncable name on it. "Yeah, hi. I'm calling for . . . uhh . . . are you that woman I met in the park the other day?"

Had it been me, I would have waited to receive the call.

Which never happened. Boo.

During my first days at NPH, I hung out with the chicas quite a bit and remember their initial confusion about how to say my name. One day, we were watching young Jim Hawkins' adventures on Treasure Planet. Lupita Munoz turned to me with a light in her eyes, indicative that something just "clicked" for her. "Jim!" she exclaimed, connecting my name to that of Mr. Hawkins'. Oh, so close. But I'll take what I can get.

After way too long, I wised up. When leaving my name at stores to place an order, I am now Michelle. The cashiers at least understand it, despite the fact that my name is stored in the Farmacia Guadalajara's computer as MICHEL DUULAS. When introducing myself at my Bible study, I offered the name Michelle first, but siting that it was my middle name.

"What's your first name?"

They decided they could handle Jill. But now, three months after meeting these women, Jill has somehow morphed into Gina.

I'll take it.

In Defense of Bullfighting

November just left us, and do you know what that means? Bullfight season! In Mexico, the bullfight season runs from November to February or March. We've taken full advantage of this season the past two weeks, as Saltillo just hosted two excellent lineups of bullfighters, among them--EL JULI! I had to go.

Now, I have been fascinated by El Juli ever since I lived in New Mexico, eight years ago, and my housemate Ryan, hung a bullfight poster from Spain advertising El Juli in our breakfast nook. El Juli is the Michael Jordan of bullfighting. Knowing his reputation, I was expecting someone older. However, seeing him live and in person this weekend, I said to Mario, "wow--he looks really young!"

To which Mario responded, "He is. He's only 24 at most."

Woah. 24 and he's been wicked famous for YEARS? Amazing. Bullfighters can start their professional careers at the ripe old age of 16, and apparently El Juli has been famous since he began.

In US culture, bullfights have the reputation of being barbaric. To the untrained eye that doesn't understand what's going on and what constitutes a good bullfight, sure, it can appear to be public animal cruelty. But it's not. (Or, at least, should not be.) In order to appreciate a bullfight, sit with someone who understands it. Fortunately for me, Mario does.

In essence, the bullfight is all about showing off the bull and what a fine specimen of animal it should be. I say should be because sometimes the bulls used don't have much power, or aren't fast, or their knees buckle under them, or they get jumpy. What sets a good bullfighter apart from a mediocre one is how well he shows off the strengths of the bull. While bulls aren't wild animals, they also aren't trained pets, so getting a bull to do what you want it to do, is a bit of work, especially considering that all bulls have different temperaments, strengths, and weaknesses. The bullfighter has all of 30 seconds to figure this out before he's expected to impress the cheering (or jeering) crowd with this animal.

For my first few bullfights, I had to steel myself every time the bull entered the ring, chanting to myself, "the bull will die, the bull will die, the bull will die." Once I accepted the fact that the end was very near for this beautiful creature before me, I could appreciate the bullfight for what it is. Let's face it: bulls are not wild animals meant to live out their natural lives in peace and dying at a ripe old age. Bulls of this type have been domesticated for thousands of years, so long that they no longer come close to resembling their wild brethren. The entire reason they exist is to feed humans. It's not a pretty fact, but true. And the vast, vast majority of bulls and cows die a grisly death in the slaughterhouse. In fact, many bulls live all or much of their lives in squalid conditions in concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs). However, the life of a bull raised for bullfighting is every animal's dream--running around on pasture, eating grass, left alone by humans for most of the time. [Note: a bullfighting bull is not supposed to have any contact with a human on two legs until they enter the bullring. All their previous contact with people is with people mounted on horses.] In the bullring, the bull's death is meant to be a quick (and therefore as painless) as possible. Isn't this much more humane than slaughterhouses and CAFOs? Let's face it, livestock do not die natural deaths.

The crowd at the bullring wants both the bullfighter and the bull to do well. In a way, it's rather like 4H showmanship. However, the bullfighter has to woo the crowd as well as the judge. Therefore, he gets his animal to turn in circles, taking care to show off the animal's best side and hide any flaws. As a potentially dangerous and unpredictable animal, the closer the bullfighter gets to the bull, or the bull's horns, without getting gored, the more excited the crowd gets. A good bullfighter knows how long to play with the bull. After too long, the bull gets tired and the crowd gets bored. However, if the bullfighter doesn't show off the bull long enough and kills it before it's worn out, the crowd sees it as a waste of a good bull and will stir itself up against the bullfighter. Therefore a good bullfighter needs to read both the bull and the crowd well.

And then, of course, he needs to kill the bull quickly at the end, which is easier said than done when only armed with a sword that needs to be stuck in the bull's neck, over the horns. Last weekend, one of the bullfighters seemed good, up until he tried to kill the bull. Nobody wants to see the bull suffer. So that bullfighter lost his audience.

This is why bullfighting is really more art than a sport. Because more often than not, either the bull or the bullfighter lack something, be it sturdy feet or strength on the part of the bull, or good timing or the ability to kill the bull on the part of the bullfighter. Most of the time, the crowd is left a bit disappointed. But every once in awhile, both the bull and the bullfighter are excellent, moving together in a dance, as if they can communicate clearly with each other. It's a magnificent sight to watch. The hope of seeing this dance is what keeps us coming back, despite all odds of being disappointed.

The last two weekends, those hopes were richly rewarded.

Happy Thanksgiving and New Year!

I love the fact that Thanksgiving often falls on the weekend of the first Sunday in Advent, making the holiday a very appropriate way to end the year. Coincidence? I don't think so. However, because Mario had to work on Thursday, we celebrated Thanksgiving on Saturday with friends of ours in Saltillo. In a nutshell, here are some of the things I find myself grateful for over the course of this past year:

• My wonderful husband who, on a daily basis, reminds me of how blessed I am to be with him (not verbally--he's rather humble). But, in particular, how he went above and beyond the call of duty in the month of February when Clara was teeny-tiny and I was still a bit under the weather. One of my favorite moments of having a baby was watching him be an excellent father.
  

• My daughter, for just being absolutely delightful and changing my life in a number of positive ways.

• My parents who, like Mario, been fascinating to watch as they assumed the role of grandparents. They're very good at it!
  

• My brother, sister-in-law, and niece--it was wonderful to be around when they officially formed themselves as a family, and am in awe of their strength as they front various challenges.
  

• Mario's family and all our other friends who are scattered hither and yon . . . knowing that y'all were out there helped so much in getting through this lonely year of being new in town!

• Facebook, Blogspot, and our internet connection that normally works well, for which I am better able to keep in touch with everyone mentioned above (and I met my new friend in Saltillo through Blogspot, with whom we shared Thanksgiving)!
  

• The opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom--I know so many of my friends (including my husband) who would love to have this opportunity but can't for one reason or another, so I don't take a minute of it for granted.
  

• The inside of our house--while all of you were enjoying turkey on Thursday, Clara and I were locked outside on our patio for 3 hours. In the end, I had to climb onto the roof, haul the ladder up with me, and let it down onto our driveway in order to walk in through my front door and open up the back door. Clearly, this was a terrifying experience for me, as I'm afraid of heights, but it was nice to know that, when called upon, I can rise to the challenge and be a Super Mom.

• New friends: Sheila, Herme and Katya; my Bible study ladies, especially Panchita, Rosario, and Dona Antonia; plus Gloria and Rosario. God does provide!

It's been a wonderful year, which provided so many more reasons to be thankful. May you all have a blessed 2010!

Can She Crawl Yet?

The short answer to that question: no. Not by a long shot. Of course, she is my daughter (I never really crawled and didn't walk until I was 21 months old) and Mario's daughter (also never crawled and didn't walk until he was 18 months old), so this is the one area of her development where we hold no great expectations for her. In fact, we hold no expectations at all. And, having taken all the pressure off, we're able to notice that she is making some initial attempts to move herself around on her own, among other interesting developments.

• She doesn't cry anymore when she realizes that she's fallen over onto her belly, as long as her leg isn't trapped uncomfortably underneath her. She's also getting better at freeing that leg, too (although I often have to help her).
  

• Her arms get into the right crawling position, but her legs do not. Therefore, she tends to push herself backwards. And if the whole reason she laid on her belly was in to go for a toy in front of her, it frustrates her to no end that she scoots herself farther away from it.
  

• She's back to having a monster appetite! Favorite foods: oatmeal, any kind of fruit, crackers, ham, olives. Despises: pureed chicken, avocados, black beans (although she's learning how to tolerate this one).

• Her "vocabulary" has expanded dramatically. At three months, she was quite an expressive chatterbox and used nearly every vowel sound. At four months, she decided that she was just really good at "ah", and that was all she said for the following four months. Now she's combining most vowel sounds with some consonants. My favorite, of course, is "mamamamamama". She hasn't figured out "papa" yet, but "babababa" comes close enough. Except when you consider that "baba" in Spanish means "drool". Hmm . . .
  

• Her new favorite games are 1) putting anything in a box and taking it out again. And putting it in again, and taking it out again. And maybe putting the lid on. 2) Giving me a toy (or piece of cracker), then asking for it back. And then giving it to me again. And waiting until I give it back to her. And maybe she'll give it back to me.
  

• My parents were determined to teach her how to crawl in the two weeks they were here. It wasn't long before they realized they were fighting a losing battle, so my dad settled for teaching Clara how to roll over. [Note: she did this once before, at 7 months, just to prove she could. She had no interest in repeating the feat.] He'd roll on the bed with her and then flip her over once more on her own. Then she rolled from her belly to her back towards him. Now, whenever she's tired of being on her belly, at least she's able to get herself onto her back.
  

• She waves "bye-bye". Granted, she doesn't usually get the wave out until we're two rooms away from the intended recipient, but she'll wave nonetheless.
  

• Far and away the most important accomplishment to date (although I hesitate to publish it here for fear of jinxing her) SHE SLEEPS THROUGH THE NIGHT! At the age of nine months, Clara is finally sleeping through the night. She has done this before, as early as two weeks old. However, it was just for a night or two, and then she'd be up at all hours again. But for nearly the last two weeks, she's slept solidly in an 11-hour stretch, from 7pm to 6am. And the best part is that after I feed her at 6am, she'll go back to sleep for another two hours. But that's just bragging. So I'll stop now.
  

Happy Revolution!

Today, the 20th of November 2009, marks the 99th anniversary of the Mexican Revolution. Being that this date commemorates 10 years of constant bloodshed and civil war, it seems in my mind a strange day to celebrate. Nevertheless, throughout the country, the day is held sacred on the civil calendar. City dwellers spent the morning watching military reviews, and yesterday schoolchildren paraded patriotically around their neighborhoods or school patios, bugles blaring. The 20th of November is much more important than Cinco de Mayo.

The Mexican Revolution gets complicated to explain, but I'll take a stab at it anyway (no pun intended). Like most Latin American countries, Mexico has been ruled by a slew of dictators, broken up now and again by a democratic government (or, simply under the guise of a democratic government). Sometime in the 1870s up until 1910, Mexico was ruled by a dictator named Porfirio Diaz. Not having to deal with the democratic process, dictators do have the advantage of being able to get things done. And, during Diaz's reign, Mexico did modernize considerably. However, quite a few citizens preferred modernization along with a democratic government. The first phase of the Mexican Revolution involved those who rallied behind Francisco I. Madero, a presidential hopeful for the 1910 elections.

The second phase involved poor farmers in the southren part of the country. Since colonial times, Mexican agriculture had been centred around haciendas, or plantations. The majority of Mexico's productive land was controlled by only a handful of fabulously wealthy landowners. Those fieldhands who actually worked the land had no rights, no land, and very few means for supporting themselves and their families. After centuries of oppresion, these campesinos rose up, famously rallying around Emiliano Zapata, to take control of the land. Politically, these peasants, representing the majority of Mexicans at the time, were in favor of drastic land reform.

The third phase I'm not very knowledgable about, but revolves around the legendary Pancho Villa. Unlike Zapata, he was from the north (Chihuahua), but I believe he and his followers were also in favor of agrarian reform. Both Zapata and Villa fought their armies towards Mexico City and joined up there, but I believe that there were some serious differences of opinion between these two factions.

To make a long war short, Madero was elected president and Diaz was forced to give up power and flee to Europe in exile. Villa's and Zapata's armies "liberated" countless haciendas over the 10 years of the revolution, and eventually a government that was a bit more centrist came to power, and did indeed inact land reforms (although not necessarily the kind of reforms that Zapata's followers were hoping for). This government (or political party) that emerged after the revolution eventually began to call itself the Instutional Revolutionary Party, or PRI, and ruled Mexico for 70 years until 2000.

Did the revolution achieve its aims? Yes and no. I'm sure lots of people wanted more drastic changes--the majority of the country's wealth is still concentrated in the hands of a small minority. However, I believe that a stronger middle class exists than existed 100 years ago. Furthermore, political power is shared by 3 main political parties. While they all love buracracy, it can't be denied that the system is democratic.

So while the dream of equality got a bit thwarted along the way, it still remains a dream--one that didn't get squashed. Therefore, there must have been enough successes to keep that dream of equality going. Perhaps this is the difference of pre-Revolution Mexico and post-Revolution Mexico--like in feudal Europe, people years ago were born in a certain caste and died in that same caste. Perhaps the aftermath of the Revolution made it sightly more possible for people to rise above poverty and join the middle class. If this really is the case, it's clear to see why Revolution Day is so celebrated.

The Flop

I have a friend.

OK, I realize that you, reading this right now, are saying to yourself, "well, darn skippy you do . . . I'm your friend!" And I appreciate you more than I can express. But this friend I'm referring to lives in Saltillo--the same town as me! It's been going on years since I had a friend who lived in the same town as me. So this is a big deal.

Such a big deal, that when she invited us over for dinner, I, pretending to be Betty Crocker incarnate, mentioned that I love to make desserts--could I bring one? I decided to make a flan. I've made flan before. I had all the eggs, milk, and sugar on hand. It's not very labor intensive, and easily whipped up a day or two before it could be served. Simple, right?

No--it's never that simple! Two hours after I put it in the oven, this flan is only slightly more solid than when I put it in. Will I be bringing a box of packaged cookies to my friend's house? Will I have to sell my hair to pay for this month's gas bill? And, if it never thickens, what does one do with a pan of egg soup?

I find myself doing this over and over--jumping into projects only to find out that I've gotten in way over my head. In this occasion, it's clearly not a big deal. No one but me will mind eating boxed cookies. I was just so set to eat a lovely, golden flan. I love having high expectations. When these expectations seem so easily achievable, but the result is complete disaster, the disappointment is almost crushing. In my imagination, I'm curled up on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. But, let's face it, in real life that doesn't really help.

It's time to pick myself up, brush myself off, and come up with a new plan. One that doesn't include my unreliable oven.

Rice pudding, perhaps?

Visitors!

My parents were here visiting these last two weeks, hence the lack of posts. Due to balancing Clara's nap and meal schedules, visiting our house can be a bit tedious (some may say boring). However, my parents were on cloud nine for most of the two weeks they were here. That's the beauty of being grandparents.

I'll do my best to get captions with the photos, but Blogger is often not very helpful, caption-wise.

As I already alluded, we spent most of the two weeks in the house, playing with Clara on the floor or the bed. My parents were bound and determined to teach Clara how to crawl while they were here. They failed miserably. However, my dad did play a game with her that got her to voluntarily roll over from her belly to her back, something she hadn't yet done. (Note: prior to this, she has only rolled over once in her life, from her back to her belly at the age of 7 months, just to prove she could. Until now, she's had no interest in repeating that feat.)

One Saturday Mario had to work, so Mom, Dad, Clara and I took a trolley tour around Saltillo. We learned a few new facts about the town (like who Francisco Coss was), found out where the spring of water that Saltillo is named for still bubbles out of the ground, and spied on the town from an impressive overlook that I didn't know existed.

We toured the downtown area again, including the Alameda, Serape Museum, and a cultural center focusing on the Day of the Dead. This past weekend, we spent a day in Parras, on a quest for the best beef in town. I couldn't go home without a trip to Casa Madero.

It's been a wonderful two weeks, and although we just put my parents on the airplane today, I can tell Clara already misses her grandparents. I do, too!

"Halloween! Halloween!"

One year ago today, Mario and I took possession of our house. As we locked our car in the driveway, it dawned on us that it was Halloween, as trick-or-treaters pranced up and down the dark street. I thought to myself, "Excellent! They do celebrate Halloween here!" I feverishly dreamed about being prepared for this Halloween, passing out candy in my witch's costume, while perched in a little alcove just to the side of our driveway, and scaring the poop out of the kids, as I didn't imagine they would notice me there.

So imagine my surprise yesterday evening when a troop of 5 kids knocked on our gate, yelling "Halloween! Halloween!" Apparently this is the thing to say instead of "trick-or-treat". Not being a grinch, I fished out the candy, teased them about being a day early, and sent them satisfied on their merry way.

While I never remembered to bring my witch's costume from Indiana, and it's a bit chilly to be sitting on the hard concrete all night, I decided to be content to wait for the trick-or-treaters in the comfort of my warm-ish house. And I waited. And waited. Did I really see those trick-or-treaters in this neighborhood last year? Bursting with festive impatience, I stalked my driveway and sidewalk. No children were to be seen.

Well, more candy for me.

While pulling Clara's pajamas out of her drawer at 8:00, I caught a chorus of, "Halloween! Halloween!" coming from the street. Still dressed, I snatched the baby off her changing table and raced for the door, candy bowl in hand. Four little monsters waited at the gate. We respectively spread our Halloween cheer. Triumphantly, I returned to my house. For the first time in years, I celebrated Halloween. And it felt good.

There's nothing like giving candy to perfect strangers wearing grisly costumes. Let's call it a holiday.

Dead Bread

In Mexico, nothing says fall like the first time I see pan de muerto, or dead bread, in the stores. Whenever I see those little buns, I want to buy up as many as I can possibly carry in order to enjoy them throughout the month. Never mind that I can continue to buy them throughout November. As they're one of my favorite seasonal items, I'm always afraid they'll be rushed off the shelves before I have time to restock.

Pan de muerto is made to help celebrate the Day of the Dead on the 2ed of November. The bread is often available beginning in October. I'm hoping that they'll continue to sell it throughout November. When families make altars in their homes to honor deceased loved ones, pan de muerto is often featured prominently on these altars.

Pan de muerto is a sweet bread with an odd flavor I always found hard to identify. I always described the flavor as that of flowers, and in my head I associated the flower flavor with marigolds, which are considered flowers for the dead. Tasting one this morning, my mother described the odd flavor as light orange, which is probably more correct, but a lot less poetic.

And now I'm off, to buy up some more Dead Bread. For those of you in Ft. Wayne, the Indiana Mexican Bakery on Wells Street makes some excellent pan de muerto. Incorporate it into your Halloween traditions!

Day of the Dead

I realize this is a few days late, but I've been asked what the Day of the Dead is all about.

The Day of the Dead is the 2ed of November. All Saints' Day (in both Catholic and Protestant traditions throughout the world) is celebrated on November 1st, and then November 2ed is labeled on our Mexican-Catholic calendar Day of the Faithful Dead. Or, more simply put, Day of the Dead. Mexican Catholicism is often a strange mix of traditional Catholicism that you'll find anywhere in the world and indigenous traditions. It's traditionally believed that on the 2ed of November, the souls of the deceased visit the earth this one night a year. Therefore, families traditionally build altars in their houses, honoring their deceased relatives, loading these altars with food and drink that their family member enjoyed and other things that remind them of this person. According to traditional belief, the departed enjoys the essence of the food, and then on the 3rd the family will eat the food themselves. November 1st is celebrated in roughly the same manner, but set aside for children that died.

Now, I've been saying that all this is how it's traditionally celebrated, because I don't know that people REALLY believe all that. Some people do set out altars in their houses, but most will go to the cemeteries, spruce up the graves of their family members, say a few prayers, and go on their merry way. The only Day of the Dead altars I've seen are in cultural centers, whose purpose is to keep traditions alive (and keep the encroaching Halloween at bay).

Again, traditionally they say that some families sit out all night in the cemetery. I've never seen this, but my guess is that those who might do this are either really traditional (this would show quite a bit of respect for their deceased), super-religious, or honestly believe that their loved one's soul does come back to visit (or some combination of all three).

Still, the spirit of the day does honor All Saints' Day, and in my experience, most Mexicans celebrate the Day of the Dead founded on their Christian beliefs. It's healthy and good to sit back and remember those who are no longer with us, and to contemplate our own mortality. In fact, US culture probably needs to do a bit more of that. Should death really be the taboo subject that we make it out to be?

It Must Be Fall!

While, yes, the temperature has turned cooler, the leaves do not turn colors and only a few fall from the trees. Therefore, it's easy to forget that it's fall after all.

However, while hanging out in the backyard the other day, we were visited by a monarch butterfly. This reminded me that the Great Monarch Migration is underway! Every autumn, thousands and thousands of monarch butterflies make their way from their summer home in Ontario (and likely a few neighboring provinces), to the state of Michoacan here in Mexico, where they spend the winter. How miraculous is it that those tiny little bodies can cover so much distance? Never mind that they fly--they still don't go very fast!

This afternoon, as Clara and I were walking downtown, I noted more and more monarchs, here and there, slowly but surely making their way south. Thinking that we might have a treat in store for ourselves, I made an unplanned stop in the Alameda. Clara and I claimed an empty bench and, sure enough, we were blessed with a park full of butterflies if we looked to the tops of the trees. Although they certainly didn't congregate as closely as they do when they arrive at the Butterfly Sanctuary in Michoacan, we spent a good twenty minutes watching the butterflies, once after another, and often two or three at a time. What a treat!

OK, I spent a good twenty minutes watching the butterflies. Clara was more interested in her stuffed monkey and all the other people walking past us.

I know I'll be spending more time in the Alameda in the next few weeks!

Our Medicine Man

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong!

Now, before last year, I had never lived in a house in Mexico. I don't know if because it's a house, or it's Saltillo, or because our house is near the railroad tracks, or because we live in a nice neighborhood, or because we live in a house in a nice neighborhood in Saltillo near the railroad tracks, but almost daily someone rings our doorbell asking for something. Not usually this insistently, though.

Often, people sell things door-to-door. My favorite door-to-door seller is the fruit man who, once a month or so, convinces me to buy more fruit than I honestly believe the three of us can consume in a reasonable amount of time for a bit more than I would pay at the grocery store. However, it does come delivered right to our door. And it's always absolutely delicious.

I also bought our mailbox from a man ringing all the doorbells on my street. Many people peddle brooms and cleaning supplies door-to-door. There also appears to be an army of women in this city who appear willing to provide re-financing and modest loans to almost anybody--I can only imagine the interest rates!

However, as I mentioned that we live a few blocks from the railroad, lots of people stop by asking to do any odd job for a bit of spare change as they make their way to the US from Central America (usually Honduras). In exchange for a few pesos and sandwiches, the clunker that sits in our driveway gets its monthly bath.

Ding-dong.
Ding-dong.
Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong!

But none of these people ring the doorbell quite as frantically as this. When we hear the doorbell that won't shut up, we know that our medicine man is back.

We met the medicine man about a month ago. As I was paying the Domino's Pizza delivery guy, a man who collects cardboard was standing nearby and mentioned that his stomach had been hurting. Would I have anything that could help? Thinking of Alka-Seltzer, I initially told him, sorry, no. But then I thought about it and remembered that we did have some Lomotil.

(Side note: Lomotil is the best diarrhea medicine out there. Forget Pepto-Bismol. If you go anywhere in Mexico and are worried about getting diarrhea, go to any pharmacy and get Lomotil. Take one if you've got some slight symptoms, two if it's full-blown. If you take two at once and it's not seriously diarrhea, you'll get backed up for the better part of a week.)

So I told medicine man to wait, went and got the Lomotil, cut him two tablets out of the pack (in case his symptom weren't really Lomotil-worthy, I didn't want to worsen his condition if he were to take too many), gave him those along with a glass of water. He asked if I'd be home the following day, in case he needed more. I assured him that I would be around.

The next day, we heard the first ringing of the persistent doorbell. As I was feeding Clara, I told Mario that medicine man might be back for more Lomotil. So he went out and talked to the man, gave him the rest of what we had (it wasn't much), and both went their merry ways.

A week later the doorbell rang again. Again, Mario answered and stood outside talking quite awhile. Through the open window, I could hear the loud yet wheezy voice and knew that Medicine Man was back. I don't know what he wanted, but Mario was outside for at least a half hour. [note: Mario enjoys listening to people. When he would visit me at NPH he'd get holed up on a bench with a kid for the better part of an hour, just listening to them. I'd be afraid that he was getting bored and thank him for his patience. He'd counter, "they just really need someone to listen to them."] This must also be true of the medicine man. After two or three lengthy visits from the Medicine Man, I asked Mario what it is they talk about.

"Ah, a little bit of anything."

Reflecting a bit longer, he added, "I really do like him."

A Bit of Mexico in Hoosierland

The other day, while recording the fact that I live in Saltillo on facebook, a number of other Saltillos popped up as possible states for the location of "my" Saltillo. Among them, I discovered that there is a Saltillo, Indiana!

I'm from Indiana, but I live in Saltillo. That little town just combines two of my favorite places--how cool is that?

This got me to thinking: why is Saltillo, Indiana named Saltillo?

While I was busy noting the randomness of Indiana towns and their connections to Mexican areas (and other places of foreign origin), Mario reminded me that there is also a Churubusco, Indiana. Churubusco is also an area on the south side of Mexico City. To the best of my knowledge, Churubusco, Indiana was named after this area of Mexico City, thanks to an ugly battle near the climax of the Mexican-American War in 1846.

Apparently, among the gringo army was a batallion of Irish soldiers. After months of fighting their way into the heart of Mexico, these Irish soldiers, being Catholic just like the Mexicans, realized that they had more in common with the Mexicans they were fighting against than with the gringos with whom they had enlisted. Therefore, right before this battle at Churubusco, a significant number of these Irish immigrants switched sides and fought for the Mexicans. Legend has it that those that survived the battle (and managed to not get shot for treason) made their way back to Indiana after the war and founded the town of Churubusco.

I do know there was an earlier battle during the same war near here. Would Saltillo, Indiana have a similar history to Churubusco, Indiana? Curious.



If anyone else knows of other details to this story, feel free to leave a comment!

End of the Drought

I had been told that, when normal adults move to new places (ie, places where they're not living with at least 3 other fairly transient young adults (otherwise known as "instant friends")) it takes at least a year to make friends. I have been living in Saltillo for about a year now, and yes, I am seeing an end to the "friend drought".

Thanks to Blogger, I made the acquaintance of another woman whose life story (as of the last 2-3 years) is astonishingly similar to mine. We'll be sharing some lasagna with this woman and her family on Saturday. Oh, I hope they like us!

Furthermore, after mass one Sunday, a neighbor stopped by our house as we were walking home. She invited us to attend a class down the street on Wednesday evening. Now, when people talk of church-related classes, it can sometimes turn into an all night, mind-numbing event. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, for as soon as she invited us, I jumped all over her invitation, thrilled at the idea of hanging out with other people who were neither Mario nor Clara. And in someone else's house, too!

It turns out that this is an ongoing Bible study, an "evangelization" class (even though all of us that attended are Catholic) and an introduction to the Bible. I have now attended two classes, and can tell that this will be a most insightful experience for me. Not necessarily for delving deeper into the Bible, but as a cultural experience. I'm finally invited in to witness the mind of the traditional Mexican woman. It's going to be a trip.

For example, after reading Genesis and taking note that all of creation was proclaimed to be good, our little study booklets went on to explain that people sometimes misuse God's creation, messing up all that was proclaimed to be good. True enough. The Bible study leader, a fussy little old lady, further illustrated the point, "like when men grow their hair long and pierce their ears."

Umm . . . what?

First, I'm sure that as soon as God created man, he also created the scissors and told Adam, "hey--make sure to cut your hair when it starts to get long."

Second, men with long hair and piercings are right up there with war and slavery and pollution in the grand scheme of things that destroy the goodness of creation. Right.

I will be taking a lot of notes during these classes. And trying to keep a straight face.

Something to Bite Into

Clara has started eating crackers.

They're an (almost) endless source of entertainment.

This picture was taken on one of her first days with the cracker. I can tell, as I must have gotten a little overzealous, gave her multiple cracker options, with the end result of the child "two-fisting" the crackers.

However, she still doesn't have the pincer grasp completely down yet (putting the thumb and forefinger together rather daintily), so once she's nibbled off the cracker that isn't covered by her palm or fingers, she's out of luck.

Even though she knows there's still plenty of cracker there.

It's tough to be a baby.

Kids, kids, everywhere!

Clara and I extended our vacation in the Mexico City area so that Clara could spend more time with her abuelo, and so that I could visit my kiddos in Morelos.

Roughly five years ago, I spent two years as a full-time volunteer at a children's home an hour south of Cuernavaca (they gave me free room and board, so it wasn't too much of a hardship). My second year, I helped care of 26 1st, 2ed, and 3rd grade girls. These girls are now in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade. Compared to most ex-volunteers, I count myself very fortunate that I have in-laws that live near the house, so I can visit these girls at least every year.

As a quick summary, the house, Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos (http://www.nph.org/) has been in existence for 55 years, and has been a home for thousands of children, many of whom are clearly now adults. They operate under a beautiful philosophy of unconditional love, pledging to be a permanent family for the children that live there. Therefore, when children are accepted into the home, they must arrive with all their brothers and sisters, and they are never adopted out, giving the kids a sense of security and belonging.

Education is of utmost importance, so, upon reaching adulthood, "ex-pequenos" can go on to lead self-sufficient and productive lives. NPH runs its own school, which continues through the high school level [note: high school is not compulsory in Mexico]. Furthermore, upon completing high school and donating two years of service to the house, those who have the grades to be accepted at a university are given the opportunity. Currently, NPH has about 100 graduates studying at the university level.

In my time there, what I've witnessed overall is a group of healthy, happy kids who grow up learning how to cooperate with one another, and know how to share better than any other children I've ever met. For example, my daughter Clara, who already has far too many toys, was showered with toys and stuffed animals from the kids she met there.

Clara and I arrived at the house at lunch time. Initially, I thought, "perfect timing! We can go meet everyone at once."

Yeah. Poor, poor Clara.

She got mobbed.

However, she tolerated all the hugs, the poking, the proding, the cheek-pinching, and the noise surprisingly well. She didn't enjoy it, but she hung in there. While I did want to soak up as much of my time there with the girls I worked with, Clara and I took frequent breaks to hang out in our room and recover from over-stimulation. After a nap, we'd head out to be squeezed and hugged and poked all over again. I earned some bad-mommy points over those three days. Sorry, Clara.

I also got to witness my first de-gutting of the fishes. Every two months or so, fish are harvested from the fish ponds, cleaned and then fried for lunch. They're delicious. However, cleaning enough fish for 500+ people is more work than the ladies in the kitchen can possibly handle on their own. Therefore, the oldest girls spend half their Saturday gutting the fish. Ugh. I did hear of some dorm moms promising their girls plenty of free time on Sunday for this exceptionally disgusting Saturday chore. I enjoyed watching the procedure and Clara enjoyed the fact that they were unable to smother her for a few hours.

If, upon reading this you've wondered to yourself, "500 kids in one house! How to they pay for everything?" Good question, and during this financial crisis it's gotten harder and harder to them to make end meet. NPH runs a godparent program, asking donors "or godparents" to sponsor a specific child for $25 a month. These godparents make up a huge chunck of NPH's operating budget. When one sponsors a child, the child and godparent begin writing letters back and forth. I've seen the excitement when godparent letters arrive, and know that they do appreciate having someone who writes specifically to them. Furthermore, I've seen this godparent relationship stretch well into adulthood, long after the godparent has stopped financial support for the specific child. The woman I worked with during my two years there was an ex-pequena, and I helped her translate a letter to her godmother, letting her godmother know that she was going to be a mother herself! How beautiful for this woman, who did not have much extended family of her own, to know that she could write her godmother such exciting news.

I guess I got carried away on that. However, if you know that you generally have $25 in spare change every month, NPH would be most grateful for your donation. They are hurting for funds, and after my two years there, I can vouch that the organization is a good steward of what they are given.

Fiestas Patrias

Contrary to popular opinion in the United States, Mexico does NOT celebrate Independence Day on the fifth of May. (In fact, most Mexicans do not celebrate Cinco de Mayo at all . . . but more on that in May.) Mexico's Independence Day (and all Central American countries' Independence Days) is on September 16th.

We planned on celebrating Independence Day with Mario's extended family in Coatzacoalcos, Veracruz (again, at the very bottom of the Gulf of Mexico). Many people go out to join a "Fiesta Patria", or patriotic party, sometime in mid-September. Fiestas Patrias involve people dressing in clothes that are representative of a certain region of the country (or in green, red, and white if traditional clothes are not available). Then they get together and eat a lot of traditional Mexican food, sing mariachi and other traditional songs, drink a lot of traditional tequila, and dance.

As Mario's "uncle" Ramon turned 5o on September 15, his wife threw him a surprise birthday party, cleverly disguised as a Fiesta Patria. Somehow she was able to keep the surprise a secret, and Ramon was accordingly overwhelmed when he waltzed into the banquet hall, surrounded by 60 of his nearest and dearest friends and family.

In every town throughout Mexico, at midnight on September 15th (or 16th), the mayor of the town stands on the balcony of the town hall and shouts, "Viva Mexico!" The throng of people gathered in the square then echo "Viva Mexico!" a number of times, commemorating the shout that Father Hidalgo, a priest and father of Mexico's independence movement, gave to kick off Mexico's independence from Spain 199 years ago.

However, we were enjoying ourselves in the banquet hall and were clearly not going to join the rest of Coatzacoalcos in the town square. Therefore, at midnight, Ramon's elderly mother made her way to the balcony in the banquet hall, recited a patriotic poem, and then gave a spirited, "Viva Mexico!"

This was one of the most touching ways I've celebrated the 16th of September.

The Evil Eye

For about the last eight months, it has struck me as odd that nearly everyone in Mexico who comes in contact with Clara feels the need to touch her gently on her head. Not being weirded out by legions of strangers touching my child, I just chalked it up to being a cute, touchy-feely custom of Mexican women who clearly love babies.

Then, while I was visiting NPH, one of the older kids asked me why Clara doesn't wear a red string on her wrist.

"Because I don't believe in the Evil Eye," I replied.

A-HA! That's it! All these strangers who have been touching Clara on her head have touching her to avoid giving her "mal de ojo" or the Evil Eye.

Ever since moving to Mexico, I've been fascinated with mal de ojo--what it is, the symptoms, and, most importantly, how to pass it on. Of course, I've been fascinated as a skeptic. Plenty of people really do believe in the Evil Eye.

Children who are infected by the Evil Eye are just mysterously ill. Now, being familiar with the causes of Mexican illnesses, this must be something to do with the child having flu-like symptoms, but as the child hadn't been out in the cold, the wind, or wet, this illness must have been caused by the Evil Eye . . . because germs clearly don't have anything to do with disease, right? *sigh*

Mario's niece was apparently infected with the Evil Eye when she was about 18 months old. Fortunately for me, I was visiting at the time (and I probably gave it to her). Mario's mother doesn't really believe in the Evil Eye, but Dulce's other grandmother does. So, Other Grandmother performed a cleansing ritual for Dulce. This involved bouncing the naked child in a blanket and then sticking some herbs behind her ears (rather Julius Cesear-like). Odd. But it must have worked, as Dulce recovered. Because, as Mario's mother warns me, despite the fact that she doesn't really believe in it, children have been known to die from the Evil Eye.

But Clara is going to take her chances. No red string bracelets for her. Fortunately, all the female population of Coahuila is willing to touch her after looking at her, which promptly lifts the curse.

Oh, I think of all those children I've flirted with while waiting in line at the grocery store. I hope they're OK. I didn't mean to give them the Evil Eye.

(OK, sometimes I did try.)

Chiles en Nogada

On our way between Veracruz and Mexico City, Mario needed to stop to take care of some personal business. I also needed to take care of some personal business--I had a hot date with a chile en nogada!

Chiles en nogada are hands-down my favorite Mexican meal. Unfortunately for me, restaurants generally only sell them during August, September, and October to celebrate Independence Day (September 16). And although I'm a fairly adventurous cook, I do not ever plan on trying to make these at home. They're wickedly labor-intensive.

So what is a chile en nogada? It's a big poblano pepper (they're not spicy), stuffed with meat (turkey, I believe), nuts, raisins, citron, and probably a few other tasty ingredients. Then the chile is battered in a savory meringue and fried. Once it's fried to golden perfection, the stuffed pepper is generously bathed in the creamy nogada sauce (pecan sauce). According to Mario, the pecans have to be perfectly peeled, otherwise the sauce will be bitter. This is the ridiculously labor-intensive stage. If I could buy the sauce, I would consider making them. But then again, it's the sauce that makes the meal absolutely heavenly.

As a finishing touch, the chile is sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and cilantro leaves, rendering the finished product a patriotic red, green, and white. Quite likely, because of this patriotism, the chile en nogada is considered Mexico's national dish. But this is the reason why it only makes an appearance around Independence Day.

Chiles en nogada were another inspired product of those culinary genius, eighteenth century nuns from Puebla. These wonderful women created some of Mexico's most celebrated food--mole poblano, chiles rellenos, and heaps upon heaps of poblano candy (I believe a tour down Santa Clara street in Puebla should be in the forefront of most peoples' 10 Places to Visit Before I Die lists).

What does a chile en nogada taste like? It reminds me of Thanksgiving dinner--all the courses rolled into one beautiful entree. Now, this sounds like it might be a bit overwhelming, but it is absolutely delicious. Sometimes the post-Thanksgiving food hangover sets in, sometimes it doesn't. But as I mentioned, walk it off by touring Santa Clara street. Ah, bliss!

Quite unfortunately, I have not seen any chiles en nogada advertised here in northren Mexico. Do they make them here? If anyone knows of restaurants serving them in southren Coahuila or the Monterrey area, let me know!

The photo above is of my sister-in-law, Lili, getting ready to dive into her first chile en nogada. Seriously? Her first?!? How can one live so close to Puebla for 32 years and never have tried chiles en nogada? We put a stop to that.

Destination: Achotal, Veracruz

The first stop on our whirlwind blitz through Mexico was Achotal, Veracruz--home of Octaviano Saure, Mario's 102-year-old grandfather (plus various aunts and uncles). This town is so tiny that it's not on the map. But for reference's sake, it's roughly an hour west of Coatzacoalcos, on the southern "tip" of the Gulf of Mexico.

The first thing that I noticed about this town that sets itself apart from other towns in Mexico is that all the houses have porches--a feature that is missing from most Mexican houses. But, due to the heat, thank goodness these porches exist. All we did for the two days we were in Achotal was porch-sit. And really, it was great.

For years, I've been told about the river that runs near the house. Given the heat, I was nearly delirious for a chance to swim in it. However, when Mario and I went to investigate it, it had risen higher than Mario had ever seen it and swallowed up the beaches that we could use to safely enter it. Therefore, swimming was ruled a bad idea. Nuts.

I entertained myself with the flora and fauna. Chickens strolled freely through the yard (and streets), and iguanas hopped from tree to tree. Having never seen an iguana in its natural habitat before, I was fascinated (and took way too many pictures).

Mario's grandfather was a cattle rancher and Mario's cousin runs the ranch now. Mario's grandfather and his aunt Evelia live in the wood house that Mario's mom grew up in, while his uncle, cousin and family live next door. Although they've always done well financially, the house is as simple as can be--particularly recently, as the running water is temporarily out of order. (Causing Mario to once again grumble that the country is regressing, instead of progressing.) For me, the lack of running water reminded me of camping, so, needless to say, I loved it.

While their living condition is very, very simple, Mario's grandpa and aunt receive abundant help from their immediate relatives. (More than they feel necessary, I believe.) With exception of the running water problem (I don't know exactly why it was shut off or what it will take to get it back on), they lack for nothing. Would that I could say the same for so many other senior citizens here and everywhere.

Limon y Melon

It gets really hot here.

Therefore, I want cool snacks.

Mexico has a national obsession with limes.

Mario and I are now in love with lime sherbet.

I didn't like cantaloupe.

But one day I mixed it with lime sherbet.

I'm in love.