How I Love a Wedding . . .

Despite the fact that I've lived in Mexico for roughly 6 years (off-and-on), I had never attended a Mexican wedding. I've done a funeral, quinceneras, baptisms, a first communion, a 50th wedding anniversary, and loads of birthday parties. But never a wedding. And if you've been reading this blog with any regularity, you know that I love a wedding. However, I've never been invited to a wedding in Mexico. Stalking doesn't count.

But, this weekend, I was invited to a real Mexican wedding.

OK, OK, it was a half-Mexican wedding, just like mine. However, they choose to hold the wedding in Mexico. And after Danyel's mother visited, they were compelled to add as many Mexican traditions to the ceremony and reception as humanly possible (or so rumor has it!). And, in my opinion, this was a fabulous touch!

Despite the fact that Clara was asked to be the flower girl (and I accepted on her behalf), we arrived late to the ceremony, thanks to the Mexican tradition (better put, chilango tradition) of spending any weekend away from Mexico City--preferably in the state of Morelos, where the wedding was held. We stayed at Mario's parents' house in Jojutla, an hour and a half away from Tepotzlan, where the wedding was held. We had no problem getting to the rehearsal on time on Friday, and planned on getting to the church extremely early on Saturday, so Clara could warm up to the idea of walking down the aisle. We also knew traffic would be heavier, and planned accordingly.

However, we were unprepared for exactly how bad the traffic was. Despite intending to arrive an hour before the ceremony, we arrived after the vows, as the lasso was placed around Danyel and Cesar's shoulders (in Mexico they don't just symbolically unite the couple in a marriage ceremony . . . it's done quite literally). After that, they finished with communion and then processed back down the aisle. I felt terrible about our tardiness, until I found out that the best man was in the same boat. Oh, Mexico City and your terrible traffic--why do you spread this plague to other areas on the weekend? It's the main reason most of the rest of us don't ever want to live there.

Danyel and Cesar clambered into a cute little car to be driven to the reception, while the rest of us walked 5 or 6 blocks on the cobblestones. OK, most walked, but far too many tried to flag down taxis which made for probably the most epic traffic jam in Tepotzlan's history. Not being stuck in traffic, I thought it was fabulous.

The reception was held outdoors at a site just under the mountains--absolutely beautiful! They went all out, having a reggae band play during the cocktail hour, maraichis serenaded Danyel and Cesar during dinner, and dancing was kicked off with a group of chinelo dancers (folkloric from Morelos--waaay more fun than traditional folkloric dancing, as they require audience participation . . . anyone who can bounce along to a beat (and it's a good beat) would have no problems joining in).

It was a beautiful night, and Clara hung in there pretty well through most of it. The fireworks as Danyel and Cesar cut the cake put her over the edge and she fell asleep in my arms as we ate the cake (and it was delicious!).

So congratulations, Danyel and Cesar!

Thanks for inviting me to my very first Mexican wedding (realizing that it was part gringo, with your bridesmaids and flower girl!). It was a beautiful celebration of the both of you!

No Cheese for You!

We haven't been grocery shopping in at least a week. Maybe two. There's no real reason for this, but it's getting pretty exciting to figure out how to plan meals when we're relying on what we've had laying around for far too long. Who knew we still had those cans of tuna? That bag of chilorio we bought at least a month ago? There's two meals in that!

Friday I had a hankering for quesadillas, and as I can get all the ingredients just down the street from me, I figured this would be the easiest meal ever. Tortillas--we've got 'em! Cheese--

What do you mean the butcher is closed?!?

We live right across the street from the butcher. We couldn't have found a more awesome location for our house had we tried. Our tireless and very friendly neighbor butchers (composed of two families, the men being brothers) work every day of the year from 9am to 4pm. Except for Ash Wednesday and the Fridays during Lent.

D'oh!

Now, sure I am Catholic, but being that meat isn't generally a staple of my diet, I don't often remember the whole mealtess-Friday deal. (As I told Mario a few years ago, it's really more of a sacrifice for me to eat meat than to give it up . . . explained on a Friday evening while I was chowing away on some juicy tacos while he meekly ate his "Lenten special" meal.) As I mentioned already, I frequent the butcher more for cheese than for meat.

But now I need to plan ahead.

Welcome to the real world, Jill.

*sigh*

Ash Wednesday

[Sorry for the vagueness of this post. Perhaps I'll add specifics at some point, but right now it's not quite appropriate.]



You know how things often get uglier before they get better?

True story.

But then they do get better . . . or at least our attitudes change, which makes things considerably better.

For a number of reasons, I was up all night on Tuesday, worrying and upset about a number of things I had no control over. Tears were shed for the first time in a very long time. And it kind of felt good. Except that deep down, everything seemed really, really awful. I just couldn't shake the worries and sorrow that were plaguing me.

Oh, and my back really hurt.

Then Mario got up, went to work, and the sun came out. Literally and figuratively.

On his way out, he mentioned that he left me some money so I could head across town and meet up with my friends. While I thought that this was the least of my issues, I was able to roll over and finally get some sleep.

An hour and a half later, I woke up, and all was right with the world again. Go figure--such a little act, giving me money enough to get across town--was enough to restore order and balance to my world. Whew. For the first time in 12 hours, I was able to shake off that elephant that had been sitting on my chest.

Not coincidentally, this happened on Ash Wednesday. It wasn't the extra pesos in my pocket that made me realize that the sun could still shine. (Geez, I hope I'm not THAT materialistic!) It had been hinted to me for weeks, and now came home to roost, that I hadn't been placing my trust in God.

Had you asked me, I wouldn't have batted an eye when I responded, "well, of course I trust God!" But my mini-crisis told me otherwise. I still want to control every aspect of my life. While I thought I had relinquished control somewhere along the way, little by little I had clearly took back control of my life (yes, in some ways, taking control of one's life is a good thing . . . but thinking I can be in control of everything? Not so much. Not going to go into that, as I'm sure there are people out there who spend years devoting their doctoral theses to the subject).

I'm not a big fan of giving things up for Lent, but this year it's time I did. I'll give up control in exchange for a lot more trust. Certainly, it's not an achievement that I'll do in one day (or month, or year, and then I'll probably have to start all over again), but I'm committed to the process.

Already it's feeling like Easter.

On the Fence

Oh, contentment . . . why are you so elusive?

In some ways I feel like I'm sitting on a fence. And I have a feeling that I'll always be sitting on some spot on that fence. Isn't that frustrating?

For specifics, I still do really love living in the city of Saltillo. It boasts so many civilities that just are absent in much of the rest of the country. I raved about these on my first post about Saltillo, so I'll let most of them stand there, but were we ever to leave Saltillo, I will be bereft of the two communities I've managed to become a part of in the two years we've lived here: first, in my neighborhood through our parish church at San Jose (it's my impression that the churches within the Diocese of Saltillo strive to create community in ways that are painfully absent in the rest of the country) and within the community I've found through my "gringo church", the International Church of Saltillo. Two very different communities, but a means of laying down roots--for possibly the first time in my adult life.

But as I've mentioned, we've lived here for just over two years now. I haven't lived anywhere for more than two years since I graduated college ten years ago. I'm getting restless. I'm feeling the itch to move on.

The fact that Saltillo is so stinkin' isolated is starting to grate on me, too. Now that Monterrey has been axed off the list of safe places nearby to visit, we're left with visiting Parras (two hours away) or Real de Catorce (three hours away) for a weekend getaway.

Not that there have been too many weekend getaways lately--hubs has had to work 12-14 hours a day, 6 days a week for the last . . . I can't count anymore. I know, I know--welcome to Mexico. However, he began his career at Volkswagen, where they believe in an 8-5 workday and 5-day workweek. They spoiled him for work anywhere else in this country, and in some ways we're really hoping to go back.

And heck, part of me just wants to go back to ANYWHERE on the periphery of Mexico City--close to Mario's family, friends, a variety of places to escape to, fresh and varied food . . . man, oh man, there are things I miss from there. Crazy drivers are clearly not one.

But Saltillo's parks and playgrounds--they just don't exist anywhere else in Mexico (in my experience). I can't leave them!

And then part of me gets nostalgic for living in the US--libraries, part-time preschools, just the easiness of life there--it's a thought, isn't it? And for us it is, although I don't think Mario's quite ready for that yet. Someday, he says. And that really is good enough for me. Although some days I know that I'm ready NOW!

But in the meantime, I'm stuck on the fence. Part of me really wants to stay here. Part of me wants to head south. Part of me wants to go north. And wherever we are, I'm always going to want to be elsewhere, despite how much I may enjoy wherever I'm living.

Sarah Turnbull mentiones in her book, Almost French, (her experiences as an Australian living in Paris) that it is bittersweet to love two different countries. Or, in my case, two different countries and two different regions of that second country.

So, at this point, it may be best that we're nearly halfway between my part of my country and Mario's part of his country. That way, here we get a bit of both from both sides. Which is alternatively satisfying and frustrating.

But it is what it is and so it is.

The More the Merrier

Since college, I've been challenged to think about the ways I had always thought about hospitality.

I went to a Lutheran college, and maybe it was just the people I hung out with and their families, but ELCA Lutherans (other Lutherans, you may be just as good about this, but I've got a lot more ELCA friends than LCMS or smaller denominations), in my experience, tend to go above and beyond when it comes to being hospitable. For example, at a friend's wedding a few hours from my house, I had some vague plans about where I'd stay, but nothing had been formalized. Once I ran into my friends coming in from the East Coast, I figured that we'd split the cost of a hotel room together. However, one of these friends had an aunt and uncle in the town near where the wedding was held. By the end of the rehearsal dinner, my friend had invited at least 5 of us back to her relatives' house. I was a bit nervous to see her aunt's reaction, but the aunt couldn't have been more gracious.

Really?!? FIVE unexpected guests?!? And she seemed HAPPY about it?!?
Who does that?!?

Mexicans do, too, but in a more limited sense (in my experience). The month after Clara was born, we played host not only to Mario's parents and younger sister, but his elderly aunt, older sister, two nieces, and cousin. All but the cousin arrived in one Pontiac Firebird. Yes, that is a 10-hour drive. I let them figure out where they'd all sleep, and it all worked out quite well.

I've been in on the receiving end as well, when we descended in on Mario's aunt in Veracruz one year for New Year's, along with his parents and sister. Already living in the house were his aunt, uncle, 3 cousins, 100-year-old grandfather, aunt, and a very old parrot. Again, it all worked out, and I remember being surprised how well I did sleep, packed in like sardines as we were.

Family is always welcome at any time, in any amount, and for however long (in most situations).

Currently, Mario's cousin is living with us, and has been for a few months and will be staying rather indefinetly. One of my gringo friends wondered how we do it, do we feel like the house is ours, our space comprised? Not at all. I enjoy having another adult to talk with, glad that Clara's finally getting a steady source of Spanish, and she works so much that she's hardly ever here. Furthermore, she often cooks and does dishes when she actually is around, so I'll never complain!

Slowly but surely, Clara's getting more and more attached to her Tia Patty. They often hole themselves up together while Patty puts on her makeup for work, liberally dousing Clara in lotion, which she loves. Within the last two weeks, she's been practicing saying "Tia Patty", which comes out either "Tia" or "Patty", but rarely together.

But yesterday, Patty sealed the deal on Clara's affections. When Clara woke up, Patty told her she had bought her a present. They went to Patty's room, and Clara came back triumphantly clutching a plastic bag with something inside. At that point, it probably didn't matter what was inside--Clara's a big fan of toting bags around. Eventually, she did get curious enough to look and see what the real present was, and it was a new water bottle (with pink princesses) and a PERMANENTLY ATTACHED STRAW!

When you're two, it doesn't get much cooler than a new cup with a straw.

Usually, during the day when it's just me and Clara in the house, she's often preoccupied with asking where Mario is. "Papa? Papa?" Yesterday, after Patty went to work, she changed her tune. It was all, "Patty? Patty? Tia?"

Ooo--we're getting lowered on the cool scale. And I couldn't be happier. I'm glad she's branching out with her affections.

Just Have to Add . . .

So Saturday, when it warmed up to make the thought of going outside tolerable (why, I'm not sure, because the temperature difference between the inside and outside in a house without any heat is negligible), we headed out to the grocery store and Home Depot to fix a few of the pipes that froze last week.

Now, on your average Saturday evening, the mall that Home Depot belongs to is often crowded, thanks to the movie theater nearby. So when we saw the parking lot completely full on Saturday morning, we thought, "Hmmm . . . people finally decided that it was nice enough to venture outside, so they decided to go to the movie theater?!" I thought I was so smart and clever.

But, of course, the joke was on me.

As soon as we stepped in the plumbing aisle at Home Depot, what did we find?

The entire population of Saltillo's south side.

The overwhelmed store clerks, kept repeating to customers, "nope, we're out of that part . . . out of that one, too." An army carrying copper pipes and PVC, as they would spears, backed up the checkout lanes (which was the first time we've ever seen all the lanes open).

And I thought they were all at the movie theater. Shows you what I know.

Snowpocalypse 2011

OK, I've got to jump on this bandwagon, too.

On Tuesday night, I was giddy with delight and wishing with all my might that I might be in Indiana, joining in on preparations for the BLIZZARD OF THE CENTURY (or something like that). While talking to my parents, I thought of my friend, who is a CPA and smack in the middle of tax season. Afraid that her boss declared that his entire staff of 5 would be camped out in the office for the duration of Snowpocalypse 2011, so I called her at home, just to see if she there, or shivering in the basement of her office, subsisting on cheese crackers and M&Ms.

Much to my relief, she was home, and fairly confident that she'd get the following day off. In February--her busiest month! See, crazy snow isn't all bad.

And as I just love ridiculous amounts of snow, I just really, really wanted to be there. However, as the Dallas airport was closed on Tuesday, thanks to the aforementioned snow, I figured I was out of luck (for a number of other reasons as well).

Mother Nature must have heard my longing for snow and nasty weather, and "blessed" us with what she wasn't currently dumping on the rest of North America. Wednesday morning, my house was nice and toasty, so I didn't think much about heading out of the house, dressed in two shirts and a sweater. As soon as I stepped out the door--DEAR HEAVENS IT WAS COLD!!!!

We spent most of the day, curled up in Patty's room (which she's currently sharing with my mother-in-law), as it's the only room that doesn't have windows to the outside. I bundled up my surviving plants as well as possible as the cold crept its clammy fingers through the cinderblocks that compose my house, and we adjusted ourselves to having Cold as this weekend's houseguest.

Mario took the day off today. Like any other day that he has off, he had to pay his respects to the bank. As the car is in the shop, we bundled up and just walked the 10 blocks downtown--Clara included. I dreaded the dirty looks and comments from passerby about "that poor baby out in the cold!" Fortunately, Mario was carrying her, so put him in charge of fielding any and all comments, as I would no doubt be invariably rude. (The whole Mexican habit of random strangers butting in to tell me how to raise my child just make me want to blow my top.) Mario is generally much more polite than I am.

Of course, the only lady who did say anything was a woman waltzing around with her forearms uncovered. I thought it rather ironic that she could feel for my "poor baby"--well bundled in multiple layers of clothes, hat, mittens, and down-lined jacket--while she herself was most inappropriately dressed for the freezing temperatures (-2 Celsius when we left the house).

Furthermore, we woke up that morning without water, as the pipes had frozen during the night. Throughout our walk downtown, what was the constant background noise? Water gushing off of rooftops, and car tires driving through the considerable amount of water on the road, thanks to hundreds of water pipes bursting during the night. So far, ours are intact. Here's hoping they stay that way (despite the fact that Mario only insulated the joints of the exposed piping . . . had a feeling that was a bad idea. But did I do anything about it? Nope. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed).

The good heater is currently running in Clara's room, and we're all going to be curled up in Patty's room for the rest of the evening with a lesser heater while we watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban--which is likely what I'd be doing were I in Indiana this week, after all.

In the end, I am getting my fair share of the wonderful winter weather that I was so sure I'd miss out on.

But, hoo Nelly--do I miss central heating!