I am a Señora

This is my last day of sabbatical. I feel thoroughly rested and renewed. I am deeply grateful for this time of rest, renewal, adventure and study. Thank you good people of Grace Church for this time of abundance in my vocation as a priest.

In Mexico I was hoping to "pass" as a Mexican once I learned a few phrases of Spanish. But like my mother said, "Carolyn, you are so tall compared to all the people in your pictures!" And, as one of my teachers pointed out, "Carolina, eres blanca." (You are white.) She wanted me to know as part of my learning that Mexcians generally were "moreno." (brown).

But last Sunday as a I walked down the streets of Plainfield to the carillon concert at church, a man I didn't know spoke to me and said, "¿Como esta?" I was very surprised. Then Maria saw me and began to speak Spanish to me. I think I am a "señora" after all!

I always enjoy the annual carillon concert and peach festival. The carillon has a beautiful sound with its 47 bells. The carillon tower and the big stone half block building of Grace Church reminds me of some of the grand façades I encountered in Mexico. The history of these buildings is complicated. Expertly engineered pyramids were erected all over Mexico and central America. Many of them were built to worship the sun god or the moon god or the serpent/jaguar god, Quetzecotyl. In some cases, humans were sacrificed on top of these pyramids. In their time, some humans were honored to give up their lives to appease the gods. One history book gives an account of as many as 20,000 humans being sacrificed at one point in time. I had a nightmare the night I read that section!

Then Hernan Cortes arrived in Mexico with his band of soldiers and priests to find the treasure in the East. The Spaniards set about systematically destroying many of the pyramids and erecting cathedrals or palaces on the sites. They took some of the beautiful, carved stone objects and re-made them for use in Christian worship. On one of the trips to Mexcio City, I went to the Museo de Antropologia. I was amazed to find a stone baptismal font made out of one of the vessels presumed to have held some remnants of human sacrifice.

The cathedral in Mexico City across from the Presidential Palace was erected on destroyed pyramids. Yet, in the square the day I visited, there were other influences that the people seek as well as Roman Catholicism. For example, outside the gate in front of the cathdedral, a man dressed in authentic indegenous clothing stood censing a man in a T-shirt. There was a line of people waiting for their "purification rite."

Next to the man censing was a tent with a clown drawing a great crowd. The clown looked a little like Mark Twain and he was satyrizing the Calderon administration. Next to the cathedral on the side street outside the gate people were gathering around two more clowns. They were performing juggling and acrobatics, telling jokes as they performed. Joy and laughter abounded while the bronze statue of John Paul II (with a mysterious face of the Virgen de Guadelupe) looked on behind the cathedral gates. (I feel certain the pope was smiling at the clowns!)

As I return to my home place of worship tomorrow, I enter the beautiful building with a feeling of light-heartedness and anticipation. I believe humor is of God and belongs in the church. So, my heart is light. I believe that this summer's sabbatical has opened doors to cultures and people whom I've not really seen, much less spoken to. I look forward to learning how to bridge the cultural and language divide between me and my Latino neighbors. I hope you join me as the good folks of Grace Church and I embark on this adventure God has called us to. And I hope to write more on my blog "post sabbatical."

!Fiesta!

My friend Gail from Grace Church called yesterday. She said that she had been reading my sabbatical blog and had a better understanding of our Latino neighbors because of it. That really is wonderful to hear. The members of Grace Church understand that to live with each other in the community of the church we have to learn about each other and understand each other. It's important to "get" the other person. Thanks Gail for reading my blog. Thanks Dave, my friend at Grace for printing my blog for parishioners who can't access it on the computer. Thanks Maria, my neighbor for reading and posting responses. I did get to Mexico City and spent four hours at the Museo de Antropologia. Thanks for your encouragement.

There were many cultural things I had to adjust to in Mexico. Thankfully, I had read quite a bit about the culture and the people. But I wasn't used to the constant noise. When I lived with Evelia I heard loud music from cars, children shouting until late at night playing ball and throwing it against the metal garage door under my room, loud music at El Centro, fireworks until late on the weekends, the constant "riot" of dogs that lived in the street corner with the family that had come in from the poor area of town and "squatted" under a tarp they had put up.

I understood from the history of Mexico that there are fiestas for everything: birthdays, The Virgen de Guadalupe, the pagan indigenous rituals from hundreds of years ago, the neighborhood patron saint/s, the 15th birthday of the daughters, baptisms, first communions. Almost every day has some reason for a fiesta. Even the day of the dead, November 2 is a fiesta.

One of my teachers explained fiestas to me. She described their link to poverty. She said that there is a tradition of spending all you have on fiestas, especially the poor. There is not much of a tradition of saving. So, the day after the fiesta, people are poorer than before the fiesta. She worries that this is a problem for the future.

The Nobel Prize winning author Octovio Paz, a Mexican wrote the following in his book, "Labyrinth of Solitude", "It is impossible to calculate how many fiestas we have and how much time and money we spend on them. I remember asking the mayor of a village near Mitla, several years ago, 'What is the income of the village government?' 'About 3,000 pesos a year. We are very poor. But the Governor and the Federal Government always help us to meet our expenses.' 'And how are the 3,000 pesos spent?' 'Mostly on fiestas, senor. We are a small village, but we have two patron saints.'"

Paz goes on to write, "...how could a poor Mexican live without the two or three annual fiestas that make up for his poverty and misery? Fiestas are our only luxury. They replace, and are perhaps better than, the theater and vacations, Anglo-Saxon weekends and cocktail parties, the bourgeois reception, the Mediterranean cafe."

One thing I know from my time in Mexico: poverty, fiestas and the meaning of life in Mexico are very complicated themes.

My friend Gail now understands the loud music - why we frequently hear it playing in our neighborhoods, near our church, Grace, from an occasional car - it's fiesta!

It Was the "Nieve"

Carlos Brito drove John and me to the airport in Mexico City on a crystal clear morning. I had never seen Popocatepetl so clearly, but I couldn't get a good shot on my camera because we were driving. In some places on the road to Mexcio City we were above 8,000 feet "pie", and the fluffy clouds were clustered around peaks below us. I am aware of the beautiful exit through the mountains we made from Cuernavaca last week and I'm thankful.

Carlos is the assistant director of the first school I attended, IDEAL. He is a generous conversation partner in Spanish. He noticed that after three more weeks of Spanish school at the Diocese of Cuernavaca I was not only able to understand him better, but I was also able to carry on more of a conversation with him this time. He commented on my progress and I felt like bursting with pride like a "school girl." (I feel so silly bursting with pride like that at 52!)

Carlos asked me about some of the places I'd gone with the bishop and the work I had done. I told him about concelebrating at the cathedral. I told him about the dear people of San Marcos Alpulyeca. I told him that I had become ill the day after the "pot luck" there. Then Carlos asked me if I had eaten the "nieve" (the flavored ice). It's really popular in Alpulyeca. It was the best nieve I had in Mexico. So I said, "Of course". The bishop and I had limon and Luis had "kiss of an angel", cherry.

Carlos said that the roadside "nieve" stand in Alpulyeca has a reputation for delicious nieve, but it also has a reputation for using questionable water sources for their ice. He said he always recommends against his students eating the nieve. He said he was sure it was the nieve that made me so sick, not the delicious chicken at the pot luck.

So, I apologize to the good folks of San Marcos, Alpulyeca. I loved the chicken dish at the pot luck supper. I enjoyed the lemons that Luis shook down from their lemon tree in the front yard of the church.

I'm in Plainfield now and am trying out my Spanish. On Thursday I went to a Latino restaurant and had my usual 2:00 p.m. "comida sopa de pollo." The waitress asked if I wanted "arroz" (rice). Then she asked if I wanted tortillas. "Si" to both. I asked for a "serviet." I forgot the correct word for napkin. She corrected me, "servilleta." I called her "mi maestra."

I saw on the television in the restaurant that August 10 was Equador's Independence Day. So I came home and wrote Gorqui, my Spanish teacher here who is from Equador a note of "Felicidades" in Spanish. I wrote Bishop Delgado, Rodolfo and the family an email message in Spanish as well. I told them my goal was to practice Spanish in some way every day; email, letters, eating at Latino restaurants or talking with friends in Spanish. (I enjoyed saying some Spanish words to our church treasurer John on the phone last week. Thanks, John!)

My neighbor Paco was at a gathering on Sunday. He is from Barcelona and has lived in Plainfield for 16 years. He is a social worker and explained to me how much more difficult it is now for immigrants in this country - legal and illegal. Now I feel called to learn more about immigration. My mother tells me that my great grandmother hid her children in her skirts on the ship that brought her here from Germany in the late 1800's. I found her name on the ship's manifest in the New York Public Library. I think they entered this country through Baltimore.

I think immigration involves children and they are the real victims.

Well, off to the bookstore. I want to read "Enrique's Journey." This might be a good study book for our Adult Forum at Grace.

A Dios; Hasta Leugo Mexico

I was so taken by the beauty of the hand painted cross and bird on wood that the bishop gave me, that John and I asked the bishop if we could go to the place and buy some more. John and I want to share the beauty of the glorious popular art with people in our part of the country.

The artist's name is Romero. He has a little shop on a side street across from the workshop that teaches single mothers hand crafts to sell. There is so much beautiful popular art that in these two months I bought enough to fill the extra carry-on that John brought me! And I don't even like to shop!

I'm having mixed emotions this morning as I prepare to leave. This is my last day in Cuernavaca. Yesterday, I took John to meet some of my teachers at my first school, IDEAL. Evelia, my friend from my first family greeted him warmly. Somehow, Evelia can communicate totally in Spanish and get the message across to those who can't speak it. John is an avid gardener and has become enamored by all the healthy, exotic vegetation in Mexico. Evelia showed him around her garden. She offered us a sweet limon from her tree. I felt myself begin to cry as I said good-bye. I hope to see her next year. Indeed, as we walked down the street from her house she called to us to come back to see her, pronto.

Luis, Miriam, Luisito and Natalia, the bishop's family have accepted us cordially. We took a trip to "magical" Tepotzlan on Monday. We saw the ancient, famous former convent, now a church. I took pictures of the pyramid way up high on the mountain above Tepotzlan. Last month I climbed that mountain. It was so perilous and difficult I thought I'd either have a heart attack or my knees would blow out. But I reached the top and vowed never to climb it again!

I have loved the people of Mexico most of all. My teachers have been superb and have become my friends. I hope they visit us in Plainfield. Yesterday afternoon two women from rural Mexico were selling peanuts and flowers on the front steps of the Anglican Cathedral in Cuernavaca. With deep and generous humor Bishop Delgado laughed and said, "Yes, I have to ask the permission of these women to enter the cathedral!"

The culture of Mexico is markedly different than that of the United States. One of my teachers observed when he lived in Chicago that the United States has laws for everything and that his niece learned what was legal before she learned what is family or real or moral. I think he has a point.

I'm ready to come home and begin the next phase of my ministry in the wonderful parish of Grace Church, Plainfield. I've missed my friends and parishioners. But right now I'm weeping because I'll miss the people I've met. I'll miss my volcano which on clear mornings is a magnificent view from my window at the diocese. Even the volcano, Popocatepetl has become my friend.

Perhaps "good-byes" are not permanent. (Even our faith tells us they are not even permanent in death.) So I say, hasta luego, Cuernavaca. Until later, mi amigo.

Mi Cumpleanos, My Birthday

Let me apologize for not including some Spanish words in quotations and for not using the proper notations for the letter "n" and proper accents. The keyboards are often different and I don't know where the proper key is for the Spanish letters. Plus, I'm still a novice at "blogging" and at Spanish!

Rodolfo tells me that the proper Spanish word for him as a healer is "curandero." I did not use the proper word in my last blog. I looked up "curandero" in my Spanish/English dictionary and the English word next to it is "quack." Really?? I looked up "quack" in the English side of the dictionary and did not find "curandero." Why is this? I think to myself, "No wonder so much of our converstaions are 'lost in translation!'" Not even the dictionary agrees with itself!

My husband John arrived Saturday for four days. He is here to help me celebrate my birthday. We travel home to Plainfield tomorrow. At dinner last Friday Bishop Delgado asked me to concelebrate the Eucharist with him at the Anglican Cathedral in Cuernavaca on Sunday. He makes his own vestments and they are very elegant and handsome. That means he makes his albs as well. He invited me to try one on because I have no vestments with me. I found one that fit.

John and I met the bishop at the cathedral on Sunday before the service. I went to the sacristy and vested with the bishop and the acolyte. It was my birthday Sunday and before we processed in, the bishop prayed. I heard him say a prayer for me blessing my ministry in Plainfield and praying that my vocation bears fruit. He asked me to serve the chalice so I memorized the words, "La sangre de Cristo, caliz de salvacion."

I've never served my husband the chalice using the Spanish words. I always have the sense that when I'm serving God's people there is a profound unity between us because Christ's gift is at the center. It fees no different in Spanish - that unity. It feels no different between strangers. It feels no different with John.

After the post communion prayer the bishop called me to the center of the sanctuary in front of the altar (it is a free standing altar). He prayed for me and my birthday from the prayer book. He laid his hands on me and blessed me. Then he handed me a gift and a note for my birthday. He had bought a beautiful hand painted cross and bird from an artist in Guerrera. (John wants to bring some home because he thinks the people at home will think they are beautiful as well.)

I was glad I didn't break down in tears at the service on Sunday. But as I prepare to leave tomorrow, I'm pretty sure I'm going to weep when I say good-bye to my dear and lovely Mexican friends at the Diocese of Cuernavaca.

Healing: Natural Mexcian Cures For a Fever

Last weekend I asked Bishop Delgado where he was going to work on Sunday hoping he'd take the hint and invite me along. Sure enough, he asked me to go with him to San Pablo in Colonia Satelito and San Marco in Alpulyeca. I still don't have the words to converse effectively with the parishioners. At San Pablo I asked the matriarch what I thought was "How many years old is the church?" She looked puzzled and the Bishop pointed me to the "bano," restroom. "Tiene anos" sounds like "Tiene bano." I should have said, "Cuantos anos." Man, am I doing a lot of practicing!

I had been to San Marcos in Alpulyeca before and loved the people there. This week they were having their monthly "pot luck" supper after their service in the evening. Victoria, a member of the parish ladeled out a lovely sauce on a piece of beautiful chicken white meat. Then she presented it to me in the manner she had presented it to each member, with dignity and respect. As we ate, we shared first names. I took a group photo of us on the patio next to the wall.

Alpulyeca is somewhat rural. I had suspected that the food sat out during the hour-long mass. The thought crossed my mind before eating the chicken that my "gringo" stomach might not take kindly to the delicious food. Sure enough, less than 24 hours later I had a sudden onset of chills and diarrhea. That afternoon I spiked a fever.

I take fevers seriously. Years ago I majored in microbiolgoy and studied human pathogens. They are serious and cause fevers. I suspected that on Sunday I had not only met a marvelous group of new friends, but I had also met a new pathogen to my system.

So Monday afternoon I wrapped in warm blankets. (Although it was a warm day, I was freezing.) I took a cool shower, put cool, wet cloths on my body and took my first dose of ciprofloxacin that my infectious diseases doctor had prescribed for me "just in case."

By that evening I was beginning to make plans to go to the local infirmary because the fever had not decreased. Thankfully, my friend Rodolfo at the Diocese of Cuernavaca came over with a remedy he learned from his grandmother. He had made a pot of camomille tea with fresh leaves of the guava plant mixed with a little leaf of mint. I drank the medicinal tea most of the night and the fever left me by morning.

In the morning Rodolfo prepared a special cereal of corn flower, water and sugar called atole. He served it with three toasted tortillas - more food for healing from his grandmother, he said. The day before, Rodolfo offered me ciprofloxacin like my doctor did. I'm pretty sure Rodolfo has had medical training and I know that he has a gift for healing.

By noon I felt like dressing for the day and eating lunch. I was healed and I'm so grateful it was only a 24 hour illness. I could have caught that kind of pathogen anywhere.

I was telling my Spanish teacher, Yuri about the dangers of fevers yesterday in class. I told her about my former life working in a university hospital testing for leukemia. She told me of her 23-year-old cousin from Taxco who was sick and had a fever for 4 or 5 days before he went to the doctor. He was diagnosed with leukemia, went into a coma and soon died. In a young or old person a fever is screaming to the body for immediate help.

I've decided to call Rodolfo "El Doctor". Or is it, "curadoro?"

Healing - Natural Mexican Remedies and Antibiotics

Last week I asked Bishop Delgado where he was going to be on Sunday, hoping that he would take the hint and invite me along. He knew what I was up to and graciously invited me to go to San Pablo in Colonia Satelito and San Marco in Alpulyeca. I still don't have the words to converse properly with the parishioners. At San Pablo I asked the matriarch of the church what I thought was "How many years old is this church?" She looked puzzled and the bishop pointed me to the restroom. "Tiene anos" sounds like "Tiene bano." I should have said, "Cuantos anos."

I had been to San Marcos in Alpulyeca before and loved the people there. This week they were having their monthly "pot luck" supper after church." Victoria, a member of the church ladeled out a lovely sauce on a piece of beautiful chicken white meat. Then she presented it to me with great dignity and respect as she had done to the other members. The parishioners and I shared first names as we ate the food. When we finished I took a group photo of us on the patio in front of the wall.

Alpulyeca is somewaht rural and I suspect that the food sat out during the hour long mass. The thought crossed my mind before eating the chicken that my "gringo" stomach might not take kindly to the delicious food. Sure enough, less than 24 hours later I had a sudden onset of chills and diarrhea. That afternoon I spiked a fever.

I take fevers seriously. Years ago I majored in microbiology and I learned about pathogens that cause fevers. I suspected that I had not only met a marvelous group of new friends that Sunday, I had also met a new pathogen to my system.

So Monday afternoon I wrapped in warm blankets. (Although it was a warm day, I was freezing.) I took a cool shower, put cool, wet cloths on my body and took my first dose of ciprofloxacin that my infectious diseases doctor had prescribed for me "just in case."

Dancing is Good For You

One Thursday evening my friends and I were walking through "El Centro", the town center of Cuernavaca. We came across a live band playing in the "kiosk." While the sky threatened rain (it always does that time of evening), the band played excellent dance music. Couples were dancing all around the square among the vendors, young girls wearing simple aprons with necklaces for sale slung on their outstretched "display" arms, carts with hot corn chili powder and lime, fresh fruit, balloon vendors holding on to large bunches and shoe-shiners.

I was struck by the elegance and majesty of one dancing couple. The man wore a white straw fedora and a white starched cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up past his wrists. HE KNEW HOW TO LEAD HIS PARTNER! The woman was full of grace, very smooth. Her white sandals accented her nimble feet, and her pink skirt added just the right amount of color for dusk.

Often, when I make my way to the town center, there is dance music playing on a speaker system in the square and there are plastic chairs set up in rows or a circle. This is called the dance social. Last week Laurie, Brenda and I recognized one of the dances. It was the Cumbia. Originating in Columbia of endegenous and African slave influences, the Cumbia is a coursthip dance. Last Wednesday an excellent dance instructor taught us the steps of the Cumbia. I believe that dancing helps stimulate brain cells and the whole body becomes invested in the learning process. I feel certain I spoke better Spanish that day!

My friend Sam knows the importance of dance for the well-being of body and soul. Having suffered from multiple sclerosis for aobut 30 years, Sam is now without movement in any of his limbs. Before I left for Mexico I went to see him. Always unselfishly looking out for the well-being of my body, soul and marriage, Sam said he contributed to my sabbatical fund for tango lessons. Maybe we both thought he was joking at the time, but I took him seriously. It has not been difficult to find dance in Mexico. Thank you, Sam. It was money well spent.

Mis Maestros (My Teachers)

Gorqui was my first Spanish teacher. He is from Ecuador and has taught in the after school program at Grace Church for five years. As has been the case for all of my Spanish teachers Gorqui demonstrates a calling as a teacher: he is dignified and respects his students. He commands the respect of his students because he is in command of the subject and the methods he uses to get the point across. His first priority is that his students learn.

The dry erase board and markers have been set up in my livingroom for months. My frist class with Gorqui began last September in my house with friends from Grace. Gorqui filled the board with fun Spanish words, not so fun Spanish words, conjugations I still don't get and drawings that describe the words when words don't work.

Estela was my first teacher in Mexico. She appeared the first day of school in the classroom with her tin box of flash cards. She used these cards with me to teach me the difference between the two verbs in Spanish "to be." Estela is a very proud teacher and Mexican woman. That first day I "choked" on my entrance exam and she knew exactly how to begin to teach me. Estela wasted no time.

Andrea was my teacher for two weeks. Her teaching style was organic. At times she would get up at break and motion for me to follow her (she even taught me the gentle way Mexicans motion to follow - hand at the side all fingers making a backward scoop like motion, rather than the "come hither" finger motion we use.) We would wander around the neighborhood where she would ask me questions and wait patiently while I scanned my brain to find the words to string together for an answer. I felt a kinship with Andrea because my niece's name is Andrea and because Andrea is the same age as my youngest sister - within a few days!

Janet was a very young teacher. Intellegent and beautiful, Janet had just finished a week one-on-one with a very young man from Texas who was forced to take two months of language immersion in order to graduate from college. As the weeks wore on, he wanted to be in class less and less. I don't know how teachers function when the student doesn't want to be there. Janet was my teacher the week after she taught this young man. I learned the word "cumplianos" that week because Janet turned 26.



Javier was my last teacher in the school IDEAL. He also makes a living taking photos for weddings, baptisms, quinceanos, first communions, etc. Javier had wonderful stories for us. I invited him to visit John and me in the United States because he has a brother in San Diego. He told of how he travels to the United States even though it is very difficult for Mexicans to visit the United States. He says he can get a very cheap flight from Mexico City to Tiajuana. Then he carries his lunch with him and walks across the border to San Diego. He says it's much easier to walk that to fly.

I thoroughly enjoyed learning from Yuri last week. Her father is a painter and teaches painting in Mexico City. We enjoyed talking about art, literature and movies. She knew exactly what I was interested in and used my interests for teaching. I've decided to arrange for one more week of Spanish instruction next week before John comes for a few days. I hope to have Yuri again.

This week I am learning from Alejandro. His passion is history and so is mine. We talk a lot about our families. His daughter is six years old and is already drawing flowers and making pretty jewelry. I think she is an artist! Today Alejandro taught the class how to make a pinata. He had the large clay pot hanging from a string from the awning on the patio. We decorated it with traditional paper and symbols. Pinatas were originally Chinese and were brought to Mexico by the Franciscans to be used as a devise for teaching Christianity. (I took good notes and would love to try to make one with our children when I get back.)

There are so many others whom I call teachers: Evelia and her daughters, Bishop Delgado, Rodolfo, Beti, the priests I've met here in the diocese, the patient taxi and bus drivers, the waitress at VIPS the local diner, the vendors in the market places and the students. Last night after evening prayer we sang hymns from the new Spanish language hymnal while Jaimie played the guitar. We sang so much that I almost lost my voice. Jaimie has planted an Hispanic parish in Austin, Texas. I'm learning from Jaimie, too.

It´s ¨Suave¨not ¨Suerte¨ Confundo!

Yuri is my new Spanish teacher this week. On Tuesday she took me to the pyramids of the ancient Toltecas, Teopanzolco. The pyramids are located very close to the Diocese of Cuernavaca. Yuri parked her car at the site and as we got out I told her about Omar the teacher who told us last week that it is not good to slam the door of the taxi. I said it is better to close the door ¨suerte.¨ She looked at me with puzzlement. She told me that I had just said it is better to shut the door with luck. Yuri very gently said, ¨Carolina, I think you mean ¨suave¨ (softly).

I am always confusing words in Spanish. On Wednesday I asked Beti, the woman who prepares delicious meals for us three times a day, if I could take her picture. I asked her to be taking something out of the oven. The bishop and my friend Rodolfo heard me and burst into laughter. They explained to me that I just asked Beti if I could take her picture in the oven.

For an adult (this adult!) learning a new language is an adventure. I´ve often laughed at things that happen along my learning curve. (Yes, sometimes I want to go to a corner, suck my thumb and cry!) But I have been surrounded by gentle friends who help me keep good humor. Immersion in Spanish has been a voyage back into childhood, grade school. It´s not for the faint hearted. I must remind myself, ¨poco a poco¨ (little by little). Baby steps, milk before solid food (thanks, St. Paul!). Yes, the tears have come when it is too frustrating and my head just can´t take anymore new information. But as in childhood, learning a new language in the company of compadres is also to experience playfulness, humor and safety.

The best part of my immersion experience is the reminder that human beings have a great capacity for humor and hospitality. All over the world these two human characteristics thankfully often override ugly exploitation of differences. I have been surrounded by Mexicans who are gently cheering me on, coaching me casually in the kitchen or in the marketplace, nurturing me and helping me speak the best Spanish for my capacity. They have pride in me. It´s like I´m the little sister they are bringing along. And they are family.

Tomorrow, we rise early for an excursion to Mexico City and the Museum of Anthropology. I can´t wait.

Saying "A Dios" to one school and "Hola" to the Diocese of Cuernavaca

Friday was my last day of class at the Escuela IDEAL. I have made friends with some of the teachers and students and I'll miss them very much. I hope they visit John and me in New Jersey.

To my surprise on Friday I was "triste" (sad) and wept when I said good-bye to the director, my teachers, my friends, the cuatro mujeres, and my Mexican "mama" (Evelia).

I took one last photo from Evelia's balcony outside of the "nest" I had made for a month in her house. I would be taking photos of my next stop, the Diocese of Cuernavaca for the next four weeks. But I wasn't thinking about that on Friday. I was only sad to leave. I remember now that this used to happen to me when I left after a week of over ngith camp when I was a kid. The last night was always very emotional with many good-byes and I would always weep. I never wanted to leave my current nest! Not even to go home when I was a kid!

Cuernavaca has been a mix of delight and reality. The people are friendly, yet sober. My favorite part of this sabbatical has been delighting in the Mexican people who have become my friends. There is a certain formality that is essential in a budding friendship with the people here. I don't mean a stiff Anglo Saxon kind of formality. It is a formality of respeto, respect of the humanity of another person; dignity. For example, our teacher, Omar, a young and exhuberant Mexican man explained to us that it is not so good for us to slam the door of the taxi at the end of our ride. It is much better to say good-bye and thank you. Then shut the door suerte, gently. Many Norteamericanos, from United States and Canada jump out and slam the taxi door. Muy fuerte!

Another mix of delight and reality is the pretty broken glass embedded into the top ridge of some of the concrete walls that divide property. The glass glimmers in the sunshine and is clear, amber, yellow and green. But it's not there for decoration. It is there for protection. Some people use broken glass shards embedded in the top of their walls. Others use chicken wire or razor wire on top of their walls. I have not experienced crime at all in Cuernavaca. And I have in Plainfield. But I can see that crime must be a problem in Mexico because the people live behind concrete walls and locked exterior gates.

I am now living on the close of the Diocese of Cuernavaca. I met Bishop Delgado on Saturday and his right hand man, Rodolfo. Their hospitality has been magnificent. The diocesan center was at one time a boy's home. On Sunday, Bishop Delgado invited me and another priest from Texas who is on sabbatical here to church Sunday afternoon. The bishop is vicar of this church in Alpuyeca, San Marcos. The bishop runs the diocesan center and the language school as well as serving parishes that have no priest. Or he fills in for priests on vacation. I took a photo of the dear people of San Marcos and the bishop because each person came up to me, spoke to me and hugged me before they left.

So, there are faithful Episcopalians here in Mexico! On Sunday morning I went to my first Episcopal service at the cathedral, St. Michael and All Angels in the center of Cuernavaca. The bishop phoned ahead to tell Father Francisco I was coming, another example of hospitality. I was happy to meet Father Francisco, his wife Norma and two children that morning. What a joy to find my church home in Mexico!

Pyramids and My Last Week at IDEAL

I have a new suitemate from Indiana. She is a social worker in the public schools. She and my other suitemate speak Spanish very well and I´m learning by speaking with them. I was describing to my new suitemate the sounds I usually hear in Evelia´s garden. I told her I really liked the sound of the ¨canarios.¨ I described the chirping, the cooing sound I hear at night. My suitemate is very outgoing and friendly. She kindly informed me that the sound I was hearing was from tree frogs. I don´t think I ever knew that birds don´t ever chirp at night. I am learning something new every day!

I´ve now visisted two ancient pyramid sites (piramide). Teotihuacan is the ancient city of the famous, most influential indegenous population in Mexico. The site was settled around 200 B.C. It lasted until about 850 A.D. when something, maybe famine or overpopulation caused the population to collapse. The Spanish conquistadors evidently did not find this grand city even so close to Mexico City, so they did not crush the piramide del lune (of the moon) and del sol (of the sun). I climbed the little pyramid in the ancient ¨commercial area¨. There were indegenous dancers the day we visited.

Last weekend, I took a trip with my suitemate from California to the nearby Tepoztlan. She had studied Spanish in this town six years ago. While she visited her friends I climbed the 10 meter (straight up, no switchbacks) very rocky mountain, Tepozteco. There is a pyramid at the top. Some people have fallen to their death climbing this pyramid! I did not climb it. The mountain climb was bad enough. I sometimes took 4 or 5 steps and then had to rest. It took me about 90 minutes to climb the thing. But the pyramid was beatiful and so was the view. This pyramid was influenced by the ancient Teotihuacan people (most indegenous people were). It was built around 1200 AD, but the Aztecs destroyed the population around mid 1400.

Tomorrow is my last day at IDEAL. It has been a wonderful school and this last week I studied with two other classmates. Javier is our teacher and he has shared some really interesting cultural things with us. We discuss poverty and wealth in Mexico and the differences between Estados Unidos (The United States) and Mexico. He is about 34 and is the youngest of 10 siblings. Two of his older siblings live in the United States. I invited Javier and my other teachers to come visit us. This weekend I move to the Diocese of Cuernavaca where I´ll meet folks from the Episcopal Church for two more weeks of classes.