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.