The weekend is over...for everyone else.

Our for our morning jog.

Memo talking with "Jose Lois" about the marathon on Friday.

La Antorcha.

It too twelve years for this ficus tree to grow like this.

Picking up breakfast from the neighbors.

Eggs in a baggie. Who woulda thunk it?

Today's creature: elephant. Yesterday: two swans.

Flowers for Memo's fathers gravesite.

Outside the Panteon.

Paciano Zaragoza Ponce

1920-2005

The salon.

The treatment room.

Memo is passing the time learning how to braid hair.
(note the video camera).

Buying bread on the street from the vendor calling "El PAN!" from his cart.

Hello world! It’s Tuesday, November 22, and it is the first day back to school and work for the people of Mexico after a long weekend full of parades and fiestas. You might have seen the photos from the parade on Sunday afternoon, but I never got a chance to write about it. September 20 is the Dia de la Revolución in Mexíco when the revolutionary war to overthrow the dictator Porfirio Díaz, began. Through election fraud, Díaz appointed himself president of Mexíco an additional time, which initiated a call for a day of National Insurrection and uprisings in several Mexican states, including Puebla. The rest of the story of the revolutionary war is complicated because it lasted over 10 years and involved many different people throughout the country. Nevertheless, now the entire country spends November 20 lining the streets from the modern metropolis Mexico city to the tiniest villages watching the children of the community march in a parade and throwing confetti.

We started the day with a jog to an area called La Atroncha in order to investigate details about the marathon that we saw advertised on a poster in town. Getting there was a lot dustier and rockier than I had expected from Google maps, because the roads we took were primarily dirt roads winding between fields of papalos and sugar cane. We passed kids on their way to school in their uniforms of matching polyester track suits (an entire country of young Sue Sylvesters). We were bounced around from one tienda to another looking for information, and we finally were directed to the local school to talk to the teacher who was organizing the race. Unfortunately, we had to wait for about 20 minutes for the outside assembly to finish (complete with drum line and flag ceremony), at which point Memo could approach “Jose Lois”. I have a photo of the conversation, and what strikes me as funny is that Memo is pouring sweat in shorts and a tee-shirt, and Jose Lois is bundled up in a sweater and scarf to guard against the chilly 74 degree morning. We learned that the race is on Friday morning, and they won’t have a route ready or know the number of participants until Friday morning. The last (and only) time I ran a marathon was in 1999 and it took me 5 hours and 20 minutes. We are definitely not signing up to run the whole thing, but we are contemplating registering to run the first 6 miles or so around the city.

After getting this information, we headed back towards the city to have breakfast with his mother and ended up passing Armando during his morning rounds of selling fruit and granola. We stopped at a tienda with an amazing façade of two ficus trees, which the owner told Memo it took 12 years to grow. This brings to me to another point I have wanted to share: it seems that half of the plants that are sold at Home Depot as indoor houseplants, including poinsettia and ficus, grow naturally in Mexico. It is so interesting to recognize plants in Sixta’s backyard as plants normally seen on coworker’s desks.In order to have a proper breakfast, we needed to go out to buy it. So where did we go? To the street of course! As I mentioned yesterday, everyone sells something at some point in the day, so we went to one of her neighbors houses in which a group of about 5 women make tortillas by hand, and then either fill or top them with beans, meat, salsa, sour cream, and cheese. We ordered tlatlollos (tortilla bowls with stuff on top) and picaditas (tortilla puffs with stuff inside), and I got to watch the women in action. During that process, we also bought eggs from the tienda next door, and I made Memo take a picture of them. We use egg cartons to transport our eggs….they use plastic baggies. It just strikes me as crazy, but there you go. I guess if you are only walking three doors down to buy your eggs, you don’t need a whole carton.

I was able to talk to my mom by phone about 45 minutes after breakfast, and when we got off the phone I attempted to send her greetings and thanks to Memo’s mother in Spanish. It is frustrating how much I have to learn with this very easy language! I told her that my mother sent her greetings “saludos” and thanks for taking care of me (cuidarme), and Sixta started laughing and talking about me as a babicita. Memo had to explain that cuidar (to take care of) only applies to taking care of children, and that I should have thanked her for her “hospitalidad.” Check. One more lesson learned. I can say that today I am more comfortable trying to talk to Sixta in Espanol, but god-forbid she actually respond to me since I usually can only understand a scattered word here and there and not the entire concept. Tomorrow is going to be Spanish day in which Memo and I attempt to speak to each other in Spanish as soon as we open our eyes in the morning. I suspect it will last all of 5 minutes before I get frustrated and he gets weary of the effort.

By the time “breakfast” ended, it was noon and we returned to the hotel for our afternoon siesta. The afternoon’s planned activity was going to the cemetery so that Memo could visit the grave of his father who passed away in 2005 at the age of 85. Memo was not able to return for the funeral, so this was the first time he was able to visit the gravesite. As you can see in the photos, the tombstones include built-in vases for flowers, and on our way into the “Panteón” we purchased 4 large bouquets of flowers for about $7 total. I found the grave, and then Memo set to work bringing water from the faucets, rinsing off the marble, and trying to straighten the marker in the front. It wasn’t until all of this busy work was completed that he finally stepped back and let the sorrow enter. I was very sad for him, and wish that I had been able to meet his father and learn more about how Memo was raised. I did find out tonight from Sixta that he was born in 1920 and that he was 32 and she was 23 when they were married in 1952.

We spent about an hour with all the activities related to the cemetery, and then had an hour to kill before my facial at a local beauty salon. We spent that time wandering through clothing stores, which was a waste of time since I am bigger than most MEN here, much less the women. There is no way I am going to fit into the cute clothes advertised in the store windows. We also stopped by Armando’s gym and made arrangements to attend one of his spinning classes tomorrow night. This is the gym where supposedly I am going to teach a bellydance class in Spanish on Friday night. Ai Caramba!

I had the idea to get a facial when talking to my mother on the phone, and figured that it had to be reasonably priced here in Mexico. At about $20 for an hour, it was a steal. However, rather than being reclined in a soft comfortable chair for an hour and having the steamer come to you, you have to lean over a steamer for 20 minutes, continually moving your face to open up all the pores. I was amused by the attempt to dress up a room made of cinderblock that is basically open to the street and all its sounds and smells as a spa. Only a few strands of bamboo hanging from the doorframe separated me from trucks with advertisements blaring from loudspeakers, and the other women of the salon chittering among themselves. For most of the time I had two people attending me, but unfortunately both were right-handed and I feel like someone scraped away one to many layers of skin on the right side. When I finally came out of the back room, Memo was sitting next to one of the students and was video taping her while she showed him how to do make French braids. I think I am going to have to test him to see what he learned.

We had a lovely dinner of spaghetti and vegetarian meatballs (the meatballs were made by his friend Rene’s wife) and then I have been playing on the computer while Memo helped one of the neighbor’s daughters with her homework. Sadly, I did not get to see the drawing of a map of Mexico with native animals inserted into the proper areas. We are going to head back to the hotel to rest up for tomorrow morning’s bus ride to Atlixco to visit his oldest brother, Julio.

Have a great night everyone!