Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day, both in Canada and in Mexico. I was at the dog refuge today, but on the way there and back, we saw people selling flowers by the roadside, bouquet size to match perhaps budget, perhaps proclamation of adoration.

In spite of the orders to stay at home, the cake shop had a lineup around the corner, people eager to but Mama her favorite cake.

Mexico's relationship with mothers is so intertwined with interesting female figures in history. The Virgin of Guadalupe, of course, gets first place. La Madre, the one who protects us all. In every church across Latin America, from a side chapel to a figurine to an entire building dedicated to Guadalupe. There is also Oaxaca's Patron Saint, the Virgin of Soledad, and of course, our little Virgin of Juquila. You get the idea. Church. Virgins. Mothers.

Second place would have to be La Malinche, who is seen locally as a traitor to her people. She was key to helping the Spanish conquer the local people, was a slave to Cortes and as far as a mother figure goes, well, let's just say she was a cunning linguist who used her charms to serve herself very well. Likely not the sort of girl you would be bringing home to Sunday dinner.

Third. La Llorona. Songs are written about her. Stories told to children. Her husband loved her sons more than he lover her. She found him cheating, drowned the sons and was then cursed to find her sons before she would be let into heaven. Evidently she steals children in the night and tried to pass them off as her own. Not sure if the moral of that story is don't drown the children or watch your own. Either way, the cheated on and tortured mother is a great mother figure of Mexican history, telenovelas and village gossip.

Ralph made me a wonderful mother's day dinner and I am not really a mother. I am a step-mom to Alison and Cameron, but he said the fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp was from the dogs. I accepted graciously.

When I got home I called my Mom and wished her a Happy Mother's Day. She never ages, not her voice or her attitude, not her pretty face and certainly not her spirit. She was no Virgin of Guadalupe, but she protected my sister and I from a lot. She's not a cunning linguist, but she made sure we were both educated and interested humans. And thankfully, she didn't have a reason to drown us and as far as I know, does not steal children. Happy Mother's Day! The two pictures are 15 years apart at my and my sister's weddings.

Beautiful Bureaucracy

Last August my front license plate was stolen. It was a huge pain and especially because it happened maybe a week after my car had been towed (another story for another time, I promise!).

When they give you a ticket here in Mexico for any type of vehicle infraction, they either impound the car or they take your front license plate. When you pay the fine, you get your license plate back. If you have not yet paid your first fine and you get stopped again for something else, they take your back plate. Third time, the car. Simple.

When I had noticed I had no plate, I groaned. It had either been stolen or I had gotten a parking infraction and had not seen the ticket. I had to call the police station and make sure there were no tickets. Nope, it had been stolen.

With Carlos's help, I learnt how to file a police report, what documentation was required and what to do when stopped by police until it came time to renew my plates.

Of course, the time to renew my plate and my registration came during COVID-19. GREAT. The thing I most wanted to do was sit in a small room with 20 other people waiting to be told I was missing my nail trimmings from 2019 and was going to need to file a special form and to come back on Tuesday when the person who processes that particular form would be working. I put what I figured would be required into my bag and walked over.

I arrive at the office and there are 4 people standing outside and a security guy. I smile (because you can totally tell I am smiling from behind my mask, and explain I am there for two processes, one for a friend (picking up a sticker for annual registration) and one for me (replacing my plate & renewing my annual registration). I am politely informed that I must have an appointment. He points to the notice on the wall.

OK, great! (Shit, that means another trek over but GREAT that they have this organized.) He offers that if I wanted to wait, if there was a break between people with appointments or someone does not show up, the staff could see me. Fabulous! I told him I would absolutely wait if he thought that was an option. He said yes.

As I stood, another man drove up, parked his car, and got out. About to walk directly into the office, with no face mask, the security officer stopped him and asked where he thought he was going. "I am going to renew my registration." No, no, no. The security officer pointed to the sign on the wall. Appointment required. I waited. And a face mask. I waited....

I was shortly after let in to the office and explained what I needed. The young man at the service desk was behind a "splash guard" that was quite well done. Area to pass papers back and forth while keeping him protected generally. He explained that this year we got new plates (who ever knows why?) and detailed (and wrote down for me) the various documents I needed for both processes, then offered to make appointments for me to come back, gave me print outs of those and I was off.

I was back at the allotted time on Friday morning, documents in had. There were four of us outside and at exactly 10 (reread that, exactly 10), my name was taken and I was ushered in, documents reviewed, card payment processed onsite, and did a little chair shuffle (4 in total) before everything was processed.

Likely the most shocking thing that happened was the person actually processing my two requests told me that the copy of my identification was missing. Now, this usually means leaving, hunting down a copy place, getting a copy, and coming back to this office to wait AGAIN. I cried a tiny bit inside and then a miracle happened. He offered to make a copy for me! Thankfully, I had already come prepared with one and handed it over, but I was stunned by the offer.

There are things that surprised me this time. That the government had so quickly set up a system to make appointments online. That the little splash guards were ordered and in place. That there had been some sort of agreement (and logic?) behind which processes would continue (renewing my vehicle registration) but others were suspended (renewing my license, but I was assured I could drive with an expired one, no problem). That it only took two visits to get accomplished what I guessed would take 5. And that someone in a government position offered to make a copy for me.

What did not surprise me was that smiling and being patient and respectful of people involved in any process goes a long way to making that process smoother. Thanks Mom.

Oh, the tales they tell.

There are many days where, in my little bubble of home, I don't really think about global pandemics and corrupt governments, dead scientists or The Experiment Known as Sweden. I walk the dogs. I pet the cats. I look at the little projects around the house and decide what I want to do that day. I have my cup and a half of coffee, my breakfast. I play my little game on my phone. I check social media. I wash my hands.  

Other than putting on my face mask to go anywhere and only doing groceries and going to the market once every 3 or 4 days, my bubble of containment is pretty closed.

And then Ralph sits down in the morning and reads me an article. In Chiapas, Mexico, one state away, villagers demanded to have a COVID-19 patient released, convinced that the coronavirus diagnosis is a government conspiracy and health authorities are trying to kill people.

In Zaachila last week, Carlos and I stopped off to visit with a family we often have worked with at the refuge, Don Feliciano and his wife Rufina. We wanted to see them, and to make sure they were OK and had everything they needed. We found them working on their land where they keep goats and grow nopal or squash or corn or whatever else they need. No face masks and wanted to greet us with big hugs, as they always have. We chatted, standing in the yard, 6 feet apart mas o menos, the dog barking in the back and the chickens pecking in the yard. Rufina looked at Carlos and asked, "Do you think it is real? This thing?" 

We both were left speechless and for those of you who know me, that rarely happens. What to say? Carlos said yes, it was real, but it was not yet in Zaachila, but that they should be careful.

I can only control what I do. I put on my face mask and I walk my dogs and I wash my hands.

And so, my bubble gets shattered. I put on my face mask. I walk the dogs. I pet the cats. I wash my hands. And I pray. I pray my family is spared any illness right now, because I think to be in hospital at this moment would be terrifying. I pray that somehow at the other end of this some people will have changed for the better. I worry not one thing will have changed. 

A Little Rant: Facemasks

I know many of you have been sporting the face mask for almost a month if not longer. My friend Claire who lives in New York reminded us that on a positive note, we no longer have any fear of people in masks. Poor bank robbers of the future. New gimmick required.

I resisted until last Friday, when my local government made it mandatory and offered to throw me in jail for three days if caught without one. Before last Friday I had been wearing mine in what I would call "high exposure instances" like shopping, but in general I was trying to avoid environments where there were lots of people and therefore, lots of potential exposure. Grocery shopping at 7 AM, the market at 3 PM, no more corner store. You all know the drill.

I am usually out for a walk at 6:30 AM for one hour with the dogs. Usually the same route, mornings are generally cooler and almost no people on the sidewalks, so the mask, although a bit uncomfortable, was bearable.

If I was out mid-day, it was not running errands in the city. Maybe I was at the dog refuge, but generally, once home from our walk, we stayed home. Until today.

My car registration needs to be renewed. I was putting this off for a variety of reasons, but mostly just because my license plate was stolen last August so I knew it was going to be a multi-step process of great Mexican bureaucracy, with copies and originals, payments at banks and more copies of said payments, and god knows what else. I figured it was going to take between 3 and 5 visits to a crowded office. I did mention above that my plan for avoiding getting sick was to avoid crowded environments.

I will post about that experience on Friday (as I have an appointment Friday morning), but what I did want to share was this. The lovely empty park bench.

And this;

Has any scientist tested these face masks at 5000 feet above sea level at noon in May in Mexico when it is 33/91.4 degrees out on a woman walking faster than she needed to uphill, soaking wet with sweat, and trying to suck in air through her home sewn face wask which is three (THREE) layers of tight knit cotton, the middle layer which was from a Wonder Woman t-shirt. Seriously, I needed to stop and close my eyes mid-hill (which I walk every morning effortlessly!!) to talk myself off the hyperventilation ledge.

I also realized that drinking water was impossible. To drink water I would have had to touch the mask (no touching the mask, no touching the face).

I arrived home thankful I had not bothered to shower or wash my hair today.

Anyone else ready to organize a "burn the face mask" party once The Stupid (COVID-19) is actually over??

Maybe you could smile?

Today was a dog refuge day. As I packed frozen meat scraps and a HUGE cooler full of meat scraps into the car on top of the three 25 kilo bags I picked up last evening, my "dog refuge bag" which has a variety of medicines, dog collars, syringes, can openers and spoons, my hat and ziplock bags, stopped off at the cheapest grocery store to buy bags of rice and the basic groceries for Tia Migue, popped in to the animal supply store  to get 6 more bags of food, a bag of puppy kibble and 3 cans of soft food, I was thinking I needed to blog about my foster dogs, The Cocos.

After unloading all of the stuff from the car, securing the frozen meat to be cooked tomorrow and looking in dismay at the adorable new all female black puppies, we were headed back to feed the puppies and Carlos took this picture.

Then he said, "Maybe you could smile?"

The reason I was not smiling is that I was feeling a little overwhelmed, a little depressed, a little useless.

I have been working at the dog refuge for likely two years now on a more consistent basis, and although most days when I come home, I feel like in spite of all the tough stuff, that I do good work, in general. But the work is hard, and today I felt that hardness just a little more keenly than other days.

The rainy season has begun. Notice how dirty I am in the picture? Rainy season. Yeah! Tia Migue, whose is responsible for the refuge, won't put the dogs towards the back of the property and insists on keeping about 30 dogs in front with her, which means that when we arrive, hauling 25 kilo bags of food, trying not to slip on the mud, we have 30 dogs trying to jump high enough to lick our faces. They jump, and their muddy paws fling dog-poop-mud into the air, onto our clothes, and most likely at least a spec gets in your mouth.

Let me be very, very clear. I don't want COVID-19. But I want dog-poop-mud in my mouth actually LESS than I want COVID-19. I did not think there was really anything I wanted less than COVID-19. Today, standing amidst my gaggle of fur friends, I realized a really bad case of flu (and potential death) might be OK if it meant I never ever got dog-poop-mud in my mouth.

The Struggle is Real

Since moving to Oaxaca, we have had Dolores come and clean the house. Every Monday and Tuesday mornings, she would arrive and hours later the house was dusted and clean, smelling like Fabuloso and joyfully fresh.

Over the last 5+ years, she has become my friend. She looks after my family and I care for hers. I was the kids` godmother of their graduation (its a thing here), and once per year we do something together as a big family. We have driven to the end of the road in the mountains to meet her sister and her sister`s family. We went to see the movie Coco together. We`ve brought the kids to Hierve el Agua and to Apoala. I went with her to get her dogs and cats sterilized. I`ve met her ducks and she has brought me bananas from her tree.

A little while after the various phases of quarantine were implemented, we decided that Dolores should likely not come to work but we would still pay her.`We felt like there was too much exposure as her husband was traveling on public transportation every day.

Today she came to pick up two weeks pay. She had been to the municipality to see about getting additional help and shared with us that her husband waited in line to register for some work the city was offering. Evidently they were looking for people to paint curbs and do other manual tasks. 3 hours per day for 10 days, $4000 pesos. As you can imagine the lines at both places were long, with lots of people trying to get what they could, what little was available. She shared that her eldest daughter asked her if they would survive. Yes, Dolores assured her, we will survive. Perhaps changed, perhaps scythed.

As we chatted outside at a safe distance, I looked at her face mask which was a lovely bright cotton. she said she had started to make masks for her and the family and her neighbours. She is keeping busy. I miss her more than I realized.

And I cleaned the living room on my own. Ugh.

The Quiet of Sundays

Sundays in Oaxaca have always been quiet. They were my most favorite day to do a longer run in the city. I could run without the bus fumes. I could run without pedestrians trying to get to work. The city was always slow to wake up, things only really getting organized around 2 in the afternoon, when families would pile around tables en masse, drinking coffee or having the typical afternoon comida (lunch, Oaxaca style, multi courses and served from 2 to 4 in the afternoon).

Sundays could be a challenge for tourists who were staying in Oaxaca City for the day. I would see them wandering about as I headed back from running around 8 AM. Looking lost, searching for something open. Hungry and sure that just around the next corner would be a coffee place or a breakfast spot waiting to be discovered.

Quarantine Sundays are even more quiet, which I didn't think was even possible. Our morning walk with the dogs is from 6:30 to 7:30 and on the Alcala, our beloved pedestrian street, we saw 5 people, and 1 beagle whose name is Raffia, or Raffi for short. The quietness seems to just settle on us, because for the last two Sundays we have been even more sloth-like if that is possible. Moving slowly and only for food or to take the dogs out to pee.

I swept the alley and cut down some weeds, but by 10:20, I was on the sofa, thinking about all those things that could be done. I did manage to mend the dog toy (Hedge) which overnight the dogs had decided needed to be gutted and his nose removed. Hugo paced while I sewed up Hedge's back and Louisa, unable to cope with the unknown (would he really be back together again, really?) lay outstretched on the blanket by my feet. I mended a pair of underwear, there was a hole right at the waistband that my thumb kept getting caught in. We watched a short documentary film, Lorena with Light Feet, about a Raramuri long distance runner.  Here's the trailer. It was inspiring and made me yearn to run, as slow as I am.

I suppose the biggest change this week and for the next month is that I have "given up" the meal planning. I am not sure how things are at your house, but in this house, I would sit on Friday nights and think about meals for the next week. Sandwiches, hot dogs, salads, pizza, pasta, soups, breads. I would pour over recipe books and return to favorites, but Saturday or Sunday would be the getting of the groceries for the week, with the weekly menu posted and Sunday or Monday was previously reserved for cooking. By Day 30-ish of this lovely sparkling isolation, with not a word of gratitude or thanks for the work required nor the lovely meals being seemingly endlessly turned out, I announced that as of May 1, I was no longer fulfilling that role. I would do dishes. I would sous-chef. I would pour wine. But meal plan and grocery lists I wasn't going to do.

Last night and tonight I sat and enjoyed Brazilian Shrimp Stew, without the Palm Oil (because it is such a pain to find and never keeps and does not add that much to the dish, in my opinion). Yum. A shout out to Ralph and Sally Sell for picking up and dropping off the shrimp for us.