Virtual Altar

Since I wasn´t at home this year to assemble my Day of the Dead altar, I´ll have to do it virtually. Here goes:

For Grandpa John, musician and snacker, sheet music and Cheetos, of course.

For Grandma Margaret and Aunt Junie, kindergarten teachers and bridge players, lesson plan books and a deck of playing cards.

For Grandma Taylor, story watcher and stoop gamer, Soap Opera Digest and a backgammon board.

And for Virginia, caretaker of my peace and smiley gardens, flower seeds.

Also remembered dearly are Grandma Celia, Grandma Gert, Ken, and Thad.

Rest in peace. We miss you.

Esperando

This just about sums it up...

¡Feliz cumpleaños, Alison!

On her birthday, here´s a few of the many reasons why Alison rocks:
1. There´s no one more intellectually stimulating with whom to car pool
2. She´s a mean first base woman
3. She´s a thoughtful, dedicated, and amazingly hard-working educator
4. She carries hard candies in her purse (Creme Savers-yum!)
5. She´s not afraid of shady lodging options (Los Pinos, anyone?)
6. She taught me my first (and only) Swedish word
7. She only has one l in her name
8. She gives wise advice and always tells it like it is

Happy day to you!

What´s so fine about art?

Here´s a glimpse of my experience during the Cervantino Festival:

Apparently, if you put 3 German women in tight dresses inside a flaming hamster wheel and call it art, the people buy it.

Ditto for choirs barking like dogs, schoolgirls doing pilates in easy chairs, and clowns telling dirty jokes.

Oh, and did I mention how I was assaulted by a mime?

Faith in Humanity, Part 2

I´ve developed a new talent in the last couple of weeks. OK, well, maybe a few new talents, if you count visiting the ice cream shop multiple times a day and getting some sleep despite raucous religious celebrations taking place outside your window as talents. But the real talent to which I´m referring is as a papel malecho artist. For two weeks, I´ve been volunteering at CITAC, a non-profit community center in Tapalpa that serves adults and children from the nearby rural areas who are "disadvantaged," either physically, mentally, or economically. While it is I who have showed up everyday as a volunteer teacher, it is truly the students of CITAC who have been teaching me. I know that many people who volunteer say this, meaning that those who they serve have taught them kindess, patience, or love. And while this is the case with me as well, the CITAC students have also literally taught me how to create beautiful papel malecho art. On my first visit to the workshop, the students, all of whom have special needs, taught me how to use recycled bottles to form a flower that would eventually become my masterpiece. Pepe patiently taught me to smooth the edges of my paper, and Mariana counseled me on my color choice and painting technique. As I worked, they enthusiastically praised and encouraged me.

In addition to the art workshop, CITAC offers physical therapy, equine therapy, computation classes, dance classes, and English classes, all free of charge. It is a truly special place, and I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to meet and learn from the beautiful people there.

Stay tuned: Karen in the kitchen?

Greek To Me

I´m fairly confident I´m the only person within several hundred, probably thousand, kilometers who is studying the Slovak language. I can also say, with a decent amount of certainty, that I´m the only tourist in Mexico toting a Slovak language textbook to my Spanish language school. While everyone else is studying their conjugations of ir, I´m still trying to figure out what all those little dots and upside down v´s over the letters in Slovak words could possibly mean. The good news is this: I´ve learned to conjugate my first verb! The verb is mat´(to have), and here it is:

ja mám my máme
ty más vy máte
on má oni majú

(I did it without looking!)

The bad news? I don´t know any nouns. What I, you, he, we, and they have is anyone´s guess.

Stay tuned: 80/20

Faith in Humanity, Part 1

This goes out to those of you who, like me, require the occasional reminder that people are, indeed, inherently good.

I spent a couple of hours the other day sitting on a rock in the middle of a cow pasture, people-watching. While it might seem like a strange place for such an activity, there turned out to be plenty of people to watch. I had hiked to a local tourist attraction, Las Piedrotas, giant rocks in a field about 5 km uphill out of town. The rock I had chosen as my resting spot happened to be located right next to a tiny stream, not more than a foot wide, and less than three inches deep, that needed to be crossed in order to see all of the Piedrotas. Despite its small size and lack of power, this stream proved to be a source of considerable consternation for a significant number of sightseers. As I looked on, time after time, the scene played out like this:

A group of people would approach the stream and examine the bank for the best possible crossing point. One brave soul would eventually run and jump and then would extend her or his hand to those on the other side, offering encouragement to those who were still too scared to take the leap. For hours, I watched as boyfriends helped girlfriends, grandkids helped grandparents, friends helped friends carrying 6-packs of beer, and mothers helped their children.

Most made it across safe and sound, and a few got a little wet, but all made it to the other side knowing that they weren´t on their own and that someone was looking out for them.

A thought: I know that I´m not always good at asking for a hand when I need it, so extra thanks to those of you who have pulled me across some streams of my own.

Stay tuned: Morning mariachi

Happy Birthday, Caputo!

Sending much love all the way to Rio. Shake it to some samba for me.

Al caballo de presente no le mires el diente

If you were to ask any Purple Knight lucky enough to have had Señora Hanson as a Spanish teacher what was learned in her class, you´ll inevitably be regaled with a litany of Spanish proverbs.



Entre col y col, lechuga.

(Variety is the spice of life, or, literally, Between bread and bread, lettuce.)




No hagas un tempestad en un vaso de agua.
(Don´t make a mountain out of a mole hill, or, literally, Don´t make a storm in a glass of water.)

and, of couse, everyone´s favorite

El mundo es un pañuelo.
(It´s a small world, or, literally, The world is a handkerchief.)

I was lucky enough to have Señora Hanson as a teacher for two years. She taught me a lot about the Spanish language (the subjunctive, commands, the dreaded vosotros conjugations), but more importantly, she modeled for me (and my best friends (all of whom happen to have become Spanish teachers, by the way)) what it meant to be a great teacher. Her dedication to her profession and her interest in her students´lives were evident every day in every class.


Monica writes, "Can I share two memories? CAUTION, ADULT CONTENT The first time I was educated in the (in)effectiveness of the rhythm method as a means of birth control was in Spanish class. I distinctly remember turning to Karen with a shocked look on my face, mouthing the question, "Does "el ritmo" mean what I think it means?" She was so subtle, but so effective. I also remember that only 3 of us in Spanish 5 were taking the A.P. test, and Senora made sure we were prepared in every way. She could differentiate before that buzz word even hit the education world. She really did care about her students and their success, and we knew it."

Julie writes, "I had Sra's room when I first got hired here and I was really nervous about filling such big shoes!!!! My most vivid memory was when she called the paper to do a story on you, me, and Em going to Spain to study abroad. I remember being so excited and proud that our teacher was so proud of us. It meant a lot that she went out of her way to recognize our effort and encourage us. I wasn't sure I could handle Spain after only a few years of Spanish but she really encouraged me to believe that I could do it. It was the most life changing decision I have ever made and she probably doesn't even realize she was influential in me deciding to apply to that program."

This week, Señora and her esposo, Dean, graciously invited me to their "retirement" home in Ajijic. While Señora certainly deserves all of the relaxation and leisure retirement has to offer, she instead is heading up a scholarship fund for Mexican students who otherwise wouldn´t be able to attend university, adopting homeless dogs, and inviting in the former student who has decided to take Entre col y col to heart.

How blessed we were to have had Señora as a teacher, and how blessed are the students of Ajijic who are now benefitting from her hard work and generosity.

I´m so glad we were able to cross paths on the pañuelo once again.

Stay tuned: I´m no Frida

Rough goin´

The rolly suitcase seemed like a good idea at the time...

What a Difference 3 Weeks Makes or Gracias, Guanajuato

You wouldn´t think that it would be that easy to fall in love with a city. After all, cities can´t bring you flowers or serenade you at your bedroom window or compliment you on your wit and the shininess of your hair. Yet I somehow fell for Guanajuato. It wooed me with the time and space to sit and think, people to teach, challenge, and guide me, and the ambiance to stimulate and inspire me.
Gracias, Susan, for your friendship and example.
Gracias, Sandi, for your coaching.
Gracias, Amanda, for your advice and sense of humor.
Gracias, Mario, for your teaching and for not getting mad about the mango juice.
Gracias, everybody, for your great stories, and for being so darn fun.
Gracias, Guanajuato.
I may be leaving you, but we´re definitely not over.

Stay tuned: Those who can, teach

Felicidad, Simplified

The other day, I was asked what would make me most happy that afternoon. After being reprimanded for being materialistic for my initial response of winning the lottery, my truthful and simple answer was an ice cream cone on a bench next to a fountain in the plaza. Ask someone, or yourself, what would make them happiest today, and make it happen. Cookies and cream never tasted better.

Stay tuned: Attack of the giant spiders

OSHA Would Not Be Amused

Speaking of jobs, this one would not make my short list.

Eat My Words, Pray, Love or What the Career Counselor Didn´t Tell You

I owe Liz Gilbert an apology. A few years ago, at a book club discussion, I bashed her travel memoir Eat, Pray, Love. It wasn´t that the anecdotes that she wrote about her year-long self-discovery trip through Italy, India, and Indonesia weren´t interesting. At the time, I just found them to be utterly unrealistic. I clearly remember these exact words coming out of my mouth: "Who gets paid to run away from their troubles and go on the trip of their dreams?" Well, me, for one, and a lot of other people, let me tell you. At least half of the people enrolled at the language school are "working from abroad" by telecommuting from across the border, although it´s not always clear to me when they´re squeezing in any work between the sightseeing, siestas, and Pacificos on the plaza. I love my teaching job, don´t get me wrong, but I can´t help but feel that a career counselor at some point was holding out on me. I remember taking those "Interest Inventories" that were supposed to point you in the right direction career-wise, but I never remember there being an option involving strolling around foreign cities by day and sipping cold beverages by night. I´m sure that sooner, rather than later, I´ll feel the need to regain a sense of structure and to contribute once again to society. But right now, I´m liking my job just fine.

Addendum: The results of my father´s "Interest Inventory" when he was young? He should have become a cowboy. How well does that pay?

Stay tuned: Mummies!

Eat your heart out, Andrew Zimmern

Most bizarre foods I´ve eaten:
3. Chapulines (Grasshoppers)-Oaxaca, Mexico
2. Cuy (Guinea pig)-Cuzco, Peru and Cuenca, Ecuador
1. Nieve de pulpo y camaron (Octopus and shrimp ice cream)-Dolores Hidalgo, Mexico

My face says it all.

Stay tuned: Tarps, and what they´re good for

Genetic Wanderlust or Happy Birthday Millie!

People will occasionally ask me how I came about being a redhead, given that neither of my parents were blessed with hair color that opened up the possibility of having vegetable-related nicknames. The answer is generally a genetic mystery, although rumor has it that Uncle Richard, Aunt Connie, and Grandma Celia may have been carrot-tops back in the day.
It´s no mystery, however, how I inherited the travel bug. While my father´s love and mastery of the road trip certainly have something to do with it, the true inspirations for my love of travel are my great-aunt Millie and her dear friend, Pearle. Each year at Christmas, I remember the shades being pulled, the drinks being poured (sodas for us, daiquiris for most, something strong and straight up for Millie and Pearle), and the slide projector being powered on. Year after year, I got to travel vicariously through Millie and Pearle, sometimes walking on the Great Wall, other times watching the polar bears frolic, being brought back to her St. Paul apartment only when the occasional slide proved to be inserted upside down and required flipping. I remember sitting in awe of all the places they´d gone and people they´d met, and I also remember thinking how brave and adventurous they were to go to unknown and exotic places. Finally, I remember promising to myself that some day, I would get to these exotic places myself and take my own slides (or digital photos, as the case may be). These days, I'm doing my best to live up to that promise.
Millie turns 92 years young on Thursday. I wish her a very happy birthday, and thank her for the gifts she gave to me long ago, the spirit of travel and adventure and the assurance that it´s alright for girls to go out into the world on their own.

Stay tuned: Octopus ice cream?

www.whatididntlearninschool.edu

During my stay in Guanajuato, I´ve enrolled at a great little language school called Escuela Mexicana, located right in the historic center of the city. The entrance to the school is off of one of Guanajuato´s many winding, hilly pedestrian alleys, and I inevitably arrive at class panting from the uphill climb. Since I am already fairly fluent in Spanish, I was assigned a private instructor, and I expected our class sessions to go something like this:
Karen would blab on about something banal, like places she´s visited, or best movies she´s seen, and the teacher would, from time to time, interrupt to correct a misused indirect object or teach her a new vocabulary word that Karen would then dutifully jot down on a page in a notebook to which she would never refer again.
Boy, was I wrong. My teacher is no run-of-the-mill Spanish grammar enthusiast. While others may think it appropriate to begin a first class with some get-to-know-you icebreaker chit-chat, my teacher and I delved right into topics such as modification of the social order through education, redistribution of the world´s resources, and the influence of mythology on a nation´s collective psyche. And it hasn´t gotten any lighter since then. Try these topics on for size: biotechnology, Tolstoy, eradicating hunger, diagnosing mental illness....
Do I know anything about these topics? Not really.
Do I know how to discuss these topics in Spanish? Not on your life.
Have I resorted to researching topics like Native American creation stories on the Internet prior to class in order to appear more intellectual? You betcha.
Am I grateful for the opportunity to realize all of the things I still have to learn? Absolutely.

The topics for tomorrow? Maybe past-life regression, possibly nuclear proliferation.
My response? Bring it on. (Just let me run to the Internet cafe first.)

Stay tuned: Sufi jokes

Revenge, Not So Sweet or Is My Stomach Really Capable of Making Those Sounds?

Dear Moctezuma,
What did I ever do to you?
Love, Karen

Lucha libre

For a good long time while I was growing up, Sundays in the Sabaka household had a standard routine: mass at OLA (in the uncomfortable pews, before the renovations), followed by breakfast at Country Kitchen (hamburger with mustard), a browse through the toy aisles at ShopKo (just looking), and the culminating event: watching a couple of hours of pure family entertainment, WWF style. My interest in professional wrestling may have diminished since the retirement of Randy Macho Man Savage (my heart be still) and the untimely death of lovely Elizabeth (RIP), but that doesn´t mean I was any less excited when I was invited by some friends to attend a lucha libre match, Mexico´s answer to WWF. Now, people will tell you that lucha libre is very different from US "wrassling," that it´s an art form and has important cultural significance. I´m more than willing to believe them, but, to be honest, to the untrained eye, it looked quite a bit like what my brother and I would watch from the couch on those Sunday afternoons. Beefy, costumed men riling up the crowd, athletically delivering choreographed kicks and flips. And the crowd itself? A lot of kids and grown up kids wearing the mask of their favorite luchador. We gringos boisterously chanted right along with them when some underhanded side-ring ruckus was taking place or when the underdog seemed to be down and out. There was one match that featured luchadoras, women wrestlers, who were just as tough as the guys. While I certainly don´t have the physique or the strength to make lucha libre my next career move, there is something inviting about putting on a a sparkly mask for awhile and trying on a new persona, maybe someone who´s a little braver, a little more flamboyant, or at least someone who can deliver a mean moonsault double foot stomp off the top rope.

(Special thanks to Matt Mochel for the wrestling fact-checking for this post.)

Stayed tuned: Independencia

Welcome, Michael Kevin!

I can´t wait to meet you!!

Pack It Up, Pack It In

The journey of a thousand miles may begin with a single step, but for me it also involved stuffing two packs with what I deemed the most essentaial items for a four-month stint wandering around Mexico. For those of you who were lucky enough to witness the packing process first-hand (sorry about usurping your living rooms, Mom, Dad, and Becky), you´ll remember the piles, the consultations (“If I pack the raindrop t-shirt, will it really guarantee four months of sunshine?”), and the fashion shows (“Which ABC t-shirt is more flattering?”). It´s interesting to see which items made the cut, and if there´s not already some branch of psychology that examines a traveler´s pack to gain insight into her personality, I propose its creation. So what did fill those packs, and what does it say about me? Well, there´s the expected...the clothes (a deire to sucumb to cultural norms?) and the guidebook (a need for control and to have a plan?); the unexpected...the Slovak language study guide (a missing cultural heritage?) and a clothesline (a response to societal pressure to become domestic?); the necessary...sunscreen (a recognition of my own vincibility?) and an umbrella (pessimism?); and the unnecessary...Just for Redheads shampoo (vanity?) and a tub of hand lotion that smells like chocolate frosting (an addiction to sweets?) Even more telling, though, are the intangibles that I decided to bring along: a little bit of courage, a lot of curiosity, and a sense of humor; and those I left behind: self-doubt, worry, and fear. (Don´t worry, Jenn, the latter aren´t stored away in your attic; I´ll let Public Storage deal with that.)
My packs and I arrived in Guanajuato yesterday. I hope that what I brought along serves me well.

Stay tuned: ¡Lucha libre!