tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-191397352024-03-19T09:23:57.944-07:00Have You Seen the Dog Lately?In the dot matrix days, Jenny and I crouched over Liquid Paper and clip art to mash together our old school zine. This blog is a celebration of soulful zine-making and is dedicated to Jennifer Makofsky who can be found in the waves and the wind. Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.comBlogger221125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-55320598836569515282016-05-03T19:01:00.000-07:002016-05-03T19:01:49.309-07:00When I was Archie at Riverdale HighThere were gorgeous years in there, when I had my first chance to live alone and got an apartment on College Avenue in Oakland, right across from the Edible Complex. Back then, there was a club called the A Line that played live jazz and I'd open my windows and have the music float in at night.<br />
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But the true magic happened outside, as in immediately outside my apartment. Because I was in the middle of bookshops, cafes, burrito bars, and bakeries, my block attracted everyone. At least everyone I knew. I only had to step outside to cross paths with someone from college or work or a pal from behind the bookstore counter.<br />
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Over the years, I handed over that apartment to my dear friend Meggy, who then passed it on to my sister Jenny, who then got it to our camp counselor buddy Mira. What this meant was years and years of loved ones associated with the place and its environs.<br />
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One day, it was either Jenny or my husband Steve who said that the apartment and College Avenue was Riverdale High. You could not go more than a few steps without finding Jughead, Betty, Veronica, or, well, yes the occasional person you wanted to avoid, Reggie. So we'd report our "Archie" moments to each other, which sometimes involved just running into each other, to boot. Oakland is a village.<br />
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What I did not understand then, and too fully, painfully realize now, was those were not just good times, they were freaking golden times. And I know we were good about it and reveled in what we had, this group of friends always circling about and popping by. I would cross my fingers because I felt so lucky, too lucky. But I didn't know I was going to lose my dearest friend of the bunch, my sister.<br />
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I know all the cliches. You cannot get that time back. Appreciate each moment. Live every day as if--whatever. These all ring true to me, but they are not enough. <br />
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I want to believe that there is something even deeper, even richer. Some perfect split second of truth that I could somehow access from that time. Dig into it, breathe it in, feel the sun to fog of 5pm in Oakland, and how that far-off gaze can suddenly snap into a moment of recognition. Archie! You're here again? Didn't I just see you at Pop Tate's?<br />
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There she is. Jenny laughing at something, reading something, suggesting something just very daily life yet outlandish, like getting dim sum. Now? I hope I said yes. I'm pretty sure I said yes.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-2735895931510285012015-03-10T08:29:00.000-07:002015-03-10T08:29:38.073-07:00Web of LiesLife, my friends, is good. Let me open by saying this before descending into complaining. <br />
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Here in Oaxaca, we live in a corrupt municipality, a mere block from the less-corrupt official city boundaries. We belong to Santa Lucia del Camino, notorious for dirty political dealings, even in a city, state, and country known for them. Then little bits of the dishonesty creep into our infrastructure, such as when the district's garbage trucks all stop working, for months at a time, and suddenly the private trucks swoop in. I'm happy for the substitute service, but you have to pay about 10 pesos per can of trash they haul away, whereas the district trucks (including their repairs) are supposedly covered by our property taxes. <br />
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The latest development in the Santa Lucia saga, then, is the internet, or lack thereof. Last weekend, it just went out, which is not uncommon, but we could not summon it back. As is the case for my semi-bilingual family, this demanded a call to our provider's labyrinthine voice mail system and, no matter what I attempted to press or say or command, my Spanglish did not suffice. So we did what people in the olden days did to get their internet back on--we walked into the service center. I won't bother to describe the bowels of Cablemas to you, as I assume they resemble those of Comcast or whatever. There the service lady informed us that, indeed, our whole municipality of Santa Lucia had been propelled back into the dark ages, due to some switch being turned off and not turned on, or another issue that I suspect might have been the local government not paying their bills. <br />
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I asked, "How long until this switch is turned on?"<br />
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She gave me the zombie-pleasant look that customer service reps bearing bad news must always be trained to give. "Nobody knows."<br />
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This is the classic Oaxaca answer. And, unlike the United States, there is no yelling or getting angry when you hear it. I mean you could, and you could be the sort who demands a manager or starts shoving papers across the counter to prove your longevity as a customer, but the answer does not, will not change. Nobody knows.<br />
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I tried a halfhearted, "Our work depends on the internet?"<br />
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She nodded. In a way, so did hers. <br />
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The irony was, there we were on Calle Amapolas, quite possibly Oaxaca's loveliest expanse of blocks, lined with trees and--you guessed it--one cafe after another, all with Wifi. <br />
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This, then, has been my morning commute for the past week. Rather than merely walking from bedroom to hallway, I now pack up the computer and venture to what our family has always called "the cafe street" to try a new place every morning. In fact, I had office hours at 2 cafes yesterday. I've noticed a few things:<br />
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1. <b>The world does not need me as much as I think it does. </b><br />
Without fail, I open my computer in a state of near-panic, thinking of all the messages and deadlines I might have missed. Yet the space of a few hours passing means I have typically received about 25 emails in spam and 25 more than belong in spam. That's it. I'm writing this blog post right now because I rushed to my morning cafe session only to find an empty work desk and no pending messages of any value. <br />
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2. <b>I still know how to read books.</b><br />
I could blame my slower reading pace over the past decade on a lot of things, including master's degrees and children, but the true culprit is the computer screen. Though I still read all day, every day, I rarely pick up books for more than a half hour at a time. In the past few days, I've gotten through a novel and a memoir and have a stack on the waiting list. What a relief that my books waited faithfully for me all these years.<br />
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3. <b>I battle existentialism-related fears.</b><br />
Living in Oaxaca puts me quite inconveniently distant from family and many friends. On top of that, I have no landline, no US cell phone, no convenient mail service, and (since the last windstorm) no signal for my Mexican cell phone unless I go on the roof. My principal methods of outreach are email, Facebook messages, and the occasional Skype call, all impossible to use at home right now. Sometimes, at night, I sense that we are in a walled fortress with no method of communication or contact with the outside world. Or is there an outside world?<br />
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4. <b>Perhaps a quiet mind is not for me.</b><br />
It is instantly clear to me that having no internet at home takes away the buzz of daily distraction. It also forces me to connect more with the world and our neighborhood, which is partly why I love living in Oaxaca. My adopted city has a much more outdoor and neighborly culture than most places in the United States offer. Yet, on days when I have a lot of deadlines, I engage in intense reading, writing, editing, and messaging for hours and never speak to or see anyone. So this newfound existence is superior, right? Breaking free of the web puts me that much closer to Buddha mind or could have me suddenly achieving great intellectual feats. Well, I have to say that, at a few days in, the results are inconclusive. <br />
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Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-91315230989082260732014-02-25T07:38:00.000-08:002014-02-25T07:38:39.069-08:00Tule Village AdventuresIt started with a note home from school: "Geni necesita una falda." Geni needs a skirt.<br />
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This message could mean a number of things, from a school uniform request to some new rule being implemented. Upon pursuing the topic with Geni's teacher, Jukari, it becomes clear that Geni needs a folkloric dance skirt done in the traditional style, made to measure, for the Thursday Zapotec dance classes. By next week, please.<br />
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Wouldn't you know it that Geni's classmate, J., has a grandma in Tule village who makes these skirts? We followed the directions given by Rosalea, the third grade teacher, who told us to approach the tree, walk around it, and head toward the block with the little mezcal shop. There we would find a tiny storefront filled with folkloric clothes and a workshop with J.'s grandmother inside.<br />
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But looking for a mezcal shop next to a folkloric clothing store near the Tule tree is like telling a tourist to head for the store under the neon sign in Times Square. Every block with its own mezcal shop! Folkloric clothing for days! The only option is to ask every single store owner where J.'s grandma, the seamstress, is. <br />
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Three sets of instructions later, we stumble upon the shop, so close to the giant Tule tree that its upper branches provide shade through the doorway.<br />
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The grandma emerges from the back courtyard holding a baby and greeting Geni. She's the outfitter for the entire student body of Colegio Stanley Hall, Geni's elementary school. The girls at the school's Zapotec dance classes all wear tiered skirts trimmed with lace, with enough extra fabric that they can gather the skirts by the edges and raise the edges over their heads without revealing their legs. Quite a feat, really.<br />
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But where is the fabric for the skirts? Grandma disappears under tables and begins a looooong treasure hunt through various plastic bags, leaving us in charge of the baby. <br />
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Endless reams of fabric everywhere but, apparently, the just right fabric is not there. I know how this story goes, having lived seven years in Oaxaca, and I want to cut to the chase rather than do the "come back four times" thing. I tell her we will take any fabric, that it does not matter. We need the skirt by next week!<br />
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Grandma takes Geni's measurements and writes them down on a tiny scrap of paper that most certainly will be immediately lost. How could it not be? She also asks for 250 pesos up front, no small sum. But all that extra fabric will bring up the total to 500 pesos, if she can just locate the fabric.<br />
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What color does Geni want? She watches Geni but then realizes Geni has not seen any of the choices. She descends again to locate swatches, samples, anything. She finds a patch of green. <br />
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"Yes, green! Si, verde!" says Geni, surprisingly agreeable.<br />
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Grandma's eyebrows knit in worry. She is out of green, even though it is the only sample she has located for us. She offers purple.<br />
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I am anxious, in only the way a US person gets when in a Oaxaca village with school demands breathing down her neck. "Si, si!" I say.<br />
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Geni says, "No."<br />
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I coax and plead with Geni, knowing we will not get the skirt in time unless we can agree to this mythical purple fabric. She finally acquiesces. <br />
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I place the order, pay, and get a receipt. As we turn to leave, Grandma says, "Come back soon to see the purple fabric and make sure it's what you want. I'll try to find a sample of it by Monday."<br />
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Of course you will, abuelita. There is no speeding up when you are on Oaxaca village time. I just have to remember that this is a good thing.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-38200515178577193022013-08-28T20:02:00.000-07:002013-08-28T20:02:56.978-07:00Still In Love With OaxacaI've been back for a week since the end of our summer travels, yet I haven't been to the zocalo yet, nor had mezcal, or even been to a shop. But I'm not jaded, I could never be. It's just that daily life has taken precedence over being able to settle in slowly and appreciate all Oaxaca has to offer. We're starting our seventh year in the city of Oaxaca, a year full of changes for certain. <br />
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Max decided to try 7th grade in the United States (which you couldn't pay me to do, not when it went so poorly the first time). He's enjoying the suburban life of skateboarding, not to mention his first experience of attending school fully in English. <br />
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Geni is enrolled in 2nd grade at Colegio Stanley Hall, a tiny, beautiful school a couple blocks from the famous Tule tree. Hers is a village school, with weekly lessons in Zapotec and a PE curriculum that consists of learning Oaxaca's regional dances. So, perfect.<br />
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For the first time in my freelancing career, I hit home with a giant contract. So much writing to do, and on a topic I love: 65,000 words. The downside: Due in October. <br />
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Steve succumbed to his lifelong attachment to screenprinting and brought himself a little machine and some water-based ink.<br />
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So, what's to love in this very domestic return to Oaxaca? Primarily, how gorgeous everything is. We have a September rainy season, by the looks of it, and the mountaintops are shrouded in fantasy novel-level fog. In fact, we will navigate through that this weekend as Geni has requested a camping trip as her birthday present. But the city is so beautiful too, with the green cantera stone almost glowing in the diffused light of afternoon. <br />
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So I haven't made it to some of the more famous Oaxaca spots yet, but I did go to a village comedor and the tlayuda came with local mushrooms that were divine! And the used clothing stands at my neighborhood tianguis are more hopping than ever: all denim 25 pesos. <br />
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I've also managed to get to two outdoor Zumba classes and had the requisite killer margarita at La Biznaga. Some of the most fun was going to the tiny papeleria in my neighborhood to get Geni's schools supplies, because I now know how to work the 35-item list rather than just handing it over to the clerks at the Provedora Escolar school supply warehouse. No archaeological sites yet, but a great visit to the Hecho en Oaxaca show with murals and mixed media pieces by Dr. Lakra, Swoon, and The Date Farmers.<br />
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Through all of this laid-back life, there is the constant of missing my little boy. I know he's happy, though, and that means everything. He sees the California suburbs as something other and fascinating, just the kind of experience I yearned to escape. He skateboards on sidewalks and through cul-de-sacs. He meets friends at the mall or to play video games. When I ask him about his school day (7th grade! In English! All new people! So very far away!), he tells me, "I hung out and talked to my friends." So there it is, the beauty of his daily life. Cheers, Maxito!Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-30914277169206918422013-06-06T07:44:00.000-07:002013-06-06T07:44:28.407-07:00Ecotouring Oaxaca: CuajimoloyasWe've stayed at a lot of little cabins in the woods in Oaxaca, including the major ecotourism sites of Ixtlan de Juarez and Apoala, as well as the lesser-visited spots of Llano Grande and, most recently, Cuajimaloyas.<br />
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Last weekend, we met with 17 others people to trek around and explore <a href="http://www.ecoturismoenoaxaca.com/cuajimoloyas.html">Cuajimoloyas</a>. This place is distinctive. You enter through the little pueblo which, for us, meant cutting through thick, gorgeous fog that left dewdrops clinging to young pine trees and vines. A roadside wood building houses the local agency where you sign in and pay for your access fee. Here is where you can also pay for guides to take you on the five-hour hike or the three-hour hike, as well as a few others. There is a zip line over a canyon for 200 pesos, or a shorter zip line in the forest for 40 pesos. Because we were with Oaxacans who know the area, we chose no guide and to stay in the more accessible part of the forest, which held cabins and even little wood shack comedors with women cooking blue-corn quesadillas and brewing Oaxacan hot chocolate (and even good coffee, I'm told). <br />
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Everyone sat down for breakfast in the midst of what felt like a relatively young forest--I'm guessing that we were in "recovering from clear-cut" territory. The kids discovered a series of pools feeding into each other, the classic sign of river trout breeding.<br />
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I sat in the kitchen with the woman working the comal. She told me she and her daughter walk an hour with all their supplies to reach the forest and cook at Comedor B-- (Bocadillo? Boquita?). And then she told me something brilliant. She said, "In two weeks, the first wild mushrooms will be ready to pick in the forest. Come back and I will make you trout stuffed with them." Indeed, Cuajimaloyas is the site of the annual Feria de Hongos Silvestres. People pour into the forest to spend the weekend, which is usually in July or August (during rainy season), to go on guided walks with experts that identify the different types of mushrooms and which ones are safe to consume. <br />
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Then her 10-year-old son ran up. He had been playing with my children and now wanted to show all of us the waterfall. We now had a guide, whether we had wanted one or not, but it felt lucky to have a local boy the same age as our children, taking us, stopping to play, call to animals, catch bugs, and point out sources of pure drinking water along the way. And I spied the beginnings of some near-fluorescent orange mushrooms, like something out of <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>. <br />
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We cut across pastures and saw bulls charging around playfully. Bright green frogs and tiny brown spiders hopped between tall grass and rocks. The kids played catch and release with grasshoppers. The walk ended with us sliding down a muddy mountainside to a modest waterfall, with just enough mossy boulders to bring out your inner mountain goat. The children insisted on getting as muddy as possible, and all pompis were good and wet upon our exit up the slope. <br />
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Sure it's beautiful and a grand departure from the more established ecotourism sites with their conference rooms and their adventure playgrounds, but what also make Cuajimaloyas special is also its incredible accessibility. We reached the site in barely over an hour's drive and were in the midst of the forest almost immediately. Our adventure was an incredible break from the urban life of downtown Oaxaca and a chance to see the impact of the early rainy season in all its brilliant green, flashy orange, and mushy brown. <br />
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Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-25795236199131013742013-03-04T18:27:00.001-08:002013-03-04T19:13:24.963-08:00Write Write Bang Bang!On the occasion of the fifth anniversary of my switch to full time freelance writing, I can officially say that the worrying never stops. Today was my first day of not having an assignment in months and, though I had prepared mentally for this day, I found myself thinking, "Is this it? Perhaps I've filed my last story or seen my last accepted pitch."<br />
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Today, I kept waiting for the magical email or Facebook message that never came. I checked all my recently completed assignments and assignments to come and stalked all my favorite writing sites, but there was no incredible convergence that resulted in a magical gig landing in front of me.<br />
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Until 2:17pm. A project manager offered me an editing gig for the rest of the week. Which is why I really must say right here, right now, that it takes a kind of thick-skinned, roll-with-it, Zen master of a personality to be a freelance writer, and I have learned to pretend to be that kind of person.<br />
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It turns out that freelance writing and editing demand a good amount of pretending.<br />
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Like pretending to take a picture of my precious son when I'm really photographing something right behind him that I need for a story. <br />
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Or saying I spoke to someone who said I could do this or go there or take that--oh, it wasn't you? Then it must have been your boss.<br />
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Something I never find the need to lie about, though, is the unglamorous nature of my chosen career. I've filed stories from the dark bathroom of a Tucson Motel 6 and from a video poker parlor at a Virginia truck stop. I've said yes to wild deadlines, like ghostwriting three chapters of a technical book in three days. In fact, the wilder the deadline, the better I seem to perform, that little anxiety pumping down my arms and to my fingertips as I type. <br />
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So I'd like to think five years of having my own freelance writing business means I have some kind of proof that I can do this, that it means it's a viable choice for the next five years. But the days of slow work prompt me to wonder about making it for even the next five days. <br />
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Then there is the deeper question: Does that little bit of fear keep me hungry? Without the fear perhaps I'd be without the gigs. I'll ruminate on this and let you know what I think on the six year anniversary of my freelance career.<br />
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Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-67661469232719152452012-12-06T09:00:00.000-08:002012-12-06T09:02:14.912-08:00Where the cash goesYou don't write checks in Oaxaca, not for a pair of jeans and not for the electric bill. It's a cash-based economy for the most part. I've gotten used to taking out chunks of change to cover everything from school tuition to the down payment on our house. And, once I have a little cash, it's all too easy to spend. Unlike the United States, which often demands driving somewhere or finding something open at an odd hour, Oaxaca's corners, byways, and pueblos do business around the clock. <br />
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First there's the phenomenon of the corner store. This still exists in some U.S. cities, at least in high foot traffic areas, but in Oaxaca it's a staple. There is a miscelanea (a store that sells miscellaneous items) in every neighborhood, and some have multiple. They might sell the junk food and soda you would see at a California corner liquor store, but they also have fresh fruit, veg, ingredients for baking, salsas, fresh pan dulce and the like. The better stocked miscelaneas, though they might be so tight you can hardly turn around in them, have a seemingly limitless stock of any item you wind up needing, such as lip gloss, light bulbs, and party favors. <br />
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But shopping in Oaxaca gets even more convenient than walking to the corner. We have various peddlers, vans, and vochos that come by, knocking on our door to sell mountain honey, dried hibiscus blossoms, tejate dough, probiotic drinks, oranges, tortillas, fish, and pan dulce. <br />
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My favorite type of convenience shopping is at intersections. Any long red light at a major intersection is an open invitation for vendors to jump into the line of cars and sell stuff through the car windows. The toy of the moment is always on offer, be it a bouncing Sponge Bob doll on a furry pipe cleaner or a wind-up baby chick. Bags of limes, boxing gloves, plastic airplanes, Zapata moustaches, chicklets, roses, and churros wrapped in pink paper--we've gotten them all en route. It gets so, on the way to a party, we'll stop at a favorite intersection to buy a gift, and another to get a food item to bring. <br />
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I credit all this street activity to the fact that Oaxacans walk and take public transportation everywhere. Yes, there is un monton de drivers buying items through their car windows, but what supports that corner store culture and the street peddling around the clock is that people get out of their homes and, instead of pushing the garage door opener, they push a stroller or carry their babies and they walk to get their shopping done, vinyl market bag on shoulder and cash in hand.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-79976849114138308512012-09-04T11:46:00.001-07:002012-09-04T11:55:22.346-07:00Oaxaca's Party BusWell, there I was, checking one of my favorite blogs, sad because it hasn't been updated for many months, and I thought, shouldn't I do right by my own blog?<br />
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We've just arrived back to Oaxaca after three months al norte. It all comes back in a rush, how the mountains are higher here than those in California, how the cars are louder and smellier here than the smog-controlled ones in the U.S., how life is easier in Oaxaca, even with children at two different schools and work to attend to.<br />
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Part of what makes everything fundamentally different this time around is that my best friend, Meggie, has joined us for the next few months. Suddenly I see it all through her eyes, the graffiti and the market bags, the produce and the houses painted brightly.<br />
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The daily stuff is always what thrills me. Like yesterday, when Geni and I boarded the Primer Etapa bus to get home. This is my bus--I'm all about this route, with its buses that seem a little more rattling and that are often packed. <br />
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And we got on the best of the mutts of the buses, the one with "Amor Prohibido" painted in broad cursive letters across its entire tinted window. Forbidden Love means only one thing: we lucked on to the party bus.<br />
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This driver is loco, mostly in a good way. He keeps the tunes cranked loud and hits the topes hard enough to make the velvet tassles on his bus window curtains swing and tangle. He often keeps his route going long after the other drivers have pulled in for one last tlayuda and mezcal before calling it a night.<br />
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And nighttime is the right time on the party bus. At night, the lights blink in time to the reggaeton. During the day, however the scene is a bit like the after-party of the after-party, rough, a little tired, and too bright to fully open your eyes and look around. <br />
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We were surprised when, after a block into our journey on our favorite bus, smoke billowed from underneath the doors. We sat around waiting for our cue from the driver/deejay, who kept sending his henchman out the door to signal someone or something.<br />
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Soon enough another bus pulled up, already jammed with people, and our driver waved us off, telling us to board. I watched more and more people cram on and I realized that this was one right to party I wasn't going to fight for.<br />
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Luckily the women in front of me agreed and went back to the driver to demand their 5 pesos 50 centavos back so they could board a bus with room the breathe. I followed suit. The driver said to me, not angrily, "It's not my fault."<br />
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"I know," I reassured him. The other women were bitter. They were sure it was his fault. They thought he just wanted to keep their monedas, or that he was going to take a lunch break on his smokey bus. I was undecided, but I wasn't going to tell him that. I have to stay in the good graces for next time when I'm out later than I should be and in find myself in need of the services of Mr. Party Bus.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-29420441340181301722012-04-08T18:01:00.001-07:002012-04-08T18:05:55.951-07:00Hello everyone me and Roans first book is going to be out soon. Hey by the way we need some members be the first(or maybe by the time you get this you'll at least be the second)Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-75306330653152680022012-02-16T10:14:00.000-08:002012-02-16T10:29:39.743-08:00Democratic Education in OaxacaOur school, Taller Colibri, has had some fascinating developments in the past few months.<br /><br />First and foremost, our great teacher, Suzanna, has just been invited to present with a panel on the practice of democratic education. Her work will be part of the <a href="http://idec2012.org/">International Democratic Education Conference</a> in Puerto Rico.<br /><br />The core values of democratic education concern communication and respect. In essence, teachers, parents, students, and community members associated with the school listen to each others' input to collaborate and contribute to the school. On a day to day basis, it is as simple as designing curriculum that reflects children's interests or resolving conflicts by listening to one another and brainstorming solutions. <br /><br />Our current unit shows these core values in action. The children expressed an interest in international cooking. They conducted research, asking each other as well as adults about favorite recipes, family recipes, and cooking. They read through cookbooks to figure out how to create, change, record, and use recipes. Now they are signing up for days of the week to bring in ingredients so they can cook and eat together. They will track their recipes and their general cooking experiences by writing and compiling a cookbook.<br /><br />There's room for so many divergent projects at democratic schools as well! The children have been planting seeds in the garden, hiking up the river, doing bicycle tricks on dirt paths and in the village zocalo, meeting neighbors, birdwatching with a local expert, and making valentines. They have been welcoming new students and visitors to the school, some of whom speak English and others of whom speak Spanish.<br /><br />The whole school has just been invited to a village on the other side of the mountains. The home where we will be staying is on a farm where the villagers practice organic and sustainable agriculture. What great adventures are in store for Taller Colibri?Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-86805036925568974282012-01-28T12:57:00.000-08:002012-01-28T13:33:10.968-08:00My Favorite Oaxaca Beach Secrets Revealed!How silly to keep favorite places a secret, as if sharing the information will cause crowds to descend. The fact is, my favorite beach area in Oaxaca would not appeal to resort-lovers, non-swimmers, people who won't at least try to speak Spanish, and those seeking the luxe experience. I like my beach with a palapa hut, fresh mariscos, hammocks in the shade, and waves to jump, and not much more.<br /><br />The journey to my jewel of a beach San Agustinillo starts in Oaxaca city. About 3 hours into the drive, you're in the mountains, freezing your patootie off, and thinking that it's pure madness that you will be in tropical heat within the next couple hours. Relish that mountain air, because the drive is about to get barfy.<br /><br />Before hitting the mountain curves, I go to the "it" spot in San Jose del Pacifico, La Taberna de Los Duendes. Duendes are Latin America's evil folkloric creatures and this is their tavern, featuring mushroom murals painted all 'round, a nod to the rainy "high" season in which people partake in the local psychedelic delicacy. In dry season, it's all about homemade cheeses, onion and tomato jams, pastas tossed in homemade sauces, and hookah pipes you rent by the hour. I bought miniature knitted mushrooms from the back wall gift shop/gallery and played a game of chess while eating pasta with olives, capers, rosemary, basil, and toasted nuts.<br /><br />A couple hours later, you either dodge the rope pulled across the road by the local village woman or you donate to whatever cause she represents, and you know you're within spitting distance of Pochutla. Pochutla is the urban hub of the beach towns of Puerto Angel, Zipolite, San Agustinillo, Mazunte, and La Ventanilla. Or you can take a sharp turn to go to Puerto Escondido. Somewhere there is a different sharp turn to get to Huatulco.<br /><br />I love Pochutla. You drive through a narrow, winding street that goes by cheap pharmacies, people selling coconuts roadside, and baskets of baked goods. This is the place to stop to stock up on cheap stuff, or to send someone in the car on a two-minute shopping spree as you circle the block. For the best deal on high SPF sunblock (which can be pricey in Mexico), go to Dr. Simi, my favorite generic drugs and toiletries pharmacy chain.<br /><br />The wind through Puerto Angel is a tease, because water views keep alluding you. I recommend a stop or side trip to Playa Panteon, particularly if you have younger children who want a dip into mellow waters. Park at Cordelia's hotel, order a drink to rent your table space, and set the kids on soak. If the conditions are right, the stronger swimmers can do the 10-minute swim to the hidden caves and tidepools on a sand bar to the right of Cordelias.<br /><br />Onto San Augstinillo. You pass Zipolite, the nude beach and home of a yoga retreat or two, on route, worth telling people about even if you don't wind up going. Then it's San Agustinillo, a place dear to me.<br /><br />We find no reason to stay anywhere other than Bambu, a collection of eco-cabanas with palapa roofs. I love this place dearly, and the laid-back managers, Memo and Miguel, create just the right beachy vibe. They mean eco, too--they recycle, compost, use natural materials for much of their building, have gray water and black water recycling, and integrate their tiny development into the beach so smoothly and beautifully. <br /><br />There is an outdoor communal kitchen which means you spend leisurely mornings making coffee and breakfast while wandering into the water, sitting on beach chairs or reading and swinging in the hammock. It's easy because the beach is right there, mere steps from the kitchen, and the pretty serious surf creates a beautiful cacophony. <br /><br />I typically require at least an hour to get the rhythm of the surf here, and to manage the riptide when necessary. But I like a challenge.<br /><br />Here, then, are some secrets I have unearthed regarding my beautiful beach town, after several visits.<br /><br />--Mexico Lindo's pizza is far better than that at La Termita, the Italian-owned restaurant and B&B. This was not always the case but, according to local sources, La Termita has downgraded their cheese and it's no longer the beautiful pizza I raved about to friends and strangers alike. By the way, I have not witnessed any restaurant firing up the brick oven before 6:30pm. <br /><br />--Past the second sand bar from the Bambu part of San Agustinillo, near Mexico Lindo, is a beach spot my friends call "The Secret Kids Club." I'm sorry to reveal the secret here: a soft-sand tiny pool fed by the tide, appropriate for toddlers and kids. Up the rocks, a sandy passage for creating temporary art with shells and pebbles. Underneath, an archway providing a peek of stunning blue ocean. To the right, rocks that trap interesting finds from the sea.<br /><br />--Posada Jazmin's owners are curanderos that will wrap stings, bites, and burns in leaves or soak them in tea.<br /><br />--If you tour the lagoons of nearby La Ventanilla by guided boat, wait as late as possible to see all the birds coming to roost in this protected spot.<br /><br />--Bring cash! They don't want your credit card or debit card here.<br /><br />I could wax on, about Violeta, the pet raccoon, the energy healer, star-gazing spots, but I'll save them for a part 2 post after my next visit to San Agustinillo.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-54720385875757936192012-01-03T15:42:00.000-08:002012-01-03T16:02:53.805-08:00Looking Forward To Looking BackI love taking and looking at photos, but I'm dreadful at the steps between, which these days involves downloading the photos, uploading them again, sorting/editing them into books, ordering the books, and paying for them. I just haven't gotten it together to put together the pieces for the past year, which means too many photographs.<br /><br />Every time we leave the house for a market, site, holiday, or art show, I yell, "Grab the camera," because I never remember to grab it, but I always remember to yell. While we're out, I implore whoever is holding the camera, "Take a picture, get one of that, don't forget that, I might need one of that." <br /><br />Every beautiful sight or site in Oaxaca--that monumental sand painting, folkloric dance, giant dancing puppets in a processional, stack of mangoes at the market--is both gorgeous and ever-so-transitory. It's all about to blow away in the wind, die with the music, go into storage, or get sold, so catch it catch it catch it.<br /><br />There's a desperation I have about losing things, forgetting things. Part of it is about my sister dying, part of it is about being a writer and wanting to arrive at some strange amalgamation of personal truths. So when the photo-taking and presenting overwhelms me, I have to remind myself: this is not the only way to remember things. My favorite way to remember a place, a time, a person, a moment involves a teaching term: "looping." In essence, you don't capture the deepest meaning of a concept the first time you learn it, maybe not the second or third. No worries, because it loops around again, most likely slightly different, but when you're cognitively ready and have had enough reinforcement, the information shifts from short-term memory to long-term memory.<br /><br />This is my life, my joy, and my struggle. I am the one who has to order the same dishes when I go to certain restaurants (Juan's--quesadilla a la Jesus, Biznaga--sopa azteca, Itanoni for breakfast--Veracruzano). Oaxaca's ever-changing street markets have me combing the streets and aisles for the old woman with the blue-flowered tablecloth who sold me the sweetest watermelon. I return to museums to walk the same floor, find that certain painting that transformed me. Travel plans are a perennial struggle between visiting the new and retracing my steps to reenact a prior vacation. Life as a loop may seem boring to some, but I can't bear to miss the things I find beautiful or delicious, even though one part of me knows I return to things at the expense of discovering the new. <br /><br />When I taught second grade, I had my students hold up invisible cameras and click photographs of the board when they had shared key information that I recorded. They'd blithely click away and I wonder...do any of them remember that moment the way I do?Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-82146160145904479092011-11-23T10:50:00.001-08:002011-11-23T11:07:45.939-08:00Taller Colibri and UnschoolingThanks to a long-ago tip from my friend Hilair, I found the forums at the Mothering website and have been following and posting to the thread entitled:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mothering.com/community/t/1301083/what-did-your-user-do-today">What Did Your USer [unschooler] Do Today?</a> <br /><br />This practice has been informative, because I've found Taller Colibri's curriculum and daily rhythms have much in common with unschooling, but they also diverge. Some of the struggles homeschooling parents face regarding social issues and managing messes do not apply, because we have our own simple, little building in the countryside of Huayapam rather than running the school from our homes. The great benefit of this locale is the school site's outdoor options, including the property's small gardens and mud and sand pit, and then the area's trees, meadows, farms, and fields.<br /><br />But it's the village's water sources that have provided endless fascination and experiments. Our group hikes to various spots on the river. The closest one goes under a stone bridge so picturesque that my husband painted it for a commission. There is an altar nearby, and the river is framed by carisso and banana plants. <br /><br />Another access point has layers of dirt that make it like an archaeological dig site, with layers of old house tiles and broken dishes to discover. The banks have small indentations that make them prime spots for building cave dwellings for gnomes and fairies. But this area has become overgrown and the kids can't access it as easily.<br /><br />The high river spot is a hike, but you get to cross a field frequented by burros. Here the river descends, making a small waterfall ideal for the children's temporary dams and bridges. They once used the mud and grasses here to mix with medicinal clay we got nearby and created strong, adobe-like bricks for constructions. <br /><br />Lately the hikes have incorporated the reservoirs of Huayapam. The water level has stayed high, due to a longer rainy season, leaving lots of muddy shoreline to navigate. Sometimes the kids fish here, or pretend to fish, as they have yet to catch anything. They walk the banks and explore the micro-habitats formed by mud, sand, and water. Usually someone falls in for a swim.<br /><br />I think I've landed on what makes for a successful school, in my mind: A curriculum that results in many changes of clothing, and dirty shoes.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-69330525408114666572011-10-21T15:29:00.000-07:002011-10-21T15:41:35.033-07:00The Road to AbastosWhen Steve & I lived in Oaxaca the first time around, nearly 16 years ago, we would walk the 30-40 minutes to get to Central de Abastos, the main city market. Now, with kids in tow, we drive, and we bring many guests with us. Today we packed five friends in the car, in addition to our family, and parked at our favorite lot that gives you an hour free if you pay the guy on duty to wash your car. A great deal for us and our stinky car. <br /><br />Abastos rocks year round. My friend Rachel says it's one of her favorite places in the world. I always get lost, hitting the shoes time and time again, and I never, ever am in the market for shoes (my feet are too big for Mexico). But getting lost works here, because there is something down every aisle, and I often don't know what it is when I see it. But the vendors are happy to demonstrate their wares. <br /><br />This is the kind of shopping that begets more shopping because all I came for was a vinyl tablecloth printed with fruit to cover my muertos altar. But what I've wanted forever is one of those cheap little grills that look like big incense burners. And two kilos of sweet potatoes to cook on it. Next time, because my bag is already full of papel picado, incense, tangerines, avocado, coconut water, glittery bread medallions, finger monsters, a devil mask, amaranth, pumpkin seeds, and peanut candy. <br /><br />At some point, you just have to stop. But I'll be back soon, as guests are arriving and we always go to Abastos right before Days of the Dead to score altar supplies and watch the throngs of people hauling sugar cane, marigolds, sweet bread shaped like skulls and crossbones, ground chocolate, sugar skulls, toys, booze--the fiestas go on for days, and so does the shopping. <br /><br />But it seems trivializing to call this shopping. There are no credit cards or coupons or sliding glass doors. This kind of shopping is conversations, crowds, bargaining, sweet smells, stink, giant metal wheelbarrows nearly running you over, women balancing baskets on their heads, and ducking under the tarps set too low for gangly Americans. And jamming it all in a giant sugar bag converted into a tote. And lots of shoes, just too many shoes.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-78436062485079671542011-09-14T11:45:00.001-07:002011-09-14T11:49:55.487-07:00Get Up, Stand Up Week 2Today begins the second week of my standing desk experiment. I love it. Crazy love it. This morning, I had to use 2 computers due to tech issues and shifted each one to the top of my table-vegetable-crate contraption rather than sit down. At this point, sitting while typing feels just plain wrong. But I still find myself trying to sit when watching my kids play at the park and other waiting-style activities, so I have to work on this.<br /><br />I noticed my legs were stiff and sore today, and was tempted to blame the standing desk. But then I remembered I did (brief) plyometrics yesterday at the park--a few rounds of deep squat jumps that spiked my heart rate. And today I pay for it.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-11002287375242093402011-09-07T11:04:00.000-07:002011-09-07T11:25:25.232-07:00Get Up, Stand Up Day 1I've been a full-time freelance writer for over four years now. I never imagined I could sustain a full-time business and make a competitive rate, all while enjoying my work. <br /><br />However, there was a problem. Making money means sitting down, and sitting <a href="http://jezebel.com/5446280/bad-news-for-office-workers-everyone-who-watches-tv--sitting-kills">kills</a>. <br /><br />I could feel it in my body, even when I exercised, even when I did interval bursts to punk music throughout the day to spike my heart rate. There was this slumping, this collapsing. I'd buzz along with my assignments and look up after 120 to 180 minutes pleased with my productivity and hourly wage and dismayed with the realization I had not moved anything more than my fingertips for the whole time period.<br /><br />I had gotten wind of <a href="http://lifehacker.com/171537/coolest-workspace-contest--the-treadputer">treadmill desks</a> and similar inventions, in which you stand and walk at a raised desk while working. The consensus is that walking a slow one mile per hour for your workday does not impede your work tasks and can actually increase your focus and productivity. <br /><br />Like any good idea, there are ways to spend a lot of pesos to implement such a system. But I can't or won't spend the money for a fancy raised desk, an adjustable desk, and a commercial-grade treadmill to create an active work station.<br /><br />Instead, four hours ago, I put a vegetable crate on the kitchen table. I wrote while standing the entire time. I wasn't sure it would work for me, as I'm more likely to walk a long distance rather than stand still for a prolonged periods. But the writing captivated me enough that I actually forgot I was standing for large segments of time.<br /><br />I maintained my words per hour and thus my hourly rate. After four hours in my bare feet on the tile floor I can say I feel a similar leg and foot tiredness I used to feel after a day of teaching. <br /><br />I could see placing a blanket or mat under my feet to cushion them. Or how about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reebok-05-55101-Balance-Board/dp/B003PAZ7B4">this</a>? Or get a little more cardio in with <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stamina-55-1610-InMotion-Elliptical-Trainer/dp/B000VICRO8/ref=sr_1_1?s=sporting-goods&ie=UTF8&qid=1315419437&sr=1-1">this</a>? <br /><br />I could also see sitting part of the day, but balancing on an exercise ball. <br /><br />I'll write an update in a few days to explore this idea further and report on any complications. And so ends my first blog entry written while standing.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-45050957293839450172011-08-28T16:22:00.000-07:002011-08-29T07:58:22.966-07:00Surprises Beneath the SurfaceYes, Oaxaca continues to surprise me the longer I stay here, as I begin to understand the language and culture little by little. But it's the fruit and veggies I want to talk about today. This came up on my Facebook page recently, when a friend pointed out that I post rather frequently about a seemingly mundane topic--fruits and vegetables I buy.
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<br />To me, in Oaxaca, this is the least mundane of topics! Yeah, I'm vegetarian, sometimes vegan, even a certain percentage raw, but even if I was only getting my requisite 5-7 servings per day, my produce would be an object of scrutiny. Because Oaxaca has funky produce.
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<br />Take the humble ruby grapefruit, one of my daughter Geni's favorite breakfast options. Slicing it open releases lots of juice and pulp. The sections are of different widths, rather than equally divided. The taste may be intensely graprefruity or sour or watery, depending upon the season. None of this seems particularly stunning until I visit the United States in the summer and cut open a grapefruit. No mess. Little juice, little pulp. Every section equidistant. The flavor--less grapefruity, but terribly consistent. Consistent produce--unmessy, unvarying in appearance, nearly always the same flavor--does not happen in Oaxaca.
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<br />Bananas are a mystery here. Why do they turn brown so much more quickly? Why do seemingly unscathed bananas sometimes reveal themselves to be squishy with bruises once peeled? Why are bananas tiny and huge, starchy and juicy, stringy and stinky, sometimes varying within the same bunch?
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<br />You cannot eat a mango without juice spilling all over your face. It's nearly disgusting in its gorgeousness and sweetness. Green tuna fruit--how to munch through those giant seeds? Red tuna fruit staining everything. This fruit is just not practical!
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<br />There is some magic to knowing when jicama will burst in your mouth with watery sweetness as opposed to tasting like sawdust. But I do not possess that magic, not yet. My friends know which wild mushrooms make the best broth, and which others are primed for pasta sauce. I just eat and eat them, though they can be dense and kind of meaty and other times slimy and smelling like an underground tunnel where you might find Totoro.
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<br />The markets can be captivating or they can be an overpowering, overstimulating blur. Yes I want coconuts but do I have the cajones to machete them open once I get home? How to handle the free samples of lichee fruit, when the peel and the seeds just create something else for me to hold? It's all too decadent, too beautiful, too heartbreaking--how could fruit and vegetables be so different from their northern counterparts, what have these first world countries done to these treasures to homogenize them? But that's another blog post. Until then, slice it, juice it, toss it in Tajin. Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-18150663184903191982011-08-27T15:47:00.001-07:002011-08-27T16:04:58.430-07:00Hacienda HospitalHere we sit at the brink of our fifth year in Oaxaca. It was the place I dreamed of moving to, assumed it was impossible to make a living in, and now has become home.
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<br />But I don't want everyone to think living here is all wine and roses (or mezcal and bougainvillea, to make that cliche local). I tend toward the sunny in most aspects of life, and living in Oaxaca is no different. But yesterday was a litmus test. Steve had hernia surgery at a private clinic here. When you decide to go under the knife in Mexico, you know you've made the commitment. I was nervous, even though I know that the health system has been far more personalized and accessible here. It's a cultural leap, seeing how other countries deal with medical care.
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<br />The first surprise--they said I had to spend the night in the clinic with Steve. I asked everyone I knew why this was so. They said there are no nurses, that I'm the one to judge when Steve will need painkillers or use the bathroom or whatnot.
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<br />It shocked me. And then it turned out that was wrong. There are so many nurses, and they are so attentive (keep in mind we were in a private clinic, albeit an extremely cheap one, so I cannot compare the care we had to that of patients in the IMSS public care system). We hardly got a chance to rest or sleep with their constant checking.
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<br />But there was one key thing missing at the clinic, which I came to think of as a hacienda/hotel for sick people. No nurse call button, and no phone. That was my role--to take the few steps to the nurse office (this clinic had all of five rooms, each one for one patient and a sleepover buddy) to ask for anything Steve might need.
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<br />Another interesting contrast: You have to beg to leave. There is none of the HMO-induced pushing your out of your room, or bed, though Steve really really wanted to get out of there. Again, this might have to do with being in a private clinic, though my Oaxaca friends have had long stays in the IMSS hospitals as well.
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<br />The system also tends toward over-care. They kept Steve IV tube in much longer than necessary, saying "Why not? This way he doesn't have to swallow the pain medication." I told the staff he wanted the IV out, that he'd rather swallow pills, but no go.
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<br />One last surprise--when the doctor came in to consult Steve, he first came over and kissed my cheek. Maybe because Steve knows him socially, but still such a surprise to get a full Oaxaca greeting from a doctor.
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<br />For those wondering about clinics and options in Oaxaca, I'll close with one final bit of gossip that tantalized my imagination, for no clear reason. Story has it that our clinic, which was spotless and plain, is the cheap-but-nice option, and that there is another elegant, super high-care hospital in Oaxaca where many of the fresas (yuppies) and retirees go. It would have cost us 35,000 pesos for the surgery and hospital stay rather than the 20,000 we spent (about $1,600 to $1,700). You have to wonder what the extra $15,000 buys you.
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<br />Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-11479283164643848882011-08-05T11:55:00.001-07:002011-08-05T11:55:46.961-07:00Taller Colibri ReduxWe're preparing for another year at Taller Colibri!<br /><br />We went out with such a bang last year, with the children building a towering Lego ramp and exploring the phenomena of force and motion. <br /><br />For the upcoming year, the plans will mostly rise from the children's interests, but we have some interesting challenges up our sleeves:<br /><br />* Maestra Suzanna has ordered both of the excellent math books from <a href="http://www2.scholastic.com/browse/article.jsp?id=3596">Marilyn Burns</a>. She is the math guru that guided my math teaching when I worked in Oakland Public Schools. I had a curriculum, but her philosophies always spoke to me. She values integrating math with writing, reading, games, group work, and deeper critical thinking puzzles. <br /><br />* We have purchased some cooperative games that will have the students working together to solve problems. <br /><br />* Some students from a couple different countries plan to visit us and enroll for part of the year.<br /><br />* Maestra Aerin will join us for part of the time. She is a genius at using found objects and recyclables to create sculptures and installations. This may merge with last year's unit on building labyrinths and fun houses. <br /><br />* I really wanted to buy the <a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?q=book+of+gnomes&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=shop&cid=8138788823405554986&sa=X&ei=_Dg8TqbvIZTRiAL-88nUCw&ved=0CE0Q8wIwAg">Book of Gnomes</a> for our gnome-hut and fairy house-building themes, but it just does not fit in my luggage! However, Suzanna is tucking a beautiful guide to children's gardening into her backpack, which will hold us until I can haul over this hefty tome. <br /><br />* Back by popular demand: Our rocking field trip to the Oaxaca coast! We go in low season and often have gorgeous beaches to ourselves. We snorkel the coves of Estacahuite, swim to a hidden cave off Playa Panteon, boat the lagoons of Ventanilla, jump waves in San Agustinillo, and visit the beautiful turtles in Mazunte. For the parents, we prioritize pizza and margaritas on the beach at La Termita. Isn't school grand?<br /><br />Onto another year of surprising adventures. I'll keep you posted.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-55811282860111827442011-08-01T20:35:00.000-07:002011-08-01T20:44:29.251-07:00The Sound of SilenceYou could think that the title of this post referred to my seeming indifference to this blog of late, but that is not the case. First, allow me to defend myself by saying that I have spent the last months creating an old school print version of my "Have You Seen the Dog Lately?" zine, just like the lovely days of olde when Megan Tucker, Jenny Makofsky and, if we made him, Steve Lafler and I did our cut-and-paste-a-thons. The difference this time was doing the bulk of the writing, the layout, the assembling (lots of paste-ins) and the prepping-to-mail-it on my own (except when Steve helped, thanks be to holy bejeezus hallowed be his name). I'm still working on the doggie, actually.<br /><br />But, no, the sound of silence refers to my visit al norte. I'm in cul-de-sac land in Santa Rosa and the silence is deafening. I guess this is what people want? I don't remember this from growing up around here, though we mostly lived in apartments back then. And a few times, I've heard people complain when they happen to hear the barest snippet of noise, of life, leaking from someone's car or backyard or whatnot. My NIA teacher, who plays world music as we spin around the room, got busted by neighbors who called the police over her noise, and she's playing mellow world music from 6pm to 7pm. Do people really not want to hear a little music floating from a dance studio? <br /><br />Walking around here feels a little like zombieland, but perhaps I'm the only one who finds silence more threatening than noise. It points to a good decision we made to move to Mexico, where a little neighborhood party, processional down the street, live band in the garden, dog barking never resulted in police calls and legal threats. <br /><br />What I want to know is, once you've won your 24/7 silence by raging at and alienating everybody, what are you doing with it?Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-61157551735264653882011-05-31T17:26:00.000-07:002011-05-31T17:46:58.745-07:00Teachers' Strike Follow-UpI've spent the past couple days relaying questions to my contacts. I greatly appreciate their patience as I ask them to repeat information, clarify statements, give me examples, and share some tricky details about pay. Here are some insights parents, teachers, friends, and neighbors shared with me:<br /><br />1. The Status of the Planton<br />Per my friends and the Oaxaca Study Action Group, the teachers will return to the classroom on Monday. The government is in negotiations with the teachers' union regarding its many demands and grievances. My teacher friends say the process is transparent and public in regard to their pay, benefits, and issues pertaining to the school. However, union officials may receive extra money that is not part of the public process. <br /><br />2. Teacher Pay<br />Ah, the big question. According to my contacts, new public school teachers make between 200 and 250 pesos per day (the current exchange rate has that equaling $18 to $23 per day), or 4,000 to 5,000 pesos per month ($340 to $425 per month). As teachers stay in the system, they earn an extra 20 pesos per day ($1.70). Teachers work a six-hour shift, plus additional meetings, weekend obligations, training, parent meetings, etc. If they work a second shift with a second group (with each group having around 40 students in the primary grades), they get extra pay. In this case, they may work up to 12 hours per day, plus meetings. They often end up paying for classroom materials and do pay for their own photocopying costs. <br /><br />3. Union Power<br />I asked two sources about teacher participation and potential coercion within the union. According to both sources, Section 22 is a democratic union, markedly more so than the national teachers' union with which it is associated. Every teacher gets a vote and teachers must vote pertaining decisions regarding their contracts and strikes. <br /><br />4. Rich vs. Poor<br />I have surveyed more people regarding their opinions of the teachers and the strike. The poor and working class continue to express their support while the expatriates, tourists, and business owners are furious, just full of vitriol. One interview subject said to me, "I have never met an American that supported the teachers." An expatriate said to me, "I have never spoken with anyone that supported the teachers." Both of these comments point to the value of listening to people in the neighborhoods rather than the zocalo hotel owners, restaurant owners, parents of children in private school, and foreigners who, as one of my Oaxacan interview subjects put it, "depend on the disparity between Oaxaca's and America's economies."Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-24376843353361744522011-05-28T18:16:00.000-07:002011-05-28T18:45:27.319-07:00Conflicted'Tis the season for the annual teacher's strike and "planton," basically a sit-in, camp-out that goes for several days in and around the zocalo. What this means, invariably, is that I get entangled in many, many arguments in May and June. It seems that many expatriates, middle-class people, tourists, and wealthy people do not support the teachers. Say what?<br /><br />So this year I did my research. I went to my neighborhood public schools. I interviewed public school teachers and their children off-site. I interviewed parents of children in public school, many of whom are greatly inconvenienced by the yearly strike because it affects their work schedules. I read the fliers and the pamphlets, though not the local newspapers which I do not trust as reliable sources. I read the articles and analysis at the links in my Oaxaca Study Action Group political news group. I wanted to know what the people around me thought about the presumptions of the petit bourgeois, foreigners, politicos and so on. Here are some of the arguments. To my sources, please forgive any awkward translations of your poetic and well-reasoned Spanish and Spanglish.<br /><br />Complaint 1: The teachers are well-paid already.<br /><br />This one is hard for me to even stomach. Public school teachers in Oaxaca have up to 40 or 50 kids for a half-day, and many have another set for another half-day. Teachers reported having to purchase basic supplies for the classroom and using their own money for photocopying primary curricular materials. Also, from the Latin-American Herald Tribune:<br /><br />"The decision to go on strike was made Saturday after SNTE Local 22 members<br />decided that state officials had not made satisfactory concessions in<br />negotiations, union leader Azael Santiago Chepi said.<br /><br />The teachers plan to occupy the main plaza in Oaxaca city, the state<br />capital.<br /><br />The union is not making any pay demands, focusing instead on educational and<br />social issues, Chepi said.<br /><br />Teachers want better uniform allowances for students, computers in all of<br />the state’s elementary schools and electricity in all schools, the union<br />leader said.<br /><br />Union members also want officials to find Carlos Rene Roman, a teacher who<br />disappeared on March 14, Chepi said."<br /><br />Complaint 2: The teachers' union is corrupt.<br /><br />Every poor and lower-middle-class Mexican I interviewed scoffed at this comment. They point their fingers at the much larger force of corruption in Oaxaca society, the PRI (which has managed to keep keys to offices, important documents, and major funds out of the hands of the new ruling party). My favorite Oaxacan anarchist echoed what my husband Steve said, "The dead bodies aren't piling up because of the teacher's union. The PRIstas were deadly."<br /><br />A Oaxacan grandma added that the wealthy and politically powerful like to confuse the issues, blaming the teacher's union for skimming or causing problems when small factions that have nothing to do with the teachers are at fault. On this issue, I'm less clear because I did not understand the examples she gave. There are a lot of abbreviations in Oaxacan political lingo!<br /><br />Complaint 3: The zocalo is ugly.<br /><br />This complaint has many permutations, including:<br /><br />The teachers hurt local businesses.<br />The teachers scare tourists away.<br />The teachers cost the city money by striking.<br /><br />The people I interviewed--and I should underscore that I did not interview people who own businesses, except those who may open up their garage to sell used clothes or serve a daily meal--could give a damn regarding these issues. Oaxaca and its neighbor Chiapas are the poorest states in Mexico. When it comes down to workers (teachers) fighting for basic rights against the major political machine, my neighbors know who has their best interests at heart. <br /><br />My radical anthropologist buddy had another way of putting it, "It's time to break shi* up." I agree--when you have propaganda for your mainstream journalism, a government that funds dance festivals instead of access to clean drinking water, and an entrenched wealthy class that does everything it can to maintain the status quo, where do you turn? Block the streets, sit in the zocalo, make speeches, pass out pamphlets, fight the good fight! Viva la huelga!Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-71082985604249049432011-05-23T12:14:00.001-07:002011-05-23T12:22:33.521-07:00More Taller ColibriI've been getting lots of messages and questions about our school project. We are definitely continuing next year, under the same excellent maestra Suzanna. This year's final project is underway. In addition to fishing, gardening, cooking, hiking and Friday field trips, the children are doing an integrated Legos unit. <br /><br />We have a 40-lesson unit that combines math, science, writing and critical thinking skills to create simple machines and other constructions with Legos. In the first week, this unit was so outstandingly successful that, when I went to pick up the kids, no one moved from their places. They continued working, ignoring my reminders that the school day was over, that they could come back the next day.<br /><br />On a personal level, this unit has sparked so much creativity around the house. Max found an old pirate ship model that you build from cardboard puzzle pieces and devoted three hours to consulting the instruction manual and creating a three-dimensional ship with a cabin and bridge. Genevieve has progressed in her fine motor skills from using larger Duplo blocks to using standard-sized Legos. And me, I'm a fan of the new Ninja legos. So beautiful, so timely with Kung Fu Panda II coming out. <br /><br />For more snapshots of daily life at our experiential Oaxaca school, check out Steve's <a href="http://colibrioaxaca.blogspot.com/">Taller Colibri</a> blog.<br /><br />Onto another great school year.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-11906755625353290392011-05-22T20:02:00.000-07:002011-05-22T20:11:35.278-07:0041 going on 42That way of describing an age "going on" always seems sadder when I think about Jenny. There's this expectation to it--you're going on, after all--and then she didn't. Or maybe I feel she's in constant "going on" mode, but never arriving.<br /><br />Today I remembered something funny Jenny told me. She was in class and a professor made a sarcastic comment, which was met with silence. The professor said, "Well, that's a Pintoresque silence."<br /><br />Jenny all-out guffawed (as those of you who know her can imagine, she was a big laugher) and repeated it for everyone's enjoyment, "Pintoresque silence!"<br /><br />I doubt you'd find a Jenny character in a Harold Pintor play. Almost any other playwright would work. I like to think of her as the lead in a Greek chorus, rolling her eyes and scatting about the drama mamas onstage. <br /><br />Jenny's birthday is this May 27th, going on to something, somewhere, just not where I can find her.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19139735.post-56407490973809826432011-03-28T19:36:00.001-07:002011-03-28T19:50:27.868-07:00Mental PhotographSteve approached my last week and informed me, "We're invited to this event but...I don't know."<br /><br />He explained it was the opening of a village pavilion, and that he had been invited to play music there for its inauguration. <br /><br />How could I not go to this event? It sounded like something out of "Consider This Senora" or "Tales of Eva Luna." Surely a wizened old woman with streaming hair would greet us there and proceed to speak only in proverbs. There would be children playing, and lots of food, and just a tinge of melancholy because it would be too beautiful.<br /><br />So we went up up and around winding dirt roads, to the hills of San Pablo Etla. The pavilion was a small hut without walls, perched on a cliff side. It turned out a group of college kids in architecture school had come for the week, met with the community, and designed and built the pavilion in collaboration with the villagers. In gratitude, the villagers had cooked everyone a feast, accompanied by bottle after unlabeled bottle of smoky mezcal. <br /><br />And here's what I liked the most. Bill, the washtub bass player for the day, had gone to the village all week, teaching villagers how to play the bass. So, when the fiesta day came, Bill brought an extra washtub bass and locals took turns accompanying the band. Then, the villagers took over, playing ranchero music while Geni and I did the cumbia and merengue. Thank you, Zumba class. <br /><br />I could wax on about the band cramming into the outdoor pavilion for a blues jam as the kids and college guys played soccer. How one of the guys was proud of navigating the city market and coming out with a pinata for the party. How a couple shyly asked me what was in the horchata and their eyes got wider as I listed every ingredient. How Max and one of the students got immersed in discussing the merits of a fantasy book series. How Geni and I befriended Maria and asked her about cooking on the Estufa Lorena, the same mud stove we had used at the permaculture farm. <br /><br />There are times where I feel in the midst of something as opposed to on the fringe. These are rare times, for sure. I was intent on taking a mental photograph of the day so I could carry proof of life's beauty along with me always.Serenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01186237170000169070noreply@blogger.com1