My Year by the Numbers

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Accidental Electrocutions: 1
Average Cat-Calls/Day: 6
Average Hours Spent on Public Transportation/WorkDay: 1.7
Parasites: 3
Rounds of Antibiotics: 6
Rounds of Homeopathic Medicines: 4
Injections in the Buttocks: 4
Sprained Ankles: 3
Allergic Reactions: 6
Zombie Cockroaches: 2
Distinct Job Descriptions: 5
Work Sites: 3
Knit/Crochet Finished Objects: 13
Other Finished Craft Projects: 10
Books Read: 35
Worn-out Jeans: 5 pair
New Jeans Purchased: 3 pair
Worn-out Shoes: 5 pair
New Shoes Purchased: 3 pair
Money Spent on Clothing: less than $90USD
Languages Acquired: 1
Body Modifications: 0

I will remain restless, tense, and dissatisfied

Dear Lord, I will remain restless, tense, and dissatisfied until I can be totally at peace in your house. There is no certainty that my life will be any easier in the years ahead, or that my heart will be any calmer. But there is certainty that you are waiting for me and will welcome me home when I have preservered in my long journey to your house.
- Henri J.M. Nouwen

Adventure in Three Movements: Third Movement

The Newfoundland

Having experienced the Wonderland, it is impossible for us to ever truly return "home." We have been changed by the Wonderland, and our families and friends in the Homeland are always imperceptibly changing too. In returning from the Wonderland, then, we encounter the Newfoundland--our home as experienced anew through the lens of what we have lived in the Wonderland. This Newfoundland is where the missionary journey truly begins.

Whatever we accomplish in the Wonderland, we do so as outsiders, foreigners, "birds of passage." Assuming that we have been affected by the novelty, challenge, and depth of the Wonderland, we return as new or renewed people. Meanwhile, the events occurring in the Homeland--the changes taking place there--have been incremental and gradually assimilated by the community. Expecting, quite literally, to return "home," it can be deeply disturbing to discover that the Homeland does not feel like the same place we left. Returning to the Newfoundland can produce as much disjunction, surprise, discontinuity, and even pain as the entrance into the Wonderland may have produced. Yet, experiencing "home" as a Newfoundland can also be a profound gift. We can return renewed, reinvigorated, and actually relevant to the communities we had left behind. We can offer fresh perspective, a new witness to the gospel, and a deeper sensitivity to those around us.

Adventure in Three Movements: Second Movement

The Wonderland

The Wonderland is a world different from our own--it is someone else's Homeland. The rules of our homeland may not fully apply because different worlds are built on different systems of meaning. But because of our common humanity, we can expect to encounter commonalities even as we encounter differences. The challenge is to know how to interpret both the commonalities and the differences.

Adventure in Three Movements: First Movement

The Homeland

The Homeland is the place that formed identity, the place into which we sank our cultural roots. The Homeland taught us how to understand and interpret the world from a particular perspective. From the Homeland and its people, we learned how to "make sense" of a complex world.

Returning from Service

by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe

*The Two Gretels
by Robin Morgan

The two Gretels were exploring the forest.
Hansel was home,
sending up flares.

Sometimes one Gretel got afraid.
She said to the other Gretel,
“I think I’m afraid.”
“Of course we are,” Gretel replied.

Sometimes the other Gretel whispered,
with a shiver,
“You think we should turn back?”
To which her sister Gretel answered,
“We can’t. We forgot the breadcrumbs.”

So, they went forward
because
they simply couldn’t imagine the way back.

I discovered the poem by Robin Morgan at a coffee shop in Cuernavaca, Mexico, where I live and serve as an ELCA missionary. I was sitting with a good friend, flipping through Cries of the Spirit, a book of poetry. When I came across the “The Two Gretels,” I almost fell out of my chair.
“This is it,” I said to my friend. “This is what it’s like to go home.”

There's no place like home?
The notion of returning home from international mission service is a paradox. Although missionaries may return to the same physical locations from which they left, they have been so changed by their experiences that they can’t help but see everything through new eyes. This phenomenon is compounded by friends and family who often operate like Hansel by “sending up flares,” expecting them to find their way back to the very same place from which they set out. Often times, neither the returning missionary nor their friends or family recognize that this place no longer exists. This disconnect between Hansel and Gretel, between missionaries and the communities that sent them, makes any attempt to return home precarious, at best.

Gretel moves to a castle
My name is Andrea, and in returning from Global Mission service I became one of the two Gretels. My first returning experience came at age 15 when I spent a week of service in Juarez, Mexico. I helped build a one-room house for a family of five. The day after I got back to Minnesota, my own family of five moved into a much larger house than the one where I grew up. For the first time, I had my own bedroom and it had more square footage than the house we had just finished building in Juarez. My new home felt like an extravagant castle. I cried myself to sleep out of frustration and guilt. I didn’t know how to talk to my parents about my feelings without seeming ungrateful.

Gretel meets Super Target
Several years later I returned again, this time from a summer with Youth Encounter, in Tanzania. Once home, I accompanied my mom on errands to a Super Target store, an expanded version of the typical store chain. When we were ready to pay, I noticed that only two of the 32 registers were open. I had been back for several months already, but my mind began reeling. I was trying to calculate how much one register must cost, and how many bags of rice that would purchase, when my field of vision started going dark. I handed my purchases to my mom, stumbled out of the store, and promptly threw up in the garbage can.

Returning from Global Mission service is to become one of the two Gretels—it is to find yourself without breadcrumbs, without a map, without a GPS system for finding your way back to the place you call home. It is to find yourself in the midst of a reverse culture shock, which hits without warning in the unlikeliest of times and places. It leads you to wonder if you ever really knew your dearest friends. It makes you feel lost in your own community.

Gretel returns to herself
But returning from Global Mission service is also to become the other one of the two Gretels—it is to return home by going forward, because you simply can’t imagine the way back. It is to understand your own culture in new ways, through different lenses. It is to discern more fully who you are as a child of God, and to discover new ways of living faithfully and authentically in the world. It is to re-discover kindred spirits who were there all along.

I’m relieved to say that every time I’m faced with the paradox of returning home from an intense, inter-cultural experience, it gets a little easier. I don’t expect home to be the same, and my friends and family have stopped sending up flares. I no longer expect to return unchanged, and my friends and family no longer expect to remain unchanged themselves.

And this, perhaps, is the key: just as reverse culture shock affects the returning missionary and everyone around them, so does Global Mission service itself. The Holy Spirit blows in and through these experiences and relationships, changing everyone involved, but only if we let her in; only if we expect to be changed.

As the community of God’s people, we can’t go looking for breadcrumbs, and we can’t keep sending up flares. All we can do is go forward, because we simply can’t imagine the way back.


* Copyright 1974 by Robin Morgan in her poetry collection Lady of the Beasts (Random House).

The Cost

Part 1:
My friend Erika is one of the most amazing people I know. Her four kids are full of energy, enthusiasm, and snark. She manages them with so much calm, so much cariño. She works ungodly hours to be able to provide for them. She can scrape together the most delicious meals on a very tight budget--a little of this, a little of that. She speaks with me honestly about the violence in her neighborhood, and I feel trusted and respected and at home, but I have trouble believing in her fear; she seems fearless. She is a five-foot-two Amazon. She worries that I will have to spend important holidays alone, and tells me she's not sure what they'll be able to eat that day, but if I'm lonely I should come over and at the very least we'll dance until we collapse with exhaustion. She always remembers that I'm allergic to hot dogs, and that I don't like soda. She makes my favorite sweetened pumpkin dessert when she knows I'm coming for lunch.
When they first arrived in la estación, their house was made of cardboard and scrap tin and billboard plastic. She and her husband put up concrete blocks one wall at a time. He made all of their furniture by hand. They have just one room, one bed, for all six of them, and their four kids are growing like weeds.

Part 2:
I never understood floods--maybe because I've never seen it. I remember conversations my parents had about flood planes and homeowners insurance when we moved to South Carolina, and feeling baffled. I remember a vague terror over hearing about floods on the news, but it was a terror I reflected from my parents--it was not mine. "It was just water," I once said to my father. "What's the big deal?" The whole worry seemed silly and over-blown and far-away.

Part 3:
Erika's house sits at the bottom of the only hill in la estación. They tell me they've always had a little trouble when the rainy season hits, but that most of the water has been able to flow into the barranca, or ravine, without much drama. This year, people started throwing their trash behind their house because the other dump sites have gotten too full.
Last week, their house filled up with a meter of water, which churned around and around in their living room/kitchen/bedroom for a while before the rain died down and it was able to drain out. When the water left, it took with it almost a foot of the packed dirt that had formed their floor, the kids' school uniforms and good shoes, their school books. It ruined their simple but beautiful wood furniture, their stove, their mattress. It was just water.

This is the cost of being poor. Because land titles aren't being recognized in this community, the government refuses to help the community figure out appropriate solutions for waste management or drainage (despite all the promises during campaign season). My friends can't afford better land. They can't afford to build their house in such a way that it won't flood. They can't afford to protect their few belongings, and they can't afford, now, to replace them all. It was just water.

When I stopped by unannounced on Tuesday, Erika was at work. Her husband was mixing sandy concrete to try to put down a new floor. A few muddy books were hanging on the clothes line. Some of the kids' toys were sticking haphazardly out of a pile of dirt that had been shoveled off into the corner to clear the floor. The kids hugged me fiercely, brought me a chair, offered me the last dregs of a two-liter Coke. They dragged their puppies out from the corners in which they were hiding to show me how big they've grown. Their father mixed concrete. I had nothing to say. Nothing to offer. It was just water.

10 Suggestions for Helping your YAGM Return Home

10 Suggestions for Helping your Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM) Return Home
by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe

1. Don’t ask the question, “So how was it?” Your YAGM cannot function in one-word answers right now, especially ones intended to sum up their entire year’s experience, and being asked to do so may cause them to start laughing or crying uncontrollably. Ask more specific questions, like “Who was your closest friend?” or “What did you do in your free time?” or “What was the food like?” or “Tell me about your typical day.”

2. If you wish to spend time with your YAGM, let them take the lead on where to go and what to do. Recognize that seemingly mundane rituals, like grocery shopping or going to the movies, may be extremely difficult for someone who has just spent a year living without a wide array of material goods. One former YAGM, for example, faced with the daunting task of choosing a tube of toothpaste from the 70-odd kinds available, simply threw up in the middle of the drugstore.

3. Expect some feelings of jealousy and resentment, especially if your YAGM lived with a host family. Relationships that form during periods of uncertainty and vulnerability (the first few months in a foreign country, for example) form quickly and deeply. The fact that your YAGM talks non-stop about their friends and family from their country of service doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, too. It simply means that they’re mourning the loss (at least in part) of the deep, meaningful, important relationships that helped them to survive and to thrive during this last year. In this regard, treat them as you would anyone else mourning a loss.

4. You may be horrified by the way your YAGM dresses; both because their clothes are old and raggedy and because they insist on wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Upon encountering their closet at home, returning YAGMs tend to experience two different emotions: (1) jubilation at the fact that they can stop rotating the same 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, and (2) dismay at the amount of clothing they own, and yet clearly lived without for an entire year. Some YAGMs may deal with this by giving away entire car loads of clothing and other items to people in need. Do not “save them from themselves” by offering to drive the items to the donation center, only to hide them away in your garage. Let your YAGM do what they need to do. Once they realize, after the fact, that you do indeed need more than 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts to function in professional American society, offer to take them shopping. Start with the Goodwill and the Salvation Army; your YAGM may never be able to handle Macys again.

5. Asking to see photos of your YAGM’s year in service is highly recommended, providing you have an entire day off from work. Multiply the number of photos you take during a week’s vacation, multiply that by 52, and you understand the predicament. If you have an entire day, fine. If not, take a cue from number 1 above, and ask to see specific things, like photos of your YAGM’s host family, or photos from holiday celebrations. Better yet, set up a number of “photo dates,” and delve into a different section each time. Given the high percentage of people whose eyes glaze over after the first page of someone else’s photos, and the frustration that can cause for someone bursting with stories to tell, this would be an incredible gift.

6. At least half the things that come out of your YAGM’s mouth for the first few months will begin with, “In Mexico/Slovakia/South Africa/etc…” This will undoubtedly begin to annoy the crap out of you after the first few weeks. Actually saying so, however, will prove far less effective than listening and asking interested questions. Besides, you can bet that someone else will let slip exactly what you’re thinking, letting you off the hook.

7. That said, speak up when you need to! Returning YAGMs commonly assume that almost nothing has changed in your lives since they left. (This happens, in part, because you let them, figuring that their experiences are so much more exciting than yours, and therefore not sharing your own.) Be assertive enough to create the space to share what has happened in your life during the last year.

8. Recognize that living in a very simple environment with very few material belongings changes people. Don’t take it personally if your YAGM seems horrified by certain aspects of the way you live – that you shower every day, for example, or that you buy a new radio instead of duct-taping the broken one back together. Recognize that there probably are certain things you could or should change (you don’t really need to leave the water running while you brush your teeth, do you?), but also that adjusting to what may now feel incredibly extravagant will simply take awhile. Most YAGMs make permanent changes toward a simpler lifestyle. Recognize this as a good thing.

9. Perhaps you had hopes, dreams, and aspirations for your YAGM that were interrupted by their year of service. If so, you may as well throw them out the window. A large percentage of returning YAGMs make significant changes to their long-term goals and plans. Some of them have spent a year doing something they never thought they’d enjoy, only to find themselves drawn to it as a career. Others have spent a year doing exactly what they envisioned doing for the rest of their lives, only to find that they hate it. Regardless of the direction your YAGM takes when they return…rejoice! This year hasn’t changed who they are; it has simply made them better at discerning God’s call on their lives. (Note: Some YAGMs spend their year of service teaching English, some are involved in human rights advocacy, others work with the elderly or disabled, and at least one spent his year teaching British youth to shoot with bows and arrows. The results of this phenomenon, therefore, can vary widely.)

10. Go easy on yourself, and go easy on your YAGM. Understand that reverse culture shock is not an exact science, and manifests itself differently in each person. Expect good days and bad days. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if necessary. Pray. Laugh. Cry. This too shall pass, and in the end, you’ll both be the richer for it.

Identity

Maybe part of the problem is that I've sort of been forgetting that I'm not a poor Mexican. I joked at the start of this year that I've changed my name so many times because I'm still trying to figure out who I am, and trying on a new name helps me feel like I can start over. "I wonder who Carolina will be," I mused. That was back when I thought people might use my full name (chosen, in part, by a liguistic goof-up), before I was called Caro to my unending confusion, and before I started waging the still-undecided battle for Lina.
Whatever you call her, it's not an easy answer. In some ways, Carolina is a girl whose friends live in the "worst" parts of Cuernavaca, whose mamá makes her hot chocolate and tamales when she's sad, who walks to work to save the five pesos and fifty cents it costs to take the bus, who listens to Jarabe de Palo and Reik.
But she's also just one part of Miriam Kathleen, a young woman who has a college degree and reads for pleasure, who speaks three languages, who has had frequent opportunities for international travel, and who can get a couple thousand pesos out of the ATM whenever she feels like it. The same person who was once Katie and then Miriam and then Kat and sometimes Katja. I forget that although people frequently compliment how well I speak Spanish, I still have a foreign accent and limited vocabulary. I forget that although Licha calls me m'hija ("my daughter"), I'm still blond and a foot taller than the rest of my family.
It's easier yet to forget that all of those are me, that I don't get to suddenly become someone else because my name has changed and I operate in a new language. That I don't get to stop being privileged because I have chosen one year of simple living and accompaniment with the poor.

But I wonder, is this not true for all of us? Who is you're forgetting that you are?

Newsletter

My April/May newsletter is now available here.

A La Marcha

I wrote in my March newsletter about going to hear Javier Sicilia speak as a part of a march for an end to drug-related violence in Cuernavaca. This month, another march was organized, this time from Cuernavaca all the way to the city square of the nation's capital--the zocalo surrounded by government buildings and the national cathedral.

An effigy of President Calderón hangs beneath a sign that reads "imperialism's puppet,"
with protesters and the cathedral in the background.

While demonstrations in Mexico City on May 8 attacked a variety of issues (most of them anti-Calderón in one way or another), the largest faction was the "No Más Sangre" group led by Sicilia. The complaints against the government are complicated and controversial, but the crux of their argument boils down to this: in Calderón's attempt to legitimize his presidency, he has declared an unmanageable and un-winnable war against the drug cartels, but this war's toll has proven too great--we either need a dramatic change of policy, or a all-out change of leadership.
Many question whether Calderón's actions influence the rising death toll of the drug war at all, or if his political posturing just makes him an easy scapegoat. From The Esteyonage:

I went by [the march] for a bit, and just couldn't help but thinking what the hell cartel bosses around the country were thinking watching this all play out on TV. I kept thinking about a friend's cynical perspective that they would see this as a joke. That the government - who most appealed to - can't fix the real problems.
Despite all the positive energy, and thousands of people, I couldn't shake that somber thought.

And The Globe and Mail:

But when he in turn condemns the Calderon administration, declaring, “Your struggle for power has torn apart the fabric of the nation,” Mr. Sicilia steps outside of reason.
His son was not murdered by the state, but by criminal gangs. Contrary to what the poet says, the death can only “be blamed on our failing institutions” insofar as those institutions have been unable to vanquish the murderous cartels, not because they have had the courage to try.

There's an important question here: to what extent does any president have the full control of his country? What's more, this political climate has an eerie echo: a dubious election, a divisive president, an unpopular war against an invisible enemy. And in Calderón's responses, I see the same cocky cowboy tenuously defending the pursuit of justice, rooting for courage in the face of terrorism. Maybe I'm getting too caught up in the excitement of being on the ground in the midst of a populist movement, but I couldn't help but see the urgency in people's faces as they listened to Sicilia speak on that blistering Sunday. I, too, worry that these demonstrations are pointless, but I can't help but hope that where our passions failed to unify us in the States, Mexico might find a different outcome. I won't stop hoping that although there are no easy fixes in wars against Drugs or Terrorism, saying "We don't know the answer, but we do know this isn't it," might be enough for the moment.

Two marchers, whose signs put a twist on the popular slogan, "No More Blood."
These read "Yes, More Love."

Christ is Risen

Growing up a PK (pastor's kid), I felt keenly aware of what was going on in the life of the church. But I never paid much attention to the liturgical calendar, other than to know when the next big party was coming up. My interest in it diminished even further when I started practicing Quakerism, and trying to think of each day as equally holy. But here in Mexico, I've found the seasons of the church a helpful tool for keeping in contact with the people I left at home. I've discovered new ways of processing my experiences through the lens of each season.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve found it easy to live in the spirit of each one. Back in December, I wrote  about my relative success in realizing Advent, but Lent felt pretty strange. But it is the season of Easter that really has me scratching my head. For one thing, I had never even really thought about the fact that there is a season for Easter. My focus as a child was on how much candy I would get, and what color my pretty new dress would be. As an adolescent, I greatly enjoyed being a part of our youth group’s Eggstravaganza, an egg-hunt carnival we organized for younger kids in the congregation. But Easter really only boiled down to one day. One event. One moment.

Secondly, I missed out on all the prep work. I went to Chiapas for Holy Week. Every state and city in Mexico boasts that they have the “best” Holy Week traditions, and since we wanted to see Chiapas anyway, Anneli and I decided to see what they had to offer. Particularly spectacular, I was told, are the Good Friday services in San Cristóbal de las Casas, where they do a live reenactment of the crucifixion. Long story short, we missed that service, and only barely got a glimpse of the silent procession that happened that night, with people dressed up as something resembling both a priest and an executioner carrying the “corpse” (in this case, a life-size doll) of Jesus through town. It was an uncomfortable experience to be having without our host families to explain things to us. We lacked the confidence to go to Easter mass. We worried that we wouldn’t find the kind of trumpets-blaring, hallelujah-singing excitement we missed from back home. We worried we wouldn’t be able to follow the order of the service, and we’d had our fill of being tourists. So we skipped it. We spent Easter morning eating bagels on a bus through mountain passes, looking at hillsides green with banana leaves and corn stalks. Hallelujah, I thought.

And so now it is Eastertide. The time when we celebrate victory over death. Did you catch that? Victory over death. Why, then, have images like these been so common?

I'm not in the States currently. I don't know how people are responding to this news outside of Cuernavaca. But news outlets of various political leanings make this look like the biggest celebration that's taken place in our country in a long time--the first I can remember that crosses party lines. But I, for one, cannot ignore that the headlines here read "Osama is dead," and not "Christ is risen." From a military standpoint, I understand that this is a victory. But it's a battle that was won, not a war. Bin Laden's death doesn't get us out of Afghanistan. To the contrary, the questionable method of disposing of his body will likely fan the flames of anger and distrust that started this whole mess in the first place. To me, that doesn't sound so much like victory. It doesn't sound like trumpets and hallelujahs.

Never mind how difficult it is to hope that we are freed from death in the face of the massive violence in Mexico--and I don't have the courage to link to some of the images of that war. If, however, I am to find comfort in the risen Christ, I cannot celebrate anyone's death, no matter how horrible their actions. I refuse to believe that this death comforts the souls of those who died as a result of Al Qaeda's attacks. Indeed, I am reminded of the German phrase for the season: Jesus bringt leben. Jesus brings life. This Easter is not the season of one man's resurrection, but the celebration of the life we have all been given, through grace, through the mere goodness of God. May we all remember that gift of goodness, and strive to live in a way that is worthy of it.

All photos found via google. Credits here, here, and here.

Headed South

I'm sorry I haven't been writing very much lately. Some of you already know that my Granna has gotten quite sick in the last few weeks, and it's been difficult for me to manage my time well between work, calling home, and taking a moment for a deep breath alone.
This morning I'm headed off to the southern state of Chiapas for my spring break trip. I'll be spending two weeks visiting ruins, learning about traditional medicine, and breathing mountain air with Anneli. I'm excited for the trip, although it comes at a difficult time. I'll have lots of stories and pictures when I get back, I'm sure.
Speaking of pictures, I posted a lot of new ones over at my flickr this week, especially of Ari's quince in San Luis Potosi. If you've got a moment to head on over there, I encourage you to. This blog gets a good amount of traffic, but my pictures feel a little lonely.

I also wanted to link to the English version of Javier Sicilia's open letter to the Mexican government and drug cartels. I referenced these events in my last newsletter, but the letter is so much more poignant than anything I could ever say. I hope you'll take a few minutes to read it. Here's just one paragraph...

There is no life, Albert Camus wrote, without persuasion and without peace, and the history of Mexico today only knows intimidation, suffering, distrust and the fear that one day another son or daughter of another family will be debased and massacred. You only know what you are ask us, that death, as is already happening today, becomes an affair of statistics and administration and which we should all get used to it.

Be well, and Happy Easter, if I don't "talk" with you before then.

Newsletter

My March newsletter is now posted here.

The boy smelled of salt,
and was silent.
Even when he talked,
he didn't make any noise at all.

He just looked at me
as if he suspected me
of something he hadn't yet learned
how to fear.

Earlier, I picked up a
black plastic comb
and put it in my back pocket.
All he owns is in a thin plastic bag at my feet.

I ask if he will try again, and
his honey eyes turn to dirty spoons.
He is young, but handsome.
The coffee tastes like it has whiskey in it.

Maybe he left a girlfriend at home.
Maybe she is walking with him,
breathing his prayers for luck and for water,
or she makes him wish he could turn back.

His nails are black,
caked under with dirt,
bitten ragged.
My eyes are full of desert sand.

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Something to aspire to.

PROMPT: Is there a pattern or skill that you don’t yet feel ready to tackle but which you hope to (or think you can only dream of) tackling in the future, near or distant? Is there a skill or project that makes your mind boggle at the sheer time, dedication and mastery of the craft? Maybe the skill or pattern is one that you don’t even personally want to make but can stand back and admire those that do. Maybe it is something you think you will never be bothered to actually make bu can admire the result of those that have.

Oh, yeah. Intrelac, baby. I've been wanting to try this skill since I first saw the Danica Scarf.

Isn't she pretty?

I'm not sure why I'm so intimidated by this. According to ravelry, a lot of people have made this scarf, and so it can't possibly be as impossible as it looks. But I hate the idea of seams, and so a whole scarf based on the idea of picking up stitches from the sides of knit sections over and over and over and.... yikes.
Currently trying to stash bust, and I don't have anything appropriate for knitting it currently, but I've decided that as soon as I get back to the point when I am buying yarn, I intend to buy yarn for specific projects instead of on a whim, and this is the first thing I'm buying for. So yeah. Soon.

2KCBWDAY6

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Your knitting and crochet time

PROMPT: Write about your typical crafting time.

I am an easily distracted crafter. I only rarely sit quietly and knit without any other kind of entertainment. I listen to music and podcasts, watch tv and movies, sometimes I even read, if I'm knitting pure stockinette or garter stitch. My current favorites are these:

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

Snap Judgement

Community

and whatever's on Universal Channel, so I don't have to think about what's going on in a foreign language.

2KCBWDAY5

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Where Are They Now?

Whatever happened to your __________? Write about the fate of a past knitting project. Whether it be something that you crocheted or knitted for yourself or to give to another person. An item that lives with you or something which you sent off to charity.

These are the first socks I ever knit, back when they were first finished, and the only hand-knit socks I brought with me to Mexico. The yarn I bought when I was living in Eisleben, and it looked fantastic in the skein, but I kind of didn't like it once it was knitted up, to be honest. All the same, they're warm, and I packed them in an attempt to capitalize the twofer value as both warm footware and a comfort item. I don't so much need them for their warmth anymore, but even up to last week their coziness has continued to make them a good choice on the list of 100.
These socks also mark the passage of my time in Mexico more than anything else. When I got here, they were a little worn, but still looked nice. The fit was never fantastic (does anyone do well in that department with their first pair of socks?), but they were passable. The tops were still as stretchy as they ever were (again--not the best they could've been). The fabric was in good shape.
Now, the heels have felted together and gotten really too tight to be comfortable when I walk. The big toe of the right foot is wearing out, and you can see part of my toenail poking through. The ribbing is completely stretched out, and the tops fall down and bunch around my ankles like they don't know this isn't the early-90s anymore. They're unfortunate-looking and embarrassing, and no, you can't see a photo, because I don't even wear them out into the living room anymore. They have been quarantined to my bedroom, and the internet is a much larger, more public space than that.

I love those socks.

2KCBWDAY4

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Tidy Mind, Tidy Stitches

PROMPT: How do you keep your yarn wrangling organised? 

My knitting organization style is different right now than it normally is, since I've only got part of my stash here with me in Mexico. However, I think I've grown to love this system more than my old one, and I think I'm going to keep it up when I go home. I've got a couple different systems working in glorious harmony with each other, but I'll just talk here about the big one.

The Stash

The hardest thing for me to organize is my stash. The idea is that I put yarn in zipper bags and store it in a box that fits on the shelf of my desk. But I ran out of zipper bags before I ran out of yarn, and so I had to put more than one kind of yarn in each bag. It was hard to decide how to organize that. Right now, my physical stash is organized by yarn weight, mostly for the convenience of having similarly sized skeins packaged together (I tend to buy several colorways of the same brand of yarn at the same time. Right now I'm trying to work through my Artyarns Ultramerino 4 stash.). But sometimes that doesn't make sense to me.
Because I change my mind about every week about what categorizations make the most sense, I'm really glad I have ravelry's stash page to help me out. I first put pictures with [most of] my yarns thinking that I would need something to reference when I asked my parents to mail me more yarn during the course of this year (no way I can ever carry enough yarn with me to last that long!). But it's helpful now, as I think more carefully about the exact specifications of a yarn I'm trying to match with a project. I like being able to quickly change sorting by color, by weight, by yardage, without actually having to dump my whole stash out on the bed and start over.

2KCBWDAY3

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Skill +1UP

PROMPT: Look back over your last year of projects and compare where you are in terms of skill and knowledge of your craft to this time last year. Have you learned any new skills or forms of knitting/crochet?

I'd have to honestly say that I've grown in confidence more than skill. But if I have learned anything new in the last year, it's lace.

The first lace chart I tackled was at Christmas 2009, when I knit this Ulmus shawl for Granna. I really struggled to understand what was going on, and had to restart this scarf about five times before I figured it out. I probably knit more from the sample photos and trial and error than I did by being able to read the chart.

Fast forward to last month, when I knit this Moonlight Sonata shawlette for my mom. I think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I'm particularly proud of how quickly I memorized the chart. I know that's not something I can exactly point to and say "SEE?! I did it!" so you'll just have to believe me, I guess. ;)
For me, the process of learning lace was more about experimentation than skill development. As time goes on, I've learned a little bit about which way certain types of increases and decreases lean (not that I don't constantly get them mixed up), where holes will actually end up in the grand scheme of things, even though they look out of place when the yarn over first gets mentioned, and how to best control tension so that blocking isn't quite such a chore (Does anyone else have this problem? It doesn't seem to make sense to me that my tension is different when I knit lace than when I'm working in st st...). It's a little like a science experiment. It's a lot like fun.

2KCBWDAY2

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: A Tale of Two Yarns

SHOOT! I had these posts all set up and ready to go, but for some reason they were stuck in "draft" mode, and didn't publish this week... Well... Better late than never, right?
 

PROMPT: Part of any fibre enthusiast’s hobby is an appreciation of yarn. Choose two yarns that you have either used, are in your stash or which you yearn after and capture what it is you love or loathe about them.

Yarn 1: Indiecita Baby Alpaca

First I should say that I don't believe there's such a thing as a bad yarn. Except acrylic yarns. Blegh. So, when I say that I really hated working with this baby alpaca, it's mostly because I got it when I was really still learning how to knit. I pretty much only worked in stockinette and simple ribs. I didn't know jack about drape. But this yarn was pretty much hell for a beginning knitter. It split on my needles. It didn't frog well at all. and when I finally got a finished project out of it, it was far too droopy. Now, I hope I know better than to try to make a 3x1 rib cowl out of fingering weight alpaca. But still. I struggled to get anything off the needles with this yarn.

Yarn 2: Cherry Tree Hill Supersock Merino

I think I really love this merino for similar reasons. To be fair, I've worked with it a lot, and so I know its properties like the back of my hand. Merino is one of the most forgiving fibers I've ever worked with, and it's not so hard on the fingers (like cotton--ouch!). The project of these mitts was the first time I felt really, truly competent as a knitter. The floated stitches were a knew skill, but I managed them without much trouble. The yarn's variegations worked out pretty much exactly as I expected and hoped. My stitches were even and controlled. I felt good working with this yarn. There are plenty of other factors that contributed to that, to be sure, but still. Good memories. I love this yarn. It also comes in some amazing colors, and I can't stop myself from buying it whenever I see it.

I'm going to cheat and add a third yarn.

Yarn 3: handspun

I've never knit with a handspun. I'm really dying to. The colors are so incredible, especially in plied yarns. I want to play with them all and see how they work themselves out. Okay. I'm going to stop drooling now.

2KCBWDAY1

Ceviche de Soya

Welcome to lent: No-Meat Meals! I'm really excited about this, since I'm kind of tired of explaining that no, I'm not a vegetarian, and no, my church doesn't teach us not to eat meat, and no, I'm not allergic. I just don't like meat.
Regardless of your lenten habits or culinary preferences, I hope you'll enjoy this recipe. I personally don't like the fish version because the texture bothers me, but it's the more popular version, and is served in Mexico year round. Also, I'm feeling lazy about conversions, so good luck with that?

Soy Ceviche
serves 30
Ingredients:

• 1 kilo dried soy meat subsitute
• 8 laurel leaves
• 2 onions
• 1 kilo tomato
• 1 Tbsp dried oregano
• 2 bunches fresh cilantro
• 1/4 kilo limes
• 1 kilo ketchup
• 700mL orange juice
• 1/2 L orange soda
• 4 medium avocados
• 1/2 cup salsa Valentina OR diced green chiles to taste
• salt

Directions:

1. Place soy in with 1 slice onion, laurel leaves, and 2 Tbsp salt; cover with water and heat to rehydrate
2. Dice tomatoes, cilantro, and remaining onion
3. Juice limes and strain to remove seeds and pulp
4. Place tomatoes, cilantro, onion, oregano, lime juice, and 3Tbsp salt in pot and mix well
5. Drain the water from soy, remove laurel leaves; add to tomato mixture
   
6. Add ketchup, orange juice, orange soda, and salsa/chiles
7. Add avocados last, just before serving
8. Serve cold

To make the fish version:

• Substitute fish (like cod or talapia) for soy
• Increase lime juice to 1L
• Dice raw fish filets, and let sit in lime juice for 30-45 minutes before adding to tomato mixture as above

Coming Soon: Knitting & Crochet Blog Week

I have been spending more and more time doing crafts. Usually, my crafts of choice are yarn-related, but thanks to my work with two manualidades groups, my horizons are being broadened every day. I've realized recently, however, that that part of my life isn't something I tend to share here on this blog. I think I'd like to do more of that. SO! I've decided to participate in the 2nd annual Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. Every day for the week of 28 March-3 April I'll be responding to prompts up on this website.
Why am I telling you this now? Well, mostly to help promote Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. I know some of you reading this are knitters and crocheters as well, and I want to invite you to participate. Maybe you don't have a blog yet, and you think this could be a good time to start. Maybe you'd like to spend some time reflecting on the things you've been doing for your own sake, even without posting them anywhere. Maybe you're not interested in blogging yourself, but you'd like to read more about crafting. Whatever the case may be, resources are available for you over at Eskimimi's site.

Secondly, I was hoping the knowledge that this is coming might strike a different cord of interest with you, dear readers. I've noticed that the feedback I've been getting on my blog posts and emails is lower than it was at the start of my YAGM year, but that my soup recipe was quite popular. This blog is partially a public journal to record my experiences as a volunteer in Mexico, but I mostly write for you. I want to invite you into conversation about what you'd like to hear more of, and what you don't. Please know that I always--always--welcome your comments, suggestions, or reactions. So tell me, what do you want to know more about? What should I leave off? What are your questions about Mexico that aren't getting answered?

Sustainable Systems, pt. 3

"The way we eat determines, to a large extent, the way the world is used." -Wendell Berry-

Food in the States is cheap. That's partly due to those subsidies I talked about, but it's also because an estimated 80% of the agricultural workers are undocumented. They're underpaid and overworked at difficult and dangerous jobs. They're doing jobs that most of us don't want to do. If you balk at that claim, maybe you haven't heard about the United Farm Workers campaign to put good, hard-working Americans in those jobs instead of undocumented migrants. They have an easy sign-up form for you to become a farm worker on their website, TakeOurJobs.org, but very few people have taken the challenge.
I'm not saying that undocumented entry to the States is excusable. I am saying that if we want to change the systems that push people to cross the border without papers, we need to look deeper at our own national economic policies. We need to look at the people who do make the decision to cross, and see them as human beings whose lives extend beyond the five minutes it took them to climb the border fence or the two weeks they wandered in the desert. We need to look closer at our household purchases, too. Sounds overwhelming, doesn't it? I promise, it's not so bad. The first two of these issues warrant further conversation, but here are a few suggestions for what you can do at home:

• Cook fresh food instead of packaged. Processed food has a lot of preservatives, extra salt, and fillers that just aren't healthy. Prepare your own meals and make sure you like everything you're eating.
• Think of buying well, not cheap. One of the simplest ways we can vote on a daily basis is by changing our buying habits. We might not be able to vote Dole out of business, but we can certainly tell them that we'd rather have cleaner, safer food, and better working conditions for the people who grow it. Buying locally and organically is an investment in your health and global economic justice.
• Do you know where your food comes from? One of the non-migration effects of big-business agriculture is the breakdown of personal connections with our food. To me, it makes me wonder what I'm really eating. Local Harvest has a great tool for finding farmers markets and CSAs near you.
• Organic farms don't use chemicals. Even when you wash your produce, some of the chemicals used in food production are actually inside the cells of the food. Some of those chemicals are perfectly safe, some of them not, and some of them... well, we just don't know yet. I don't know about you, but I'd rather spend 20cents more on green beans that are just plain ole green beans. Even if you don't have access to a farmer's market, fresh, canned, and frozen produce are increasingly available at your everyday grocery store.
• Grow your own food! Not all of us have the space for a full garden, or the energy to manage one, but tomatoes can be grown on your front porch without much fuss. Herbs on your window sill. Lettuces need a little more space, but they're also really easy. 
• Sign the AgJobs Pledge, indicating your support of a bipartisan piece of legislation to improve working conditions for farm workers.

Additional reading, in case you're interested:
Food Politics Blog
Civil Eats
ObamaFoodORama

Thanks to Susana at BorderLinks for these statistics and action steps, and for the work she does with the Sustainable Foods project there.

Sustainable Systems, pt. 2

Meanwhile, in Mexico, a significant portion of the population is still growing corn. Did you know that Mexico has the world's largest genetic diversity of corn? Yep--not all corn is white and yellow, and a good deal of it is native to Mexico. Farms here continue to be small, where people do their best to keep their families fed, and hope to sell or trade the little extra they can produce to cover the rest. In fact, in some parts of Mexico, tortilla--not even all corn products, but just tortillas--continue to make up 70% of people's daily nutritional intake in 2011.

Sustainable Systems, pt. 1

I want to talk a little bit about corn. Corn, as an example, illustrates pretty perfectly the economic relationship between the United States of America and Mexico. It's kind of a long story, though, so I'm going to breaking this up over the next few days. Here we go.

alles gute, meiner!

Stop getting older already. Sheesh.

Happy Birthday, Smith!

Grace

I don't remember where I learned my favorite prayer, but I associate it strongly with the Quaker community in Columbia, SC. The idea is this: What does grace mean to you today? Before this year, I mostly used this prayer as a pre-meal blessing. Lately, I like to use it as a way to reflect on my experiences. It's interesting to me what unexpected answers I have to this simple question.
One of my more frequent answers lately has been a name: Vero.
When I first arrived at my work site in 10 de Abril, I offered to "help" her in the kitchen to fill in the gap left by an employee on maternity leave. I'm not much help, I'm afraid. I frequently spill things. I dice things I'm supposed to cut into strips. I put potatoes instead of peas in the rice. I'm a mess. I surprise myself every day with the new ways I invent to wreck breakfast.
Vero's response is invariably, "Esta bien." No problem. Don't worry.  Even when the mistake can't be corrected, Vero doesn't seem to be bothered. She moves through the small, hot kitchen with grace, quickly finding solutions and moving on with the morning. She is consistently the human embodiment of the forgiveness that I need, but don't know how to ask for. She is my grace.

The Things They Carried

One of the most powerful experiences of our border immersion trip for me was the afternoon we spent walking in the desert with the guys from CREEDA. CREEDA is a residential drug and alcohol rehabilitation center in Agua Prieta, Sonora based on the model of Alcoholics Anonymous. A major part of their program is doing community service, in order to help build self-esteem of addicts, and get them reconnected with the community in a productive way.
One of the ways in which CREEDA clients serve is by trucking water to tanks along the Mexican side of the border in areas where there have been high numbers of deaths due to dehydration. The city of Agua Prieta pays for the water, and ranchers with border lots grant permission for the tanks to be placed on their land. We were advised not to drink the water from the tank. At first I thought the concern was that if all 11 of the people in our group drank just a half liter of water, there would be little left for those who really need it. Then it was explained that the water is not filtered, and it would likely make us sick. The water isn't "clean," but it is wet, and it can mean the difference between life and death for many migrants.

Rising from the center of this tree, barely visible, is a faded and tattered flag
indicating the presence of a water tank.

The men who walked with us through the desert confessed that they had crossed mojado. Wet. In a place of so little water, they walked from one country to another and they came out wet. Many of them not only crossed the border themselves but for a time worked as polleros, coyotes, smugglers. They knew the most common paths, the best hiding places, the greatest dangers. They pointed out discarded tuna cans and extinguished fires, and some of them knew how long it had been since someone had passed.
As we walked, even our inexperienced eyes noticed things on the ground. Discarded objects. Dropped objects. Unnecessary things. Sometimes it was clear what made their owner leave them there on the ground--a tin can emptied of food, a bottle drained of water. Sometimes it wasn't even clear what made someone bring them there in the first place--a pot of hair gel, a metal spoon. Each object told a story in a language of hopelessness I will probably never learn to speak, or to hear. I cannot tell you their stories. I barely begin to tell you my own. I can only hope they might speak themselves.

Newsletter

My February newsletter is now available here.

Cream of Carrot Soup

It's good to be home. It was good to be back on the border, and we had a fantastic retreat--I have many things I want to share with you in the weeks to come--but I also couldn't help feeling a sense of great relief when I stumbled through the door at 3 in the morning, Licha lying half-asleep on the couch, Ruti and Hervey snoring gently in their room, and my nephews each muttering different stories to each other in their sleep on Licha's spare bed. There is a certain kind of stillness in this noisy household that I missed more than I had realized.
Saturday I decided to enjoy that stillness by ignoring my computer, my cell phone, my camera--anything with a battery or a plug. I knit and read all day long. Except for the half hour I spent in the kitchen, learning to make my favorite soup.  I wanted to share the recipe with you, although it's a little out of season for most of you, I think.

Licha's Cream of Carrot Soup
Serves 6
Ingredients:

• 6 carrots
• 1 can evaporated milk
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1cm slice of onion
• 1Tbsp consommé powder
• water
• butter

Directions:

1. wash carrots, cut in 1/2inch slices
2. boil carrots in water with a pad of butter until soft, but not mushy; drain
3. blend carrots, garlic, and onion until smooth
4. add evaporated milk; blend again to mix
5. melt a large pad of butter in a pot; add carrot mixture and a can of water
6. add consommé powder and heat to serve
7. top with sour cream

You're a fool if you think I took the time to take a picture of my soup.
I am mostly in the business of eating, and not of making things look pretty.
This one belongs here.

Isn't that the easiest thing you've ever heard of? And it has the added bonus of being delicious and mostly nutritious.

ProTips:

• You can substitute any kind of milk you have on hand, but I'd advise using more milk instead of adding water for the sake of the texture. 
• You can also cut out the butter in the carrot-cooking step for less fat content, but the butter added to the soup helps the carrot not burn. 
• I have no tips for reducing sodium content, but maybe there's low-sodium consommé in the States?
• I can't get my hands on any here, but I have a suspicion that plain yogurt would be amazing instead of sour cream.

aaaaaaaaand We're off!

Just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry, but I won't be writing a post this week. I've been busy all this past week getting read for our border retreat (I'm still trying to do do laundry in preparation--whoops), and we leave tomorrow morning SUPER early.
Speaking of, did you know that there's a special word in Spanish for the part of the morning when no one in their right mind is awake? Anything between 1 (or later, depending on how late the speaker tends to go to bed) and 5 am isn't la mañana, but las madrugadas. I think that's pretty nifty.
Please continue to hold all of us YAGM-Mexico folk in the light during our week of travel, as well as our communities in Cuernavaca and the people we'll be visiting. I know this will be an exciting and difficult week for all of us, full of opportunities to learn and grow. I'm excited to be "going home" to that troubled and beautiful region known as la frontera.

happy birthday to you!

Another year older, pops. Good work. Keep it up.

Newsletter

My December/January newsletter is now posted here.

Links to YAGM Blogs

I've been trying to focus in the new year on keeping in touch better with people. It can be hard to fully live in the moment here while I'm constantly thinking about things back home, and missing things is not exactly my favorite game. Honestly, sometimes trying to reach out just makes me want to hole up in my house and forget the whole thing.
I'm still not good at calling people on their birthdays. I haven't written any more letters to people in the States. I continue to waste too much time on facebook snooping on people's pages I haven't talked to in six years. But I'm taking baby steps. A couple emails here. An impromptu skype call there.
We've now hit mid-year in YAGM. My time in Mexico is half over. Of all of the things I wanted to do in the last six months and didn't, I only have that much time again to try and fit them in. And there are new holidays to experience, new people to meet. I can't do it all. It's overwhelming. Add to that the anxiety of knowing that as quickly as all this started, it will be over twice as fast. What will my life look like when I get off that plane on July 15th (yep, it's official--I'm coming "home" on July 15th)? Where will I be living? Will I have a job? But mostly, I wonder who will be ready to help me carry the weight of what I have experienced here? With whom will I share the stories I could never write down?
One of the things I've found remarkably helpful is reading the blogs of my fellow YAGMs in other countries. Although we are worlds apart from one another, it's good to know that what I'm feeling isn't completely insane. Good to know that there are people who can understand what this year means to me. Good to know that I am not going to have these experiences at the expense of ever being able to feel at home in the States again. I know that I find these posts interesting for different reasons than you might, but I wanted to share a couple of them anyway.
I'll share Christine's post first, because I think it wonderfully sums up my mid-year transition feelings. Christine serves in South Africa.
Liz is in Slovakia. I loved her recent reflections on names. As a frequent name-changer myself, I know exactly what you mean.
Kate shares some really helpful information on marianismo, which I didn't even know was a thing, and the good (gasp!) parts of machismo, which I spend more time than I should feeling aggravated about.

Guest Post from Mom

I asked my family members if they might be willing to write down some of their reflections about my time here in Mexico as they see it, especially after having visited me over the New Year holiday. Here's the first post in that series, written by my mom.

My family likes to give me grief for wanting to go shopping on vacation. Actually, I hate to shop in the American sense--wandering aimlessly in a mall, or flying through the grocery store to collect items on a list. But I do love visiting the places where artisans work and sell their wares, where people labor to sell what they have cultivated to provide for their families.

While tenaciously refusing the family’s accusation that I am shopper, I admit that I best experience a new location or culture by seeing what the local people are making and selling. I try to avoid the shops geared for tourists and seek out the vendors selling handmade items. So when we were told the members of an artist’s cooperative were going to be visiting where we were staying, I was ecstatic. We first gathered for introductions, hearing each artisan’s name and a description of their craft, an explanation of how the co-op works to find fair trade buyers. Then we visited each artisan’s table, heard more details of their creative process, and found ourselves buying something from each artist--both because their goods were amazing, and because we simply found the artists endearing. We heard stories about absent family members who had made woven wool rugs and palm baskets, about children as young as 6 learning the family’s embroidery trade, and about a couple who travel to Guatemala several times a year to bring the extended family’s textile art to this co-op--where the selling price of their clothing, bags, scarves and belts provided something closer to a living wage--and sending the money back to Guatemala.

I know that in Cuernavaca, most people are just trying to scrape by, with varying degrees of success. But as one who has always wanted to make a living as an artist or crafter, I have experienced the thrill of a customer falling in love with something I have made, and the agony of a person examining my creation, and with a an unimpressed shrug, walking away empty handed. So I found these artisans to be not only creative, but courageous. Laying out one’s handmade work is a bit like bearing one’s true self, not knowing if others will embrace or reject us. These brave artists unveil their goods, knowing that the uninformed will think they can get a better deal elsewhere, although a mass-produced imitation is often made with far less quality and skill. The artists bring their work to market, and ask a still-modest price that not only reflects the value of the item itself, but the skill and time taken to make it. And in displaying their life’s work, in bearing their soul, they know that what others see cannot be hidden again. How brave to say, "This is what I create, and who I am. Take it or leave it."

Kat also led us on what is known as the “Cuernavaca Quest”, including two shopping experiences--one at the “Mega” (equivalent to a Mexican Wal-Mart), and the other at the Mercado, the market. We had a list of items to price by quantity, including rice, beans, cooking oil, toilet paper, chicken, a backpack, and women’s jeans. At the Mega, the parking lot was full, items were easy to find in the well lit, clean, organized store with shopping carts, wide aisles, and well dressed customers buying an assortment of necessities and luxuries. Buying in kilos with pesos, we weren’t sure that the prices were desirable, but one could certainly buy almost anything there.

At the Mercado, we were shoved into a dark, cramped maze of stalls with an assortment of goods, some we couldn’t identify. The food items were laid out in the open on tables without Mega’s sterile cellophane packaging. Shoppers carried their own baskets and were limited to what they could carry home on the bus and store in their small homes. If a family lacks the ability to safely store perishable goods, shopping must be done on a daily basis. I saw baskets with a few pieces of meat, a pair of sandals, beans, corn, a mango, and one roll of toilet paper. Since I grew up in Atlanta, I was unprepared for some of the produce we saw: whole pig heads, sides of beef, pigs’ feet, entire chickens hanging with only the feathers removed, and organ meats of every variety. Kat’s father was raised on a farm, so these were familiar sights and pleasant memories for him. For those we passed, the experience seemed to be a social event as they greeted neighbors and friends while they shopped. We were able to locate the same items on the list that we carried through the Mega, often in smaller quantities, but prices per-pound were higher.

In Cuernavaca, as it is in the US, it seems that the well-off have easy access to the more desirable goods, in greater quantity, at better prices. For the people we observed, their ability to acquire “stuff” is directly related to the homes and neighborhoods in which they live--those with an already comfortable life have a pleasant shopping experience, while those living under the weight of limited income have the added burdens of transportation difficulties, fewer choices, smaller quantities, and higher prices, each an additional stone laid upon the already crushing load of poverty. And so it was with a mixture of emotions we purchased treasures to take home. We bought art, jewelry, clothing, and crafts for a fraction of what they are worth--but we were supporting the artisans, weren’t we?  We filled extra suitcases with luxuries for ourselves and friends that the makers themselves couldn’t afford--but we were helping them improve their quality of life, right?  Isn’t that right? 

my last la estación post

Part of me is really glad that the change in my work site came at Christmas break time. It meant that things felt like they had a closing, an end, that wasn't forced or awkward.

Miguel and me--the convivio more or less raging in the background

The Sunday after my birthday was the Christmas convivio at the community center. This is an event we had been busy planning since October. Mostly it's an opportunity for the community to get together in a more festive way than usual and share a meal, but the children who are sponsored by CFCA donors also get a gift and a bag of candy.

It was a very different experience to be in la estación on a weekend. Everyone seemed much more relaxed, and it was nice to have my friends seated at the table instead of running in and out, eating standing, and hurriedly rushing their kids off to school--although the ladies serving up tacos barely had a moment to breathe, I'm sure. I got to spend longer periods of time in casual conversation with my students. I received lots of hugs. I was especially glad that three of my friends, including two fellow YAGMs, Kate and Sam, got to spend this time with me and my community. One of my biggest fears about leaving my work site mid-year was the feeling that there wouldn't be anything to show for what I had done there. This is especially true because of the nature of my responsibilities; my main job in Mexico is to just be. I feel so blessed to have been a part of this community, and even more so to have Kate holding my hand as I walked away that evening, to have witnesses to the love and joy I experienced there.

Kate and Carlos kept everyone entertained.
Sam and I took pictures.

I can't say that working in la estación has been stress-free. I won't say that I don't feel a little relieved, even. Although I always felt safe and cared for, it wears on your confidence to be constantly told you're risking your life just by going to work (one of the more common coping mechanisms I have encountered in the face of rising drug violence is to repeat a mantra of distance: "this violence is something that happens to 'them' and not 'us'"). It has been difficult to know how much closer my loved ones are to kidnappings and murders, to wonder whose cousin or mother will be next.

My father has been good to remind me that my blessing is my curse, that what most equips me to serve here is also what makes the service so exhausting. I feel acutely the impacts of poverty. I follow the line of reason between inadequate schooling and drug-addicted 12-year-olds, and the path fills me with frustration. I absorb the fear and the sorrow that accompanies the deaths of people I do not know. I recognize and am ashamed of my own complicity in all of it. I am tired of feeling so much. But I also know that I cannot--I will not--forget these people who have met me on the street corner to share taquitos and gossip, who have repeated with determination the few phrases of English I was able to share in four short months, who have laughed with me, and cried with me, and reminded me that they are my own brothers and sisters.

new work placement

Unfortunately, I can't offer boatloads of information. But here's what I've got. I'll still be working at Casa Tatic in the afternoons Monday-Friday. I know I haven't talked much about the roots of that organization, so here's a little. Casa Tatic is a project of VAMOS!, a non-profit in Cuernavaca. By design, Casa Tatic is primarily a resource to indigenous families who have recently immigrated to the city, and frequently lack access to water, food, and bathrooms. The manualidades (handicrafts) group that I work with was started as a second layer of support to these same people. Frequently, indigenous people in the cities of Mexico make their meager living by selling handicrafts and folk art. Our group not only provides these women with a hot meal, time to achieve a finished project, and much-needed educational childcare, but also strives to help develop the skills required of these artisans.

On Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings, I'll be working in another VAMOS! project. This center is located in a municipality of southern Cuernavaca, called Temixco. They also host a school much like Casa Tatic in the afternoons, but three mornings a week, when I'll be there, it's a center for personas de tercer edad (senior citizens). They offer manualidades (although I think in this context they'll look a little more camp-craft and a little less home-ec), dance, yoga, and various other activities. Although I continue to feel sad about leaving La Estación, I'm super excited about this opportunity. While many YAGMs around the world are struggling to feel useful while they sit on their duffs, my favorite parts of this experience have been the moments I just drank a coffee with someone and listened to the story of their day. I'm having a blast learning to embroider table cloths and bead toilet seat covers. Not only was this organization one of the places I originally hoped to be placed, but I think it will be a fantastic fit for me as I continue this year of service.

oh. umm. hello.

Although I generally try to avoid the "sorry I haven't posted" messages, I do apologize for my extremely extended absence. There's been a lot going on, not all of which I could post about yet, and it made me feel unable to post anything at all. Because, as I said, there's a lot of new stories and info, I'm going to break the news up over multiple posts this weekend. Stick with me and I think you'll see what I mean.

Firstly, back in December, I had the single best birthday I can remember. Sounds strange, right? Even weirder is how that came about. I really don't like my birthday. It's too close to Christmas, too much stuck in the middle of the time when everyone's too busy and feeling the pressure of too much obligation. Most of my life I have tried desperately--and failed horribly--to make it something people are excited about. In the last couple years, I've just wanted to spend a couple hours with close friends. This year, I wanted to ignore it. I thought it would make me too sad to try to celebrate with people who've known me for three months--at best.

It didn't help that a week before my birthday, Andrea and I told my supervisor in La Estación that I wouldn't be returning in the new year. The violence that I've been writing about hasn't essentially changed since arrival, but Andrea and I both felt that the tone had changed, and we decided that for the sake of the program it would be better to find a different arrangement. It wasn't an easy conversation. A lot of the people I was working closely with took the news very personally, and it was emotional for me as well; in such a short time, I already feel like I have walked through fire with these families. So, on December 17th, the last Friday of work before holidays, my birthday/going away party was scheduled. Total downer, right? I figured I would be there to eat some cake, answer the community's questions about exactly why I had to leave mid-year, and hope to get out without a major scene. I gave up all hope of having a high-energy, festive birthday. I could only imagine how much it was going to stink.

Some of my closest friends from the projecto, including Sylvia, Lulu, Maestra Fresvinda, and Guille.

On the morning of, more than 20 people showed up with various sorts of foods to share, a huge cake, and balloons. It was anything but a "going away party." It was a birthday party, full of hugs, friends, and laughter. My changing work situation was only addressed as people said their goodbyes: I hope you have a wonderful birthday, that you have a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, a good visit with your family, and that you love your new job. We'll miss you so much. It was everything I could've hoped for.

More tomorrow on my new work placement. 
Saturday I'll post more end-of-service reflections about La Estación.
Look for a post about Christmas and my parents' visit on Sunday.