From Xico

This is the Week that IS

1.I was fired from my volunteer job at the Anglican Diocese of Southeast Mexico (sort of).  

2. I had a tire explode while driving.

3. I lost my two front teeth

4. Our neighbor, a gentle drunk with obvious cirrhosis of the liver died yesterday morning..

1. Since April or so I have been volunteering at the Anglican Dioceses of Southeastern Mexico headquartered here in Xalapa in a small, trim cream-colored compound on Avenida de las Americas, a very busy main thoroughfare divided by a green island at the top of Xalapa near the hilltop park called Macuiltepec. The parking lot is tight, to say the least, and negotiating my way into it is a challenge. Leaving is takes a slow and patient effort as one pulls forward and edges back and pulls forward again, trying not to hit plants, let alone the buildings.

It is a tiny diocese whose seventeen or so churches sprawl across a large and diverse geography. I suspect altogether there may be around three hundred parishioners, but that is only a guess.  Among them are Indigena whose first language is indigenous, notably Zapoteca in Oaxaca, and working class Mexicans and people who are university educated and farmers and pueblo dwellers and Americans who've come down for the beaches of Cancun. 

The Bishop. a slight man probably in his sixties, is charming.  He is elegant and courteous in an old-fashioned, gallant way.  He depends for help with  most of his diocesan business on his son and wife and now on a former Catholic priest.The diocesan office is a kind of family store.  The diocese sponsors a number of aid projects for which it depends on funds from US Episcopalians. Because of these projects and the increasing complexity of life in general, the diocese is growing more complicated and hasn't found a balance yet between individual churches and the diocese itself, and it hasn't yet managed to find strong local bases for running the projects.  Growing pains. The people sending down money from dioceses in the United States would like to know more about what is happening with it.  In fact, they'd like to know more in general.  And the individual churches in our diocese would benefit from more communication across parishes and regions.

So the Bishop, the former Catholic priest, and I all went to lunch to talk about the problems in the small corner restaurant across the street from the diocese: a busy, crowded place with tables for two around which three and four people sat all crammed together.People ordered the excellent and cheap food from the blackboard. Wait staff wove their way through the crowd with the food held overhead. 

The Bishop is not fond of the American obsession with forms and efficiency.  Having lived here for close to six years, I more than sympathize with him. Forms and the worship of efficiency are ways of putting barriers between human communities and human souls. But on the other hand, I do understand the Americans' wish to be sure that their money is being used properly. What to do?  .My church in San Antonio, St. Francis, produces under the expert direction of Holly Zook, a more than outstanding newsletter. Parishioners are the regular columnists; there´s lots of news about parishioners and the parish, lots of information about parish projects and of course discussion of various church issues. I remember looking forward to its arrival.  A similar newsletter could be a catalyst for drawing the diocese together and keeping people not only informed but engaged.

So at out luncheon, I asked why doesn't the Diocese of Southeastern Mexico produce a newsletter like that?  All we need to do it are our computers and Microsoft Publisher and the goodwill of people in the parishes.  A cheap, easy to access almost everywhere kind of solution. I didn't mind doing the kind of work needed to draw it together.  I had been anxious to have more to do than occasional translations. The Bishop and Byron were enthusiastic and filled with their own ideas.

We got back to the office and the Bishop mentioned that his wife had done a little Boletín about eight months ago.  He printed out a copy.  It was a charming newsletter, mostly directed to funding sources and written by the bishop's wife.  According to the Bishop, it appeared she wasn't planning to do more, and besides, we had in mind something more expansive which would not only be addressed to funders but to all the parishioners (feligreses en español).  So I worked with the help of the former Catholic priest and the Bishop for several weeks contacting people for articles, putting together a format, etc, etc, etc.

And then last week the Bishop's wife entered the story.  A petite, pretty woman in her late fifties or so, she is a force to be reckoned with.  She did want to do it again and to do it her way.  And you know how it goes with Bishops. So the new version of a newsletter is on hold and I unfortunately spoke my mind a little too clearly (but quietly) so I am kind of persona non grata con la esposa del obispo y tambien con el obispo.

2.  So anyway, I was driving home from this rather unpleasant day at the diocese on the main Xalapa-Coatepec road when I heard a big bang.  Jim had been worried about some strange noise he kept hearing which he thought was a bearing and kept saying in his deep warning voice, "I hope this doesn't mean the wheel is going to come off.  We have to get it checked."  He'd been saying this for weeks. Of course since both of us tend to want to be sure of our facts before we do anything rash about getting a tire checked, we hadn't done it yet.  

Anyway, at about the same time I heard the big bang, I saw a large curled black object sail past the window. It made no sense to me, but I knew it must have to do with my car and the big bang. The car started to lurch in a dramatic way.  Surprisingly (to me) I stayed quite calm and managed to pull off the road. Two small trucks came to offer help. This is normal here, helping.  And a very pleasant couple of middleaged men changed my tire for me.  They were shocked at its condition and so was I. I will post some photos of the most dramatic tire blowout soon.

3. So the next day, we parked the car to take the dogs for a run down the main road past our colonia.  Desafortunadamente (I bet you can figure that word out) a woman with a small, lively pup, possibly a Jack Russell Terrier, decided to do the same thing, walking maybe 100 feet ahead of me.. Jim was right near her and Cosi and Rita started tugging like mad, as did her dog.  Well......the terrier was full of energy. Rita and Cosi bounded up to her and the three of them jumped around in a happy but agitated state.  Jocko decided out of the blue to lunge toward them.  Not for nothing is he called El Grandote.  I had his leash pulled tight and wrapped around my wrist so I could keep control under just such circumstances.  He wears a (hah hah) training chain around his neck.  Little good all that did.  I found myself flat on my face on the ground with my two front teeth, whole, lying about a foot in front of me.  Sob.  

Jim came running back and he and other runners helped me to the car and helped Jim retrieve the dogs.  People always help here, as I said. Jim who is truly a wonderful husband and remains so in time of need rushed me home where we wrapped up the teeth.  Jim called our doctor who told us to go to Urgencias in Sanitorio San Francisco where he'd meet us.  We actually got lost on the way to San Francisco and a taxi driver WITH passenger guided us till he was sure we'd find it. Even getting lost, traffic was amazingly light and we got to the hospital early. A very nice doctor took care of me very carefully and then, deciding the damage was not earth shaking, said I could go home.  It cost 360 pesos or about 35 dollars.  But we wanted to make sure Dr. Huesca, our doctor, knew he didn't have to come.  It took some calls to reach him, and he asked us to wait as he was about five minutes away and just wanted to make sure everything was okay.  He came and did.  No charge for that.

So obviously, I went to a dentist.  I couldn't have lost my teeth in a better place to live as a lot of people in our colonia are without them. But I am still vain even at my advanced age and am not going to be able to live without my front teeth and face the world.  So the visit to the first dentist, a trauma dentist, cost 300 pesos or less than 30 dollars.  The panoramic xray was 165 pesos or about 16 dollars.  I have an appointment with the reconstruction dentist for Tuesday.

4.  This needs a post of its own, which will be next.

I have talked about costs in this post, but much more important is the human kindness.  Yes, there is plenty of violence in Mexico, but it is the human kindness that lingers in my soul.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Hacienda Cuautotolapan in La Gloria, Veracruz

Perhaps the greatest pleasure of writing a blog is hearing from people I don't know.  Some have written with questions and then come to visit and then become friends.  Some have written with new information as has Carlos Martínez Luengas to tell about his ancestors' ownership of the hacienda in La Gloria which I wrote about in May 2009, during and after the swine flu scare.  This link will take you to some pictures of the hacienda today, and it will also introduce the bit of history we got from a couple of people who live in La Gloria.  Señor Martinez´s narrative, which gives some earlier history of the hacienda starts below.

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 Here goes a  bit of history on the hacienda Cuautotolapan.  In 1838, my great great grandfather, Manuel de los Angeles Morales owned the whole hacienda. He married twice but his eldest son, my great grandfather, MANUEL MORALES, asked his step mother, PERFECTA GARCIA for his share of the property when his father died later in the XIX century. 

 

PERFECTA was a woman of her time, she couldn't read or write, but she was well known. She asked for a loan from a certain  Mr.VILLEGAS in order to meet her stepson's demand. Although she was a wealthy woman, the papers  Mr Villegas had her sign  or thumb print were such that she could not meet the monthly payment. It was a scam she couldn't foresee since supposedly, her late husband and Mr Villegas were good friends. She lost the entire hacienda to nepharious Mr. Villegas sometime by the end of that century.   

 

In 1907, President PORFIRIO DIAZ ordered confiscation and distribution of the land to small farmers across the conuntry. In the Official Federal National Diary  ( I do not know its equivalent  in English) the government took 16,000 hectareas of the hacienda Cuautotolapan to give to those farmers as can be consulted in its web page. The "casco" where the houses and chapel are like you show in the web page was still property of the Villegas family which finally lost it during the Mexican Revolution war somewhere between 1915 and 1925. It is now owned and run by the descendants of the former laborers of the Villegas family. 

 

I hope you find this info interesting and useful for your research.  

 

yours Truly 

 

Carlos Martinez Luengas 

On Grief and Sunshine

After my brother-in-law´s death and funeral I still find that there are days when the view out our windows looks flat, when the lush life that lines our roads looks harsh in the glare of the sun.  That I am actually accomplishing anything worth accomplishing seems impossible.  I am surprised that I am so affected by John’s death, that it flows through my veins, that I want him to come back so badly.  I cannot imagine how much my husband still feels as he lives each day.

After Jim came home from Alaska and before we went to Oregon for John’s funeral a couple of weeks ago, I had a doctor’s appointment, just a medication review.  But unlike for you folks in the US, our doctor will spend an hour with us, even more, if there’s something that needs talking about.  And of course John was on my mind, as was Jim.  And all of us were on the doctor’s mind.  So the doctor and I talked about Jim and John and me. Of course I told him I was worried about Jim who seemed distant and somewhat short-tempered.  The doctor gently reminded me that mourning happens in different ways for different people and takes different lengths of time.  Sometimes people don’t even think about the death itself, instead they get angry at lots of silly little things.  Sometimes they get angry at people they love. Sometimes they worry about them incessantly.  Sometimes they just clam up and withdraw. Sometimes they get completely depressed as in clinical depression.  Sometimes they rail against God if they believe in him. Maybe they drink more than they usually do, or eat too little.  Or fall behind in work or projects. We talked about how profoundly affecting the death of a close brother would be.  I told the doctor how I wanted to “fix” Jim, but how Jim didn’t want me to “fix” him: didn’t want suggestions or hovering.  And the doctor told me, just be there.  And just be there for yourself, too.  So, I asked, out of curiosity, really, since not much time had passed since John’s death, when is it too much time that a person is spending being lost in mourning of one kind or another?  He shrugged.  Not really something you can define.  After a while, though, if you don’t start to feel better some of the time, and then a little more of it, maybe after three weeks or six months, or a year or whatever, then maybe it is time to think about doing something more.  Of offering or getting help.  What kind?  It depends: a priest, a therapist, a death counselor. But, he said, I should remember that grief is part of life and sometimes the best therapy is just being together quietly with the person you love: not withdrawing.

I think that loved ones, dead loved ones, should remain woven into the hearts of the living, for it is not clear there is anything more than that, and that is all we can really offer them and keep for ourselves. So mourning should soften, but maybe not be fully recovered from.

Today I found this that my favorite famous online rabbi David Wolpe said:

Advice for those who are close to individuals dying or grieving a loss.

I have three words for them. 

Presence, in other words be there around the other people who are suffering. 

Silence, don't feel that you have to say something because some of the most foolish things that I've ever heard have come from people who are attempting to comfort those who are in trouble because they feel they have to say something. 

And availability. That is, be ready to talk and to listen without forcing it. 

And those three things together create a community of grief and every grief seeks community.

More than that I'm not sure any of us can offer each other but that's an awful lot.

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Yesterday, in honor of the dead from 9/11, Rabbi Wolpe quoted this wonderful poem of Edna St. Vincent Millay:

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. 

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: 
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. 

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. 
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. 
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, 
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is lost. 

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, 
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. 
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. 

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; 
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. 
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. 

— Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

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