Isabel, our housekeeper, comes in for 4 hours on Mondays and Fridays at 9:00. We usually set an alarm for 8:00 and then manage to roll out of bed by around 8:30. We prefer to be up and dressed when she gets here so we don't look like the lazy slobs we really are. Friday we were up, let the dogs out, made the coffee, and then realized it was 9:15 and Isabel wasn't here. Not only is she never late, she's usually early by 15 minutes or so. She takes the bus from Chapala where she lives with her husband, son, and daughter. Soon after, she came in, and I could see right away that she seemed upset, apologized for being late, but she was ready to work. She had gotten a phone call on the way here while she was on the bus. She explained that her son had been in the hospital in Guadalajara for two days, and she had been with him. Early that morning, she left him there with her mother so she could come home, take a shower, and come to work. Except, the hospital had just called and said he was ready to come home, and she needed to come sign the discharge papers before noon. But she said she was ready to work anyway and would go later.
We told her no, of course not, and that we would take her to the bus station in Chapala immediately so she could catch the bus to Guadalajara. So we hopped in the car and set off. Isabel speaks English about as well as I speak Spanish--which has a lot of gaps. But she explained that Geraldo, her son (15), has hemophilia and has to be hospitalized fairly often. This time he had been at school and suddenly began hemorrhaging from the nose. So he was rushed to the hospital. She said that instead of blood transfusions, they administer something called Factor 8 intravenously which helps the blood to clot. Then they keep him until they determine that he has stabilized. She also told us that she, her daughter, and most of the other women in her family are carriers, or portadoras, and many of her male cousins and nephews also have hemophilia. I didn't ask her how long her family had known this, or if she had known about it before giving birth, but since abortion is still illegal (except for the health of the mother) in most states in Mexico, there's not much that could be done even if detected before birth. Anyway, she was quite anxious and we dropped her off at the Chapala station so she could take the express bus to Guadalajara--about 40 minutes. (She told us today that he's home and doing well.)
So, there we were in Chapala unexpectedly so we checked out an artisan shop where they make equipal furniture, thinking about putting an equipal couch on the terrace so I can be comfortable when I fall asleep reading in the afternoon there. But we didn't really like anything there.
Back west toward Ajijic, we stopped in San Antonio for what would now be brunch instead of breakfast as we'd originally planned. Cafe Negro is a cute little place for breakfast and lunch only, indoor and outdoor seating. They have very good food, and best of all, they have GF bread. Bob loves their Reubens, of course, and he had French toast the other day. I had a fruit plate with cottage cheese. Talk about color--the fruit plate is so colorful and varied, it's beautiful: watermelon, cantelope, strawberries, kiwi, guava. No mango yet, not in season. The berries are so plentiful, we eat them every day, especially the blueberries and blackberries. The stands are full of strawberries, raspberries, figs, ciruelas (a small orange plum), and plenty of others. And then our mandarina (tangerine) tree in the garden is so loaded that we can't give enough away.
So after brunch, we went to the viveros nearby to pick out a couple of pots of bouganvilla because we've been decorating the terrace upstairs with plants. Beautiful plants all over the place, and so inexpensive. The pots of bouganvilla were 35p each--less than $2 each. Here's a view from the terrace as of this morning:
After the viveros stop in San Antonio, we headed back home, stopping one more time at our favorite viveros, Eduardo's, just a couple of blocks from us. We had already checked his plant stock, but his bouganvillas weren't as nice as the other place. But we got a couple more pots and more bags of dirt.
After we got home, I reviewed my lesson plans for the afternoon. I don't think I've blogged about it, but I'm now volunteering once a week, teaching an English conversation class to high school students. I have about 10 students, plus two bilingual assistants which is great for splitting up into small groups for lots of practice. The classes are sponsored by a group called Pathways, which offers scholarships for high school , or prepa, students. Tuition for public schools is free, but there are additional costs such as uniforms, books,supplies, etc. that some families just can't afford. These students receive sponsorship for those additional items, and they are required to maintain regular attendance and an 85% overall average in school. This year is the first for the conversation classes. The students are highly motivated with plans to go on to university. I'll write more about them another time.
Although the class location is barely a 5-minute walk from home, Bob dropped me off in the car because I had bought some supplies--a flip chart, and so on--too bulky to carry. The "classroom" is a tiny space with a couple of mounted white boards and some dry erase markers. No internet, no projector, or smart board. I didn't realize how dependent I had become on technology at hand in the classroom until I started preparing for these classes! But they all have smart phones and we have a class group on Facebook. The class is from 3-5 on Friday afternoons. And Friday's class was so exhilarating to me. I know it's the same sort of thing actors feel when they have the audience with them. Such a high, and I haven't felt it for a long time. These kids are so eager and fresh, not jaded and bored.
Bob walked over to meet me after the class with both dogs and that made a big hit, especially Princess Daisy. So we walked back home, two blocks up toward the mountain and one block west. At home, we quickly fed the dogs and then headed out again to be at Friday evening services by 6.
You know that we joined the synagogue last September. A small community, it reminds us a lot of our years in Japan and the Philippines--very close and welcoming. They don't hold services every week, but usually one or two Saturdays and one or two Fridays. The snowbirds are beginning to drift back so it appears that activities are picking up. Friday nights are potlucks, so the brief service is done sitting around tables set up in an L-shape. We have a paid lay leader who leads the services on Saturdays and some Fridays. David (Rosett) is from NYC and has had a mostly international life after growing up there. Oddly enough, he was born in Yokosuka, Japan while his father was in the Navy JAG corps in the late 50s. He's taught all over the world and is married to a very nice woman from Guadalajara. He's funny and very laid-back. The congregation is from all over, as you might expect--US, Canada, Mexico, Israel, Morocco, Czech Republic, among others. It's quite a change to step into the synagogue, decorated with Oaxacan wool rugs on the walls, with an ark (with a regular-sized Torah and a baby Torah). And, of course, when the service begins, it could be anywhere but it's all so familiar. Afterwards, we do the blessings over the wine and challah and then eat, sitting around the tables. And again, it's warm and familiar--mishpocha, I guess, as it's meant to feel like.
And that was the end of our day--a very good day.
