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Classy Smut: TV Shows That Suck Us In
I walked by the dilapidated Baja house with the window open and heard it. I visited Porvenir friends in the middle of the afternoon and saw it. Almost every time we ate tacos early, like old people, we saw it again—at our favorite stand, just above the raw meat. Ask any woman in most Latin American countries what rules the mid-mornings and afternoons at home and they’ll probably say the same thing: Novelas. Known as Soap Operas in English, the name originated from the squeaky clean stuff we call soap. Since most women worked at home in the 1930s, daytime dramas targeted them and their cleaning needs. The networks required…
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Clearly We’re New Here: Moving Back to the United States and Another Culture
Are there any two words more filled with trepidation for a middle schooler than “new school”? Well, maybe “avocado prices,” but that’s probably more for the moms. Plop that middle schooler in a new country, state and city, and you’ve got a recipe for a confused kid. According to sociologist David C. Pollock, “A Third Culture Kid is a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture. The TCK builds relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership in any.” Though they’re American citizens, one child has never lived here, the other one doesn’t remember living here,…
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Finishing Well. Sort Of: Moving to Another Country When You’d Rather Not
Did you know you’re never supposed to start a sentence with a number in the shape of a number? 11 years ago we had recently moved to Porvenir. We felt rather pale. And tall. 9 months ago we thought we might move back to the States. I didn’t want to. 7 weeks ago I stopped packing for our move and celebrated my last Mother’s Day in Mexico. 5 days ago Doug moved our fridge and beds into our new rental. Weird. 3 hours ago our real estate agent moved through our home with his tripod, clickety-clicking his way from the calle to the bodega to the baño. 1 minute ago…
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Last Christmas in Baja? Wrestling with the Unknown and Another Big Move
The C9 bulbs sit snug and proud, wrapped around the palm. It’s fat, freshly trimmed, and still full of green. Through the fall and into winter, palms don’t change. “It looks like a pineapple,” my husband says. “A glowing one.” He’s right; our own tropical Christmas. But whose kids are those? The holiday is celebrated here, yes, but you have to drive to the cities to see red and green explosions alongside gifts in excess. A peek into our low-income town will show you single strands of dim lights, old-school decor and a few lawn ornaments you might consider tacky. Big deal. We who possess bright white…
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Double Border, Side of Stress, Hold the Sunset
Crossing the Mexican border solo is not my favorite. But living in Baja for ten years makes me prepared, mostly confident and ready. Until that one time. After a lousy weekend back home for a funeral, I board some 737, block my row with stuff and close my eyes. Guilt tells me to open them and welcome any passerby, but the plane is virtually empty and I am spent. After touching down in San Diego, all that stands between me and getting home before dark is shifting my weight for 30 minutes at carousel #1, finding my shuttle, retrieving my vehicle, grabbing a fully-leaded liquid treat and heading for stores.…
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In the Eye of the Swarm: Learning Patience While Waiting for Everything to Change
They come in near silence, minding their business and ready to work. They never need blueprints, complain of the load or ask for time off. Their days are long and full of physical labor. They don’t work for the weekend; the word itself does not exist in their world. They are not lazy, selfish or greedy. They toil as a team with their boss in mind; everything exists for her. But amidst their fantastic attributes, they are squatters by nature. They move in without asking, build without permits, and defend their stolen property with a vengeance. So who do you call when they join forces, come out swinging, and threaten…
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She Just Knew
We stood in the back of the rustic church and rocked our boys like footballs. My only goal was to gently bounce mine into sleep. I was focused on us. I had noticed her before but we were quite different and not drawn to one another. Coming from an indigenous Mexican background she was awkwardly shy, avoiding eye contact and touch. We sang songs in her language and swayed to the rhythm while flags were waved and the audience clapped off beat. I was distracted by everything. My limited Spanish skills kept me from getting to know anyone past the typical greetings. People stared and seemed curious about new white people in…
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Why The 14-Year-Old Is Driving
Besides short children running out in front of my car, picking up our youngest at 3:02 is usually a mellow event. The kids lug backpacks large enough to climb into, are mostly all in a hurry, and not too concerned about motorized vehicles. When local police show up, two men packin’ heat and one cone can do wonders for the chaos. No need to be fluent in Spanish to follow along; the flat hand held in your direction is a universal symbol. Stop or else. On this particular day my 12-year-old accompanied me. The bell rang, we greeted the only gringo (ours), and pulled between a sea of dark hair,…
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The Circus Next Door
I asked God to direct my writing and give me material. This is not what I had in mind. Large trucks pull into the empty lot around lunchtime. The photo-wrapped trailer shimmies up to the far fence and faces the road. The other one shimmies up to our side yard. That’s close enough, thanks. Nice of you to block the dust, but I don’t need you checking out our laundry or feeding our dogs through the chainlink. My attitude plummets when truck and trailer detach, back doors swing open, and a washing machine appears… about 20 feet from mine. Let me guess—you want to borrow a hose? And tap into our…
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10 Años of Blessings… and Mud
Where were you on February 28, 2006? Not exactly a national day to remember, I know. But for us it was the day we moved to another country. To another culture. To another life. Our oldest was four, I was 35 weeks prego with our second, and we spent our first night in Baja, Mexico. Actually, in El Porvenir. But more specifically, in a 5th Wheel trailer. Have you ever tried to sum up ten years of your life in a few hundred words? My life in suburbia could be condensed rather easily: got married, got a job, got a puppy, bought a house, chaperoned a bunch of proms, pulled weeds,…
