Procrastination

Today’s blog entry is one of many ways I have found to procrastinate starting an 8-hour online traffic school course.  It is for a ticket I received a couple of months ago in Culver City.  I ran a red light on my way to catch a plane at LAX.  The telltale flashes as I sped through the intersection told me I was caught on camera, but I did not receive the ticket until the day before we left for Mexico.  I brought it with me to deal with here.

Sad to say, but the evidence against me is solid.  There is a picture of my rental car speeding through the intersection while the light is red, and a close-up of me driving the car at the same moment.  There is even a video on the police department’s website.  I could contest it, but I probably would lose.

                                                                                                                                    (Note:  I'm biting my nails, not picking my nose.)

Instead I chose traffic school to avoid points on my license.  But the cost is staggering:  $466 “bail” that I automatically forfeit to the Los Angeles Superior Court by opting for traffic school, plus a $64 court fee for the privilege of attending traffic school.  There’s also $20 to the traffic school provider.  And, of course, there’s the eight hours I have to spend taking the course, although I suspect it will take less time.

Why am I writing about this in our Oaxaca blog?  (Natalie had the same question.)  As I said before, mainly to procrastinate.  But there is a connection.  Before our trip, many people warned us about the Mexican police.  They said pretty much every interaction with the police here requires a bribe to resolve.  That may be true, and I may come to eat my words, but I’ll choose a $20, $50, even a $100 bribe any day over an obligatory $550 payment plus 8 hours of traffic school.  We arrived here expecting shananigans from the local police, but so far our interactions with them shine in comparison to my experience with the Culver City Red Light Photo Enforcement Program.  -- Harrison

Baby, you can drive my car

Something I saw yesterday that I wanted to share:  A man driving an SUV on a busy street with his daughter in the front seat.  The daughter looked Helen's age.  She was in the middle seat, halfway sitting on her father's lap.  I was waiting to cross the street when they made a sharp left turn in front of me.  As I saw them approaching, I thought about how lenient people are here about letting kids ride in front seats and without seat belts.  Then, as they sped past me, I realized that not only was she sitting in the front seat, the hands on the steering wheel were hers.  Her dad was letting her steer their way through rush hour traffic!  Or maybe it was an uncle.  Must have been an uncle.

This picture does not capture the traffic when I saw them, but it shows a typical scene at an intersection.  The blue scooter thing, the white car turning left, and the oncoming bus, all were driving at full speed when Natalie took this picture.  --Harrison

You say it's your birthday. We're gonna have a good time.

I was not planning to write more about Helen’s birthday, but after the last post several people asked how her birthday went.  Here is the follow-up.

On Monday, Helen’s actual birthday, she had a tough morning.  Not because she was a year older, but because she had to be out the door for school by 7:15 a.m.  That has been tough on all of us.  The day was nice, though.  Her class sang Happy Birthday to her, and that night we had a quiet, but special, family dinner.  I found lox at the grocery store, so we had one of our favorite staple meals from home – bagels and cream cheese with tomatoes, red onions, and cucumbers.  Only we did not have bagels. Nor did we have Friedbert’s special home-delivered bread.  We had bread from the bakery at the grocery store, which was tasty, but pretty crumbly.

Today we celebrated Helen’s birthday at school.  I don’t know if it came across in the last post, but I was nervous about it.  It is one thing to bring cupcakes for a class full of kids; it is another to make lunch for everyone and, possibly – although I wasn’t sure – to throw a full blown party.  Two factors contributed to my being nervous.  First, nobody could tell me what was expected of us.  I got bits and pieces from her teacher and from other parents, but no set of instructions from start to finish.  Should there be  decorations?  Choices of food?  How much food?  Activities?  Would we embarrass ourselves (and Helen) by bringing the sandwiches in our plastic dish bowl instead of in a princess-themed serving dish?

The second reason I was nervous is that the school is very regimented.  No dropping by your kid’s classroom to see what they’re up to.  Parents drop off their kids in the front part of the school, and that is it.  When you arrive for pick-up, a person with a microphone and speaker calls to your child.  You do not walk in to get him.  There seem to be all sorts of rules and expectations like that for the parents.  At least, that is the vibe we have gotten.  So, with the birthday party, I was nervous about crossing a line parents are not supposed to cross; say, by planning too much of a party, or too little, or by bringing too much food, or by not bringing enough, etc.

But even as I went back and forth on what to bring and how to present it, a voice inside me said, “You are over thinking this. Whatever you do will be fine.  Once it’s over you’ll realize you did not need to worry so much.” 

Now that it is over, I can honestly say I did not over think it.  From the moment I walked into the classroom, the teachers left me in charge.  The kids immediately swarmed around me and started asking a million and one questions in the way that pre-schoolers do, about what food I brought, where I live, where was Helen’s mother (at Spanish class), what is my favorite color, have I been to Disney Land, can I tie this shoe, and so on.  Once I got them to sit down, Helen, the teachers and I handed out the food.  Thank goodness we had enough.  Then a teacher put on some music.  But she looked a little hesitant, as if maybe she were waiting for me to do something else instead.  I’ll never know.  When I brought out the cupcakes, the teacher made an announcement:  “Children, there will be no cake at today’s party.  We are having cupcakes instead.”  So I guess cup cakes are not the norm, but the kids seemed happy enough to have them.  Midway through the party, a parent from the other preschool class, where they were also having a party, brought the teachers in my classroom plates with food from the other party.  Was I supposed to do the same?  Had Helen’s teachers sent out an S.O.S. for some normal food?  Again, I’ll never know.  Anyway, I spent the rest of the party on the floor surrounded by kids, trying to answer their questions and entertaining them with my funny accent.  After about 50 minutes, the teacher pulled out some handi-wipes, wiped everyone's hands and faces, and sent them out to recess.  We did a quick cleanup, then I was ushered to the door and I went home.

Midway through the party.  Helen is at the back table, facing the camera and wearing a
white headband.  Her teacher is in the back of the room, putting on music.

By the most important standard, the party was a success.  Helen had an absolutely fantastic time.  She was so proud – of herself, of her parents, of her friends, of everything.  Her smile says it all:

So am I glad we did the party?  Of course I am.  But at no point did I feel like, “This was easier than I thought it would be.”

While I am on the subject of school, Max did not let us take a picture of him in his uniform on the first day, but yesterday he relented.  Here he is, wearing the uniform they wear on days when they have P.E.  

Max might deny this one day, but he told us when we get back to Oakland he wants to keep wearing a school uniform because it is a lot easier.  Go figure.  -- Harrison

I don't wanna grow up

It is bedtime and Helen is upstairs crying because she wants to stay four years old.  She does not want to turn five.  Sob.  “I really like being four.”  Sob.  Helen’s birthday is tomorrow.

On Friday I asked Helen’s teacher if they do anything special for birthdays.  She said something about a little party in class, and asked if I would like to do that.  Sure, why not?  Then she asked if I would like her to write out a draft of the poster we should make for Monday.  Ok.  Three minutes later, the teacher handed me a piece of paper with the message in Spanish, “I invite you to my birthday party on Tuesday.  Don’t bring your lunch.  I’m turning five.”  The teacher gave me the address of a print shop that could help with the poster, but she did not realize how talented Natalie is.

Invitation/Poster by Natalie

So it appears I am making lunch for Helen and her 24 classmates on Tuesday.  (“I,” because Natalie will be in her second day of Spanish class.)  I have asked around, and been told to bring a light lunch, cake, and party favors for the kids.  Easily said, but not so easily done in a foreign city.  I think I hit the jackpot at the big grocery store near our house, Soriana, where I ordered cupcakes.  Around the corner from that store is a store that specializes in items for party favor bags and piñatas.  Seriously, that's all they sell.  I will make little turkey and American cheese sandwiches (on Wonder bread, of course), and bring drinks and grapes.  I considered making or buying something more uniquely Oaxacan for lunch, but I am going to play it safe.

Helen is laughing now.  It sounds like Natalie was able to talk her through the angst of growing old.  Actually, we think the crying had more to do with missing her friends and cousins at home, and wanting them to be at her birthday party.  As things get easier for us here, we worry less often that the experience is too stressful on the kids.  We are increasingly certain it was the right choice for all of us to come here.  But there continue to be moments of feeling badly for pulling them away from their lives at home.  Hearing Helen cry about turning five was one of those moments.  --Harrison

Logistics and gear

We have no car here.  So far we have done fine walking, taking taxis, and taking buses. Taking the bus, however, involves a bit of a guessing game.  We are never quite sure where it will take us.  Each bus line appears to be run by a different company, so there is no official bus map.  We bought a barely-legible photocopied map with some of the main bus routes hand drawn with highlighters at an English-language bookstore, but it is only marginally helpful.  Instead, we use the list of principal streets and landmarks each bus passes that covers a third to half of the windshield.  Once on the bus, I rely on Natalie to recognize a landmark near our destination to know when to get off.  So far we have not gotten lost, although it was a little dicey the other night when, returning from soccer practice, we boarded a bus with blacked-out windows (presumably to protect against the sun).  Still, we made it.

We try to board buses only when we know roughly where we will end up.  But if we decide to board any random bus just to see where it takes us, I know which bus I’m choosing.

On today’s agenda: 

* Drop off Helen and Max at school (done).

* Stop by school where Natalie will study Spanish for placement test.

* Continue school-supply treasure hunt.  Yes, treasure hunt.  We received a list of mandatory school supplies for each child.  We’re not talking “text books, notebooks, pens, pencils and a ruler.”  No, we’re talking detailed lists with everything from the exact size and number of pens and pencils, to the colors and binding type for each notebook, to the specifications for pencil sharpeners, and so on.  Helen’s list even includes an entry for “5 black pipe cleaners.”  There does not appear to be a single store with everything, so we get to visit stores across the city trying to cross more items off the list.

Helen's List (45 items)

Max's List (41 items)

(Today's agenda, continued)

* Take Max to soccer practice.

* Dinner

* Bed 

Nice pants!

Helen has worn pants maybe five times in the last three years.  She likes skirts.  She likes dresses.  She likes tutus.  She does not like pants.  So we were a little worried that Helen started school on a “P.E.” day, when she must wear pants, instead of on one of the three days a week she can wear a skirt.  As expected, Helen was upset when it was time to get dressed.  Natalie literally had to force the pants on her.  But boy was she cute once they were on!

I should probably write more about how the school day went, but I confess that my only motive for writing this entry before going to bed is to share these pictures.  I’m sure we’ll have more to say about school in future entries.  And there will be pictures of Max in his uniform too, after he starts school, tomorrow.  But for now, here's a glimpse of Helen's new look.  

(Yes, Natalie and I are having so much fun with the school uniforms that it feels a bit like we dragged our kids here just so we could play dress-up with them.)  -- Harrison

Mixing the old with the new

We had an interesting weekend.  Saturday was the kind of day we anticipated when we came here.  Sunday was not.

On Saturday we visited the rug making town of Teotitlán del Valle (where I ate the Diablito ice cream).  It is a 45-minute bus ride from Oaxaca, in the middle of a dry, rural valley.  The community owns all of the land in the town and the fields around it.  A council grants inhabitants the right to use the land.  But it is not entirely Socialist, since the inhabitants keep what they earn.  Judging from the size and appearance of houses, there is plenty of discrepancy between who has how much.

We visited the compound where Celestino and his parents live.  They raise chickens and sheep, grow cactus and fruit trees, and, of course, make rugs.  They also have access to land outside the town, where they farm alfalfa and other crops, and raise some cattle.  I'm sure there are a dozen other activities happening on their land that we didn't see.

Celestino and both of his parents make rugs.  Each person has his own loom.  They use wool dyed with natural materials.  Each pattern tells a story.  Here are some pictures of the process.

Grinding the Cochineal bug to make red die.

Drying freshly dyed yarn.  Before the Spanish arrived, they used cotton, not wool.

Celestino's mother putting yarn on a spindle

At her loom

At his loom 

At his(?) loom

Finished rugs, each telling a story

It is hard to fathom the amount of work that goes into a single rug.  Leaving aside spinning and dying the wool, it can take five months of solid work to weave one of the big rugs, and several days for the small, bath-mat sized rugs.  In that context, the rugs are not expensive.  But they do cost a lot - up to several thousand dollars each.  We did not buy one yet, but Natalie and I plan to go back without the kids (who got a little bored) to pick one out.  A smaller one, no doubt.

Then, on Sunday, we did something not all visitors to Oaxaca do.  I will let the pictures tell the story.

Paint Ball!

For the record, by the time Max got hit in the face, I was long out.  I was hit in the head by our friend Diocelina, who was hiding in a tree. --Harrison