It´snow Problem

Five days until Christmas.
There´s garland hanging in the windows and a wreath on the wall.
It should feel Christmasy because it looks Christmasy.

Five days until baby Jesús comes.
There are red and green frosted sugar cookies sitting on the counter.
It should feel Christmasy because it tastes Christmasy.

Five days until Santa comes.
There´s a medley of Christmas tunes playing throughout the house.
It should feel Christmasy because it sounds Christmasy.

Five days until presents come.
There are pine trees being sold on every corner.
It should feel Chrismasy because it smells Christmasy.

Five days until Christmas.
It should feel Christmasy because it should feel Christmasy.

Yet, it does not.
Not in Mexico.
Not for me.

Oh, wait. We accidentally desfrosted the freezer?
Oh, wait. There´s a bunch of ice that has come loose?
Let me take care of that for you, Myman.
There we go.

Now it´s Christmas.

Rain or Shine or A Volcano Blowing Up and Spewing Ash Everywhere

At night it is the electric blanket, level eight. In the morning it is the winter jacket and the polkadot mittens. And in the afternoon, it is the sunscreen and the sunglasses, and the winter jacket and the polkadot mittens are thrown into the backpack. Welcome to Cholula. I've had a lot of climate changes to get used to, and not only that; there have been geographical changes as well.
Where I´m from, we suffer similar discrepancies: hot sand on the beach to fog on the hill: it´s always cooler by the lake. However, we do not experience 40 degrees-turned-80 degrees-turned-35 degrees. We do not experience seeing our breaths at 7:15 a.m. only to find ourselves rubbing aloevera on our noses at 3, every day. (Okay, maybe once a year. At the end of May.) We do not experience a rainy season with ducks swimming in the street from August through October. We definitely do not experience a light dusting of ash on our way to work, floating down from the local volcano.

Ah... the volcano.

I have always viewed el volcán, Popocatépetl, as an amazing natural sculpture, made when God saw the Earth as just "soooo cute!" one day and pinched its cheek, leaving a pointed pinch-mark behind. Waking up every morning I would look out my window and not believe my luck, living so close to something so incredible, so powerful, so Lord of the Rings.

Then I took a First Aid class.

I figured it would be the normal, run of the mill First Aid class: cuts, burns, bruises, CPR, the Heimlich, gas safety, fire safety.
We covered all of those topics, plus what to do in an earthquake. For those of you wondering, the facilitator suggested el Triangulo de Vida,

which while researching afterwards I learned is a very controversial method for surviving earthquakes and is not recommended by both the American Red Cross and the United States Geological Survey because most injuries in an earthquake are caused by falling objects, not falling structures. (The "correct" method depends on the country, however, and how the buildings are built in that country, so maybe the guy running the class was right. I just didn't like him very much.)
I will never have to worry about earthquakes, though; mini ones happen in Mexico City every so often, and the drama queens of Puebla always claim that they "totally felt it!" but I never have.

After the what-to-do-in-case-of-an-earthquake briefing, I wanted the class to be over. Three hours had passed. Our speaker had made several sexist comments. I had to pee. I made to put my notebook away...

"Y ahora vamos a platicar de los pasos que uno debe de tomar en caso de erupción de volcán."
Umm... and now we´re going to talk about the steps one should take in case of a what eruption?? Volcano? What volcano? You can´t possibly mean the snow-capped mountain I look forward to seeing everyone morning, can you? I mean, that thing is so majestic! It would never hurt me! Would it?

I learned that yes, indeed, it would.
But before my mom has a heart attack reading this, I will tell you that I also learned the chances of it blowing its top are nearly nil. My heart palpitations soon regulated. It also helped to know that in terms of "risk zones" we live in the outskirts of the "yellow zone," or "zona 2," which will only receive that "light dusting of ash" mentioned above. No lava. And the steps toward saving yourself aren't super complicated: stay inside. Make that just one step toward saving yourself. It sounded easy enough, and nothing like the motion picture of Pompeii: The Sequel I was painting inside my brain. I was soon completely calm. Yet I couldn't help feeling a little disoriented…
"I live with a volcano. It is big. It is active."
…but only for a little while.

Because, mom, Popocatépetl is also beautiful, magnificent, a sight to behold, and in my opinion the top reason Cholula is such a magical place to live.
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else, come rain or shine, or even a volcano blowing up and spewing ash everywhere. I mean, imagine the blog entry on that one!

A Cholula Custom and the Grandma Who Introduced It to Me

Oh boy. She's back. Quick, don't make eye contact. Start up a conversation with the person to your left. To your right. Anyone! Uh oh. Too late... The grandma has returned, and this time she brought reenforcements: another bottle of tequila. Unopened.

Let's start at the beginning. What day is this? Monday. Where are we? In the parking lot of our apartment complex. What are we doing? Honoring Saint Ana. With whom? With our landlords, of course. They invited us to dinner. Along with the grandma, and the other 800 people eating, drinking, dancing, and drinking. Oh, and also drinking. Did I mention the drinking?? That's where the grandma comes in. We'll get to her later.
Our landlords are very religious people. They even have a calendar of all the church's important dates hung up in their window so that everyone who passes by can celebrate, too. This particular Monday happened to be Santa Ana's birthday. All weekend long, the mixiotes were prepared. They look like barbecued ribs wrapped in the skin of the leaf of an agave plant, but have a more smokey flavor instead of sweet. The men sat and tied off the bundles while the women made pasta and a soup that I truly believe was simply veggies and melted butter. Finally, Monday evening arrived.
A girlfriend and I got home at 5:00 where we were welcomed by a drunk man passed out on our steps. I calmly asked him to move out of the way, but he was unresponsive. So I tapped him on the shoulder and with a snort, he rolled over towards the wall to let me pass. How kind! Upon entering the parking lot, our hosts immediately rushed us to the head table, right in front of the band. Oh, that's right! There was also a band. A banda band, with horns and a tuba and a very loud bass drum. A band so good normal people only book them for weddings, if they can afford them. While eating, several men asked my friend and I to dance. We declined. The best was an old, toothless fellow, who said not a word; he simply pointed towards us, then shimmied. 

That's when we burst out laughing, then politely excused ourselves and left. There is such a thing as too much love. Especially if he is ancient and chimuelo.

But wait! you exclaim, you left? What about the grandma?!

She comes in later, when I returned with Myman and our roommate around 9:00.
The music was still kickin'. Some people were still eating, too, but most of the folding tables had been cleared away to make room for the dance floor. On every table (of which there were still nearly 30) we spied at least three bottles of tequila. The good stuff. Along side each bottle were various 2-liters of Squirt. From the moment we sat down, a stream of people began to approach us, tequila bottles in hand. The custom in Cholula, I learned, is to toast people with a shot of tequila accompanied with a shot (or five) of Squirt. "Cheers!" It's actually very sweet, and fun! ...until the grandma gets a little toast-happy and you remember it isn't the weekend. This was now her FIFTH driveby, and I didn't know if I was going to make it.

Quick, don't make eye contact. Start up a conversation with the person to your left. To your right. Anyone! Uh oh. Too late...
"Hola!" she says with a grin.
My "hello" is probably best described as a grimace.
In the blink of an eye, she has taken my dixie cup and poured in the tequila. But wait! I want to say, so I do, "Espera!" and then I recieve a kick from under the table. It's our roommate, who has lived in Cholula for quite awhile.
"What are you doing??" he hisses. "You can't say no! She will think you're rude!"
My eyes must communicate to him the desperation that I feel, because he finally allows me to take just a sip, so that the grandma doesn't think I am a total grosera. "Salud!" Myman drinks the rest, and then we dance the night away. Or until our bedtime, at least. Later that night I fall asleep with a smile on my face, and a delicious mixiote in my belly.

Today, a little over a week later, we awoke to the sound of squealing. Loud, obnoxious squealing. Upon entering the parking lot we saw two, giant pigs lying on the floor. They were dead. "Excellent!" Myman said. "It must be another saint's birthday!" He wasn't far off... tonight is the celebration of the Virgin Mary's accension into heaven. I think I'll go.

One Week

At the beginning of each day at the top of our lungs we yell, "Buenos días, Cholula!" to the church on top of the piramide, to the horses in the fields in front of us, to the buses running every ten minutes, and to the volcano, Popocatepetl.
To be honest, he yells. I only whisper. It's still a little strange to wake up each morning and look out my window to such a beautiful sight. I'm not comfortable enough yet to yell, to greet Cholula like an old friend. To me, Cholula seems almost sacred.
I'll get there though.
After one week I no longer pretend no one is home when the señora knocks on the door before she enters to clean; she isn't a religious man in a suit. She's just doing her job.
After one week I'm making eye contact with everyone I pass on the street. I'm not flinching when the low-lifes honk me off guard, and as to their cat calls... after one week, I'm not embarrassed. I feel sad for these guys. They're so lonely. I ignore them.
I'm already a pro at taking the bus to work, too; I have my six pesos in hand even before I can make out the word "LOMA" on the windshield.
I'm not quite sure what or where LOMA is yet, but maybe that is something I will learn in week two.

Today it is cloudy, but at the very top you can see Popo's white smoke.

I'm So Fast

Silver Lee comes to read with me at 10:00. At 10:00, his class takes a trip to the bathroom. Since first graders are very routine-oriented, Silver Lee, and the rest of his class, feel the urge to use the bathroom at this time. Needless to say when he's with me, Silver Lee always has to pee.
At first I let him go whenever he asked. It's hard to determine whether a kid really needs to go or if he's just yanking your chain. But then he started taking ridiculously long amounts of time in the bathroom, and I knew he was playing me. I even had to ask a staff member to enter the boy's bathroom and check on him before I wised up.
"I hafta go tooda bafroom."
"Alright. But I'm timing you."
"You timin' me?"
"Yes."
"Aw yeah! So cool!"
So I timed him. It worked. He was in, then out, in a matter of seconds. From then on, whenever I could hear him washing his hands I would start to count, "95... 96..."
The sound of paper towel sheets being quickly yanked out of their holder. "97... 98..."
The sound of little footsteps on linoleum, tearing around the corner. "99..."
"Oh! Oh man! I'm so fast! I'M SO FAST!"

And he was fast. Just don't ask me how long it took him to remember to wash with soap.

I Love You Too

Marcel is in kindergarten. Marcel is always in trouble. He is giggling when he should be listening and pushing when he should be standing still and yelling when he should be talking.
When he is with me, however, we are good learners.
We are smart. We have fun. We challenge each other.
It's this one-on-one time that brings out the very best in kids like Marcel.
We use context clues to guess the ending of stories. We memorize books after just two days.
We aren't worrying about the problems at home.
We are present and excited to learn. Most of the time.
Marcel recognizes all of his letter sounds when each one is presented alone, but when they're all out of order on once piece of paper, he gets confused. I test him with papers like these for one minute each week. He needs to tell me 40 correct letter sounds in one minute. After four months, his highest score is only 23. His classmates pass him by, leave my services. He wants to know why. I say, "They graduated, just like you will!" I say, "I don't want you to go yet!" I really don't know what to say. We practice.

Then, one day, Marcel sounds out 54 letter sounds in one minute. It's nearly one letter sound per second! I can't believe it! In the middle of the library I pick him up and give him a huge hug! I say, "You passed, buddy! You passed!" He wraps his arms and legs around me, monkey style, and will not let go. I wonder if he's ever been hugged like this before. I'm thinking, probably not.
With our faces at the same level, he looks me right in the eyes. "I love you!" he smiles.
"I love you too," I say, my throat feeling thick.
After dropping him off at his classroom, I see my supervisor and a fellow Minnesota Reading Corps member in the hallway. I run up to them and say, "Marcel passed!" Then I burst into tears of utter and total joy.
They roll their eyes at me, that Kai Lee. She's so crazy!

Lindsay Yang

Round, round face with big cheeks and bangs. This was my first impression of Lindsay Yang. It wasn’t until later I got to know her lopsided grin with the wide gaps between her teeth. Or her long, dark hair that swings back and forth in an exaggerated motion because she’s a little pigeon-toed and walks with a slight waddle. Or her obsession with stickers.

It wasn’t until later that I got to see her smile because Lindsay was a pretty surly first grader for the first two months we read together. As a reading tutor, I find it to be fairly common that students aren’t too keen on reading with you, in the beginning at least, but most of them don’t mind getting out of class. Lindsay wouldn’t even allow me that. She never spoke to me as we walked from her classroom to my work space each morning. She sighed deep, painful sighs if I asked her to repeat a sentence and would sometimes shut down completely, refusing to participate at all. We were both very frustrated with one another, but I continued to smile at her anyway. One day right before Thanksgiving break, however, I lost it.

I told her that she would not be receiving a sticker that day.

You might be thinking, what?! No sticker?? You monster! She’s just a little girl! She doesn’t know any better! Please, oh please, punish her in any other way you can think of, but do not deny her a sticker!!

Well, I did. I denied her a sticker.

The following day was just as bad, if not worse. She was reeeally upset about the sticker incident from the day before. So, I did what I had to do.

I refused her a sticker again.

On the morning of day three, I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t planned out my next move. I picked up Lindsay from her classroom. She said, “Hi, Miss Kai Lee,” in a sad little voice, but she said hello! I was floored.

“Good morning, Lindsay,” I said. “Are you going to read with me today?”

“I think so,” she replied, and she did. From then on she was no longer sullen. She even lost her unhealthy attachment to stickers.

I know this because one morning when I was standing outside her classroom, waiting for her, I saw a fellow Minnesota Reading Corps tutor with a huge sticker on her shirt. “Where did you get that?!” I asked. “I want one!”

“Oh, Miss Kai Lee,” Lindsay scolded, “you don’t need that sticker! Today is a beautiful day!”

She continued to read with me, talk with me, and even laugh with me up until the end of the school year when she graduated from my Minnesota Reading Corps services.

I will be sure to send her a packet of stickers when she graduates with a degree in English Literature from the University of Minnesota in 15 years so she can use them, or refuse them, with her future students.