Gates of Hell Tacos

My theory for living in Mexico is: Suspend Logic. 
For instance, the corner store on Sollano where we buy tacos in the morning for 12 pesos.  These days, that´s less than a dollar for 4 tacos (a taco, by the way, in Mexico, is ANYTHING stuffed into a warmed-up, folded-over tortilla). The tacos come with shredded lettuce, tomato and salsa.  Quite the bargain.  Quite a convenient little stop for the thrifty. 
The gal who runs the little kitchen even put in a couple of tables.  On any morning, you´d find cops with their walkie-talkies occassionally crackling, moms who´ve just dropped kids off at school, area workers, delivery guys who stop for a bite before resuming their routes.  And THEN, about 3 weeks ago, the lights went out. 
The taco gal now cooks to the light of the flame on her gas stove.  The tables sit in darkness. 
The store in the front still sells bread, milk and Cokes under fluorescent
lighting, so you can easily make selections and pay for your tacos in the front of the store.  But step carefully once you show up at the kitchen window and be prepared to pick up your meal in the black.
The Taco Gal can´t change a light bulb?
She lost the number for the electrician?
She meditates while making tacos and prefers the dark?
It all doesn´t matter, because business has not slowed at the Gates of Hell Taco Window.  The taco gal is busy as ever.  People even sit at the tables, hunched closer to their plates to see where their taco is. 
Not me, though.  I like seeing what I eat.  That´s not to say I´ve found another breakfast nook.  A twelve peso plate of tacos de pollo o frijoles can´t be beat. 
I take mine wrapped in tin foil, however, to go. 

Indigo Children

Carla is excited that there is another Indigo in her school.  She has never met another kid like her before.  This kid is new in the school, new in San Miguel.  Carla sees auras, can move energy and sees or senses the dead. New Kid can take your hand and give you a reading...tell you how you are.  One of my English class students blogged about it last week (scroll through this week´s unedited entries).  http://www.siglo21mirror.blogspot.com/

Carla and New Kid walked through town talking the other day. He pointed out an energy spot, in the chapel next to La Parroquia. She talked about the ghosts that inhabit the centuries old parrish church.
She came home talking about meeting another kid (finally) like her.

Literary Sala reading tonight!

If you are in San Miguel, please come to the Posada de San Francisco tonight at 5 pm for a reading by Alice Deham and me!  Since my memoir Flirting in Spanish was "in-progress" for about a hundred years, and I´ve read from it several dozen times, it seems, I´m trying to present something different tonight.  Like maybe a little video presentation where you´ll see lots of the actual characters in the book, including some of San Miguel´s literary luminaries from the early 90s.  Should be fun.

Alice Denham´s most recent book Sleeping with Bad Boys was reviewed by the NT Times (in case you don't, those NY Times folks are a pretty busy lot and getting them to pay attention to your book is a big coup).  Alice was one of the first writers to give me advice as I slogged away at memoir-writing; plus she was at my wedding. 

Hope to see you all!  Signed copies of Flirting in Spanish will be on sale!

Hope to see you there!

How El Negrito is not a matter of Political Correctness in Mexico

Bimbo in Mexico is like Wonder.  Bimbo produces white sandwich bread, promoted by a little white osito (bear cub) in a chef´s hat, and now, 2011, it also offers scores of whole wheat and multigrain options.
Bimbo sells packaged sweet cakes, too, kind of like Hostess selections in the US. One of its most popular is the Negrito. The Little Black One.
The Negrito is a white cake (it was once compared to a hot dog roll) both filled and topped with chocolate.  On its package is a black boy with a huge Afro and big stepping Keep on Truckin' feet.  He has a Negrito in his hand and a smile on his face, happy presumably to have his yummy snack.

If you are chubby in Mexico, you are probably nicknamed Gorda.  If you are skinny, you are Flaca, unless someone in your life has a wry sense of humor, and you are called Gorda.  Sean as a toddler was called Tortuga because, naked, we imagined her a turtle without its shell.  If you are light, you are called Guera.  If you are dark, you are Negro, or Negra, like my sister-in-law.  So a black boy or a chocolate snack is El Negrito.  Here in Mexico, it´s all good.

Flor de calabaza and a roof

It´s almost September, the time when rancho folks come into town with buckets of flor de calabaza for sale.  That´s the yellow zuchini flower that many Mexicans sautee and tuck into quesadillas.  The taco lady with hands of steel declined to buy the offered flor de calabaza this morning, but gave the boy selling them a couple of tacos.  After, he insisted she accept a bunch of the edible flowers anyway.

End of the summer also, in our case, means that my brother-in-law, a labor lawyer in León, just won a big case he´d been working on. What that means is that he came to visit his mom in San Miguel yesterday with an overloaded wallet. 

There is a chapter in my memoir, Flirting in Spanish, entitled The Lamina Roofed House.  It told how Carlos took me to his parents´ house for the first time.  Approaching his house, I could see that part of the roof was lamina - corrugated plastic.  There was another chapter that I decided not to include.  It detailed how some drunk soccer boys, sitting on a hill above my mother-in-law´s house began to throw bottles at the house while I sat outside nursing infant Carla one Sunday.  When they ran out of beer bottles, they threw rocks.  My five foot tall mother-in-law ran outside with a machete raised over her head.  The nonsensical attack was over as soon as it started, and the boys came to the house the next day to apologize, and promise to buy another piece of lamina, as they´d torn a hole in the roof.  That was nineteen years ago.  For 19 years - more actually - the family sweated under that roof during hot months and shivered in the cold.  Now, with big brother´s success, the family will get a proper poured-cement roof.  And the lamina roof that my chapter details will be a thing of the past.

Never a Normal Day in San Miguel

First, a couple of days ago, I asked for the usual - two egg and frijol quesadillas (with salsa, got all the food groups covered) from the friendly lady with hands of iron - she turns tortillas, lifts metal spoons from bubbling pots of guisados, shuffles gorditas with her bare, unblistered hands - on Calle Nueva.  On my side of the food cart, I spooned on salsa.  I oversalted (in Mexico nobody glares at you if you do.)  I bit my torta staring at the taco stuffings I could have ordered...liver, chicken in tomato, papas in chile pasilla, mushrooms in cream, when a paper was thrust in front of my face.

"Dibujo del dragon," offered a man who looked like he hadn´t slept much in past hours.  He wore a shirt over a shirt, warmup pants over jeans, had a rather trim moustache.  The drawing was done in black and purple crayon. "Me lo compras?"

"No, gracias."  I didn´t want to buy a dragon drawing.  The man moved on to the next taco stand, and then the next offering his drawing to those breakfasting on tacos.  At the final stand, the guy gave him a taco de cabeza.  The artist tucked his drawing under his arm, and ate.

Then, yesterday, I finished my Mega shopping, and found, when I tried to pull out, the parking lot exit blocked by thousands of frenzied teens.  A huge line of them walking toward the center of town.  First came the green team.  Green t-shirts, sweatshirts and shoelaces, chanting something.  Fist pumping.  What could have them so stirred?  Then came a white-faced clown, riling them up even further.  By now, the blue group was passing.  Then purple, then yellow.  Thousands of teens, hollering and cheering.  There was a banner.  A God banner!  Along came some kids with the head of Jesus on their bags.  Someone yelled something.  The crowd answered, "Si, Cristo vive!"  They were deliriously happy about it.  I thought of those Baptists who sing and whoop and swoon.  I've never seen Catholicism expressed in such a whoop-de-do way before.
Today, officials say the teens numbered 7,000 and came from towns outside San Miguel.  I´m still trying to figure out what their final destination was.
I got out of the Mega parking lot after 25 minutes.  

San Miguel reading for Flirting in Spanish

So a lady I think I have never met (or maybe I have...has she come into my spa before?) is hosting a Flirting in Spanish reading at her home on Aldama 15 this coming Tuesday, August 9 at 7 pm.  Isn´t that the most fabulous thing?  She´s providing botanas and wine and told me to announce it in the newspaper, which I´ve done.
"You really want a pile of people in your house?" I emailed.
Turns out she likes literature and entertaining and is happy to combine the two, so I say happily, bring on the fiesta!  Anyone who is in San Miguel is invited.
I´ll read, sign, answer questions, eat cheese, drink wine with my pinky extended! 
I love this gal...next week´s host.  She read a previous blog post here, and emailed me, "Don´t let Sean (age 14) go to the Mint!)"