Uniforms

We enjoyed an unusual baseball practice on Monday. First of all, Gabe and I always arrive early in order to get more playing time in. We got there about 15 minutes before 4 PM and I started hitting him grounders. Around 3:50, Abraham shows up, my favorite player on the team…and others trickle in.

It’s funny to me, but before we showed up, everyone would come and just sit on the bench and wait for the coach. Part of that was the fact that the kids don’t have balls with them. I suppose when they get one, they lose it pretty fast…Anyway…we’re always fully supplied, so when about five guys show up, we do hitting practice until coach shows up…about 4:05 PM.

At that point, all the parents, mostly men are just staring at us, at me. They’re kind of used to it, but I think it’s so unusual for a woman to play baseball, they can hardly wrap their heads around the idea…Once both coaches show, I quit whatever I’m doing and tell the boys to go to their coaches. Coach has made them run laps every practice…3 last week, but now they’re up to 5. This time around, I ran with them…seemed like a good opportunity to get a work out. Wow…did I feel the oxygen debt. I forget that we’re at 5000 feet. After the laps, coach has them stretching and repeating these curious sprints…each seeming to have a baseball bent to them. I had never seen them before. The boys don’t complain. They all cooperate, even the “gordos”…the fatter boys (In Mexico it’s not impolite to call someone fatty. It’s actually an endearment).

From there they move on to playing catch with each other and the rest of practice is pretty similar a typical American little league practice, with infield drills, outfield drills and hitting practice. I go to my book at this point…sitting on the sports bag in order to avoid getting bitten by ants. Eventually, the rain starts, so I head for the dugout. The boys are still playing. Now the “reunion” or “meeting” to decide on the uniforms begins. I knew it was supposed to happen sometime, but have kept waiting to see how this plays out. Because my Spanish isn’t superb, I know I’m missing various aspects of the verbal communication and the subtext. All the parents start chiming in, but one guy…cool, slick machismo dad…seems to have control of the group. I’m reading folks and trying to figure out if everyone is happy about that. It seems they are. They do talk about colors. My only addition (which they rejected) was to have dark colors so the dirt doesn’t show on their uniforms. They say…dark colors are too hot. Okay, I say. I like white. Let’s go with white…and a bunch of the mother’s laugh, teasing the men about whether or not they’re going to wash their son’s uniforms. Then, a couple of moms take me aside and tell me how to get the dirt out of a white uniform. It has everything to do with the ridged, cement sink on our porch…you hand wash clothes on this thing…we have a washer here, but I’ve washed my clothes this way before in Mexico….it’s a tremendous amount of work, but it does seem to get those stains out of your clothes…practically shreds them, but you can get the dirt out with enough scrubbing.

Now, they zero in on Gabe, who is wearing his Athletics jersey and hat. Though white pants are a must, they are very taken by the forest green and yellow. So I bring Gabe over. The parents ooh and aah. By this time it is pouring and all the team begins huddling under the cover of the dugout, including the two-year-old who keeps running out into the rain, to his mother’s chagrin (The Mexicans believe that if you get wet, you will certainly get sick…so this is a point of great concern to the mother…not to the two-year-old). With all this commotion going on, the meeting continues. I say…When do we need to order the uniforms? They say…we’re going right now, do you have a car? I say no…so I pile into someone’s car, with Gabe and we head downtown to a uniform making factory. The boys get measured, tell their numbers and names…which will be on the jerseys and that’s it

Kindly, one of the dads drives us home and I thank him profusely for his help. Anyway…it’s working out. Gabe will be on the Dragons (Dragones)in Oaxaca and will wear the colors of the Athleticos.

Opening Ceremonies

On Saturday, the little league of Oaxaca City had its opening ceremonies. The locals call this the inaguarción or inauguration. There was a marching band, a mascot (looked like that chicken from the 80s…is he still around...wasn’t he in San Diego?) Anyway, he was there…and a ton of parents, the board members and a band. It was very organized and yet very Mexican. For example, they were still setting up ½ hour after the thing was supposed to have started. All teams marched on the field, a few received medals from the previous season (first and second place received medals).

A priest was there in his full robes. He read from the Bible, prayed over all the boys and sprinkled them with holy water, that came out what looked like a sport bottle. It was just amazing. Also, later on, a kid prayed what I think is the “baseball prayer”…Something like…

God, we believe in you, your laws. We will play clean, and whether we win or lose, have a great time….Amen.

It’s interesting to be in a setting where something is familiar and yet so flavored by the Mexican culture…as you may begin to imagine. I hope the photos help.

Baseball in Oaxaca

Though Mexico is a soccer country, Oaxaca City is a baseball town. Many of you may know that I have been increasingly getting back into an old habit…baseball. The obsession picked up steam last summer when I began taking the kids to A’s games. Then, Gabe played on an undefeated little league team this Spring…Also, my cousin Jennifer has moved to Berkeley for her post doc…She too is an A’s fanatic. This summer was an opportunity to visit various ball parks. Jason, who doesn’t enjoy baseball as much as we do, was busy studying, so the kids and I ventured out. Besides visiting AT & T Park, and the Oakland Coliseum, we went to Dodger stadium to see Marlins v. Dodgers, a Padres game at Petco Park, and a Rockies game in Denver with Jason, Bridget (Jason's brother's wife) and half the Colorado cousins.

When we arrived in Oaxaca a few weeks ago, we explored the city on foot and by taxi. We found lots of wonderful sights and sounds, but longed for the green spaces of California. Where would we play? Where would have room to throw a hardball or kick a soccer ball? We discovered that parks are not plentiful here. However, the day we moved into our new house, we walked toward the kid’s school and saw, to our amazement, a lush green baseball diamond. It was raining that day, but we ventured onto the field and spoke with the caretaker. He informed us that a little league team was to practice on the following Monday. We showed up on that Monday (after the first day of school) and found a team, the Dragones. Gabe is now playing with the 11 and 12 year-old little leaguers in Oaxaca. It’s a bit surreal. We practice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from 4 to 6. On Fridays…they often practice longer. Games are on Saturdays. The practice field is walking distance from our house. Gabe and I usually go early to get a little bit of extra practice in. So, do the math…baseball is essentially a part-time job for Gabe right now. He’s getting in as many as 10 hours per week of playing time. Who would have thought?

My next few entries will record some of what this experience has been like for us.

First Day of School

The end of summer comes a week early for Abby and Gabe. Today they started school at Erich Pohlenz Christian School…the school that had room and the one that seemed to want our kids.
The day began at 6 am…with the ringing of the garbage bell. In this neighborhood, a lazy rooster does not crow until after the cow bell rings. The cow bell signals those in the hood that the garbage truck is about to come by and you’d better be ready because they stop for no stationary bag at the curb. It’s a funny little reality. This morning was my turn. I heard the bell toll at 6 AM, rolled out of bed and shuffled down our stairs to the covered porch where I gathered our collection of garbage and waited at the curb. After doing this for a couple of mornings, I’ve learned that the truck follows the bell by about ten minutes.

This morning, as it was Monday and the end of the weekend, almost all my neighbors were up to deal with their trash. There was no dawn to speak of yet. The sky was black and clear. The birds had started in with their song, but the stars still sparkled. It’s a strange reality. All of us up, waiting at the curb, in the dark, one woman in her robe and slippers, another couple I haven’t met, snuggling at the corner, their large white bag of garbage, sitting at their feet. “Buenos dias,” we say in greeting, yawning, ready for the moment he drives onto our street. Sure enough, at 6:11 AM, the truck swerves around the corner and stops. I and the others carry our bags to the truck and chuck them in the back. On the first day, I kept waiting for someone to come and get my bag (how very American of me), but when I saw the woman across the street, struggle with her sizable trash container, drag it over all by herself and dump it in the back of the truck, I realized my error. Mind you, there are two workers riding/standing on the back of the truck’s bumper, but they don’t lift a finger. I’m sure it saves the city loads in workman’s comp complaints. No, we all carry our own garbage to the back of the truck and dump it in with a “Buenos dias,” and “gracias”. This happens every morning and that bell continues to ring throughout the neighborhood for the next hour. Just in case you didn’t wake up the first time, there are many opportunities…not necessarily for garbage removal, but for REM disruption. Since, Jason and I are taking turns with the garbage, I will ignore the cow bell tomorrow.

We woke the kids by 6:20 and got them going with breakfast. We left the house at 7:15 and walked up our street to Erich Pohlenz. That’s about a fifteen minute jaunt. The mornings here are cool and most pedestrians we met (parents and their school children) were wearing their jackets and sweaters. I even saw a woman in a down jacket. We gringos, of course, were sweating by the time we reach the school yard. On this morning, the first day, parents were allowed to enter the yard and watch the opening ceremonies…complete with marching girls, carrying the Mexican flag around their mini-plaza while all the parents and students saluted and sang the national anthem…at least, I think it was the national anthem. We also sang a few other tunes, none of which I knew. During all this time, Abby and Gabe appeared terrified. You could see how they were trying to fit in, and figure things out, but they looked completely odd and out of place.

The strangest sensation came over me when Jason and I left the yard. In the time it took me to walk home, I realized what I was feeling. It was exactly the same feeling I had experienced after dropping Abby off at Malcolm X for the first time, then later, with Gabe…that I was abandoning my children…giving them up and over. This feeling is difficult to describe if you are not a parent and I think it is particularly wrenching for a mother, although it was Jason who expressed how stressed he was for the children later in the day.

We picked them up at 2 PM, coming to the schoolyard gate, then hearing their names called over a loudspeaker. They emerged happy to see us, but more than that, they were clearly filled with delight in their first days’ experience. Both had enjoyed their classes, both had made friends, Gabe had scored the first goal in their lunchtime soccer game and Abby had found someone who spoke English and could translate some of what was happening in her class.

It seems too good to be true and we know that more difficult days and weeks will transpire, but the day was a gift. Gabe’s memorable quote of the day: “ I like this school better than school at home because you don’t have to pay attention.” We decided to let this one ride…Of course, we’ll want to help him pay attention in the future, since we do want him to learn…but for no it’s a concerning approach to his new learning environment.

Week One...Details Fall Into Place

Saturday, we went out into the neighborhood, found a cobbler who fixed Abby’s school shoes (black mary janes that are required for her school uniform), visited a swimming pool where Abby could join a swim team if she chooses, strolled through a beautiful market, where all manner of meat, vegetables, fruits, moles, cheese and fresh cut flowers are sold.

Poco a poco, details fall into place. We’ve met the cleaning lady just now, Berta. We will pay her to come once a week. She will come on Fridays, clean for 3 to 4 hours, all for 175 pesos (about 16 dollars) per visit (the going rate is 150 pesos, but this woman comes with rave reviews and it seems ridiculous to haggle over what to us, feels like so little).

We’ve checked out two gyms, one so high-end, we’d be paying more than our YMCA membership, the other, with nice equipment, but little or no air conditioning. The huge monthly budget savings come with cheap rent (700 dollars per month), not having a car, therefore buying no gas, not paying for private music lessons nor violin rental, no sports teams (yet) and a relatively cheap grocery bill. Oh…a significant, but not back-breaking expense will be the kids’ private school tuition. (start-up fee of $100.00 American, per child and after that, $100.00 per child per month.) So inexpensive! We’ve met a few of the expatriate types here, those from the States living in Oaxaca to escape from the US rat race. They all seem very happy, living a better life on much less than they did at home. Often, they are married to a Oaxacan.

We did go to a fancy restaurant last night and met an American-born chef who has opened a new restaurant, called Naranja in the centro. His may be the most expensive restaurant in Oaxaca. We all ate and drank to our hearts content last night for $60.00 American. It was a delicious meal, but we’ve had other marvelous meals that have set us back much less. There is a street-side taqueria around the corner that beckons to us every evening around 7:30 PM. The carne asada smells up the entire block. I’m sure we’ll find ourselves doing take-out often, though we’ve decided to hold off on street food for another week or so, just in case. I don’t want the kids to miss their first day of school…so we’ve resisted the temptation. But, the day will come…

Another great discovery, which happened last night as we were practicing our walk to school (16 minutes door to door), was finding a baseball and soccer field along the way. It was raining, so the field was closed, but the security guard lady informed us that baseball and softball leagues will start up on Monday afternoon and that we should come and sign up/check it out. This is the first well-groomed field I’ve seen since we arrived a week ago. I was beginning to think that the Oaxaca didn’t have any parks, not so.

The day after tomorrow we will begin to experience the routine: school, work, study, workouts, meals, shopping…All our daily hours will take on more pattern and predictability. This will be a welcome change since our life has been ruled by little or no routine for a couple of months. I’m sure many of you can relate to that.

Tomorrow is Jason’s birthday and our plan at this point is to visit Montalban (as pictured, since we did go the following day), the Zapotec ruins on the hilltop we view from our third story roof patio. As you can probably hear in this posting, we are settling in gently now, receiving the gift of descanso (rest) and la vida tranquila (the peaceful life) of Oaxaca.

Day Two and Three

The drama over our living situation reached its peak yesterday when our host here offered us the use of his car and made it known to us that he will gladly take our kids to and bring them back from school every day. Jason felt compassion for the guy (Sergio…owner and builder of this beautiful house) and wasn’t sure we should reject his generosity, but still so many issues about this neighborhood and this house didn’t sit right with me. For one thing, the house is barely furnished, another issue…broad windows, without coverings expose us to any interested parties. The idea of trying to do window coverings and buying a bunch of furniture seems so taxing to me. I have no interest in spending my time and energy this way. Also, our distance from the school and the center of beauty and activity of Oaxaca filled me with grief. I’m not sure I want to live in an industrial/slum neighborhood for 5 months…no matter how beautiful the house. I finally convinced Jason on these issues last night. I think he agrees with me deep in his heart, but has a difficult time with the idea that we might offend anyone here.
Fortunately, a conversation with Pilar and Saul this morning set everything straight. Sergio built this house for his mother, who died before moving in. The house was offered to Pilar and Saul since they do more and more work around Oaxaca these days and need a dwelling while they are here. They have taken the house temporarily, but also rented another house nearer to their work. They too want to be closer to the center. If we move out, they will give up the house. Their loyalty to Sergio has a limit as well. It was good for me and Jason to realize that our priorities to live closer to the school and the centro are not so unusual. We are not selfish gringos…we’re a couple trying to make the best decision for our family. This choice will disappoint Sergio, but I think for Jason…better Sergio disappointed, than his wife unhappy for the next 5 months. I knew this dynamic would be tough. It has proven to be about what I expected.
Today, a new property is on the horizon. At 10 AM this morning, we looked at a large house (4 plus bedrooms, two full baths) in the colonia (neighborhood) that lies between the school and the centro. Feeling a little desperate last night, I had prayed that it would be the perfect house. It felt that way. We all saw the place and loved it. Abby and Gabe will have their own bedrooms. We have sheets and beds, plenty of furniture, though a few things we might replace…Best detail, it has a high, flat roof with a view of the city and the surrounding mountains…lots of space for a table, chairs, a place where we can enjoy the cool at the end of the day, an evening card game, a chat, or a glass of wine, or Mescal (the Oaxacan equivalent of tequila). I’m pretty sure Jason will have his morning tea and prayer times up there. Also…plenty of room for visitors. We could comfortably sleep 4 more people! So come on down! Barring some kind of emergency, we’ll begin moving in tomorrow. We might even finish moving in, though we need to make sure all is in order with the finances and utilities.
The school will be about a ten minute walk from our house and the llano, a park/square near the center (not the Zocalo itself…but the outskirts of the colonial/historic neighborhood) will be a ten minute walk in the other direction. If you remember your Spanish colonial architecture, city is designed around the main cathedral with a plaza area, then goes out in concentric circles of government buildings, businesses and restaurants/hotels, so a place like the llano is linked to the centro and in the case of Oaxaca…it is linked by a pedestrian only street…so walking is a pleasure, once you reach the llano. We ate at a wonderful taqueria on the llano last night…good Oaxacan style tacos and I enjoyed a margarita…first alcohol since arriving on Sunday.
I’ll try to explain more about the house, with photos in future postings. Also…I know these postings I am writing are going to be bunched up when we figure out our email/high speed internet. All this info will come tumbling onto my blog at once. Sorry. I’m such a blogging novice…All of are still healthy. We haven’t seen any signs of stomach disturbance, aside from the usual travel/adjusting to different foods kind of stomach issues…I won’t go into details, but I’m sure you can imagine.

Travel Day/First Day

What can I say about travel…hmm…with 14 bags between us (counting all our carry ons) it was fun, adventurous, and I felt like a mule…We were able to get our luggage checked all the way to Oaxaca, so we went through customs there. We assumed that would be easy, but alas, as fate would have it, our family was randomly chosen by the airport officials for a more thorough inspection. They opened and sifted through all 14 bags, including the guitar and violin case. Lucky for us, they didn’t find the marijuana or the diamonds! (Homeland security…that was a joke, by the way.)

And…I have to say something about the long flight from Denver to La Ciudad de Mexico. I enjoyed the privilege of a bulkhead seat (by myself). Jason and the kids were 10 rows behind me. I thought my flight would be a great opportunity to catch up on reading and sleep, but it was not meant to be. I sat by a young mother with a lively 14 month old boy and a 4-year-old girl. Very sweet people, but that little boy, who was supposed to be on her lap for the whole flight, never stopped moving and cried anytime his mother forced him into a sitting position.
But, I had fun interacting with them and helped her whenever I could, remembering a time when I used to fly with two kids under four…Anyway, this mother was Mexican, but an Orthodox Jew, living in a mainly Sephardic Jewish community in Mexico City. Most of her synagogue had grandparents who immigrated to Mexico after WWI, primarily from Syria, but also other Arabic/Muslim countries. Her husband, who was sitting in the back of the plane, came to relieve her toward the end of the flight. We had an enjoyable discussion about the Torah, which he studies one hour every morning and two hours each evening after work. He didn’t have those curly-cue sideburns, which I asked him about and he said…oh…those Jews are from Europe. They’re Ashkenazi. After listening to Michael Chabon’s new novel this summer, I found myself once again, amazed at the resilience of the Jewish people.

So, no sleep and very little reading, but an interesting flight. Oh…did I tell you that Gabe expressed feeling homesick as soon as we stepped foot on Mexican soil. Today was better for him, but I did feel for the poor kid, travel can be so disorienting and his parents don’t tend to tolerate complaining.
So, that brings me to day one. For you, my friends, who have spent precious time in pueblos around Merida, or in any developing world country, you will remember the morning music that plays before or at dawn. First, you have Mr. Rooster next door, the one with the penchant for starting his crow at 4 AM. When I was growing up, they always said these animals crowed at sun-up. Bull-s—t. Well, not completely bull shit…they do crow at dawn, but they also start crowing before dawn and end that final crow sometime around the moment when one of us throws our shoe out the window at the testosterone-filled maniac. Yes…we know about roosters. They don’t just crow once. That’s the other myth you learn as a child. Roosters are the snooze buttons of the wild…reminding you that you need to wake up about, oh…every ten minutes or so.

Next, we have dog-barking. The dog-barking usually comes a bit later than the rooster crows…takes doggie a bit of time to stretch and wake up…but when he does, barks ring throughout the neighborhood. Our neighbors dog is a St. Bernard. We tried to make friends with him, but he really is a watch dog, tied up to a tree, with flies and mosquitoes pecking at him all day long. (I’m sure that doesn’t improve his disposition). As far as barks go, his woofs are a pleasant and deep baritone. I’m thankful the dog outside our window is not a yapper.

Lastly, by around 6:30 am, the morning music changes genres…street vendors come around, offering their various services. Of course, since no one is yet awake, except the rooster and the dog, the vendor must yell, proclaim his product to high-heaven, hoping the occupants asleep inside will open their door and buy, buy, buy. Let’s see…who are these folks? We have the garbage man, the man who fills your propane tank, the man with the diesel truck(with loud horn, not afraid to use it) who fills your cistern, the tortilla guy, and so on and so on.
Let’s just say that sleeping off Ashby Avenue, as we have done for so many years now, is a garden of silence in comparison.

We enjoyed a wonderful day after waking. Our host’s wife, Pilar and her driver took us all over Oaxaca to run errands. We visited the school and registered the kids. We received a list of supplies and bought them, got cell phones, met the butcher, the baker and (not the candlestick maker) but the cheese vendors (Oaxaca sells two very special kinds of cheese, one like string cheese, the other a crumbly creamy cheese). We brought our children to a photographer to have photos taken for their school ids…the old man wielding the camera told them not to smile. It made us laugh.

We ran into street children selling goods for their parents, two of whom Pilar had a lengthy discussion with, told me how to spot anemia and malnutrition in them…though it wasn’t difficult to see. One little girl, who was the same age as Abby, was more than a foot shorter than she. We bought gum from them and found out their names, discovered the fact that they attend school, at least. Pilar told them to study hard…to study and avoid having a novio (boyfriend) until age 20. Pilar and Saul, her husband, have helped kids like these their whole adult lives. Danny, a young man who is staying in the house with us just now, was a street urchin, an orphan, whom they adopted. He’s one of many success stories.

So, many wonderful and inspiring sights. The main square is absolutely beautiful and charming. Unlike Merida, there is no traffic around the square…those streets are closed off to all motorized vehicles. It’s amazing how much this improves atmosphere. No noise and no pollution, only Cafes, music, novios cuddling, Western tourists with their backpacks and children at play. The zocalo (that’s what they call the main square) is all that the travel books say it is.
For my final tribute to Oaxaca, I have to say something about the weather. Again, it’s difficult not to compare this place to Merida. In the case of weather, they are not polar opposites in terms of temperature, but they are in terms of comfort. I noticed it when I stepped off the plane at OAX and felt the cool air, the fresh mountain wind and the absence of extreme humidity. It’s unusual to break a sweat here, whereas in Merida, the only time you aren’t sweating is in the shower. This is what I hear from all who have spent time in Oaxaca…the weather is perfect, or as near perfect as a place can get.

This concludes my first impressions of Oaxaca. More to come and hopefully we’ll figure out our internet situation soon, so I can write and receive emails from many of you.