The dog named Pear

So, I had this dog for like ten seconds, actually is was about a week. Most people who know me know that I'm not a "dog person". I'm not really any kind of animal person, it's not that I have anything against dogs. other people's dogs can be really cute and great.

With all that said I'll explain how the dog thing happened. We were at bible study one fine Monday night when I heard a dog crying outside. I had inopportunely forgotten my head lamp so I went out with a candle to find the dog. There was this whole thing about Joanne wanting the dog to die, but that was just a misunderstanding. She likes dogs much more than me, so just to clarify, Joanne's doggie-death-wish=false. I brought the little whining bundle inside to inspect her wounds. Her leg was bleeding and it looked like she couldn't put any weight on it. I didn't know what to do, so I gave her water, made her a bed and then fed her a quarter of an Advil wrapped in cheese. I took her home with me that night, fed her another quarter of an Advil and hopped for the best. The next day the elementary school was doing a march in the community, I took the dog to see if I could find her owner. If anyone is going to know who a puppy belongs to it's 115 kids, right? But, to my surprise, no one seemed to know who she belonged to. She enjoyed the march though.

After awhile I decided to name her. She was perdida (pronounced pear-DEE-da, meaning lost in Spanish) and my last name is Pearson, so I named her Pear. Kim (the owner of the house I'm living in) was not happy about the dog still being around and having a name at that. I admittedly did start thinking about keeping her. I washed her and then gave her a flea treatment, made her a bed, etc.

But, as quickly and as randomly as she showed up, she de-showed up, as in she left. I had offered to give her to any of my students who wanted a female puppy and two kids actually came by to pick her up, but she had found herself a home. I don't know where she is, but rumor has it that she's still in the community, but has a new family. I'm happy with that. I felt like it was a little test, what was I going to do with this needy creature and how was I going to treat it? I think I passed and thankfully passing this test didn't include a long-term canine commitment.

Are you my patria?

Today is the 15th of September, the day before the 16th of September. The 16th of September is a big deal because it’s one of two nationally celebrated independence days. And no, Cinco de Mayo is not one of the two. Today the kids from the Zarhembla school did their march around the community. It was nice. I had a dog that I brought to try and find the owner. I didn’t, but I think I’ve become more popular with the students. Dogs make people approachable, puppies even more so. The puppy showed up last night injured and apparently homeless. I, out of the goodness of my heart (ie. some foreign being momentarily took over my conciousness) took in the puppy. So anyway, march, puppy, 15th of September, got it.

At the mission there was also an event, the Noche Mexicana. I went we Gabby and Chela, two Mexican girlfriends of mine. It was nice to “hang out” with Mexicans since most of my interactions with locals is on a more ministry-based level, not buddy buddy level, which truly bums me out. So we went to the event, I was dressed semi-mexican, kinda a cross between two characters from my favorite novela plus a dash of white girl for good measure. But the fun didn’t stop at The Mission! Oh no my friend, the fun spilled over and down the street onto the plaza and into the Salon Social-town hall.

The event at the plaza was quite similar to the event at The Mission, only different. Tons of people packed themselves into the Salon, which is large, to watch a dance, a march, a man endlessly presenting other men and women, and my favorite, the unimaginably old queen of the town...who I happened to know! I felt so in! The dance included a May Pole, dancing with glasses/glass jugs on the dancers’ heads, coconut shell clapping, stomping, but sadly, no machetes like they danced with at The Mission.

Other fun things I saw included: watching a guy get pulled out of the hall and get frisked by a police officer, and then realize it was a friend of mine. He’s cute, and the officer was a woman. Apparently she pulled him out because he was wearing a bandana...I think not. There was a lot of mingling with the officers actually. Some people might be unnerved by the sight of giant automatic weapons, but really at this point, it seems pretty normal. We saw white people too. It’s become a bit of a game when we see a group of white people to speculate about where they come from and why/how they ended up here. I realize that sounds odd, if you consider that I, myself, am white. But that’s the whole thing about this blog, having such a Mexican evening only makes me feel more white. I was dressed “Mexican” while all the genuine Mexicans were dressed, well, not like me. My skin, my eyes, my hair, all of it caused me to stand out and even though I spoke Spanish there was no hiding it, I was/am foreign. It didn’t matter how many friends I saw and greeted with a kiss on the cheek, it still doesn’t make me Mexican.

Tomorrow is the actual holiday, maybe I’ll go the march in town and try and be white, around other white people and see if that makes me feel more Mexicana. And side note, “patria” means home-land, or mother land, but that sounds kinda former USSR.

Traveling humor

two things that seem blog-worthy happened while I was in the States. I was only there for a short time...but here's what happened:
1. Lady @ the bank:
While I was in the waiting area at Bank of America, waiting for Bill, this OLD lady walked in. She had a cane, a purse, and a big paper bag folded over at the top and stapled. As she stood a few steps in front of me, hands full, her skirt inexplicably fell to the ground. It didn't quite register right away, for either of us. But when it did I quickly hopped up to grab the stuff from her hands so she could pull up her skirt, which she didn't. So, I helped pull her skirt from around her ankles to a level where she could grab it. It was at that moment that I realized that the paper bag which held in my hand had something living in it. It was a cockateel (spelling?) I left after that with Bill while the little old lady kept repeating "poder de Cristo"-power of Christ.

2. On the aeroplane
The other hilarious thing that happened to me was on my puddle-jumper flight from San Diego to LA. I was in seat 9b, an exit row, when a number of adult passengers came back looking for the illusive row 11. There was one seat, 11a which did exist but no b, c or d. As a matter of fact there wasn't on single "d" in any row. Then the passengers, who couldn't even stand upright, began to get really confused. They bumped into one another and turned around trying their hardest to figure out what to do. I got half-mooned in the shuffle by a man who nearly sat next to me. It remended me of that scene in Willy Wonka where the visitors are led into that small hallway/room and are all sqished and confused. Ultimately they leave through the same door through which they entered. It occurred to me that room must have moved-like an airplane-so you exit through the same door that you entered, yet you find yourself in a different place. How had I never thought of that?

I'm going to Mexico

Yeah, I know, I live in Mexico. I'm going to a different part though. In 2004 I went on a Spring Break missions trip to Agua Prietam MX. There I met a lovely family who pastor a local church. I was so touched during my time there (I bawled for hours on our last night) that I asked if the family needed help for the summer. They said yes. For five weeks during the summer of '04 I stayed with the Ramirez family, and have since been informally adopted. Since my first trip down there I think I've been back three or four times.

On August first I'm headed back down (or technically, up and over) for two or three weeks. My plan is to help with the VBS that they will be putting on, the first week I'm there. Other than that I don't have very fixed plans. I don't actually even have a return flight yet. Poco a poquito.

My commitments back in Baja include teaching English once again for the elementary school in Zarahembla and a new weekly class teaching geography at the IDT school. I'm also anxious to get some more use out of my surfboard while the weather is warm.

"Reforestacion" = watching movies

Friday was the last day of summer school. As far as I knew the plan was to plant some trees around the school and/or do general landscaping. "Reforestacion" was listed on the schedule, followed by a closing ceremony. When I got to the school (in my get-dirty clothes) the kids lined up as usual and the principal then proceeded to hand out pirated movies to each of the teachers to put on in their respective class. The bummer was that I was handed Transformers 2-yes it's in theaters, or so I hear. Like I said, these were pirated movies. I wasn't bummed because I didn't feel like watching that particular movie, or even by the fact that it was an illegal copy, but rather because I didn't want the kids watching it. The movie was similar to the first in theme, amount of action and violence, but differed in the amount of sleaze. It was oozing with it! As I talked to Carol about it later she told me how she has personally observed a lack of censorship for children in Mexico. My moral dilemma was the fact that I didn't like the kids watching that movie, yet i was told to put it on. I didn't feel comfortable leaving them unattended, so we watched it. Like I said, it bummed me out.

A Goat Named Elvis

This was one of the more amusing things I've seen in awhile...Some friends of mine have, what's shaping up to be, a veritable farm. I think they started with one goat...or maybe it was chickens...I don't really know. But now they have many-a-goat, one sheep named Lana (wool in Spanish), lots of chickens, dogs, etc. I think they have other animals, but I'm not sure. They live with other families on the same property and those families have all variety of farm animals.



I took my friend home (to the farm) and was invited to stay for dinner. Before dinner I got the grand tour. First the mom showed me their newest dog, a little puppy who showed up nearly dead who the family has been T, L and C-ing back to health. She described it to me as we walked towards the puppy's box/dog house. And I quote, "It looks kinda like a milk carton with legs." I thought she was being descriptive. As we got nearer and nearer the dog house's entrance I saw something...it was a literal milk carton bobbing it's way out of the quadra-casa. I couldn't help but laugh, the dog had an empty gallon milk jug on it's head. One of the sons who was with us asked me, "Oh, my mom didn't tell you?" I explained to him that she had, I just didn't expect it to be, well, literally a milk carton. It's actually a bit of a sad story, the dog must have that make-shift contraption on his head so his wounds can heal properly. Otherwise he would bite and scratch at them, which would in the end probably kill him.



The other and more jovial animal-meeting that I experienced that evening was at the goat pen. There are probably 10 or so goats. They're all different ages and sizes; they have differnt temperments...and hair styles. The last goat I "met" used to be called Xerox until a fad allowed him another name. He goes by Elvis now...it's all in the hair. I needn't explain more.

"Reblogging"

I found this on the tumblr page of a guy who's married to a girl who I knew in HS. I don't keep up with said girl-from-HS, but what this blog entry expresses is a well-articulated version of some of what I've been thinking about lately. And (FYI) I don't know who Nick, Cynthia or Jane are. I commiserate with Nick, but I feel somewhat asinine when he ends the convo with his last line. Here it is for your reading pleasure:


Excerpt from a dream I had

Nick: “God, look at all this. You know, the narcissism of American modern art has really reached its fever. There is no consideration of the viewer at all…” (indicates to a painting) “’Psychosexual aggression’? Who needs this stuff?”

Cynthia: “Perhaps it’s an attempt to educate. You know, Socratic… Devil’s Advocate… You can’t just assume self-absorption is the motivation here.”

Nick: “I can’t? There’s no oversight. At a restaurant, if I am made ill by what I eat, I can complain. Here, my nausea is my own fault.” (Peers closer to painting) “Good brush patterning, though.”

Cynthia: “Then where is the forum for those who want to raise unpalatable issues?”

Jane: (walking up) “What are you guys talking about?”

Cynthia: “Nick thinks that the artist is purposely inflicting him with self-indulgence…”

Nick: (interrupting) “Self-importance. The artist doesn’t even enjoy this stuff. He is impudent, not indulgent. For once I would like to see an artist that tries to cater to a viewer’s tastes.”

(Cynthia snickers, Nick looks at her)

Nick: “No, I’m mostly serious. The decent consideration of a literate New York patron’s sensibilities. This pressure to force myself to enjoy or appreciate things that are not appreciable… It’s empty taloring. (He looks around) All these people forced to look at an arrogant artist’s “soul”. Maybe they would like to see their own soul. As a true artist, I feel for them.”

Jane: “You’re an artist? Are you working on anything currently?

Nick: “I am working on a tasteful series of self-portraits.”

Credit where credit is due:
http://freeplay.tumblr.com