Lauren's Day-to-Day Life in Mexico

If you know me well, you know that I am constantly in motion, usually talking, occupied with so many different activities and ideas that I rarely pursue any of them to completion. With the benefit of several thousand miles' distance from regular life in Atlanta, I can only report that nothing about Oaxaca, Mexico has changed my general modus operandi. Or should I say, "MODI operandi?"

Before the move, I dreamed about hours and weeks full of free time here, which I would use to master Spanish, read dozens of books, illustrate a children's story that I wrote in Maine 3 or 4 years ago, put to paper (or rather, Word doc) my keenest memories of Amelia's birth and adoption, learn how to shoot and edit video, cook scrumptious meals using amazing local ingredients, document highlights of our Oaxaca trip in a scrapbook, and luxuriate in my children's company during afternoons spent adventuring in our mountainous Mexican neighborhood. Oh, and I planned to do all the research for a one woman play that I would love to write called, "The Gospel According to Martha." (consider this idea copyrighted but don't hold your breath for the deliverable.)

My feelings were pretty badly hurt back in college when my good friend Tara said, "Laurie, you're always coming up with these big ideas but you never do anything with them." And here I am, age 41, acknowledging that if you look at the broad sweep of my various hopes and dreams, she was probably right. (Tara, also age 41, will probably read this and #1, not remember the moment and #2, acknowledge that young people can be rather hard on one another. She's really a very kind person, I assure you.)

I am grateful for the wonderful life that I DO have. In actuality my first 2 1/2 months in Mexico have been spent learning my way around town, getting settled, keeping the kids from harming one another, making friends with the small community of English-speaking expatriate families from the school, raising a new puppy (cleaning up the puppy poop, too), tentatively reaching out in abysmal Spanish to friendly, PATIENT Oaxacan neighbors, and making significant, beginner-level progress in Spanish. We've had some amazing and wonderful weekend adventures to craft villages, more remote mineral springs, and an even more remote trip to a truly rural pueblo.

Learning a new language is HARD. Have I mentioned that yet? Most mornings, Art and I scramble to get the kids to school, which starts at 7:50. After walking them up our dirt road and down the main cobblestone street (and greeting the public school families walking the opposite direction to the local primaria), I take a stab at exercise. Two days a week I swim and at least two other days--3 when I'm not so lazy--I run. Sometimes Art can run with me, and sometimes my new friend Heather, a fellow runner from Boulder CO, pushes me up the steep hills here. I've adjusted to the altitude but boy, running up mountains is tough. After a run, I shower and scramble to finish homework before Spanish class at 10:30.

From 10:30 to 1:30 most weekdays, I study at Instituto Amigos Del Sol, a small private language school that hosts gringos in the morning for Spanish lessons, and Oaxaquenos in the afternoons for English. Given the slump in tourism--thanks to H1N1 and the onslaught of negative press about narcotics battles far, far north of here--I suspect their primary income is from English lessons. The teachers are friendly and smart, and the fact that there are so few students is a huge plus, because we get plenty of individual attention. However, as is apparently the style in many of the local language schools, there's no particular plan of study, or curriculum. As in, NONE. Over the course of 3 hours I'll spend half the time in conversation and half in some form of grammar lesson; whatever our teacher has cooked up for the day.

They try to group the 6-8 students by level, but it's pretty tough: we have an ESL teacher on sabbatical from Calgary; a thirtysomething British psychologist who studies Spanish in the morning and gives therapy online in the afternoon (!); a couple of graduate students combining language lessons with volunteer service at a domestic violence shelter, a program for street children, and a health clinic; a child welfare attorney from NYC who was just laid off from her job; 2 other gringa moms, and me. From week to week someone new drops in. The director, Rogelio, originally bought the school building to be his home, but when the civil unrest took place in 2006 and the economy tanked, he decided to move his small Spanish language school to this wealthier suburb and focus on English lessons.

After Spanish class, I've got 50 random minutes before I have to pick up the kids, so I usually meander back to school or stop by my favorite cheese shop to visit with the owners. Miguel, or Mike, grew up in San Diego where he met and married Ysabel, his wife, who comes from the Etla valley here in Oaxaca, "Mexico's Wisconsin." If you've ever tasted the ropy, oversalted Oaxaca cheese in American markets, rest assured that theirs is in a different category altogether. They sell a traditional cheese, similar in its mozzarella-like texture to typical Oaxaca cheeses, but superior in every way. 2 versions, "doble crema" or regular, plus queso fresco--fresh from the farm, as well as my favorite, "botana," which is stuffed with hot fresh chili peppers and local herbs. Another local specialty that I've come to adore is home-blended yogurt; apple & pecan, mango, or strawberry & banana, with chewy wheat berries and oats on the bottom.

JUST LOOKED AT THE CLOCK! Will have to report on "Lauren's Day-to-Day Afternoons in Mexico" later.