Pippi Longstocking is coming into your town

I'm no good at Halloween costumes. Last year, in dire need of a last-minute costume, I flipped through my sister's 20th century history book and landed on the Titanic. This year, I spent even less time on a costume. Coworkers asked me for weeks in advance what I was going to be, to which I answered "I don't know" up until Thursday night.

Jessica left early on Friday morning. Perhaps Thursday should have been spent preparing for the all-day Halloween party at school the next morning, but we chose to spend it differently. We got tortas after school, went to a Bible study in the evening, and went salsa dancing in Cholula late at night. In the taxi on the way home, a friend suggested a costume that wouldn't require more energy than I had to give at 2 a.m.: I was Pippi Longstocking for the day.

Weekend summary

I hate zoos. I can't think of many worse activities than standing on boiling cement in the Texas heat watching miserable animals pacing in their cages. The Puebla zoo is different, though. It's kind of like that African Safari ride at Disney world, but without all the safety precautions. Animals roam, and people drive. That's about it. Signs warn passengers to close windows during the dangerous parts.

I went this Saturday with Karen, Ivan, and Jessica. We packed into Ivan's little yellow Mustang and drove through the zoo. All was sunshine and rose petals till we got to the tiger cage. There, we parked our car to watch three sweet-looking tigers sleep.



While we were parked, one of the tigers walked over to our car and circled it. We laughed a bit, took pictures, and strained to get better views. Then, it went behind the car, and we heard a deep scraping sound. Smiles quickly vanished. We drove to safety and got out of the car to survey the damage. The tiger had bitten the car, leaving two penetrating holes in the bumper and tiger drool dripping down.




We left the zoo and went to a nearby lake to drink coconut and rum. Later that evening, Jessica, Kristin, and I went to El Mojito to go salsa dancing.

On Sunday, I joined a group of school friends on Puebla's tour bus. We took zillions of pictures and pretended to be tourists for a few hours.



Afterward, we ate tacos and churros. Then Jessica came to my apartment to watch Friends. Good weekend.

An after-school work party

I found myself in a white tent surrounded by poinsettia trees drinking tequila and dancing in a long train with my coworkers. I don't remember that ever happening at my work parties in the States.

Food consumed at the Texas state fair:

-Funnel cake
-Fried peanut butter cups
-Fried oreos
-BBQ nachos
-Grande nachos
-Pokey-o-my-gosh



Bites of:
-Cotton candy
-Lemon chill
-Corn dog
-Fried pecan pie

God bless Texas!

A Canadian Thanksgiving

As expatriates, my coworkers and I tend to take advantage of any holiday we can. One coworker is Canadian; hence, we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving. We divvied up dishes during Friday Lunch, and I landed sweet potatoes. Before I'd even finished my chipotle sushi roll, I knew I had my work cut out for me.

My first challenge was grocery shopping. I made my list, knowing that I'd have to be creative. The sweet potatoes were rotting, but an employee hauled out a fresh box when I asked for them. I settled on honey and white sugar as a substitute for brown sugar. A half hour search finally yielded pecans. Lard was nice and easy to find. Nutmeg and ginger were nonexistent. I found a round pan that would serve as a casserole dish. I opted on borrowing a boiling pot from a friend.

I got up early Sunday morning to boil the potatoes and make the pie crusts before church. I missed my old kitchen. I still haven't figured out if my current kitchen is real kitchen or just a closet.



I used the casserole dish for a mixing bowl, a crema container for a measuring cup, and a drinking glass for a rolling pin.



On the way home from church, I got a cheap mixing bowl from Walmart and stopped by my friends' house to borrow ginger and nutmeg.

During cooking, I used the "rolling pin" as a potato masher and opened the can of evaporated milk with a pair of scissors. I tried grinding the ginger with a jar of peanut butter, but it didn't work.



Ovens aren't a huge priority here in Mexico. Mine doesn't light, and the door falls open at the slightest disturbance. My friends' oven at least lights, although the door is no better than mine. They live a bus-ride away, though, which presented the biggest challenge yet: transporting all four sloshing dishes across town on a rickety, screeching, jostling bus.



I packed what wouldn't spill in a backpack and put the rest in a cardboard box. Then I tiptoed two blocks to the bus stop. The driver kindly helped me get in, and the bus was empty enough for me to be able to spread out.

Despite the hassle it caused, the dinner was wonderful. We managed to pull off a decent Thanksgiving meal, although hints of Mexico snuck in:


Enjoying hors d'oeuvres: apple cider, salsa potato chips, and vegetables with chipotle dip


Kristin carving our Thanksgiving chicken. Carving may be a bit generous, considering that the only complete poultry she was able to find was already cut up.


Ready to enjoy the feast: lemon pepper chicken, nutmeg roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, salad, sweet potato pie, cherry pie, cheesecake, and brownie cheesecake.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

Neverneverland

This dance is proving difficult. Because my credit card was stolen last month, I can't purchase any songs on iTunes, which means I've been relying on my students for the music. I asked them to bring their High School Musical CDs, but they all forgot. One boy brought his DVD, though, so we made do with that. As he was leaving on Friday, I asked him if he wanted to take his DVD home. He said, "No, you can keep it in case they forget again on Monday."

I have far too much dignity to like High School Musical, but I've never seen the first one, and with the DVD in my possession for an entire weekend, I couldn't resist. I mentioned to a friend that I was planning on watching it, and she mentioned it to another friend. At 6 p.m. on a Saturday, when most of Mexico is hitting the bars, three coworkers and I watched High School Musical on my roommate's 42" plasma TV. We followed the show with tortas and bowling.

I guess we never really do grow up.

It's choreography

We live in a world that compels us to define ourselves in terms of our careers. For several years, I have wondered what I am. Am I a teacher? Am I a scholar? Am I a writer? Am I something entirely different? I've had trouble fitting myself into one box and have wondered how that will affect my future decisions.

Thanks to the upcoming 3rd-grade ceremony, though, I can now eliminate one profession from my list: I am not a choreographer. My students are presenting on United Nations Day. I tried to include them in the planning process as much as possible. Together, we brainstormed ideas for our presentation and settled on a short skit followed by a dance to "We're All in This Together" from High School Musical. Never again. I spent my entire Friday filtering ideas, mediating disputes, restarting the music (which we are getting from a DVD, since they all forgot to bring their CDs), and calming eight-year-olds who can't handle that much stimulation. I nearly gave up after the first hour. By the end of the day we had a dorky little dance choreographed, and as long as I danced it in front of them (my new MacBook Pro bobbing along in my arm so that they could hear it), they were able to follow.

I'll be really glad when the ceremony is over and I can go back to teaching subject-verb agreement and cause and effect.