We were all scheduled to fly out of Mexico City early in the Semana Santa week. What better way to pass the weekend than to spend a few days in D.F., we figured. We left Saturday morning, loaded down with our luggage for our two-week break.
I've been having some anemia problems lately, but frequent iron and b12 popping seemed to be helping. As we neared Mexico City, though, I felt steadily worse. We checked into a hostel and lugged our suitcases to our dorm room before heading out to get food. I was sure the food would solve my problems, but after eating, I only felt worse.
After lunch, we went straight to Bellas Artes, a large art museum. I walked through a couple of rooms before the floor started rising up around me and my vision turned to tunnels. Really not wanting the attention that would come from fainting in a crowded art museum, I murmured quickly, "I'm going to faint," rushed to a bench, and lay down. Security wasn't too pleased with me stretching out on their bench, but my roommate pleaded my cause.
We stayed at the museum for a while while I rested. Kristen and Kay offered to get a taxi, but I said I could make it the three blocks to the hostel. Once outside, though, I started sinking into black again. I leaned against a statue, and the next thing I knew, Kristen and Kay were helping me into a cab and directing a confused driver to drive three blocks down the road.
I spent the rest of the day sleeping and the rest of the weekend doing activities that required little exertion. Good Mexico City trip, eh?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Back in college for a week
We were roommates and best friends for three years in college. She said she didn't care to get married. Ever. Then she fell for a guy -- one of our mutual college friends --, and a year and a half later, I was helping her into her wedding dress.
The weekend was marvelously fun. About ten of the LETU crowd flew/drove in for the event -- the largest reunion since we graduated. We joked that we could recreate the ubiquitous medal picture that popped up on everyone's facebook account after graduation.
I'm not sure what it is about college, but somehow, those four years are frozen in time, drawing us back into them whenever we are together. For a weekend, we were 19 and 20 again, living in the same dorms, laughing over the same stories, and complaining about the same professors.
Unfortunately, my health hasn't been stellar lately, and five days of busy bridesmaiding coupled with late nights with friends was too much for me. On the morning of the wedding, my throat was scratchy and I was sneezing. That night, all the college friends piled into one hotel room to play games and talk. I curled up in bed. Really, it was kind of pleasant drifting in and out of sleep to the backdrop of all those familiar voices.
I flew back to Mexico with a fever and had to skip a day of work. Today I went into work (the first time in a week, thanks to a Monday Mexican holiday) and was greeted by 54 hugs and little voices pleading, "Don't ever leave us again! You were gone so long!"
I'm not quite in perfect health yet, but I'm on the mend. I guess I'm just not a college kid anymore.
The weekend was marvelously fun. About ten of the LETU crowd flew/drove in for the event -- the largest reunion since we graduated. We joked that we could recreate the ubiquitous medal picture that popped up on everyone's facebook account after graduation.
I'm not sure what it is about college, but somehow, those four years are frozen in time, drawing us back into them whenever we are together. For a weekend, we were 19 and 20 again, living in the same dorms, laughing over the same stories, and complaining about the same professors.
Unfortunately, my health hasn't been stellar lately, and five days of busy bridesmaiding coupled with late nights with friends was too much for me. On the morning of the wedding, my throat was scratchy and I was sneezing. That night, all the college friends piled into one hotel room to play games and talk. I curled up in bed. Really, it was kind of pleasant drifting in and out of sleep to the backdrop of all those familiar voices.
I flew back to Mexico with a fever and had to skip a day of work. Today I went into work (the first time in a week, thanks to a Monday Mexican holiday) and was greeted by 54 hugs and little voices pleading, "Don't ever leave us again! You were gone so long!"
I'm not quite in perfect health yet, but I'm on the mend. I guess I'm just not a college kid anymore.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Texas Independence Day smoke
Texas celebrated its 174th birthday this year. In honor of this auspicious occasion, I hosted a Texas Independence Day party last Friday. I planned a decent Tex-Mex menu: guacamole and chips, sweet tea, refried beans, sour cream enchiladas, mint brownies, peach cobbler, and Blue Bell ice cream. I wondered how I would cook the food without an oven, but on Tuesday, my landlord fulfilled his months-long promise to replace our stove and oven set.
On Friday morning, everything was going according to plan. A Gonzalez flag hung on one wall. The brownies were cooling on the stove. The enchiladas were ready to bake. The peaches were stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg. I got up early to cook the beans, one of my few remaining tasks.
I thought I turned the beans off before I went to work. Honest. Perhaps I turned them on high instead; the stove was new, after all. In any case, the beans burned, and my friends’ first smell of Texas Independence Day was the smoke billowing down three flights of stairs to the street below. We opened windows, turned on fans, and bought canned beans at the corner store. My friends were gracious and didn’t complain. When we went to a movie later that night, though, we smelled like chain smokers.
Saturday was spent fighting a losing battle with the smoke. The maid came and scrubbed for three hours. The laundry lady picked up almost every piece of clothing my roommate and I own. We opened every window wide and let in the beautiful Puebla air. The house smelled of bleach and sunshine. And smoke.
For the next three days, my roommate and I tried everything possible. We cooked food. We boiled juice. We tried keeping bedroom doors open. We tried keeping them closed. The smell improved, but not much. Finding clothes for work was a challenge, since our clothes were still at the laundry. I dug into the depths of my closet to find the clothes least affected by the disaster. Still, I had to keep my classroom windows open to keep my nose from wrinkling whenever I got around myself (pretty often).
I lived for Tuesday afternoon, when the laundry lady would return bags of sweet-smelling clothes to my apartment. When I called her after work, though, she said it wouldn’t be done until Wednesday. I was leaving Wednesday morning for my friend's wedding, though. New laundry plan. I went over to her shop and dug through my bags of smoky clothes until I found enough for my trip.
Now I’m on the plane to Phoenix. My suitcase is loaded with smoke-saturated laundry, and whenever I open my purse, a puff of smoky air blows into my face. I really hope this is over soon; I can’t take much more smoke.
On Friday morning, everything was going according to plan. A Gonzalez flag hung on one wall. The brownies were cooling on the stove. The enchiladas were ready to bake. The peaches were stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg. I got up early to cook the beans, one of my few remaining tasks.
I thought I turned the beans off before I went to work. Honest. Perhaps I turned them on high instead; the stove was new, after all. In any case, the beans burned, and my friends’ first smell of Texas Independence Day was the smoke billowing down three flights of stairs to the street below. We opened windows, turned on fans, and bought canned beans at the corner store. My friends were gracious and didn’t complain. When we went to a movie later that night, though, we smelled like chain smokers.
Saturday was spent fighting a losing battle with the smoke. The maid came and scrubbed for three hours. The laundry lady picked up almost every piece of clothing my roommate and I own. We opened every window wide and let in the beautiful Puebla air. The house smelled of bleach and sunshine. And smoke.
For the next three days, my roommate and I tried everything possible. We cooked food. We boiled juice. We tried keeping bedroom doors open. We tried keeping them closed. The smell improved, but not much. Finding clothes for work was a challenge, since our clothes were still at the laundry. I dug into the depths of my closet to find the clothes least affected by the disaster. Still, I had to keep my classroom windows open to keep my nose from wrinkling whenever I got around myself (pretty often).
I lived for Tuesday afternoon, when the laundry lady would return bags of sweet-smelling clothes to my apartment. When I called her after work, though, she said it wouldn’t be done until Wednesday. I was leaving Wednesday morning for my friend's wedding, though. New laundry plan. I went over to her shop and dug through my bags of smoky clothes until I found enough for my trip.
Now I’m on the plane to Phoenix. My suitcase is loaded with smoke-saturated laundry, and whenever I open my purse, a puff of smoky air blows into my face. I really hope this is over soon; I can’t take much more smoke.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Early Adventures of [the many] Theodore Puffles
On Valentine's Day, my class had lunch with a 5th grade class. This class had a hamster. My class wanted one. I didn't mind. Enter Teddy Puffles. I told my students I would go to the pet store and get a hamster and materials if they paid for it and cared for it.
For weeks, the children brought in their change. When they had finally saved enough, I brought them a brand new furry friend, complete with a fancy cage and a few toys. The students fell in love instantly, naming their pet Theodore Puffles.
Unfortunately, Teddy Puffles was destined to go through several reincarnations before he finally settled in the classroom. On Friday, one eager boy was chosen to take Teddy Puffles home. He was the envy of the class as he strut out of school at 2:15 with the hamster. On Monday morning, however, his father met me in front of school. Teddy had died during the weekend. Before I had a chance to respond, he told me that they had bought a new hamster who looked like Teddy. I went to my classroom, and the frightened little boy was waiting with the cage. I brought him in first, gave him a besito, and told him not to worry.
Third graders' reasoning skills are far from developed; I used their limitations to my advantage on Monday morning. "Teddy looks different," one boy said. I told him, "It's because he's sleeping." He walked away satisfied; apparently sleep can alter color patterns on animals. A bigger challenge was that this Teddy was very young and couldn't open his eyes yet. The students were worried until they checked out a book from the library and read that babies sometimes take a long time to open their eyes. The fact that Teddy was able to open his eyes three days earlier didn't register.
I hoped that my hamster troubles were on the way out, but on Tuesday, Teddy Puffles didn't look so good. Clearly, something was wrong. I told the students I would take him to the vet in the afternoon. (Lies! I'm not taking a 41 peso animal to the vet!) That afternoon, Teddy was dead again.
I made a third trip to the pet store (Perhaps I should have considered finding a different one, considering the hamster death rate our class was having.), but their selection was limited this time. Teddy had to change colors, which meant the students would have to know that he had died at least once.
Wednesday was a sad day in my classroom. Students sobbed as they mourned the death of their first pet. Slowly, they began playing with Teddy 2 (unaware that he was really Teddy 3). I think they've warmed up to their new Teddy Puffles. I just hope that this one lasts.
Oh, and the other class (I teach two) of course wanted an animal, so they brought their change and bought one too. So far, we've had no drama with their Harvey Cookie.
For weeks, the children brought in their change. When they had finally saved enough, I brought them a brand new furry friend, complete with a fancy cage and a few toys. The students fell in love instantly, naming their pet Theodore Puffles.
Unfortunately, Teddy Puffles was destined to go through several reincarnations before he finally settled in the classroom. On Friday, one eager boy was chosen to take Teddy Puffles home. He was the envy of the class as he strut out of school at 2:15 with the hamster. On Monday morning, however, his father met me in front of school. Teddy had died during the weekend. Before I had a chance to respond, he told me that they had bought a new hamster who looked like Teddy. I went to my classroom, and the frightened little boy was waiting with the cage. I brought him in first, gave him a besito, and told him not to worry.
Third graders' reasoning skills are far from developed; I used their limitations to my advantage on Monday morning. "Teddy looks different," one boy said. I told him, "It's because he's sleeping." He walked away satisfied; apparently sleep can alter color patterns on animals. A bigger challenge was that this Teddy was very young and couldn't open his eyes yet. The students were worried until they checked out a book from the library and read that babies sometimes take a long time to open their eyes. The fact that Teddy was able to open his eyes three days earlier didn't register.
I hoped that my hamster troubles were on the way out, but on Tuesday, Teddy Puffles didn't look so good. Clearly, something was wrong. I told the students I would take him to the vet in the afternoon. (Lies! I'm not taking a 41 peso animal to the vet!) That afternoon, Teddy was dead again.
I made a third trip to the pet store (Perhaps I should have considered finding a different one, considering the hamster death rate our class was having.), but their selection was limited this time. Teddy had to change colors, which meant the students would have to know that he had died at least once.
Wednesday was a sad day in my classroom. Students sobbed as they mourned the death of their first pet. Slowly, they began playing with Teddy 2 (unaware that he was really Teddy 3). I think they've warmed up to their new Teddy Puffles. I just hope that this one lasts.
Oh, and the other class (I teach two) of course wanted an animal, so they brought their change and bought one too. So far, we've had no drama with their Harvey Cookie.
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