Life Style Refugee – The Ajijic Blog

Once in a while my maid will traipse in unannounced,usually followed by one or more of the endless parade of relatives that live up and down Calle Jesus Garcia. I am effectively surrounded by her family, as if some hole in the paperwork allowed me to buy a house in one of those weird polygamous ranch/personal countries up in Utah or Montana. I can only hope they don’t someday turn on me.
On this occasion, Carmen and her daughters wore the look of delight that often accompanies the belief that they’re doing something particularly American, like cooking with trans fats. Citlaly, the lanky middle daughter who is shy, and hides her eyes as though behind a fan, thrust a small envelope sealed with a pink bow at me. ” Good God,” I thought to myself, startled that this visit involved paperwork. “What awful thing is this going to be?” The most common transactions heralded by these random visits are small loans,  the sale of sweepstakes tickets to raise money for the local school, or solicitations to help purchase flowers to decorate the shrine on the corner for one of the 363 days of the year that honor the Virgin. Opening the envelope, I found one of the pictures that Citlaly, a budding artist, likes to draw. I studied the picture of cheerful…pelicans? pterodactyls?…

“Abrir! Abrir!” they chorused, and I saw that the paper on which the capering… turkeys? dodo birds?… were drawn was folded, and opened to reveal instructions in Spanish that made no sense to me. Still afraid that I was being served a subpoena of some kind I looked puzzled until Carmen sang “Baybee Shour!” Baby Shower! The mysterious avians were Storks!
I’ve never heard of a baby shower here. Who was pregnant? How did they come up with the idea of storks and goofy invitations? Clearly, there was a yankee in the woodpile at the Mexican fiesta.

I have far too much Gringa Angst to ever decline one of these invitations, so I’ve been to dozens of dreadful parties. They always follow the same formula; white plastic chairs lined up against a wall as if outside a free clinic, giant bags of the pork flavored fried air that is served with hot sauce for refreshments, a boom box belonging to the friend of an obscure relative screeching at the highest volume, and two litre bottles of orange soda on the table next to a stack of plastic glasses. There is usually a time announced for the party to begin, a time which can be construed as the mildest of suggestions to perhaps start bathing. The arrival of the guests somewhere between two and three hours later than the time the fiesta is supposed to start is taken for granted and it is quite common for hostesses to say that a fiesta will start at 3:00 in the afternoon, and then make a hair appointment for that time so they’ll look nice when the first guests actually arrive.

Carmen’s “baybee shour” followed the familiar blueprint, including my being the only guest there for about an hour. As usual, I underestimated how tardy was tardy enough, and was left to sway uncertainly  with Karina, Citlaly’s younger sister, on a rusty porch swing that leaned apathetically in the dirt yard. A few chickens pecked nearby as our halting conversation limped along, and Karina obligingly filled my cup with Fanta. To my surprise, we were soon joined by a youngish man that I had never seen before.  I was surprised because this was clearly a women’s event, and the hombres usually stay far, far away from such boozeless venues. It turned out that the man was Chuey, newly returned from California. It was he who had imported the newfangled idea of a baby shower with storks and invitations to celebrate his wife’s pregnancy, and now, with typical Mexican civility, he had come out to keep me company with his very good English.

I enjoyed our conversation, and encouraged him to tell me of his dreams and ambitions. He had the vast good luck, he confided, to be 5 foot 2 inches tall, and to work at Disneyland in Anaheim. This was good luck because 5′2″ is the perfect height to wear not only the Mickey Mouse costume, but also the costumes of Winnie the Pooh and both Chip and Dale, so he got a lot of work at the park. He also invited me, after chatting for about five minutes, to join a group of friends who were travelling by bus that Friday to Ciudad Guzman for the Patronales Fiesta, assuring me that I could stay overnight at his mother’s house. These sorts of invitations always flummox me, as I am torn between my Gringa Angst and the possibility of actually finding myself on a 3rd class bus lurching off to Ciudad Guzman in the company of thirty five or forty amiable Mexicans that I’ve never met before.

Eventually, of course, the rest of the senoritas arrived with their gift bags and boxes. I had to leave long before young Mrs. Chuey got around to opening gifts, but when I passed Carmen’s open door the next day, they called me in and brought out each and every gift for show and tell.

This all happened a couple of weeks ago, but I was reminded it of it today because a yellow cab brought the young couple home from Guadalajara with their new baby, an adorable little tamalita wrapped in wool and crochet and down comforters as if it was below zero outside, instead of 80 degrees. This captivating baby, as sweet as anything ever born, has distracted her proud papa for the time being. Soon, he will return to the States and take up his giant Micky Mouse head.

And the trip to Ciudad Guzman will have to wait.

November 23rd, 2009 | Category: Blog Notes | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL