At least here--Mexico still goes by the correct time change date, so least week we gained an hour. (Some things never change. I can never resist a chessy pun.)
Halloween is tomorrow and I am that remembering last year at this time, we had a big parish dinner and carved pumpkins. By that point I was starting to feel as if we had been here for a while and that I was at home so it`s kind of crazy to think that it has been a year since then.
I have started writing applications for graduate schools and the essay process has definitely made me realize that I feel a calling to study social work and I am excited to learn more about the field. However, thinking about next year makes me realize that I won`t be here and that I`m going to return to friends and family who have made big changes in their lives. It makes me sad to think about leaving behind the girls at the Missionaries of Charity as well as my friends at the parish, but there is also I lot I miss about the United States.
To come to terms with it all, I`m trying to live in the present so I`ll share a recent day. Last Sunday, Lisa and I went to a celebration at a chapel (Senor de Christo Negro) that is part of our parish. The celebration began at eight a.m. with fireworks we could hear from our house, but we didn`t walk down for the Mass until the afternoon. (Twice, actually, as I got confused by dos and doce when I was beig gtold what time to show up.) We arrived ten minutes before two o`clock Mass, which didn`t start until 2:45. While we waited, we watched salsa and kumba dancers perform beneath a makeshift pavilion that had been set up. There was a street fair type atmopshere as beer and tacos were sold and consumed in the streets, children played games, and people danced.
When Mass began, so did a downpour. Carmelita (a sweet church lady) insisted on giving Lisa and I an umbrella. During Padre`s sermon, water gushed off an awning and onto the crowd. Padre told the crowd that theymay not have been expecting a baptism, but they inadvertantly experienced one. While Padre was speaking at the end, one of his helpers, David, repeated everything he said and Padre just laughed and let him take over the microphone. After Mass, tables were set up and food was distributed and we sat with our friends from the parish. (As Lisa said, part of Padre`s posse.) Padre made sure to give Lisa and I vegetarian lunches and Gallo passed me sips of tequila from the special cups that he and Padre had been served.
There was nothing atypical about the day, but when I think about it, I appreciate the love I encountered, the sense of community, and the willingness of people not to take things so to seriously. It`s days like that I want to learn on and hold onto, no matter what my next step may be.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Field Trip
Tuesdays at the convent, the Brothers of the Missionaries of Charity come with their residents to give and collect food. I was chatting with them a week ago when one of the nuns suggested that I go to their house sometime for a visit—the brothers also run a home from the handicapped, but only males live there.
``She can come back with right us now,`` the Brother said. ``She can take the bus home.``
That was a little too spur-of-the-moment for me, but Sister told him I could prepare and go the following week. So I got ready by asking Jessica to come along with me—of course because I love her company, but also because she is able to ask bus drivers directions more easily than I can.
The following week, I went to the convent and Jess said she would meet up with me soonafter. I met up with Brother Marcos who said both Jess and I could back with him and that they would be leaving in 15 minutes. As I fed Edith, I texted Jess and worried that she wouldn`t make it before it was time to leave
``Let`s go,`` Brother Marcos said to the residents with him, just as Jessica arrived. I thought it was perfect, that she had made it just in time. Instead, Brother Marcos had more food to pass out and more nuns to talk to. Jessica and I lingered by his van as three teenage boys with Down`s Syndrome hugged us, tugged at us, and one jumped on my back. We decided we were in for an adventure. As the Brother made more rounds, Sister Maria quizzed Jessica about the progress of her cathecism students. A half hour later, we set off.
In the car, Jess sat next to Israel who stuck his head out the window and yelled at pedistrians. Brother Marcos seemed unconcerned by this but Jess and I told him many times to settle down. I sat between two boys and listened to one tell me repeatedly that another nun had once come with them and sat in that very van. Everyone was entertained when I ducked my head behind the seat in front of many times as part of a game called ``Donde Estoy?`` (which I have honed my skills at playing over the past year.) Jess and I belted out a long rendition``If You`re Happy and You Know It.```
We drove out of Pueblo Santa Fe and the Commercial Center and into a small town called San Mateo. In the grounds of the Brothers` Home, the boys led us to a concrete area where there were about 40 handicapped men—some in wheelchairs, some laying on the ground, most walking about.
Immediately we were surrounded by men who put there arms around us and tugged us in different directions. In terms of sadness it wasn`t worse than visiting the convent but being around men made me a little nervous. At work, the women at the convent are mostly bedridden, but here we were surrounded by many grown men who could physically function but had undiscernable mental problems. Jess and I did our best to get over our worries about being there and tried to chat politely with everyone. No one really cared about what we were saying—our presence was enough.
During dinner time (apple stew, home-grown corn and donuts,) I mingled with various tables. The boys from the van-ride passed out food, one wheelchair-bound man fed another wheelchair-bound man ,and a young man could not stop climbing up on his chair. One man seemed desperate to communicate with me, but I could only vaguely understand that he was trying to say ``nino.`` Jess learned from Brother Marcos that visitors so rarely come that they don`t even have visiting . I asked him if we could do anything to help, and passed along to Jess the fact the he wanted us to collect and wash dishes.
As I stood at the sink, the man who had been trying ``nino.`` grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the kitchen and over to a wall of photos. He showed me a pictures of himself as a child and then the boys from the came over as well to point out their pictures. Then they pulled me outside to show me flowers, the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the corn that they are growing, and the dog. We circled the grounds several times Jess and washed the dishes that I had offered to clean. As I prayed by Maria and accepted freshly-picked flowers, I began to feel at peace.
Back inside the house several men were watching TV and Jess and I saw the rooms of the men—like at the convent about 15 patients live in single beds in big rooms. The residents of the Brothers seemed more active than the residents of the Sisters and I liked that they are able to roam the grounds freely. The Brothers I met had a hip vibe to them—they were from India and wore jeans or athletic pants. One had bushy beard and they were all very laid-back.
There was a time I would have been much more uncomfortable in such a place. I`ve always thought of myself as someone who is patient and accepting of others but the visit definitely tested my limits. In the United States, I spent some time volunteering with mentally ill men and of course, over this past year I have been spending my days with discapacitated women. Many times I wondered what I was doing at those places and chastised myself for not making a huge difference in the lives of others. However, those experiences helped me prepare for being more open toward the residents of the Brothers. Most of the men struggled to speak, and as I have spent the past year doing the same thing (wondering how I got myself into such a position,) I felt a lot of compassion toward them. The day was a reminder to me that even when I am not sure why something is happening at the time, it can help prepare me for something far down the road.
``She can come back with right us now,`` the Brother said. ``She can take the bus home.``
That was a little too spur-of-the-moment for me, but Sister told him I could prepare and go the following week. So I got ready by asking Jessica to come along with me—of course because I love her company, but also because she is able to ask bus drivers directions more easily than I can.
The following week, I went to the convent and Jess said she would meet up with me soonafter. I met up with Brother Marcos who said both Jess and I could back with him and that they would be leaving in 15 minutes. As I fed Edith, I texted Jess and worried that she wouldn`t make it before it was time to leave
``Let`s go,`` Brother Marcos said to the residents with him, just as Jessica arrived. I thought it was perfect, that she had made it just in time. Instead, Brother Marcos had more food to pass out and more nuns to talk to. Jessica and I lingered by his van as three teenage boys with Down`s Syndrome hugged us, tugged at us, and one jumped on my back. We decided we were in for an adventure. As the Brother made more rounds, Sister Maria quizzed Jessica about the progress of her cathecism students. A half hour later, we set off.
In the car, Jess sat next to Israel who stuck his head out the window and yelled at pedistrians. Brother Marcos seemed unconcerned by this but Jess and I told him many times to settle down. I sat between two boys and listened to one tell me repeatedly that another nun had once come with them and sat in that very van. Everyone was entertained when I ducked my head behind the seat in front of many times as part of a game called ``Donde Estoy?`` (which I have honed my skills at playing over the past year.) Jess and I belted out a long rendition``If You`re Happy and You Know It.```
We drove out of Pueblo Santa Fe and the Commercial Center and into a small town called San Mateo. In the grounds of the Brothers` Home, the boys led us to a concrete area where there were about 40 handicapped men—some in wheelchairs, some laying on the ground, most walking about.
Immediately we were surrounded by men who put there arms around us and tugged us in different directions. In terms of sadness it wasn`t worse than visiting the convent but being around men made me a little nervous. At work, the women at the convent are mostly bedridden, but here we were surrounded by many grown men who could physically function but had undiscernable mental problems. Jess and I did our best to get over our worries about being there and tried to chat politely with everyone. No one really cared about what we were saying—our presence was enough.
During dinner time (apple stew, home-grown corn and donuts,) I mingled with various tables. The boys from the van-ride passed out food, one wheelchair-bound man fed another wheelchair-bound man ,and a young man could not stop climbing up on his chair. One man seemed desperate to communicate with me, but I could only vaguely understand that he was trying to say ``nino.`` Jess learned from Brother Marcos that visitors so rarely come that they don`t even have visiting . I asked him if we could do anything to help, and passed along to Jess the fact the he wanted us to collect and wash dishes.
As I stood at the sink, the man who had been trying ``nino.`` grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the kitchen and over to a wall of photos. He showed me a pictures of himself as a child and then the boys from the came over as well to point out their pictures. Then they pulled me outside to show me flowers, the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the corn that they are growing, and the dog. We circled the grounds several times Jess and washed the dishes that I had offered to clean. As I prayed by Maria and accepted freshly-picked flowers, I began to feel at peace.
Back inside the house several men were watching TV and Jess and I saw the rooms of the men—like at the convent about 15 patients live in single beds in big rooms. The residents of the Brothers seemed more active than the residents of the Sisters and I liked that they are able to roam the grounds freely. The Brothers I met had a hip vibe to them—they were from India and wore jeans or athletic pants. One had bushy beard and they were all very laid-back.
There was a time I would have been much more uncomfortable in such a place. I`ve always thought of myself as someone who is patient and accepting of others but the visit definitely tested my limits. In the United States, I spent some time volunteering with mentally ill men and of course, over this past year I have been spending my days with discapacitated women. Many times I wondered what I was doing at those places and chastised myself for not making a huge difference in the lives of others. However, those experiences helped me prepare for being more open toward the residents of the Brothers. Most of the men struggled to speak, and as I have spent the past year doing the same thing (wondering how I got myself into such a position,) I felt a lot of compassion toward them. The day was a reminder to me that even when I am not sure why something is happening at the time, it can help prepare me for something far down the road.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
