unreasonably tough

The days are passing in a very good way. A thing I have always noticed is that I make my most superhuman efforts when I am trying not to be gloomy. Contentment is a strange thing.

Yesterday we had a few folks over, some friends and some people we didn't really know very well but someone had met somewhere along the way, and I made ricey-beany thing and led everyone through the Novena. The simplest way to put it is that the Novena is the Colombian version of las Posadas, even though it's not really very similar. They go on for the same amount of time, but the Novena is nine days of prayer with songs. The Posada seems to be mostly singing. They both involve eating afterwards, and even though at times folks were confused by what was happening in the Novena, everyone got kind of into it. It was really sweet.

Today, I had to check in with my boss, which was really good. It's nice to work at a place small enough that your boss gets to know you, but also big enough that she happens to be in Nicaragua. It felt good to get a lot of those things off my chest and it felt like she really cared, which was neat. Then, I got some work done and managed to finally start reading NACLA's report on Colombian paramilitarism (July/August issue), which, surprise! is really depressing. Thorough and interesting, but a downer.

We ate lots of tacos for lunch, which is kind of out of character for me, but they were delicious. Vegetarian taco fillings are usually mushrooms, nopal, or potato. Today I went for cactus and potato, but when we were leaving, I noticed that there was a pot of spaghetti on the lady's stove, which is surely not a taco filling, but it should be! When I go to Colombia, my grandmother makes on every Thursday this pasta that involves tomato, onion, sliced hot dogs (or tuna during Lent? that doesn't make sense for Thursday. maybe just tuna when she is out of hot dog) and she puts ketchup in it and kind of fries it all together. Then, right at the end, she stirs in milk. Yeah, milk. It's a ketchup-milk pasta sauce. I know that that is so messed up, but as a kid, I didn't know and I loved that stuff. That stuff would make the best taco filling. Aside from that, after Wednesday-Pizza Day at Blessed Sacrament, it's the only place in my life where I've known that there is a designated day for a designated food. That kind of planning, laughing in the face of God's omnipotence! blows my mind.

Oh, my. It's midnight now and the church bells of La Soledad are ringing because December 18th is the special day for that Virgen. They sound prettier than usual.

So, then, Betty took us to a choir concert and a Posada. The choir thing started out with a Christmas song, and then they played some old weird stuff, and then they played "Greensleeves". The "Greensleeves" part kind of reminded me of this thing my brother Allen does where he imitates the way people in Colombia sing American pop music. But in truth, it sounded beautiful.

Then, after the Posada bit (which involved some very unsuccessful candle-lighting attempts), they fed us pieces of the bolillo bread smeared with refried black beans and cheese. Then, after that, a lady came by with tamales, which were served in increments of two tamales (having just one was not allowed, she told me). They were sweet tamales, filled with raisins and pineapple, and I ate them with my hands. Then I ate a brownie. Oh, they also served us a soda that was pinkish-red. Dunya said it was strawberry-flavored, but I am pretty sure it was actually "that gel they use to write on cakes"-flavored. You can eat really badly in Mexico, if you want. I should mention that before any of this, we stopped at a coffee place to kill time and we all got dessert (I got apple strudel). I was so full, it kind of stressed me out. Eventually, Dunya and I came home and watched bad music videos on Youtube and drank Rompope, a kind of messed-up Mexican liquor that is purportedly made by nuns. I don't know why nuns, whom I've always thought were awesome and often aspire to be one of, would do this other than to discourage people from the evils of alcohol in general. It's not disgusting, it's just strange: picture sugary raw eggs. Now picture them mixed with vodka. Now imagine what that would smell like, and the feel of the creamy egginess when it touches your lips, as you try to take sips of it, which is is basically impossible. This is what it is like. And yet, in a land where eggnog is nonexistent, where they don't bother putting butter in their baked goods, where you have to doubt the legitimacy of the thing they call butter in the first place, this beverage: it exists. And we drink it.

A note: maybe a not-so-cool thing is when you are trying to entertain yourself and others by watching and singing along to Kelly Clarkson videos (or something, that's just a hypothetical) and you can't because you can't watch certain things on Youtube outside of the US.

Oh, well. We are so close to the vacation now that I can almost smell my parents' apartment. I'm a little scared of some of the realities I will have to deal with when I go home (and therefore will probably just not deal with), but I will be so happy to see my family and spend time with them, and enjoy those mountains, at least for a little while.