Meeting Ricardo

I'd like you all to meet the man who got me to go to Colombia. (Or at least one of them.) Ricardo Esquivia is a lawyer-turned-organizer who has created some very impressive church networks and NGOs. He is currently working in the Montes de Maria region of Colombia, which is a flashpoint on the touchy subject of paramilitary demobilization. Part of the reason I went on this trip was to get to meet him. I've heard a bit about him and his work over the last few years.

A few years ago, one of a number of times when Ricardo's life was in danger due to his work, I received a request to write letters to the Colombian government on his behalf. It was a big moment on this trip when he talked to us about his experiences surviving night raids and arrest. Afterwards I was able to thank him for the opportunity to make his acquaintance. Over the last 15 years I've written a lot of letters to a lot of different countries hoping they might help save an activist's life, but Ricardo is the only person on whose behalf I've written whom I've ever met afterwards.

Here's a photo and article about a peacemaking award he received last year:
http://www.churchworldservice.org/news/archives/2005/10/348.html

This link, to an interview in which he talks a lot about water, has a photo of him with Barbara Gerlach, a UCC minister in Washington who helped lead our delegation:

http://www.churchworldservice.org/Educ_Advo/partners/2005/esquivia.html

Ajiaco Photo

If you read my earlier post on ajiaco and want to see what it looks like, check out this link:

http://www.geekroar.com/leopoldo/archives/co_ajiaco.jpg

Colombia Fried

Wow, there was a lot of great fried starch to be had in Colombia. There was a whole snack shop near the Palm Tree Hostal featuring Chilean empanadas. I don't know why Chilean empanadas in particular were a big deal, but they were yummy. I'll pretty much eat anything that involved fried dough. You could have your fried dough with ground beef inside, with chicken and cheese (that was especially tasty--ate a lot of those), or as a long bread stick with a length of cheese inside. I even had those for breakfast at home in Envigado when the food situation improved!

Maybe the best thing ever were the bunuelos. They are basically fried cheese balls and came in various sizes, from tiny to grand. I of course ate the super-sized ones. Forget Wisconsin cheese curds, people!

The really amazing thing was I ate all this heavy food and didn't gain weight. I may even have lost a couple of pounds. Not sure how that worked, whether it was a lot of walking or two bouts of diarrhea or both, but I wasn't arguing.

I found a recipe for Colombian bunuelos. They're different from Mexican ones. Check this out:

http://fooddownunder.com/cgi-bin/recipe.cgi?r=38898

Block Party Post Mortem

Back to local news, at least for this post. Last Saturday night was the block party. Though I was in Raleigh, last night I got plenty of gossip about it from three or four different houses.

Mr. Worrisome's sister and her friends in the house down the block told me they have had it with our block captain. (I think I told you all way back when that I didn't get a good vibe from her.) She drove by us last night and called out that she wanted to talk to me. I told her to come by the house when she was free. I thought she would stop by last night, but the doorbell rang twice and both times it was Dee, the hooker who took Priscilla's place on the corner back last winter. (For once I didn't give her some cash--I was on the phone and told her to come back another day.)

The only thing that holds true in everybody's story is that the police were called Saturday night. The detailed version from Sister W and Co. was that Block Capt. wanted to open the fire hydrant, but Co. objected, saying the water would flood her basement. So they didn't open that hydrant but words were exchanged, and Co's niece and lots of her friends showed up to back up her auntie. This made Block Capt. nervous and she called the 5-0, who took them to the station for mob action. Seems highly unnecessary to me that it got to that point.

By the way, apparently it was Co's kids who came over and got some cake and got in the water fight at my birthday party. I didn't know who she was, but apparently she moved on the block about the same time I did.

Anyway, now Sister W and friends want a new block captain, maybe me, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole right now. Apparently our current block captain is buds with the alderman, and until 2010 and the remap comes around, I have no intention of crossing wires with the alderman. They want to know where all the money Block Capt. collected for the party went, since she charged like 10 or 15 bucks a household and told people if they didn't pay they couldn't eat. They say she said the DJ cost $250, but they asked the DJ and he said he only got paid $60. I don't know if what they said is true, but it's certainly pretty funny to hear from a lady who refused to come to my housewarming party because it was potluck. "You ain't spending nothin!" she chided me.

I'm willing to see if they'll go to the alderman's monthly meeting in force to complain, however. I'll be very curious to see if they still have juice about this two weeks from now.

I still have plenty to say about Colombia, but it will be interesting to see whether I find time to post it here.

Back in the US...

But still not back in Chicago. Am in Raleigh,North Carolina for a cousin's wedding.

During the trip, one of my fellow delegation members said she would be having her partner do the grocery shopping for the first week after she got home because she couldn't bear the sight of a US grocery store after hanging out with very poor people for two weeks straight. Although I know what she means, I don't personally have the same feeling about a grocery store, not least because I went to the big superstores in Cartagena and Medellin, Vivero and the French chain, Carrefour, so it's not like they don't exist there.

What I think about after any international trip is water. Even coming back from Europe. Even after Medellin, which has astoundingly great water supplies by Latin American, and really, everywhere but US and maybe Japanese standards--I had great showers in Medellin. And I never got sick from Medellin tap water, unlike tap water in rural Ireland. (There was a water alert upstream from my great aunt's house and we didn't get word on the radio until it was too late for me. I had a raging case of turista on the bus to Dublin as a result. I bet you didn't expect to hear that about a trip to Ireland, did you?)

However, even the nice suburbs of Medellin run out of hot water pretty fast, which the shower at my godfather's house in an upscale suburb of North Carolina doesn't do.

The other thing I noticed this weekend was electricity. The power went out twice in less than three days in Sincelejo, and went out almost all night once in Cartagena when a transformer blew out, which is unusual. I went around turning off lights in empty rooms at my cousins' house with particular fervor this weekend.

And I thought a lot about the oddity of driving an air-conditioned rental car with fake-leather seats and power everything two days after watching the occasional horse-drawn cart along side the Renaults and diesel trucks filling Medellin's autopistas.

Goin' to the zoo, zoo, zoo

Leidi and I went to the zoo today. I figured even if it was a cheesy zoo, it would probably have animals not common in U.S. zoos, and really just a spot of green and some local wildlife seemed like a nice change of pace from city and museums. Leidi was really fired up to go--she told me she loves the zoo but not many Spanish students want to go, so she doesn't get there very often.

Getting there was a bit of a challenge. Originally we were going right after lunch, but then the teenage man of the house had something for Leidi to do, so she couldn´t leave until 4 p.m. So we had to find the zoo in the phone book to see how late it would stay open. Dear Leidi is not too strong on spelling, although she likes to read, so she was looking for the zoo under the letter S. Oops. And then it took me a few tries to get her in the Zs because I forgot the word in Spanish for Z is zeta and kept saying zed. LOL. We were a hell of a great pair, I'll tell ya.

Well, Leidi got through to the zoo and it appeared to stay open late enough to make it worth going. I suggested a taxi but she said no, we can take the bus. I said, OK, I'm afraid of taking the bus by myself because I don't know my way around but if you're coming we can take the bus. So we took the bus and we got lost. I think we ended up in San Antonio but I'm still not too sure. Someplace downtownish with lots of stores and concrete and loud music playing that I almost mistook for a live concert or something.

I said, 'Leidi, how bout a taxi?'

She started freaking out. 'It's more expensive from here and I don't have the money.'

'I have money,' I said. 'Come on!'

So we got a taxi--that one had a very friendly driver who tried out his miniscule English for fun--but I'll tell you going through Medellín afternoon rush hour in something lower to the ground than a bus was the second-worst driving experience here, or maybe the third. (I forgot to mention our drunk taxi driver on Friday night, but he didn't actually worry me as much as the guy tonight did, probably because even drunk off his ass he still got us there with a minimum of fuss.)

The owner asked me to get off the Internet, so that's it for now. Zoo part two.

¡Felíz Cumpleanos!

The live vallenato band is thumping and grinding (organ-grinding, that is) at a cheerful and volumious level two flights down here in the backpacker hostel I'm crashing in for two nights. I couldn't take it in the suburbs any more, so I booked a room at the Palm Tree Hostel in Medellín proper. Here it is:

http://www.palmtreemedellin.com/

Somebody´s niece is having her 18th birthday tonight, so there´s a band and an incredible amount of grilled meat piled up. Hostal guests are invited to join the party for 10,000 pesos, but I'm not hungry right now and not entirely sure I'm ready to party in español with total strangers. I did meet one of the other guests earlier when I was checking out the festivities--she's from Seattle and working on her master's in public health. For those who are curious, we spoke quite a bit in Spanish, and then one of the aunts of the birthday girl joined us for a little bailar (dancing) up here on the top floor by the computer.

Getting here verged on my worst nightmare about traveling solo in Colombia, but gracias a Dios, everything turned out fine. Taxis are muy interesante here, to say the least. First of all it's worth your life to drive in the traffic, and the back seats of taxis mostly don't have seatbelts. I would say my Spanish is good enough to chat up taxi drivers a bit, but not good enough to get out of trouble if they don't know where they're going. Let's just say that has put a bit of a damper on my ability to take in Medellín nightlife.

So tonight I took my very first solo taxi ride at night. Leidi, the maid out in Envigado, called the taxi. I tried to give the driver the Palm Tree's street address but he didn´t pay attention to the A in Calle 52A and just made like he knew where he was going. He didn't. I spent 10,000 pesos and my blood pressure went through the roof during our tour of some shady-looking neighborhoods, during which I was beginning to wonder if he was lost, running up the meter, or planning to mug me or worse, especially when we appeared to be hitting a dead end in one of the shady backstreets. In the end, I think he was just lost, but it was enough to make me quite nervous. Finally we passed a Metro station and I said '¡dejame por favor!' which I hoped meant Let me out! Whatever it meant, it worked. The guy told me the station was Estadio but when I got inside I discovered it was Poblado, which isn´t even on the same line. I was just grateful to be out of the cab, even if it meant hauling my now rather heavy suitcase a few blocks.

So then I got here and walked into a fiesta muy grande. And I have a room on the first floor right in the middle of the action. And I'm supposed to be back at that same Poblado station at 7:45 a.m. to go to a colegio (school). Whee!

Medellín

To see a bit of Medellín, check out this link:

http://www.abel-art.com/medellin/

I´m writing this from the Internet café at the Hotel Nutibara in downtown Medellín. Once the fanciest hotel in town, I'm told, its elegance may be a little faded, but it is a great spot to take a load off after lots of walking and window-shopping downtown. Here it is:

http://www.hotelnutibara.com/sitioweb/hotel.php

I keep getting lost here in downtown. Somehow I'm not following the Lonely Planet map's orientation. I keep having to ask directions which is always an adventure since I'm never too clear how well I understood whatever was said. A very nice older gentleman walked me here to the hotel when it was all of about two and a half blocks away. I'm sure he could tell I was pretty disoriented and that just telling me directions wasn't going to penetrate my language barrier.

Things I´m loving about Medellín: climate (perfect!), scenery (spectacular!), potable water (in plenty, and even a hot shower in my suburban apartment), the Metro (newer, nicer and cleaner than any US public transit system I've ever been on), the vast majority of people I've encountered (friendly and helpful), the play I went to last night, which starred one of my Spanish teachers.

Things I´m not loving about the experience, none of which are Medellín's fault, most of which have to do with my lodgings, which were arranged by the Nueva Lengua language school. NB: I have two teachers at the school, both of whom are female--my first female Spanish teachers, gracias a Dios--both of whom are good, and both of whom are interesting people who extend themselves beyond the classroom. For that, I'm very grateful to Nueva Lengua.

But I wouldn't recommend the school unless you're someone who wants to stay in the suburbs. They put their students up in Envigado, which is a middle to upper-middle class suburb of the city. It is close to the Zona Rosa, aka party central, and to lots of great shopping, but our lodging is not that close to the Metro and taxis don't know where it is. So if you came with the idea of exploring the city, it's not so fun. And the so-called homestay is very unhomey. There is no dad, the mom is on vacation, the son is 20-something and working (selling cookies, he tells me), and we get to hang out with the maid. No disrespect intended to her, she's great and I like her a lot, but if I wanted a family homestay I could have stayed home and hung out at Dawn's house and saved a pile of cash!

It's also been more than a little weird to go from visiting country folk without mucho dinero to probably the most bustling commercial center in Colombia, and hanging out in some of its posher areas. My homestay here only confirms my observation that worldwide, it's generally the poorest people who are the most generous with their hospitality. And frankly that was so heartbreaking to be the object of for ten days straight, followed by the coldness and stinginess present in my current homestay--my fellow classmate says before I got there they weren´t feeding her enough!--it was all enough to make me cry in front of one of my teachers during class yesterday.

Viva Italia!

Saludos desde Cartagena--Greetings from Cartagena! I just finished watching the World Cup final in a little bar not far from Plaza San Pedro Claver, where I was the only female in the joint. The two guys on either side of me were Italy fans--I was quietly rooting for France until some French guy slammed an Italian. (They were playing really dirty today, IMHO, so I changed allegiance pretty fast. But the hyperactive French coach in his fancy suit was cracking me up. The Italian coach seemed much more relaxed in both dress and manner.)

This bar was great--they had a nice big but not overwhelming TV, and they turned off the sound, so we just listened to salsa while they ran up and down the field. Everybody could argue and talk and cheer. I didnt understand everything and frankly it took most of the last period for me to figure out which was France and which was Italy, but by overtime I knew what was going on. As the overtime penalty shootout was coming to a close, three other women walked in to catch the last of the action. One lady Italy fan squeezed my hand on the way out. The lone French fan got a lot of ribbing.

I had been looking forward to going to Mass at the Jesuit church today, but it didnt quite live up to my expectations. I had been told by some locals to come check out the noon Mass, where they include Afro-Caribbean drumming. Yes, they had the drum, and they had a guitar and some singers, but it was a lot less intense than I expected. And it was a lot more tourists than parishioners, was my general sense. But Padre Pacho, whom I met earlier this week, was presiding, and he recognized me when I went up for Communion. The biggest pleasant surprise was that not everyone knelt during the Eucharistic prayer. I dont mind kneeling but I used to stand up all the time and I havent for years. And I certainly didnt expect to find anyone standing up in a Latin American church. That was the biggest indicator to me that these guys are pretty darn progressive. Anyway, I heard the drum, I stood up, and Padre Pacho remembered my name. So not too bad for a city Id never seen a week ago.

ajiaco (chicken soup)

Bogota is famous for its chicken soup, served with a variety of starches in the broth plus rice and avocado on the side. At church yesterday Hernando served it with capers and sour cream. Today´s lunch in the dusty Cauzca neighborhood left off those frills, but the soup was hot and may have been even tastier on its merits than Hernando´s. But don´t tell him I said that. I told him yesterday I had tried that kind of soup last Sunday in Chicago for the first time, and of course he wanted to know afterwards which was better, Chicago or here.

"Here, of course!" I told him. I think it was even true. But I´d have to tell him he only managed to tie with the ladies from Cauzca, even though they lacked the capers. (I skipped the cream yesterday, so I can´t tell you what difference it might make.)

One of my travel companions, Myra, was teasing me about my appreciation for all the starches:
three kinds of potatoes, yucca and plantain. Plus rice on the side, which I was cleaning up at a rapid clip. "You´re gonna crash this afternoon," she warned me, thinking I´d be sleeping off my starchfest by now. But no, instead I´m telling you about it.

mucho polvo en Colombia

...or, lots of dust in Colombia. So a little boy told me today as we were walking along a dusty unpaved road in his neighborhood outside Bogota. It´s a neighborhood way up in the hills, where water arrives through rubber tubes and you have to pay off someone to get access to it twice a week, if you´re lucky. (Other neighborhoods even worse off may only get water for an hour a week.)

Yet business appears to be booming. There certainly are plenty of houses and lots for sale. Only trouble is, it´s virtually impossible to get real title to the land, so you can pay someone for it, receive a piece of paper for your trouble, and then be told a week later by someone else, probably armed, that it´s their house, not yours, so adios.

I´ve drunk a bottle of water and still can´t get the dust out of my throat.

Change of Topic Ahead

Warning to all readers: I'm leaving for Colombia this Thursday and will be out of the neighborhood for much of July. So Marshfield Tattler may take a brief spell as a travel blog, but I won't be getting out of my hammock in Cartagena just to write a post!

So expect fewer posts and all of them on faraway topics for the next three weeks.

Mr. Worrisome Butts In

Next door, that is. Dawn's dad was out with her brothers putting in a new walk from the front steps to the sidewalk on Sunday night. Her mom was watching and so was she.

Mr. Worrisome had to butt in and be annoying. He kept asking me to translate questions and comments to Dawn's dad, like "wow, it's getting beautifuller and beautifuller." He wanted to know why they were putting sand under the bricks. He wanted to know how much the bricks cost. He wanted a drink of the juice they gave me. He thought it was mine. I wouldn't give him a drink out of my glass if he were dying of thirst--I don't know what I would catch.

He only stopped bothering me long enough to ask the time of a nice-looking younger African-American lady who had the misfortune to walk down the sidewalk in his view. She wisely said, "I don't know," and kept on going despite his next effort to engage in conversation.

He also had to bring his dad out of the house to tell them to turn their music down. The family informed me that they don't do that when Joey is playing rap--only when they are playing Mexican music. I grant it was up pretty loud next to the senior Worrisome's room, and I'm not getting into anybody's racial/ethnic music wars. I told Dawn's mom I bought earplugs last summer because it was that or call the police at 2 a.m.

But meanwhile, Dawn's family's front yard is looking nice. They took out the mulberry tree because Dawn's mom didn't like all the squashed berries lying around, and they put in a little pine tree instead. It'll get big. They planted grass seed, which is coming up fast, and they are putting in a brick walkway in the front and eventually to the side. Dawn's dad has ideas about a higher wrought-iron fence on the Worrisome side. I should have said let's go in together on a wooden privacy fence over there. I like Mr. Worrisome's sister and her daughter, and his mom and dad seem fine, but he's annoying and some other guy over there is downright creepy (that's the one I think is actually the sex offender in that house--see earlier post. Mr. Worrisome himself just wishes he were a sex offender, I suspect.)

Anyway, Mr. Worrisome became so annoying that I went in the house and got Joey to do his writing homework. So he was a force for good despite himself.

Sacred Music of All Stripes

Saturday afternoon two of the workers at Su Casa got married at the little Baptist church just south of the house, on 51st St. The Lutheran wedding featured a Baptist gospel choir, a Church of the Brethren violinist (Yeah, Becky!), and plenty of Catholics in the audience. (At least one of us took Communion--don't tell the pope! Yours truly may have been the only one, but maybe not.)

Afterwards there was a reception in the Su Casa garden. The day was perfect--clear, not too hot and not too cold. Liz looked fabulous in her dress and Mark got in a beige suit for the occasion. I'm sure there's a more high-fashion word for the color of that suit but it escapes me at the moment.

Meanwhile, over on Paulina at the church next to Big Picture, they had a live, sanctified salsa band switching off with some singers from Bishop Arthur Brazier's Apostolic Church of God in Woodlawn. I saw one of the Chavez ladies sitting in the sunshine. It was pretty much their block party--tables of food, a moonwalk, street blocked off and live music. I could not get over the sanctified salsa--I couldn't make out all the words but when they got into the hallelujahs with the tick-tick-tick, tick-tick-tick clave beat going, I was cracking up.

Playtime, First Aid & Errands

Busy night last night--I got off my bike and the kids next door wanted me to run races with them. First, we had ice cream.

Eddie asked me what flavor I like. Coffee, I said. "That's cool!" he said with great enthusiasm. "I like vanilla and strawberry!" We played rock/paper/scissors with our free hands while eating ice cream cones. They use a different order, though. They call "Paper! Scissors! Rock!"

Then we ran races down the sidewalk and played hide and seek. We were joined by a litte girl from across the street--that's a nice family I haven't met yet, but her dad and I smiled at each other from across the street. Her brother couldn't come because he's too small to cross the street by himself.

The oldest girl on the first floor south of me had a nasty bruise on her hand--her little brother hit her (he must have hit her with a stick or something, and I think by accident). I was worried she sprained her finger. We need a first-aid class in Spanish for the moms. Her hand was bound up in a ribbon (I think that's bad)--the second floor neighbor put a hot cream on it (something from Mexico--I don't know if it was like Ben-Gay or worse), and then she was massaging the kid's hand. The poor girl was crying in pain.

I suggested ice and her mother went in and came back out with some ice cubes in a bowl, and put her daughter's hand right in it. She started crying again, no surprise.

"No, no," I said. "Voy a volver." (I'm coming back.) I went in my house and got a clean dish towel, wet it a little and put the ice in that. Then I went back and told the girl to just rest her hand on the cloth and when it got too cold, take it away, and when her hand got too hot or too painful, put it back.

I tried to convince the other neighbor not to massage her hand but I don't know if the message got through. Fortunately I heard later they were going to take her to the doctor. I don't know if that meant they were going to go sit in the emergency room somewhere. A lot of people here can't afford doctors.

I had to excuse myself to go see if Isabel was home and make a haircut appointment. The bad news was she wasn't there, but the good news was her husband gave mer her cell number and we made an appointment for Saturday. So I'll have nice hair in time for the big Su Casa wedding on Saturday.

Last Day of School

Guess I should put up the words to "School's Out" or something like that, but in case I didn't mention sooner, Julian pulled his social studies grade from an F to a B. Whoo-hoo!

I need to find out if he's in summer school. That's for next week.

Later I'll tell y'all about watching Don Fernando (Univision talk show host) on female sexuality with Dawn and her mom. Wow.

Neighbors in the News

Dawn got the Most Improved Student award at Big Picture yesterday! Whoo-hoo! Of course, then she promptly lost the certificate. I think her mom told me she found it balled up on the floor and put it in a book to iron it out. She was annoyed--she was all set to hang it up on the wall and be proud of her daughter, but it needs a bit of repair first.

Meanwhile, Dawn's dad's company made headlines again yesterday and not for good reason. There was a fire at the factory that injured six people, including two firefighters. At least one of the six was in critical condition last night. It is possible that hazardous chemicals were involved, so I'm worried about how long it will take them to clean up and get the place working again. I don't suppose Julian, Sr. will be getting paid in the meantime.

Fr. Bruce from Holy Cross was on Channel 2 today talking about plans for the new high school in our neighborhood. The mayor has announced he's pulling money out of city TIF funds (I'll explain them another day) to build 15 new schools, including our long-awaited high school. The papers said the site will be at 35th and California, which isn't even in Back of the Yards, but apparently Fr. Bruce says the site is still not set.

Last I heard, they were talking about putting the building on the vacant lots by 51st and Ashland. Stay tuned--we may get our high school yet.

Two Storms in One House

Friends of mine called last night to inquire about the weather, since Hurricane Alberto was on its way. Of course, the latest from Reuters downgraded to a mere tropical storm:

http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N13374198.htm

Just like my living arrangements.

The big weather news last night was that Alberto and Camille were in my house at the same time, and so was I. I don't think all three of us have been in the house at the same time in a while, maybe not since Memorial Day weekend.

Camille made dinner last night--shrimp in garlic sauce over rice, plus a salad of greens, tomato, avocado and mozzarella. "What restaurant are you working at?" I asked. "I'll be there for dinner very soon!" She "auditioned" for a restaurant gig at a new place on North Avenue. If she gets it for sure I will send all of you there.

While we were inside, Julian and a buddy of his were playing soccer out in the yard. Camille started at the thumps and bumps. "It's just the kids," I said. "No worries." They watched my bike for me and stayed out there long enough to remember I'd forgotten to put it in the basement. That's how the last one got stolen. Glad they were there this time.

Dawn's final exhibition this year

Dawn did her final exhibition for the year on Thursday morning. I came out the door and found her dad and her uncle talking to Camille, my houseguest--they had a job tip for her. I asked Dawn's dad if he was going to the exhibition and he said yes, but he was waiting for his wife. I went over without them.

Good thing--I had lost track of time and Dawn had already started. I got there and she was already getting into her report on the light bulb. She really got into that project, without much help from me. We got together on Memorial Day when she and Gladys were revising their research papers, but that was it. Dawn did a research paper, put together a booklet of drawings she did of various stages of the light bulb's development, and did a quantitative project analyzing her family's electric bill and what the charges were for.

Her presentation had fewer bells and whistles this time--she didn't have Power Point, for example--but she really did the work on her own. Her advisor said she had noticed Dawn buckling down in class and independent work time to get projects done on time, which was a change from previous quarters. I can vouch for the fact I did not come in on a white horse this quarter to pull her grade out of the fire.

Julian's presentation is Tuesday. I wonder if I can go. I'd like to but work is kicking my butt.

Long time no post

Sorry it's been so long! And there's so much to say....

Weather Report: Tropical Storm Alberto, a/k/a my roommate, delivered a surprise last month. A friend of his is relocating here from Washington, DC. She's been staying in the house since May 19 or so. For lack of a better naming scheme, let's call her Camille, more because I think the name is pretty than because of the destruction that particular hurricane wreaked, as shown here:

http://www.geocities.com/hurricanene/hurricanecamille.htm

In case you're wondering, Alberto and Camille are just friends, people. She's staying in the guest room. And her arrival forced Alberto to bring his girlfriend over for dinner a couple of nights. Now we know where he's been all that time!

Birthday party: Alberto and Camille were instrumental in helping me throw a birthday bash over Memorial Day weekend. Others deserving of major shout-outs for their help include Dawn's mom, dad and brother, and the LSC lady from Chavez who is also big in CAPS. She and Dawn's dad took over the grill. Dawn's mom made rice. Her big brother cut the lawn. And a big thanks to Su Casa for the loan of chairs, a table and the lawnmower!

We broke out the good tequila friends brought back for me from Guadalajara. On my weak stomach, it takes a village to drink a bottle of the stuff, so I'm glad real aficionados got to enjoy most of it. I just had a small taste.

The kids had a big water fight out front. My front lawn is still recovering.

Recent travels: I went to New Orleans for a conference last weekend. New Orleans is still in post-Katrina gridlock. It was shocking to see how little rebuilding has happened yet. The t-shirts said it all: "FEMA: Fix Everything My Ass;" "FEMA Evacuation Plan: Run M-F, Run"
"Meet the Fockers:" with pictures of Ray Nagin, Kathleen Blanco, Michael Brown (the FEMA guy). From what we heard at the conference, it sounds like they could have done that shirt with reps from the state and the New Orleans school board on them, too.

I did get Alberto a graduation present that wasn't any of those t-shirts. I went to a fun jazz benefit party last Saturday night at Donna's in the 7th Ward, and found a great t-shirt put out by a very Catholic Workerish group called Common Ground. They got their start last fall when a former Black Panther and New Orleans resident starting working to get doctors back in the city. Now they're doing all kinds of stuff, and they have really cool t-shirts, too:

http://www.commongroundrelief.org/

Back to neighborhood news in the next post!