"The Handsome Frog" - The Gift of a Story!

On Friday, while we were away at the church, a friend who had been visiting decided to stay at the house until we got back.  In the mean time, her 12-year-old daughter wrote a story for us.  What a wonderful gift a story is, especially when it's written just for your family!


Here's a picture of the page, with the text typed below:

The text (there are a few slips, but I'll leave it exactly as she wrote it):

Once upon a time there lived a frog, his name was James.  James lived in a pond filled with lily pads and dragonflys fly over him.  And he could always see the sunrise and the sunset.  Theose were his most favourite things to do sit and watch the sun.

James loved to eat flys big ones in July, August.  Sometimes he even made fly salad.  His favourite season was summer he loved to play tag with his Best friends and go swimming.  His very Best friends name was Albert.  James and Albert always wanted to look their best in a good way, not to put anybody down but they always thought it was good to be handsome.

Sometimes they would go shopping together.  Usually it is the girls that go shopping but they didn't care what other frogs thought they just did what they felt was right.  "So it doesn't matter what other people think of you, you just got to do what you feel is right"!

Hope You Enjoyed This Story!!

I don't think I'll be rushing off to go shopping, but certainly not because of what other people think!

Why I Love Mexico

Two days ago I wrote a short piece sharing my opinion of people who tell you you should've used birth control when they find out you have four children. (In case you didn't read it, and you couldn't guess, it's not a good opinion.)

What I wrote two days ago didn't just pop into my head out of nowhere, and it didn't just turn up out of an entire year of "mixed" reactions to my babies.

A week and a half ago, I arrived in Mexico again with my family, this time on a work trip. (My last one, since I am less than a week away from finishing this job.  The last 2 weeks will be a vacation.)

An Unpleasant Welcome

Upon our arrival to Playa del Carmen, we were greeted with the usual visuals of Mexico; dirt and garbage in the streets, mangy street dogs, half-built homes, graffiti-covered walls, children playing with trash in filthy parks ...

The list could go on.  Home, sweet, home?  Well, not quite.

Den of Sinners

Then comes the visible immorality of Mexican culture. 

Like everywhere, marital infidelity abounds; and here, intentions along these lines are made all to visibly obvious, as are the relationships themselves.  A married taxi driver has his "companion" joining him in the passenger's seat, who is almost certainly not his wife, men cheating on their wives is chronic. (First hand stories.)

Dishonesty is endemic.  Just today, my commadre's daughter told me how a store worker stole her cellphone from a fitting room, and then called her a "bitch" when she tried (successfully) to reclaim it. (Commadre = godmother of my son.)  People here "find" other people's things and assume that this sequence of fortunes means that people have lost all rights to their belongings, even if they "find" those things in someone else's front patio.

Just two examples of so many.

At this point, I would like to talk about how I actually like the fact that in Mexico sin, immorality, dishonesty, etc. all look like exactly what they are - but that belongs to a different post.

Loving People

So far, I'm guessing I haven't inspired many would-be expats to make the leap, abandon their home and move to Mexico.

But in spite of all its problems and unpleasant sights (which I would argue are not actually bigger, but simply more visible) there's something about Mexico - even the dirtiest most unsightly places - that captures my heart:

Mexicans have a deep love for being with other people.  The don't need to share common interests, understand each other, have something to do together or have anything else that we would consider fundamental to a "healthy relationship;" the love of another person and the joy felt in seeing another person is enough.

Seeing and feeling a joy for human life is something that surpasses many other comforts and conveniences in life.

When Cowards Attack - A Warning to Would-be Proselytizers

I have no problems with a good argument about religion.  (I tend to loose most of mine, but that's another story.) A one-on-one discussion or even argument on even ground between two people who have both chosen to "draw their swords" and duel is fine.  After all, we shouldn't shy away from defending and promoting what we believe.

However, I have a bone to pick.

There are some Christians, and people of similar beliefs, out there who are cowards.  They choose a person who:

• is not interested in arguing
• is not used to arguing
• is not good at arguing
• is always very nice and respectful to everyone
• who feels pretty bad about arguing and being berated
• has not initiated a discussion on religion

When they are alone with this person, or with a few others so they can gang up on this person, they rip a layer off of them. The do not give them a chance to speak, they do not respect their beliefs, and they just pound on them verbally.

And these people are spineless, gutless, good-for-nothing cowards.

They are often very nice people on the surface. For example, the last person I met like this was a "kind" old Mennonite lady (I think she was Mennonite - it was at least a similar denomination.)  I can tell you, though, her heart is rotten at its core.

Now, I'm not talking about myself when I talk about the people who get picked on.  I can hold my ground, or at least handle defeat if I can't.  If I get pummelled in an argument, well, it's probably my own fault, since I probably started it.  But I'm talking about other people who are far kinder, gentler and more loving than myself.

And how do I know these "attackers" are cowards?  Well, if another person walks into the room that may defend the person they are attacking, they shut up.  They stop. Suddenly they're nice again, only sneaking a few "nice" passive attacks hidden behind sly poison like "I'll pray for you that you'll understand" - lie as venomous as Satan himself.

Some Advice

So, now I've told you who I'm talking about. If you're someone who knows me and you're reading this blog, you're probably not one of these people.  As I said, I'm not talking about fair arguments, or even heated arguments; I'm talking about cowards who attack others who can't defend themselves.

Advice: if you know someone like this, perhaps at your church, or someone of similar beliefs, perhaps you don't shut them up because you think they're defending the Truth; they're on your side - on Truth's side - after all, even if they're a bit abbrasive, right?

Wrong. Shut them up.  Tell them that they are cowards and that they ought to be ashamed of themselves.  If they don't stop, stop associating with them.  Be a real man (or a real woman, if such is the case) and defend the person they attack.  Even if you don't agree with the religion of the person they are attacking, you don't have to defend the religion.  You just have to defend the person.

"Look, you're being an asshole.  Shut up and leave this poor person alone.  You can talk about God a lot, but why don't you try showing His love?"

That simple.

Don't put people you love and care about into the pain coming into contact with them because you don't want to offend an asshole.

Let me make this plainly clear; even if they understand the greatest mysteries of the Faith and God, and know the truth better than any human alive, if they are such dogs to treat another person like this, then they do not have the love of God in them.

Now for my warning ...

So, even though it's unlikely that anyone like this who I know will read this blog, let me put my warning out there:

I will no longer tolerate this.  Until now, I've been of the opinion that if I don't see it, I can't say anything.  But as I said, these cowards shut up when another person walks into the room.  No more.  If I find out this has happened, and I am anywhere near such a person, I will go back to them and put them in their place.  I will ensure that they feel like the dirty scum they are - they will feel a hundred times worse than the person they were picking on.

"He was never really my friend ..."

When a friend turns against us, abandons us or fails us in a most serious way, our most common reaction (in my experience) is to explain the action as the former friend's true nature; "I guess I never knew what he was really like. Now I know what kind of a person he was all along, and he sure wasn't my friend."

We assume that the worst of what the friend demonstrates is his "true nature;" we were fooled and deceived, and now this act of treachery sheds light on reality.

Yet, why is it that we choose to assume that the worst in a person is that person's true nature? Why can't we assume that in the past, that person had true friendship with us?

Consider an (imaginary) strong man who roamed the wilderness, killing wild animals with his bare hands for his food, not only surviving but thriving in all kinds of weather.  One day, the land where he lives is invaded by people who attack him and try to drive him away.  As a fearless and ruthless warrior he fights off one attack after another, until finally his invaders begin to prevent him from getting food and tire him in endless harassment. Finally, tired and weakened he succumbs in battle and is killed.

No one would doubt that this man was at one time physically very strong.  Yet that changed. (Don't take this story as an "allegory" for friendship, it is only demonstrating one isolated point.)

Few (if any of us) are as strong in friendship and in love as my imaginary warrior was in hunting in battle; even if a friend succumbs after the second or even first turbulence hits a friendship, that doesn't mean he never truly cared for us.

The same is true of religion; when someone abandons or renounces the religion we adhere to, our first reaction is often to assume that the person never truly believed it in the first place.  That person was fooling others, and possibly themselves - true belief never existed.  But who's to say that they didn't believe it authentically in their heart at one time?  The onslaughts of life can shake even the firmest of human strength.

In friendship, relationships, religion, family roles, etc. we all have the free will to do right and wrong, and to react to others in a right or wrong way.  This means that even the strongest of love and the strongest of faith can fail - especially if we are so proud to think that we have some special strength so that we could never unjustly turn on a friend or abandon our faith.

Deceptions and revelations of people's "true nature" do happen; but I think at times we are too willing to write off the battles, the victories and the defeats of life to an oversimplified explanation, rather than to allow them to be simply what they are.

A Tragic Wedding

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the sad love story of “Alfredo” and Lola, a tragedy that I watch play out every day of my life.  This weekend, on Saturday, January 7, 2012, this story took yet another tragic turn.

Lola’s aunt, being single herself, was worried that the family wouldn’t be seeing any grandchildren anytime soon, decided to obligate Lola to marry Ramon, her family’s preferred son-in-law, in an official wedding, assuming that this would somehow help in bring about the desired grandnephew or -niece.

“Alfredo” was invited to the wedding, and, against his will, his parents forced him to go and sit quietly in repressed suffering while he watched the love of his life first make vows she could never truly believe in her heart, and then sign a contract, vowing and promising to remain loyal to the chosen husband of her arranged marriage, implicitly renouncing and disowning the true love of her life (“Alfredo"), forever.

Poor “Alfredo.”  But such is life, and I only hope that he can overcome this tragic event in his life.  Just now I saw him in his house, downcast, almost expressionless, as though reality was no longer real.

For anyone who didn’t read the first part ("Forbidden Love"), “Alfredo” is my dog Simba.


Lola and Ramon are the neighbours’ two Chihuahuas.  The aunt is the owner’s 8-year-old sister, who really does believe that having a wedding would make the two dogs have puppies.  Eager for the puppies, she really did have a wedding on Saturday, which included a wedding dress and a veil for the “bride,” a bowtie for the “groom,” and the traditional Mexican elements of the “crown” (like a wreath made of flowers) placed on the bride’s head after the vows, and the rope that is placed around the newly married couple to symbolize the new-found unity.

There were also vows (said on the dogs’ behalf) and a marriage certificate (signed by inking and stamping the dogs’ paws.)  There was a reception where mole with chicken (a traditional Mexican dish, prepared by the girl’s mother) was served.

She also sent out hand-written invitations earlier in the week, one specifically to Simba, who really is in love with Lola. The rest is as told above.  (I’m not sure if I should say this publicly, but I saw the way Simba was looking at Lola during the ceremony, and I suspect that he thinks he still has a chance …)

"Why didn't you tell me you were the Virgin Mary?"

Would your recognize the Virgin Mary?

This weekend, I participated in my fourth Mexican "posada," which is a communal re-enactment of the scene where Joseph and Mary arrive to Bethlehem and look for a place to stay, which take place during the 9 days before Christmas.  The re-enactment is followed by a party where a very traditional hot fruit punch is served to all those who participate, along with snacks, a pinata and other elements of Mexican festivities (=loud music & tequila.)

In the Mexican re-enactment, a group of neighbours and friends from the community get together, light candles, and show up at the door of a the person hosting the party.  The people outside with candles play the role of Joseph and Mary (it doesn't matter how many people there are)  and the people inside are the innkeeper.  The re-enactment is in the form of a song where each "role" sings short verses in response to each.

Joseph asks for a place to stay, the innkeeper sends him away, threatening a beating if doesn't leave.  Joseph implores him for the sake of his pregnant wife and finally, 12 verses later, convinces him to let them in.  Everyone enters singing joyfully of the night Christ was born.  I've been to some (like last night) where a prayer is said, then the punch is served, etc.

Last night I especially noticed Joseph's final method of convincing the innkeeper:

"My wife Mary is Queen of Heaven, and will be the mother of the Word Divine."

The interesting part is actually the innkeeper's response, after so vehemently denying them service:

The festivities beginning, just after the re-enactment (my posada last night)

"Are you Joseph? Your wife is Mary? Enter, pilgrims. I did not know!"

If he had only known that it was Joseph and the Virgin Mary!  My first reaction to this is probably typical of a more reasonable Northerner; "What a silly little song! As if the innkeeper would've known or cared who Mary was."

Besides no mention of such a dialogue in the Bible, the idea that the innkeeper could've known who Mary the Queen of Heaven was is simply absurd and anachronistic.

But then I had a second thought. From what I understand, these plays are part of a long-standing Catholic tradition of re-enacting the Gospel, still very much alive during Advent and Easter time in Latin America and other some other Catholic areas.   On one hand, there's a cultural element here; everyone knows who the Virgin Mary is.  I'm guessing that one of the original purposes was to present these key stories to an illiterate population.  These re-enactments pull the events out of history and put them into Mexico in the current day and age where it only makes sense that all Joseph would have to do is identify his wife as the Virgin Mary.  The recognition of her roles and titles would also serve to teach and reinforce these concepts in addition to the story.

A Posada (not mine, just a good picture)

Purely for the sake of speculation, there might be something more to this.  The idea of "showing what happens" was (and is?) also the main idea behind religious icons, according to Pope Gregory I (6th century) among others.  I have also heard the Mass described in a function of "reenactment."  Both icons and the Mass show "historical events" in eternal terms, not merely placing the past into the present, but actually showing eternity within the framework of time. (The reason why icons of John the Baptist show him with his head firmly attached to his shoulders, but also holding his own head on a platter at the same time, and the reason why the Mass seems to "repeat" Christ's death and resurrection; it is not "repeated" but is eternity reflected in the framework of time.)

Perhaps there is an element of this idea behind the Catholic reenactments and the Mexican Posadas; in eternity, the innkeeper would know the significance of the event that's about to happen (the birth of Christ), and Mary would not be a simple Jewish girl from Galilee - she would already be The Queen of Heaven and the Mother of God (as is believed in Catholicism) and it would be necessary to recognize her as such.

I'm not sure if I'm taking this idea too far, but this "anachronism" becomes much more interesting when considered in these term.

Another Odd Job; Butchering Chickens

During the past week, some of the Mennonites ladies who live in the community found a new way to generate some income.  They bought living chickens for 75 cents a piece, butchering them, removing feathers and gutting; then they sold the chickens for $3 a piece.

Recently, these ladies had been inviting my wife to join in their enterprises (including the garlic scrape cutting job I wrote about a while back.)  However, although my wife spent a few months every year of her childhood on her grandpa’s farm, she could not, for the life of her, get herself to kill, pluck or clean chickens.  What she could do was take pictures – of everything but the beheading.

Enjoy the pictures.

P.S. – I would have expected this to be a part of my Mexico experience rather than my wife’s Canada experience, but in any case, here it is.

A Gift of Coffee

My Coffee from Veracruz
(I still need to buy an opaque jar or can.)

On more than one occasion, I have received gifts of coffee from various parts of the world.  On every occasion, I have been delighted!

Today was another such occasion.  A neighbor who had been visiting his family in Veracruz in December, suddenly remembered that he had brought a little packet of fresh coffee back for me.  I have wonderful friends and neighbours; he knows that  I love coffee. I often show up outside on the front lawn while the kids and the dogs are playing with a coffee in my hand, and I talk about it often enough.  But I was very pleasantly surprised that he was thoughtful enough to pick up a

package of coffee for me!

Tonight, while browsing posts on Facebook and other blogs, and waiting for my baby to wake up to give him the bottle, I tried out a cup.

First I smelt it.  Wonderful, rich and strong aroma!

Then I looked at it.  A moderately dark roast, and a just-below-medium grind, and very clean - very little of that powder that sifts through all but the best paper filters.  Perfect for my moka pot coffee maker! (See this post for a picture: Coffee, Wonderful Coffee!)

(I took my time for all of this; you will see why the process of selecting coffee in a store could take so long - see "How Many Germans Does it Take To ....)

Then I prepared my little moka pot, and enjoyed a very rich, strong coffee that in no way left me disappointed.  For the past week or so, I've found myself preferring my coffee black.  It was wonderful.

I love coffee, and I'm always excited to receive a gift of coffee!  Notable mentions include a package of Canadian maple coffee my brother once gave me, a very large bag of very dark and delicious coffee brought from Merida, but originally from an unknown destination, the coffee my mother-in-law brings from Mexico City every time she visits - again, I don't know the origin, but the roasters in Mexico City and the surrounding area know what they're doing - and a bag of green coffee beans my wife's grandpa was going to send with us once, but we choose not to take because of transportation difficulties.

Again, thanks to my neighbour for this gift of coffee!  One of the few things better than good coffee is having good friends!

(For a recipe on how to make a delicious traditional kind of Mexican coffee, read Cafe de Olla - One of my Favorites!)

Day of the Dead - An Altar for my Grandparents

Our Altar for Various Friends and Family

For the first four years I spent November in Mexico, the Day of the Dead was a rich cultural experience, in which I saw many traditions, and even participated, visiting homes and altars, and talking to families who had lost a loved one.  This year, the day had a much closer significance; the first and most important altar we made was for someone very dear to us, who had passed away this year. Yesterday's post was dedicated to this very difficult memory and and the altar we built for him. (Click here to read it.)

My wife and I also made another altar for others who had passed away.  The significance of these two days for us was to remember these people.  So, here I will tell you who they were.

My wife's great aunt and uncle.  Tia Lalita and tio Benjamin were brother and sister, and had passed away in 2009.  When my father-in-law was a child, he lived in their home for many years.  When my wife was a child, they were like grandparents to her, and with several other family members, they were among her closest and dearest relatives.

Ulises and Jorge.  These were two very close friends of my wife.  I believe Ulises passed away in a car accident before I met my wife.  Jorge was her best friend for many years.  He passed away the same year that my son was born, and so my wife choose to give our son his name; I agreed to this since she has very good memories of him as a close and caring friend, and a hard-working and dedicated person.  Unfortunately I never had the pleasure of meeting him, since he passed away only shortly after I met my wife.

My wife's cousin.  I can't remember her name at the moment, but my wife and this cousin had been close many years before.  I know her sisters and parents.

My Grandma and Grandpa Wall.  I have a number of memories of my Grandpa, who passed away over a decade ago.  One is when we went to visit their small home in the town of Walsingham, Ontario, he would go to his bedroom to get candies - I think he kept them in his dresser.  Later on, when we visited my Grandma, and during the time she stayed at my parents' home, I remember her asking frequently why I wasn't married yet.  I believe she would be happy now to know that I finally did get married!  Maybe a little disappointed that I've forgotten how  speak Low German; but one day I hope to fix this too.

A close up of the altar.

My Grandma and Grandpa Janzen.  I only got to know Grandma Janzen.  Grandpa Janzen passed away before I was born, and I've only seen pictures of when he was young (like the passport photo we put on the altar,) so I imagine him as a young man.  I remember visiting Grandma at her home (we put a picture of the house on the altar as well,) and seeing her talk with my parents, aunts and uncles.  I remember her as a serious lady, with the impression that she was dedicated to doing things correctly and traditionally.

For me this year's Day of Dead not simply about following a tradition, but much more about honouring and remembering the lives of people.

To read about the first altar we made this year, and who it was for, click here.
If you would like to know more about some of the traditions involved in the Day of the Dead, click here.

Remebering Someone Dear to Us

Our altar for a baby who is dear to us

It's really nice to find information, visit as a tourist, and write about the rich traditions which Mexico has for the Day of Dead, but it's something entirely different actually to participate, and create your own altar.

Two out of the four Novembers which I've been in Mexico, I've helped my wife set up a little table with a few candles on it, but this year we set up a more elaborate altar with most of the traditional elements (click here to read a post about some of these elements).  This changes everything, because now, instead of looking from the outside, making nice observations about how great it is to commemorate the deceased, my wife and I now have our own altar, with pictures of people we knew and loved, and items to commemorate their lives.  These next two posts, I'm going to focus on who the altars were for.

An Altar for a Baby

This year something happened in our lives which has been very difficult, especially for two close friends of ours.  Only a month and half after their baby was born, he passed away.  I admire them for dealing with this very difficult time much better than I believe I would be able to in their situation, but, needless to say, it has been very difficult for them.

The first altar we put up two nights ago was dedicated entirely this baby.  My wife had the fortune of spending a lot of time with him; although I would have liked more time, I also greatly cherish the hours that I was with him.  Yesterday, we sat in front of the altar, with the candles lit, sharing our memories of his short life, the joy that he brought, and the pain that came with his parting.

The altar included a glass of water, a small cup of milk, some toys which our son chose and a picture of him in addition to the marigolds, cross and candles.

This is not a cultural experience, like many of my other posts; this is a real way of remembering someone dear to us.  We placed the altar to remember him, to accompany him and to comfort him.  We know that now he is with God, in whose arms he has more comfort than those who were left here without him.  When we enter the church were his ashes are kept, our 2-year-old son tells us that up above the church's altar, he sees our friends' dear baby in the arms of the Mother of God ("Mama Dios" - these are his own words, not ours, and he was never prompted by anyone to say this.)  We believe this is true.

Thanks to my friends - a video blog

 This is a "video blog" - for a special request from one of my oldest friends, Kevin.  I missed out on the Canadian Thanksgiving, but I decided to take this opportunity to say thanks to all of my friends.

When I moved to Mexico, some friends from Canada came to my wedding exactly a year later. Thanks to all of you did.  I had lost touch with other friends; thanks to those of you who have got back in touch again.  Now, after moving even farther to the Yucatan Peninsula, friends from the Mexico City area have come to visit.  Thanks to you guys! I've met new friends, who I'm really grateful for.  In any case, I'm really fortunate to have the friends that I do; thanks for being great friends!