Tag Archive for Vacation

Constanza and Her Family

February 9, 2007 mfcarter@mfcarter.net Culture, Writing

Constanza and her family have been friends of ours since we’ve been visiting Mexico. Constanza is a very kind, and generous person. She has a spark about her that always seems to see the positive side of things and to enjoy life even when things get difficult for her. She is shy and lives a quiet life. She works hard for her job in education and lives by herself. She is the youngest daughter of her family. Her mother is dead and her father is in his 80’s and needs her support frequently. Her name suits her very well, Constanza means steadfast in English.

Constanza also has a brother named, Dante who seems to be drifting through his life. He is a very tall, thin person. He has a mellow voice. He has been divorced from his wife for a while. He had not been living with his wife and children for several years before the divorce. I don’t know that he’s ever lived with his wife. You never know from one culture to the next what is polite to ask and this was one of those things that I sensed might bring up some buried emotion in either his ex-wife or him. I have been told that Dante is gay, but who knows? People have their secrets which they don’t share until they are ready and sometimes never. Currently, he has been with another woman who is struggling with cancer. He lives with his father and even though he is living with his father, It is still considered Constanza’s responsibility as the youngest daughter to take care of him and she did this freely.

Constanza visited us last summer for a week. While she was here, her brother called her to tell her that her father was sick. It was as if, he could not cope or didn’t want to help a parent who was ill. He was looking to Constanza to make decisions when she was a thousand miles from home. She was obviously upset by Dante’s phone call but what could she do? She buried the thoughts. She did her best to enjoy her time and called home a few more times before she returned to Mexico.

This year, when we visited we had one wonderful day together. Constanza drove us to Guanajuato. Guanajuato is a beautiful colonial city and site of what was once one of the richest silver mines in the world. The city is filled with narrow alleys, colorful buildings, tunnels, and colonial architecture. It is also a cultural gem where each year artists from around the world perform in recitals, concerts, plays, ballets, modern dance, and exhibit art. The day here was indescribable. I was really overwhelmed by all the beauty of this city and it’s offerings. It was so totally unexpected. Constanza seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself as well. She was like a bird, happy, excited, and flitting from one striking trinket that caught her eye to another.

We didn’t see Constanza for several days after we returned to Querétaro. One day, we accidentally ran into her on the street. She was returning from a lunch break and entering her work building. After our normal round of hugs and greetings, she told us that her father was sick. There had been a chest cold going around where people were sick for a while but it didn’t seem to be anything to be concerned about. Constanza’s brother had been sick with a similar cold the week before. She was also worried about her father’s health care. She was thinking it was time for him to be placed into a nursing home where he could have more consistent and constant care. It was then that her face changed, lines formed around her eyes and she took on a very tense look. She said in words that lost all their vibrancy, “My brother has taken all my father’s money. This money my father saved all his life. It was to help us pay for his care.” When I heard these words, I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. How do you respond? What do you do? “I’m so sorry.” seems so woefully inadequate. Yet, those were the words that were uttered by our group of friends. It was lunch time and Constanza had to return to her job. It was as if she was grateful for this because she could leave these problems behind. Her work, had become a distraction from the real world.

We didn’t see Constanza much after that. I know her time was being occupied by her ailing father. Her brother called us a few times on the telephone but somehow it was always inconvenient for us to meet.

The day we returned to the United States, we heard from Constanza. Her father had died. Perhaps, for her, she no longer needed to worry about what her brother had done. Perhaps, it was a release for her that her father had died and she no longer had the responsibilities which she once shouldered. Perhaps, she can live with all that had happened. Perhaps, she can find peace.

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Margarita’s Father

February 2, 2007 mfcarter@mfcarter.net Culture, Writing

Margarita is an old friend of ours. We have visited her every time we go to Queretaro.

Margarita’s family is famous even up here in Vermont because of her mother’s mole making. Mole is a Mexican specialty. It is a sauce made of a combination of chilies, nuts, seeds, vegetables, spices, and most importantly chocolate. When Margarita’s mother makes mole, all of Queretaro knows it. The rich aroma of the ingredients spreads throughout the entire city and everyone steps a little lighter and faster because of it.

Margarita’s father has always been a strong man. He runs regularly and has a great joy in his body, working out, and in any physical exertion. Margarita lives with her parents and teaches English at the local high school. She enjoys the work and her students and takes great pride in herself.

This year when we were in Queretaro, we first met her at a gathering of friends at the house where we were staying. She was cheerful but after a while she told us the story of her father. He had a stroke in June and had lost control of the left side of his body. Now, he is starting to gain some strength and movement once again. The sorrow in Margarita’s eyes as she was telling us about the experiences of this last year was very apparent. She insisted though that we come by as usual on our annual visits to visit her parents and to see the changes that she had done to her rooms.

The next day, we were walking in the city and decided to go to visit her family. We were met at the door by her mother who was very happy to see us. Also, a man that we didn’t know arrived at the same time we did. He was cheerful and friendly. He was there to help her father with managing his medicines. I could see the movement of someone’s feet through the front windows of their house. I assumed that it was her father.

When we entered the house, I could see that I was right. Her father was sitting in a lounge chair at the front of the house in the sunshine of the window. The family cleared the area to leave us alone while we visited with him.

As we approached, you could see that there was an awkwardness in him. It was as if he wanted to stand to greet us and even though he knew that he couldn’t he was going to try anyway. I remember thinking that this man was a real fighter. I was at a loss for words but Mario approached closer to him and sat beside him. Margarita’s father was obviously very happy to see us but quickly there came an even deeper melancholy to him. I could tell he was thinking of himself being healthy and getting ready to go for a run like he was doing the last time we were there.

At that moment, it was as if the whole world became very quiet. There was nothing else but us and Margarita’s father and the beautiful light streaming in through the living room window. He was so overcome with emotions that he couldn’t utter a word. You could only read the muscles in his face as they fluttered with the emotions that were passing through him. This man, who was once so proud of his body, now was dependent on other people. So, rather than talk, he motioned with his right hand which he still had control of. He made a motion with this hand as if to cut his body in half. He then picked up his left, nearly lifeless, hand and placed it in Mario’s. Mario said simply, “I understand.” It was then that the sound came back into the world. Margarita’s father could speak. They talked about Christmas, dinner, and all the kids coming to visit.

They never returned to his new life.

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The Candy Store

February 2, 2007 mfcarter@mfcarter.net Culture, Writing

While we were in Queretaro, a friend of mine, Carol, was taking care of my cat, Winnie. Winnie is very old and was diagnosed with thyroid problems just before this vacation. So, not only did Carol have to feed Winnie daily, she also had to giver her a daily dose of medicine. I wanted to find something special for my friend to thank her for her help. Carol had requested some Mexican Vanilla but with the restrictions on carrying liquids on the airplane, I knew that was an impossibility so instead kept it in my mind to look for something else.

So one day we were walking the streets of Queretaro I spotted a candy store. This store is one of the many very small local stores that enterprising individuals set up to earn a living. It was in the colonial area downtown very near were I was staying. The store was very small, about the size of an office space. I had to step down into it in order to look around. The store was amazing. It was not your normal candy store that you would find in the U.S. instead; it carried a variety of candied fruits and nuts. I knew that Carol wasn’t a big fan of sweets but I thought these would be different enough from the average that we encounter in the U.S. that she would truly enjoy them for their difference. We stopped to chat with the lady and bought some for ourselves. The candied guyaba and pineapple were delicious. We had a very pleasant visit with the shop owner. She was very kind with her suggestions and wanted me to taste practically everything because I had told her that I had never had anything like this in my life. She was excited to be showing me the new flavors. I vowed to return eventually, to purchase something for Carol.

About a week later, we returned to the store to make our purchases for Carol. Just before we entered the store, I noticed at the corner of the entrance and brightly colored, blue and yellow, wheel chair and on the floor was a little boy. She explained that was her son who had cerebral palsy. His name was Paco. He couldn’t walk but pulled himself along the floor. We gave Paco a hug and gave the shop owner a hug as well. I think she was surprised to see us again. While we were making our purchases, she called her daughter over to talk to us. The daughter was maybe 12 years old. She wanted her daughter to practice English with me. Apparently, she had changed schools and was no longer being taught English but still wanted to practice. During our discussion, I told her that one thing that was crucial to learning a language was not to be afraid. The mother at that point asked her what I had said and the daughter translated into Spanish.

The mother at that point started to cry. They were tears of desperation and anguish. She said that fear was the only thing she had at this point. Her son was in need of medicine and that she had not been able to afford to purchase it for him. The medicine was necessary to prevent seizures. She had started the candy store to help her pay for the medicine. We consoled her as much as we could. Hugged her and told her that with faith and persistence anything is possible. We bought probably more candy than we should have but she also gave us more than we actually bought.

As we were walking home, we were discussing what we could possibly do to help. One of the things we could do, Mario suggested, was to give her some money to help her in buying the drugs she needed for her son. We pooled our resources and returned to the store. Only her daughter and the little boy were in the store when we returned. The daughter said that her mother would return in a little while. We told her that we had some money to help with Paco, her brother. She first insisted that she couldn’t accept it and then did. Crying, she carried the money to her little brother who was on the floor and showed the money to him saying, “This is for you, my dear little brother,” She then turned and thanked us. We said that we hoped that things would soon get better and wished her and her brother the best.

The second thing we did for Paco was to make a connection. We have a friend in Queretaro, Claudia. Her job is to work to help the poor navigate through the medical system and she is an advocate for people who can’t afford their drugs. We talked to her a little about what we had observed and she said that we should give her telephone number to the family. She said that she believed that she would be able to help them.

The next day, we returned again to the candy store. This time, the owner’s sister was taking care of the store. There was no sign of Paco or his sister. We explained who we were and she said that she already knew. We told her that we have a friend who can help and gave them the telephone number and our email that they could use in case they needed anything.

We received an email from the family after we had returned to the U.S. They expressed their thanks for all our help. Paco is doing better and has returned to school thanks to his medicine. He will never be well and will have his ups and downs but we have helped him for the moment. The family is now calling us their angels from America.

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