Friday, May 26, 2006
Six more weeks of school
It’s raining again. It has been raining quite a bit here lately; apparently these are the May showers, essential for the crops. These are thunderstorms, with lightning sometimes striking frighteningly close.
They’re not like the storms in Tucson, though. Nothing are like the late summer monsoons in Tucson, with the stark lightning you can see in every detail because of the dryness of the atmosphere, and the torrents of rain that last at most for five minutes, if there is any rain at all.
When it rains here, the streets become rivers. It rains in my bathroom because the ventilation system is merely a hole in the roof covered by some plastic boards. The wind blows so strong that my bathroom door slams shut, and then it moves noisily with the wind.
And even though it rains, the high school students still hang out in front of the downstairs shop, shouting at each other with obscenities and sneaking gulps of their caguamas (liter bottles) of beer, showing off the stereo equipment in their cars by blasting banda.
I think the rains and the warmth have brought the mosquitoes, too. The other morning, I awoke at 4 a.m., scratching at bites on my arms. I was unable to fall back asleep because I could hear the high-pitched buzzing of the mosquito around my head, even through the sheets.
That was Wednesday, the day we had to go to Tepatitlán, the nearest large city, for the national anthem competition. I had to play the keyboard with the kids, but fortunately for me we also used the CD accompaniment. I had improved a great deal and was able to play long stretches with both hands, but during the performance I was too nervous to do it consistently. I made lots of mistakes, as is always the case when I perform, but I felt proud of myself for doing an adequate enough job (not getting too lost) and getting over my stage fright and usual lack of confidence. It was a huge step for me. During my senior recital at college, I had completely forgotten how to play my easiest piece, and at Bill Jordan’s senior recital I had to accompany on the piano and it was kind of disastrous. Not to mention the horror of playing a movement of a Mozart piano concerto in high school with the orchestra, when the only thing I could eke out was the cadenza because I didn’t have to follow anyone else.
I knew we wouldn’t win. I had been surprised that we had won the competition in Arandas, even though it had turned out that all the schools performed badly. This time there were several schools who had students who could actually sing in tune, so I was not surprised when other schools won, for a chance to compete for a state title in Guadalajara. What was really funny was that some of the students and teachers of our school were disappointed. The only reason for this, I guess, is that they couldn’t hear how out of tune we were.
I didn’t have a great time that day, because of lack of sleep (damned mosquitoes!), the long bus ride to Tepa in a crappy old bus that seemed like it would break down any minute, the kids shouting all the way there and back, me forgetting to bring water, and the fact that we didn’t get our second breakfast.
Second breakfast has become an incredibly important meal for me. I suppose it’s only second breakfast for some, but I have to eat something, cereal or fruit, before going to school (first breakfast). Then we have desayuno at 10:30 in the school, and desayuno translates as breakfast, so it’s my second breakfast. We usually have tacos or quesadillas or hot cakes or chicken salad on crackers. I eat several servings, because of my famously hearty appetite and high metabolism. We get out of school at 2, and everyone goes home to eat comida, or a big lunch, at around 3 or 4. If Rocio makes lunch with me, we usually make alambres or carne con salsa or milanesas (breaded fried filets of chicken, pork, or beef). Dinner is thus a small affair, if it occurs at all. Quesadillas or grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs at around 9 p.m. are standard for me.
What am I going to do when I go back to the States? I’ll be hungry for lunch at 10:30 and then want to eat again at 3!
Anyway, back to the national anthem competition—I had a huge headache by the time we got back to Arandas at about 2:45. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since 8 that morning. The headache lasted all day. I remember times when I used to go without eating or drinking anything for hours on end and never having any problems, but I can’t do that anymore. I think it’s a sign that I am aging, but also that I’m living a much healthier lifestyle now, with regular meals and sleeping patterns. When these patterns are interrupted, my whole system is thrown off.
Today the kids got out of school early because the teachers had a meeting in the afternoon. I only had to teach one class before second breakfast. I wish I knew ahead of time what the schedule would be. Do the other teachers know ahead of time when we get out early or have rehearsals for some performance or other? Is it just because I don’t understand Spanish well enough, or because the principal doesn’t bother to tell me, that I never have any idea until I get to school or someone comes to my classroom to inform me of some special event?
I’m happy we didn’t have to attend the cursos diplomados this weekend. They have been postponed to next weekend. There are two more 18-hour weekend sessions before school is out, and I am deliberating on whether I will have the nerve not to show up. I was so angry at the last one, in March, that I had decided in the immediate aftermath never to go again. After all, what could they do to me? I’m not going to get any special certification for going, so why should I attend? They can’t fire me, because I’m on a contract, and nowhere on the contract does it say that I have to give up an entire weekend every two months for a dumb course that doesn’t benefit me in any way. I realized that many of the EFL teachers I know from my course who are now teaching in Mexico hardly ever even attend “mandatory” teachers’ meetings or events at their schools, and they would never even think of attending something as stupid as all-weekend courses for a license that they cannot receive. So why am I sitting here still feeling guilty and thinking that I should really go? I mean, it won’t hurt to go; it’ll just be deathly boring, and I won’t be able to do my laundry or shopping—but nobody dies of boredom or not being able to wash their clothes for one weekend. Why am I such a responsible worker? Is it because I like to avoid confrontation and to please everyone at all times (a libra, of course)? Is it because I’m simply a goodie-goodie conditioned to obey orders from superiors?
But no! I like to rebel; ask my parents and they will tell you that I have been doing it all my life! Avoid confrontation? Certainly not Jeanne! “Clean your room!” they say. “No way!” I say. And if I’m really angry, I’ll throw in lots of bad words, too.
And at OSU I did some work with the organization trying to unionize the graduate student workers. I spoke out occasionally at student government meetings. I also helped create the grad student organization in my department, and I was certainly one of the loudest voices of dissent there, vowing to fight stupid decisions by the administration that worsened our work conditions (and consequently, of course, rubbing the administration the wrong way). So how come I am dreading the fallout of not going to these dumb weekend courses?
I suppose it’s because I don’t really know what will happen if I refuse to go. What can the principal do to me if I don’t show up? She can walk over to my apartment, which is only a block away from the school, and lecture me unpleasantly. I can retort that I don’t want to go, that I am not required by contract to go, and that I will not go, but she can still stand there and say something about responsibility to the school or touch on how much the school has done for me, in order to get the last word. And she will have the last word. Last time she had the last word right in front of all the teachers in the school.
I can see her point of view. If I refuse to show up, then other teachers will see that it’ll be OK not to go, too, since nothing really terrible will happen to me if I don’t go. Of course, if they are concerned about keeping their jobs (and the peace) there, then they’ll attend the courses. But I’m leaving in a little over a month, and it’s not easy to replace a native-speaking English teacher in a place like Arandas, so I shouldn’t go, right?
Anyway, perhaps I will discuss this with Rocio and weigh the consequences carefully when we are on the bus to Atotonilco tomorrow. The second- and third-grade teachers live in Atotonilco, a nearby town, and they have invited Rocio and me to their niece’s quinceanera (15th birthday party). We will go have lunch with them, go to the fiesta that night, and then stay over at their house till Sunday. I’m excited to get all dressed up for another party, but I’m hoping it won’t turn out like most of the other fiestas I’ve been going to lately. Maybe I have a bad attitude? After all, nothing is so bad except that thinking makes it so (or something like that). Perhaps some tequila will help….
They’re not like the storms in Tucson, though. Nothing are like the late summer monsoons in Tucson, with the stark lightning you can see in every detail because of the dryness of the atmosphere, and the torrents of rain that last at most for five minutes, if there is any rain at all.
When it rains here, the streets become rivers. It rains in my bathroom because the ventilation system is merely a hole in the roof covered by some plastic boards. The wind blows so strong that my bathroom door slams shut, and then it moves noisily with the wind.
And even though it rains, the high school students still hang out in front of the downstairs shop, shouting at each other with obscenities and sneaking gulps of their caguamas (liter bottles) of beer, showing off the stereo equipment in their cars by blasting banda.
I think the rains and the warmth have brought the mosquitoes, too. The other morning, I awoke at 4 a.m., scratching at bites on my arms. I was unable to fall back asleep because I could hear the high-pitched buzzing of the mosquito around my head, even through the sheets.
That was Wednesday, the day we had to go to Tepatitlán, the nearest large city, for the national anthem competition. I had to play the keyboard with the kids, but fortunately for me we also used the CD accompaniment. I had improved a great deal and was able to play long stretches with both hands, but during the performance I was too nervous to do it consistently. I made lots of mistakes, as is always the case when I perform, but I felt proud of myself for doing an adequate enough job (not getting too lost) and getting over my stage fright and usual lack of confidence. It was a huge step for me. During my senior recital at college, I had completely forgotten how to play my easiest piece, and at Bill Jordan’s senior recital I had to accompany on the piano and it was kind of disastrous. Not to mention the horror of playing a movement of a Mozart piano concerto in high school with the orchestra, when the only thing I could eke out was the cadenza because I didn’t have to follow anyone else.
I knew we wouldn’t win. I had been surprised that we had won the competition in Arandas, even though it had turned out that all the schools performed badly. This time there were several schools who had students who could actually sing in tune, so I was not surprised when other schools won, for a chance to compete for a state title in Guadalajara. What was really funny was that some of the students and teachers of our school were disappointed. The only reason for this, I guess, is that they couldn’t hear how out of tune we were.
I didn’t have a great time that day, because of lack of sleep (damned mosquitoes!), the long bus ride to Tepa in a crappy old bus that seemed like it would break down any minute, the kids shouting all the way there and back, me forgetting to bring water, and the fact that we didn’t get our second breakfast.
Second breakfast has become an incredibly important meal for me. I suppose it’s only second breakfast for some, but I have to eat something, cereal or fruit, before going to school (first breakfast). Then we have desayuno at 10:30 in the school, and desayuno translates as breakfast, so it’s my second breakfast. We usually have tacos or quesadillas or hot cakes or chicken salad on crackers. I eat several servings, because of my famously hearty appetite and high metabolism. We get out of school at 2, and everyone goes home to eat comida, or a big lunch, at around 3 or 4. If Rocio makes lunch with me, we usually make alambres or carne con salsa or milanesas (breaded fried filets of chicken, pork, or beef). Dinner is thus a small affair, if it occurs at all. Quesadillas or grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs at around 9 p.m. are standard for me.
What am I going to do when I go back to the States? I’ll be hungry for lunch at 10:30 and then want to eat again at 3!
Anyway, back to the national anthem competition—I had a huge headache by the time we got back to Arandas at about 2:45. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since 8 that morning. The headache lasted all day. I remember times when I used to go without eating or drinking anything for hours on end and never having any problems, but I can’t do that anymore. I think it’s a sign that I am aging, but also that I’m living a much healthier lifestyle now, with regular meals and sleeping patterns. When these patterns are interrupted, my whole system is thrown off.
Today the kids got out of school early because the teachers had a meeting in the afternoon. I only had to teach one class before second breakfast. I wish I knew ahead of time what the schedule would be. Do the other teachers know ahead of time when we get out early or have rehearsals for some performance or other? Is it just because I don’t understand Spanish well enough, or because the principal doesn’t bother to tell me, that I never have any idea until I get to school or someone comes to my classroom to inform me of some special event?
I’m happy we didn’t have to attend the cursos diplomados this weekend. They have been postponed to next weekend. There are two more 18-hour weekend sessions before school is out, and I am deliberating on whether I will have the nerve not to show up. I was so angry at the last one, in March, that I had decided in the immediate aftermath never to go again. After all, what could they do to me? I’m not going to get any special certification for going, so why should I attend? They can’t fire me, because I’m on a contract, and nowhere on the contract does it say that I have to give up an entire weekend every two months for a dumb course that doesn’t benefit me in any way. I realized that many of the EFL teachers I know from my course who are now teaching in Mexico hardly ever even attend “mandatory” teachers’ meetings or events at their schools, and they would never even think of attending something as stupid as all-weekend courses for a license that they cannot receive. So why am I sitting here still feeling guilty and thinking that I should really go? I mean, it won’t hurt to go; it’ll just be deathly boring, and I won’t be able to do my laundry or shopping—but nobody dies of boredom or not being able to wash their clothes for one weekend. Why am I such a responsible worker? Is it because I like to avoid confrontation and to please everyone at all times (a libra, of course)? Is it because I’m simply a goodie-goodie conditioned to obey orders from superiors?
But no! I like to rebel; ask my parents and they will tell you that I have been doing it all my life! Avoid confrontation? Certainly not Jeanne! “Clean your room!” they say. “No way!” I say. And if I’m really angry, I’ll throw in lots of bad words, too.
And at OSU I did some work with the organization trying to unionize the graduate student workers. I spoke out occasionally at student government meetings. I also helped create the grad student organization in my department, and I was certainly one of the loudest voices of dissent there, vowing to fight stupid decisions by the administration that worsened our work conditions (and consequently, of course, rubbing the administration the wrong way). So how come I am dreading the fallout of not going to these dumb weekend courses?
I suppose it’s because I don’t really know what will happen if I refuse to go. What can the principal do to me if I don’t show up? She can walk over to my apartment, which is only a block away from the school, and lecture me unpleasantly. I can retort that I don’t want to go, that I am not required by contract to go, and that I will not go, but she can still stand there and say something about responsibility to the school or touch on how much the school has done for me, in order to get the last word. And she will have the last word. Last time she had the last word right in front of all the teachers in the school.
I can see her point of view. If I refuse to show up, then other teachers will see that it’ll be OK not to go, too, since nothing really terrible will happen to me if I don’t go. Of course, if they are concerned about keeping their jobs (and the peace) there, then they’ll attend the courses. But I’m leaving in a little over a month, and it’s not easy to replace a native-speaking English teacher in a place like Arandas, so I shouldn’t go, right?
Anyway, perhaps I will discuss this with Rocio and weigh the consequences carefully when we are on the bus to Atotonilco tomorrow. The second- and third-grade teachers live in Atotonilco, a nearby town, and they have invited Rocio and me to their niece’s quinceanera (15th birthday party). We will go have lunch with them, go to the fiesta that night, and then stay over at their house till Sunday. I’m excited to get all dressed up for another party, but I’m hoping it won’t turn out like most of the other fiestas I’ve been going to lately. Maybe I have a bad attitude? After all, nothing is so bad except that thinking makes it so (or something like that). Perhaps some tequila will help….
