First off, I must give full credit to my sister Teeter for coining the phrase, “Mistakes will be made” as a way to wrap up and store away the fact that while traveling, veganism and vegetarianism can and will be compromised, and it’s just not the end of the world. I like its pat dismissal of whining and obsession about said mistake, the total lack of blame, and the breezy acceptance of this fact of traveling. I have watched Teeter, long-time committed vegan warrior, shake off carnivorous infractions abroad with the easy toss of this phrase. And don’t let this lead you to underestimate her convictions; this is just a coping mechanism in uncontrolable times and places. Inspired by her, I have adopted both thewording and attitude. Hence, mistakes have been made.
Please know, and never forget, that in Spanish, “pasta” does not mean noodles. Closest I have come to figuring it is “tiles.” We do our weekly shopping at a fresh greenmarket- it’s pretty heavenly. Piles of fruits and vegetables, ripe and redolent, and our weekly bill for this bounty runs about sixteen bucks. I shit you not. Today we realized it was the US equivalent of paying for our avocados and getting the rest for free. Whole pineapples, papayas, sweet potatoes, limes, bananas, fresh cut herbs, again… an embarrassment of riches. The space itself is gorgeous; an old brick building with 25 foot ceilings and giant open windows. It does not trigger my allergy to places without charm. Both gringos and locals shop there and it’s a social outing as well as a grocery mission. Have I mentioned Todos makes Breck look like Mega City One? I digress… They also stock some dried goods; oats and other grains, rice and beans, etc. And please note, nothing in this store is of animal origin. OR SO I THOUGHT. I have been feeling fairly confident with the ol’ Espanol, getting by, complements from our teacher on my pronunciation, conversations with native speakers, you know the drill. And while most of my Spanish World happens in the present tense, and has for years, I have even been working on conjugating verbs in other tenses. This is a triumph. So put these two facts together; confident with the Spanish, and in a temple to the goods of the harvest, I purchase “Pasta de Ruida” -little red wheels of fresh “pasta”, yum. Looked weird when it hit the water. Really weird. And should have know something was up when I poured out the spent, extra thick water (which drains into one of the coconut palms) and Lou went crazy trying to dig under the mulch to drink it. And it smelled a little weird, and on and on, I made excuses about this fresh pasta. After all, with all the fresh basil and tomatoes and oil and salt I mixed in with it, it really did look lovely. I shared my trepidation with Josh, and we tentatively took a few bites. Then we stopped. The next day I went back to the store and asked. Raw Chicarones. Meant to be deep fried in oil so you can have the very freshest fried pork skins available. Not good boiled. And not veg. Mistakes will be made.
I wondered if I would be as forgiving as Josh was; after all , I had served him boiled pork skins for dinner. I didn’t have to wait long to find out how I would bear being served an animal surprise. Two days later Josh made oatmeal. We mix it with lots of fresh fruit and local raw honey- divine. Mine seemed to have extra black flakes in it.
“Josh, I think there are bugs in the oatmeal.”
“Nope, definitely not. Those are banana seeds.”
“Are you sure? These seeds seem to have legs.”
“Positive.”
( At this point I hear Paul Sperber clearly in my head: Only a fool is positive. I take one of the seeds and rinse it, bring it back to the table as evidence.)
“Josh, this seed has legs and is segmented.”
“Not bugs, seeds. Swear.”
“Hmmm.”
I’d stopped eating anyway, and walked over to the kitchen to retrieve the bag of oatmeal. The one that was riddled with holes and crawling with “banana seeds.” Presented with the evidence, Josh agreed that there maybe were bugs in the oatmeal and then finished his. He is my perfect companion. Best travelling partner in the world. I wish you all a Josh in your life. Just not as your chef.
Other mistake include cuting my long neglected bangs in a windstorm, using the truck sideview mirror for alignment. Reminiscent of Miss Lippy. Rent Billy Madison and fast forward to the kindergardenteacher. On the good side, I should not have to tend to said hair again for some time. And if “distance makes the heart grow fonder” is true, then my eyebrows will welcome my bangs back with a huge party when they meet again.
And in dog news, Mini has found her real name. Like other pop culture figures before her, the trip to her motherland teased out her true name. When we first met Mini, we tried many other names and none stuck but Mini. It’s uncreative and not funny, but it just stuck. I thought maybe it the way the spirit of Minnie Roby, who moved in to our house in 1865 and proceeded to have 17 or so children, making her voice heard again in Breck. Mini; whatever, it stuck. Teeter almost renounced her sisterhood when we didn’t choose “Andy Lex.” I understood, Mini was not really a worthy name. But dogs sort of name themselves it seems. And so Mini it was. But here in Mexico, back with her people, we finally understand. WE were pronouncing it with an American accent. It must be said by a native Spanish speaker to be appreciated. And thus, I reintroduce you to our beloved….MEANY!
And a very happy birthday to Terry Sperber!
