Kitchen Sink Confessions

I have a confession to make, but you have to promise not to tell my husband or children. 

Promise?  Okay.

I love to wash dishes!

I cook three meals a day, plus lunches for the kiddies to take to school, afternoon snacks and dessert.  All of this for 6 people.  The dirty dishes just pile up.  And not just dishes,  There's pots and pans, silverware, glasses and cups.  But, I don't mind.

Some might suggest that I make everyone wash their own dishes to lighten my load.  But why would I want to do a crazy thing like that? 

Let me let you in on another secret.  All moms need a break every now and then. 

The reason I take such joy in washing dishes is simple.  It is one of the only times of day that I have all to myself.

On the surface, I appear to be washing dishes.  But I like to take that time to clear my head.  Gather my thoughts.  Reflect on what has happened throughout the day.  Vent a few frustrations.  Pray.  Contemplate world events.  Plan the rest of my day.  Daydream.  Draft future blog posts.  I swear, I have my best ideas while standing at the kitchen sink. 

After a few minutes of washing dishes, I am refreshed.  Its the best therapy and meditation session all rolled into one.  Only it didn't cost me a dime.  Well, maybe I do spend a few pesos on liquid dish soap and hand moisturizer.  But its money and time well spent. 

Now remember...this is between you and me!

With Love,

Leslie Limon

This Old (Haunted?) House

 Bienvenidos a Casa Limon.  Yes, this old, not so attractive house is our home.  Don't let the shabby exterior fool you, it is much nicer on the inside. (Hey, that's a great idea for a future post!)

Many of the older houses in Mexico aren't only rich in history, but also very rich in folklore. (By that, I mean ghost stories!)  And my house isn't the exception.

The owner's family has lived in this house since before my in-law's moved into the neighborhood almost 40 years ago.  The parents, Don Fausto and Doña Chayo made the best menudo in town.  They also ran a small general store, where my hubby's upholstery shop is located.

Sadly, Don Fausto and Doña Chayo passed on.  The house sat unattended for years, until we rented it.

When we moved in, we placed what little furniture we had in our cozy living room.  We had a loveseat and an ottoman that my hubby crafted himself.  And of course, my favorite piece, a rocking chair.  Not an old rocking chair, but a new, squeeky, wooden rocker that my mother-in-law bargained the price down to two rockers for 500 pesos. We gave her the other rocker. I digress.

My brothers-in-law enjoy telling ghost stories almost as much as they enjoy scaring me.  They both loved to tell me tall tales of the ghost of Doña Chayo lurking around in the kitchen and back patio. 

Ghost stories don't scare me.  (Mice, rats, insects and loud fireworks lit outside my door scare me!)

My grandmother always told me stories about a haunted house she lived in when my mom and uncles were teenagers.  According to Gramm, ghosts are mischievous little spirits that love wreaking havoc, but ultimately behave when spoken to in a firm voice.

One night, while laying in bed, my hubby and I heard a squeeking noise.  It sounded as if someone was sitting in our rocking chair.  But that was impossible, because the kids were asleep and we were in the bedroom. 

Hubby got out of bed to investigate.  It didn't take him long to get to the living room, its only 6 or 7 paces away.  When Hubby got to the living room, the rocking chair was as still as a mountain.  He checked on the kiddies to see if they weren't playing around, but they were sound asleep.

When Hubby returned to bed, we joked that it was probably Doña Chayo's ghost watching T.V.

The midnight squeeking persisted, and Hubby and I continued to jokingly blame it on Doña Chayo.

Then one day, the squeeking stopped.  We had just purchased a three piece furniture set for the living room.  There was no longer any room for the rocker, so we moved it to our bedroom, where it never squeeked again.

We had almost forgotten about the squeeking, when one of Doña Chayo's daughters came for a visit.  She asked if we had experienced any paranormal activity.  She told us the tale of "something" pushing the grandkids down the stairs in the back, unused part of the house.  They all figured it was Doña Chayo's ghost trying to get her grandkids to behave. 

We then told her the story of the squeeky rocking chair and how we joked that it was probably Doña Chayo.  She let out a long sigh and agreed with us.  She explained that Doña Chayo liked to sit in her rocking chair late at night, after a hard day's work to watch television. 

Well, now that I know I have a ghost lurking around, I am extra careful walking down those stairs.  And I gave away the rocking chair! 

With Love,

Leslie Limon

Halloween Rebellion in Mexico

I love Halloween!  I always have and probably always will. 

Halloween is NOT a Mexican celebration.  Here, we celebrate El Dia de Muertos on November 2nd.  (More about that on a later post.) Slowly, Halloween is starting to invade Mexico and it is quite the controversy.

Mexicans are very proud of their traditions and frown upon any Americanization of their traditions.  Such is the case with Halloween. 

More and more Mexicans are embracing Halloween.  Whether they have been to the U.S. or not, kids and adults alike are dressing up in costumes, decorating the house and even going trick-or-treating.  There are even Halloween parties and dances at some of the bars in town.

I have witnessed over the years, the increase in Halloween merchandise being sold at the shops in town.

I for one am happy that one of my American holidays is being celebrated in Mexico.  But not all people feel the same way.

Some see it as an affront to Mexican culture and tradition.  Some Mexican traditions are being lost. (I don't know why, but it is happening.)  And these people feel that embracing Halloween is encouraging that loss.

The teachers at the schools forbid the students to celebrate Halloween.  My children have had teachers threaten to lower their grades if the teacher sees them dressed up for Halloween.

This is what upsets me.  If people want to get mad because Mexicans are embracing Halloween, fine.  What I don't appreciate is that they threaten my children.  I'm an American.  My kids are Mexican-Americans.  My hubby and I are raising our children to embrace (and be proud) of both cultures.  I feel, that as Americans we have the right to celebrate an American holiday, even if we are in Mexico.  We also celebrate Day of the Dead.

There are other reasons that people don't like or want to celebrate Halloween.  One of which is that some people believe Halloween to be Satan's birthday.  (I kid you not!) 

Last year, Hope decided that she wanted to be a devil for Halloween.  Wouldn't you know it?  I was accused of being a devil worshiper for celebrating Halloween and letting my daughter dress up as The Devil.  Ay, ay, ay!

I was worried that my kiddies wouldn't want to celebrate Halloween this year, but the liitle rebels have been thinking of nothing else since September! 

With Love,
Leslie Limon

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

As of tomorrow, I will have been living in Mexico for 9 years.  In honor of this anniversary, I thought I'd explain how and why we chose to move to Mexico.

To properly tell this story, we must go back to mid-October 1999.

Hubby and I lived in a one bedroom apartment with our 22 month old daughter, Hope.  And I was due to give birth to another child in 2 weeks.  Our car, that Hubby had purchased on our wedding day, had died.  We were trying to save enough money to buy another car, but with a new baby on the way, it wasn't going to be happening very soon.  To get around town, we took the bus, walked or borrowed my grandparents' car. We weren't so poor that we needed public assistance, but money was tight.

It was during this time that my eldest brother-in-law Gerry and his wife, Rosita went to visit us and Hubby's other 2 siblings that were living in California.

They stayed with us for a few days, getting to know Hope and me, visiting with Hubby and talking about Mexico. They also observed how we were struggling. 

On the last night of their stay, Gerry asked, "Why don't you move to Mexico?"  He then gave us a number of reasons why life would be easier in Mexico.  I don't recall all of his valid points, but the ones I remember are:

• If we lived in Yahualica, we wouldn't need a car.  EVERYTHING is within walking distance.
• We'd have more family close by to help us out when needed.  I only had my grandparents, who were 20 minutes away. 
• Hope could play outside.  We lived in an apartment building that frowned on children playing outside. Plus, being so close to my due date, we weren't getting out much.
• Hubby could start his own business.  Our money troubles would be much lighter.
• And our stress level would all but disappear.  Life in Mexico is slower paced and much more laid back.

The picture that Gerry painted for us seemed almost Utopian, but there was no way that I was going to move to another country when I was about to deliver our second child!  So the thought left our minds almost as soon as it had entered.  The subject never came up again.

Fast forward to September 2000.  Hope was almost 3 and our baby, Nick, was almost 11 months old. Life was much easier.  We had bought another car shortly after Nick was born.  And my suegros (mom and dad-in-law) were visiting. 

They mentioned that Gerry still wanted us to live in Mexico.  I couldn't help but think "What? Why?"  Then all of a sudden, the little seed that had been planted a year ago, was sprouting a few leaves.  Hubby and I talked and talked and talked about whether or not to make the move.  One day we would agree that moving was out of the question, but the very next day, we were convinced that the move would be good for us.  We talked of nothing else for weeks.

Finally, on September 22, 2000, the day of my 26th birhtday, I gave Hubby an ultimatum.  "Make a decision.  If you want to move, we'll move.  If you want to stay, we'll stay.  But once you make the decision, there is NO turning back!"    Man, was I feisty!

Hubby decided that we would move to Mexico and I fully supported his decision.  We gave notice to the apartment managers, we sold most of our stuff, packed the rest of our belongings and said goodbye to our friends and family, who watched us in disbelief.

We arrived in Mexico on October 27, 2000.  What we thought would be a six month trial run has turned into 9 years of happiness!

With Love,
Leslie Limon

Signs of Fall

Orange and yellow tinted leaves scattered on the ground and an abundance of pumpkins were always signs that Fall had arrived when I lived in the States. 

Now that I am in Mexico, I neither see the multi-hued leaves nor the pumpkins.  So, how do I know that Fall has arrived?  Guasanas!

Guasanas are fresh garbanzo beans that have been steamed.  They are kept warm in the specially equipped carts where they are sold.

Guasanas have a slight butery taste.  I like my guasanas seasoned only with salt. But Hubby and the kiddies like theirs topped with bottled Valentina hot sauce.

The way to eat guasanas is very similar to eating pumpkin or sunflower seeds.  You pop a whole guasana into your mouth, suck on the juice, then remove the outer husk and eat the round guasana.  Mmmm, mmmm, good!   

If you happen to see a guasana cart, I highly recommend that you try them! (You will look forward to them each Fall.)

With Love,
Leslie Limón

My Wedding

October 15, 1994.  The day I married the love of my life.  I remember it as if it were yesterday. 

It was early morning, the sun was shining and the birds were chirping as I laid in my bed in the small bedroom of my grandparents 5th wheel trailer.  As soon as Pappy heard me rustling around in my room, he entered to offer me my daily cup of coffee.  (I was spoiled rotten!)

Ever so attentive, he asked how I had slept and how I was feeling.  As had been our custom for the last 10 years, we talked about everything under the sun.  We talked about the news, the trailer park gossip and of course we talked about my impending marriage.  I felt a bit sad to be leaving my grandparents who had raised me off and on since I was 5 years old.  But I was also excited to be starting a new chapter in my life with the man of my dreams.  (That's an entirely different post to be written someday soon!)

Later that morning, my best friend and Maid of Honor, Carmen, arrived to help me get ready.  I was a giddy ball of nerves.   I was so nervous that I could not get my dress on without Carmen's help.  But like the good friend that she was, she was always there to offer a helping hand.   

Before I knew it 12 o'clock rolled around.  One more hour and I was going to get married!  Pappy, who usually ate lunch at noon, and wouldn't be eating until after the ceremony, decided to snack on the beans and rice that Gramm had prepared.  Bless her heart.  I could see that she was just as nervous as I was.  She was cooking up a storm to help ease her nerves.

The next 45 minutes disappeared in a blink of an eye.  I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my husband-to-be and his best friend, David.  I know what you're thinking, its bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.  But, Hubby and David needed directions to the church.  Plus, we were too young to care about silly superstitions.  (I had just turned 20 and Hubby would turn 22 the following week.)

It got closer and closer to one o'clock, and still no sign of Hubby.  Where was he?  We were set to get married at one.  I won't lie, my stress level was skyrocketing!  But Carmen did her best to calm me down by thinking up a number of possible reasons to explain Hubby's tardiness. 

If only Pappy had thought the same way.  Always the pessimist, he was sure that my hubby-to-be had stood me up.  That the no good #%@ had only been toying with me and had no real intention of marrying me.  Yes, this is what every Bride-to-be wants to hear.  I was now on the verge of tears.

At 1:05 p.m. an unfamiliar car drives into the trailer park, stopping right outside our trailer.  Who in the world could that be?  Carmen and I ran outside to see who it was.  Both of the front doors opened and out stepped my future Hubby and David.  Thank you, Lord!  Hubby apologized for being late and explained that he had just signed the rental contract for our apartment. 

My grandparents came outside to see what all the fuss was about.  After seeing that all was well, Pappy commented that he knew that Hubby was a good guy and never doubted that he would show up.  (Yeah right!)

I had planned on going to the church with my granparents, but Hubby wanted to take me in the car he had just bought that morning.  It wasn't new, but it was our first car!  How could I resist?  Carmen and I rode in the backseat, while David drove.  (Hubby was too nervous!)  My grandparents would follow us to the church.  They knew where it was, but they too were nervous and fearful that they might get lost.

On the way to the church, we laughed and joked.  Then suddenly, Carmen and I screamed in fear. David, who would act as Best Man, was also nervous and almost ran a red light.

Finally, we arrived at the church, safe and sound.   

We had a small wedding in the church office.  The only people in attendance were my grandparents, Carmen and David.

I later asked Hubby why he hadn't invited any of his family to the wedding.  He had told his brother that morning that he was getting married, but my brother-in-law thought Hubby was joking.

The ceremony was sweet and simple.  And bilingual.  The Pastor insisted that it be done this way.  I wanted it to be entirely in Spanish, so that Hubby, Pappy and David would understand.  Gramm, Carmen and I were fluent in both languages, so we'd have no trouble.  But I guess the Pastor couldn't believe that this fair-skinned, blue-eyed redhead spoke Spanish.

During the ceremony, Hubby and I held hands and our eyes focused only on eachother.  We said our vows, exchanged rings and then we kissed for the first time as man and wife.  (Sigh!)

With Love,
Leslie Limon

Be Afraid...Be Very Afraid...

Are you the type of person that jumps with fright when a black cat crosses your path?  Would you dare walk under a ladder or open an umbrella indoors?  If you're even the slightest bit superstitious, then I suggest you exercise extreme caution.

Today, Martes trece is the Mexican equivalent of Friday the 13th.  I once argued with Hubby that this couldn't possibly be right.  After all, there are how many Friday the 13th movies?  

But now that I am in Mexico, I've learned that there is even an old saying about it.  "Martes trece, ni te cases ni te embarques," which means on Tuesday the 13th, neither marry nor embark on a journey.

I did some research on Wikipedia.  It seems that Martes, the spanish word for Tuesday, is derived from the planet Mars. Therefore, Martes is ruled by the red planet of destruction, violence and blood.  And it is believed that the confusion of languages at the Tower of Babel happened on Tuesday the 13th.

I don't consider myself a superstitious person, but why take any chances.

I wish you the best of luck today!

With Love,

Leslie Limon