Cooking With Chef Mary

Mary likes to help out in the kitchen as much as possible: making pizza dough, stirring the chili, ripping up the lettuce. Today, she fully takes the reigns to show us how to make one of her new favorites, pesto!

Mary Teaches Us How To Make Pesto from Mike Heneghan on Vimeo.

Teaching, Part I

While in our school's library the other day, the most recent copy of TIME caught my eye. There was a picture of a big yellow school bus on the cover, with the title, "What Makes a School Great". It immediately set my mind in motion: What has been great about the schools I've been to or worked at? It's hard not to first think of teachers: the good, the bad, and the so many that fall in between. My list of memorable teachers, like your own I imagine, is peopled with imaginative, bright stars who are good educators for a host of reasons: she was so bright, he was so funny, he helped me figure out trigonometry, she really seemed to listen to my ideas, he helped me to write from my heart, etc. Being a teacher myself, I also get the somewhat rare insight into teachers as peers, not just as one of their students. It doesn’t take long to do an inventory. Take 2 minutes. You’ll very quickly create your own playlist of Greatest Hits. My own:

Ms. Kennedy was my middle school math teacher. She was notorious for her strict demeanor, her Suburu Brat she drove to work everyday, and her skill at getting snotty little boys like me to like and succeed at math. And chess!

Mr. King was a storyteller and football coach. His stories about his own personal exploits enthralled us, and before we knew it, he had surreptitiously taught us US History too.

Mr. Powell was an icon at my high school. He’d taught there since the beginning. Literally, from the inception of the school almost 50 years ago. He cruised along on one lung, teaching philosophy and religion, keeping hoards of disinterested seniors interested in Plato and Hinduism.

Terry Kirts was a writing professor from my university. He stands in unique company as being both passionate about his subject AND a good teacher. Something I’ve found to be rare in the ivory towers of academia.

Mary Pat Sharpe is one of the principals I've worked with, and one who led by example. She directed the enormous surge in spirit and academic results at a previously low performing urban grade school. She was an incredible leader who displayed empathy both for her students and her staff, including me as a young teacher (she also set me up with a girl named Corrie Conner, who ended up having a kid with me, which is nice).

Sue Schneider impresses me not only for her ability to wrangle third graders, but for her wisdom in not teaching down to them. She constantly raises the bar for her students. I also see her as a model for those who want to transition into teaching after first having had another career. I don’t think she taught until she was well into her forties.

My sister Beth Brogan I admire for many reasons, but as a teacher, it is primarily for her advocacy for students who may learn differently. She never makes excuses and always seems to find a way for those students to express their abilities and succeed.

Brett Marshall is one of the math teachers who I currently work with. The guy is a routine machine! He is always giving of his own time to help students, and even better, he finds ways of getting the kids to help each other.

Lisa Schalla, my department head, is the rare lecturer who does it so well, that her students are wholly engaged and learning. This is no small feat.

Marika Baren is another teacher I work with who is young, bright and accepts nothing but the best from her students. She is effective and has only been teaching for a handful of years. She gets it, and she is not a product of education schools.

After reading the articles in that September 10th issue of TIME, I can see that much of of the recent national discussion on schools and teaching has been prompted by (among other reasons, of course) the release of the documentary “Waiting for Superman”. The movie, which I haven’t yet seen, focuses on the stories of five families who must enter a lottery to try to “escape their neighborhood public schools for higher performing public charter schools.”

I plan to make this a 2-3 part blog post on some of the ideas and feelings swirling around in my own head on these issues of school and teacher effectiveness. One of the reasons I started with these accolades for my former teachers and colleagues is because they stand out as difference makers to me. It’s not that they are the only good teachers I’ve encountered, or that if you didn’t make the list you sucked. Not at all (though there certainly are some that would fit that description). I just see the impact that bright, talented, hard-working people make and I hope that more good people enter into this profession. Or that those who are already in it are trying to get better.

So much is at stake.

To be continued...

Mike

Homes

After having lived here in Vallarta for a year, we've really come to think of this town as home too. We know which buses to take (stay on the blue and avoid the slow, green ones), what the best restaurants are (still hard to top the shrimp burrito at Barricuda, the tacos at Carboncito's, or the ribs at El Torito), or who has the best playground for Mary (Benny's or PizzaPianeta).

Indianapolis will always be where we're from, though, and we are proud Hoosiers. This summer, we savored making cookies or pizzas with our little nieces and nephews, and riding bikes to the farmers market. Cookouts with lifelong friends and their children. Dinner with our moms and dads, and beers with our brothers and sisters. This summer reminded us why we love both places so much. Here's a short ode to both Indy and Vallarta: our homes.

More Diary from Yelapa

Easter Sunday

I love the buying by the piece here in Yelapa. "Need some diapers? How many you need?" The lady at the little tienda asked me this as she reached into an open bag of Huggies. "How about six?", she said. "One for each day?" This with a straight face. She reached into the bag and pulled out how many I needed--more than 6 for sure--at six pesos a pop. Need some hot dogs? How about four?

We did not go to mass today. No good reason either. This is just the capper on a pretty embarrassing church-going record for us here in Mexico. In our defense, at least for this Yelapa trip, this village doesn't have its own priest and had to import one for the occasion (sound familiar?). 9pm start date sealed the deal that we wouldn't make it.

I think I stated before that most of the restaurants in this little place are only open on certain days, during certain seasons of the year. Sunday's hotspot was 'Pollo Bollo'. Very crowded, but the BBQ ribs made it worth the wait. With Mary and Corrie back at our casa, I'd brought plates with me, and they were more than happy to wrap it up 'para llevar'. Half orders, even, were huge and were the deal of the week at 60 pesos. Magical, unexpected side: mashed potatoes.

Monday, April 5

Probably our best day in Yelapa. First, Mary was just in a stellar mood from start to finish, something that's been lacking. "Mary, don't you understand? We're on vacation in paradise. Get with the program!" Great breakfast at pier-side Cafe Bahia, with yummy pancakes and homemade vanilla syrup. Lulu and Scruffy the dogs underfoot. A tomato-avocado-cheese omelet. Bacon. Coffee and fresh-squeezed OJ. The cherry? Mary stayed in her chair the whole time and ate everything.

The sky was cobalt today and the waves were whitecapping. Really nice time at the beach. Mary hung in the current where the Rio Tuito met the ocean. When she tired of that, she dug in the sand with her new toys. Corrie hunted for the infamous Yelapa pie lady--Lemon custard, banana, and pecan pies in a bowl balanced on her head. Not a wisp of a cloud today. Kids cavorted in the surf and the crazy parasailers brought out the longest rope ever invented and presumably looked down on us and the mountains and smiled.

Butler lost in the final of the NCAA tournament by 2 points. We had a last second change of venue. Teri Jo--our bud from work--had a friend who had offered to let us watch in his house. Seemed like a sweet man. Hours before tipoff he tracked us down at our casa and explained that there could be no game at his place: he forgot to pay his cable bill.

No worries, as he hooked us up with a local taqueria with a TV. Good tacos and a close game. F***ing Duke! Good luck to Gordon Hayward in the NBA next year. Glad Coach Stevens will be on the sidelines for the Bulldogs next season too.

Lastly, just some random comments from our last days of peace and rest:

• Mary zooming down the narrow alleyways during the Butler game, even stepping inside the glowing doorway of someone's home.
• Hoards of Mexican kids, many of whom were fascinated with Mary's Curious George sticker book.
• Great stroll around town, "ballena"(40 oz. beer) in hand, Mary running, Corrie chasing, dogs fleeing.
• Lots of popcorn on this trip. Made on the stovetop, just like when we were kids.
• Super delicious shrimp fajitas for a late lunch. Prepared at home, served on our patio, the waning sun there too.
• Fernando, the proprietor of our property, pointed out manta rays just below our patio. Black with yellow spots, and just hovering among the shallow rocks.
• Quote from Corrie: "Rural trash is different and somehow more acceptable than non-rural trash." I agree, but I'm not sure why. Plenty of it here.

Let's end on a high note: After ignoring Mary's crying during a nap--"Oh, she'll go back to sleep."--I entered her room to find that not only had she shit the bed, but she had shredded her copy of "If You Give a Moose a Muffin" and wiped her ass with it.

Tough critic.

Love,

Corrie, the Bear, and Mike

Diary from Yelapa

Some of my thoughts during our Spring Break trip to the Village of Yelapa, Mexico.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Holy Thursday

Arrived in Yelapa by boat. Saw dolphins along the way. The porters joked as they helped us into our "panga", a water taxi, the only way to get to Yelapa, as there are no roads. A Mexican flag served as the roof for our humble transport. Bright clear day. It's an hour trip, with Mary in her outsized life jacket laughing at Peach the dog. She closed her eyes, preening in the sun like the pretty girls at the front of the boat.

Best way to get a tip if you're a porter? Ask for one.

No Fernando, our host, at the pier in Yelapa, but Corrie recognized our place just up the hill from the pictures she'd seen. There are no true streets here, only very narrow alleys, like in a Hong Kong gangster movie, as the heroes race away on motorcycles. The trails spider web in all directions.

We found our place, only 10 minutes from the pier. Amazing view of the whole bay: villagers fishing, water taxis at anchor, and the Marietas islands far in the distance. Waves are the constant soundtrack. Almost deafening, we're that close.

Exploring our new pad for the week. The find that excited Corrie and Mary by far the most: the monster bathtub!

After unloading, we decided to explore the environs a bit. We followed the sounds of chanting and found a large group of women--only women. After listening for a bit, we figured out they were saying the Hail Mary, all of them perched around a large front patio, with a small wooden table covered in pictures and statuary the focus of their prayers. We respectfully passed by, feeling like we were intruding a bit.

We ended our day by meeting up with our friend Terri Jo, the closest thing we had as a guide to this pleasantly odd little place. We shared beers, waves, and popcorn made on the stove as the sun slipped behind the wall of the bay.

"2010 Spring Break"

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Friday April 2, 2010

Good Friday

Cloudy day, mostly. Maybe the coolest we've had.

In the evening, we turned a corner and we very nearly ran over Jesus Christ. Cross and everything. Terri Jo had warned us that the Yelapans would be doing a processional through town. It only occurred to me later, after seeing Mexican grandmothers putting out little tables with white linen table clothes, adorned with fresh flowers, that they were preparing for a town-wide Stations of the Cross. I noticed, uncomfortably and guiltily, that I didn't automatically put my hands into a praying posture.

Mary was good, passed as she was from us to a senora, to the willing hands of a cute little nina. The large crowd pressed its way through town, praying and smiling, and holding our own little Mary.

Back at our bungalow hanging on to the side of the hill along the beach, I noticed some teens swimming up to one of the numerous small fishing boats just a ways from shore. Struck me as a little odd. Four swam out, but only two boarded, flopping into the deep well, nearly out of sight. The other two patiently waited along the side of the boat. Wonder what that's all about? Took me another minute or two to realize I was unintentionally a voyeur as these two kids began to explore each other. Some things just don't change.

Saturday April 3

Trouble sleeping with all the sounds, even and especially the waves crashing. Bright and glorious today.

Mary and I shared french fried potatoes on our porch. Can't say enough about our view, complete with hovering birds playing in the gusty updrafts. This must be what draws the paragliders to Yelapa too. Next door, snapping in the wind, was a flag with a picture of one of these hippy daredevils spiraling down from atop the surrounding mountains.

Tried our new umbrella on the beach today. A stray dog with mismatched eyes seemed to love the shade it provided. It also proved to be a nice spot to taste the lemon pie from the pie lady. In Yelapa, there is a lady with a big bowl balanced on her head filled with pecan and lemon custard pies she's made that very morning. Our new favorite beach treat.

Mary insinuated herself with a bunch of ninos playing in the sweet spot where the ocean meets the Tuito River. Day trippers from Vallarta disgorged from bigger boats. Our dog dug in a little deeper to cool himself in the damp, chilly sand and continued dozing.

Terri Jo made another appearance and invited Mary to an Easter egg hunt, something not very typical for Mexico, I understood. It's hard to do justice to the kind of woman Terri Jo is, but as just one example, she is that special breed of person who would hard boil eggs, paint them with a bunch of children she hardly knows, hide them, and just stand back and watch the glee and pandemonium unfold.

After the daily siesta, we went off in search of a place to watch Butler take on Michigan State in the Final Four. It turned out to be one of our more unusual basketball watching experiences. Corrie headed out first, trekking deep into the jungle to find Los Manguitos, a restaurant along the river which is owned by the in-laws of our host. We were promised they'd have the game on satellite. After Mary's nap, I strapped her on my back to join Corrie.

After traipsing upriver into a very rural looking area--five horses, many mules and a donkey along the Yelapan standard 2-donkey-wide trail--we found Corrie at the restaurant. It sat next to a nearly dry river bed which was dotted with wires, hoses, and pumps sitting on plastic chairs and tables to keep them dry. These snaked up and down the entire path, presumably delivering water and electricity to parts unknown.

No game. Corrie said the channel wasn't working, but we could get periodic updates, as the channel's picture and sound would fade in and out. Disappointed, I settled in to try langostinos for lunch. These are river prawns, as far as I was able to figure out. Mary loved this place, as there were dogs, pigs, chickens, and horses running around freely. We were, in fact, able to "watch" the final five minutes of the game, peering through the family's front door into their living room. Picture. No picture. Sound bites. Little more picture. It made the very close game excruciating to watch, but strangely exciting. 2 point win for the Bulldogs!

More to come,

Mike, Corrie, and Mary

Love

I love this place.

I love the sunshine and seeing mountains every morning.

I love not having a car.

I love walking to the store, restaurants, parks, and the beach.

I love the bus. And I love that Mary loves it. I even love that she asks to ride it everyday.

I love the friendly nature and warmth of Mexicans, especially towards kids.

I love when people touch my baby’s blonde hair turned green by pool chlorine and call her “chiquita.”

I love that the playgrounds here have metal swings, slides, and teeter-totters that are screaming hot in the sun and so dangerous. Just like a K of C growing up, minus the monkey bars and merry go round.

I love that we have a nanny who loves Mary so much she calls her “muy inteligente” every time she comes over. Though I don’t think Mary’s ability to jump up and down while screaming really warrants calling Mensa. Sorry Ya Ya.

I love the slow pace of life here and how it forces you to be present.

I love not being able to buy more at the store than you can carry home as you walk. I don’t even know what buyer’s remorse is anymore.

I love our tiny apartment. Too small to hide from each other. Forcing you to speak your mind. And mean it.

I love that you can get ice cream here basically any time of the day and probably find someone else eating it too.

I love that most restaurants have playgrounds or bounce houses for kids.

I love that kids are welcome everywhere and no one gives you a dirty look when your kids screams and hollers for 20 minutes.

I love seeing cruise ships every week. I’m fascinated by them.

I love the pizza at Costco. Seriously.

I love that I’m trying to cook. So what if I can only make meals that have yellow, red or orange peppers in them. At least I’m trying.

I love the new friends we’ve made here.

I love that being away has made me appreciate my family and friends even more.

Most of all, I love this place in my life.

I love watching my daughter grow into a little person . A person who is freakishly like my husband – friendly, outgoing, quick to laugh, busy, and very, very energetic.

I love that Mary knows how to throw up her arm to flag down the bus and does so daily, whether or not it’s the right bus.

I love that Mary thinks the word for “water” in Vallarta is “Ciel,” Coca Cola’s brand of bottled water here.

I love that Mary hugs the security guards in Marbella and they hug her back.

I love that Mary hugs random kids on the street and parents laugh and the kids hug her back (usually).

I love that Mary says, “hola” and “adios” to everyone, everywhere while waving her hand vigorously. And that she yells her greetings louder and louder until people respond.

I love that Mary is starting to sprinkle Spanish into her everyday language. It’s fun to hear even though she saves most of her Spanish practice for Ya Ya.

I love that Mary loves swimming. Thank God.

I love watching people at the pool in awe of Mary’s fearlessness. I wish we could take the credit. She just decided she would swim; we didn’t have anything to do with it.

I love that Mary can make a morning of watching cars and trucks from our bedroom balcony, waiting on pins and needles for the “water truck” aka the truck that waters the flowers to drive by.

I love that Mary has shown an adventurous appetite, trying any type of food we put in front of her. Truth be told, I still think she likes Diet Coke the best.

I love watching Mary make new friends and actually start to play with them, kind of.

I love that Mary tells me “I do that” (translation: I’ll do it – NOT YOU, MOMMY!) about 100 times a day. I love it even when I hate it on the 101st time before 9am.

I love that we’re the kind of family that puts on music and sings and dances together. Even in front of other people. And I love that we’re not embarrassed.

I love that Mary’s favorite song is “I Gotta a Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas. Really.

I love that I’ve fallen in love with my husband all over again.

I love that we have regular date nights.

I love seeing my husband’s charm and personality through new eyes, watching him make friends and tell his stories for the first time to new people.

I love having time – to think, to dream - even if the thoughts are sometimes scary.

I love that I’m a better person, wife and mother now.

And I love that Mike has diligently encouraged me to draft a blog post, never giving up hope that I’d actually do it.

I love this place.

My love to all of you.

Corrie

Hat Trick: At the Mexican Rodeo

"Hey Fernando, did you make love last night?" This from the announcer at the charreada, a kind of traditional Mexican rodeo. The guy would do a pretty lively rundown in Spanish during all the different events, but would bust out some intentionally funny stuff in English every once in a while, usually at the expense of a sunburned Canadian tourist, who always good-naturedly took it in stride. This was about as racy as things got at this thoroughly family friendly event.
Corrie took the day to do some work, so the Bear and I were chaperoned by our friends Meredith and Kylie, both of whom were decked out in cowboy hats, Meredith even sporting the boots. Mary, being the jealous type, somehow insinuated herself with the Texas-born Meredith and scored her own--Colts blue, naturally--cowboy hat by the end of the day.
After making our way through the tunnel of food stands getting ready for the day and the stalls selling saddles, belts, charro (cowboy) hats, lassos, and leather goods, we climbed up the tiered, circular stands to the sounds of a 10 piece Banda group. It was breezy and pretty cool for Vallarta, but it only dawned on me hours later that these guys in full orange corduroy outfits were belting out their lively music all day long in the full sun. No small feat.

The charreada is an event that celebrates the traditional skills of Mexican charros. Some of my favorites were Cow-Tripping, Lasso Show Off then Trip the Horse, and Bull Riding. Cow Tripping consisted of a frightened cow running away from the charro on horseback who had to grab its tail, twist his leg around it, and leverage the cow into flipping end over end. In my view, Lasso Show Off then Trip the Horse was the best event. In this one, the charro--sometimes on foot, sometimes on his horse--would show off his lasso tricks while his buddies chased a horse around the circle. After a few minutes of the showing off, he'd attempt to snag the horse's feet with his rope, yank back, and try to trip it, sending the horse flipping end over end. See the theme?

Mary and I were able to do some exploring on the grounds, including making our way to the practice area for the charros. This was great, as we got to see the charros practice their skills, and let me be clear: these guys were bad-ass. Mary agreed and she definitely had her favorite charro. His name was Francisco and he was a sincerely sweet man. As Mary was perched on the wall, doing her best cowgirl, he rode up on his horse. We talked a little, and Mary was intensely interested in his caballo, one of her favorite animals. Tentative at first, Francisco coaxed Mary into touching the horse's mane and ears. If that didn't seal the deal for Francisco, his next move did: he rode off and came back with a Fresca for Mary.

As the day wore on, more friends arrived and the charros seemed to get more into the competition. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the liter sized styrofoam cups they were carrying, the edges rimmed with dried chilis. Heating up, Mary and I headed for some freshly prepared tacos, salsa, and a Modelo. At a similar event in the States, you'd be eating something from Sysco, but even at the simplest stand here, they are cooking the meat right there. They were cutting up the fresh onion, radishes, chilis, and tomatoes, and preparing the salsa right in front of us. This, plus a good half hour of hanging with the Mexican kids in the Bounce House (Mary prefers to go shirtless), and you have a recipe for a lively dad and a soon to be napping daughter.

Before we left, Mary and I wanted to get closer to the action, so we headed down to the narrow aisle that runs around the ring. This was a very manly area and we were a bit out of our element. There were only men here, and these guys knew what was going on, as I think a lot of them were current or former charros themselves. At least Mary had her cowboy hat, which shortly came in handy. In Mexico, when doing the Lasso and Horse Trip, you get three opportunities to do so. If you snag the horse all three times, you are showered with hats from the audience. I knew this already from when Bugs Bunny would defeat the bull, but it works at a charreada too.

After success on all three attempts, a small, blue cowgirl hat rested in the dirt at the feet of the champion charro.

Love and horses,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

A Very Good Taco Moment

With Corrie and Mary enjoying the snow and cold back in Indianapolis these last weeks, I've been able to participate in one of my favorite pastimes here in Vallarta: sampling the taco stands. This post won't be a study on what differentiates them or which ones serve the best carne asada or which has the homemade salsas that will bring you to your knees. Saving that for a later post, this will recount just one ordinary lunch when this caballero was a bit hungover and in need of some tasty tacos to relieve the slight pounding in his brain.

In downtown Vallarta, there are certain cobble-stoned streets that are just rife with taco stands, little stalls not much bigger than your traditional hot dog cart, some with stools surrounding them, others with a counter where folks just lean and enjoy a snack. On Saturday afternoon, I decided to sample a few different ones, as I still really haven't settled on what will be my favorite. The first one, on Calle Honduras, I had been to before. It's next to the Oxxo--like a 7-11 or VP, but more garish and plentiful. No stools or counter, but they did have those cheap plastic chairs lined up along the sidewalk. I ordered two tacos adobada, which I believe is a kind of preparation for pork. Little cubes of pork on two tiny corn tortillas, drenched in pork fat. Topped with the usual here ("con todos"): whole Peru beans, a red sauce, onion, cilantro, and cabbage. Contrary to every Mexican restaurant I've been to in the States, all the taco stands here in Vallarta are finished off with shredded cabbage. The tacos were delicious in a very average way, and I moved on.

The next stop was a few blocks away, a little stall nestled next to the south side of a Centro grocery store called Ley. It's a busy street with a large construction site next to it, which I'm sure is a boon to this family business. I could hear the stall before I turned the corner, as they had a little jambox playing music for its patrons. Not great for the hangover, but the volume was relatively low and they did have chairs that sidled up to a bar area, all shaded by some trees from the wide sidewalk. There was a good crowd around this one, which generally bodes well. I sat down.

The menu was short, with tacos and quesadillas available, the former costing 8 pesos each, which is about 60 cents or so. I wanted to try their birria, but the Senora said they were out, so I'd be having their asada instead. "Dos, por favor." Only two, since I was planning on hitting up at least one more stand.

In my short time here, one of the things that separates a good taco stand from an average one is their tortillas. In the States, I think most taco-eating consists of the hard shell variety or the medium sized soft flour tortilla. Here, it is all about the small, soft corn tortilla. Many stalls make their own tortillas right in front of you and this taco stand did as well.

This stand had three women in its tight quarters: a grandma, a mom, and a daughter. All were similarly plump and they moved about their business in a simple, rhythmic way, one that appeared to require no thought. An orchestra of movement. The grandma would grab lime-sized balls of dough and put them in a wooden device. She put the dough between two blocks of wood and then brought a large hand lever down, squeezing the corn dough between the blocks of wood. Apply a little of her grandma-weight, and presto, she pulled out a thin pancake of future tortilla which was placed on a hot griddle. Mom would flip the tortilla two or three times while also moving the bits of asada around on the hot surface, all with her hands. Daughter was busy slicing all the acoutrements: cabbage, cilantro, and some side items which frequently come with your tacos at any stall worth its salt, namely radishes. With the tortillas done, mom loaded up the fresh, still quite warm tortillas with crispy bit of beef.

What I especially liked about this place was unique to the moment I experienced it. Elbow to elbow with a construction worker, a department store worker on a crutch, and an old Mexican man, I slowly eased my hangover on this unusually cloudy day in Vallarta. The women chatted and moved about the business of running their stand and their patrons made short work of their simple food. As I was enjoying all this, "Loba" a Shakira song that's been popular this year but is on its last legs, came on the radio. Everyone sitting there, young and old, knew this song. Everyone could probably sing at least part of the chorus, which includes an addictive howl of the titular wolf. The mom in her apron, flipping tortillas, reached up and turned it up as everyone began bobbing their head. "Ah-wooooooo!"

Couldn't leave the smells, tastes, and sounds of this taco stand, so I ordered another taco and asked the old man to pass me the guacamole sauce.

Love from Vallarta,

Mike

Wookin' Pa Nub...in Reverse

Howdy all,

One workday for this teacher:

3:23pm A group of us teachers meet weekly to work on classroom management issues. Nerd alert!

2:50pm Yep, school's over. Mark, our tech guy and good friend, "helps" me with "my" camera.
11:39am Lunchtime. Sometimes it's off campus we go, but today, it's at our outdoor cafeteria. Pretty great lunch for 3 or 4 bucks.

9:06am My 9th graders. Another English teacher and I swapped 9th grades at the semester break, so these guys are pretty new to me.

Little before 8am: The kids are here and scrambling to get to class. Lockers are outside and never locked. Ever. Never heard of one theft.

7:35am: Josiah--friend, teacher, school counselor-- hobnobs with Maricela, queen of the charming senoritas in our cafe.

7:07am: Head into school. Still dark.

6:58am: Meet my friends and coworkers Meredith and Kylie outside for a ride to school.

6:40 am: Breakfast

Hope everyone is healthy and happy,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

Christmas in Guadalajara

This is a Torta Ahogada, a specialty in Guadalaja. Sourdough type bread, filled with porky, side of onions and lime, then drenched in a tomato chicken broth. It is supposed to be THE hangover cure. You need this sort of thing living in Mexico.

The Heneghans took off for Guadalajara with our friend Brett for a couple days between Christmas and New Years. Guadalajara is the big city in these parts, with close to 5 million people. We are in mountain country in Vallarta, and Guadalajara is all the way up at the top, so it's quite a bit cooler. Drier too.

3 days with a little chill, basically eating and walking among a lot of great art and history. Dig it.

The main Cathedral and square in Guadalajara. I'm sure there's a reason, but every square I've seen in Mexico has a gazebo in the middle of it.


Above is part of a set of really fantastic, modern murals done by a Mexican artist named Jose Clemente Orozco. The building they are housed in is the Hospice Cabanas, which is a sprawling structure. What I thought was interesting, in addition to these murals from the 1940s, was that this place was built to be an orphanage. Guess they knew how to build em back then. It housed over 300 kids at one time. That's a lot of poo-poo.If you look closely in the pic above, you can see huge patterns of blueish-green below us. That is mezcal growing, the plant used to make tequila. Tequila, not unlike champagne (and this is the ONLY way they're alike. Well, that and the fall down go boom), can only be made in Jalisco, the state where we live.
Kickass central market in Guadalajara. Sprawled for blocks and blocks. Sold everything under the sun (most of it is indoors, though).
Part of Plaza Tapatia, where we strolled for much of our time. The Cathedral sits on one end, the Hospice Cabanas at the other. Mare Bear and balloons in between.
Horsey ride with Mary, Brett, and the nice man who didn't overcharge us too much.

Peace in the New Year,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

Greetings. From Mexico.

I think it was after we’d been here for three or four weeks. Corrie, Mary, and I were strolling through the mall, admiring all the charms of the Mexican mall—smoking!—when we ran into one of my new co-workers from school. I introduced Corrie and Mary, as they had never met her. I’m not sure how it all went down, but a brief awkwardness ensued during introductions. My new friend from school was then kind enough to explain to us that in Mexico people greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek. Or rather, as I was to find out through practice, a kind of air-kiss where your cheeks touch and that’s about it.

This isn’t the first time I’ve lived abroad, and I know that different cultures do things differently: I’ve seen “Gung ho”, “Dances with Wolves”, and “European Vacation”. But I was pretty young in Saudi Arabia, and frankly, we were pretty much sequestered away from the whole Saudi culture while we were there. I do know that men and women didn’t have a lot of contact with one another. They sure as hell weren’t kissing in public.

In Poland, as a twentysomething, they shook hands as a greeting just as we do in the U.S. The main difference was the frequency. I used to play weekly basketball with about 15 guys and every week as each of us arrived, you had to go around to each guy and shake his hand, very firmly. We were usually crammed into a small closet-turned-locker room too, with all of us in various states of undress, so this always led to the slightly uncomfortable shaking of the hand while making sure your pants are on. The only out of the ordinary greeter in Poland was my boss, Adam. He would frequently give big bear hugs and real kisses on both cheeks. He would often serve vodka in the middle of the day too, so I think it was just his way. Very jolly, that Adam.

So the kiss on the cheek thing has been an ongoing adjustment for me. Thankfully, I have a few friends who are naturals at it and almost always seem to instigate it. I keep waiting for someone to flinch back and say something like, “But Mike, you’re a married man!”

I also am wary about starting this practice with women who I’ve, to this point, never done it to before. For example, there are some people from work that I’ve started this practice with and it seems all very good and kosher. I’ve even side-kissed one of my superiors and it’s gone swimmingly; however, I cannot imagine the horror I might inflict on some of the other ladies. “What the F are you doing, Mike?” Sometimes, there’s a brief moment of eye contact, and I wonder if they’re thinking, “Wait a sec. He’s leaning in? What is he…oh my God! Does he think he’s going to kiss me?”

In contrast, I was a quick study when it came to greeting other men. It’s not a lot different than back home, but it’s novel enough. Simple and the same for everyone: a hand slap followed by a fist pound. Works for the bus driver, your boss, or your students. It’s like Mexican men got together as a country, decided on it, and there you have it.

Easy, and kinda cool.

Love and such,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

Separated at Birth

Merry Christmas everybody,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

Sucks to Reformat

Bummer. Huge bummer.

Not sure how great the pics were on our SD memory card, but we'll never know, as they are gone now. Anybody else have that problem?

It is what it is, no living in the past.

With just a few days left until Christmas break, we wanted to send out a message about our November exploits. Sans pictures.

Speaking of formatting, I'm in no mood to organize paragraphs , so you'll just have to embrace the bullets.

• Corrie and I have discovered the best thing for our marriage (besides separate laptops): a babysitter every Friday. Inspired by our friends the Picketts, we head out every Friday, 4-10pm. Sounds early, but we pack in a lot, including sunsets, beverages, din-din, etc.
  
• Not sure what's more annoying: applying Off! every night (Mary included) to fend off the skeeters that strafe the room every night or the molasses-level progress of our Spanish acquisition.
  
• 80 degrees and sunny pretty much every day now. Hauntingly awesome.
• A Heneghan first: we got a fake tree this year, though surprisingly, they actually have real Christmas trees for sale down here. Best part: Corrie and Mary made all the ornaments. Pretty cool to see Mary's hand shapes all over our tree.
  
• One reason I'm able to write this blog tonight: Corrie is out carousing with her friends at Book Club. Apparently, not only can Corrie read--apparently it's like TV?--but she is a scary-fast reader. She's like the W.O.P.R. from "War Games". Corrie heads out with the chicas once a month and "talks about books". We all know what that's code for.
• Semester one is almost done for me. It's been a fun year so far, as most of my co-workers are only a little bit ass-holey (just kidding, people). Actually, biggest challenge has been adjusting to high school students, AP in particular. Apparently, they take finals. Who knew?
• With weekly regularity, I have cuts on my legs from our Mexican softball league. We are in the playoffs right now, so you read between the lines.
  
• Saw a commercial today for the IU vs. Kentucky basketball game tomorrow. Kinda cool.
• Biggest Heneghan news since Corrie started regularly cooking family dinners: MARY PEE-PEE'D IN THE POTTY TONIGHT. Nuff said.

We hope you all have a wonderful Christmas. Anna, Catherine, and Bruce, we look forward to seeing you soon. Bruce, I saw a Marlin the other day, and he said, and I quote, "Bruce Conner is a pussy." I can't make this stuff up.

Love to all,

Mike, Corrie, and the Bearcub

3 months in 20 seconds

Just playing around with a new program I came across.

Family Invasion: Mom, Jeanne, and Peggy

Corrie, Mary, Jeanne, Peggy, and my mom at the Puerto Vallarta marina.

I dropped my mom off at the Puerto Vallarta airport this morning. Mom visited for almost 13 days, flying in with Corrie's mom and aunt a couple Tuesdays ago. Jeanne, Peggy, and my mom came laden with gifts, both physical and not, including hugs, family pictures, clothes, Indiana treats--carmel apples!--and lots of love.

We squeezed in all the gossip, meals, Halloween parties, laughter, bus rides, and trips through the Mexican countryside that we could. Here are a few snapshots of our time.


Entering my school's annual Halloween party. It was huge. And yes, we took the bus there. In costume.



Mom: M&M Jeanne: Karate-man


Mom haggled with the silver guy. Got him to come down from 900 pesos to 300.



Mom and some of the gang that I teach with at our "Moe and Johnny's", but beachside.


Mike, Corrie, and Mary

Family Invasion: Maureen and Beth

Loyal readers,

After four days of raucous fun, my sister Beth and her daughter Maureen have left us to return to the grind back in Indy.

Continuing a Brogan tradition, my sister surprised Maureen just a day before arriving with the news that they'd be coming to visit for a long weekend. What's cooler than skipping a bunch of school to go on an international journey to Mexico?

How about:

• Dinner, terrace-side, along one of Vallarta's many rivers, free (virgin) Pina Colada included?

(these are virgin tequila shots, I swear)

• zipping through the rain forest canopy (that's Maureen) or rappelling (Beth) down waterfalls?

• leaping from boulders into the Bay of Banderas waters (apparently a young Lou Ferigno type was there too)?

• or a day spent in the sleepy surf town of Sayulita, including icy mango margaritas* and spicy chilequiles, all served beachside with your toes digging into the sand?

(This isn't really Sayulita at all, but this one's got the whole gang in it, and I knew you'd dig that)

It's really tough to say what was the highlight for us--Maureen, in all of her newfound teenage glory, might even have the gall to claim her fledgling Facebook account creation as the highlight--but I think the brief video below captures what made this visit so special for us (relax, I turn the camera the correct way after a bit).

Thank you for coming, guys. We truly miss you already. We love you.



Mike, Corrie, and the Bear

*Though Maureen did not partake of the mango margarita, she very easily could have at numerous occasions. There were a variety of bar touts--guys who try to work tourists into the bars to spend money--who clearly thought she was much older than her tender age of 13.

The Tour, part Dos

Howdy all,

After a deluge of mail in our little Mexican mailbox, I have finally gotten around to posting the second part of our apartment tour. It's even more exciting than the first.

It's 2 minutes of ol' fashioned Mexican "Yee-hah", mixed with a splash of "Oh Yeah". Maybe just a smidge of "Oh no he didn't"...okay. Stop it. Just stop it. There's really no good way to dress this up. You see the bedroom. You see Mary's room. That's it. Oh, and some very droll commentary.

The highlight is, as always, the cameo by the Mare-Bear.

Enjoy.




Love,

Mike and family

The Tour, part I

As we approach our two month anniversary here in Vallarta, it occurred to me that it's about time to follow through on a promise: to let folks take a gander at our apartment.

It's not much, but it's ours.

When Gerry Selitzer, our very congenial boss, drove us up to Marbella Suites, we really didn't know what to expect. We both had all kinds of scenarios running through our heads--would there be bodies? Would it be clean? The Bumpus hounds? It was all for naught.

Besides our propensity to drop very breakable lamps, glasses, and more lamps on our tile floors, Gerry has put us in a very happy home.

Our group of condos sits among a grove of palm trees, bougainvilleas, and other tropical plants which shall remain nameless. Lizards, geckos abound. Geckos come and go freely within our house. No joke, they are Mary's favorite pet.

They've got a couple pools here too, one being about a foot deep, which Mary just dominates! Actually, she has taken to pool life way too easily, jumping in whether we are paying attention or not. There's a Mexican Doc Councilman here (Google it) who is just itching to teach Mary how to swim. Mary's about got it on her own.

So, enjoy this brief vid of our shadowy abode. More to come...



(IF THIS VIDEO FAILS TO UPLOAD AGAIN, I'M GOING TO TRY PLAN B)

Mary in Vallarta

One of the more difficult aspects of moving down to Vallarta, and there were many (see "Selling your house during a shitty economy"), was how Mary would live and adjust in a brand new place. On one hand, she's not even two years old, so in many ways she's probably more flexible than Corrie or me. No established friends to leave behind. No school to transfer from and to. No softball league or favorite restaurants to miss. On the other hand, there were new doctors to find. Clothing and toys to haul down or rebuy here in town. And of course her doting grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Leaving them behind was difficult, to be sure.

I did want to give you at least a small snapshot of how she's getting on down here. She is extremely excited to be staying home with Momma, and quite possibly even more excited when her new nanny, Ya-Ya, stays with her. Can't get enough of Ya-Ya.

Being a year and a half old now, Mary is doing and saying all kinds of crazy stuff that just leaves us laughing, usually. She is definitely a pretty funny kid. Bold too. For example, in the picture below, she went down every single slide you can see. By herself.


She got her first haircut as well.



As for Mary and friends, here in Mexico, we have only to go down to our pool here at Marbella for her to find new friends. The Mexican children--adults too--are so genuinely curious and kind to children. It has been humbling. The question we get the most? "Nino o nina?" Boy or girl? She has also made a friend--if she could just be a little more gentle--with Ella, the daughter of some of our new friends, Karli and Mark Picketts. They went to a great birthday party today. Mary and Ella tackled all those water slides together today.


And when friends fail you, or your parents just aren't enough for you. There is one tactic that every parent has at their disposal: shameless bribery.



--Mike