The stove here has to be lit. My stipend does not suffice for daily resturaunt meals, so cooking cannot be avoided. On the second day, I made a few attempts to boil spaghetti which resulted in restrained screams and broken matches. I was reduced to asking my host mom, Lupe to light the match for me. Watching her gracefully flip the match across the concrete wall, lighting the stove a mere few centimeters from her hand as she has done countless times cooking her own food, her three childrens food, and clients' food, it is clear we are from different lifestyles. She has been generous to share her Caldo de Pollo with me; a tasty chicken noodle soup made with 4 basic ingredients. I offer her my graham crackers and cream cheese. . . .Amurrican style.
I wont fool myself into thinking I will ever light these toothpick-sized fosforos. Three grocery stores later, I finally found a lighter. While the fire is still too close for comfort, I have a few inches of grace rather than centimeters, and all I have to do is press a button. Today was the day I lit the gas stove on my own. I made spaghetti again, this time enough to share with Lupe. I thoroughly enjoyed the spaghetti. Although she added some salt and dumped hers in her Calvo de Pollo, Lupe tolerated it and thanked me.
This mundane Sunday is a land mark in financial saving, reciprocity, and bravery. Cooking spaghetti, though it is lacking salt and a bit greasy means I can develop in these three areas. Just like running in the neighborhood. Either I run in the neighborhood or I bus to the north end of town to run in a park. As I am a water person, I am a cat person. I am not fond of fire, I am not fond of the unrestrained dogs in the street. However, I use my better judgement to run during the day, cross the street and turn around when necessary. Sweating, pounding the earth, and being the gringo in the hott pink tennis shoes never
felt so good.
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