Hard to Love

While all the haters and anti-immigrant folk and just the general confused population are out there wondering how/why I "settled" for a poor Mexican immigrant, I'm just thinking this:

I hate to refer to another Lee Brice song, but shit, I am hard to love. Lee Brice isn't even close to one of my favorite artists, but his songs seem to have plucked my heart strings lately. Before you start talking trash about country music, I just have to defend myself by saying that Texas is infectious! I just can't escape it. It's like Bieber Fever or methamphetamines without the skinny jeans or rehab.

I have to post the lyrics too because I know my grandma and Aunt Jano frequent my blog and I'm not sure if they'll be able to see the video, so here are the lyrics:

Hard to Love by Lee Brice
Songwriters: Benjamin Glover, Billy Montana, John Ozier

I am insensitive I have a tendency to pay more attention to the things that
I need.
Sometimes I drink too much, sometimes I test your trust, sometimes I dunno
Why you're staying with me?

I'm hard to love, hard to love, I don't make it easy, I couldn't do it if I
Stood where you stood
I'm hard to love, hard to love, you say that you need me, I don't deserve
It but I love that you love me. Good

I am a short fuse, I am a wrecking ball crashing into your heart like I do
You're like a Sunday morning full of grace and full of Jesus I wish that I
Could be more like you.
I'm hard to love, hard to love, I don't make it easy, I couldn't do it if I
Stood where you stood,
I'm hard to love, hard to love, you say that you need me, I don't deserve
It but I love that you love me. Good.
Love me good.

Girl you've given me a million second chances and I don't ever wanna take
You for granted, I'm just a man, I'm just a man.

Hard to love, hard to love, oh I don't make it easy and I couldn't do it if
I stood where you stood.
I'm hard to love, hard to love and you say that you need me, I don't
Deserve it but I love that you love me. Good.

You love me good.
______________________________________________________

I don't know what anyone else is talking about or thinking, but I'm a bitch. Plain and simple. I didn't settle for anyone. My husband is the man of my dreams and I don't deserve him. Even if you considered every good thing I've ever done in my lifetime and ignored the horrible, selfish and inexplicable things, the math just doesn't add up. I am difficult, emotional and overly passionate about irrelevant subjects. I fly off the handle without reason. I drink too much. I have a multi-colored past and am disgustingly indulgent. I am an obsessive addict. Even though I came from a middle class American family, I'm a spoiled brat. Maybe that's because I came from a middle class American family? I have a short temper and am beyond demanding. I'm an uptight, impatient, over-analytical hypocrite. And somehow, regardless of all of that, Mr. Cruz loves me. He adores me. He is proud of me and thoroughly enjoys me as a person.

My husband didn't "luck out" to meet me. I am a better person because he has come into my life. For some reason, God put him in my path. This has nothing to do with green cards or money or citizenship. The price of me is much too high for abusers because I am 3 gallons of crazy in a 2 gallon bucket my friends. I'm the lucky one. I'm the one who is hard to love...

Sana, Sana, Colita de Rana…

After 7 some years together, I’ve learned to never question my husband when it comes to healing methods, medicine or the likes. Nor should I question his friends or friends of friends or mother or cousin or his uncle’s neighbor’s plumber’s priest’s father. They know what’s up, and I, my friends, am just a silly American who has no faith.

My first brush with Mexican medicine came several years ago, when a family member called us in the US to inform us that my husband had a severe lung condition and was on the brink of death. Of course it was true, a psychic told them so. In order to be cured, he spent countless hours on the phone writing down a prayer (or chant or whatever you call it) as it was dictated to him word for word. (If you’ve ever heard my husband trying to give a wire transfer confirmation number over the phone, you’d understand that this was a tedious process.) He then sent me on a hunt for mason jars that had to be a specific size and a certain type of cotton swab. I protested, of course, but eventually gave in and hit up about 5 different Goodwill stores in the Phoenix area before I found what he was looking for.

He carefully labeled one of the jars “Sobar” and the other “Tomar.” They were each filled with purified water which was blessed over the phone by the psychic or witch-doctor or whoever. I then had to soak the special cotton things in the Sobar water and rub it all over my husband’s back (remember, we’re curing lung disease here people,) while he drank from the Tomar jar and chanted his little diddy. He was, of course, miraculously cured and the family rejoiced. I think you all know I’m not much of introvert and I wear my heart, and common sense, on my sleeve. I voiced my opinions from the get go and was told stories about cancer being cured and crippled people walking again. I was forced to listen to countless horror stories of what can happen when you don’t believe.

I’ve since learned to bite my tongue.

So when we went on our little treasure hunt for that alcohol de caña, I didn’t say a word in protest. I know he’s tried my whole Western medicine route for the last couple of months and is still in pain, so what can I really say? He’s getting desperate. When a friend at the maquila told him about this magic potion, he just couldn’t resist. This man was apparently bed-ridden for God knows how long before he had a couple of drops of this stuff and POOF, good as new! Again, it’s alcohol de caña, red onion, lime and garlic that is left to ferment for 15 days. The fermentation process is coming to a close and I’m really trying to keep my thoughts to myself but would you just look at this shit:

My poor husband is going to drink that. And he thinks it’s going to help him. In fact, he believes it so much that I think it just might work. You see, although I don’t think putting a feverish baby in a bath full of lettuce does diddly squat, I do believe in the power of positive thinking and the power that one’s faith can give them. There are countless little health tricks (que?) of Mexico that make absolutely no sense to me but I’m no medicine man. Putting Vick’s Vapor Rub between your toes when you have the flu? Wearing sandals in the shower to prevent getting sick? Rubbing an egg on your belly when you have a stomach ache and then cracking it and if the yolk’s black the sickness is gone? Seriously, has anyone ever seen this result in a black yolk?

At the end of the day, all I can do is smile, hope we don’t end up getting his stomach pumped in IMSS Urgencias, and thank God that my husband believes that tequila and lime cures the common cold. Salud.

My Saturday In Pictures

Woke up early and baked a German Chocolate cake!

Did my nails orange for the season...

Decided to head downtown to get supplies for my husband's health brujeria. Had to snap a pic of this on the way... What do you think it's going to be? It's taken them 2 years to get to this point...

I was super excited that my nails matched the buttons on my shirt!

Almost there...

I love going downtown but it's not really safe to take
pictures there so I usually take them from the car.

We had to search through a lot of this to find what we were looking for.

Annnnnd we finally found it here.

The newest cure for my husband's feet?
Fermenting a liter of cane alcohol with lime,
onion and garlic for 15 days and then drinking it...

You will never catch me drinking anything out of an old salsa bottle.

Time for street food! I thought I'd get some of those papas locas I always see.
Con todo? Sure!
BAD IDEA. Inedible.

That's better... Ish...

Time for Soriana. Our purchase was FREE after using some of our points!

This guy washed our car while we shopped. 50 pesos.

Calzones for dinner!

And then an 80's movie marathon.
I don't know how those cans got there.

Lucy hates Tom Hanks.



At the end of the day, some of us were more worn out than others...



My Dad and My Inspiration

My parents were separated before I was two years old. I remember weekend visits with my Dad. Those didn't last for too long but the little moments are burned into my memories. We moved from Kansas City to Illinois just before I turned 8 years old. I think when I was younger I was bothered by the fact that my dad wasn't there every day. Now that I do not live with my own child (for completely different circumstances) I am able to understand why I didn't see my Dad everyday. Everything about my life and what's happened with my own son has brought me to the point of acceptance and being able to understand my parents and their struggle. Our family may not be traditional, but in my opinion, it does not stray from the norm of any other American family in this day and age. 

I have 5 sisters. We are spread out all over the globe. Two of my sisters live in Kansas City, Missouri, one in Bettendorf, Iowa and my two step sisters live in El Salvador. Our family unit is normal to me. We may not be a typical nuclear family but I think that is typical of our time. I am thankful for all of the advancement with the internet because I am able to stay in touch with everyone, mainly through Facebook and Skype. Above all, I am thankful that my mother made a point to teach me the importance of family. She has always supported my desire to stay connected with everyone and has nothing but good things to say about each and every member of our wacky little Harmon/Bonderer/Cruz unit.

Years ago, when I met my husband, he taught me things that made me love my father even more. He preached the value of "honoring thy mother and father," regardless of the circumstances. Today, my Dad is a huge part of my life. I always know that he is a Skype call away and because of that, he has been able to teach me so much about life. He is the first person I go to for advice, and I value his opinion more than any other. He is a man that so many aspire to be, including myself. He has embraced life and love and generosity for all that it is worth. I don't dwell on the past with him. It has no place in our relationship. Because I have gone through the things I have, I am finally able to understand him and his decisions, and appreciate him. I am so insanely proud of Michael Bonderer and who he is today. 

I want to share his story because he is an inspiration to me. If I end up being a tenth of the person he is today, I will die a happy woman. Although we are worlds apart, we come from similar backgrounds. We have made monumental mistakes in our lives but are both trying our best to move on from our pasts and do something with ourselves and the lives we lead today. I cannot appropriately put my thoughts into words. What does my Dad mean to me? There really are no words. I am so thankful that he is my father and I am so thankful that he is a part of my life. I'm even thankful that I have gone through such hard times so that I am able to come to a point where I can appreciate him and everything he does.

I can only hope to make such an impact in my lifetime but I don’t think I could ever touch a person's life in the way that he has been able to. I wanted to share all of this because I am so proud and because I would like to give some attention to his organization and shed some light on his cause. I hope to involve myself in charities in Mexico in the same way that my father has in Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua and Haiti. I feel like there is a reason I ended up leaving the US and that God has a purpose for me in this world.

This video touches on my father's life and work and explains why he is such an inspiration to me. If anyone has any questions or would like to volunteer, please visit http://homesfromtheheart.org/

"What we need... People who are ready and willing to serve: who will just show up."

Lady Balls and First World Problems

I could never live out in the country in Mexico. To all the expats that once lived in the comfort of America, and then moved to El Rancho de Whatever: I applaud you.

Let's be honest; I just don’t have what it takes to hand wash, go to the bathroom outside, kill my own dinner or go without water certain days of the week. I wish I was that kind of woman because those skills would be damn handy in an apocalypse.

Unfortunately, I can barely handle this:

 

I'm really not looking forward to taking a bucket bath later on...

Car Accident and La Ruta

Last Friday, I was coming home from work, so excited because it was raining. After so much time in Arizona I have become obsessed with rain because it was such a rarity. I was driving very carefully. Gordo had just called me to wish me a safe trip home and remind me that our back tires were worn down and to be careful driving in the rain. The road I take home is Montana and is the main road that connects downtown El Paso to the East Side. There is tons of traffic, especially during rush hour. It was 5:15 and I know I was going 40 miles per hour. I was at the part of Montana where it slopes down slightly, just after Paisano. The speed limit is 40 mph and there is always a police car staked out in that area, pulling people over just before Trowbridge. Because of the decline, I have to hit the brakes to make sure I am at or under the limit. I am 100% positive that I was going 40 mph and was a good distance away from the car in front of me. It was a moving van. A Penske moving van, but the Penske logo had been painted over with yellow paint and had temporary plates. The truck slammed on its brakes to turn left. That intersection is dangerous because Trowbridge comes in at a diagonal and there is no turn lane from Montana. It is such an awkward intersection that upon telling this story, several of my friends asked me if it is even legal to turn left there.

The truck slammed on its brakes and I quickly looked to my right rear-view mirror and saw that I had space before swerving to the right to avoid a collision. I honked my horn furiously at the moving van just before my truck began to hydroplane through the intersection, across 3 lanes of traffic, over a median, and across the lanes of oncoming traffic before it did a 180 and slammed into the curb. At this point my truck tilted to the side, so much so that I looked to the right and saw the sidewalk, assuming it would flip. Gracias a Dios, it ended up slamming back down on four tires. It took me about 10 minutes at that point to even get out of the car. I waited as traffic passed for what felt like forever before I had a chance to even get out of the car. I was shaking as I called my husband to tell him that I had had an accident. Of course he was freaking out. Knowing that I was on the other side of the border and he couldn’t come to my aid, he of course felt instantly desperate and hopeless. Next I called the police and then my insurance company.

I still can’t believe that in this intersection, at this time of day, I didn’t hit anyone. I can’t even believe that I didn’t flip my SUV going over that median, but even more so I can’t get over the fact that I didn’t hit any of the oncoming traffic. God was with me that day and I was being watched over. Clearly there is some sort of purpose for me (beyond drinking brandy and eating Cheetos) that I have yet to address.

Luckily my friend Elizabeth happened to be driving home a friend and took a different route from the office leading her to see me on the side of the road. When she first saw me, she thought I had just been pulled over. Thankfully there was no damage done to the body of my truck. The rear axle cracked in half and the middle console is a mess because I’m an idiot and wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. Looking at the driver’s side, you would never know there had been an accident. As she drove by she just thought I had been pulled over. The only thing that tipped her off was that my truck was facing the wrong direction (not towards the bridge.) Luckily she called me and I had a chance to explain what had happened. She parked her car down the road and walked over to me. I know I’ve said this a million times but I am so thankful that I have met the women I know here in Juarez because they are such good friends to me. I have a lot of expat friends who don’t have that luxury. She stayed with me until the tow truck came and was sweet enough to take me home that night.

Injury wise, I got out of there without a scratch. I had a big bump on my head, bruised thighs and arms and some pain in my hip and neck but considering the circumstances, I am beyond lucky. By now the pain is mostly gone with the exception of my neck when I lie down or sit up. I am so thankful that I can even be writing this blog because I know I should probably be in a lot worse shape. I did have full coverage on my truck so I really only have to worry about the deductible which is a blessing because there is no way we could financially replace our car at this time. The biggest issue has been waiting for the repairs. With no other options, I have had to ask my girlfriends for rides and they have been beyond gracious with their time and gasoline. I will be forever appreciative of their help. I am hoping to have my truck back by the end of the week.

In the meantime we are just hanging out here at the house in the evenings and on the weekends without a vehicle. Today I finally took my first “route bus” trip.  It was pretty interesting. We went to the grocery store. You know, as an American, I really do overlook the little things in life. When we first got here I didn’t entirely appreciate the washing machine. There are so many people in this world wash their clothes by hand but I never really thought about it. There are a lot of things we take for granted in America. Cars or washing machines or dishwashers are things we really overlook in the US and I never really stopped to think about it. These were simple things and for most of my life I kind of considered them to be rights as opposed to privileges. It’s just an eye opener and of course humbling, as is my entire experience here in Mexico.

It is one thing to ask for a ride to work but asking for any other reason just seems unnecessary to me. The bus schedule in Juarez and El Paso do not function in a way that allows me to make it to work in time but it certainly serves it’s purpose for weekend errands. Today we took a trip to Soriana which is the local mega-grocery store. After we made our purchases, we carried our grocery bags over the “puente pateonal” which is like a bridge/walkway that has been built over Tecnologico which is a major roadway in Juarez. By this time Ray was seriously annoyed with me and all of my comments and observations that he really looked like he just wanted to jump off of the bridge. Luckily, it was build with rejas on the top to ward off any suicide attempts and save annoyed spouses.

After the bridge we only had to walk about a mile to the bus stop. We didn’t really have to walk that far because there is a bus that picks you up right outside of the store, but we didn’t want to have to take 2 buses. Each bus ride costs 6 pesos which is just under 47 cents right now in US dollars. When I say 47 cents in English I really feel ridiculous but when I say 6 pesos in Spanish I feel like that is a significant amount of money. Is that weird? We didn’t want to pay an extra 12 pesos for less than a mile so we did a little more walking. We barely made it to the bus stop in time and actually had to run a little. I’m sure everyone who knows me personally is laughing at this point…

That bus took us into our neighborhood and dropped us off just about a quarter mile from our house. It was my first trip on “La Ruta.” My husband takes these buses everywhere, bless his heart. He goes and pays our utility bills on the route bus and takes 3 routes in order to get to the bank where we pay our rent on the 10^th every month. He even visits friends on the bus; it’s how he gets around. It’s how everyone who doesn’t have a vehicle gets around in Juarez and I definitely take my truck for granted. I am so thankful to even have transportation that is so convenient and simple. He has told me tons of stories about the route buses here and the drivers are pretty notorious for getting in horrible accidents so I was pretty nervous before we got on board.

I’m pretty sure the bus driver today was deaf. He had a hearing aid in both ears and there were a couple occasions where people got on the bus and didn’t even pay. I’m not really sure what that was all about. It was hot. So hot. Today is the first day of fall but that made no difference. The bus was a mess. The bus wasn't crowded like I had expected but the seats were torn and it was beyond dirty. Everyone was sweating and the only comfort was the occasional gust of wind that came through the tiny cracked windows. The funny thing is that as I am making all of these observations, my husband looks at me and says, “This is the nicest route bus I’ve ever been on! Oh my God, I can’t believe it baby, tuviste suerte!” The incredulous look on his face made it clear that he was being serious.

Apparently, my experience wasn’t indicative of a typical bus trip in Juarez but it was an experience nonetheless. I had a good time and it was humbling and we can only go forward from here. I hope everyone is enjoying their weekend!

Gone, But Not Forgotten

I suppose by now you all know that I tend to ramble when I talk about America and what it means to me, so I’ll go ahead and skip that lengthy disclaimer.

I was just watching all of the old news footage from September 11^th on YouTube and I swear I remember it like it was yesterday. I was getting ready for school and listening to the radio like I did every morning. At first, I thought it was just a horrible accident, but by the time the second plane hit, reality had sunk in. Of course I was terrified, who wouldn’t be? Growing up, I had learned all about war in history class, but for some reason, I just considered it to be a thing of the past. I learned about the Revolutionary War and the struggles that took place to develop our great nation. In middle school, I became fascinated with World War II, unable to wrap my mind around the Holocaust. I learned about the draft that came years later and tried to imagine what it was like for my parents to grow up in a time like that. I found it all so unbelievable and I certainly never imagined that war would play a role in my life outside of textbooks or movies or video games.

At the time of the attacks, I was a junior in high school in Tempe, Arizona. I may have been thousands of miles from ground zero but I had never felt as close to the East coast as I felt that morning.  We spent the entire school day watching the news. We went from class to class, keeping our eyes glued to the television as much as possible. We watched in silence, wide-eyed in disbelief, as chaos took over our country. I remember an eerie feeling of unity that day. I couldn't quite place my finger on it at the time, but now I know that my classmates were united in fear. It’s hard to explain now, how I felt as a teenager; watching people jump from buildings because they had no other option and seeing our country literally crumble before us on live television. I can’t really put it in words.

It didn't really resonate with me until recently that this is the war that shaped my generation. My children will be learning about this in school and it will seem unreal to them as well, just as other wars before it had seemed to me. As a child, I knew that war was something unforgettable and horrible, yet it seemed tucked away safely in the past. This is the war that changed my life, although it didn't affect me in a way that some might think when they read about it in their history books for years to come. For me personally, this war hasn't meant hiding out in bomb shelters for the last 11 years or fearing gunfire from our global enemies on a daily basis. Others haven’t been so lucky. Even though I haven’t been on the frontlines, it’s changed me nonetheless.

I cross an international border everyday so national security could not be more relevant to my life. Obviously, our national security policies were forever changed by 9/11. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that the Customs and Border Protection officers are trying to protect our country from the very things we all fear. We’re too busy being annoyed and feeling inconvenienced to be thankful for the security they aim to provide. I am a member of countless Facebook groups that are focused on immigration and at times, there are a lot of hateful words exchanged about CBP. Sometimes the comments make me cringe. Trust me, I get it. I don’t blame anyone for being angry. It’s hard to accept the invasive inspections, harsh comments about immigrants, or countless hours spent waiting in line. I know I’m not a terrorist or a criminal, but how could they possibly know that? They don’t have the luxury of picking favorites, or excusing people because they are U.S. citizens. How can they tell the difference between me and the next person with a smile on their face and a trunk full of ammo that will eventually kill innocent people? The answer is that they can’t.

I feel so torn at times with my perspective on all of this because everyone seems to think I’m nuts. I’m supposed to be pissed off, right? I guess I am pissed off that I’m not allowed to be with my family in the United States. No… that’s putting it lightly. Knowing that my husband is not welcome in my own country is beyond devastating. It’s so many things that I can’t even begin to describe. Even so, how in the world can we even begin to blame a CBP official for the way things are? When I go back eleven years and remember what happened to this great nation, it really puts everything into perspective for me. I guess it doesn’t have that affect on everyone, but for me personally, it explains a lot about our laws and really defines the purpose of CBP. Remembering 9/11 makes their demeanor so much more understandable. As crazy as it sounds, when I look at the whole picture, it’s actually difficult for me to not have some sort of empathy for their struggle. If I take myself and my personal situation out of the equation, it becomes blatantly clear why things are the way they are. The horrifying acts of terror that occurred on 9/11 were only able to take place because this country lacked security.

A lot of people probably think I am an idiot for having the respect that I do for border patrol but I’m not as naïve as some may think. I know there are controversial issues involved and inappropriate and even inhumane acts that occur on the border. As unfortunate as it is, I think the same can be said of any branch of law enforcement. At the same time, I don’t think the actions of a handful of officials should speak for entire departments. There are going to be racist CBP agents who abuse their powers. There are racist doctors and judges and professors who abuse their powers as well. This is an unfortunate reality of life. What happened on 9/11 is another reality that we have to accept. The tightened security on the border and stricter immigration laws are an unfortunate result of this war. It’s easy to blame it all on the the guy asking if you have any fruit to declare for the hundredth time, but at the end of the day, they didn’t develop the laws they are enforcing, so it just doesn’t make sense to point fingers in that direction.

I guess I had to say all of that so that it would make sense when I say this: I truly respect and appreciate our border patrol agents and our military and our government. Even if I don’t always agree with their actions, I am thankful for their service, and I am thankful to be an American. I wanted to recognize today, and take a moment on my little platform that is this blog, to remember all of the fallen men and women. From those who were trapped in those airplanes and buildings, to the service men and women who risked everything to save the lives of others: You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten.