Landing in the Heart of Mexico: A Gringa's Story

By Collette Sommers

Without fear of the unknown, an American college student from southern California decides to study abroad, or rather “south of the border” in Mexico City. She is confronted with a culture which she knows little about, but one that she soon learns to love. Her heart and mind will be stretched beyond the borders within which she was born, and the final task for her will be to understand why it all mattered so much.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532078538

Collette Sommers

I am a native Southern Californian who has always loved to write. I love to share my poems and short stories with friends and family. My university studies included a major in psychology and a minor in Spanish. It was my minor that influenced my travel to Mexico, but I’m sure my major helped me to understand my experiences there! Having enjoyed extensive travels in the many states of Mexico over the years, I have become a perpetual student of its culture. I enjoy telling people about the real Mexico that I have come to know.

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Copyright © 2019 Collette Sommers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-7854-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-7853-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019911052

iUniverse rev. date: 10/07/2019

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Author’s Note

A Tribute to My Parents

Chapter 1 Seeds of Wanderlust

Chapter 2 Planting of Seeds

Chapter 3 Costumes, Dancing and Flying

Chapter 4 Missions, Spanish and Mexico

Chapter 5 A Watershed Move

Chapter 6 My First Year of College

Chapter 7 The Butterfly Leaves the Jar

Chapter 8 Mexico Here I Come

Chapter 9 My Landlords

Chapter 10 I Meet My Roommates

Chapter 11 Maria’s Kitchen

Chapter 12 Settling In and Brushing Up

Chapter 13 Soccer and Chocolate

Chapter 14 Enchanting Cuernavaca and Xochimilco

Chapter 15 Girls’ Day Out

Chapter 16 The Hacienda

Chapter 17 A Little Bull

Chapter 18 Quaint San Miguel de Allende

Chapter 19 Classes and Strangers

Chapter 20 A Stranger No More

Chapter 21 Burglars and Mariachis

Chapter 22 Lagoons, New Compadres, and Boy Scouts

Chapter 23 Meeting La Familia

Chapter 24 Visiting Skeletons

Chapter 25 Las Posadas

Chapter 26 The End of an Amazing Semester

Chapter 27 Back in the USA

Chapter 28 A Special Visitor

Chapter 29 College Communications 101

Chapter 30 Good Counsel

Chapter 31 A Plan Comes Together

Chapter 32 The Announcement

Chapter 33 My Plan Takes Flight

Chapter 34 My New Home

Chapter 35 Marisa and Marisita

Chapter 36 Fiesta!

Chapter 37 Shopping, Rebozos, and Chicken Feet

Chapter 38 Street Vendors and the Tiánguis

Chapter 39 A Palatial Start

Chapter 40 Breakfast, Blessings, and Plans

Chapter 41 Vera Cruz

Chapter 42 The Messenger

Chapter 43 New Year’s Eve 2018

Chapter 44 Then and Now

Chapter 45 Favorite Recipes

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I could not have found a better group of women who would dedicate themselves to the sometimes tedious and always time-consuming task of assisting me as readers and editors of this book. None of these women had taken on a task like this before, yet they were eager to get started and carried me through to the end. Each of them has enhanced this book in substantive and unique ways. Each one of them has been a friend and/or family member to me over the years. I cherish them and offer them my deepest and most humble thanks. (They have allowed me to use their first names in this acknowledgment.)

Leandra understood the vision of the book early on. She is responsible for the addition of a much more intimate account of my relationships with my mother, father, and sister. She somehow knew that these relationships shaped my personality far more than I had realized. I am grateful to her for the increased depth of character I reveal in this book. Her eyes were like lasers, finding little things that mattered hugely. Her Hispanic background made her so valuable to me, as she noticed spelling and grammatical things, like how to spell rebozo and some sentence-structure problems I had overlooked as well.

Kerry, a writer herself and an amateur stand-up comedian to boot, knew so much about my story, as she is a co-worker as well as a friend. Working a full-time job yet being a faithful reader and great giver of important feedback, she has given great encouragement to me as I battled to finish my story.

Irina has been my cheerleader over many years, urging me to keep working on my book and volunteering to read it several years ago, when I hadn’t even arrived at the stage of self-editing. I provided her with less than a quarter of the chapters and then left her waiting until just months ago. At that point, I was able to form a readers group and was fortunate that Irina happily agreed to be a member. She was very candid in her review of my book, and pointed out various discrepancies and grammatical issues that I needed to resolve. My favorite edit she graced me with was making me aware that a kilo is equal to 2.2 pounds, not 3!

Marge, another co-worker and friend, is also an avid reader. She told me often that my book was an important one. She even told me that in the future she would love to go to Mexico with me to see all that she envisioned in the book. This fact brings me incredible satisfaction, knowing that I have brought something new to her world that she otherwise might not have experienced.

Elizabeth has faithfully exhibited a kindred spirit and has offered many encouraging comments. She has, from the start, been very enthused with the idea and importance of the book. She has been soul food for me.

Liz has graced our meetings with a very clear, objective look at various elements of the storyline and structure of the book (it must run in the family). She also has a Hispanic background, so she offered several corrections to my Spanish words as well. She so quietly and gracefully phrased her keen suggestions and corrections that I effortlessly absorbed them and wrote them down.

Alicia is quiet, yet one of the most enthusiastic readers I’ve encountered. She has consistently made me feel so (virtually) important when she’s told me she can’t wait to read the next chapters. This is what a writer craves—someone who is hungry for her work. Her husband even got into the act and gave me sage advice, both culturally and factually. I thank him as well as Alicia for being a reader.

INTRODUCTION

I was an opportunistic American teenage girl growing up in Southern California in the 1960s. A proud member of the rebellious hippie love-in generation, I availed myself of every opportunity that attracted me—inviting friends over for pool parties, driving a choice of cool cars my father had, surfing, getting involved in cheerleading and student government, speaking out and going to rallies against the Vietnam War, dating and dancing all night to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones at various venues. But there was an experience ahead of me that I could not have imagined. Eager to learn about the world, I started my journey away from home at a foreign university, where a whole new world would open up to me.

Without fear of the unknown, I bought a ticket to Mexico City, where I lived and studied and discovered much more than I’d ever dreamed possible about the Mexican culture. My heart and mind would be stretched beyond the borders of my birth country, and the final task for me would be to understand why it all mattered so much.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The characters and events in his book are factual. I knew each person well and am still in touch with most of them. I have protected their anonymity, however, by using fictitious names throughout the book (except for the readers mentioned above). After all, this is my story about people who changed my view of the world—my involvement with them and my observations of them. Every human has a different perspective of the events in their lives. I chose to make this memoir emphatically mine by writing from my point of view yet recognizing that others I’ve written about could have perceived things differently. I respect that.

A TRIBUTE TO MY PARENTS

I am indebted to my parents for their adventurous spirits. They taught me to reach out and grab life. I credit them for the adventures I have had in my life, some of which are recorded in this book. Whether every adventure was advantageous or not, I grew from each and became more enriched, understanding and empowered. Thank you, Mom and Dad, I know you’re watching from above!

1

SEEDS OF WANDERLUST

As job-desperate teenagers in 1943, both of my parents came to Southern California, though not together. They had not yet met. Their hometowns in Oklahoma held no promise of decent jobs, and they were eager to make their own life.

They each had relatives and friends who had already escaped the poverty of rural Oklahoma and moved to California. My father stayed with a cousin; my mother with a friend of her family. Each situated themselves in a little suburb of Los Angeles called South Gate, living just a few miles from each other. Within a month, my father was hired by an oil refinery, and my mother began working at a steel manufacturing plant. Slowly, they began to make their own ways.

Their new lives were in stark contrast to their pasts. My father’s family had eked out a living on a dirt farm all of his life. He was young, dark, and handsome and had a tremendous drive to better his life. My mother was raised in a little town by a single mom, whose economic resources were very limited. Abandoned by her father when she was nine years old, my mother had to go to work in a boarding house after school, making beds and washing dishes. Her two brothers earned money doing odd jobs. All three of them supplemented their mother’s inadequate income as best they could.

Within a few months of living in California, my parents were introduced to each other by my mother’s friend, who knew my father’s cousin. They fell in love and were married six months later, eloping to Las Vegas. They scraped together just enough money to put a down payment on a little house they had found in a nearby town called Lynwood. I still have a precious photograph of them lying on the sand in Long Beach, side by side, propped up on their elbows, smiling for the camera. They seemed so carefree and happy. Little did they know that just one year later, my father would receive his draft notice from the US Army. World War II was well underway, and he would ultimately be shipped to London, then flown to Cherbourg, then be obligated to march (or board army vehicles when he got lucky) through Normandy, parts of Belgium, a vast swath of Germany, and then to Paris, which was almost destroyed but was a secured city when he arrived.

When he returned home from the war, my father and thousands of other fortunate veterans would begin their young adult lives as major contributors to the economic boom of Southern California. My sister, Lynn, was born in late 1945. Two years later, I was born (a curly-haired, chubby little girl). I realize now how mechanically talented my father was, as I look back at photographs of the amazing remodel and addition he built onto that previously humble little house. He even built a playhouse for my sister and me that was a perfect duplication of our house—doorbell, siding, front door, and all.

Dad noticed that wherever Lynn went, I toddled along. So he solidified our relationship by welding a fabricated seat onto the back of my sister’s tall tricycle. Lynn would put me in the back, hop on, and pedal me around the yard and out onto the sidewalk, taking us on adventures around the neighborhood. By the time I was three, we played more around the house, as I didn’t want to be in the back seat anymore. Sometimes we were deeply involved in making mud pies and decorating them with various flowers and plants we’d found around the yard. We ran through the sprinklers on hot days, inviting the neighborhood kids over, and then Lynn took me with her to their houses (with my mother’s permission).

2

PLANTING OF SEEDS

When I turned five, my mother had a birthday party for me. She invited the neighborhood kids and I was so excited as they arrived. This was my first big birthday party, I felt so amazed that everyone came to celebrate just me!

Among the gifts I received, I remember being most enchanted by the little butterfly net that my best friend gave me. When the last tail had been pinned on the donkey, and the last of my guests had left, I ran into our house to retrieve the net from the gifts my mother had carefully placed on my bed. I couldn’t wait to explore our backyard and hoped I would capture my very first specimen.

I felt a sense of adventure and independence as I hid behind the tall bushes that bordered our fence, waiting for my opportunity. In a matter of minutes, I spotted an orange-and-black butterfly, flitting around the very bush I was hiding behind. I crouched down and moved around the bush, just below where it was resting. Net in hand, poised for adventure, I slowly reached up and whisked the net over the beautiful creature. I had it!

As it tried to fly away, it only went deeper into the net, giving me the chance to pull the net toward me and block the opening with my hand. I will never forget the deep sense of wonder I felt as I stared at its delicate body. Suddenly, the idea came to me that the God I learned about in Sunday school had brought this creature to me to tell me that I too would explore His big world one day. I carefully slipped one hand into the net and touched its fragile, fancy wings. I noticed the fairy dust that clung to my fingers. I knew it had come through a heavenly window.

After what seemed like an hour of repetitive inspections, I decided that my captive was too beautiful to be imprisoned. It deserved its freedom. I unlatched my protective grip over the net and allowed the butterfly to escape. It flitted up, up, up with gossamer strides, flying so powerfully yet elegantly into the sky until it left my sight. How I yearned to go with it and travel the world from on high.

That night, I was awakened by my own screaming: Mommy! Mommy! My mother ran to my side. I was flying with that butterfly! I exclaimed. She patted my head, gently indulging me. I felt so ecstatic, but my mother’s attempt to calm me overcame me. I’m going to find my dream again … I mumbled as I fell back into a deep sleep.

Many times afterward, as my mother kissed me good night, she would ask if I was going to find my butterfly dream again. Her sweet encouragement coaxed me into welcoming sleep, since it became my precious opportunity to fly with the butterflies.

Late the next summer, I found a chrysalis hanging from a small branch on a bush in our neighbor’s yard. The neighbor saw me gazing at it and asked if I would like to have it. She carefully cut off the little branch with a pair of gardening clippers and gently handed it to me with instructions. Now, have your mother put it in a glass jar and poke holes in the lid because in a few days, a butterfly will come out of that little bed that it’s sleeping in, and it will need to breathe.

I carried it home, walking slowly so that nothing could happen to it. My mother greeted me as I came inside and cheerfully followed our neighbor’s instructions. (How many millions of parents have done the same thing for their children all over the world?) My mother suggested that we take it to school the next day, so that I could share my discovery with my classmates.

The next morning, the teacher welcomed my treasure, and during sharing time, I stood before the class, showing them the little butterfly bed that I had found. The teacher explained the process of metamorphosis to the class in a very simplistic way, saying that a caterpillar had changed into the little bed, called a cocoon, and that inside the little bed a butterfly was growing that would soon come out. I agreed to keep the jar in the classroom until the weekend so that the class could see it if it emerged.

After our lunch hour on Friday, when we returned to our classroom, one of my classmates yelled, The butterfly is coming out! Look! The whole class gathered around the teacher’s desk, captivated by the process that was taking place before our eyes. A leg, then two legs, then a wet wing, then two wet wings, then its feelers. Finally, every leg and wing had freed itself of that little bed, and its new form unfolded slowly as it flexed its wings and began to dry. It was a beautiful orange with black designs on its wings.

I was so proud of my contribution to the class and so excited to bring it home to my parents and playmates that day. My eyes didn’t leave it, but on Sunday afternoon, my mother coaxed me to release it. She said it needed to go discover the world. With my best friend at my side, I reluctantly opened the lid. As I held the jar sideways, the cautious butterfly crawled across the jar, finding its way to the opening. Ever so slowly, it started fanning its beautiful wings. Just then, off it went, flitting up and gradually over our fence. Goodbye, sweet butterfly, I called after it. It circled back for a few moments, as if it had decided to come back. But its wings pumped and pumped, and it flew over our other neighbor’s fence and then higher and further, until it was out of sight. I was sad yet envious of its freedom to fly over the world, wherever it chose. I was fascinated to think that one form of life could change into another form of life. How dazzling, the mystery of what went on inside that tiny shelter.

The seeds of wanderlust had been planted in me when I witnessed the birth and ultimate escape of that first captive butterfly. Little did I know that experience would become my personal metaphor.

3

COSTUMES, DANCING AND FLYING

My mother and father were very talented. Mother expressed her art through sewing. She made matching dresses, pants and tops for Lynn and me. She dressed us in our fancy matching dresses for special occasions, like Christmas and Easter, until we were ten and twelve. We were often referred to as twins, since even our play clothes matched!

We were so blessed to have a mother who involved us in a variety of activities. She took us to dance lessons when I was five and Lynn was seven. She made us incredible costumes for the performances that came along over the three years that we danced. One of the costumes involved meticulously tailored Victorian dresses, with the peplums and collars and outrageous hats that were popular from the 1830s until the turn of the twentieth century. Our dance studio was to perform on stage at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles for the then-governor of California, Goodwin Knight. Lynn and I would dance to the song You Wore a Tulip, and I Wore a Big Red Rose. We both loved the hubbub and the gratification of dancing in front of an audience. Looking back, I am certain that my self-confidence grew exponentially during those years. I do have to thank my sister, however, because she was much more talented than I and so patient with her younger sister, practicing and practicing till we had our dance synchronized to perfection.

In 1955, when I turned eight, my father bought a new home for our family about fifteen miles southeast of our home in Lynwood. My sister was ten, and I was eight. The town was given a Spanish name—La Mirada.

Within a year of living in La Mirada, our mother went to work as a bookkeeper for a friend of our father’s. Lynn and I became latchkey kids overnight. We walked together to school each morning, but I walked with some of my classmates after school, as I got out an hour earlier than she did. I started enjoying the independence of visiting neighborhood friends from my class after school. Sometimes I would rush home, eat cookies and milk, put on my play clothes and go out looking for whoever was home. Lynn, on the other hand, wasn’t enjoying herself nearly as much. She would come home and find me gone and didn’t know what to do with herself. Many years later, she divulged that when I became independent from her, she went into a long-lasting depression. She didn’t really have any classmate friends in our neighborhood, so she was lonely and had lost her full-time relationship with her sister. It is extremely sad for me to look back, knowing this now.

Lynn and I also noticed a change in our parents’ relationship. They didn’t communicate much, unless it was necessary, and a heavy tension hung over the house. Lynn and I became the entertainers when we were all home together, whether eating dinner or finding things to do in the living room to break the silence. We managed to have lots of fun playing our records, dancing, singing, and, of course, watching Disney shows on television. It also was a treat to watch shows like Lawrence Welk, Red Skelton, and numerous others I don’t remember now, but I relished all of us being home together. Even if our parents didn’t talk to each other, they did talk to us. I was enchanted when the opening of Walt Disney’s show started, as my sister and I sang along to When You Wish upon a Star. There were no cell phones to distract us!

Our parents were very adventurous and socially active people. They now had two girls who were old enough to go with them on various excursions, or they could leave us with trusted friends. My dad was the first to get his pilot’s license; my mother followed. They joined a flying club in Seal Beach near an old munitions compound owned by the US Navy. On weekends, all of us would drive to the little airport, and Lynn and I would go on air races with them to various western states. We got to visit a large number of historical monuments and enjoy some amazing views of mountains, the Grand Canyon, and beautiful lakes across the country. I’ll never forget one trip to Las Vegas to see the Blue Angels perform an air show. It was thrilling to watch them crisscrossing the sky, swooping down so low to the ground and then straight up into the clouds. It was thrilling. Afterward, we got to take a photo with all of them. I kept that picture in my room for several years.

Bowling became the rage in the 1950s, and our parents (like a multitude of others) started bowling in at least two different leagues. They became very accomplished bowlers, evidenced by the number of trophies that lined our living room shelves. Lynn and I started bowling too, in a youth league. We were so proud of our own personal bowling shoes and bags, and our balls had our names carved on them. Our parents were generous people, and as I look back, we were what many would call spoiled. The difference was that we didn’t take anything for granted. We were always stunned when they gifted us with things, and we respected their love for us.

4

MISSIONS, SPANISH AND MEXICO

School was always interesting to me. I loved learning; I was inquisitive. My father said that I didn’t talk till I was three, and then I never stopped asking questions! One particularly interesting subject for me was the Spanish influence I noticed almost everywhere we traveled in