Dios, tú me cuidas muy bien

"Dios, tú me cuidas muy bien!" is something Sister Miriam is always saying: "God, you take such good care of me!" As the cloudy, clammy, chilly, depressing winter descends over Lima, and I feel like my projects for the year are sputtering and falling flat, I'm trying to be better at recognizing that this is in fact true.

On Thursday I was feeling bottled up and useless because one after another, my things I was supposedly doing didn't happen. By the time I went with the parish ladies to visit the sick at 3:30, I was totally in a funk and easily irritated by the sweet, irritating old lady who always whines at me and hangs on me (figuratively but sometimes literally too). (and she accuses me of abandoning them when I've expressed no such intention. Sometimes in the past I have had to leave early, so now every time I put my guitar back in its case without an obvious reason, she says, Aaayyyy, the señorita's going to leave us again! I'm sure she has to go early today!-- I'm like, lady, could you at least wait until I'm actually abandoning you to complain about it?!)

But this Thursday was different because all six of us went together to one house to offer some cleaning services. The old grandmother who lives in this house, Genoveva, can walk or sit in a wheelchair but she spends most of her time in her bed, which doesn't have a real mattress, just a long foamy cushion thing where the mattress should be. Her house has a front room, a back room, and behind the back room a huge yard, littered with old junky stuff just sitting around, where a dog and three cats and possibly more animals live, and where their only water faucet sprays water into a big washtub. The two rooms are very dark because the walls are concrete and there are no windows; and they were insanely messy. Stuff all over every old, dirty piece of furniture there is, dirty dishes crusting in the same pile with clothes, the stove-oven unit looking like it hadn't been used in years because of the crust all over the top. Genoveva has a daughter and a grandson that live with her, but the daughter, Cristina, says that she gets depressed and has no energy and feels like she can't do anything. Considering the state of her house, this did not surprise me. I'd be depressed if I lived there.

So we went over all six together and asked if we could do some cleaning. They said yes. And the parish ladies went to work. It was obvious they were in their element. At least one of them never finished elementary school, but when it comes to cooking or cleaning a house or washing clothes by hand, they have a lifetime's worth of knowledge and experience. They grabbed brooms, mops, got water from outside, disinfectant from somewhere, soap from the store next door, and I stood there awkwardly trying to figure out how to help until Luisa, the lady who hangs on me and accuses me of leaving, said, Señorita Katalina, you do the music! I was like, OK!! Somebody helped Genoveva into her chair and sat her there facing me, and we proceeded to rock out every church song I know for the next hour and a half.

Genoveva can't speak very clearly--I never understand her, and almost no one else does either, she just sounds like she's saying Mwaa-mwa-mwaaa! Mwa-mwaaa!--but she always sings and claps along to the music, which is darling enough to break your heart. She has this thin, four-foot wooden pole that she keeps at her side, and when the dog comes in from the yard, she pokes at the dog with the pole to shoo it outside, feebly yelling, We-aah! (fuera, "out.") Cristina, to give us more light to work by, took this pole and pushed aside one of the cardboards in the center of the roof. I was like, well... that works. Most of the roof is tin but the center has this sunroof capacity.

When they finished, I went into the song, Resucitó, "He is Risen," because it truly was a miracle to me how these women transformed the house. It still wasn't exactly an appealing place to live, but at least it wasn't so dirty and messy any more. The grandson came in from school, a slightly chubby kid with a bright smile, and was so thrilled that he went to work right alongside the women, but then forgot to clean in favor of showing me lyrics of songs he knows. At the end Estela produced rolls and coffee for everyone from somewhere--even more of a miracle!--and the kid called me "amiga" when we left!! I was so touched. And I hadn't even done anything except sing--left all the hard labor to the women at least twice my age!--but I was doing what I do well, just like they were, and the music really transformed everyone's spirits and made it fun instead of oppressive.

So that afternoon was really a special gift, for me as well as for them. Hopefully now Cristina will be able to maintain some cleanliness, now that the massive overhaul that was too much for one person is done.


Then yesterday (Friday) I went to the school in the morning to tutor Liliana in reading. Trudging up the dirt road under that oppressive cloudy sky that just makes you want to go back to sleep, I got there by 8:30 and went upstairs to their classroom--and it was closed and locked, nobody home. This has happened to me often enough with various classes that I just sighed, rolled my eyes, and said, I guess Sara hasn't come in today. Typical. I guess I'll go home and be useless again. But going back down the stairs, I heard these wild, animal-like shrieks and whoops from the corner of the courtyard where the cafeteria room is, and said, Hmm... that might be them! And it was. The boys came running toward me across the courtyard and said, Señorita Katalina! Close your eyes! Overcoming my wariness, I let them lead me into the cafeteria... and they'd made a birthday party for me!! Sara made papa a la huancaína and the kids brought soda and chicha. Then we danced to the radio while half the kids disappeared out the door to run around the school. Sara doesn't have a lot of control over the class, but she knows how to make you feel special. :)

Later in the afternoon I went to sing with Iris's youth group from the school. I always teach them the songs I learn from my friends in the parish, and they like to sing when they give mini-retreats for the younger kids in school. I loved it, and I realized how much I really miss singing with groups and leading music, since my choirs have been so out of wack lately at the school. Anyway it was a good break from the house, hanging out with teenagers for a while instead of with the sisters who (with all my love and respect) are all at least old enough to be my mother. (except Miriam.)

Then I had a WONDERFUL meeting with the 5th grade teachers and Gaby, and at least in theory, we are now all on the same page; I'm giving the kids grades and they are sending them to me rather than making me go get them. I'm hoping it really works.

And in the evening, Magda straightened out my energy with energy medicine. While she did her energy-flow-corrections, I lay with my eyes closed thinking about the things that stress me: non-functional work in the school, people ringing the doorbell, communication problems in our house, my friends in the parish acting cliquey in a way I haven't seen since high school. At the end Magda said, All your energy flow points were blocked, except one: the central one just below your ribs and deep inside, the one that represents your connection with God. That one was flowing just fine. This surprised me, and yet did not. I'm often very, very frustrated here, and yet I do feel I'm where I'm supposed to be for now.