As Amelia spoke, the only word I translated readily was octopus, pulpo.  That was easy enough to understand, but why were we discussing octopus in the first place?   There was nothing in the day’s activities at the orphanage that could be related to such an odd topic.   I searched Amelia’s expression for clues, but found nothing in her brown eyes to help.  In fact, despite having a degree in Spanish, I could not grasp even the focus of our conversation.  It was only after Amelia continued to talk that I finally understood, or thought I understood.  She was inviting us back for a dinner of octopus.
 
Logically, the invitation made no sense.  In the two days my family had been in central Mexico I had not noticed a single sea food item on any restaurant menu.  Plus, Amelia was the caregiver at an under funded orphanage.  Just two weeks before, they did not have enough money to buy milk.  Now she wanted to serve octopus to the volunteer workers?  

Amelia then asked me to call her at eight that night.  Although I could not fathom the reason (she needed to know how much octopus to buy?), I quickly agreed.  It was an easy way to end a confusing conversation.  

I remembered my promise to call Amelia at seven forty-five as I walked back into town that evening with my nineteen year old daughter, Alex.  The house we had rented sat high on a hill and the trip up to it was steep and tiring.  I dreaded turning around to use the phone.  It would have been so easy to continue our descent to the plaza to buy the earrings we had spied earlier.  But I wanted the Mexicans to like me.  I had no choice.  As I turned back up hill, Alex protested with a single, deep sigh.    

The prospect of using the telephone intimidated me, probably because no one on the other end of the line spoke English.  I dialed the number and reached, Laura, Amelia’s young daughter who was single, pregnant and surly.  I explained that her mother had invited us over that night.  She ignored my comment and explained that the children at the orphanage would be attending a musical workshop during the next two days and that we were not needed until Thursday.  She never mentioned the word octopus or dinner.  Had I simply imagined the invitation?  
    
As I hung up the phone I tried to decide just how upset to get.  This trip to interior Mexico had been in the works for months and my husband, two college aged daughters and a twenty two year old niece had come to work in an orphanage for the week.  I had it all planned out.  The experience was supposed to make us nicer people.  We were going to bond as a family.  Now the poor people were screwing up our plans.

I reported the conversation back to the family.

“You mean the needy kids don’t need us?” my niece asked.   
   
Not only did they not need us, they were very much in demand.  The situation was a multi-cultural illustration of irony.  Three groups now vied for the boys’ time: the musicians who were to conduct the workshop, artists from San Francisco who wanted to help them paint a mural for their classroom and my family from Austin, Texas.  After a round of phone calls our orphanage liaison negotiated new plans.  We were now invited to help with the music workshop to be held at one of the town’s private schools...

Mary Tucker has recently transitioned from Mom and wife to Empty Nester. Don’t expect the transition to drag out, however!  With her 2 daughters off to school, Mary is re-directing her abundant creative energies to writing, real estate, and finding ways to make a difference. It’s never a dull moment around this enthusiastic, energetic 50-something!

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