The end of blog neglect

This is the frame of the Jeep that was taken from the site and is now a monument in a park outside the house where the Mirabel sisters were born.

Dede Mirabel and I in her house in Salcedo, DR.  On the wall are photos of the three sisters.  I did not get the memo about which camera to look at...

Worry not Mother!  So far I have successfully avoided both cholera and hurricane danger!

Things are chugging along here in Santiago de los Caballeros. Nothing incredibly notable occurred last week, except that November is mint-chocolate month at Yogenfruz, my favorite frozen yogurt joint. I had an unprecedented amount of homework, that, for the most part, is out of the way now.  I’m feeling rather relieved because I turned in the rough draft of the literature review of my independent study project, AKA 27 pages in Spanish of research that barely scratches the surface of the issues surrounding sexuality and sexual education in the DR. I have been wondering what my family, particularly the housekeeper, must think considering the number of “How to say no” and “Consequences of teenage pregnancy” pamphlets I have casually lying around my room.

Last week, a friend invited me to a class party at the house of one of her Dominican classmates.  It was a potluck that yielded an eclectic collection of Dominican and American food, with highlights of Sancocho, a traditional Dominican stew and everyone’s grandma’s favorite--Ambrosia salad.  I had a great time, and it was definitely the first class party I’ve been to where someone was specifically put on rum duty and the professor was cutting a rug on the dance floor. 

For most meals in my family, there is a definite status quo.  Lunch, which is the big meal of the day always involves the standard rice and beans dish, with some vegetables (pureed or boiled) and iceberg lettuce salad.  Things get a little crazy sometimes with some avocado or tostones, but for the most part, that’s what’s to be expected.  Dinner is generally yucca or mangú (with onions, cheese, and a fried egg on a good day).  This leaves breakfast as the wild card.  There are some classic options: mangú again for the true aficionado, pancakes, oatmeal, cereal (all cereal, regardless of brand or flavor is called cornflakes) or eggs. But recently, I’ve been starting my day off with the beloved breakfast sandwich.  To clarify, I say “breakfast sandwich” solely because it is eaten at breakfast time, not because it incorporates any breakfast food whatsoever. There is nothing quite like starting the day with a steaming sandwich of toasted bread, a Kraft single, ketchup and a healthy dollop of mayo.  Buen provecho.

This has been a very food-centric post, so I’m going to try to divert directions here to give the impression that I do more than continuously gorge myself. 

Yesterday, I went to Salcedo to visit the Mirabel Sister Museum and the house where they were born, which is where Doña Déde, the only surviving sister still lives.  The house and gardens were beautiful and all the plants must have been attracting butterflies (quite fitting because the nickname for the Maribel sisters was “The Butterflies”) because there were various species flying around. 

Despite being 86  years old, she received us  on the patio and talked with us for about half an hour before letting us walk around the house and take photos with her.  She was full of energy and very engaged in the conversation we were having.  She even continues to run an organic cocoa farm from her house.  Although she was very hospitable and open to conversation and questions, I think we were all a little uncertain about what topics were appropriate to ask about, so we covered everything from the night she found out Trujillo had been assassinated to how the Canadian side of Niagara Falls is much better than the American side.

The actual museum, which is located in the house where the sisters spent the last 10 months of their lives is located 3 Km down the road and was strategically built right off of a major highway so they would be less likely to be secretly murdered.  In the garden of this house is the burial site of Minerva, Patria, Maria Teresa, and Minerva’s husband who was also assassinated for his revolutionary behaviors. The museum is small, basically just the living room, the women’s bedrooms, and the kitchen, but it is full of the possessions of the sisters-clothes, wedding photos, watercolor paintings, Minerva’s law school dissertation, rosaries, Maria Teresa’s braid that Déde cut off after her death, and more.  There was one exhibit with the items found with the bodies of the sisters at the “crash site” that was a little unnerving.  It had the sister’s handbags, little notes, personal touches, and a single shoe of Maria Teresa’s. 
Well on that note, my break is officially over so back to using internet time wisely...