Happy Birthday!?!

On Christmas Day I repeatedly sounded like an idiot because I kept greeting people with "Happy Birthday!" instead of "Merry Christmas!" It might have been funny had any of the people I greeted been named Jesus, as many males are here, but they were not.

In the morning, Susan and I walked back to my site, a process which took a little over an hour. Even early on, the day was already warm and sunny. Nearing my town I had a very Peace Corps moment when a women from my town stopped me to ask me if I knew who a stray sheep belonged to. She finally figured it out herself and sent me on my way with instructions to notify the owner. She also attempted to send me off with bottles of fresh chicha.

All around my community and probably in most other Peruvian communities, Christmas Day was dedicated to drinking. Passing by one house Susan and I were invited in for a copita (a little cup.) While the liquor we were served was poured from a wine bottle, I recognized immediately that it was not wine. With the first signs of a burning sensation in my throat I realized it was cañazo, or sugar cane alcohol. Before Susan poured her cup I warned her that, indeed, it was not wine but apparently that did not prepare her for cañazo, which she had not previously tasted. It evidently shocked her to the point of inducing a vomiting sensation.

Once Susan left, I paid a visit to my friend Sole and her family. At her house the drinking had begun at 8:00 PM the previous evening and was still going strong. Regardless, it was really pleasant to spend some time with them because they always treat me with respect and generosity. Also, it never fails to be entertaining. As always, the ancient grandfather began to cry when he started talking to me about his deceased wife. One by one or sometimes two at a time, the drunk uncles staggered from their seats to talk to me at an abnormally close range. One uncle decided to initiate an exhuberant round of cheers for Obama. Talk of Obama provoked a discussion of President Bush's plane (Air Force One.) They were absolutely convinced that the interior is covered in solid gold. They were also completely amazed by the salaries of the Air Force One Staff, purportedly $1,000 a month. I didn't tell them that a yearly salary of $12,000 would place someone below the poverty line.

-------

My family in the States called me in the afteroon to wish me a Merry Chrismas, which I expected. What I did not expect was to have my first realization that returning to the States may be a difficult adjustment for me. Except for a couple of packages and a heart-shaped jewelry box, for the second year in a row, I have not received any presents. And honestly, until both my Mom and my sister mentioned that they felt badly about not being able to give me any presents, I had never given the topic a second thought. I asked my sister, a very non-materialistic person for a United Statsian, what she got and quickly remembered just how integral presents are to Christmas in the U.S.

At this point I thought, "Yeah, not good. I'm going to get back to the States right before Christmas, probably a matter of days, and then I'm going to be bombarded with stuff. Definitely not good."

I'm quite positive I'll adjust to life back in the U.S. with relative ease, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to deal with all of the stuff. Unneccessary stuff. Stuff to sit around and stuff to take up excess space. Stuff which on some level proves a futile point, that we have enough money to buy it.