Sara Ransom

From REVOLUTIONS to CROCODILES...

2011-12-12T10:42:00.007-07:00

Yes! Every year, these well-armed revolutionaries parade down our little village road. In the photo above, they are just passing the corner fence-post and fencing of our property along the right. What especially interests me is seeing the dress-styles of yore. . . . and all those guns and bullet-holding vests -- men and women alike. That must have been some fierce revolution against tyranny.

The parade is reaching the end of town -- well, in the photo below, they ARE at the end of town. The house in view, below, is our next-door neighbors' home -- we're that close to the edge of town ourselves.. Then begins the jungly land and coco / papaya groves.

Once at the end, they break formation and the boys begin gymnastic displays -- towers of boys on shoulders some three levels high; big leaps into the air, to be caught by two lines of boys holding hands as a long cradle; and the girls do swirling dances; and everyone sings patriotic songs. Then they process back again, presumably for a feast at the schoolgrounds.

Mygosh! This is how I dressed daily in the hippiedaze of yore:

And now? These kids dress in modern and stylish clothes, and paint their nails (while I run around in shorts and tops, and swimsuits). But oh, their parents remember the past -- it all changed in one generation and that generation is barely middle-aged, and they are happy to tell tales of how it was before vehicles and electric lights, those days when they carried torches to light their way through the jungles between the sparse houses. But they live in the present.

And this brings me to crocodiles (see earlier posts). Here is a crocodile's child, who swam out to the mouth of the river, got caught in the seine there, where he drowned....

...and became dinner for us all. Who knew (certainly not I) that crocodiles are white, tender meat, not stringy at all. They have a pleasant but slight taste of fish (their primary food), but the meat is not of itself gamey. Then of course, cook the meat in barbecue sauce, and you get smiles like these. The cook, Sara, is busy preparing fresh-squoze fruit drink for us in the background. Her husband, Guillermo, and youngest daughter Ariana -- well, their smiles tell all:

And the neighbors start coming by for a bowl as well.... This is their niece who lives just across the road, and those eyes just peering up over the table on the right -- that's her little brother. He wants some, too. And he shall have some.

Man, Am I Lucky, or What?

2011-12-01T17:54:00.004-07:00

Last post, I commented on how I have deduced, from observation, just how excruciatingly painful an attack from a stingray must be.

Today I was hit!

My friend and I were busy boogie-ing the big ones that crash close to shore, yeeee-haw and all that, bouncing and careening wildly amid the whitewater swirls. We were wearing sandals (yeah, as if that could help), and mindfully shuffling our feet every time we touched the sandy bottom... and we kept ourselves in one well-shuffled section of the ocean -- figuring we had thus cleared it of the stingrays.

Wrong.

I had just come off a big ride towards shore, and was turning back to go catch another one when I felt repeated and very hard jabs against the ball of my big toe joint. But no pain whatsoever!

Yeah! I am One Lucky Being.

Mind you, I was wearing only Chacos --- which are just a few straps wrapped around the foot, holding on the thick rubber sole. However, the ray happened to mount its attack and hit my foot EXACTLY on the strap that wraps itself just above my big toe joint!

I left that water grinning!

Now we are all plotting of a way to make over-the-ankle booties out of that thickness of strap material.....

Of Crocodiles & Soccer Games & Other Sundry Things

2011-11-24T14:08:00.002-07:00

CROCODILES

I have now EATEN crocodile. Pictures will be posted sometime in December. Crocodile is a white meat (who knew?). It is a light, pleasant meat. It does not taste like chicken. It tastes like a good fish (which means it is not rank, not chewy and stringy, but delicate and pleasant to eat). The Mexican barbacoa sauce was also excellent. I ate a section of the tail, which is considered a delicacy both here and in the southern US States (US$50/plate I hear). Robert is soaking the skull in some water in order to put it on display along with various other unusual skulls he is collecting. I will make more, oddly esoteric, comments when I post the photos of the crocodile shortly after it was taken from the sea. It was a young and beautiful creature.

SOCCER GAMES

I toyed with titling this one "traffic jams" because that is what was going on. Imagine if you will, us driving our rig from our humble abode in the village and then across the river at our customary low-water crossing (nothing resembling a bridge) -- and our rig being PASSED mid'stream by not one but two little golf-cart like things with a gringo couple in each---coming from OUR village-side of the river (say what?). Then, where the one-lane dusty track narrows with fences and thick jungly growth on one side and a cornfield (Guille's cornfield of slingshot-and-raccoon fame), we all were stopped in our tracks by several small trucks of villagers coming the other way.

A really-truly traffic jam!

That gave us time to chat with the gringos -- the who/what/why kind of thing. Turns out, they were returning from, ahem, a GIRL'S SOCCER MATCH in our village, out in the field on the far end of our village (far from us who live on the other far end). It was our village girls (we have a TEAM??!?) versus the girls from the village across the river.

I have never seen any of the girls in our village in soccer gear, nor kicking a ball around the dirt road that runs through this long village. Never heard of any practices, nor of any games.

That just MIGHT be a partial explanation why our girls lost 0 - 20.

OTHER SUNDRY THINGS:

THE HUNTER LAMENTS...for instance.

Here is this tidbit about the Great Slayer of Raccoons, Crocodiles and All. The other day, Guille (pronounced with a HARD "g" as in "good" -- GEE-yay) came to our porch from where he was slashing undergrowth. In his hand he held a very large pupa of a butterfly. He was gentle, and quietly lamented that he had not seen it in time. It cannot grow now, he said sadly, and then he lay it softly down among the flowers by our porch.

It was the pupa of one of those magnificent very large all-white butterflies that enchants us whenever one passes by. Alas, that us gringos refer to it as the Kleenex-butterfly but then it DOES look like a flying Kleenex.

But the point of this Sundry Thing, is how gentle, and sorry he was for destroying it.

Quietly, to myself, I also simply lament the systematic destruction of this overgrown weed-tree patch that is our backyard. It had been abandoned for 18 years when we bought it, and remained almost untouched since we moved here in 2004. But now, we are slowly cutting it back--almost by 1/3 at least by now -- and replanting it with very desirable trees. We thin out the weed trees, leaving just enough to shade the newly planted ones, so all is not clear-cut.

My quiet concern is that all this time, I have enjoyed the utter wildness of this untamed over/undergrowth.... so filled with chattering birds, home to so many fluttering butterflies, refuge of small animals cruising by.

What becomes of the wild flutterers, and the ground creepers? Said Omar to me, in response to this question, "Oh, they'll just go somewhere else." but extinct is where they go in the end.

Slowly but surely, as the village population grows and as tourism grows, all these patches are being cleared... Where will the Dios Mio bird flee to? That is my name for a very surprisingly large, remarkable woodpecker, that is also quite shy. Because of the now-extinct "Oh My God" woodpecker (Ivory-billed Woodpecker, destroyed by development in the southern US), I named this bird similarly. Where WILL it go?

ROOSTER TALK

I had this playful email conversation with a friend who lives in Panama (and previously Costa Rica) about what the roosters say! After all, we each live among them, and they are very present in our lives. So, among the many things I hear, one thing is an insistent "Happy BIRTHday!!" My friend mentioned that where he lives, among many things, is an insistent "Put the drink DOWN!!"

So I asked Guille if the locals heard words amid the rooster-squawks. Why yes, they do, he reported with a grin. "Levanta-te YA!!" (getyourselfUP!!) and "Estare-durMIda!" (I was SLEEPing!").

What do YOUR roosters say!

STINGRAYS

Oh never mind. Who wants to talk about four hours of really bad (excruciating?? I wouldn't know personally but it sure looks like it is excruciating) pain? Instead, let me end this whimsy with....

COUNTING FLOWERS

My delightful Victorian Era Grandfather Ransom (William R. Ransom, who was born in 1876, when Billy the Kid was still alive, and who remembers when Lizzie Borden took that axe and gave her mother 40 whacks, and 41 to her father ...ooh, but I digress) --anyway, THAT Grandfather delighted us all in many ways and among his numerous books, wrote his string and paper tricks into a book, but I digress again. He deserves his own full biography, such a wonderful character he, with his cape, and his cane, and his wonderful graying, pointy goatee.

In his 90s, when I last visited him, he would greet me at the breakfast table, gently make a few fist-poundings upon the table and exclaim a number -- such as "16" or "24" or the like.

He was reporting how many morning-glories were open upon his trellis that morning.

So now, here in our humble Mexico abode, we have large, beautiful jamaica plants just beside our porch stairs. Like morning glories, their newest flowers bloom with the morning sun and then fade away (later to become the fruit that we all make into delicious cool drinks).

In his honor, I go out and count how many blooms there are of a morning, and report.

27.

The Past Has Passed

2011-11-10T11:56:00.002-07:00

Somewhere in the vast pile of notebooks sitting somewhere in a room back in Durango, are the essays I wrote, whilst swinging in a hammock, describing our very first days of living in the Little Salty Place village here in Mexico...

One poignant entry, as I recall, simply listed all the services that literally come to you -- even as you swing tranquilly in your hammock. These are the traveling salesmen, walking the long dusty roads from the highway, each of which leads to little villages tucked away near some freshwater springs or rivers or beaches. Our little place, for example, is close to five miles in, with only one other village halfway between.

Without that list, what I can recall is that these wares include the likes of fresh baked bread, fresh-killed chickens and iguanas, eggs, home-made cheese rounds, woven mats for your floor, hammocks, silverware and dishware, clothes for all ages, furniture of all kinds and sizes, blankets, bolts of cloth....

One poignant story glows in my memory...

Here was a sweet little family of three -- young mom, young dad, and their son of about five. Together, they had been pushing their wheelbarrow of wares all this way from the highway. Piled precariously atop were handcarved and handwoven child-sized chairs -- little rocking chairs.... Something for which we had no use.

But ah, Robert had something for them!

With a flashing grin, he winked at the little boy and brought from our storeroom a child-sized bicycle! "Para ti," he said as he gently pushed the bike towards him.

As you can imagine, they could not believe what Robert was offering. They said they had no money to buy it. Robert replied that it is a gift, at no cost, to them. The wife looked at me, woman to woman, and whispered, "Is this a joke?"

But no, it was not a joke.

You can well imagine their beaming faces, and the bouncing gait of the little boy as he wheeled his bike around to a level place where he could mount it. Zooooom!!!!

For years, we had been bringing down bicycles of all sizes -- which Robert would spruce up and then give out to the various kids in the village and nearby. We no longer do that for a number of reasons, but the most telling reason is the border crossing. For reasons important to the border guards, we are now required to pay a rather hefty fee for bringing any such gifts into Mexico (clothes included.... we also used to bring several boxes of clothes for all ages).

Ah, but I digress.

The era of such traveling salesfolk trundling up the path to our porch.... has ended. Oh, occasionally a local villager will stop by with perhaps a round of cheese or a fresh-baked bread (from their home-made horno), but it is not the same.

An era has ended.

But you know what!!?? There's a new service I just noticed... as I lay in my hammock one morning, I saw it happen.

This is a big deal, folks. No more seeking out waste cans in town, wherein we surreptitiously cram small bags. We now have a weekly garbage pickup. Just set your trash bags out by the road, and this big old rumbling truck comes by and heaves it into the back. Every Tuesday, at about 9:30am. Gratis.

Living in the Stone Age...

2011-11-03T12:10:00.003-06:00

Yeah, well... we have gone and joined the Stone Age.

Last night, we each picked up a baseball sized stone to carry around in case we need to throw it at something. Guillermo is our inspiration.

We had just enjoyed a lovely sunset over on the ocean side of the river, followed by a cool surf video with our gringo friends. Now it was full on night. With just our one headlamp between us, and each of us armed with our big stone, we wended our way through the darkness... down the narrow jungly mud'road to the river (along which lurk numerous kinds of poisonous snakes and , well, you know), then we waded across the river still nearly knee-deep with a recognizable current, and then we were stepping gingerly alongside the river, next to the lagoon where dwells (ta-da) the crocodile (cocodrillo).

All the while, Robert scanned the surrounds with the one beam of light, looking for any reflection of yellow eyes. We were ready to pelt with our stones whatever threatened us. For how many millenia have vulnerable humans made this kind of journey, armed with only sticks and stones?

Not yesterday, but the day before yesterday, our reliable friend Guillermo had been back in his field patrolling for 'coons (mapache). You may recall previous entries where I describe the way he dispatched most of the wild animals he encountered -- with a well aimed stone. (NOTE--I have gone back and corrected my essay on his recent foray with the crocodile, because his stone did NOT miss the croc, but instead, hit it directly on top of the head, and the croc turned tail back into the swamp. Guille had, however, been aiming at the side of the head, which is more vulnerable to cracking open... Guille had barbacoa in mind).

But I digress. There was Guille on patrol just the other night, when he encountered an armadillo (armadillo in Spanish, of course). It took just one well-aimed stone...

....and so the very next day, which was just yesterday, we were all gathered around their table and dining on the creature. Do armadillos taste like chicken? No. This one tasted like delicious home'made spicy salsa, with fresh corn tortillas. What I did notice, is that the meat was well-cooked and not stringy or difficult to chew. (All this from a woman who would far prefer to remain vegetarian, but who recognizes that as an anthropologist/villager, it behooves me to cheerfully share the food they offer.)

Surf, you ask? Oh, that!!

Nothing for this boogie-boarder who has been in the sea only ONCE this entire time... too much basura (huge logs, small sticks, dirty crud) along the shore and floating in the water. For the surfers, however -- Robert has that same shit'eating grin on his face each time he returns from a session.

What is also sweet, is the regathering of the local clan of surfers from wherever we scatter to. And the stories and the adventures to share... There is this GREAT tale about a surfing competition where the surfers are actually dogs, down at Huntington Beach, CA.

And, since I have a rather lot of time on my hands, I now have a really cool found-driftwood piece that I turned into a really cool sculpture, carefully painted and mounted. I will post a photo upon our return to the States.

All is well here, tranquillo y amable, despite, ahem, the Troubles.

THE MACHETE OR THE HEAVY BAR?

2011-10-27T15:38:00.005-06:00

Good question.

That was the dilemma that Guillermo (same guy--what exciting times he faces, huh) faced recently, on yet another night across the river, en route home from guarding his field from the raccoons.

There, blocking his way, and stretched all the way across the road in front of him was a ginormous rattlesnake -- over 6 feet long, its head was not quite yet into the weeds across the road, its tail still obscured by the weeds on the other side of the road.

Guillermo had a machete in his right hand, and a long, heavy metal bar in his left hand. Which to use, which to use.... Well, which one would YOU use, and why?

I will end your suspense. He used the bar to crush its head, bringing it down with all his force. His rapid decision was based on, first, the striking distance of so large and muscular a rattler who knew well he was there. The bar is longer than the machete, so he need not stand so close. Secondly, a powerful swing from the bar is certain to crush the rattler's skull, and a machete may fail to cut through the thick skin of such a huge reptile.

Thirteen rattles on the tail, by the way.

He showed us its decapitated corpse, lying in the weeds alongside the road. His wife Sara was with us. I asked her why she didn't cook it up for dinner.... I know folks in the States sometimes do, for instance.

Her response was one word accompanied by a facial expression: "Guacala!" (Yuck!)

SO....... while I am still on the subject of Guillermo's practiced survival skills, let me just mention that a few years back, he also wrestled a crocodile to death, slitting its throat with his machete... while the whole village watched. THEN his wife DID cook it up, and served it to everyone. Barbecued crocodile is a specialty in these here parts. I guess I should be sorry I missed it.

Almost didn't, though. Just the other night... after his encounter with the rattler... Guillermo was coming home from the field and there, coming toward him from the shallows of the nearby swamp was (you guessed it) a crocodile. Not a big one as crocs go, but hey, some three feet long is far longer than I ever want to encounter.

What did he do? He picked up a big rock that just happened to be lying nearby and threw it full force at the croc's head. He hit it directly on top of its head, which is very thick. The croc immediately turned tail and hied itself back into the swamp. Guillermo lamented that he had been aiming for the side of the head, which is thinner -- hoping to crush the skull and thus provide the village with yet another barbecued croc.

This nearby river is back to being shallow enough that little kids play in it -- heck, there was a big in-water picnic there today with scads of kids, and a pick-up truck parked mid-river, from the tail'gate of which there were smiling moms serving plates of hot delicious home'made food for everyone.

All of this excitement around late-night river crossings has put a kind of kibosh on OUR plans to watch videos with our friends across the river. At least at night.

By the way, we gave Guillermo one of our fancy-dancy headlamps so he can always see ahead and around him without losing grip on any of his weapons.

AFTER THE DELUGE

2011-10-21T14:03:00.003-06:00

It began with a blinding flash of light directly overhead, followed immediately by a deafening crash of thunder... and then a few drops of rain which rapidly escalated into a blinding hard rainfall. I had been lazing in a hammock in the ramada, casually glancing at the porch to watch the kids deeply engaged in their many activities--from scrabble to jenga, to building blocks to drawing etc...

What happened next was a blur of kids, gathering up their playthings and returning them to their storage space.... and then racing as fast as possible back to their various homes. Since the water had begun to splash my hammock, I figured what the hey, I'll saunter up to the porch, then.

From there, I spied Guillermo (of the slingshot and raccoon tale) sauntering up through the downpour with not a care in the world, though he was indeed dripping wet. He said he had come to invite us to dinner. He casually sat down on the top stair of our porch and watched the deluge just beyond his feet.

We assumed he was waiting for the rain to subside, so we just hung out, too -- just watching the rain pour down. It turned out, he was waiting for us to come along with him. This rainstorm was just beginning.... So together, off we stepped from the porch and into the water that was racing down our dirt driveway to the road below....

....which had become a river, with tributaries pouring in between every building... and as we progressed, soaking wet, we came to the next descent in our little dirt river-road and saw that we were heading for the Colorado River. With braced legs we pushed our way through the wild rapids... about knee-deep.. and into Guillermo's fenced in yard.

We ate standing up as their wall-less dining area was soaking wet. Excellent food as usual, just as good as the raccoon the other night. Then, we went to the upper porch to sit and watch, as the river in the road was augmented with waterfalls from surrounding fenced-in yards.

I liked imagining myself in a miniature raft, Grand Canyon style, and thus scouted for a route through the huge rolling rapids... but as the rain continued to fall, and the river continued to rise, the rapids became impassable for my imaginary raft... There was no safe route through the huge rollers of my imagined Colorado run.

As the flow began to seep into Guille & Sara´s yard, a light went on in Guille's mind. With a big grin, he splashed over to his wheelbarrow which was piled with organic leaf and twig litter and rolled it over to the torrent in the street... and dumped it. He shrugged as it swirled away downstream...because it was headed to the very river and ocean that he would have hauled it to on another day.

Throughout all of this wonderful maelstrom, one neighbor, the flamboyantly gay man, did as he always does -- he turned up the volume of his music so that above the pounding of rain on metal rooves, we could hear pounding drum-beats and screaming guitars!! Such a circus.

When the rain subsided somewhat, Robert and I waded out to survey the changes.

What stunned us was to see that the river itself -- the one we had crossed at night after a smaller storm when we first arrived -- was now utterly impassable. It was HUGE. It was now so wide that it was four to five times its usual width. It buried the road that parallels the river, and lapped against the surrounding hillsides. It raced furiously toward the sea, brown and roaring. It had risen some four to five feet. My imaginary Colorado River that ran through the streets was child's play to this... the real thing.

We tried walking alongside it down to the where the river empties into the sea --to the place where we originally camped the very first time we ever came to this beach. We couldn't make it. Not that night.

And now? After the deluge? You would hardly know it happened. The river is a wide, clear creek again. Roads are passable. All is well.

A la cena / at dinner

2011-10-18T11:49:00.003-06:00

Smiles all around as we pile well-cooked chunks of meat-with-bone, steeped in a perfectly seasoned just-right-hot red sauce, onto our plates. Then we reach for the fresh-steaming blue corn tortillas from the nearby bowl. Our dear friend--also named Sara--keeps them coming straight from the wood-fire. The kids --teenagers now!!-- are also seated around the long wooden table. This is a cozy, easy-going gathering that we have been enjoying for these many years.

Now, her husband Guillermo commences to describe the events of the previous evening. This man of all trades -- this ocean-fisherman, farmer, builder, tool-fixer, gardener, father, mayor of the pueblo, born and raised right here and married to a village girl -- is also a skilled... well, here is his story:

His corn crop is just coming on to fully ripe, so he heads out to the field across the river (never mind the crocodile threat) with his two dogs -- at just around 10pm every night, to begin his continual circling of the field until just around 4am. If he hears a snap, or suspicious rustle of a cornstalk, he sics the dogs to the spot...

Barking loudly, the dogs race around and end up chasing the raccoons (oh, there are so very many these days) up into a nearby tree and hold them there...

...which is when Guillermo hauls out his sling-shot (with an outsized band) from his pocket, picks up a few good-sized stones, and then makes use of a skill he perfected as a kid growing up right here, doing the same thing. No wasted shots. Each pebble brings down a raccoon, and in that instant, the dogs are on it.

Within moments, the raccoons are dead. Son muertos, las mapaches.

Wow, sez I... and in my fractured Spanish, I comment that the dogs must have devoured those mapaches on the spot....

"No....." he says slowly. And with a flashing grin, he glances down at the bowl of fresh-cooked meat, and over at my plate.

Tales of Two Tails...

2011-10-14T13:19:00.002-06:00

....tails of hurricanes, that is.

We were just settling in to a cozy day on the porch with reading material and projects -- while outside it was raining hard and steady. We figured we had a day of this, so we would just relax. Along comes Guillermo, our dear friend and neighbor, drenched to the skin but grinning. His news however was that we were --in for it! On the tele --as they call TV-- he just learned that our village would be drenched for days from two separate hurricanes whose tails were due to lash our coast, one after the other.

We thanked him profusely, and leapt into action.

To do nothing would strand us in our casita with low supplies for long past the predicted extended drenching. The road from the highway to our village is a long, winding, hilly mud'bog in the rain. We would have to drive our car out immediately or be trapped. So we prepared to drive out.

First, we went to Zihua to store up supplies. Loaded up, we did not bother trying to get back to our little salty place. By now, that road could well be impassable for our humble vehicle.

Instead, we went along the highway to the NEXT village, because....

...the next village along the coast just so happens to have a paved road from the highway all the way down to our same beach... where we also just happen to have friends who will let us park there.

Our village and this other village are NOT connected by a paved road along the beach....In fact, there is a river between the two villages -- the very river that causes the point'break that makes the waves so fine -- and there is no bridge. Only in far lower water would our car be able to splash through the river.

So! by the time we got all that done, it was dark -- we had food supplies, and our car was on the paved-road side for the river. However, and more to the point, we were now on THAT side of the river ourselves, which we knew would now be a rushing torrent, swollen by rain coming down from the nearby mountains.

Hmmmm..... We would have to make our way through it, in the dark, balancing our supplies on our shoulders to get back to our humble casita.... It was, of course, still raining hard.

Mind you, we have waded rushing torrents before, so know some tricks to keep us ON our feet against the current, and we are familiar with this riverbed from years of crossing it... but this would be a higher flow than we have encountered, and.... it is dark....

...and this is a jungly area with crocodiles and poisonous snakes all of whom swim, as well as lurk.

Deep breath.

Shoreline... sure is higher than we had ever seen it. We both laughed, shook our heads, took a deep breath, banded ourselves together for extra strength against an unknown current, and headed in.

Obviously, we made it.

Furthermore, because of the storms and our slow-to-dry road, we are just keeping our car over there, and hauling stuff back and forth across the river on foot -- which thankfully is not so wild now.

We have yet to get in the sea.

The surf is wildly exciting and crashing everywhere, and the wind is powerful. So! We meet with friends for beer and guacamole at one brave restaurant that remains open -- and watch the sea foam skitter wildly across the flying sand.

It aint half bad.

¿Where Are the Snake People?

2011-10-11T15:54:00.002-06:00

For years, we would stop by their psuedo village along the highway -- ramshackle dwellings stretching into the distance, each cobbled together from found wood and whatever. We called them The Snake People, because one way they hoped to bring in tourists, and money, was to sell snakeskins. Each shack boasted a rack of dried skins waving in the wind. They also sold live birds and little mammals in home-made cages.

The people themselves were clad in outfits cobbled together from found cloth and whatever... if they had shoes, they were rarely the right size, and broken down, and covered in dust. The people would surround our car, pointing at a half'eaten sandwich by my feet, the waterbottle in my hand -- they wanted anything, everything. Each visit, we unloaded a box or two, or three, filled with yard'sale dresses, shirts, pants, baby clothes, kids clothes, shoes of all sizes... There was no fighting among them to get to the things in the boxes. Together, they would haul them off... to somewhere... presumably to divide up among the rest of their kin.

But now, there is no sign of them. The roadside is completely cleared of all trace. Where did they go?

Coincidentally --or not-- we had to quit bringing down these boxes of goods. The last time we did we were halted at the border, and told by the gentlemen wearing badges that we must pay an (exhorbitant) fee for these goods. Same goes for the bikes we used to haul down.

Meanwhile, there are "other" snake people blending in wherever.

And as for us? Life is so sweet in the village. Yesterday was stellar. The children who once were small brought their little siblings and relatives over, in order to introduce them to our storehouse of toys. They themselves have outgrown all but scrabble and large jigsaw puzzles...

Thus our toyroom, our porch, and our ramada were once again filled with laughter and hijinks as kids built, destroyed, and redesigned towering (to them) edifices of plastic blocks and wood blocks, and drove toy tractors, cars, and wild toy animals all in and about them.

The rain clattering on the roof and splashing all along the edges where they played -- they paid it no mind. And they did not leave til dark -- til their mamacitas called them in for cena.

Men at Work

2011-06-23T17:04:00.005-06:00

How can you NOT love Robert! I mean, just LOOK at his "ladder"! He had planned to do all the structural work for the roof by himself but....

...he realized that if he hired a crew of experienced hands, THEY could do it and he could go surfing.... which is what he did. (You can scroll down to the entry "Starting Little Fires" to get a glimpse at the completed roof, though the roof was not the point of that photo.)

Oh, and then for the less challenging work, well, how about a cup of coffee? What you're seeing IS true in the moment -- our dear friend Guillermo sips hot coffee (made by me) while his wife Sara slaves away stripping bark for what will become really cool arched corner bracing on our new structure. You'll see.... just tune in here next fall. (these two are parents of Ariana, Sandra, Memo, and Flori, btw). Doesn't look like Robert's inclined to work either. In truth, the men HAVE been working, and hard. They deserve the shade, the seat, and the sipping.

NOTE: I just discovered that you can double-click on any of these teeny photos and get a good quality enlargement -- should you want to.

Mothers' Love...

2011-06-23T16:53:00.005-06:00

Let's begin with little Dana (Dah'nah). Happy, confident, delightful child who waves at me even from a great distance, big grin on her face. Her initially tragic story is told in the entry "Honoring Edith" found in the Dec. 7, 2010 blog. She is the little sister of my beloved Luis, also found in even earlier blogs. Edith, Edith, your children are doing very well. You have graced our lives with them. Happy Mothers' Day.

Sweet friends of ours through all these years,

blossoming into young women...
dressed up to celebrate Mothers' Day

Mothers' Day at the elementary school in our little village,
and every kid had a song and dance routine to share...

It was of course, all too cute.

And here is just a sampling of the adoring mothers --
many more than appear here...

Childs' Play

2011-06-23T16:28:00.003-06:00

I'm a perpetual child when it comes to artwork... and a friend whose mandala work is stunning suggested I try using black paper for the background. So, experimenting with cheap crayons, pencils, and then with more expensive "crayons" and pencils... I came up with these....

BUT! A mere child of --gosh I think he's still only 4 (FOUR) -- did this with what was sold to me as a magnetic tic-tac-toe set. Some imagination. Catches my eye, there on our door:

Garden of Eden

2011-06-23T15:33:00.004-06:00

This is my favorite photo... mymymy, small miracles.

Can you see our guest among the ripening mangoes?
We're grateful for all comers.
We have four huge trees, all ripening and dropping mangoes at the same time...
hard to even give 'em away.

And this is my second most favorite photo.... The Enigma.
No-one planted it. No-one waters it. It just growed.
This is right next to our entry steps, up to the porch.

Ah! La Coneja / The Rabbit!
Ariana has come to LOVE our kitchen-sink fresh salads and races over to help prepare and share. Happy to oblige. It was SHE who first called US rabbits for eating fresh foods. Then -- at the tender age of 12, she tried something new -- and loved it.

Nice, huh?
Our ramada in repose. Come relax in a hammock with us. We have more. You can make out the mangoes in the distance --suspended green balls; but do you see the perfectly ripe papaya (bright orange) between the green posts, glowing between the two hammocks? Like all villagers, we have many little gardens, and keep all walking spaces cleared and swept. There be tiny venomous snakes and insects that can hide in weeds and grasses.

Starting Little Fires...

2011-06-23T14:16:00.005-06:00

This ain't Colorado --
Well aware of the horrific conflagrations in the Four Corners area, I wanted to contrast that situation with the one we have in our little pueblo in Mexico.
You can't hardly START a fire here.

SO! With the pix below, you can put your cursor on them, and drag them over into the blue space to the right and see the whole photo clearly.

Note my lighter is held to a small pile of dry leaves, surrounded by a carpet of dry leaves...
By the way, you can just make out the roof of our little home in the background.

Every day I kneel down amid the carpet of dry leaves and set just such a small blaze.
I'm actually burning TP beneath those leaves, as we have no toilet yet --
important to keep the environment clean of such trash, y'know.

My mischievous grin is precisely with this blog in mind -- how you cannotcannot do this in the Four Corners. And I'm about to turn my back on this, and walk away, not a care in mind...

....because I know full well that the fire will self-extinguish within moments.
Here it is, completely out, all on its own -- bone-dry leaves all around and a wind, too!

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!!
Here's a HUGER conflagration, set deliberately, just behind our living area....

....and all present could care less.
You can just make out the blaze beyond the walking man in white --Robert, who set it.
(NOTE: drag this photo to the right to see the finished roofwork mentioned in another entry)
All in all, this is quite a blessing.
Everyone here cooks their meals over open fires.

Surfin' Safari

2011-06-23T13:39:00.004-06:00

The surfer stands tall, checking the waves....

Yes, that would be Robert atop our ramada.

...and afoot through the jungly growth and across the river, he is greeted by whimsy.

Ah! He reaches the seashore -- that's Robert with the yellow/blue board.

He will join the parade of surfers heading toward the surf.

Ahhhh.....
(Alas, the pix I have of Robert surfing are in a format I cannot post here!)

Recycling Awareness

2011-06-23T12:33:00.004-06:00

Your garbage kills the life of the sea.

The beach is for everyone. Take care of it. Recycle.

Save the sea. Use less plastic. Recycle for the sake of Life.

Love your planet. Keep Saladita clean.

Recycling is Life.

"Check Twice -- Cut Once"

2011-06-06T16:49:00.003-06:00

Hmmmm...... "check twice/cut once." So if you check twice, you end up cutting ELEVEN times?

Maybe we´ve just been in our sweet pueblito too long. "Once" means "eleven" in Spanish, in case you don´t speak the language. But "eleven cuts" is rather annoyingly accurate...

What I refer to is this: we are feverishly trying to finish the roof over our new bathing/etc structure before we drive back north (pix of construction work are scattered in previous entries in this blog). However, it gets devilishly hot VERY early in the morning and only gets hotter with each day. I say "WE" but it is mostly "HE" -- namely Robert -- who is up there on a ladder, balancing on unsteady boards, measuring and handling a running saw, and wielding a hammer and nails. I remain below, in order to set out food (such as I have) and cold drinks..... and hover nearby to pick up anything important that might be dropped, or needed.

So yeah! In the heat, he has measured but not always managed an accurate second check -- and thus has made -- well, MAYBE as many as eleven wrong cuts if ALL were added up... but there have been far more accurate cuts, mind you. But with all that is left to do in order to get the roof finished so we can drive back north, it began to look like a late June takeoff for us.

So! MILAGRO (miracle) in the form of one very big oversight! making it all turn out all right.....

Momo sauntered up the driveway early this morning -- dear friend who always greets us with a big "Sayonara!" and the occasional "Konichiwa!" He sized up the situation quite accurately and said he had some friends nearby who are experts in putting up these kinds tile rooves (roofs?)... and went off to bring them by.

THEY sized up the situation VERY accurately.

The slope of our roof is not steep enough for water to pour down along the curved valleys of the tiles (teja) without leaking. They demonstrated with real tiles and real water. They were right.

On the ground below the structure, we have a beeeeg stack of clay tiles (red tejas) -- now useless to us. The young men gently recommended that we use galvanized roofing such as we have on all of our other structures.... (Incidentally, the slope on all of our other roofs is as gentle, so what did we know? We were just keeping a visual conformity, I guess.)

One kinda wishes they had come by before we had poured the tall cement posts at carefully measured heights... heights measured to create a gentle slope.

The Blessing is this: since we can´t use the tejas, and since Robert is thoroughly exhausted with the work he has already done from the ground up, and since this kind of work is what these guys DO, and since they are available and ask a reasonable fee -- we came to town today. We ordered a properly measured amount of galvanized roofing to be delivered to our place pronto.

Tomorrow, these guys will set to work, and Robert will unwind and go surfing in the continually great waves (what a season, I mean WHAT A SEASON! for boarders and boogiers alike).

All´s well that ends well.

SHOCK THE ANTHRO MAJOR (Part Two)

2011-05-23T18:07:00.002-06:00

So... this morning I was sitting in a humble, traditional Mexican-style beach restaurant, sand floor and no frills. Run by a dear friend from our village, Olympita, we often park our shoes, sunglasses and whatnot here before hitting the surf with our boards. This particular morning, however, I felt like hanging out a bit before boogie'ing the biggies (yeah! they were big yet again).

Anthropology major that am, I ordered a coffee and invited Olympita to join me and thus began the conversation about her childhood.... I´ve been on a run with this topic, talking to various of the elders on this topic (NOTE: I am actually older than most of the people I talk to about their childhood, but their descriptions of their childhood is very similar to that of my mother, born in 1909 in rural Missouri).... What they tell me, and the tone of voice they use, and the facial expressions of nostalgia... Fascinating stuff and it is so very too bad that I am not completely fluent in Spanish in order to capture and record this fleeting, nay, altogether vanished(!) lifestyle.

Over fresh-off-the-grill salted tortillas and hot coffee (Nescafe...mmmgood), she began speaking of how she learned to make tortillas.

She was raised in a big family of kids up in the mountains (she pointed behind her to where the mountains rise into the mist of morning). Her mama would hand her a ball of dough and teach her how to expand and flatten it into a nice round shape for tossing on the hot-plate.

"But!" she added, if she did not do it right, her mama would grab her hand and place her HAND directly on the hot-plate to teach her to pay attention. (Must not display overt shock or they will stop talking -- lesson from Anthro 101)

Aw, the hell those rules -- I was shocked! Thinking back to my childhood and recalling the only incident of (attempted) corporeal punishment on my person, I commented that I would have run away! That is, after all, how I responded to the one time my parents concertedly ambushed me with malice aforethought -- dad attempting to hold me down while mom attempted to wash out my mouth with a soapy washcloth (ooooh, I had said a bad word indeed...) NOBODY was gonna do that to ME! I went into high-gear strength and was slippier than any soap, man. I was out the door and GONE!

However, I did not describe that incident to Olympita. That is one of the handy aspects to having a strong language barrier. Just as well.

All that I said was, "I would have run away."

So! Shock the Anthro Major once again. She began shaking her head sideways and saying that you wouldn´t dare run away! What her parents did if you tried, was take your feet and burn the bottoms of them, so that you could NOT run away again for some time.... so that you would think about it long and hard before attempting it....

More customers arrived, the waves rose high and beckoned.... and thus this conversation was put on pause.

SHOCK the Anthro Major (Pt.1)

2011-05-18T10:39:00.004-06:00

(Warning: here follows a silly post, inspired by how uproariously, laughingly, I was shocked at what I saw as a complete cultural mismatch/mishmash of behaviors, a la Anthro 101 in college. BTW, I was an Anthro Major. Mexicans, I had been taught, certainly love to laugh and are very easy-going, but there is a level of dignity -- particularly w/r sexual references, and most particularly in public -- that must be observed. Hmmm.....)

Return to this post in June for photographs of what is described below!!

So, as happens every spring, I was invited to attend the show put on by the primary school children in celebration of their Mothers. Each year, the mommies dress up beautifully, and all the little kids (kindergarten up to around 5th grade) put on a series of playful skits in costumes and song. Then they serve their mommies really good food (cooked by the mommies beforehand, but nevermind). Very silly, very sweet.

This year, there was a different teacher/organizer. Instead of the bouncy, boisterous woman who drove in from Zihuatanejo (when she felt like it, and if not, there was no school that day) -- now there was a very nice young man (married)... who has yet to develop the skill of presenting playful skits and songs. Still, the little darlings were cute despite mumbling their lines with their backs to the audience, and walking offstage to be with mommy.... We were all charmed anyway.

The stage is just a paved playground, by the way. Mommies are seated in schoolroom chairs under the big shade trees nearby.

None of this was shocking... just not as much fun as before.

What got me laughing uproariously, were the activities set up for the mommies to participate in after the kids were done and the food was eaten. These activities were apparently selected by this nice young married man who is the new teacher, since he directed them.

Mind you, everything I describe below was presented in the presence of the sweet little K-5 kids...

Dancing. Which couple dances the best? One mommy poses as the guy for each couple, of course. There were no husbands present. Applause is the indicator for "best," and done in elimination format. So! What we had were mommies shimmying, and doing hip'thrusts, and breast-shakes.... the wilder, the better, and that is who won.

Lap-dancing. Say what? So now... one woman, posing as the guy, sits in a chair, front and center. The partner slithers all around...but I won´t bother writing graphic descriptions beyond that. Applause for the raunchiest determines the winner once again. Not all the women were shy and demure....

Ca-ca aiming. Say WHAT? Yeah. You read right. So, they line up a bunch of mommies with their backs to those of us balancing on school'desks in the shade. Then, they tie a string around the mommy´s waist, with a dangly thing down their back to which is tied a cylindrical stubby stick. Below that, on the ground, is a cup. Each mommy then squats ever so carefully, down and down, trying to get that stubby brown thing into the cup without tipping it over. There WAS a winner.

Loudest laugher. Had there been a prize for this, I would have won hands-down, I think. We were all laughing and pointing and having a great time, but I was also mega-surprised at the breaking of what I had assumed were strong cultural taboos. I know well that the women can be delightfully raunchy at a gathering for "gallinas only" (Robert was shooed away -- no "gallos" allowed). But this was right out there among their kids. So what was I laughing at? Myself!

A BRILLIANT OPPONENT

2011-05-06T13:20:00.003-06:00

While enjoying a cleansing hot/soapy shower on, hmmm -- was it September 11 maybe, and 2001 I believe was the year -- Robert handed the phone to me past the shower curtain. It was my sister. All she said was, "Turn on the television."

Keeping her on the line, I dripped my way down the hallway, into the living room, and turned on the TV. Standing there soaking-naked-wet, I watched in silence the repeating imagery of planes crashing into towers -- towers yet to crash to the ground.... I heard, as yet, no narrative.

"Oooooh," I said quietly. "we'd better start building more schools and hospitals around the world...." But I knew we wouldn't.

So did Osama binLaden. He knew we would explode into a fury of playground "hit back harder!" mentality. He knew we would fracture the fabric of our society, and stretch thin the financial and economic fabric of our nation. All he needed to do was make one stupendous, brilliantly engineered, visually stunning attack.... and then sit back and watch us fragment.

For that, I view him as a... what adjective can I use?.... worthy, true, formidable, challenging? ... nah. I'll stick with brilliant.... he was a brilliant opponent. And because of that, I am relieved to read that his body was treated respectfully, and given the proper religious rites of his faith, and that his body was relegated to the sea----that great equalizer that accepts all. And yes, I lit a stick of incense for his spirit... as I always light one for ourselves as well, we who are formidable opponents in our own way (I haven't seen much brilliance lately from our side).

And so NOW!!! Only today(!), in an English-language newspaper printed for us English-speakers in Mexico, do I read of the reaction that I asked for back then. Let me quote, with tears in my eyes:

"It's time to end the wars that have created more enemies than have been conquered. It's time to move forward... Bombs and guns aren't needed for that task. Teachers, doctors and engineers are the ones we need to enlist now. Democracy will come, sooner or later. One of the lessons I hope we have learned in recent months is that freedom can't be a genetically engineered crop.

"More than anything else, U.S foreigh policy must shift to reflect the best of what America has to offer. No longer can support for brutal dictators be justified in the name of so-called strategic interests at the expense of the democratic aspirations of people around the world. That murky euphemism for corporate profits and US goals must be redefined.

"Let the celebration that erupted on Sunday be a celebration for a new way of relating to each other...

"Let us celebrate our shared humanity, our shared global interest in the support of peace, justice, freedom, and the kind of prosperity that takes into account the consequences of nature itself, which is the foundation of all life on the planet we inhabit...."

(by Nafisa Haji of the Bloomsberg News; author of "The Sweetness of Tears" and "The Writing on My Forehead" -- article republished on Friday, May 6, 2011 in "The News" from Mexico: www.thenews.com.mx )

Bubbles Bursting in Air

2011-05-02T11:27:00.002-06:00

For my momentous 65th (see the essay just below this one, "Rights of Passage," for commentary on THAT thought), Robert offered a Repeat of a Most Wonderful, Romantic Day.

Last CENTURY (in the 19´s, that is to say: 1997) we celebrated our 5th Anniversary Together --right here in Zihuatanejo.... That was actually years before we discovered our present surfing beach, and even more years before we bought our little casita en el pueblito --the sweet home I call Eden, in a little village filled with people who describe themselves (accurately) as "tranquilo y amable" -- tranquil and friendly.

On that day, we had wandered all the colorful tourist shops, treated ourselves to pure-fruit popsicles (paleta), and dined at a beach restaurant, toes in the sand... a margarita for me, excellent fish dinner, a rose in a vase --- and furthermore, Robert engaged the wandering troubadors to personally serenade us together on our anniversary. "Malaguena" brought tears to our eyes...

"Let´s just relive that entire day," was his invitation.

Improvement: instead of paletas (paletas have degenerated into frozen artifically-flavored sugar water), we had Italian Gelatto with local exquisite fruits mixed in. Yummmmissimo.

That´s it.

The rest was, shall I write, a DIS-improvement.

Putting a positive spin on it: EVERYTHING that we looked forward to (now gone to flinders in Zihua, to put it mildly) can be found in diamond-style perfection in our village!!

For example, our closest village friends (Sara y Guille and their kids) are delightful, funny, laid'back family to us. Guille is a skillful fisherman with his hand'thrown net, and Sara is a cook extraordinaire. Thus, we are frequently invited to superbly prepared FRESH fish dinners with fresh-made hot blue-corn tortillas, salad and various sides, fresh-squoze fruit drinks.... and so on and so on!!!

So...contrast THAT to what I was served in Zihua -- soggy fish with glutinous onions globbing atop, and soggy salad leaves with bits of tomato, and one tiny slop of pureed bean "dip."

I didn´t dare bother with a margarita... Dos Equis did me fine.

As for the endearing craftspersons wandering table-to-table with their (mass-generated in China?) cute bobble-head animals, and stone (real stone or disguised?) necklaces and ear-rings etc... Well, we have plenty from years here, but still we bought a few more....

......only to be REALLY surprised by a cute, crisply dressed, nicely coiffed little girl who raced to my side and attempted to steal my coins as I counted them out! When I intercepted her thievery she PINCHED me and tried again. When I pushed the coins further from her grasp she pinched me all the more, and tried again, shoving her body against mine to reach further! In Spanish I told her that these things were not hers. Don´t touch. And I added, (not knowing the word for "pinch"), "Don´t HIT me!" She paid me no mind. Charming, to say the least. Great way to encourage sales from the gringos....

But the penultimate disappointment on this Would-be Romantic Night with my Husband-Lover was this.....

No wandering troubadors!!! No traditional quartet of musicians going from table to table, offering the old corridas with their banged-up, well-played instruments, singing in heartbreakingly beautiful and tight harmonies... No "Malaguena" for me on my birthday...

Instead, there was a nice, young man with his guitar and squawking loudspeaker equipment, seated on a platform. He sang modern songs. It was hard to simply talk to my love, and harder yet to hear the gentle whisper of water retreating, and then the crash of gentle waves upon the sand.

It was good to be back home again. We brought home really good ice cream (wrapped in a fleece sleeping bag...and that WORKED) and took it over to Sara y Guille´s house. All their kids gathered 'round, and we just laughed it up around their table in the front yard, with all of the village life going on all around us. Kids learning to ride bikes, boys chasing each other for whyever, babies playing in the dirt with little horses or whatever, moms leaning against a wall gossiping. Our friends live right in the very center of the pueblito. Where it´s AT!!!

The Rights of Passage:

2011-05-02T10:57:00.003-06:00

> 16
On my 16th birthday, I was right there at the front of the line to take my driver´s test. When the man handed me my license, my dad held my hand with the card in it, and said solemnly (to this effect): ¨Now, this license gives you all the rights and responsibilities of a full adult. Don´t go acting like a child with it. Do you understand?¨

So! That night, I filled the family car with as many friends as could fit, and I drove through the center of town!! I was showing off to them what were still 15, I s´pose.

But! What´s this? A cop car pulled up in the lane alongside me, and the cop was yelling something through his open window. I slowed down. He slowed down. I kept slowing down ever slower. He kept "pace." ("Man, am I ever in trouble," thinks I.) Finally, the cop took a flashlight and shone it directly into my eyes. Oh...yeah. Forgot to turn on my lights after dark.

> 21
On my 21st birthday -- this was that great, momentous day in which I became recognized as a really truly fully legal humdinger ADULT (meaning now I can legally drink and now I can legally vote!!!!) Proudly, I ordered a (just one, as I have never really cared for alcohol) "Sloe Gin Fizz." Sounded grown-up to me. When I bragged to a young man of greater age about that, he shook his head and muttered, ¨You might as well have ordered strawberry pop.¨ And thus did he pop my bubble. And as for voting... remember Gene? You know, McCarthy!

> 65
Yeah, well... um, this was that inevitable day -- the one whose rights include being relegated to the old fogie bin, BUT(!) also making me elegible for Medicare and "senior" privileges. So, uh, is this the end of being an "adult" ?? Now I am referred to as a "Senior"...

I do believe that I shall now revel in.... Senior Moments! Stay in the Present Moment, that is. Om Mani Padme Hum..... Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.... Jai HO!!!!

"Tortilla Western" -- THE SEQUEL!!

2011-04-20T12:44:00.002-06:00

Just when you thought it was finished, and you imagined the sun setting on the ocean in a triumphant display of colors over a radiant sea..... For those hardwired/devoted fans of my blithering entries, you will recall a previous entry in which I challenged you to come up with a screenplay for "Tortilla Western" --giving you a plot outline (and for the rest of you, scroll down to find it)... The Loner is back! Whodathunkit?

So far, no flak on the beach or in the waves --but you should see the movie trailer for "Tortilla Western/Part 2" -- the glimpse of what is in store. The trailer should include a redux of one scene which I did not delineate previously. At the time, I thought it did not really matter. Turns out it is rather pivotal.

It involves a fight in amongst the big waves (which indeed happened before the Big Showdown, of course). Starts out with lotsa surfers jockeying for big perfect waves, and the Loner is determined to steal them all, and does so successfully...

Enter the Good Guy who challenges his treachery by being a damned good surfer himself and taking the waves away from time to time... Then! Picture a surfboard shoved by the loner directly into the chin of a good guy... missing his throat (where it was aimed) but ripping his chin. The Good Guy had just flown in from surfing the 100-foot waves of Hawaii so, as you can imagine, he is stoked -- and now he's mad. Really mad. There ensues a fistfight in the wave --a very one-sided fistfight, that is. I can offer choreographic descriptions for the screenplay if you need it. Rather ferocious, but dangitall, satisfying if you get my gist....

Then, imagine the script taking us to a courtroom scene! The Loner is claiming injustice and wants reparation. Then imagine this: the ONE influential surfer (famous, big name) who did NOT see the fight from start to finish is called to testify. Oh the injustice of it! All he saw were the punches after the surfboard attack, and therefore he testified against the Good Guy. Major injustice, major upset....

Result: the Good Guy is banned from the beach, with a strict injunction to stay away from the Loner. Bummer (and massive miscarriage of justice). But the Good Guy shrugs and heads stateside to surf. Then.....who shows up Stateside? Who is actually stalking him? And how? and how!

But he makes no confrontation in the waves. Instead, the Loner goes to the U.S. police and demands that the Good Guy be arrested for stalking him.... says he is an Arab terrorist to boot, and made more claims I have forgotten (use your imagination, all you script-writers). The cops actually track the GG to his personal home and arrest him and throw him in jail!! On the word of the Loner.

That's the trailer folks... come on back if you want to see more of the movie... which has yet to unfold.

BONUS SECTION:
For the faithful among you who have read so far, here's another chapter in another potential screenplay. Remember the Drug Wars that you've been reading about, the scary stuff going on in Mexico, which is why many of you don't feel like, um, visiting us here? Here's grist for your mill:

Twas the night before last, and all through the village, barely a creature was stirring as the cool of night settled gently on a sundrenched land. We rocked gently in our hammocks, under our ramada roof, intoxicated by our night-blooming jasmine filling the air. The waves had been grand both for Robert in the big stuff, and me in the boogie'waves....really grand and wild for me. Visions of sleep drifted through our reveries...

But all was interrupted by big motors and lights --stopping just at the foot of our hill, by our driveway.

What to our wondering eyes did appear but two truckloads of Federales in their black-hooded gear! With beeeg rifles in arm. They were piling out and walking into courtyards, and standing outside other homes, just looking in... As we peered around from the side of our hammocks, a small floodlight was waved onto our faces. Gringos. No problem.

And apparently there was no problem anywhere else either. After a short visit, they all piled back into their trucks, laboriously worked at turning around in our one-lane dirt road, and drove off, down into the river'way and over to the main beach.

We were mildly concerned... the younger brother of our next-door neighbor had been involved in the wars and turned up dead awhile back. But the Federales didn't go to that house...

The following morning, our favorite village friends came beaming over as they often do --bearing ripe fruit and big smiles. We served them our fresh-ground coffee and oatmeal with fixin's -- and as we all settled in to watch the hummingbirds on the new papaya sprouts (from the trunk of the veryvery tall papaya that was cut down last fall) --we casually inquired about the Visitation of the past night.

Absolutely NO concern on their part: Oh, they're just doing their rounds. It's normal... With a wave of a hand and a bright smile, they dismissed it all... and we settled back into enjoying the birdcalls all around, commenting now and again on various fruiting trees and their care... Kids started dropping by to take out our toys and absorb themselves in imaginative play...

Just another day in paradiso a la mexicana.

¡¡YA BASTA!!

2011-04-13T11:57:00.004-06:00

No, that heading does not mean what you might be thinking it means. It simply means "Enough already!"

But first:
Mind you, all is well in our little pueblo --so much we are loving our friends and "almost"family here. And the neighboring kids are dropping by to check out what new playthings I brought down this time--and bringing along their very shy, new, little brothers/sisters to meet the gringos -- and to learn that we are not ogres despite our pale appearance. All is so sweet...

Our four huge mango trees are sporting WALLS of mangos like ever growing, huge-already, beads, ripening in the sun, soon to be ready for the picking. Papayas, guavas, too. The grapes and various other fruits are slower. And ah, the flowers abound on the ground and all through the tree branches--think bougainevillea (bugambilia in Spanish) and see red, white, and mauve.

Waves WERE huge (as in 15'footers!!) and we WOULD have been here for them --which brings me to the title of this silly little essay: "¡YA BASTA!"

We had to leave one day late (thanks to pollen allergies which disabled me, til Louise of the Naturopathic Wisdom came to the rescue)....

Then half'way through our drive, in our most non-favorite town, we came to a stuttering halt.

Monclova! Pretty place, with sights and all to offer -- but seemingly crawling with corrupt cops. All of us gringos know this place. You commit NO infraction, but get pulled over anyway and charged with some bogus traffic violation, and a HUGE fine. No receipt, of course. Just "Hand over the money, Gringo!"

We fell for it once, knowing we were being royally fleeced. The guy told us we were technically a TRUCK because we had some bikes lashed to the back of our station wagon. And as a truck, we failed to STOP at a railroad crossing, and flash our lights. That will be $200 US, please. Robert argued, got it down to 100 outrageous dollars and off we went, enraged.

Discussing this with other equally robbed gringos, we learned the trick. Future stops through town (on inventive infractions indeed) were utterly defused by Robert. The ace-in-the-hole is to insist that we all go traipsing over to the central police station and deal with the infraction THERE. At this point, the cop always dematerializes into the traffic, without our cash, and we drive on.

THIS time ---hohoho!! Robert somehow reallytruly DID run right through a red light -- not once but two times!! The first time he did it, there was a cop car right beside us who.....was oblivious to our sin. We drove through and out of town, home-free...

...until Robert noticed that the car had heated up to almost evaporation in a puff of black smoke.
>>We hobbled back to town ever so carefully, and ended up spending the next two days working on finding and repairing the cause for over'heating.... Robert under the hood forever it seemed. When he would declare the car fixed, we´d head out of town and -- just at the top of the hill outside of town--the gauge would be back in the red--and back we´d go into town.

Don´t you know, we were BOUND to get stopped at SOME point by a robber-cop, yes? But of course. And on what (truly, in the moment) bogus charge? For running a red light! No kidding. We had NOT run a red light, not that time... and maybe we should have paid the fine simply for past unseen crimes...

...but not for the humongous sum he demanded, and especially, without giving us a piece of paper in exchange.

So...Robert pulled out the same ace-in-the-hole surefire ticket-expunger ("Take me to your leader.") -- and furthermore lectured the guy on how the cops are well known for this trick -- all highwaymen/robbers and etc etc etc... he told the cop they were all just seeking to fund their private fiestas with their friends, etcetcetc... That worked. ¡¡YA BASTA!!

After those two days stuck in Monclova, we drove up that long hill out of town successfully, and on to our digs by the sea...
...only to hear about the huge swell we had just missed. Had we left on Monday as planned, we would have arrived on Wednesday and been in the....thick?.... of it. As it is, the taper'down ain´t bad, though. We wear ourselves out every afternoon (after working on cleaning up and setting up house), have cervezas y algo a comer at the restaurant at the far end of the beach, and then stroll home in the dark (with little headlamps, mom) through the coco groves and across the little river -- the one where there are no more crocodiles (see previous posts for that story).

See you later, alligators.

The Oops! Sculptures...

2011-03-24T16:19:00.010-06:00

On the first warm day since onset of winter (March 1, 2011, it was), I got back into my habit of creating "Oops Sculptures" -- so-called because I buy whatever paint colors are available at paint stores (those cheap ones where the tint was misdone -- oops!), and then look around for something to paint. Of those I've created over the years, none but this most recent one remains… nor will this one last. Such is their fate.

NOTE: Gone. Only lasted a month. As soon as we left town, the same "over-zealous man with a wheelbarrow" who destroyed "Vishnu/Lakshmi" and "White Bird..." took exception to this Oops Sculpture, too -- had it hauled off as part of spring cleanup, I suppose. Just empty ground when we returned from our journey. Not a word spoken. Not to worry. I have plenty more paint and plenty of downed trees. Robert offered to find a really interesting piece and set it up vertically in the yard, for greater visibility. Offer accepted.

What I loved was seeing a troop of neighboring kids make a little expedition to this suddenly-appearing colorful whatsit. That's why I do this! Such playfulness with simple, accessible objects can open up creative energies in others....

Now... since they are all gone, here is the elegy to former Oops Sculptures:

Farewell to "White Bird in a Golden Cage" -- inspired by a vivid dream, I painted long, curved branches gold, and set them in a circle (anchored by a tire hub) to form a cage. Inside was a stick, painted white, which rose from the center and took an abrupt 90-degree bend as though forming a perch. Destroyed by over-zealous games of catch between humans and dogs.

Farewell to "Universe in a Rabbit Hutch" -- I painted the abandoned 3-cage rabbit hutch a deep red on the outside, and a deep purple inside. Within those three cages were (1) The Sun; (2) The Moon; and (3) The Stars. Each of these was represented by found objects from around the yard (a hubcap, and various other shiny objects). A friend asked for it, so she could raise rabbits. There it sits in her yard, with its fallen sun, moon and stars -- and nary a rabbit.

Farewell to "Vishnu/Lakshmi" -- Now this one! I have a photo of this one. Any modern person familiar with the Hindu pantheon and symbols would see what once was, with the staff of Vishnu, the crown and feminine bow of Lakshmi, the offering bowls at their feet… Destroyed for "being in the way" by an over-zealous man with a wheelbarrow. I really loved this one...

On the Dirty Devil...

2011-02-08T17:41:00.004-07:00

This is a crayon drawing based on a photo--

That's me, dragging my boat along the shallow water of the Dirty Devil River in Utah... I've just about reached a portion of the river that will float my boat, in all senses of that phrase. These sections of the river that had sufficient flow were, unfortunately, somewhat rare..

In fact, we took to saying that the water was "a foot deep" -- meaning that it was JUST enough water to reach up to your ankles--precisely one human's foot deep.

Today, on this cold snowy day in February, I got to remembering this cold snowy outing on the Dirty Devil... We were told that the temperature would hover the 80s at the coolest, so I brought shorts and t-shirts and sandals. To the surprise of us all, it snowed with a horrific headwind for almost ALL of our multi-day camping adventure..... I learned on that trip that I am a trooper! I would shake the snow off of my sandals in the morning, and get out there and brave it again.

Did we love the trip? Hell, yeah! Spectacular red-rock beauty abounding, including wild hikes through Robber's Roost (google that), wildlife, camaraderie.... all in exquisite wilderness.

(Note: JUST as I was tearing this drawing out of the book--the dang thing ripped in half.... you can see the tear. Part of the charm... I guess.)

WINTER FOLLIES OF WINTER FOOLS

2011-01-15T12:44:00.002-07:00

That's me on skis, Robert on snowboard.
Yeeeeee-ha!

From weird sounds in the night, dear Lord, deliver us...

2011-01-07T10:09:00.007-07:00

Was it 3am? I woke suddenly to what sounded to me like death screams, or at least very badly wounded screams. "Robert! What's going on out there?"

Our house is at the bottom of a wild hill, the terminus of a long ridge that leads directly into the wilderness. We are in the curve of a mountain stream. Thus, our hill is the trail down to water: deer, elk, bears, coyotes, mountain lions, raccoons, all kinds of wildlife (birds fly in of course) traipse through.

And SOMETHING was having trouble in its traipse. I was up and out of bed and at the window in a flash -- seeing nothing of course. It was nighttime, after all.

"Probably a raccoon," he said sleepily, and rolled over.

He was right, but I had to see it for myself -- visions of a grievously injured creature needing help? What did I think I would be able to do for it, anyway? (Here I insert the welded-in memory of childhood, when I arose in my nightie and raced outside to comb our neighborhood, seeking my cat whose cries had awakened me... do we ever change?)

This time, it being full-on winter, I pulled on my long undies, sweater, fleece pants, right over my silk pajamas, then tugged on my snowboots, coat, hat, mittens -- grabbed a headlamp AND a large-beam flashlight and headed out.

The cries were so distressing, so regular, so high-pitched. I slipped and fell on all fours repeatedly as I clambered up the steep hillside in deep snow. The cries were very close by.

Just there, on the other side of a patch of weed trees! A humongously huge furry thing -- and yes! the tell-tale-banded-tail of a raccoon -- was hunched over something furry. The screams continued.

A short time later, the furry thing underneath was flipped over onto its back, revealing -- yes! the tell-tale-banded-tail of a raccoon! A much smaller one. And the screams continued... despite two bright beams of light focused directly on them. Their backs were facing me, if that made any difference.

I watched in fascination -- until the screaming stopped a moment and the humongous aggressor seemed as if it just might be turning to check me out. I did NOT scream, but I was slip-sliding back down the slope as fast as I could....what HAD I been thinking to venture out so vulnerably? My mind was racing with visions of razor-sharp teeth in my calf from one humongous furry thing....

But that did not happen.

Once I was safely back inside, the screams began anew -- but from farther away, up the hill somewhere.... Robert, who grew up right here, and has been attuned to the natural world all his life, mumbled something about it being a dominance fight. The big guy, all fluffed out for winter warmth (and not ALL as big as he looked), was just letting the intruder know who owns this turf. As an afterthought, he mumbled, "That coon wouldn't chase you. He wasn't cornered." Then he was snoring again.

Robert can do that. He can respond to any interruption in his sleep in perfectly coherent, and correct comments, and be back asleep in seconds. I lay awake for some long time... taking it all in.

The next morning (THIS morning), I showed Robert the site of the fight. No blood, just ruffled snow. He marveled at how close to the fight I had been standing. "Well," he said with a laugh, "you had a front-row seat -- to something that was hair-raising." And off he went to shave and begin the morning.

Come! Celebrate Life with Light, Laughter, Song...and an Enigma

2010-12-14T10:10:00.008-07:00

Amid winter's thrall: a fire in the hearth, lights glittering within, reflecting back, and paradoxical yellow flowers to remind us of spring!

And here -- a closeup of just one facet of this improbable radiant jewel of wintertime.... but:

The Enigma! ...for the "woo-woos" among you: Click on the first photo and look more carefully at the reflections in the windows. Yes, in the window on the right, the flight of birds can be explained: a mere reflection of a metal sculpture hanging on another wall. But who is that man with longish-hair in a light-colored gown--just THERE!--between the tree's top and the star in the other window? WE don't know.... but we like it.

Honoring Edith

2010-12-07T13:50:00.005-07:00

It is with great sorrow in my heart, tears in my eyes, that I post this photo. Here is Edith, and her beloved son Gustavo (renamed Luis by others). I took this photo in the happy times... when she would drop by our porch every day. Together we watched Gustavo graduate to crawling and toddling -- a mischievously delightful child, dearly loved and watched over by his mommy. Edith was so proud of him, and so proud to BE a mommy, and she took a job in the village doing laundry to support him....

I do not know why she left the village. I presume she wanted to do even better by him -- to earn more money and provide him with a better home than the one she shared next-door to us, with her brother and her grandfather.

I do not know, really, what happened -- though I suspect her birth-father across the road from us knows, along with his wife. It's hard to write this. Did she fall under the spell of drugs and alcohol, the fear of poverty, the prospect of a better life, the tyranny of a lover? The lover, by whom she was pregnant again, DID say he would not raise that boy-of-another-man. Edith was pregnant by this lover, and so she gave up her beloved Gustavo, back to our village -- back to her grandfather (little Gustavo's great-grandfather). He was renamed Luis.

Luis was initially horrifically traumatized -- yet he and I resumed our daily joyfulness together -- though now, he would not speak. Nevertheless, daily he came to me, and in pantomime, asked me to play my dulcimer, and then he would roll up in a blanket and lie silently for long stretches of time. He loved my toys, especially the truck that honked....

And then he was gone. But it was GOOD! He'd been adopted in Zihuatanejo by relatives of his who longed for a son. They have two daughters. The mother runs a daycare preschool, the father apparently has a plant nursery. They love little Luis. He loves them. When he visits the village now, he is a normal, active, mischievous, talkative, creative young lad. He remembers me. Posted earlier in this blog is a drawing he gave me (as well as a photo of him drawing it) -- a smiling golden heart. I had always called him "Corazon del oro." He was listening.

One day, Luis was visiting, and so was Edith with her little toddler daughter. Luis showed no indication whatsoever that Edith had ever been his mother... but he was happy and very busy playing. Edith, on the other hand, was utterly changed. No longer the joking, happy, and loving woman -- dear friend -- that we had known. She said not a word when we sat down beside her. She seemed dull and lifeless. Her daughter played nearby, dressed prettily in red velvet. Edith sat with us a short while and then silently got up and walked out of our lives forever....

Not long afterwards, we got word that she had been brutally murdered -- by a gang of men, probably from the bar where she served drinks. It was late at night and she was walking home when they assaulted her. All we know, all I know (I have not asked for details beyond those given me), is that her body was found, naked, slashed brutally about torso and face -- floating in the river.

Her sweet daughter -- there is a happy ending for her too. The father is apparently out of the picture -- but she has been adopted by her blood-grandfather who lives across the road from us and he and his wife have two small kids close to her age. She is completely bonded to them, now -- to a loving and close family. She is happy here. She even loves ME! Walking alone (at age what, 3?) down the village street, she just might catch a glimpse of me in my ramada up the hill -- and she will sing out a happy greeting with a wave to me. I pass by her house -- again, she calls out with a big smile and a wave. She is at ease visiting my playroom... And from time to time, Luis and family drop by as well.

I would love to hug Edith, to tell her that her children are happy and well -- and that she has wonderful children, and that I loved her very much, and that I know her heart was that of a deeply loving mother, and a playful happy soul.

Photos to Augment Previous Entries

2010-12-07T12:14:00.005-07:00

This is the most frustrating exercise in futility -- simply trying to add photos to previous blogs. Now I have opted to put them ALL on, but even now, I cannot control in what order they appear, nor have I the patience to upload them ALL at once.

So, gentle reader, enjoy the scroll through rather randomly added photos... Not all that I tagged for uploading even showed up!

To begin with -- the above photo is me, inadvertently dressed to match our house!

And above is the finished bowl -- one of a number of Robert's woodworking projects of beauty.
While here is modernity in Mexico -- listening to Hamza Al Din's "Waterwheel" in a hammock.

A glimpse of this year's (2010) Halloween crowd, in our ramada. Annual tradition, this.
...and a heart-stopping warning! My first day this visit, merely wending my way down to the river, I encountered this cheerful message
"CAUTION! CROCODILES IN THE WATER".
I proceeded watchfully down to the river-crossing only to find mothers calmly bathing their children, not a care in the world. The story is in this blog somewhere.

But here we have two of three intended photos of Robert working on a wooden bowl. The photo of the finished bowl is above this. His work is beautiful, and as you can see from even these two photos -- a great deal of work. Not pictured: seeking out and transporting the logs from which these bowls are revealed within.... no mean feat, believe me.

For instance, one afternoon Robert disappeared with the car to get a log he'd been eyeing along the highway and came home in the deep dark of night. Guille and Sara shared my concern (accident? arrest? ambush?) as the hours ticked by. He arrived grinning, with his prize tree trunk practically tipping the car's nose in the air!

No photo album is complete without at least one beautiful sunset over the sea. Here's one now!

Meanwhile....

The above photo depicts Sunday Tiritas! Every Sunday, Guillermo and Sara, and their three at-home kids (Memo, Sandra, Ariana) come over bringing the feast with them. Guille catches the fish and prepares them with lime juice, and they arrive with fruit drinks and utensils. A great tradition.

Below, you see one of the many beautiful flowers that delight us daily. This one grows IN the stream itself. I have no name for it, but beautiful:

And in keeping of "every man 'neath his vine and fig tree" -- here is Robert holding just-plucked figs from our fig tree, and crouched beside our blossoming jamaica bushes (hibiscus, to you).
And here, another taste of how sweet it is. Village kids love to drop by, even that young some of them are brave enough to come alone: and pick out their favorite toys and play with them in our ramada. Here they play with Noah's Ark.

TORTILLA WESTERN

2010-11-10T13:44:00.003-07:00

Okay. Here's a challenge for you. I'll give a rough outline of what is rather a typical script for a western-genre movie/tv show. See if you can translate all that action onto a beach along the great western coast of Mexico--a kind of Tortilla Western. See if you can combine both the world of surfers and of local Mexicans, and the flavor of the wild wild west. Email me your script and we can go from there!

So! Along the lines of, say, both Bonanza and Gunsmoke -- borrowing aspects from both, here goes:

A stranger blows into town. Hangs back to get a sense of the power structure, the social structure, the weak spots. He aims to make the place his. Ah! the most popular bar in town is run by the most popular/well-known Miss Kitty, a single woman. Great start.

He makes his moves on her, successfully, and thus he moves into the scene at that bar, and sets himself up as the Little Emperor. He picks out the locals among the clientele and systematically alienates them. He figures that they take up room, they are in his way. Get rid of them! Meanwhile he works on courting the passing-through travelers from the stagecoach run. They are the ones with money, of course. And he can charm them out of it! and then they're gone.

On the side, he starts -- oh I don't know -- continuing the alienation of the locals, maybe with the aim of controlling them or getting them to move on... Say, he does this by making a horse lame here and there, rustling a few cattle -- while doing his best not to be seen doing it!

His fatal flaw is his rage. Flies off the handle and seeks violent revenge if and when one of the locals challenges him. Beats up a few in surprise attacks when they are alone (but not always successfully...). He even threatens other business people -- especially other bar-owners -- claiming they are stealing his business.

A feud springs up between this loner and one of the longtime locals --some kind of power struggle-- and the Loner goes after him one night, but his would-be victim hears of it and is thus prepared. There is a stand-off. It seems to blow over, but of course it's just brewing....

This could go on ad nauseum, of course, but in the end --it just HAS to end in the classic western visual... You see, make that longtime local mentioned above to be one of a set of brothers, in a really tight family (Cartwright/Bonanza style). Threaten one, you've threatened them all. Hell, you could even throw in a little twist of lime and say that Miss Kitty is their sister. You could add that it was out of deference to her that they allowed this to go on so long.

One night, after this most recent and potentially violent confrontation, the brothers ALL come over to pay the Loner a little visit, together. Usually they do not brandish arms, but maybe there is one pistol showing. Use your imagination here -- the setting sun behind them as they walk up to the Loner's digs --big silhouettes, individually distinct. What would be the dialogue?

Whatever was said, these brothers oversee the Loner as he packs a suitcase, and they escort him to the edge of town with a clear understanding that he will NEVER return.

I guess you could tie it up with a scene of people happy and at ease once again, going about their errands and play...

End of story, yeah?

So! To switch it to the surfer/Mexico flavor /Tortilla Western -- this loner could blow onto a surf-beach scene, make the same assessments of where the power lies, and take the same actions including making the moves on a beach restaurant woman; maybe he could damage surfboards instead of horses of people who piss him off (specifically the gringo surfers who have made this beach their special regular beach). Maybe he could engage in a concerted and blatant act of stealing every wave in a set: get ahead of the first guy in line, take the wave and then abandon it just a short bit later, too late for anyone else to catch it -- and swing back to the NEXT wave and get ahead of THAT guy and steal/abandon it...onandon.

I could suggest a few other ideas, too, if you'd like... Court cases, testimonies, just more Interest.

Oh! Make the Cartwright-style brothers all local fishermen! In Mexico, ocean fishermen are strong, brawny, no-nonsense, direct men. Keep them as truly blood brothers -- family! That's a Big Deal here. You could have that setting sun scene be over the ocean when they walk up from their boats to finally END the Rule of the Would-be Emperor. I know the visual well, as I am often at the beach at sunset when these boats come in. It is truly a beautiful sight of strength and energy and beauty... A number of the fishermen are friends from our village, as well as..... well, it just so happens that there IS a set of brothers on this beach, and it just so happens that their sister DOES run a cantina on the beach, and... and...

PRECAUCION!! COCODRILOS EN EL AGUA!!

2010-11-10T11:24:00.002-07:00

Yeah! That sign greeted us the first day we walked "the back way" wading through the river and wending through the jungly fields to reach the ocean. Daunting thought that: "Be careful! Crocodiles in the water!" (I'll post pix when I'm back Stateside.)

But people were still bathing in the river, washing clothes while their little kids ran all around, so... ´what gives? We learned that there was a big mama croc and her 7, or 8, maybe 10 (depending on who is telling you) little ones. She was holed up in the freshwater pond alongside the river, not IN the river.

"Don't worry," folks said. "She'll stay in the pond." They are actually feeding her, to keep her there -- fattening her for a future pueblo-wide barbecue! We've heard of these barbecues... Guille himself told us how he waded into the water to wage a death-battle with a (purposely) fishing-net-ensnarled crocodile. The croc was rolling and rolling and enraged as he approached and encircled it by the neck -- and with an expertly placed hack of his machete, he dispensed with it.

Still, when returning from a great ocean day and tranquilly spectacular sunset -- as we did almost every evening -- yeah, still we would shine our little headlamp all over the river and along the banks, and the little trail beside the holding pond. We were looking and hoping NOT to see any glittering yellow eyes reflecting back at us. Never have yet.

But we've seen HER now. She is big. Looking like a dark log some distance below the murky water.... that is, until her nose slowly emerges for an exchange of air and then quietly slips back into the water without a ripple.

As for her kids... well, that is why we were walking around the pond that day. We heard that one of her kids was dead and Robert grabbed his machete. We found it -- by the smell of course. And Robert hacked off it's toothy head with a mighty machete stroke. In time, the skin will fall away and the skull will join the various others in our collection.

Clearly, we have lost our fear of the croc... not our caution, but we're not really daunted by them.

Speaking of mighty machete strokes... and of Guille. I wish I had a video of Guille's mighty slash and catch from this very morning! Upon his advice, we agreed to let him take down the 16-foot tall male papaya tree in front of our porch -- the one mentioned in previous blogs as being our "television." Male papayas put out endless quantities of flowers -- which attract a circus of flying creatures most notably hummingbirds. We would sip our coffee and enjoy the show. But after awhile, they grow too tall and that is all they do -- grow taller.

SO! This morning, Guille stopped by, stood next to the towering papaya tree -- drew his arm back and then in one mighty stroke with his machete, completely severed the trunk. THEN! with his left hand, he deftly caught the upper 12-foot trunk before it ever hit the ground -- and carried it out to our compost pile. So smooth.....

Dia de Los Muertos

2010-11-02T12:34:00.003-06:00

In Oaxaca, when I visited there, the five days at the end of October/early November were deeply moving, personal connections with those who have died... Day(s) of the Dead. One day for children, one day for old people, one day for those murdered, and the like. On this, their special day, the spirits can return to visit the living.

Homes each had a specially prepared altar with memorabilia of the departed (their actual skulls, back when the Spanish first arrived--but the Conquistadores put a stop to that, so now you see small sugar-skulls with a nametag pasted on, instead). Offerings of the departed's favorite foods are placed there, as well.

It is a happy time. And marigold petals are scattered from the "offrenda" in the house, out the door and all the way to the gravesite when feasible. The spirits can smell the fragrance of marigold and thus find their way back home...

And their graves? They were the scene of celebration! Music, feasting, and celebrating on this one time in the year when all are reunited. All night long, the cemeteries are scenes of laughter, and happiness.

The most touching memory I have -- was when one of the Durango high school students I was shepherding around noticed a lone woman, perhaps in her 60s or more, sitting quietly on the cement grave covering of her departed husband. The young girl approached the woman, and as she did so, the woman's face lit up with joy and she held out her arms to welcome her. "Sit, sit..." she said in Spanish. As the young girl sat beside her, the woman gently reached out to hold her hand in a gentle but firm embrace... The young girl reported feeling such love pouring from the woman's heart. They sat like that, holding hands together, for quite some time.... til the woman felt fulfilled, I guess. In her heart... in that woman's heart... her lost beloved husband had come to her, through the guise of the young woman.

It is an ancient custom and it is primarily Oaxacan. Our villagers, here in the state of Guerrero, only passingly acknowledge the Day of the Dead (mostly simply putting flowers on graves -- I have not noticed an offrenda in any home, nor do they stage parties at the gravesites) And the days that fall on weekdays are holidays in town, such as today.

But they cannot escape the commercialism of America's bedraggled Halloween. The trappings of our Halloween are everywhere, and "Trick or Treat" is the theme of the day. They know nothing (nor do most Americans) of the Celtic origins of the tradition -- a tradition not that different from Day of the Dead. For the Celts there is that one day when the veil is thin and spirits can pass through. Ah, the tales I tell and most favorite is from the epic of Finn McCool. But I digress.

SO! Once again, knowing kids would be coming for sweets, we decorated our ramada with black and orange crepe, put on some sort of frightening attire that scares small children -- and sat beside a big bowl filled with American candies. It is always a delightful time of play with costumed kids and costumed gringos! (pictures posted when I return.. probably inserted here) Our house was always the most active, and favorite destination.

BUT!!! This year, we were trumped, and happy to know of it. Across our road, and down a short way, is a huge two-story cement house (built to house multiple families of the same lineage... that is to say, married brothers and married sisters each with their own families). Only one such family has moved in to a section of the ground floor so far...

....which leaves the entire upstairs available for a Ghost-House of Horrors!! We didn't get to visit it, being busy at our own place, but I was delighted to hear the screams and screeches as the kids explored room to room and got scared by ghosts and goblins. At least that is what we think was happening.

And all is well, and all manner of thing is well, and the waves delight, and the fruit trees abound, and friendships warm the heart.

Literal Literary Escapades

2010-10-16T13:42:00.005-06:00

Seems that the easiest way to share snippets of the manymany things going on all at once in our pueblito and on the beach, is to create literary storylets, stealing famous titles for emphasis, viz:

I. "No Exit"
I have to laugh! We drove down the long windy unpaved road into our pueblito on the one and only day that we could have. Had we arrived one day earlier, the viscous deep mudholes on the way in would have swallowed our motor. One day later, and ...hey!... huge earthmovers arrived and gutted the road that goes through the village! They are STILL in the process of digging a deep continuous trench right down the center of it, from one end to the other, right past our house!

First -- the Big Trench that went all the way through the village, with manholes at intervals. The small trench pictured below that is in our yard. It is leading up to our to-be-built throne room -- and down to the manhole and trench for village-wide sewer service, gifted us by the state of Guerrero.

(Pictured below that is our response -- a trench from their manhole, up through our yard to where we will construct a small palace for our new porcelain throne.)

Evidently the government has decided that all pueblos deserve public toilet systems. Most folks here have septic systems however. Robert and I and our next'door neighbors seem to be the ONLY holdouts who don't even have a septic system. We actually didn't even want to bother with such an "improvement." I enjoy the winding walk through the jungly backyard with its flowers and butterflies and dancing sunlight. In this season especially, I like to watch the butterflies flutter around their evening's bedtime hanging vine, and then again, watch them as they awaken in the late morning sun and flutter sleepily in circles before heading out for their morning's sup of nectar. I can still take that walk, of course. But now, with modernity thrust upon us, we are discussing where (and when) to build a little shack for the porcelain throne...

II. "...'neath vine and fig tree..."
As a gift of friendhip, Guillermo planted a fig tree while we were gone. This morning, we ate the first fruit (things grow FAST here). Before this day, I've eaten only dried ones. But ahhhh! To me, a fresh fig, sweet and juicy, reminds me of the wonderful flavor of a ripe peach. Living here in our little personal Eden, we also have mango, lemon, tangerine, guava trees--what have I forgotten to mention?-- as well as copious flowering trees and plants all wreathed in butterflies and hummingbirds. But in keeping with the Biblical verse, we have also a grapevine (not yet producing). A home-made plowshare rests against the wall. We live in peace and unafraid.

(And from here on down, I am utterly flummoxed!! Adding photos is such a time-consuming DRAG, and I cannot even drag them to where they belong, so I will try to circumvent this by posting a new entry of ALL pix -- and you, gentle reader, may insert them mentally to the various essays. Good luck.)

III. "On the Beach"
Well, WE live in peace and unafraid, anyway. Besides the tranquility of the surf, sun and sky, there's a lot of ---um--- fascinating activity. We pay it no mind.

IV. "...do not build your house upon sand..."
But oh, they DO! Doesn't anyone read the Bible anymore? This past rainy season brought down retaining walls and created vast arroyos through beachfront property, threatening the very integrity of some structures -- for starters. We watch. None of this affects us personally, and we enjoy our days with friends along the shore, and play in the sea... And oh, the sunsets!

V. "For Whom the Bell Tolls"
My eyes are tearing up even as I begin to touch on this story. I've many times in this blog touched on edges of this story -- so involving, so tragic -- that it deserves a skilled novelist to tell it properly. It is ongoing through generations.... but now comes the first death that touches us.

Dear readers, you may remember my joyous love of a little boy, Gustavo/Luis (name change is part of the tale). He is FINE! As I wrote before, he has been happily adopted and when he visted last time we were here, he was talking, and vibrant and drew me a huge smiling yellow sun. It was his birth'mother who died...

She was murdered. Horribly. Slashed to death in a dangerous drunken cantina where she served drinks -- her body bore the large black stitches and gauze even on her face. On 10/10/10 she died. I don't know more than that. When WE knew her, when she lived next door still pregnant, she was vibrant and full of laughter. Peter! You remember her!

When her son was born, she was a loving, warm and attentive mother. She was proud of her son and her heart was open -- a clearly intelligent and playful young woman who wanted to do the very best for her child whom she named Gustavo. She came over every day with little Gustavo and we talked while he played on our porch.

We don't know why she left the pueblito and went to a city. Perhaps she hoped to make more money in order to support her treasure of a son. But things went wrong. Some villagers say it was drugs, some even say prostitution. The next time we saw her, which was also the last time that Robert and I saw her, she had already given her son up for adoption. She had come back to visit friends/family. Gustavo was also right there at the same casita, and already renamed Luis and already adopted. He showed no recognition that she was ever his mommy... He was and is a happy little kid tearing around absorbed in play. She on the other hand was dull, no light in her eyes, nothing to say -- a different person to the one we knew. She demonstrated no real recogniton of us as she sat beside us in silence for a short time. And then she just walked away.

The Wake was held next door -- where she was born as the fourth of five children; where her mother was secreted away to the States to escape a violent alcoholic husband... taking with her the three eldest children and leaving behind the now-deceased one and her little brother (who still lives there). The brother is struggling in his own way.

Motherless children have a hard time when their mother is gone.

One of the older siblings who was taken north, a sister, was caught by US migration as a grown woman and pregnant -- and sent back to this same house that she barely knew as a child. She still lives here -- and is pictured in this blog in an earlier entry.

But to speak now of the wake.... it was a peaceful, healing time. Villagers came over and helped clean up the yard and prepare it for the gathering. Edith's body was brought to the house for viewing (somehow, past all that trenchwork), and the people gathered on the porch and in the yard. Talk was very quiet and respectful. And then, the most beautiful singing. I learned that there is a group of women who practice these songs and come to all church activities. They led the mourners in beautiful healing songs. I could feel the healing music reach the soul of a woman who once held such beautiful dreams for her son... those dreams WILL come true.

And before dawn the following morning, the singers returned and awakened us (just next door) with their angelic songs....

...afterwhich, the church bell tolled, tolling now for Edith.

Little Lula Lullabye Laughing...

2010-09-27T16:03:00.008-06:00

As a young woman in Newburyport, MA, I was "that nice lady down the street" to two delightful kids aged 6 and 8. Mind you, in the beginning of our lifetime bond, I lived in a tent in the backyard of an empty house, with my bike leaned up against the tent. I called them my almost-kids.

Decades have passed and they have remained close -- dear, dear friends who are now in their 30s. We gather annually at Rocky Mountain National Park. THIS time, sweet almost-daughter Amy and her delightfully playful husband David introduced Robert and me to our almost-granddaughter -- not quite 6 months here. You can understand that no grandmother, "almost" or bloodline, can resist posting pix. Awwww, isn't she just the cutest, most adorable baby you've ever seen?

Quinceñera -- Coming of Age

2010-08-25T21:34:00.011-06:00

When a girl reaches her 15th birthday, she has come of age -- a time for consecration in the Church, and celebration with the village. Sandra stands with her mother (Sara), father (Guillermo), and a nephew in the church -- at the beginning of a great celebration.

And so the Mass begins, with all her friends and family in attendance...

Ah, but after the Mass -- she is now a Woman.
These are the girls she has grown up with in the village... Girls we ourselves have known since they were little kids. Some transformation!

And then the party begins. Sandra cuts the cake, and then she cuts up the dance floor -- along with everyone in this village and neighboring ones. The party was still going when we wandered back to our casita... music, food, dancing, and much laughter! We have manymany more pictures, if you're interested....

Beloveds in our pueblo...

2010-08-08T14:24:00.008-06:00

What joy and wonder as a little 3-year-old gazes at a piñata bigger than he is -- filled with balloons and toys. He is also from "our" family, mentioned below.
Well -- this is not so much about a photo of me (on my "will-you-still-need-me, will-you-still-feed-me" birthday) as it is a photo of the gifts brought to me that morning by beloveds in our pueblo... A beautiful piece of hand-made needlework; home-grown roses; and "I LOVE YOU" -- in English, you'll note -- this from our Ariana.

Speaking of whom -- here's almost everyone in the Ramirez family (for whom we are informally regarded as the Abuelos, the grandparents). Guille, Sara, Ariana, Flori, and Sandra (of Quinceñara fame) -- goofing off before presenting me with a Tres Leches birthday cake which we made short work of, along with sundry other sweet gifties...
And here is sweet Diana Laura (caught in utero by the Migra--now there's a story), with her mother and little sister in the background. Our next-door neighbors... a continually changing scene. So much to say -- but ah, how the photo shows the sweetness of Diana Laura and the bond we share.

And!!! Little Luis (his story is mentioned numerously in earlier blogs) who also used to live next door came back to visit! He has been successfully, deliriously happily adopted by a loving family in Zihua... How his little body shook with excitement as we met eyes again for the first time since then... He drew me this particularly happy face as a gift.... And here is a photo of him from that same day, deep in concentration.

Confirmed in the Faith....

2010-08-08T14:10:00.004-06:00

By the time the Confirmation Mass began, the church was filled and all of us outside were seated in chairs -- right in the road (stopping any traffic til it was over)--with more folks seated along the side to the right. All of our little playmates from our first years living here --growing up! Ah, but of course, there's always a new crop of preschoolers...

Here's a glimpse inside -- a church built by the local parishioners over a number of years, and still in progress.
And here is one of our dear kids-growing-up -- Ariana Ramirez.

The greenness of our casita....

2010-08-08T13:45:00.011-06:00

(But first -- a dreamy photo taken one evening, from the porch...)

So! Living in the sub-tropics is an immersion into greeniness....

And so.... we just went ahead and painted our buildings green (different shades every time) as well. This is taken from the ramada looking at our porch (where we LIVE--not inside the rooms). The sky-blue walls appear washed out in this photo -- but they are convincingly sky-blue such that birds and insects occasionally fly right into it (no broken necks!).

Then, turning around and looking the other way is a view of our green-pillared ramada in all its lushness...

...and this is yet another view of the ramada, taken from our porch.

And -- the porch itself. It is from here that we "watch TV" -- all the hummingbirds and butterflies and lizards and.... and... and... Care for a cup of coffee? How about a ripe mango--all of those yellow fruits in the foreground--they came from our own trees. Of a morning, I just wander around our four trees and pluck the the fruit, falling into my hand when ripe.

Robert at "Home Tree"/Mexico Spring 2010

2010-08-08T12:59:00.001-06:00

There he stands, contemplating a risky task -- cutting off a diseased limb as big as a tree unto itself -- without getting caught under it.

And! There he stands, successful.
Not pictured are the days/hours spent sawing it into planks to be turned into furniture...

But here's an idea of just how heavy those planks are, once Robert cut them.
Guille is hauling them into our yard, where they carried them/stacked them inside the casita-- to dry til we return in the fall.

Robert (and friends) at work

2010-08-08T12:53:00.001-06:00

Before the work begins, Santos of the Italian-accented English, and Sara Ramirez stay in the shade of our back porch.

Robert, Guille and Memo mixing the cement in the shade of our carport with the edifice to be constructed looming behind them....Our new wash-house.

And here, the men begin, by blocking out the walls to be constructed....

And a rather some time later....

And the close-to-finishing touches ...

Guille has such a fine eye for detail (as does Robert)

And here is where we left it til we return in the fall. Enough! We'll smoothcoat the outside walls and then paint them. Following that, Robert will begin with his woodworking projects to make a door to the shamrock-shaped shower room, and shelves for dish and clothes washing to the right of the shamrock.

The Last Three of Thirteen...

2010-06-19T11:20:00.005-06:00

I can't just leave the chicken story. So here's how it progressed up to when we packed up and headed north. When I last wrote, there were 8 chicks and a hen...>>

Just before leaving for a towntrip to Zihuatanejo, we saw the mother hen lurching and falling, wings spread all cockeyed. A village kid said that clearly, she had been stung by a scorpion. Give her garlic. We ground up a clove and got it down her mouth, put her in the shade, with water, and propped up upright with two bricks. One chick was also missing (presumably scorpion as well). The remaining six chicks hovered nearby as we left for town...

When we got home, our neighbor had taken the hen back to HIS yard, where he just left her flopping on the ground. He gave her no water/food/garlic. Said she didn't want any. The chicks slept by her at night and wandered our yard by day. Not surprisingly, the hen died. The chicks continued to sleep where their mother had lain....

Well, if anyone is actually reading THIS far: those 6 surviving chicks were reduced to 4 in a 3am tlacuache attack... The screaming survivors came racing over to our yard, waking us up to their desperation. We covered them up with a big flower pot, and that became their new safe home.

Of those 4, one actually had already also SURVIVED a rat attack that temporarily crippled one leg. We called him Hopalong, of course.

Then an eagle swooped down and reduced the flock to 3... Three roosterlets.

Those 3 continued to sleep by our porch each night under the flowerpot. Every single evening at dusk, they came and waited for us to drop it over them! If we were late, they'd huddle on the spot where the flowerpot SHOULD drop.

When we left Mexico, we turned them over to our neighbor who insisted that all these chicks were theirs in the first place (but made little effort to protect them). We will probably never know the ending.

Declarative Death Sentence(s) (and...)

2010-05-14T15:55:00.008-06:00

But first, before the essay: our life in the village and on the beach continues to feel like Eden --such gentle beauty of flowers, greenery, natural sounds, fruit growing all around. We have very sweet connections with our friends here, and in fact we feel like part of the family with one group. Originally, speaking of "our" family, a man and woman (still living here) had some 9 or more kids. Plus they had brothers and sisters themselves. Hardly any of them seem to have left. Some who did are returning. Thus, from a farmhouse filled with kids, a village has appeared -- brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, all built and now live in their own homes nearby, in close and amiable proximity. I laugh, remembering one little boy of two years of age running stark naked from his house, through the twisting dirt-paved lanes, to visit his cousin who is also two. There are other extended families here as well. Kids from all these families drop by our house to play with the toys, draw, paint, goof around -- they come and go as they please. It is a deep pleasure to have them visit.

Furthermore, the waves continue to astound, and bounce us around (boogie-boarders dream). The beach has returned to that mellow "aloha" vibe, easy'going and friendly. Our house is now painted (pix posted on our return) and other construction projects underway, plus numerous fruiting trees are now planted to complement our abundant mango trees. Think grapes, figs, avocados, lemons, guavas, tangerines, grapefruit.... what have I forgotten to mention?

The odd little essay below is.... just that. An odd little essay -- a testimony of respect for little lives. It is followed by a few more comments on life as we know it in the village...

DECLARATIVE DEATH SENTENCE(S)
There was a hen in a box in our yard when we arrived from the States. The hen laid 13 eggs in the box. Twelve eggs hatched. Two days later a tlacuache killed four chicks. The neighbors came over. They said the hen was theirs. They took her. They tied her up. The chicks had no mother to guide them. They wandered the hazards of our jungly yard alone. A feral cat ate one. The neighbors released the hen. The hen was stung by a scorpion the next day. One of her chicks was also poisoned by a scorpion. The chick died. We treated the hen with garlic and water. She began to rally. The neighbors came into our yard when we were away. They took the hen. They did nothing to help her. They did not even give her water. She died. The chicks roosted at night on the neighbor´s porch. They were unprotected. The spot where they huddled is where their mother´s body had lain. A tlacuache came. It killed two of the chicks. The remaining four ran to our yard screeching in the night. We hid them under a large upturned flowerpot. The neighbors said the chicks were theirs. They took them. That night they closed them up in an outdoor cupboard. They crushed the foot of the remaining rooster-chick when they closed the door. They did not let the chicks out the next morning. The chicks had no water or food. The neighbors released the chicks late in the day. They ran to our yard. The rooster-chick hopped, of course. They were very hungry and thirsty. Now they come every sunset to the flowerpot. They expect us to drop it over them. We do. Now we worry. We will be leaving in early June. We have done all we can. The chicks can fly. They like to sit on branches. This is where adult chickens spend their nights. They fly up into branches. We hope the chicks will fly into higher branches when we leave. It is out of our hands.

SO! After that cheerful little preschool tale, here are a few more random glimpses into our pueblo life, by no means complete:

More villagers who speak English are revealing themselves. One cheerful and friendly man (also a member of "our" family here--brother of the original farmhouse wife) turns out to speak English with (get this) an Italian accent (from years in a Little Italy section of a US city). The way he walks and moves his body feels/looks American. He told us that he came back here for the same reason we love it here. It is a little paradise of mellow, gentle people sharing life together.

There are two kids who speak fluent English as well. Apparently just visiting from the States, tho' their family/ancestry is from our pueblo. Who knew? I smile as I type this: perhaps they were testing us to see what we said to each other when we thought no one could understand -- and we passed the test. We do know, also, that the pueblo's middle/high school kids study English, but not one practices with us. For sure they have been listening all these years.

In fact, hey you guys!! ¿How many of you are secretly visiting this site and reading these entries? If you are reading this, let us know. Do this: come up to me and touch my nose and then touch your nose. And smile! ¡¡¡Then we will ALL laugh!!!

And the band played on...

2010-04-26T12:44:00.003-06:00

....rather Titanic-like, I thought! Nearly the entire village was gathered in a festooned yard celebrating the third Quincenera (a cute touch) of an esteemed matron. The band´s music was amplified to "ear-splitting" and everyone was in very high spirits even rather risque at times. In the brief pause between songs, however, with no warning whatsoever --an EARTHQUAKE shook the ground, the people, the tables -- and the air was filled with a terrific grinding noise. Following that, a moment of utter silence. But then! Moments later, the band cranked right back up with the next song! As they did so, everyone cheered! and they set to dancing all the more! Yes! ..and the band played on.

Three days later at the Quicenera of a truly 15'year'old, I casually asked a dear friend of ours, a fisherman, how the fishing was. There aren´t any fish anymore he said, looking me directly in the eye. The earth is dying, he added. Scientists are saying we will have to move to the moon or to Mars. Pollution is destroying everything, he said. ....and the band played on.

Then there´s a local loner in the village who frequently cranks up his very own amplifier and microphone and treats EVERYone to his, um, his style of singing. He cannot carry a tune, but he is loud. His words are unintelligible to the rest of the village... but this one'man band plays on.

And one night very recently, the deep peace of 2am was destroyed by the loud screeching of our favorite chicken. She had chosen a cardboard box in our yard to lay 13 eggs -- 12 hatched. We were actively working on fortifying her lair to protect her brood from predators, but there was a weak spot still, and thus, the loud screeching. Robert leaped (successfully!!!) out from under our mosquito netting, outsize flashlight in hand --leaped off the porch, through the flower garden and was there in seconds.

The hen was screeching away at a far distance, and in the lair were feathers and tiny bodies -- and a tlacuache heading viciously straight for Robert´s ankle. WHACK! Robert got it on the head and pushed the head hard onto the ground... it wobbled and then ran into the jungle. "They´re all dead," he said. By then I was right there already and we stood helplessly and so sad, grieving really, and watching as the hen raced around the yard screeching.....

But then we learned something! HA! HEY! She was calling for her chicks! And they came! Each from a completely different direction, half of her brood reassembled, leaping over small sticks, wings extended --and then they settled under her protective wing. So! Six lived. Six is good. We covered them all with a large overturned flowerpot for safety -- and with the morning´s sunrise, we were delighted to discover a SEVENTH chick waiting outside the flowerpot. Before sunset, there came an EIGHTH chick. ...and the band played on.

Days later, as I was teaching myself to play "Fur Elise" and "Jesu, Joy of Man´s Desiring" on my guitar, a new kid (to us -- a village kid, clearly, but we had never met him before) came by. "I speak English," he said. And he does. Raised in Beaverton, Oregon -- but with deep village roots so that Spanish was still his first language and he has a slight accent in his flawless English... He and family have moved back home for good, he said. He spent the sweetest day with us alternating between learning to play "Fur Elise" with me, and watching how Robert makes wooden archery bows from a tree trunk. The band plays on.....

Oh, and periodically, there have been really great waves both for surfers and boogiers. Full moon´s a-risin´and that means BEEG waves a-comin´! Yáll come on down. The band is playing.

¡Donde Quieras! Cuando Quieras! y Como Quieras!

2010-04-12T12:42:00.005-06:00

(Firstly, before I relate the encounter on the road: we are back in that sweet heaven'realm of village life, with the lilting laughter and play of children like sugar sprinkled on top. Did I say ¨"on top"? The children surround us -- fill our hearts!-- with their absorbed play, spilling off of our porch and filling our ramada, and tossing a frisbee in the yard. Neighbors wave, invite us in, stop for conversations. We are once again home. Even got the house all cleaned up from 4 months of absence. Oh! And we were treated to huge waves at the beach, which, as we all know is like immersing into a heaven'realm of light, and breezes, sounds, and.... ah the sea, theseathesea. But below is a silly true cuento which shows the sense of humor of our closest village friends...)

¡DONDE QUIERAS! ¡CUANDO QUIERAS! ¡Y COMO QUIERAS!
Safe in the tranquility of our little casita porch, with our closest family friends, I was relating the story of an encounter on the road--one where I did NOT succeed in staying calm and present in the face of danger. Briefly:

At a gas station halfway down in Mexico (Robert was in the restroom), a man pulled his camper/truck thru the gas station, so CLOSE to our car that he was scraping off the paint along my side of the car. I banged and yelled on his camper moments before he broke off the mirror on my side.

He responded with profanities directed at my womanhood, of course. To which I responded by calling to the gas station attendant for help, mentioning both the damage to our car and his profanities. The attendant successfully got him to somehow back up and simultaneously move slightly farther away... but still close enough, alas, to bring his window right up to mine. With real hatred in his eyes, he directed another profanity specific to my womanhood. I responded with profanity right back, alas (but in English).......and it really riled me up and I regretted it.

In telling this story to our friends, safe on our porch in our Little Salty Place, I related how I wish I had responded instead. I did so by first telling another cuento: a mutual gringo friend of ours was walking by a lake with a long-haired boyfriend in redneck Texas country when one of a group of rednecks hurled a stone directly into the back of her boyfriend... Her response was to turn and meet their eyes, and say, ¨Hey, man, Jesus loves you.¨ And all three men dropped their stones, and let them pass... I do wish I had said that instead...

To which the laughter'loving wife, on our porch, replied (in Spanish): "Ha! You should have looked him straight in the eyes and said, "¡When you want it! ¡Where you want it! ¡How you want it!" (This, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is a well-known challenge'phrase in Mexico.)

La La Lula Lullabye

2010-04-04T06:23:00.009-06:00

Oh, every night when the sun goes down,

People lay their burdens down, and sing...

La la, Lula... La la, Lula... Lullabye

I've never known a better way

To say goodnight to the day, than sing...

La la, Lula... La la, Lula... Lullabye

(Composed for our sweet Amy/David's daughter, Lula Sophia Zelina, born 03/31/10. There will no doubt be more verses as they occur to me. La-la means "Sleep..." in Swahili, but I didn't know that as the song came to me. I do have a digital/e-mailable recording of my singing it, if you're interested. I failed in my attempt to attach it here.)

And since her full name is Lula Sophia Zelina, I composed a song for Sophia as well:

Sleep, sweet Sophia...

Silently slip into slumber as I sing this song...

Sleep, sweet Sophia...

Swing with the stars as they circle the sky...

Sing along...

AND! How could I not borrow the tune of "Coventry Carol" - - thus:

La-la, Lula, thou little tiny child...

By, by, Lula, lullay.

Now close your eyes, until sunrise...

By, by, Lula, lullay.

Ho! Schmat-Razum!

2010-03-17T18:35:00.004-06:00

___________________

___________________

Pictured above is my invisible servant and dear friend, Schmat-Razum. Like Vasilissa (see post below), he arrived in my life through the ancient skazki -- the Russian Wonder Tales -- as a bedtime story. He lives in my pocket, and I have but to call, "Ho! Schmat-Razum..." and ask a favor of him.

The most remarkable example of his favors was when he was traveling with Taraban. The young lad, having traveled across many vyorsts, fell exhausted, and bid Schmat-Razum to find another master, for he could go no further. Replied Schmat-Razum, "Why didst thou not tell me thou wast wearied? I should have carried thee the whole way!"

Schmat-Razum asked me to post him here, along with Vasilissa. In gratitude, I have done so.

___________________

Vasilissa -- thank you.

2010-03-02T11:57:00.005-07:00

My dad read me bedtime tales. Not sweet ones. He read the “skazki” of Russia -- the Wonder Tales -- replete with horrific violence where the hero more often than not is chopped up into a thousand tiny pieces (though he does recover). They scared me, and I loved them.

The one I related to most dearly, was the wild tale of “Vasilissa the Beautiful.” This is the Russian version of Cinderella, complete with the hateful stepmother and the two wicked stepsisters...

At her step-sisters’ orders, Vasilissa must wander through the wilds of untamed forests alone at night. Vasilissa must go to the home of the very spirit of the wilderness, that is Baba Ya-ga’ (accent on the second syllable). She must enter the yard where the fence is made of human bones, where each fence-post is topped with a human skull the eyes of which light up at dusk, and fade at dawn. She must enter the house that turns constantly on giant chickens’ feet. And, she must deal with Baba Ya-ga’ herself! Deliciously terrifying imagery.

And through all of this, this story taught me more about how to live life than I ever realized. In fact, I only caught on to the subtle and yet beautifully pervasive lesson it imparted -- a week ago!

I might say that Vasilissa saved my life, more than once.

Here’s the thread that led me to seeing this:

I was deeply involved in preparing a public presentation elucidating Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero with a Thousand Faces.” I had marked the Vasilissa story to use as an example of the “Helper,” delineated In Campbell’s outline. Each time that Baba Ya-ga’ gave Vasilissa an insurmountable task, the child pulled out a little doll that her dying mother had given her. As instructed by her mother, Vasilissa gave the doll something to eat, something to drink, and told the doll her troubles--and there! the task was done!

In my notes for the talk, I even included a modern-day example -- how I had given a little doll to a dear child I knew, a neighbor of mine, with similar instructions. She never mentioned the doll to me until she grew to womanhood. And then, one day: “Remember that doll you gave me as a kid?” she asked me. “It worked! How did you know?”

But the true, deep lesson embedded not only in “Vasilissa the Beautiful” but in all the skazki was subtle enough that I missed it until I was awakened -- as if by an alarm -- at 3am, just days before the talk.

It is she, Vasilissa, who is the Helper. She is the Helper for the listener of the tale.

Unlike the tales/movies/playtoys given to our children nowadays, Vasilissa could not engage in epic one-person battles, defeating hordes of evil-doers with breath-taking gymnastics and superpowers. She was not a wise-cracking, bad-ass heroine with a temper.

She was ordinary.......and yet she was not.

We meet Vasilissa as an ordinary child, alone and frightened, and sent away to face terrific dangers. It is HOW she faces these dangers that turns out to be the teaching that saved my life several times over. I absorbed her behavior with the listening, again and again, to my father reading the story.

Speaking personally now, I offer but one example (from several similar, teeteringly lethal ones -- for I was a slow learner).

In the early spring of 1970 (I was 23), I was living in Roxbury (then a dangerous neighborhood--gangs, drugs, violence... but cheap rent). Late one evening, I was walking home from the MTA. I knew enough to walk down the middle of the streets -- so that no-one hidden in the shadows could reach out and grab me.

However, directly in front of me, in the center of the intersection -- arms folded, feet spread, and head cocked to one side -- was a large young man. Over against the row of closed-up shops to my left, was a line-up of young men -- arms folded, heads cocked, leaning against the wall behind them. All eyes were on me.

There was no ignoring them.

I entered a space of deep calm. I assessed my options (there were none). There was only this moment in this place with these people. Clearly, the man blocking my way wanted my attention. I could see that.

I walked directly up to him and looked directly into his eyes, one human being seeing another human being. “What do you want?” I asked calmly, not stuttering, not glancing around.

Perhaps, then, I had surprised him for he hesitated a moment...

“Uh.... you got a... a nickel?”

“Sure, man,” I said with the slightest of smiles, maintaining clear-eyed contact. Then I reached for my little pull-string bag where I kept my money, poured some coins into my hand, and selected from among the dimes, pennies, nickels and quarters -- just one nickel.

Returning the other coins into the bag, and the bag into my pocket, I calmly handed the nickel to him, looking again directly into his eyes.

This is what he asked for. This is what I gave him -- along with a slight and calm smile of humanity between us.

And I walked around him, unhindered, and continued the last block to where I was staying.

I no longer put myself in these situations. I do not take for granted my ability to defuse them -- I was clearly lucky that I had walked away unharmed each of those times. That was then.

But what I realize NOW, is that the way I responded was the way in which Vasilissa dealt with her trials. In those situations, it was the very best I could possibly have done -- becoming calm, seeing my situation clearly, and dealing with it directly.

Baba Ya-ga’ even said as much to Vasilissa. Here is the exchange, taken from the very book my dad held as he read to me...

After putting Vasilissa through a number of trials, Baba Ya-ga’ asks snappishly:

“Well, why dost thou say nothing...”

“I spoke not,” Vasilissa answered, “because I dared not. But if thou wilt allow me, grandmother, I wish to ask thee some questions.”

“Well, only remember that every question does not lead to good...”

(Vasilissa then poses a few questions about various beings she has seen since coming to this wild and vast forest. Baba Ya-ga’ answers each question and adds, “Ask me more.” -- but one time, she ground her teeth.)

“Ask me more!”

Vasilissa, remembering the warning Baba Ya-ga’ had given her, that not every question led to good, was silent.

“Ask me more! ... Why dost thou not ask me more?...”

Vasilissa saw how she snarled at her and she answered, “The three questions are enough for me... As thou hast said, grandmother, I would not, through knowing overmuch, become too soon old.”

“It is well for thee,” said Baba Ya-ga’....

Likewise, it was well for me, that night in Roxbury, that I asked no more.

Here is what would have happened to Vasilissa had she continued:
“...Hadst thou asked of them, my servants, the three pairs of hands would have seized thee also, as they did the wheat and poppy seeds, to be my food.”

The week after I moved out, another woman quite similar to myself, and living in the very same neighborhood, was assaulted by a gang of young men and forced to pour flammable liquid over herself and set herself on fire. She lived only long enough to tell the police.

OF RIBBONS AND BOWS...

2009-12-26T07:07:00.004-07:00

A silly fantasy I've entertained over the years came to fruition on Christmas morn.

Background Part A: Our front yard which was once an apple orchard has become a junkyard of old cars from Hudsons and Model T's on up to... well, that's part of the story I guess.

Background Part B: As a young child I drew incessantly and fantasized having my very own red convertible car. When the Miata appeared decades later -- first as huge billboards with a photo of a red one and just its name -- I recognized my childhood drawings made real.

SO..... for fun, I would poke Robert to see if maybe... but NEVER really meaning it because such cars are so very impractical. Where do you put the groceries, your friends, your bike, your pokeboat, your camping gear?

Nevertheless, I played around with the image of waking one Christmas morning, and after coffee and sweet quiet before the tree, finding a small package there for me.

Inside this package would be a key, maybe with a bow on it, and a note, "Whatever car this fits, is yours. PS Look for a bow."

Then I would wander out into our yardful of cars and search... and find that Miata.

This Christmas Morn / 2009: After a quiet time in the living room, fire newly stoked, I looked under the tree and there was a little package -- a key with a bow on it. I winked at Robert and stepped outside in slippers and robe. No need to look far, no need to trudge through the snow looking among all the cars out there. Right there in the carport was a car new to me, with a red bow on it. AND, the key fit.

Mind you, it is a practical car -- one I really truly DO want and deeply appreciate. It is really OUR car because we will be taking it on many a camping/adventure. It is a new-to-us-used Dodge Caravan. Not red, though. Blue, Iris Blue. (If I get around to it, I'll restage the discovery for a photo-op but don't hold your breath --my iPhoto says it's full, which is also why I've yet to post Mexico pix -- can't load 'em!)

(...and I smile here as I post this Christmas fantasy because right at the start of this blog --December 2007 -- is far more profound fantasy come true, described under the title "A Sadhu's Christmas in India.")

Book-ends

2009-11-27T11:45:00.011-07:00

* Outta the water our first week in Mexico...

We began our leisure here with accidents as soon as we arrived (lost toenail for me, three stitches on the shin for Robert) which kept us out of the water, a week for each of us.

After luxuriating in the silveryblue and undulating radiance of water for the many following weeks (accompanied by the ever amusing pelicans round about, and various fishy shenanigans like a needle fish seemingly spending more time above the water than in etc etc)--

* ...we now end our sojourn, again out of the water, kind of like book-ends:

I am out of the water for a week because I'm currently up here in San Francisco -- thoroughly enjoying each and every one of my extended family members. Thus I am not IN Mexico for our final week. This is a choice I made months ago when I booked my round-trip tix. I will fly back to our humble casita just in time to help pack everything up in bug and rat tight boxes, and hit the road north.

Meanwhile, Robert is out of the water thanks to a scorpion bite.

We each had always thought a scorpion bite would be nothing more than like a really painful bee-sting. I was there when Robert got bitten, saw the guy, and watched Robert knock it off his body and step on it. Not all that painful, he said.... and we thought that would be that.

The villagers know better.

In the explanation from their years of experience, the venom of a scorpion is actually a neurotoxin that is cooling, and so you must keep your body warm to prevent the spread of it throughout your body...

So, besides injecting Robert (actually he injected himself, fearless man)
with an anti-scorpion bite treatment we keep handy in our home, he
followed their advice. For those first few hours especially, stay warm
and quiet. That means: no ocean breezes, no swimming,
no hammocks. Lie down, don't go to sleep.
Odd thing, neurotoxins. Besides numbing the area around the bite,
a typical experience (Robert, too) is that your tongue and lips feel
as though there are ants crawling over them, and the roots of your
teeth ache somewhat. Later on, the villagers say, your hands may
feel numb, too.
None of this was debilitating, of course. Robert kept quiet and
warm, and I read to him while he rested. I suspect that when I
return, this will have run its course.

And are we now daunted? Are we more fearful about living here?
Are you kidding? No way! We have had rattlesnakes by our
creekside chairs in our own Durango backyard, and bears
and mountain lions sometimes prowl our property. Are we
now afraid to live there anymore? You get the idea.

We are at ease, and aware (and love the gentle warmth of the
village neighbors, the inviting radiance of the sea, the ever
more homey beauty we are co-creating out of our humble
casita and land). Same as you are, wherever you live.

Birdwatcher Alert

2009-11-19T15:08:00.003-07:00

History: Our U.S. bird i.d. book lists a type of dove with a black v on its chest that is local, and also an Asian bird, larger and more aggressive with the same appearance... This Asian bird appears to be winning the survival of the fittest game, sez the book...

So: There are birds that appear to be either one of them, here in our digs (I cannot judge their size). But they ACT like irate Jaybirds, for starters. Fellow villagers laugh at their audacity as well... When strolling the winding footpath into our backyard jungle, two of these birds took great umbrage at my presence, flying from perch to perch in the thick growth directly above me at every turn, squawking loudly. They actually leaned down towards me screaming their invectives when I paused to look up at them..

What makes them especially, um, endearing is that they also have a crest! It rises up above their heads when they are thus agitated, and they shake it at me as they yell at me. No such crest is mentioned in my bird book at home.

Nor is the bird itself, crest or non'crest, mentioned in our book of Mexican birds. Not pictured, not spoken of.

Anyone have a clue, or experience with, this character?

LITTLE BATTLES

2009-11-18T14:49:00.005-07:00

Friends have expressed fear about the drug scene...

None of this affects our magical, calm daily life in the village and at the beach, and among our friends both local and from abroad.

Our mornings begin with butterflies, hummingbirds. Over coffee, we watch the hummingbirds war over the sweet blossoms of the male papaya tree. This morning there were three, and the sound they make is exactly the sound that the warring spaceships use in the Starwars movies. I bet that is where the MOVIE sound did come from. These guys zoom all over the sky above our yard.

At any time during the day, our porch may suddenly fill with the laughter and creativity of village kids... Their new passion is crayon'painting the xeroxed mandalas and wild animals which I provide. Many shaped building blocks, train tracks etc are also very popular.

At other times, loved neighbors drop by, often for breakfast. Our American style oatmeal with raisins and figs, plus coffee, is very popular. In return, we are invited to fresh'caught fish (tuna this morning), salad fixings, and hot made-on-the-spot blue corn tortillas. What we love to do is laugh together.

Too, Robert and I often hop on our bikes and zip down the dirt road, through the coco groves and all, to look at the waves on the beach (from our side of the river, which is only, um, ankle deep this time). We can forget to leave, too. SO beautiful and peaceful.

Yesterday, we saw a cock fight but not with chickens. It was seabirds, right there on the edge of the sea! And after all their posturing, and wing spreading and prancing, they took the battle to the air and duked it out up there! The winner, by mutual agreement, got to have the stony low'tide area rife with little fishies. The loser did not fare all that badly either. He just had to move to down to the river mouth a ways.

Oh, Robert just walked in. End of town trip.

Time Out....

2009-11-16T15:45:00.002-07:00

I have maybe three minutes.

Update on drugs: the word on the street is more cinematic than the word in the English language newspaper published in Mexico City. Makes a better movie.

Update on the waves: Robert is having a great time and even tried out his vintage 1960 vintage Jacobs 9.0 board out there. Guess who f*ed with him, stealing his waves with a sly grin.

Update on boogieboarders: I am still swimming laps.

Gotta run! Next week I fly to San Francisco for a week.. combination Thanksgiving and Family Reunion and Celebration of our Parents' 100th birthdays (Note: they have passed on, however, thus it is their fine and loved memory that we celebrate.

Then I fly back here to pack up, and drive with Robert to see the wonderful Monarch butterflies in their winter digs... again. Scroll down and view a sampling of our photos. Wish I could post the videos.

Gone... with the wind......

SNAPSHOTS & VIDEOS

2009-11-09T11:47:00.002-07:00

Well, verbal ones, that is. Can´t upload from here.

(But first: there are very fine waves for surfers, just not huge. You can "wear yourself out" as one guy said. Nothing for boogiers since the very first day, however. So, I swim laps.....
and Second: just after I wrote the previous entry, I saw folks with their wheelbarrows back in action AND my first burro sighting in our village.... he was from the neighboring village, however. All is not changed forever.)

1. iPOD: BROOKS & DUNN ("video")
Shoulda seen us! The village was dark and quiet the other night, but our porch was bopping. We hooked up the iPod to speakers (only loud enough for us), and just the two of us--we rocked out to the country sounds of whining guitars, close harmonies, and sappy lyrics.

2. MANDALAS ("photo")
After weeks of coloring between the lines on xeroxes of simplified mandalas that I supply, the local village kids took the chalk to the walk (meaning the ramada floor), and turned it into a full-bloom garden of colors. Hated to wash them away it was so beautiful... but they scuff, you know. And that night was Halloween, when all the village kids and a good number of parents crowd in to see the Gringa Bruja who bribes their ugly, hateful selves to leave her alone by giving them.... CHOCOLATE! Pix posted later.

3. ANCIENT MAYAN TEMPLE ("photo")
There is already of photo of this if you scroll to a previous entry-- but now it is so overgrown with large flowering vines that it looks very much like an archeological discovery. Soon to be transformed into a washroom for laundry, dishes, and bodies. Whether or not we put in a toilet is up for debate. Old hippies here. Whassamatta with a hole in the ground? Feeds that toad! Feeds them chickens! Furthermore, it´s beautiful back there in the jungle.... AND this woman right here at this keyboard doesn´t have to scrub and clean that hole out back. Now that there´s the real reason for wondering why bother to build a throne in a box.

4. DRUG DEALS GOIN´DOWN (photo)
A Facebook friend inquired if we´d seen any lately. I answered him there, but here it is again... Our dear friends who live right at the beach DID see (early dawn) a heavily laden and powerful-motored speedboat slide onto the beach just as trucks arrived from the road that ends there... a quick hauling of cargo from boat to truck and zooom. Boats and trucks were gone and all was quiet. Not for long. Shortly after, whether connected or not (you can never know), a man was found hanging from a nearby bridge over the coastal highway. There was quite the swarm of armed soldiers around that site. There are regular roadblocks with armed military as we drive to Zihua and back. And it is quite usual for truckloads of black'dressed, masked, and heavily armed soldiers to patrol our beach. We wave and smile, and some return the courtesy. One guy called a couple of the armed guys over, along with a couple of bikini'clad girls, and set himself in the center. Photo shoot! Big grins on the faces of all.

5. iPOD REDUX (whatever)
So, I´ll end this whimsical entry with another iPod story, kinda like bookends. Robert was in the ramada fixing up surfboards. I was on the porch with crayons and a xeroxed Tibetan mandala, very engrossed in my ouevre. On the iPod was playing "Raising Sand" (Robert Plant and Alison Krauss). Up our little hill, there comes bopping our delightful long'time pal. Omar -- with white wires dangling from his ears. Well, that was no surprise, since we "paid" him for work done with an iPod. What made it fun, is that he bopped over to our iPod, unplugged our sappy sweet music (to Mexican ears for sure, though this longtime folkie loves it) and plugged in HIS iPod. Man, he had on the coolest, most involving, rhythmical, great.... African music!

Sayonara.

EPHEMERAE

2009-11-04T17:20:00.003-07:00

1. LIGHT
Walking the winding trail through our jungly backyard, I caught sight of a perfect circle of sunlight with a perfect shadow of a heart centered within. As I walked past, I made note to return quickly with a camera and catch that view. Less than a minute later, there was not a trace of that perfection. The sun had moved on.

2. WHEELBARROWS AND SALESMEN
In 2002, and again in 2004, I made note of how the villagers traveled the winding wild dirt road from the village to the seaside.... They used wheelbarrows. The fishermen carried their gear to their boats in the early dawn, returning many hours later hopefully laden with fish. On Sundays, mothers carried the family feast and whatnot in their wheelbarrows, kids bouncing and racing all around, as they made their way to the sea. Wheels! Only a few still rode horses. Never saw a burro here.

Now, it is all trucks, and 4-wheelers, sometimes a kid driving; even fancy cars from big cities.

This transformation does bring up one delightful morning repetition. The fishermen pile in the back of trucks, and one particular young man always calls to his uncle in the early dawn light... his uncle who lives across our road, and diagonally down the hill from us, out of sight. This uncle likes to sleep in, so as well as roosters, we are treated to a humorous, friendly tirade from this nephew, as the truck putters outside the uncle's house:
"Tio! Oye, TIO! Ay, cabron..... TIO! Andale perro! Vamanos!"

3. SALESMEN
A vanished species. Back in 2004, I swung in a hammock on our porch and made note of all the things you can buy just by hanging out in a hammock on your porch. Apparently, I have lost that list, but here are some of the things: fresh baked breads, water, gas, fresh hot tortillas, ice cream and candies, furniture, hammocks, clothes, embroidered pillowcases and antimacassars, woven floor mats, jewelry, make'up, Jesus of course -- oh the list goes on. The salesmen just walk up the driveway bearing goods.

All that is mostly over now. No one can afford the gas to travel to small villages, and no one here has all that much cash on hand to buy. Gas, water, and tortillas -- and Jesus of course -- still come by. The colorful homespun creations, no more.

3. DAWN
I am now settled in enough to rise just at the very first hint of First Light, take my dulcimer and mat to the ramada and face east for the dawning.... while quietly tuning my voice to my favorite raga, going up and down the specific scale til my voice is free, and then start singing songs.... all quietly.

4. WAVES
I remember waves...... there used to be a lot of them. Big, too!

FRESH SEA-BREEZE...and...

2009-10-21T09:49:00.005-06:00

(NOTE: I have revised the previous entry rather considerably, if you care to look it over. Also, PETER! If you´re reading this, please email me personally. We have a humble request, regarding our butterfly book, on the bed in our computer room. Please bring it! It has the directions to the butterfly forest.)

FRESH SEA-BREEZE...
The other day it was more than a "sea'breeze" --yeeeha, it was what is called in Spanish, "una tormenta." Great word for a storm. We wandered casually over to the beach as the dark clouds were building and flashing, and the wind was beginning.....

...to watch the waves, and to marvel at the waves. There were waves in every direction as far as the horizon. Huge ones, with long trailing seafoam blown off the tops like the hair of a blonde in a red sportscar. So huge, you could easily see these mammoth fellows rolling along the coastline right out there on the very horizon.

Some were rolling in towards our beach --none of those were in any predictable pattern -- but those huge rollers in the distance were going "sideways" to the beach. They were rolling from east to west, as we stood there facing south. Breath'taking wildness.

And the surfers? Oh, they were out there in spades, like little ants, scrambling around trying to catch a wave. But it was like pinball. There were waves everywhere, but most waves weren´t formed right. You had simply to be lucky, and be at the right place at the right time -- with no clue where that might be -- and with a mighty blustering wind fighting your every stroke.

Meanwhile, back at the casita.... Mind you, our every day IS sweet.

The air is fragrant because October here is like spring --lush and moist, and laced with flowers everywhere. Birds and butterflies flit about. Our house is daily filled with laughter and tricksters, and warm companionship. The latest craze is jigsaw puzzles of varying difficulty, plus creating chalk designs all over the floor of our ramada (which by the way, the kids then broom-wash away without prompting, because even THAT is fun). Much of the time, we are goofing around WITH the kids...

Occasionally, we get out there in our rolling large yard and hack down a few square yards more of the humongous overhead weeds that blanket our yard in the four'month absence. Later(!!) for hauling the tonnage to a central pile for composting. Hot work, heavy work. By the way, our last visit´s compost pile is now rich dark earth. Yes!

Is Mercury going straight YET?????

I ask, because as you all recall, I was kept out of the water from my very first day--for a week --with a stub-removal of a complete toenail. The DAY I was healed up enough to return was the DAY that ROBERT got injured and is now officially "out of the water" til HE heals.

Some dumb gringo surfer kid (which is to say, it was not a deliberate attack by you-know-who) jumped on Robert´s wave, saw him already there, and bailed from his board with a dive.... and in so doing, carelessly kicked his board directly AT Robert, causing a veryvery deep vertical gash on Robert´s shin.

Robert limped home, and we gathered ourselves to go to a clinic in a nearby village where there actually IS a clinic. All the kids that were playing at our house jumped in the car for the ride. Party! Party!

The clinic room was a recently whitewashed broom closet (small, I mean), and the treatment table was my knees. Robert sat on a folding chair and draped his injured leg over my knees and that was where the doctor treated him.. He was CLEARLY very professional, very thorough, very clean, very good.... Three stitches. Five more days and then Robert can cut his own stitches and go back into the waves.

I just learned, a propos of nothing, that a mapache is a Mexican raccoon, and a tlacuache is a Mexican possum -- so it seems from descriptions/behaviors.

Most night around midnight Guillermo (our dear Mayor, and dear friend) goes with his dog Payaso (meaning Clown) and often with Omar and HIS dog -- and they start at opposite ends of Guille´s cornfield out there among the coco trees, and they beat the stalks and yell and the dogs bark and race around and just raise hell. Scaring away the mapache. Two nights ago, Payaso caught and killed one.

Our life here is such a rich mix of ancient village life patterns found throughout the world over multiples of centuries, and the jarring nearby presence of the modern one. The anthropologist in me watches quietly, and the philosopher in me muses.

Enough! Town trip. I have many errands to do.

Chasing the Moonset...

2009-08-08T10:11:00.005-06:00

Sitting quietly in my boat before dawn, awaiting moonset, successive clouds of small black birds rise up from the island, cover the sky in wildly noisy cacophany, and then they are gone, and all is silent.

Surely they are very same birds I watched on another day at sunset. I watched them arrive -- from where? -- with the same uproarious symphony, and settle on that island. Noisy clouds settling in the greenery, and shaking the air for some time.

I like to let the wind blow me backwards. I like to watch the lakeweeds below my boat sway as I glide over. I like to see the waterbirds move with me yet maintain our distance.

And that black waterbird, diving fearlessly so close to my boat -- she glides around a reeded bend, only to peek back at me from time to time. At last, responding to her beckoning, I slowly move my boat. Ah! Proud mama! She is showing me her little one as they fuss with no fear of me, among the reeds.

Dawn’s golden rays flash silver the leaping fish.

Here? Lotus blooming among reeds? Ha! Fine feathers floating amid.

The round moon at sunrise melts like a lemon drop into the great blueness of sky.

The Ramcharitmanas

2009-07-26T14:32:00.006-06:00

THE RAMCHARITMANAS by Tulsidas

(from a talk I delivered recently -- better heard than read, of course.)

It has been said that you cannot truly understand the people of northern India unless
you also have some understanding of their national spiritual epic, "The Ramayana."
The name, "The Ramayana" means "The Way of Ram." But who is Ram?

Well, then -- I would add that you cannot understand the Ramayana without some modicum of

understanding of the Hindu pantheon... so here it is in the briefest of nutshells (show "graph" and explain briefly). Now that you understand that, it also helps to understand that the Ramayana is but one of a number of sacred scriptures. There are other, far older scriptures such as the Rig-Veda, which approach the spirituality of the Hindu through Wisdom... But the quickest way to know God is through Love, and the most honeyed text of Love is the Ramayana.

Especially a particular version of the Ramayana. In the 15th Century, when Shakespeare was penning his masterpieces, the lyrical poet, Tulsidas was busy creating his masterpieces. The most famous is his "Sri Ramcharitmanas" which translates: "The Manas Lake Brimming Over With the Exploits of Sri Rama." It is THIS version that lakhs and crores of Hindus (100s and 1000s, to you) have memorized, many sing it in its entirety every Saturday.... And then again, every Tuesday, many sing their favorite chapter, known as "The Sundarakand" -- "The Beautiful Story." They love to do so, because as a meditation, this book can transport you to higher realms of consciousness.

Tulsidas himself SAYS so in the final paragraph of this epic book. You've heard this once already this morning: "This translation has been rendered into the common tongue by Tulsidas for dispersing the gloom of the heart. This glorious, holy, purifying, blessed, and most limpid lake of Ram's exploits ever begets happiness; nay, it bestows both wisdom and devotion, wipes out delusion, infatuation and impurity, and is brimful with the water of Love. Those who devoutly take a plunge into it are never scorched with the burning rays of the sun of worldly illusion."

It is this book, on one delightful day, that my own guru handed out to each and every westerner then seated at his feet. (Hold up my tattered Ramcharitmanas....) Before that, I knew NOTHING of this book. Shortly after receiving my copy I got a small taste of the power of the book. I was on a train, third class, women's car, and had the book in my lap. Sitting across from me, were three wizened "grandmothers", as sweet and gentle as warm honey. Our knees pressed against each others' across the narrow space.

Spying my Ramayana, one grandmother asked to look at it. She flipped through the pages and found, in the Hindi text section, a favorite passage. She and her companions offered to sing it to me. She passed the book back, and showed me where to follow along in English. You had to be there, of course, but the atmosphere became charged with light, and the meaning of the words took form as they sang praises to the dust of the feet of the guru. It begins in this way:

"I greet the pollen-like dust of the lotus feet of my preceptor, refulgent, fragrant and flavoured with love. It is a lovely powder of the life-giving herb, which allays the host of all the attendant ills of mundane existence... It rubs the dirt off the beautiful mirror in the shape of the devotee's heart. When (this dust) is applied to the forehead it attracts a host of virtues. .."

Once I began reading this book myself, I was delighted by Tulsidas' disclaimer of his own skill as a writer... Here is but a taste of it: "...recognizing the entire creation as full of Sita and Rama, I make obeisance to them with joined palms. ... I have no confidence in my intellectual power, hence I supplicate you all. ....(For herein, I dare to) recount the virtues of Sri Rama. But my wits are poor, whereas the exploits of Sri Ram are unfathomable. ... my intellect is exceedingly mean, my ambition is pitched too high. (Of those who are ) slaves of the flesh, anger and passion, and who are unscrupulous, hypocritical and foremost among intriguers --I occupy the first place among them. (...) I am no poet, nor an adept in the art of speech. (... ) There are elegant devices of letters, subtleties of meaning, various figures of speech, metrical compositions of different kinds, infinite varieties of emotions and sentiments and multifarious flaws and excellences of poetic composition. Of these details of poesy, I possess critical knowledge of none. My composition is devoid of all charm; it has only one merit, which is known throughout the world. ... It contains the gracious name of... Ram."

Despite this elegant denial, "The Ramcharitmanas" is a pleasure to read, just to absorb the exquisite skill of the poet as he takes off on highly descriptive sidepaths, as he wanders into philosophical and spiritual realms. Furthermore, it is a rich compendium of the Hindu culture. This book contains numerous stories-within-the-story, which explain the background and history of the various characters and events. Each of these stories is filled with humor, pathos and wonder.

For the sheer mischief of it, may I share with you an excerpt from one of them... In this one, the world's very existence is being threatened by an all-powerful demon, and it has been said that only the son of Shiva can conquer this demon. Unfortunately, Shiva is childless, celibate, and deep in an eons-long trance. Someone must volunteer to awaken him. The onus falls on the God of Love, who mutters to himself, "I expect no good to come to myself from this."

Love tries many tactics to awaken Shiva, all of which fail. But his most memorable attempt -- and it fails also, by the way, though I doubt any of us here would escape -- Anyway, his most memorable attempt to awaken Shiva was to set all of creation into a state of pure lust. Listen to these excerpts:

"(Love) then exhibited his power and brought the whole world under his sway -- the sway of lust. All the barriers imposed by the Vedas were swept away in a moment. The whole army of discriminating knowledge such as celibacy, religious vows, self-restraint, fortitude, piety, spiritual wisdom, and the knowledge of qualified divinity both with form and without form, morality, muttering of prayers, yoga, dispassion and so on fled in panic. They all went and hid themselves in mountain caves in the form of sacred books! Whatever creatures existed in the world, whether animate or inanimate, were completely possessed by lust. The boughs of trees bent low at the sight of creepers. Rivers in spate rushed to meet the ocean. Lakes and ponds united in love. Where such was reported to be the case with the inanimate creation, who can relate the doings of sentient beings? Beasts that walk on land and birds traversing the air and water lost all sense of time and became victims of lust. As for gods, demons, human beings, serpents, evil spirits, fiends, ghosts and vampires -- I have refrained from dwelling on the condition of these, knowing them to be the eternal slaves of passion. Even spiritual adepts, Siddhas and yogis gave up their practices under the influence of lust. (...) For nearly an hour this wonderful game of Love lasted in the universe. Shiva's unbroken trance, however, could not be disturbed."

Finally, Love DOES find a way to awaken Shiva --but at the cost of his own embodiment. Shiva dutifully fathers a son, who goes on to destroy the demon and so on..... But this background story is still simply setting the stage.

So now, on to the main text of the Ramayana. Overall, it is a simple story. There is a despotic king -- a demonic king from the south who aspires to dominate over all the three worlds: the underworld of the demons, the human realm, and the heavenly realm of the gods. He sets out to destroy all the temples, and all the holy priests, as well as capture all the pretty women including (and herein lies the kernel of the tale) -- including capturing Ram's lovely wife Sita. The demon's name is Ravana. He is intelligent, handsome, and charming when you look directly at him. But glimpsed out of the corner of your eye, he is terrifying with 10 heads and 20 arms, violent and angry. The terrified people, even the Earth herself, pray to the heavens for salvation. Lo and behold, their prayers are answered! A savior, by the name of Rama, is born -- and he does just that. With the help of a humble monkey named Hanuman, who locates the kidnapped Sita, and the help of other jungly creatures who fight the smaller demons, Ram confronts and destroys this scourge of creation, this Ravana, sets free his wife, and sets the world back on a righteous track. End of story.

Ah, but the glory is in the details! How the Hindus treasure each and every step of the way -- allegorically, romantically, spiritually... They see the essence of this story repeated continually, in their personal lives, AND they see it expanded into the flow of national and international politics. And they often speak of it. Here is one example of how The Ramcharitmanas was applied to our modern times... It is embodied in another interesting pre-story. This one gives a deeper understanding of the demonic Ravana. And it gives a far deeper understanding of the vastness of Love which permeates all Creation. It is a great story. Here is but a snapshot:

As the story goes -- Ravana, in his previous incarnation, had been a goodhearted king named Pratapabhanu. This Pratapabhanu was a spiritually advanced soul, kind and generous to his people. His only flaw was pride -- pride in how well he ruled, and thus he could not resist conquering neighboring kingdoms and imposing his rule over them. Not surprisingly, this pride led to jealousy and anger on the part of the conquered kings, and sure enough, one such king took revenge. Through an elaborate deception, he caused Pratapabhanu to be cursed by 1000 Brahmins! Oh, they cursed him! They cursed him to be reborn as the demonic scourge of creation in his next life, him and all his family! Thus this once good king became... Ravana. His only hope for salvation from this dreadful embodiment was to be conquered by the embodiment of Love, by the godhead incarnate... Enter Ram, whose arrows behead him and split his body in half... emphatically freeing him from his demonic debt. He is now free to be reborn, as a humbled spiritual adept, and continue on his path to enlightenment. Applying that birth/rebirth pattern to modern times, one Hindu friend of mine said, quite matter-of-factly, that that same reincarnation pattern was true of.... Hitler.

THERE ARE NO BAD GUYS. IT IS ALL ABOUT LOVE -- AND UNDERSTANDING THE BIG PICTURE, THE REALLY BIG PICTURE WHICH IS: IT'S ALL ABOUT LOVE.

All of this teaching is so sweetly embedded throughout the story of Ram. So... here's a quick glance at the symbolism of a few of the characters in the epic:

For example, according to Tulsidas, Ram is the unfathomable, incomprehensible Godhead beyond words... but for now let'ss say that Ram represents our Pure Self of Noble Instincts-- that pure being within us who longs to manifest. However, we cannot easily achieve that state of awakening because our willpower, our inner strength, our pure self, our kundalini (which is Sita) is held too tightly captive, entrenched by our worldly entanglements -- the entanglements of lust, greed, anger and attachment (Ravana). It is only by deep inner resolve, calming ourselves down, humbling ourselves with some sort of regular spiritual practice that we can hope to break free (symbolized by the monkey, Hanuman, ever the humble servant). Then --and only then-- can we find the deep and stable inner peace that we seek (symbolized by the union of Sita and Rama).

Let me play with that for a bit... by looking again at the storyline,. But this time, I will add the symbolism of the characters and actions:

Here we have a world suffering under the scourge of a despotic king (that would be each of us doing the suffering, thanks to our own desires and attachments). Then, because of the passionate prayers of the people (our own longing), Vishnu incarnates as Ram (we become aware of our own spiritual potential). All looks good. Ram is slated to be crowned king -- but on the very eve of his coronation, the intrigues of jealousy break out (our desires distract us)... and Ram is instead banished to wander in the jungle for 14 years (recall our own detours along the way). As Ram sets off, his brother Lakshman and his lovely new bride Sita come running after him. They will NOT be left behind.

The journey leads them deeper and deeper into the dark jungles, closer and closer to the kingdom of the despotic and ambitious Ravana (what risks have each of us taken in our life's journey? what tempting detours?). While wandering in the jungle, there are demonic spies who have been watching the trio, and reporting back to Ravana. (this would be our personal justifications for our transgressions... lying to ourselves) Most ominously, these spies praise the beauty and purity of Sita. Ravana, who must always have the best, decides to personally kidnap Sita for his harem, which he does. (in other words, we succumb to the self-deception of pride in our accomplishments -- but there is no peace in that, and so comes the next development)

Rama (our soul), distraught with grief at the loss of Sita, and with no standing army to turn to, engages the help of the local denizens of the forest -- the humble beings around him -- the monkeys and bears, and chipmunks.

One monkey emerges from among the many -- the clever, deeply devoted, very capable and surprisingly humble Hanuman (personal spiritual practice). Ravana feels no threat whatsoever from humans and monkeys (spiritual practice! HA!)! He cannot recognize their inner strengths. Indeed, he exclaims triumphantly, "They are our FOOD!"

Thus the story goes on. You're on your own now, to make the symbolic connections.

I would like to end my talk by touching on the most beloved chapter of the entire epic, "The Sundarakand/The Beautiful Story"... and I want to highlight it. It tells of how the humble Monkey, Hanuman, finds Sita and reports back to Ram.

It is beautiful because of the antics and cleverness of Hanuman. It is beautiful because of his gentleness with Sita. It is quite delightful how Hanuman outwits the demons, even Ravana -- and how cleverly he burns down the demon's city of Lanka. And, it is beautiful because of the words he speaks to Ram, reassuring Ram that his lovely Sita is alive...

What happens next in The Sundarakand, is the moment perhaps the most highly prized by the Hindu. There is an image of this moment in stained glass in the Hanuman Temple in Taos. I have used it as the cover on my CD. And it is there, on the cover of this morning's program (and at the top of this post, btw). The image portrays this: Hearing Hanuman's report of Sita's wellbeing, Ram is overwhelmed with emotion. Tears flood from his lotus eyes. He draws Hanuman to his feet and gently enfolds him in his arms. (that moment!) Ram says: "No one, no god, no human, no sage, has done for me what you have done, o Hanuman. How can I repay you? Listen, my son. I have thought over this question, and I have concluded that the debt which I owe you for finding my beloved Sita can never be repaid...." Hanuman, utterly overwhelmed with love, falls to the ground sobbing, "Save me, save me, from the grasping tentacles of egotism!" That moment in the narrative, for the Hindu, is a show-stopper....

Then, the action picks up considerably. It is time for the battle! Ravana must be destroyed. Sita must be rescued! And few details are ignored. This is a thick book. The army of monkeys and bears -- and chipmunks -- spring into action and engage the demon forces in battle. It is not a pretty sight, and it is described in its full gore... with unholy rivers of blood, and ghouls and goblins taking their plunge in it, and dead warriors floating down it like boats, with birds perched on them... There are even heat-seeking missiles and multiple warheads. Our modern weapons are nothing new. The battle goes from the physical realm into the psychic realm of illusion, as well... In the end, as I've said earlier, the final battle comes down to one-on-one between Ravana and Ram. Ram kills Ravana and then praises him for the great -- but flawed -- king that he was. His karmic debt has now been erased.

This entire adventure, from the moment Ram was banished to this dramatic death of Ravana, by the way, has taken exactly the same 14 years for which Ram had been banished. Ram is now free to return to Ayodhya. There is, however, one controversial snag. Something about the fact that Sita had been under the roof of another man... There is an older version of the Ramayana, written by Valmiki in classical Sanskrit, which does not shy away from this snag. But our beautiful poet Tulsidas does not have the heart for it...

So, let us leave the happy couple here (we can touch upon this "snag" in the discussion afterwards).

Let's watch as they ride in their aerial chariot back to Ayodhya, Hanuman ever by their side. Let's see how ecstactically they are welcomed home to a city aglow with little votive lamps lining every roof in the city...

Let's not look -- not now -- at the ending of this story as recorded in the older Valmiki text.

Let's leave this story here... for now.

Mexico Pix: Spring 09 (pt.2)

2009-06-26T11:36:00.004-06:00

Hey! Look at this! Two fledgling doves in their nest. They are able to fly on their own now, but haven't yet given up this place of refuge. We've watched this nest since the mother bird first started sitting here.... very carefully, from a distance, with binoculars.

This time, with telephoto, and a bit too close (I might add) Robert moved in. The bird on the left hopped out of the nest and fluttered clumsily off. Later, he was seen back in the nest -- which is located (by the way) right behind the construction site of our new wash-stand.

Ahhh, a delicious evening meal with Marta in her welcoming kitchen... We share such a close bond with her and her family, through all these years. This is the mother of Omar and Lalo (appearing now and again in pix and blogs). Her daughters, equally fine folk, don't drop by our house and so don't make it into blog-tales.

This kitchen is wattle-and-daub construction, covered in adobe and whitewashed. Airy, light, and comfortably spacious.

And here, from the vantage point of my hammock in our new ramada (those are my toes), is a glimpse of how lush our property is becoming. Five ever-blooming rose bushes in pots, ferns, papaya, and various citrus trees all shade the house and provide places for birds and lizards. We spend many a morning on the porch, watching this "wide-screen TV."

And here's a glimpse into the yard of our nearest neighbors. This is where our delightful Luis lived before he was adopted and moved to Zihua. This little girl, Diana Laura, is his cousin. Soon, I hope she will be independent enough to come play with the other kids on the porch. As I wrote some time earlier, this family saga deserves a novel as large as "Gone With the Wind."

The mango tree, by the way, is on our side of the fence -- one of four. It was a great mango year.

Appearing on our wide-screen TV this day is our molting lizard. He wanders all over our property, entertaining us with his antics.

The ever-vigilant "OWNER" of this papaya tree is the hummingbird. While he chases off all other birds, butterflies, even bees -- he leaves this guy alone (he don't drink no nectar).

We have a photo of the hummingbird at rest (where he often performs his bathing ritual), but he is very small in the photo, so I didn't post it.

Mexico Pix: Spring 09 (pt.1)

2009-06-26T10:55:00.004-06:00

The Wedding Arch -- After the very classy wedding of Josh & Morgan, we posed for a sunset moment before the dancing began...

Here is the Dr. Seuss Table.

While the top of it is delightfully warped (spilled liquids flow to the lower 2 corners). The boards came that way -- and still(!), the table stands rock-steady. A favorite creation from Robert's leisure time. This is in our new gazebo/ramada

-- a place for leisure, surrounded by beautiful blooming things, and cooled by the sea breezes.

But no stay in our Mexico digs is safe from construction!

Below, viewed through a previous visit's carport construction (now bedecked with copious Copa de Oro vines), is our new wash-stand. On the top will be huge water containers and below will be room for washing dishes, washing clothes, and a private shower...

Full Moon and Beeg Waves... and Widescreen TVs(two!)

2009-06-09T16:03:00.005-06:00

(No doubt this is my last entry for this spring 2009 Mexico sojourn. The next entry will be from Durango and will be the posting of photos.)

FULL MOON and BEEG WAVES
We need to revise our viewpoint -- away from the concept of visiting here according to the solar months..... and focus instead on the lunar phases. The waves for both surfers and especially for boogie-boarders really jack up over the full moon phase. Let us say we are coming for two full moon cycles each spring and each fall.

Lately, as the moon rides high and full, we begin each day with a morning sesh. Then we come back for a sunset sesh (both of us on boogies for this one). We tear up the surf, screaming sideways all along the front of the wave, laughing as we fly...

...all the while bathed in the peach glow of sunset. The red ball that is the sun floats in the peach nectar just above the turquoise sea, but then exactly at the setting of the sun, the sky itself explodes into even more color, perhaps tangerine, drenching the sky directly overhead. Thus, the sea around us that radiance even as the blue and the white of the waves become more pronounced -- all in an intoxicating swirl.

Just last night I turned around and around and around in the swirling post-ride turbulence, taking in the shimmer of pastel light all around..

And then.... then glides the moon into view above the coconut palms, transluscent perfect pearl set in irridescent azure. It is exactly opposite to the peach and tangerine sky, both in location and mood...

Afterwards, in darkness, with just small headlamps, we walk quietly home through a jungly path, across the now lake'like river, to our humble casita amongst the flowers.

WIDESCREEN TVs (two!)
Yup. It has come to that. We leave them on all the time, and watch them both simultaneously every morning for sure... With fresh ground coffee, pastries, and fruited oatmeal, and very often visiting village friends.

One is always tuned to the Male Papaya Channel directly in front of our porch. The other is over by the newly finished ramada (gazebo, to you). It is the Sasanil Channel, which is the shade tree that puts forth purewhite transluscent pearls for fruit.

On the Papaya Channel, we are treated to the antics and passions of one hummingbird in particular (watching him as he dines on the multitude of flowers, stretches, cleans himself, rests, and passionately chases off intruders etc etc etc..... all very upclose and delightful).

With or without binoculars for closeup, we can also turn our attention at any time to the Sasanil Channel and watch a variety of local birds (in particular, a different variety of robin than in Durango, plus great kiskadees, and the kind of oriole we nickname the Mango bird for its coloration). I love how they will select a particular pearl, hold it in their beaks awhile (looking far too large for them to swallow)....and then they DO swallow it. I can imagine the explosion of nectar as they close their beaks over these pearls. I can almost feel the liquid flowing down my throat.

But now it is time to go. This is probably our last town visit as well. First, we must finish yet one more big cement project-- building an overhead cement platform (the posts and other supports are already in place) on which we will place our water tanks. This will become our shower room, and dishwashing and clotheswashing stand. It is located to the back and side of our home. All is in readiness for tomorrow, big work day.

Many more flowering bushes are now in place, many flower seeds are planted and ready to sprout... and packing up should flow easily, too. We have a number of empty boxes ready to receive the items now resting on shelves. Then we have three days drive if we do not take in sightseeing. It is all on our whim now. Jai Sri Ram.

Future Ghost

2009-06-01T15:14:00.003-06:00

Whew. I have written so many rough drafts of these various observations of life here... too many observations, some intense, too much to read. I'll try exclamation points per topic instead:

!
When we first arrived at the Little Salty Place, village life was so reminiscent of living in Iowa in the '50s. Rural, even. Vehicles were rare. Folks traveled with a wheelbarrow laden with picnics down the road to the beach. All felt safe, family, peaceful. Still feels safe, family, peaceful but there are cars, trucks, 4-wheelers.... Cell phones, TVs... can't be helped but I wish I could warn them what is being lost byte by byte...

!!
The Ghost from the Future (that would be me) wanted so much to warn them... I did TRY to stop one friend from taking ALL the lobsters, even those with eggs -- to take only the largest... but he could not hear me. "Hay mucho" he said. His mother laments how few and how small they are these days, and anyway, her freezer is full. Still he brings more.

!!!
And there was no way I could ever stop the utter destruction of an entire ecosystem right before my eyes. Money is far too strong a pull. The last vestige of jungle and lagoons that stretched along the shore when first we came here was bulldozed two weeks ago. The last lagoon was filled in. In its place are truckloads and truckloads of dirt, building up a platform for yet more tourist rentals. The villagers comment how beautiful it was before... with all the tropical birds everywhere, and the giant iguanas. All gone.

Despite the Biblical warning not to build your house on sand, Rogelio will build not only on a beachfront, but this last one is right at the river mouth... which will flood violently in the coming monsoon season as it always does. He is building on what was a lagoon, for goodness sake!

!!!!
And every single earlyearly dawn, Robert and I lie on our mats on the porch amazed by the cacophany of birdsong (think RJ Lurtsma - WGBH)... and then eat our breakfast with birdbooks and binoculars on the table. The spectacular tropical birds are gone but what are left are still beautiful... And right now, one of our large canopied trees is covered in small fruits that look just like transluscent pearls, beloved of ALL our birds... So when two of our favorite kids showed up one evening, pointing at the treetops in our jungly backyard, we thought nothing of it... til we saw the air'powered slingshot and their excited gesture at a "hit"!!

I came out with my very best Spanish (well, all I COULD come up with in my horror) and yelled out, "!Ya! !No mas! Adios! !ADIOS!" They were having fun killing songbirds.

!!!!!
And for those of you, if there actually ARE any of you, following the threads of these entries... Guero is back and in full form, threatening the LIVES of his targets, now. While out in the lineup for the waves ("Voy a matar'te..." or whatever... even though he speaks fluent English he pretends he knows only Spanish). He's working on one person in particular just now -- starting in with hateful insults for others to hear, then he brings his surfboard right up beside his intended victim and sneers a death threat face to face. Bad juju, very very bad juju. We are keeping a very low profile ourselves, under the radar, quiet and unobtrusive, going about our business, keeping as much separation as we can. Robert is out there in the line'up, but stays unobtrusive.

!!!!!!
Last little Future Ghost entry... That was ALMOST me! So it seemed at the time, anyway. NOT connected in any way to the swine flu hullabaloo, I apparently ate some unrefrigerated cooked chicken. I was in no pain, but my stomach rumbled all night (Robert says). Early morning, I stumbled off the porch and headed into our jungle path to the hole-in-the-back.. but barely had I entered the jungle when the ground pulled me down. I could NOT stay upright. It was all in slow motion, so I recall realizing I was going down, and the thought passed into my head that perhaps I was actually dying (from the bad food). Very calm, noticing the early morning light on the jungly leaves, thinking this might be my last vision.... I do not recall reaching the ground. I do not know how long I lay there. For the next three days, while still never in pain, I was rarely awake, rarely conscious..... just rolling around a bit, while flattened on my sleeping mat. Then it was over with no repercussions.

Robert just showed up. End of entry. We off to get a licuado or whatever! Town trip, town trip! Love to all, y hasta la vista amigos. BTW, we plan to head north around mid June. How is that for a firm date.

The Malformed Dolfin

2009-05-20T17:00:00.003-06:00

The surfers are out there on their boards, riding the waves sideways. Not my sport. Mine is to leap up just as a wave crests and dive over it, toes pointed as I disappear into the water beyond. Over and over. Or to be rolled sideways in the wave, enjoying the dizziness. Or to dive under the wave and luxuriate in the bubbles all around me, tickling my skin everywhere. I like it when the crashing wave pushes and pulls different parts of me in different directions. I let the wave have its way with me.

I also like to ride the wave backwards... that is to say, while lying on my back. I catch it as it crests and shove off with my fins and ride along the top....

My fins. There. I said it.

Way back in, was it 1974? I have the journal, kept in a zippered tote bag, stacked with all my other journals. I could look up the year. The bag is on the closet shelf in my newly claimed project-room (guest room to you). Written in that journal is a list of.... well hell, even though I was still in my 20s when I wrote it, it was my "Bucket List."

Last time I checked it -- in 1992 -- I saw that I have done everything on that list, except swim with dolphins. Sensually, up close and personal, that is.

I've had this desire for such a long time. It was reignited by the enchantment I saw in the eyes of a friend who had just returned from swimming with dolphins in the wild. It was 1988. She spoke of it in soft hesitant tones, now and then closing her eyes to re-experience it. "It's like making love," she whispered. "They circled around me, gliding gently against my skin, my front, my back, my arms, my legs -- and then dashed away, then returned with a teasing approach. One female kept rubbing up against me, displying her slit, slightly parted, as if inviting me to enter her. It was.... I was...."

You can understand why my having paid $75 in New Zealand to share a very cold-water swim-tank with three captive dolphins does not count. The dolphins never left the bottom of the tank.

Later, I braved the depths of a Hawaiian cove where a friend of mine -- she lives there -- said she swims with the wild ones, calves included. The couple of days that I tried it, there was not a fin in sight.

And now here in Mexico, where I swim daily, I've yet to see one... And so... I swim like one. I make pure love to the ocean. We play joyously together every day.

The ocean is very forgiving. Well it knows that my fins failed to form correctly and that my tail mysteriously bifurcated, but it pays no mind. I am simply a malformed dolphin.

I am a malformed dolfin. No es doloroso.

"...gone to flinders."

2009-05-20T15:59:00.005-06:00

A flotilla of pelicans had settled on the shallows above the coral. Where the coral gives way to a seabed of sand is where I settled in. With my boogie as an armrest, and the ocean up to my armpits, I was there to simply be nearby, to watch.

I've been a watcher all my life, but am re-inspired by Craig Childs. Read anything he's written, and listen to him on NPR.

Closer to shore was a small army of barechested nationals, splashing about, so I was hardly deep in the wilds. Worse, one young man took an interest in me and crept ever closer, staring.... From the look on his face, he seemed slightly retarded if not outright demented. Just then, I sensed, and then saw, another guy creeping up on the other side of me, looking equally demented.

"What are you guys up to?" I cleverly blurted out in English. They both turned away, back to their own kind. I looked around for a sane-looking man who would be their counselor. There was none. All of them must simply be drunk on a Sunday afternoon. Shortly after, the lads all launched into a hearty game of keep-away, or aerial soccer, in the water, and my pelicans drifted farther away over the coral. Rats.

Then.... a wave! A rogue, ridable boogie'wave. I went for it, sporting my own demented look... because this wave would take me right through the middle of this cacophany of young men. No matter that I missed the wave. The following series of breakers cleared the lads out.

I was now alone with the pelicans, as well as the hovering cloud of small local seagulls. With no one but me in the water nearby, the flotilla drifted closer, and I remained quiet, observing. I liked how one pelican -- instead of holding his long neck vertically with his long beak parallel and pointing down to the sea -- how this one pelican lay his long neck down along his back, with his beak resting atop that long neck. Ahhhhh.

Then came the black underwater cloud advancing rapidly towards me in the deep green sea. Ever closer, the water transformed into a roiling leaping frenzy of tiny silver fish.

I was surrounded.

I was at Ground Zero.

I was at the apex of my goal.

The white cloud of small gulls was suddenly directly overhead, swooping and scooping up the fish all around me. I was in the eye of a hurricane -- green, black, silver, white, blue -- all in swirling motion, water and sunshine all mixed together.

And, but one breath later, came the pelicans from above. One after another, they plunged headlong from some calculated height, into the sea all around me. They dove in "with all the grace of an orange crate gone to flinders." Source: Robert Dana, in his poem, "Fog." Here is the stanza from which I quote:

…the gliding pelicans with their great
beaks and bags, and the broad cape
of their wings, and that incredible collapse
into the sea, a dive with all the grace
of an orange crate gone to flinders…

"Love in the Time of Swine-Flu"

2009-05-14T11:31:00.003-06:00

Full credit for the clever title above goes to Jude Gardens who coined it as he officiated at Josh and Morgan's wedding on the beach. The full moon in April just happened to coincide with the warnings of the deadly pandemic swineflu. Yet here in Paradise, while some guests panicked and hid in their U.S. homes.... for example, there was a gap where the two attendant bridesmaids were to stand..... yet and still, it sure looked as though EVERYbody ELSE came. Ilianet's restaurant area was filled with guests who flew in despite all the hoopla. The Maid of Honor stood in her place by the Bride, and all the Groomsmen were there beside the Groom...

And best of all, everyone in the bridal party, while dressed beautifully, were--all of them--barefoot in the sand.

It was one class act from the large flowered arch framing the waves, under which they took their vows, and the white cloth covering all tables and chairs elegantly, to the flowers everywhere, and including the reallygood food and drink. Great live music by a locally hired group of fine musicians, dancing into the night. The First Waltz, well, they are one star-struck couple. What can I say. It was romantic.

Jude, who is also the groom's brother, was warm and welcoming and funny as he officiated the wedding, and by gum, he even gave away a glimpse into the courtship of Josh and Morgan, including (and I quote) "He used the the best pick-up line that he could muster, 'Wanna snuggle?' "

And, just like the ending of the book, "Love in the Time of Cholera," we are all still here on this beach while the panic of pandemic pandemonium swirls around us, not touching us at all.

NEWSFLASH: For those of you following my ongoing updates on little Luis who I knew before he was born, and then who was simply abandoned by his overwhelmed mommy, and who was so traumatized that he still doesn't have all his speech skills in line at three....... My little next-door neighbor who comes over for his big hug and swing-around and kisses all over and then free time to play with all the toys I have on the shelves, and who loves to lie on his back while I play the dulcimer....

....He has been adopted by his mommy's cousin and is now living in Zihuatanejo. He now has a mommy and a daddy and two sisters in a nice house. Daddy is involved with a garden nursery and mommy is a professional schoolteacher specializing in little kids, and I think I heard that she runs a kiddie nursery. I bet she has the patience and skills to help him learn to talk... as well as introducing him to all the other gems of early childhood, but most especially a mother's love. He got to hang out with his new family awhile before he went to live with them, and was very happy to be with them... This adoption by a relative does sound good. Other villagers nodded to me that they are good and loving people.

Meanwhile, the surf has been consistently big and steady. The other day, Robert went to the surf-waves and I to my boogie-waves, and neither of us emerged from the water for just about nearly 5 (five) hours... but who's keeping time?

Mahalo!

2009-05-07T12:02:00.002-06:00

Still soul-stunned every day on the beach---sunseasandsurf. Great waves for surfers, great waves for boogieboarder (I'm still usually the only one out there in the short stuff).

Now-- add in a daily party at Ilianet's restaurant. (Jojo and Katrina, you may recall Josh and Katya from that first year here at the Little Salty Place, camping in the jungle by the river). Josh is getting married to a beautiful and vibrant young woman, and all of their two families are here (swineflu be damned) and ALSO, Josh invited Katya and her beau to come over from Maui. There are guys skilled on guitars singing all the 60s songs every afternoon and it all spills over into the night every night. The wedding is on SaturdayMay 9, full moonish. Come on down, there's always room on the sand.

Point of gossip: most all of us regulars here have moved on down to Ilianets, since Guero is lord at Lourdes'. Even our delightful friend -- who happens to be a Vietvet whom no one can push around -- has had it with the man who is just spoiling for a big fight. All is Aloha'spirit down the beach.

Point of delight: my little love, Luis, is now one happyhappy child with beaming sparkling eyes, confident of himself and of his place in the village. Playful, responsible (as in cleans up after himself, putting his toys away when he is done) yet boyishly prankish. He delights me.... comes RUNNING up our driveway calling to me and if I don't pick him up and swing him around, covering him in kisses, he will stand in front of me and remind me puckishly. He'll disobey me just so he can get picked up and tickled back into line. He remembers and learns quickly and understands all spoken language, and has a much bigger vocabulary than his one word, "Ya!" (meaning "There!) that he had our last visit. But he is far from fluent as a speaker. He has his OWN words for things and they seem to be consistently used...

Point of description: our humble casita is lusciously surrounded with flowering bushes from bougainvillea to copa de oro to roses to "margaritas" of many colors. And the mango trees are bent to the ground with ripening fruit. All of our other fruit trees (self-sprouted from spit seeds by folks such as Peter and Jojo and Katrina and Melissa and the like) are growing rapidly and well.

Point of impatience: Robert has had it with this town trip and wants to pile back into the car and get back to being stunned in the surf and the sun, so what to say...

All is well, more than well, so comfortable are we with our village friends and the kids and the beach and all.... Closing for now. Sayonara as one village friend always says.

Standing Silent, Smiling

2009-04-28T16:27:00.001-06:00

Sun, sea
Sun, sea, sand
Surf, sand
Sea, sun
Surf, sun, sea
.....soul
stunned.

And now it's... Alas, Chaneke....

2009-04-18T17:52:00.008-06:00

A year ago, I sadly reported the loss of sweet Corazon, caught by a coyote. And now, feisty Chaneke too, is gone -- also by a coyote. Chaneke was far more wary, cautious, watchful. I thought he had a chance....

And so now, I realize I can never have another cat for a pet, much as I dearly love those little

fuzzy bundles of playfulness... I have loved them all my life, beginning with Crownie, pictured below (killed by a neighboring dog). There is definitely no protecting them from coyotes.... not here on our wild patch of land. Time to finally just clear out all the cat toys, food and bowls.... I've kept them ever since I tragically lost Kachina in Taos. All had brief lives, and I guess I can't take the grief. They are, for me, like children.

Naively, I looked forward to growing old with each one of them.

The Crayon Drawings

2008-12-16T20:52:00.005-07:00

It's an indulgence, I know, but...

sometimes a drawing catches what a photo can't -- even an amateur drawing...

Ah! But this last one....

Omar did this when he was about 15.

It's the best!

Pix: butterflies abounding

2008-12-07T16:25:00.004-07:00

En route home, we caught THE perfect day to watch the monarch butterflies -- in the Rosario preserve of Michoacan, a chain of low mountains of central Mexico. They have just reached their winter destination -- by the countless millions! The constant, soft whir of their wings overhead, the wing-laced air all around us as we walked, the sheer number of their presence all around.... They flew here from Canada and will head back in the spring... No room here to tell their whole, amazing story.

Here is a close-up view of their spotted selves.

And in previous blogs I described "our" butterflies, long-wings who live in our jungly backyard. Here is one group, coming to bed for the night. As many as 17 would crowd along this dead hanging vine... the number varied. When their wings are open, they are brilliant black with beautiful, filigreed horizontal yellow/cream stripes.

This is the other major species of butterflies that live in our jungly backyard. Brilliant colors. These guys are also settling in for the night.

Pix: work around our casita

2008-12-07T15:45:00.004-07:00

This was a brilliant idea, thanks to Roverto.... and all the villagers he hired to help. We now have a cistern right by the road, which can be gravity-filled from the town water system. Our casita is on a hill, so getting water has been....

We've since built a roof over the cistern, and a casing for a pump which will pump the water up the hill to our house for kitchen and shower uses.

And this view gives a feeling of another project, now complete... Sara (Guillermo's wife) sits on our porch and in the distance is our, um, Pavilion: a shade roof with a fine cement floor. Perhaps we'll use it for hanging more hammocks; perhaps it will serve as an outdoor kitchen; or perhaps it will be a place for YOU to set up your tent when you visit.

And here is the "Before" photo of our back porch. This roof and its four posts were put up in a previous visit, and the place has remained a funky catch-all... Check it out in the next photo!

(But first, notice the jungly backyard... this is where our butterflies live... see the post of butterfly photos)

Men at work! The guy in the foreground is another of the Mayor's brothers, the youngest. He is nicknamed Momo -- a romantic, poetic guy now married with a sweet young daughter.

And here is the finished floor, all shiny with cooling water poured on it. Very shady, cool place.

Pix: some of our many friends!

2008-12-06T22:53:00.006-07:00

Here is Evi, standing at the mouth of the river where it once was all jungly, and where we camped that first year. All that land has been cleared now. Evi lives in the village, and runs a simple restaurant down here on weekends. She saw some of my humble crayon drawings (future blog entry) and asked if I'd make a portrait of her, so here is my muse/portrait to work from.

Ah! A village wedding. Mind you, folks here don't seem to like to smile for the camera. These two ARE happy! Gerardo (very youngest brother of our Mayor) just returned from some 6 years in the States in order to find a village girl to marry. He found a lovely, sweet young woman. Big village-wide dance, food for all, live music, dancing and games! And they had many truckloads of sand hauled in, to pour over the dirt road in front of their home which is where all this took place! Made for soft, clean, and smooth dancing.

Here the Mayor, Guillermo (eldest brother of the groom), dances with the bride, while his wife Sara dances with the groom. Very joyous party.

HALLOWEEN!

How I love these kids. That's Ariana, front and center (the Mayor's youngest, now 9). She has been my shadow for lo these many years, curious about everything and wanting to be everywhere.

This is the front yard of Guillermo's home... A comfortable, welcoming place right in the dead center of the village. Note that the home is "wattle and daub" -- cool in summer, warm in winter, free, and easy to repair and expand. It is one of the most ancient, world-wide construction styles. Cement is the new style, but is it an improvement?

Mirna and Litzi -- our first friends, from back in the days of camping by the river-mouth in the rainy jungle among the biting ants and burrowing frogs and... well, our decision to find a way to LIVE here (see future entry of "pix from the early days"). It was Mirna who arranged for us to buy our casita from her brother who lives in Fresno, CA. In this photo, little Litzi is celebrating her 9th birthday. We arrived the year Litzi celebrated her 3rd birthday.

These guys grew up on us, too!

Raul and Benito (Mirna's son) are the fastest runners in the village... At a recent school event, their race against each other was a tie. I know. I was there. It was a nail-biter and these boys put out all they had in them. It was beautiful.

Here is little Luis, lookin' at you. His t-shirt says in English, "MAJOR TROUBLE." Look at that hammer action--a blur in this photo. He does not speak yet (since he lost his mama), but has graceful, meaningful gestures to indicate what he wants to say.

These three are regular visitors... Luis, Damian(cito), and Gloria Estafani. Inside, I have several shelves filled with toys for all ages of kids, and the kids just waltz in to choose what they want. Then, they put it all away again when they are ready to leave.

A National Holiday.......

Little Pancho Villa's roaming the countryside!!! All the kids paraded past our home in traditional costumes from days gone by, including sombreros and flowing skirts and some on horseback.

Photos from around our humble casita...

2008-12-06T21:58:00.003-07:00

Here you see Spiderman celebrating Obama's victory!

....and the jungly growth that greeted us on our arrival, all to be cut with machetes,

...and a view of our newly finished carport/shade-roof, which cools our home dramatically. Note that all the jungly growth has been cut back by this time.

Sayonara, Mexico....

2008-11-29T14:08:00.003-07:00

We plan to begin the leisurely drive north this Monday, December 1.

Sentimental reveries come to mind...

It is very sweet here in the village these days.... All goes well, with many warm connections throughout -- many sweet vignettes. One sweet thing is how we all so often call out to the pedestrian passing by. Friendly exchanges... Most of our work projects are beautifully completed and the place is abloom with flowers. On the beach, I just heard that Guero has also been attacking the surfers with his cocky attitude. He picked on a friend of ours, a strongly built ¨don´t mess with me¨ Vietnam vet who owns a house on the beach. I regret I wasn´t there to hear the shouts and profanity. Something wickedly satisfying about that. Glad to know it had nothing specifically to do with me.

Our local secondary school just threw a big beach party for fundraising since their school consists of one room for all four grades and has no plumbing whatsoever. I can´t say that it was a financial windfall, but it was a great show of dancing and singing for the audience... OUR kids onstage wowing us all with their choreography and energy. Great food, too.

And on our homefront.... at some point in most every day, little Luis stands by our fence and calls gently, ¨Hallo.... Hallo....¨ to get my attention when he wants to visit. Today, I forgot how deeply tuned in little children are, and called out to him that I was busy working --and I was-- and he crumbled ever so gently, tears rolling and nose running. I had him over that fence and giggling in a heartbeat. Little radiant eyes. He rolled all over our floor gesturing for tickles and then running away from them. When his heart was full, he gestured to climb back over to play with his cousins who called for him.

His ¨papa¨ --who is really his GREAT grandfather and that is a very long and interwoven story worthy of a novel-- told me a bit later that Luis calls for me, and cries to come see me at bedtime. Sigh. I am trying to prepare him for our sudden long absence... and I gave him a great calendar with photos of wild animal babies. I tried to explain to him that whenever he missed me, he could look at these sweet animals and remember me... something like that, in my fractured Spanish. He WILL be all right, of course. Lots of close relatives all around who love him. He does seem to be recovering steadily from the traumatic loss of his mother. Every day he seems to have yet one more word in his tiny spoken vocabulary. Mostly, he still uses very precise and graceful gestures mimicking whatever he means to say. A truly sweet heart....

And so...
Goodby butterflies, goodby neighbors, goodby ocean waves however small you seemed to be this visit, goodby village, Sayonara Mexico..... Watch this space for photos.

We interrupt this reverie...

2008-11-24T11:20:00.004-07:00

....for a brief political rant.

But first... did you know that our butterflies sleep 14 hours each night! They bed down at about 7pm, and awaken around 9am, though some slug'abeds are still hanging to their vine close to 10am. And we hope to stop by the big Monarch Butterfly refuge to the north of us as we start the long drive home.... which hopefully begins sometime the first week of December.

Now... the rant. Our departure date is, oddly enough, being affected by.....

....the Japanese!

We want to finish our back porch floor before leaving, but our friend the Mayor, who will help us, is very involved in out of town meetings with the fishermen´s guild regarding the steel factory built by the Japanese....

Years ago the Japanese company bribed their way onto the Mexican coastline to the north of us... we can see their smog from our beach, just on the horizon. They delivered a free fiberglass fishing boat to every fisherman to the south of their factory... including our Little Salty Place. Our friend the Mayor had one of these boats until it wore out in the surf. Now he has a motor but no boat. He wades into the sea to fish with a hand'thrown net... but that´s another developing story.

Anyway, you may have noticed my comments scattered through this blog about the fishless sea. Of course there ARE fish, but a noticeable reduction. Even I can notice it. Just this morning I wandered among the low tide shallows and no longer see the brightly colored tiny tropical fish that I used to admire for hours. Just a green fuzz on the rocks.

The pollution from their steel factory has, of course, devastating effects on the oceanic environment. And the Japanese want to buy the silence of the fishermen with an offer of a cool $8000 to each and every fisherman. So that is why the fishermen are having these many and multi'day meetings.

And that is why our porch doesn´t get finished.... ironically, we are planning to pour a cement floor -- which is in its own way environmentally detrimental . Sigh.

Anyway. I have told Guillermo...the Mayor... that this issue does not belong in small secretive meetings between local fishermen and the Japanese factory owners. This issue belongs in front of the United Nations. The ocean belongs to all creatures of the world and ... etc etc etc. I actually intend to take up this issue, somehow, when I return to my own computer and phone line.

End of rant.

Yesterday, one of our butterflies flew onto our porch and mistook our porch wall, which is painted a remarkable sky-blue color, for the sky. He tried to fly right through it. No harm done. And he only tried that once.... unlike the bird later on, who tried quite a few times! ...to no harm done as well.

The day after Thanksgiving, our village folk are hosting a huge charity dinner on the beach, at Lourdes´restaurant, to garner donations for our local secondary school which doesn´t even have bathrooms. Our neighbor women will be cooking, and they are great cooks, and our village kids who are dear friends for lo these past six years, will both entertain us with song and dance, and serve the food to the crowd that we all hope shows up.

We will be there of course.... but other than for this event, I have quit going to Lourdes´place altogether. Guero´s hatred got to me. I now enjoy tranquil and peaceful days all along the beach everywhere ELSE! No problemo. Que es buena la vida.

and a point of trivia.... this Thanksgiving marks Robert´s and my 14th Anniversary of sharing a life together.

Waking with Butterflies

2008-11-10T15:03:00.003-07:00

The other night, as I was strolling through our jungly backyard, my attention was pulled over to a fluttering beside me! Ahhhh! It was a little cloud of beautiful butterflies settling in for the night on a thin hanging vine. I was privileged to watch as they jostled and adjusted and then became still. Even when ..oh yes I got my camera with its intrusive flash.. yet even when I took closeup flash photos, they seemed already deep in sleep simply because they did not react in the slightest. Their six thin little legs hang on to the very thin and dead vine, so that they are at best vertical but some are actually hanging upside down. Most are clustered together, but a few are single or in small groups.

The following morning, what luck, my timing was such that I was there to watch them waking up. The first one actually stretched its wings slowly as if yawning, folded them up again, and went back to sleep awhile. One by one, however, they showed signs of awaking. Not all stretched first. One I happened to be looking at, very closely, simply dropped off the vine and caught himself with a flap of wings. I could HEAR his wings!

The following night, they bedded down in the same configuration... most together in the same place they were before, and the singles in their chosen space.

I could wax eloquent on the varieties of butterflies... and the thrill of them as they flutter around the many flowers in the front of our house. Them, and the hummingbirds -- how they love the male papaya tree with its multitude of daily blooming flowers. The papaya is a volunteer from a seed one of us spit off of the porch, and this lovely show begins our every day.

Alas, Robert envisions transforming our wilderness into a forest of beautiful hardwood trees instead of the junk thorn trees and vines that it is now. Wants us to return in June to bulldoze the wild bit, and plant the saplings just before the rains begin. They will grow fast, and have pumpkin and squash vines at their feet .... Can the butterflies find places to sleep in the new growth... and will the big toad that haunts our hole in the ground survive the dozer.... oh sigh...

As for, um, Guero. Bluster. I have enjoyed watching his doubletakes over at me, at Lourdes´place, when various locals from our village show up -- sometimes adults and sometimes kids -- and show obvious delight in seeing me there and come over for animated chats. He leaves me alone now. The other funny thing... this guy lives in the States and speaks fluent English, but never lets on. I heard that from another bilingual guy. Enough.

Projects -- our new carport which is also a shade roof for the east wall, is completely done and makes an immediate difference in how pleasant is our morning. Cool... And Robert has also put up the ceiling fan, ahhh. And this week, we may actually get the new outdoor kitchen floor poured.... under its own shade roof built years back. The trellis will be up before we leave so that the huge flowering plant called copa de oro will provide more shade for the carport.... Many other projects, too..... all being worked on at a casual pace.

We have a lot of time to work on them because, hey, the waves are certainly surfable but not compelling. Robert is happy to go down to the sea whenever, and often he waits til the tourist crowd is exhausted so he has them to himself. There has been exactly ZIP for waves for this boogie boarder. I just float around and mess with the little waves as if I were a dolphin.

Because so many kids play at our house -- new ones we are just now meeting as well -- various mamacitas show their appreciation by bringing down reallyreally fine meals. All the men in the village are also fishermen, and when there ARE fish in the sea and that is a questionable maxim by the way, then we find someone walking up our little path bearing freshcooked tuna with a great salsa spread atop, and homemade tortillas.... or they give us tiritas which is fresh fish cured with lime and mixed with salsa ingredients of a different configuration. Or it is chicken tamales and a drink called orchata.

Each year our life here enriches... and truth be told I am actually rather shy here or it would be even richer.

UPDATE In previous blogs, I have mentioned little Luis whose mom for godknowswhy abandoned a child we have known her to dearly love and be such a sweet attentive mother to... and left him to the great grandfather. It has been a rough and painful transition. But just yesterday, little Luis caught sight of me as I was walking down the road and called to me from inside a neighboring house. Humongous grin, radiant face, slap me five! And then he said VROOM!

He was with his Abuelito, cuddled up, and laughing to see me. He has been coming over to our house at irregular intervals, and is enthusiastically involved with all the toys there. I have also given him for his very own--- TRUCKS made of wood. He calls them VROOM! It is the only word I ever hear him speak. He does NOT speak at age three, sigh. Except for VROOM! Oh, and I caught him saying another word -- YA! which in Spanish means enough, or finished or the like. He was playing with one of my big plastic trucks on our porch and made it do what he wanted. YA!

I will post photos of various whatnot mentioned here come December when we return home. Do feel free to email me at my own personal email anytime! I miss hearing from you. Adios!

Political Yin / Political Yang

2008-11-05T10:18:00.002-07:00

---but first--let me just mention how delightful it is to walk behind our house into the jungly growth and be greeted by curtains of large colorful butterflies hovering directly before me -- a morning treat.

---and let me also delight in the memory of Halloween when all the little kids in the village plus a few guiding adults came to our porch in delightful varieties of costumes. The laughter, the colorful costumes, the playfulness. And we had plenty of goodies for all, three times over.

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡
So... the Political Yin was sharing the tension of pre-election with our village friends. They ARE paying attention thanks to television... Fun discussions in broken language conversations. And then last night, Robert and I HAD planned to cross the river and go to the beach internet to learn, in English, what was going on but decided not to --see Political Yang below.

We went to bed instead. But our friends --the Mayor and his wife -- did not. They were the ones glued to the TV at a neighbor´s house for the 10 o´clock noticias. Then, to their credit, and our delight, they walked down the winding dirt road to our place at the end of the village -- their footsteps crunching on the gravel awoke us... and we emerged from our mosquito net bedroom. They said nothing til we were all at the table. They were smiling.

What amazed me, as Guillermo was telling us the election results, was that he was talking electoral votes and knew the numbers in his head --can many Americans be bothered?-- and then he clinched our joy by saying that McCain had already called Obama to concede the election and congratulate the new president. A few words later, both he and his wife commented -- watching our faces-- that this was the first black man to be elected president, si? And he talked about how the Dems won the Senate and.... he was really stoked himself. This is a poor landless fisherman on an ocean which has been fished out. He struggles doing day labor and we hire him a lot. He´s bright, agile, lively and handsome and, yeah, a powerful worker. His entire family is very dear to us.

So there we sat last night, smiles all around -- a delightful sharing of intimate friendship. Then they crunched down the gravel driveway and we crawled back into our mosquito net bedroom.

As for the Political Yang. I just feel like grousing a bit. There are two locals on the beach who have taken a really strong attitude against us. Looks of true hate. Since everyone goes by nicknames, I´ll just give these two nicknames usually reserved for us norte'americanos. I´ll call them Gringo and Guero --which means whitey. Gringo owns a rental and adamantly dislikes it when we visit friends who rent his property. Just seeing us sitting on the porch which he built, in a chair which he bought infuriates him and he makes that clear. We are not PAYING for that privilege, he explains to our friends when they object to his attitude.

And Guero recently stopped me from stepping up to the porch of Lourdes´restaurant one morning demanding, in his furious Spanish, that I order something then and there, or ... and he sneered... do you think you can have all this for free, and he gestured at the porch with its chairs and tables and exquisite view of the pointbreak. I smiled and said that right now I wasn´t hungry and was going to drop off my stuff and take a swim.

To myself I thought --Well, mister a-hole, we eat or drink something there every single day and use the crappy internet-typewrite-keyboard-whatever it is called for the exhorbitant fee they charge, and we rent surfboards as well. We do our part for sure. We also bring gifts and help out in our village in ways he is totally unaware of, including running an informal daycare center on our porch every day when we are home. But he has already made up his mind. Lourdes ignored all this and greeted me with a smile, and invited me in...

Then Guero accosted Robert for leaving his surfboard leaning against a rental next door where a bunch of fellow Coloradans are renting...friends of ours, actually! Guero said they were NOT our friends, they were HIS friends, and there´s a big problem here. Same glare of hate.

Our solution is simply to continue being quiet and gracious, eating and drinking at the restaurant, visiting friends and not escalating any of this with angry retorts... We do know a few influential locals who might step in if things escalate in any way... Sure is ugly though...

Robert´s suspicion as to what is instigating all this is that these new-found entrepreneurs have the vision of creating a kind of a Club Med out of the beach -- so that you have to actually be renting one of their places in order to have the privilege of being there and using any of the facilities... They are all quite new to how much money is out there in the surf business and they want to grab all they can get. They view us as non-contributing sponges, evidently.

Anyway, yin-yang, good with bad, dark with light. And Robert has just signalled me that he´d like for us to move on with our day in town and get back to.....that very beach! There´s supposed to be a swell coming later on. Porque no! Vamanos!

Sapo Verde Es Tu

2008-10-30T15:17:00.004-06:00

"Sapo verde es tu "-- which translates roughly "Hippo birdie two ewes" if you get my drift.
But in actuality I am not celebrating any one{s birthday. I just recognized a kinship in the phrase "sapo verde es tu" and an incident at dinner last night. (This typewriter is badly badly damaged so forgive typos and mising leters)

A "sapo verde" is a green frog.
Last night two village kids dropped by for dinner. When they hudled around the pot for refils, I felt a banana peel land on my shoulder! Yikes! I figured little 9yearold Ariana did it as a joke.but then this "banana peel" hopped OFf my shoulder and right next to my bowl of soup! It was, of course, a sapo verde! ) EDIT--it was actually a large green ¨rana¨' which means frog -- I just learned that a ¨ ¨sapo´¨ is a toad. END OF EDIT

Th joys of life in the semi-tropics! In another moment, sapo verde hopped off the table into the jungle at the edge of our porch.
I can{t deal with this typewriter (keyboard-I have just badly dated myself).
Love from paradise! Sara y Roverto

La Tormenta

2008-10-20T12:35:00.001-06:00

(I just found the time to write something here...so I´ll start at the beginning: our arrival in the Little Salty Place on October 10)
LA TORMENTA--
We bumped and splashed down the twisty hilly dirt road to our village after four days on the road... and stopped every three or four houses to get out and hug dear friends, and then drive a bit more. All the while, the kids velcroed to our car, laughing and babbling in excitement. Finally, I just joined the little cloud of enthusiasm and together we made our way to the far end of the village, and to the gate below our humble casita...
...and there we stopped.

We could go no further.

The rainy season had caused the jungle to completely obscure our property.. you could barely see the roof of our little casita at the top of the little hill. You could open the gate, but you couldn´t walk in... far too thick and high and tangled for that.

But aha!! Comes the Man With a Machete! The Mayor, and our dear friend!

As though he were the Pied Piper, we filed in close behind him as he powerfully slashed a twisting, winding route up the hill to our porch. From the porch, we looked out on..... jungle. Jungle with ZINNIAS peeking out here and there. Did I ever plant zinnias? I don´t remember.

I opened up our three rooms -- all was fine and safe, sequestered in neat rows and stacks of plastic boxes to keep out the animals and insects. Robert sauntered in, grabbed HIS machete, and together he and the mayor cleared our driveway and brought the car up.

By then, the kids had settled in on the porch floor as if we had never left (which we HAD-- last May!). They know where all the toys and drawing implements are, and set themselves up for a lovely afternoon with us...

Then came La Tormenta!
¿Isn´t that a great name for the swirling tail of a hurricane?

Solid rainfall pounding all around and I swear there were fish swimming out there... But no wind, so no one got wet. It fell straight down, and we were safe under our porch roof. The pounding torment of hard rain on our tin roof was deafening and we yelled over it to be heard. Other than that, no one seemed to notice. It is just la tormenta. No es nada.

When the rain let up, the kids wandered home for dinner. They had about 30 minutes to do that before it started up again... and that was the pattern for our first few days. The breaks were just long enough to get stuff done before it all started again.

What sweetened our arrival even more was the next morning... our first morning back. There was a brief break in la tormenta, and in that break the Mayor and his wife walked down from their house bearing a big bowl of chicken soup Mexicana, and fresh home-made tortillas.

AND NOW...
We are expecting a huge swell, growing ever higher all this week. Not many surfers around, so that is a good thing, too. The surf has been quite small for our first days here, and thus we got a lot done around the casita and yard. Muchmore to do, as always. And there is village gossip, of course. And kids have matured, friendships deepened. No sharks. I have gotten into crayon drawings again....

HEY
You can continue to write to us at my email address == you do not have to go through this blogspot. And if you DO write, then I will have YOUR email address and can respond. I did not bring down a list of emails, nor did we remember to bring our bedding, nor did we bring brown rice, nor did we bring our favorite spices for food, not even brewer,s yeast or soy sauce... we are coping with salsa and chile peppers of course. Gosh, the food is great here, and the fruit abundant. And Jojo,s gift of a box of Colorado apples is veryvery popular, too.

Clearing of the air...again

2008-08-03T00:01:00.007-06:00

I should stick to storytelling of course, but recently there have been two art exhibitions with a Call to Artists that elicited images in my mind... and so I put them to paper. I include them here, so I can move on...

"Nizhoni No More" -- Nizhoni means beautiful in Navajo...

This is the image I saw in my mind as I read the call for art which protests the proposed construction of yet another (and the largest) coal-fired power plant here in the Four Corners. I chose to depict a Navajo rug from the Beautiful Way, being obliterated by the pollution from the operation of the plant. Thus the ancient wisdom traditions are also obliterated by greed.

"Welcome In"

I had already painted this, and when I read of an upcoming "Sacred Arts Festival," I decided to submit it. The image I was trying to express was that of coming abundance -- the ephemeral approaching camels taking solid form as they pass through the shimmering yantra of abundance. A friend pointed out that the imagery is also Christian -- the Three Kings passing through the Star of David and taking solid form. This downloaded photo barely shows the Star of David which is at the center of the yantra.

...mere sketches

2008-06-30T16:44:00.002-06:00

Since I was unable to capture the true profusion of color with a camera, I tried to do so with colored pencils. Pretty poor sketching skills, but this does give a bit more of a feel for how lush the flowers were this year.... along the side of our humble little casita in the Little Salty Place. We planted three colors of bugambilia at the base of a "retorño" tree. This creates a great trompe-l'oeil -- telling the eye that this tree has three colors of blossoms (white, red and purple). The yellow blooms in the big pots are "Copa de Oro" and will be transplanted to the base of our upcoming carport support posts... copious yellow blooms on a climbing plant. In the foreground -- margaritas! And over by the water tank is a mango tree dripping with yet-to ripen mangos.

A quick sketch, celebrating the hibiscus...