IF HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS--I'M IN TROUBLE

I need at least one more heart, maybe more. 

I think you know that I 'live' in Mexico part of the year and have for ten years.
Mexico is not a vacation for me. It's a home. There is a lot of work involved and things go wrong. We also have a web of relationships to attend to because we live in a tightly woven Mexican-Indian community. Right now, I have finally gotten sick here and had to find a doctor and trust the treatment and take a cab to get there and then to the lab and then to a "farmacia' for medicine. Everyday things can get quite cumbersome. (Are you still thinking of me with a Margarita pool side????)

We are getting ready to leave for Maine next week and I begin to feel homesick for Maine and sad about leaving Mexico. That will be reversed next Winter.
Is it an abundance of riches or schizophrenia?  

Here is where my heart is in Mexico:

--I love the slap dash colors and decorations painted on the houses.  Any color
Any combination. We have a two story Virgen of Guadalupe painted on a house up the alley from us. Not campy.  Just sincere adoration.

--I love how Mexican kids take care of one another.  Everyone loves babies and to hell with Machismo. I see teen-age boys taking sweet loving care of a family baby.

--I love how Mexican kids play because it reminds me of my childhood blue collar neighborhood.  A couple of balls, lots of running around and pulling on
 one another, falling down laughing, up again bowling with empty Pepsi cans. 

--I love the whimsy.  I have two lamps made out of watering cans!! I have a cloud of tin angels over the bed.  I have a two foot tall wooden Ferris wheel in the guest room, I have tin lizards on the brick garden wall hiding in the jasmine.

--I love fountains and courtyards.  I love tiny hole in the wall cozy restaurants.
I love the abundance and color of bougainvillea. My roof top has 15 blooming right now.

--I love the ability here of people to make an instant gathering or party AND to celebrate everything possible. 

--I like our pop-up neighborhood week-end corner restaurant. Rachael cooks Mexican street food and put all her kids through school doing it. Buses stop outside the door and the driver grabs an enchilada while the people on the bus wait---of get a taco themselves.

--I like that we have four tiny neighborhood stores less than a block away. I go to Petra personally to get cilantro or bananas or red hot Cheeto's (I mean good)

San Miguel de Allende is a wonderful city not unlike Portland, Maine. It is about the same size. Not ruined--yet. True to its roots. Quintessential Mexico. Lovely fiestas and celebrations. Upscale stuff if wanted. BUT that is not what makes it a home.  It is the tiny details and my neighborhood--Valle del Maiz!!!  Adios!  Hasta Pronto!

I'VE HAD THE MOST PERFECT DAY!

Remember when I wrote about my friend and I ending our complaint sessions with an ironic "Aren't We Lucky" statement that turned itself into the real
reminder that we are, indeed, lucky?

Well the other night, not at all feeling like counting any darn blessings, I decided to do the same kind of slight of mind approach.

I took the unrest and irritation with the day and changed the title to
I'VE HAD THE MOST PERFECT DAY.

Here's what translated transpired, transformed:


LOUSY DAMN DAY
--I did not get done what I wanted to get done
--I did not exercise, lazy me
--I hated spending time talking to a constant complainer in my life (of course, not you)
--I had to do a major cleaning of big spills in the refrigerator and resented it
--I did not enjoy the beauty that surrounds me. I stayed inside during a gorgeous day
--I worried vaguely about people I love in my life
--I cooked lousy food with bad leftovers
--I couldn't make up my mind about a work project

MOST PERFECT DAY
--I have so many interesting things to do that I can't do them all
--I rested my body
--I gave to someone who needed giving to
--I have such abundance in my refrigerator that I spilled some and it didnt' matter
--I have beauty close at hand that i can step into whenever I want
--I am rich with people I love who share their struggles with me
--I am lucky to have leftovers (too much) and used them rather than waste them
--I gave my mind a break from decisions. They'll come in their own time

Who am I Pollyanna?  Pollyannawannaabe! You bet. Life is too short to see it
as faulty.  Me as too faulty. You as too faulty


PS--I mean business about Questions for the Maven.  I gave an email address because I want questions.  I gave an email address because I want to ensure privacy and just don't always trust social media because I don't know how to guarantee it. And I can find you a maven when you need one too. Lots of good women mavens in my life ready to support "youngsters" (under 55, let's say).

QUESTIONS FOR THE MAVEN???

I often think I am going to write about one thing and then out of nowhere comes another idea. An idea burp. This idea makes me laugh because it’s both foolish and wise.  In other words it makes me happy.

I write because I want to connect and because I have lived long enough to have some wisdom and some foolishness to share.

I know when to cry and when to laugh.  I know when to persevere and when to lie fallow.  I know my own shadow and my radiance. I am on the cusp of realizing that every darn thing is precious and the closer I get to whatever comes after this experience of living makes everyday more intense. I know not to waste my breath. I say a louder “yes” and a louder “no”. I have a living compendium of mistakes and regrets that are the bedrock of my personal wisdom.

I just had a birthday.  I am now 72 years old. Old people, I’m talking old. Age. Aging. Lovely, smart, experienced, seasoned, humorous, knowledgeable, OLDER than many. Maybe our culture is ready to revere aging to see the richness it brings. AND to see how it can guide those who are younger.

Research is beginning to show that our  20,30,40, 50 (maybe 60 year- olds) are anxious about purpose and how to live a life. It’s hard to get to know your future self and how to grow into it. Life coaching helps, but it is a profession of younger people. So the trick is to find someone a lot older who is a future self you could be. Then ask for advice and soothing and experience and partnership. 

Here I am. Ask me. 

questionsforthemaven@gmail.com

SABBATICAL, SCHAMMATICAL.

Back a day late!!  Was I fooling?  No just out of it.  My granddaughter and crew arrived yesterday.  I was busy cutting out tiny tacos from legal pad paper to serve on the world's smallest tea set.  

My so called Sabbatical didn't do much for me other than reassure me that this is what I want to be doing. I wrote to you in my head anyway.  Hope you enjoyed my telepathic messages.

Frankly my break was a little too social for me at this stage in my life. And I didn't go away so it was not the kind of refreshing you get from a vacation to, say,Tahiti. Solitude maybe would have done the trick. 

So what was did happen?

-- I concentrated more on the people I was with and didn't worry about writing deadlines. (Or told myself to wait to worry)  

--I learned that I don't like a break from writing

--I found out that you can do jig-saw puzzles on the iPad!! (Maybe doing just one more would be OK before I finish talking with you)

--I found out that I was fatigued for a reason.  I had typhoid and was finally diagnosed properly in Mexico.  I think my US doctor (who is younger than my kids) thought I was a whiner. I kept saying "I feel weird like I have some tropical disease" or something.  SO I ONCE AGAIN LEARNED TO TRUST MY INTUITION

--I didn't read more than I normally do.  I didn't do much different for my health. I didn't use the time to "improve".  

--Other than the too many people, here's what I did. I lay fallow. Passive.  Following my own nose. Lazy. Caught my breath. Let myself be listless--as in without lists.

Maybe I did kind of like my Sabbatical, now that I write about it---which is why I write---to you.

I share my granddaughters question and answer.  She is three.  She asked if I'd be dead someday.  (We had just killed a thousand legger--no Bhuddist I guess)  I said, "Yes, I would, not believing it for a minute while knowing it to be true." I waited for her to ask the heaven question and wondered what pap I would dig into to respond. Didn't have to.  She said, "When you die you go to Christmas!  There then.  Mystery solved.





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