IT WAS ABOUT TIME TO BE A TOURIST

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I was in Maine for Easter week. When I said I was going back to Mexico, people would ask or exclaim about how exciting that was. Not so much. Living in another country is different from vacationing there. Mostly things go smoothly here but is more cumbersome than'home'. This time though, I arrived to no telephone, no Internet, no water, no food in the house and, worse yet, no coffee maker that worked!!

With irritation, my husband and I trudged to the center of town to buy a coffee maker.

It was a Saturday night. People were happy. Restaurants were busy. We stumbled around and saw a cafe with a table outside. Waiters matter. We collapsed. The waiter took care of us (which was much needed). He was so gracious and caring and funny and adept as in fine dining adept. We were grubby and grumpy. He turned us into appreciative pampered tourists. (And served phenomenal coffee to boot.)

We left holding hands. We walked up a side street and ran into a burro all dressed up in flowers. We saw a group of musicians gathering and so asked what was going on. We kidded and shared names and took photos of me with the tuba (why is tuba so popular in Mexico???).

They told us there was going to be a 'callejonada'.  A Callejonada takes place when there is a celebration of some event--usually a wedding. After the ceremony the bride and groom and all the guests head out into the street and parade, drinking vodka and singing. So we waited and watched the procession leave the elegant restaurant, women maneuvering to stay upright in five inch heels on cobblestone streets. Glamour first!! The band said there were 12 Callejonadas that night in San Miguel. Wedding season. ('Callejon' means small alley street.)

Next we found a hip (without trying too hard) but low key place for tacos and enchiladas al pastor. Cheap. Building made of old windows mostly. Lots of hot sauces. Good music and beer. We had seriously forgotten how to be a tourist in San Miguel. We went home happy and hoping for water. (Nope,Monday, si Dios quierre. (God willing.)

WELCOME TO MY BASKET OF THOUGHTS

I don't plan ahead when I write my truth burps. That makes it fun and interesting to me.
I sit and usually a theme or thought emerges. Not today. I have a torrent of thoughts.
Or at least I can't settle on one. (Yep, had a luxurious cup of great very caffeinated coffee 
in bed this morning--red cup too)  So here I go:

–I have always said and felt, "The more the merrier. Come on in. Let's play".  I supported open enrollment for higher education allowing for different levels of ability. As I kid, I assumed that biography shelves (anybody old enough to remember the orange covered series of biographies of famous people?) were there for everyone's story. I wanted to hear everyone's stories. And now we can and are with Indie publishing and social media channels.  AND it overwhelms me and I want to plug my ears. It reminds me of a question one of my sons asked me when he was about eight years old. "Is everyone thinking?" "Yep",I responded.
"All the time?" he continued. "Yep", I was driving and half listening. Then, my son said, "Is there room for all the thoughts?"

There you have it.  Is there room for all our thoughts, all our photos, all are stories, all our gripes?  Yes. We have to make room. And we also need the skill to step away from the too muchness to hear and know our own thoughts. We need critical skills to curate what we want to take in and what we don't. We need paths that take us where we want to go and we need to take a detour now and then so we don't reinforce only our sameness. We need to listen to more than words and the visual. We need discernment. We need to clear space for our cluttered brains. 

And so, listening to what I just wrote, I'll save my other thoughts for another time.
We live in a "too much is never enough" time. I've shared enough. 

TOO MANY PERSPECTIVES

There are times when I wish I had one perspective and one only. It must feel so simple to
see things through one lens. Sure of being right. Not bothered by a strong alternative point of view. No multi anything. Clear.   

What triggered this thought was Easter and its varied celebrations in different cultures. 
I was lucky enough to experience many in my global work. I would love to be able to follow the path that led to these traditions. Who started the idea and why it stuck. 

Here's one that I bumped into by mistake. Big mistake. I was in the Czech Republic working, running a leadership conference. I noticed there were big and small twisted sticks with varied color ribbons on the end. Festive. I grabbed a bunch to spiff up the boring sterile ballroom we were working in. Well I learned what they were and fast. The sticks are used for Easter Monday. Men go door to door to visit the moment. The women bend over and are 'spanked' with the switches. Sometimes the men splash the women with water too. How very jolly. AND then the women give the men a shot of whiskey and off the men go to the next house. Think what the last house they visit must be like. Well there. Anyway, the modern women leaders did not like that I had put the darn switches everywhere in the room. Out they went and a great cross-cultural discussion ensued. (Look it up, it's for real)

Then there is Mexico that doesn't involve eggs except at the start of Lent when eggs are hollowed and filled with glitter and white flour and the goal is to crack strangers over the head with them. By the end of the day, all brown faces are powdered white. The Friday of Palm Sunday all houses are decorated with purple and white and so are the churches. People go house to house to view them and to receive----a Popsicle. Used to be salt water representing Mary's tears, but the kids must have hated it and thus the Popsicle. Easter Sunday, effigies of Judas are exploded all over town like a pinata stuffed with firecrackers. Very satisfying

Belgium has flying church bells. The bells are quite from Good Friday until Easter Sunday.
They fly away and come back with chocolate and other candies for the children. I imagine a priest trying to tie the sweets to Holy week somehow. "Here's an idea. The bells are quiet anyway. Let's say they fly away and bring back candy. Show of hands??? Good. Flying bells it is.

I can't leave out Greece. Greece does Easter with great joy. Yep, eggs but only red--the best shade of red ever. Red is great for Easter--blood and fertility!! "Forget pink and yellow. We got it"  Everyone has them and use them up fast. Two people each hold and egg and hit it against one another's egg. Whichever egg doesn't crack wins. Sacrosanct.

I take it back. I don't want one point of view. I love the variety and the richness of so many differences. Fertility, pagan Spring, Christ's resurrection are all tied together. Christ would smile and understand it all and understand us as well.

I'M IN A SAN MIGUEL STATE OF MIND

I'm in the turning point of my San Miguel time, meaning almost everything feels comfortable now. I speak Spanish easily and lose my English words. Four hours at the bank to adjust
accounts and pay bills, still mostly done with paper and lots of Supervisor signatures, seemed like a nice time to 'platicar'--chat. 

After banking I went to a great cafe for 'to die for' coffee and struck up an hour long conversation with a Mexican woman who runs a candy store in San Miguel and we complained about everything (men, kids, diet, men, kids, diet and Trump, to tell the truth) We laughed and declared ourselves friends and exchanged phone numbers. Only later did I realize we did it all in Spanish.

I wandered toward the bus stop and got on a very crowded bus. I did have a 73rd birthday this past week and I cannot tell you how odd it felt to have kids give me their seat. I have arrived. Old enough to not stand. Yea??

Then home to a Lenten Service at the tiny ancient church down the alley ( the alley of the bane of my existence--zero charm and lots of basura) The church (think chapel) built in 1560  holds at best one hundred people. Many gather outside where the omnipresent speaker blares out the mass.
The church was covered in purple and white flowers and lots of chamomile and fennel for fragrance. A young handsome priest with a wonderful voice ran the Mass. His first Easter.
The music was one of those combinations of Indian and Catholic combos. It was the most mournful,discordant, wailing kind of sound that represents sorrow and Christ's climb to his crucifixion. Not so well done this year. Lots of squeaks and sour notes that had kids giggling and mom's threatening pokes to stop.

Onto a corner diner ran my a neighbor who put her kids through school by running a restaurant every Friday, Saturday and Sunday--Raquel. Natural retailer and cook. I've never seen another gringo there but we are regulars. After enchiladas verdes, we walked with neighbors and some kids to honor Dia de Dolor. This day represents the sorrow of Mary who knew what was coming for her son. Every house and church decorates with the purple and white flowers and herbs. Long ago every house served salt water to sip that represented Mary's tears. Hey, no more. Popsicles work just as well. So it has a Halloween feel with groups walk around sucking on Popsicles. This is exactly what I love about Mexico.

I am embedded here in Mexico. And I will fly to Maine for Easter. It will be good and odd. 
Living in a different culture is very different from visiting. I switch homes, not houses.
Am I complaining? No. I am digesting the richness of my life. 

I AM A SAP----

In about sixth grade, I discovered that magazines had ads in them and contests and if I responded, I got things back in the mail!!!  It thrilled me. American Girl, Boy's Life (my brother's magazines had the best stuff)
Seventeen, and all comic books. I applied to art school that had something to do with a matchbook cover.
I sent for a tiny sea horse--dead on arrival. I got the best ever Roy Rodgers ring that was a saddle and the saddle slid off to show a hiding place for messages. And then began, the deluge. I had mail everyday.
Even from Frederick's of Hollywood. My dad and the mailman laughed together at that and I cried and my mom had a talk with my dad about sixth grade girl's sensitivities!

OK.  First is there anyone out there that falls for the come-ons about health and beauty on the Internet or do I have to join a support group. Well, OK. Of course I want:

—a sample of Angelina Jolie's face cream with all the ingredients that I put in a salad
—the one spice that will cure leaky gut--my kitchen is covered with turmeric!! It stains, people!
—the strange fruit that rebuilds your joints in a week--that you have to eat 40 of a day
—the three junk foods that give you perfect blood pressure—that I am happy to sell to you
—to have new clients by Friday —written on Thursday
—to activate the three centers of feminine power (If only Feminists hadn't lost their sense of humor I could say something funny there)

To make it worse all of these ads come with an incredibly long video and a person who wants to change the world with their product while becoming very very rich. All have a sob story and all somehow involve avocados or coconut oil. AND--the kicker, they all come with a sample that leads to a monthly delivery of their oh so special product!!!

How do I know? Momentary boredom and curiosity made me click a few little tiny circles and stuff came in the mail. I have unclicked all but some red powder that keeps coming that would have made me lose years
with each Tablespoon, I think. Or it could be for clearing foggy brain. No, it was for memory enhancement. Not sure. Good thing I never tried it--all six jars and more to come unless I fine the unclick box.

You've never been a sap? It's kind of fun. Stuff comes. It's exciting. Too much comes. Then you cry.