ISN'T ANYBODY MELANCHOLY ANYMORE???

As a reader and a writer I love when I or anyone else uses the just right word.

There's a term for it --'mot juste'.  I experience a real sense of relief or 'aha' when I hit on the just right word. And I just did it when I wrote the word 'melancholy'.  (It's so 1890's)

I have been melancholy this week. (Look at that word long enough it looks darn weird.)

I have had some reason for worry and sadness lately but this melancholy was different.

It wasn't attached to anything specific. "Pensive sadness". Yep, that is it. Mot juste.

Memorial Day may have brought it on. First of all, I'm from the Midwest where we celebrated Decoration Day and boy did we decorate. We put red, white and blue crepe paper through our bike spokes and stuck American flags in the lawn up the sidewalks. By "we" I mean the 36 kids that lived on my one block. Small block too. Then we walked 15 blocks to Broadway for the parade. We were a swarm of kids. Our parents came too but we weren't aware of them. In the afternoon, we had our own parade riding our bikes up and down the street, around and around. We were proud of being proud of our country. We were aware that people were remembering family members who had died and we were sad when Taps was played at the park monument. (My brother who played the trumpet played Taps. I would bring a lemon and pretend to suck it to try to make his mouth water so he would flub up.) 

In other words:

We were not inured to the horror of war.

We loved celebrating the red,white and blue with no skepticism or irony.

We were safe safe safe to roam.

Our parents were background figures that held steady and didn't live our lives.

We were, oh, so wonderfully innocent.

It's a rainy day here in Maine.

Barbecues aren't enough to honor our dead from war.

I'll stay with my melancholy.

It's my honoring.

HODGE PODGE

I think books and stuff on aging and death will become even more prevalent than before---maybe even more than diet books!!!  And so the following reflection:

It's a great time to get old

We boomers rule

Always on trend, setting the trend

We'll pave the way

To being old

(Not as in getting only older, not Senior, not any other soporific

But as the coolest, most happening thing ever

Watch us, the generation of high self-esteem

Even in diapers!

AND I am a certified book worm.  Before Kindle and iPad I used to travel (frequently) with seven books and only two outfits in my overnight bag.  To hell with the clothes.  I actually get nervous with the idea of how many great books there are to read that I may not get to. I have to know I have a stack of books waiting. This is an addiction, people. Now that I am back from Mexico, I will call the library and order a stack of books and they will arrive and be held for me like a big Birthday bag of goodies.  I will forever thank Benjamin Franklin for the library concept.
Here's my list of next books:

The Way We Never Were

A Little Life

Our Souls at Night

Did You Ever Have a Family

The Violet Hour

In Montmartre

Bettyville

Mislaid

Purity

The Green Roak

A Manual for Cleaning Women

Seven Brief Lessons on Physics

Gene

LaRose

The Life We Bury

Everyone Brave is Forgiven

Someday I'll share by list of recent books read

PS.  I recently read High Dive and my book buddies didn't like it and I went nuts for it.  Check it out.  Literally.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT 'LAZY'?

 Lazy--
*Not liking to work hard or be active
*Moving slowly
*Not energetic or vigorous
*Not rigorous

As we head into summer, we are given permission, if not an obligation, to be lazy. As in lazy days of summer.  When did you start not having them?  When DID you have them? The concept of lazy has me a little crazy. (Did not plan that rhyme.)

I'm thinking about this because I received five emails this week from friends calling themselves lazy. None of them are, but that's how they self-labeled what they were doing (or not doing). I so get it. I have the same monkey on my back. I somehow have to 'earn' the down time of so-called laziness. I see our culture's craziness in how we turn leisure into productivity--how many runs down the mountain, how many miles in a bike ride, how many pounds lifted. I believe there is a human need to produce, to make impact, to keep busy to survive as in "go get that food."

And there is another human need to be lazy.
Think the kind of summertime lazy when you were a kid.

-- No awareness of time and how to 'use' it
--Sliding easily from doing to not doing
--Sitting and waiting for the next thing to happen 
--Just sitting
--Unaware of playing as 'play'
--No sense of time or constraint
--A spacious sense of freedom 

I read that and think of the planning going on in my life for summer and I wince. I want more 'lazy' and, not being a kid, will have to build it in. Or let the kid in me run away to play.

DO WE PROTEST TOO MUCH???

First let me say, that I had a nice Mother's Day. Not too much fuss. Nothing overblown. Felt loved and appreciated. Eaaaaaaasy day. I remember Mondays after Mother's Day at work. Mom's would share crazy stuff their husbands did or did not do. New moms would be hurt if new dad's didn't make enough fuss. Some kids would call, others wouldn't. Or some family member would make it too big a deal or ruin the day with selfish expectations. Non-moms would feel out of it or irritated. Flowers at work would be a kind of mandate.

My just right day got me thinking about how we, as a culture, pump things up so. I would like to forbid superlatives for a month.  Why do we need to use every ounce of our potential? Why do we all have to be powerful, the best, the most unique and special and push push push to perfection?  What if none of us is that special? I do cringe a little as I write that.  But you get the idea. We are not so amazing, so awesome much of the time. So let's give ourselves a break when we are mediocre, average and not so noticeable! Heresy or relief?  

I don't mean to be heading into curmudgeon hood but noticed how satisfying a low key Mother's Day could be. I had a good Mother's Day, not the best ever, magical, unbelievable Mother's Day--a good one. 

ADIOS!

 What on earth?? I had no idea you could put a photo on a blog!! so much to learn!  So little time!  Talk about burping along.
I had this photo on my desk top and so thought, "What the hell! I'll drag it over and see what happens." How fun is this?  Kind of random, but fun! 

So, this photo was taken at a nearby rancho.  Every home and every rancho has its own altar and every one is different.  The tile picture of this altar is of the Virgin of Guadalupe and it says this is to bless "WORK". Very appropriate. This was a very modest and neat-as-a-pin ranch. This rancher has built aqueducts of wood to water his fields. The house is made out of homemade adobe. The house was gracious and cool with arched portico and columns made of hand chipped stone and built with no cement to help.  

Wow!  Orayo (that's Spanish for 'wow')  I call this blog Truth Burp(s) because I never know what's going to come out on the page. I started with "adios" before I started to mess around with photos, so back to:

ADIOS TO:
Fire crackers at 3 in the morning
Michelados (have you every had one?)
Carrying groceries up about 40 steps
Doing the San Miguel stumble over cobblestone streets, lurching into stores
Haircuts for 7 dollars
Gorditas--big fat corn tortillas with a pocket to stuff with things like tripe
Goofy pizzas with no spice or flavor--but served with hot Mexican sauces
Weddings in the Jardin that I bump into often walking to do errands
Church bells all day long
Bitter limeade with mineral water
Packed buses grinding up the hill to our street, impossible to get off unnoticed
All our Mari neighbors--Mari Luz, Mari Cruz, Mari Paz, Mari Elena, Mari Anna and Pilar and Taylor, Lorena, Patricia, Cristina, Estrella, Juan, Irma, Monce, Alejandro, Geraldo, Jose Luis, Petra, Raquel, Yoko, Efrain, Pablo---our crew in good times and bad for work and celebration and support.
  
ADIOS, SAN MIGUEL! HASTA LA PROXIMA!
HOLA, MAINE!

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).