I have this ongoing argument about paths with my children. More significantly pathways. Often I ban toys in "my area"; the living room, the dining room, my bedroom. Those general places where I pretend "we-are-organized", my "children-items-can-be-elsewhere" space. As I walked outside this morning, I observed all the objects in the pathways. Things for the average adult to trip upon. The order queen in me was ready to criticize "clear that from the pathway, someone is bound to break their neck not looking where they are going!" Translate, I will break my neck by not paying attention. Instead I paused.
Clearly my children are pondering how someone will encounter the pathway with their creations upon it. Will someone see it for what it is? A path to creation and imagination? When did their imaginative designs become only an obstacle in the path of my walking? I will relegate that judgment of mine to the person I was yesterday and say today precarious space means nothing to the adventurer, all space is negotiable, it is my job to honor this and be mindful that creativity is everywhere. Now if I can just keep that in my heart...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Bedtime Stories
Just to ruminate here...we read a dictionary-esque book again tonight(Sebastian´s pick, what is it with the kid and dictionaries?) about space and building colonies on the Moon and Mars. Since we are so near NASA, it´s cool, it´s fitting and above all everyone is interested in the unknown here. Somehow the conversation devolved to the fact that G.W. (my personal irritant) lives in the same state as us. Immediately eyebrows crease in worry, the enemy is too near, we have to get out of here looks...ever experienced those? Should you answer no, consider yourself grateful. Tonight, I saw those worried eyebrows and, silly mama, I thought to put them at ease. Long story short I told my children: "Don´t worry, if I find out where George lives, I´m going to bend him over my knee and smack him on the bottom with my wooden spoon from Africa! AND I´m going to start a group *100,000 Mothers to Spank George W. Bush With a Wooden Spoon* Wait until you see the line!"
Well, that was just hilarious to the under eight and not politically educated crowd. Me, the person that detests the notion of spanking and hated the threat of the wooden spoon, wants to smack G.W. on the bottom. Actually the mominatrix in me kind of likes the idea of him squealing for mercy and yes, that is in print! Fast forward to me putting rice away after the story, with my Mexican wooden spoon. Roarke in his three year old wisdom saw the girth of that spoon and his reply was: "Mommy, that would smack bigger than the spoon from Africa! You can put that in your purse and smack George Bush on the bottom with that one when we find his ranch. He´ll really be sorry then." Oh, Roarke...how I wish you never knew a politicians name, how I wish you weren´t so painfully smart somedays. But really, Roarke, you did make me laugh in a very strange fashion. My mothering is so unorthodox I´m sure I´ll hear the criticism but just so all you critics know, I ended the conversation on how Bono shook G.W.´s hand to work for change. Furthermore, you should know Bono is the modern Jesus for my children because really wouldn´t Jesus be a rockstar now? No one listens to the radical religious person in this mixed up United States of America.
Still, I think I have some wooden spoons itching to make contact with an old white man´s behind! Oh, the thrill of it all! (But so not parenting peace...)
Well, that was just hilarious to the under eight and not politically educated crowd. Me, the person that detests the notion of spanking and hated the threat of the wooden spoon, wants to smack G.W. on the bottom. Actually the mominatrix in me kind of likes the idea of him squealing for mercy and yes, that is in print! Fast forward to me putting rice away after the story, with my Mexican wooden spoon. Roarke in his three year old wisdom saw the girth of that spoon and his reply was: "Mommy, that would smack bigger than the spoon from Africa! You can put that in your purse and smack George Bush on the bottom with that one when we find his ranch. He´ll really be sorry then." Oh, Roarke...how I wish you never knew a politicians name, how I wish you weren´t so painfully smart somedays. But really, Roarke, you did make me laugh in a very strange fashion. My mothering is so unorthodox I´m sure I´ll hear the criticism but just so all you critics know, I ended the conversation on how Bono shook G.W.´s hand to work for change. Furthermore, you should know Bono is the modern Jesus for my children because really wouldn´t Jesus be a rockstar now? No one listens to the radical religious person in this mixed up United States of America.
Still, I think I have some wooden spoons itching to make contact with an old white man´s behind! Oh, the thrill of it all! (But so not parenting peace...)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Disposable Culture
The other night I read about this site called TED.com their byline is "ideas worth spreading". Lover of ideas and learning that I am, I journeyed to the site and watched Capt. Charles Moore talk about the great Pacific Gyre (read floating garbage heap the size of the Unites States). All that crap, all that waste floating about in the Pacific that cannot be retrieved and cleaned up...I wanted to throw up. I have to confess to being an anti-litter freak, I have picked up others garbage and presented it to them saying things like "you forgot to throw this away, I thought you might want to do that!" The incredulous looks I have received, who cares, pick up after yourself because news flash: this world is not your personal dumping ground. I found the Pacific Gyre as hard to digest as the albatross community that dies and regurgitates our human garbage.
On Tuesday I found a local Audubon bird sanctuary, smack dab in Houston in one of the prestigious neighborhoods. What a gem! Everyone loaded into the car to check out a section of the Great Texas Migratory Path, we went to look for nests and colorful birds. The picture above is what we saw the most of. Garbage, stranded in a creek, floated down from elsewhere or sometimes contributed by the inhabitants from the homes backing up to the creek. Perhaps I am naïve in thinking that if you have curb-side recycling you wouldn´t throw your unwanted furniture over you back fence to collect creekside. This jaunt proved to me that money does not build social responsibility. What I do know is that if I had money to spend upwards of $500K on a home I would donate my furniture, to my maid or gardener, to Goodwill. What I also know is I would walk down that slope to the creek, motivate myself and my children to clean that crap up, we´d take the pool cleaner, we saw lots of pools on those properties, you know they have pool cleaning equipment.
For 10 minutes I stood and stared at the stagnant mass of garbage, the idea flashed into my mind to walk down there, start cleaning but then my outrage began rising. Instead, I´m going to print the picture and deliver it to the doorsteps of the houses backing up to the offensive mess and make a suggestion...get outside of your house and live your life in this world. Clean up your act because others should not have to clean up your household debris, teach your children and yourselves to step away from whatever the diversion may be and clean this up. The gross negligence behind their fences is forgotten and if we all choose to shove our crap under the rug, so to speak, what value do WE as humans have in this world. The manicured lawns in that neighborhood were lovely but it´s all for naught because I see the skeletons in the closets and those skeletons are hideous.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
In the United Sates...
Everything is measured in pounds, grams and kilos are so much easier, get with the metric system people...I never have to carry cash, it´s scary...no one fills my gas tank up and wipes my windows, what the hell ever happened to full-serve, this sucks...every store has a parking space right there for you...televisions in the check-out line are ridiculous and wrong, don´t mind-numb me as I wait...no one cuts in front of you in line...the "fresh fruit" is a joke...mega-stores give you access to one sop shopping but not quality...the trees are big and beautiful...the lawns are big and beautiful, and freshly mown grass is a scent I have sorely missed...homes are shades of grey, taupe and beige - go wild folks,pick magenta, it may improve your life...I can choose from 20 different tampons and hundreds of shades of lip gloss from Target(!)...no one knows each other...constant news...constant chatter that I actually understand (and wish I didn´t)...Home.
Yes, This transition is difficult, what transition isn´t?. But if you haven´t ever left what you know, consider what is alien about your own culture to others. My kids are baffled, I am baffled. We will make our way but Houston, re-entry is a problem. Do you copy that?
Yes, This transition is difficult, what transition isn´t?. But if you haven´t ever left what you know, consider what is alien about your own culture to others. My kids are baffled, I am baffled. We will make our way but Houston, re-entry is a problem. Do you copy that?
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The Pan American Highway
As we traveled up Highway 57 to bring us to Texas, my eyes drank in the scenery in case I don´t travel the road again for awhile. The absence of billboards is something I appreciate as is detracts from real life, this is what we did see...
A very large bull meandering in the highway, nothing stops traffic like a 900 pound animal in front of you. Tierra Quemada, the name of a town, it means burned earth and I think I wouldn´t want to live there. Real de Catorce rising like a giant. Las Palmas in it´s 1960´s wonderfulness. "Vulcanizadoras cons pistolas a las 24 horas" and that would be tire repair dudes with pistols 24 hour service, I´m never traveling the Pan-American Carretera at night. Men driving donkey carts on the dirts roads of the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range. The skinniest horses I have ever seen were in the alti-planos of San Luis Potosi, the land there is high in the mountains and arid...how anything thrives there is a mystery. Coyote roadkill with giant swooping vultures on the side of the road to clean up. Vendors with casacabel skins every few kilometers, yes people (mostly women and children) make their living selling the sketletal remains of rattlesnakes they have killed. There are a hell of a lot of rattlesnakes for sale in north San Luis Potosi and the "homes" by the stands are built of scrap pallets, corrugated cardboard, threadbare blankets, a piece of tin if you are lucky...it´s third world living at the edges of a fancy highway. Pozozs de Santa Ana, and I wondered if the misery of revolution had lived here and been left broken, to whither out. Ancient adobe walls abandoned for 20th century building scraps. Land being cleared of Huizache and Mesquite trees and the trees were just set on fire, no collection of firewood, no conservation but the air smelled like they should be smoking ribs and it was a scrumptious smell.
When we arrived in Monterrey the smog hanging over the city hit us in the face and the smell burned our nostrils. Monterrey is like Gary, Indiana in the 70´s, pumping out the nastiest fumes that even your air conditioner cannot conceal. Isabel remarked "I have to get out of this city, it stinks so bad I have a headache!" She was right, Monterrey is another place I don´t know how anyone survives because of the carcinogens being released into the air. Entire mountains are cut away to harvest materials for concrete, the entire ecosystem around the city is marred from production of industry. Sebastian wondered how the mountain didn´t fall down on "all these people, look at this mom, it´s so dangerous." My eight year old sees it, my six year old smells it in the air, why can the adult reapers/rapers of the land acknowledge what is wrong with that brand of progress?
As we exited Monterrey I composed some poetry while driving:
huizaches drenched
with yellow blossoms
and the air, oh the air
moving the sweetest of smells...
of spring
beneath mountains
gouged by industrialism
and the cloud
of the 21st Century
saturating an entire
valley
choking everyone
below
I haven´t written poetry since 10th grade high school, and the teacher thought I had copied some beatnik poetry (because she said it was too good for 10th grade literature, ego boost.) Whether it´s good or bad, I don´t really care, that is Monterrey in my minds eye, a hopeful wasteland, waiting to be reclaimed. Drive the Pan-American Highway 57 for yourself and observe, the cloud of what the United States does not want in their back yard is waiting there for you to witness.
Please don´t get it in your head Mexíco is ugly or worthless. There is untold beauty of heart and miracles. The most luscious land I have ever seen is in Urupan, home of avocado export to the world. The most gracious people one could encounter, and my standards are high as I grew up in the mid-west and expect a "hello, how are you today?" with chatty banter, live in Mexíco. The Pan-American Highway really isn´t Pan America at all, it is a desolate fast stretch of highway that takes you through places you´d never go to get to where you want to be. Mexíco is where the hearts of my children lie because it is beautiful and forgiving while giving and with mysterious otherworldiness of the town we lived in and loved. But that chapter closed during 947.8 miles (including when I went the wrong way and had to go back.) That our last memories should be on that toll-road driving from the unknown to the unknown sucks.
Before I have said, my children are brave and fierce (also annoying). In traveling Highway 57 I could not have chosen better, more attentive companions. Constantly they pulled me out of my torpor from driving to look and see the wonder in the wasteland. The beauty in the breakdown.
A very large bull meandering in the highway, nothing stops traffic like a 900 pound animal in front of you. Tierra Quemada, the name of a town, it means burned earth and I think I wouldn´t want to live there. Real de Catorce rising like a giant. Las Palmas in it´s 1960´s wonderfulness. "Vulcanizadoras cons pistolas a las 24 horas" and that would be tire repair dudes with pistols 24 hour service, I´m never traveling the Pan-American Carretera at night. Men driving donkey carts on the dirts roads of the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range. The skinniest horses I have ever seen were in the alti-planos of San Luis Potosi, the land there is high in the mountains and arid...how anything thrives there is a mystery. Coyote roadkill with giant swooping vultures on the side of the road to clean up. Vendors with casacabel skins every few kilometers, yes people (mostly women and children) make their living selling the sketletal remains of rattlesnakes they have killed. There are a hell of a lot of rattlesnakes for sale in north San Luis Potosi and the "homes" by the stands are built of scrap pallets, corrugated cardboard, threadbare blankets, a piece of tin if you are lucky...it´s third world living at the edges of a fancy highway. Pozozs de Santa Ana, and I wondered if the misery of revolution had lived here and been left broken, to whither out. Ancient adobe walls abandoned for 20th century building scraps. Land being cleared of Huizache and Mesquite trees and the trees were just set on fire, no collection of firewood, no conservation but the air smelled like they should be smoking ribs and it was a scrumptious smell.
When we arrived in Monterrey the smog hanging over the city hit us in the face and the smell burned our nostrils. Monterrey is like Gary, Indiana in the 70´s, pumping out the nastiest fumes that even your air conditioner cannot conceal. Isabel remarked "I have to get out of this city, it stinks so bad I have a headache!" She was right, Monterrey is another place I don´t know how anyone survives because of the carcinogens being released into the air. Entire mountains are cut away to harvest materials for concrete, the entire ecosystem around the city is marred from production of industry. Sebastian wondered how the mountain didn´t fall down on "all these people, look at this mom, it´s so dangerous." My eight year old sees it, my six year old smells it in the air, why can the adult reapers/rapers of the land acknowledge what is wrong with that brand of progress?
As we exited Monterrey I composed some poetry while driving:
huizaches drenched
with yellow blossoms
and the air, oh the air
moving the sweetest of smells...
of spring
beneath mountains
gouged by industrialism
and the cloud
of the 21st Century
saturating an entire
valley
choking everyone
below
I haven´t written poetry since 10th grade high school, and the teacher thought I had copied some beatnik poetry (because she said it was too good for 10th grade literature, ego boost.) Whether it´s good or bad, I don´t really care, that is Monterrey in my minds eye, a hopeful wasteland, waiting to be reclaimed. Drive the Pan-American Highway 57 for yourself and observe, the cloud of what the United States does not want in their back yard is waiting there for you to witness.
Please don´t get it in your head Mexíco is ugly or worthless. There is untold beauty of heart and miracles. The most luscious land I have ever seen is in Urupan, home of avocado export to the world. The most gracious people one could encounter, and my standards are high as I grew up in the mid-west and expect a "hello, how are you today?" with chatty banter, live in Mexíco. The Pan-American Highway really isn´t Pan America at all, it is a desolate fast stretch of highway that takes you through places you´d never go to get to where you want to be. Mexíco is where the hearts of my children lie because it is beautiful and forgiving while giving and with mysterious otherworldiness of the town we lived in and loved. But that chapter closed during 947.8 miles (including when I went the wrong way and had to go back.) That our last memories should be on that toll-road driving from the unknown to the unknown sucks.
Before I have said, my children are brave and fierce (also annoying). In traveling Highway 57 I could not have chosen better, more attentive companions. Constantly they pulled me out of my torpor from driving to look and see the wonder in the wasteland. The beauty in the breakdown.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
As I lose all my regrets
These days I wake up wondering if I have just lived a lifetime in 24 hours, some days I have. This year has begun with endings and I would be grateful for a beginning in the near future, just in case anyone is answering prayers. My last 3 weeks in San Miguel were more painful than the time I caught typhoid there...I deal better with strange temporary diseases than saying goodbye to this temporary permanence.
How, I don´t know, did I accumulated so much in 2.5 years in Mexico? That question was asked alot when moving it. My time left, in this place others come to enjoy, was spent in labor of moving; people, boxes, lives. During this time I was able to visit my iPod with beautiful sites and beautiful people and I became attached to a song, of course, during all this shuffling of everything-and-nothing-at-once. Twilight has always been my favorite time of day, the closure and the beginning, with soft golden blues that make me shed tears when I see the sky spreading out before me. One night as I drove down the mountain at twighlight time "Set the Twighlight Reeling" by Lou Reed came on. Now I know lots of people that find their comfort in God, but nothing put me at comfort that twilight time like Lou Reed´s cracky, edgy voice...he saved me from many bad mama incidents in my last weeks. Though this video version isn´t the sound quality of my iPod and Lou singing to me, Elvis Costello is a nice consolation prize and I hope you all enjoy a musical adventure.
My gift of strength while I packed up a formerly happy life into boxes was to gather this woman of strength in me. I did dread moving but part of me looked foward to it also, to get on with this life and not live in these disjointed boxes of life alone and married life every once in awhile. Now I am finding it difficult living with another adult after all this independence. Perhaps I should say all this dependence, on only myself, to make it through the next moment, which leads to the hour, day, week. There were moments I needed a guide and there was no manual for success or failure, surely there are years of therapy involved for my children on the dreaded move from Mexico...but we all found bravery.
When you leave something you love and you know it´s this slow departure, you have time to taste the sweetness. Things you once found negligible begin to take value. Since I was driving most of my days, my delicacies come in one line on scraps of paper: cobblestone roads, a cantalope moon, the Parroquia, losing Roarke´s glove and retrieving it from the mirador, giant ficus trees at La Concepcíon, tiendas, a dusty construction worker blowing me a kiss, the all permeating dust , sweet tears, kissing lovers, twirling batman acrobats in the last circus, yellow huizache blossoms, Guadalupe (always Guadalupe) and twilight. My sweetest last moments driving on the obnoxiously bumpy roads of San Miguel de Allende. Of course always my children, with me, sharing this journey. How did I earn the blessing of these three beautiful humans that I am supposed to care for? Simultaneously I am irritated and brought to my knees in thankfulness.
So many times it was commented, *you can´t do all this by yourself*, *you have to do it this way...*, *you need help*. Advice given in love and sometimes as if to say I wasn´t capable of delivering. Times came when I accepted help and then you simply have to step up, for yourself and the people you love, and say I will do this and I can. At the end of it all; the shuffling of things, boxes in Mexico, vehicle left in Mexico, still plans to arrange...I did what had to be done. Nine hundred miles between children and their father was covered to give them a family and some security and to let go of the regrets at leaving geographical points on a map. Yes, I did set the twilight reeling.
How, I don´t know, did I accumulated so much in 2.5 years in Mexico? That question was asked alot when moving it. My time left, in this place others come to enjoy, was spent in labor of moving; people, boxes, lives. During this time I was able to visit my iPod with beautiful sites and beautiful people and I became attached to a song, of course, during all this shuffling of everything-and-nothing-at-once. Twilight has always been my favorite time of day, the closure and the beginning, with soft golden blues that make me shed tears when I see the sky spreading out before me. One night as I drove down the mountain at twighlight time "Set the Twighlight Reeling" by Lou Reed came on. Now I know lots of people that find their comfort in God, but nothing put me at comfort that twilight time like Lou Reed´s cracky, edgy voice...he saved me from many bad mama incidents in my last weeks. Though this video version isn´t the sound quality of my iPod and Lou singing to me, Elvis Costello is a nice consolation prize and I hope you all enjoy a musical adventure.
My gift of strength while I packed up a formerly happy life into boxes was to gather this woman of strength in me. I did dread moving but part of me looked foward to it also, to get on with this life and not live in these disjointed boxes of life alone and married life every once in awhile. Now I am finding it difficult living with another adult after all this independence. Perhaps I should say all this dependence, on only myself, to make it through the next moment, which leads to the hour, day, week. There were moments I needed a guide and there was no manual for success or failure, surely there are years of therapy involved for my children on the dreaded move from Mexico...but we all found bravery.
When you leave something you love and you know it´s this slow departure, you have time to taste the sweetness. Things you once found negligible begin to take value. Since I was driving most of my days, my delicacies come in one line on scraps of paper: cobblestone roads, a cantalope moon, the Parroquia, losing Roarke´s glove and retrieving it from the mirador, giant ficus trees at La Concepcíon, tiendas, a dusty construction worker blowing me a kiss, the all permeating dust , sweet tears, kissing lovers, twirling batman acrobats in the last circus, yellow huizache blossoms, Guadalupe (always Guadalupe) and twilight. My sweetest last moments driving on the obnoxiously bumpy roads of San Miguel de Allende. Of course always my children, with me, sharing this journey. How did I earn the blessing of these three beautiful humans that I am supposed to care for? Simultaneously I am irritated and brought to my knees in thankfulness.
So many times it was commented, *you can´t do all this by yourself*, *you have to do it this way...*, *you need help*. Advice given in love and sometimes as if to say I wasn´t capable of delivering. Times came when I accepted help and then you simply have to step up, for yourself and the people you love, and say I will do this and I can. At the end of it all; the shuffling of things, boxes in Mexico, vehicle left in Mexico, still plans to arrange...I did what had to be done. Nine hundred miles between children and their father was covered to give them a family and some security and to let go of the regrets at leaving geographical points on a map. Yes, I did set the twilight reeling.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
And this is just crazy...
The conflict in Gaza goes up my spine, senseless killing over geographical places. As I exit a beloved geographical place...I have to say "damn, just let it go..."
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Houston
There are so many things to do in Houston, I almost don´t know where to begin! Click on Roarke and see where we´ve been...
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Letting Go
There are some things in this life you want so badly you can only focus on that. It´s really a devil may care vision. There becomes an obsession with staying put and only focusing on that one thing. We forget to look at what we really need, what others around us need. We forget that one day we won´t drive on this road again, because life is always changing, it´s best look at what is around you.
Lately I've had many revelations about what my family needs. My conclusion is that we cannot be a family with the absence of 1/5 of our family. For me, Sebastian, Isabel and Roarke, it is only 1/5. For Richard, his heart is missing 4/5´s, he is empty and we cannot let him continue like this. This week I have not been able to get the idea of a radical change of heart (courtesy of Betty, look her up on the left side)and what that means for me. Here is how my heart is changing:
Part of me wants to remain in this lovely town, with the community I have grown in to. This geographical place where I have started to learn, finally, to be here now. But my committment to my family, my husband, tells me it´s time to let go. Families can live apart, sometimes we need to, somedays we wish to. My family, we five people that make this life complete, we need to be together. My heart is changing radicallly, I am letting go of my most wanted desire. Life in Mexico.
Funny just a few weeks ago, I commented on how dreams come true. They still do. When the dream comes true...then what? When dreams come true is it ephemeral or something that lasts forever? And so your dream came true...what about others hopes, dreams, expectations and fears? I cannot stop myself from exiting what I want and realizing what we all need. What this family of 5 humans needs; love, to be listened to, kisses, hugs, wonder and each other. Good gracious, it really does seem old fashioned and cliché and how flipping simple can we get? What I dream of more than geographical places and bi-lingual children is children and adults without metaphorical broken hearts from sadness and a disconnected life.
So it looks like I am giving up pura vida en Mexíco and I am so sad for that loss. However, if you know me at all, you know I have to list the gains (because they are wildly magnificent!). First and foremost the Reina de Mexíco, Guadalupe. Never in all my years of going to church, studying notions of religiousity, spiritual seeking...did I find something to connect to like Her. My life, wardrobe and accessories will always be grateful for my introduction to the Mother of all mothers. Sebastian and Isabel are bi-lingual, let´s hope they remember this. Sunny days for nearly two consecutive years, you´d have to be completely self-involved to have missed that. This next statement may be self-involved but here goes...the courage to step outside of your box.
For two years I have struggled with stepping outside of life as I had known it for 36years. On my journey into motherhood, beyond the phase of marriage that went like: "We have no kids, we have 2 incomes, we´re so groovy, we can do anything we imagine"... I forgot to believe in the capacity to have radical changes of heart to change your life. Richard asked me to take a leap, I did even though I was afraid and I have loved this experience but not every moment (especially typhoid). I have not forgotten to pay attention, well some of the time I´ve paid attention. What we are living is life, I have no special brand of bravery, this is what others have coined "ordinary courage"...yep, this is my life.
Lately I've had many revelations about what my family needs. My conclusion is that we cannot be a family with the absence of 1/5 of our family. For me, Sebastian, Isabel and Roarke, it is only 1/5. For Richard, his heart is missing 4/5´s, he is empty and we cannot let him continue like this. This week I have not been able to get the idea of a radical change of heart (courtesy of Betty, look her up on the left side)and what that means for me. Here is how my heart is changing:
Part of me wants to remain in this lovely town, with the community I have grown in to. This geographical place where I have started to learn, finally, to be here now. But my committment to my family, my husband, tells me it´s time to let go. Families can live apart, sometimes we need to, somedays we wish to. My family, we five people that make this life complete, we need to be together. My heart is changing radicallly, I am letting go of my most wanted desire. Life in Mexico.
Funny just a few weeks ago, I commented on how dreams come true. They still do. When the dream comes true...then what? When dreams come true is it ephemeral or something that lasts forever? And so your dream came true...what about others hopes, dreams, expectations and fears? I cannot stop myself from exiting what I want and realizing what we all need. What this family of 5 humans needs; love, to be listened to, kisses, hugs, wonder and each other. Good gracious, it really does seem old fashioned and cliché and how flipping simple can we get? What I dream of more than geographical places and bi-lingual children is children and adults without metaphorical broken hearts from sadness and a disconnected life.
So it looks like I am giving up pura vida en Mexíco and I am so sad for that loss. However, if you know me at all, you know I have to list the gains (because they are wildly magnificent!). First and foremost the Reina de Mexíco, Guadalupe. Never in all my years of going to church, studying notions of religiousity, spiritual seeking...did I find something to connect to like Her. My life, wardrobe and accessories will always be grateful for my introduction to the Mother of all mothers. Sebastian and Isabel are bi-lingual, let´s hope they remember this. Sunny days for nearly two consecutive years, you´d have to be completely self-involved to have missed that. This next statement may be self-involved but here goes...the courage to step outside of your box.
For two years I have struggled with stepping outside of life as I had known it for 36years. On my journey into motherhood, beyond the phase of marriage that went like: "We have no kids, we have 2 incomes, we´re so groovy, we can do anything we imagine"... I forgot to believe in the capacity to have radical changes of heart to change your life. Richard asked me to take a leap, I did even though I was afraid and I have loved this experience but not every moment (especially typhoid). I have not forgotten to pay attention, well some of the time I´ve paid attention. What we are living is life, I have no special brand of bravery, this is what others have coined "ordinary courage"...yep, this is my life.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Grocery Shopping American Style
We've been in Houston for...I don't remember how many days now. I am in this haze of all things for sale. The Christmas season is always overwhelming but I'm wondering if the season ever ends here, all the shops are packed (except the thrift store, I had it all to myself, no competition, yeah!) We shopped minimally for Christmas presents but have been to the grocery store more times than I care to recount. I love the grocery store, I could fill baskets full of foodie items if my pocket book allowed it.
The grocery store has taken a very strange spin in my absence from the states. To shop for the necessities for your pantry you must now enter the maze of shopping, through the flowers, cakes, cookies...by the time I reached the fruits and vegetables my kids were mesmerized by all the marketed items. What I found most disconcerting were the television screens on the cereal aisle talking to me and then in the check out line. Don't the marketing execs know I shop with my kids and I can barely handle their human clamoring while shopping, I certainly don't want a television constantly talking!
All this marketing to my pocketbook happened after I had spent 4 hours at the park, entertaining my children, took a wrong turn as I left the park and was lost for 1 hour looking for a grocery store. As I was driving aimlessly and listening to my new favorite song "To Be Surprised" I drove past this high end strip mall that I decided didn't meet my budget shopping needs. Ten minutes later i drove past the same shopping center and thought, okay maybe I have to stop here. I pulled in to go to the super fancy grocery store and looked up to see a sign that said "Second Baptist Church". Utter confusion ensues in my brain, doesn't that sign over there say something like "Forest Rose Boutique Clothing for Children" and I'm looking at the super fancy *flagship* grocery store and I'm in a sea of BRAND NEW Mercedes, Jaguars, Land Rovers, BMW's? Yes, the church was the anchor for this extremely high end que lujo shopping center.
At this point I can't go in the "Flagship" grocery because 2 out of 3 children are asleep and I couldn't even stomach going in the place if they were awake because I just read a review of "WWJB?" (What Would Jesus Buy? Morgan Spurlock's new film with the members from the Church of Stop Shopping) and I'm fairly certain that Jesus would be offended at the thought of a church being the anchor for a strip mall. In fact I'm pondering this question heavily these days? I don't read the bible daily, I haven't read that book in about 12 years and when I did last read the book it was for a grueling class and I haven't looked at Christianity the same since. Oh, the point of that...I DO remember the story of Jesus turning over the tables in the temple. Were those just the money changers or all merchants? I can't answer that question because Sebastian yelled at Isabel in the last hotel we went to when she tried to take the Gideon's bible with her: "Isabel, you always take that! Maybe someone else will need one too and there won't be one because you have three!" Now I need a reference point and it's not there.
My heart will have to serve as a reference point for me. I understand the idea of supporting a business of like minded folks, look at the goodness of fair trade items, I have no problem with people shopping in stores owned by Christians, Muslims, Jewish because that is their world belief. There was just something not right about the church physically being connected to all those shops that turned my stomach and made my heart say "Hasn't this gone far enough America?"
I left this weird space and found the Kroger nearest us, which as you have already read is where the television screens are on every aisle. It took an hour and a half to complete this shopping extravaganza, including 2 pee breaks. As we left and were walking through the very large pedestrian section with a cart laden and my three children holding onto various portions of the cart, a man in a very new and very shiny Lexus almost ran us over to drive in a circle for a parking space. If my children had not been holding onto the cart, I would have sailed my cart full of groceries into the side of his car because of his blatant disregard for the most precious people in my life and I said that out loud. Unfortunately my children were actually listening to me mumble and then started saying "I'll beat him up", "I'll kick him in the privates", "He is a very mean man." My stomach started turning again because of my own design and I said "No, we won't do any of those things. We will forgive him because we are all safe. It's his heart that needs filling, we can't fill it, but we can forgive and move on in this life."
And that concludes our family adventure of grocery shopping American style, what a whirlwind!
The grocery store has taken a very strange spin in my absence from the states. To shop for the necessities for your pantry you must now enter the maze of shopping, through the flowers, cakes, cookies...by the time I reached the fruits and vegetables my kids were mesmerized by all the marketed items. What I found most disconcerting were the television screens on the cereal aisle talking to me and then in the check out line. Don't the marketing execs know I shop with my kids and I can barely handle their human clamoring while shopping, I certainly don't want a television constantly talking!
All this marketing to my pocketbook happened after I had spent 4 hours at the park, entertaining my children, took a wrong turn as I left the park and was lost for 1 hour looking for a grocery store. As I was driving aimlessly and listening to my new favorite song "To Be Surprised" I drove past this high end strip mall that I decided didn't meet my budget shopping needs. Ten minutes later i drove past the same shopping center and thought, okay maybe I have to stop here. I pulled in to go to the super fancy grocery store and looked up to see a sign that said "Second Baptist Church". Utter confusion ensues in my brain, doesn't that sign over there say something like "Forest Rose Boutique Clothing for Children" and I'm looking at the super fancy *flagship* grocery store and I'm in a sea of BRAND NEW Mercedes, Jaguars, Land Rovers, BMW's? Yes, the church was the anchor for this extremely high end que lujo shopping center.
At this point I can't go in the "Flagship" grocery because 2 out of 3 children are asleep and I couldn't even stomach going in the place if they were awake because I just read a review of "WWJB?" (What Would Jesus Buy? Morgan Spurlock's new film with the members from the Church of Stop Shopping) and I'm fairly certain that Jesus would be offended at the thought of a church being the anchor for a strip mall. In fact I'm pondering this question heavily these days? I don't read the bible daily, I haven't read that book in about 12 years and when I did last read the book it was for a grueling class and I haven't looked at Christianity the same since. Oh, the point of that...I DO remember the story of Jesus turning over the tables in the temple. Were those just the money changers or all merchants? I can't answer that question because Sebastian yelled at Isabel in the last hotel we went to when she tried to take the Gideon's bible with her: "Isabel, you always take that! Maybe someone else will need one too and there won't be one because you have three!" Now I need a reference point and it's not there.
My heart will have to serve as a reference point for me. I understand the idea of supporting a business of like minded folks, look at the goodness of fair trade items, I have no problem with people shopping in stores owned by Christians, Muslims, Jewish because that is their world belief. There was just something not right about the church physically being connected to all those shops that turned my stomach and made my heart say "Hasn't this gone far enough America?"
I left this weird space and found the Kroger nearest us, which as you have already read is where the television screens are on every aisle. It took an hour and a half to complete this shopping extravaganza, including 2 pee breaks. As we left and were walking through the very large pedestrian section with a cart laden and my three children holding onto various portions of the cart, a man in a very new and very shiny Lexus almost ran us over to drive in a circle for a parking space. If my children had not been holding onto the cart, I would have sailed my cart full of groceries into the side of his car because of his blatant disregard for the most precious people in my life and I said that out loud. Unfortunately my children were actually listening to me mumble and then started saying "I'll beat him up", "I'll kick him in the privates", "He is a very mean man." My stomach started turning again because of my own design and I said "No, we won't do any of those things. We will forgive him because we are all safe. It's his heart that needs filling, we can't fill it, but we can forgive and move on in this life."
And that concludes our family adventure of grocery shopping American style, what a whirlwind!
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