Then there's SOUND!

There is always music in Mexico. Last night we sat on the verandah and listened to the band playing in the plaza down in Guayabitos. Bass line set down by a tuba, trumpets playing notes that don't quite match, and violins that must be tuned to dissonance. It was still going on when we went to bed, and when we woke again at 4:30 to a fisherman's song. As I write this the cantina across the estuary has cranked up the volume, good old plaintive mi amor has left me stuff. Very similar to the song that broke out of the man yesterday at the vegetable store. "How beautiful you sing!" I said. What else do you say to someone pouring out his soul to a bunch of radishes? He lowered his eyes at me, made a fist, pulled it toward him and hit his gut. "Not beauty. Deep emotion." I'm sure there was a story there.

One of my favorite memories of Disneyland is a grown man with a Goofy hat on dancing with complete abandon with his daughter at the Tomorrowland Bandstand. There's something wonderful about people who sing freely and dance wildly, at any age. Bravo for parents who dance with their children. Bravo for schools that keep music programs alive. The photo above was taken by my friend Jeannie at the Chula Vista middle school near here. Gringos were delivering a lot of school supplies there, and the students gave a performance as a thank you. Paper, pencils, notebooks -- always in short supply. But music -- never!

What the nose knows

No picture today. It's all about the nose. We talked to Larry's brother the other day, who made the comment that he knew what California smelled like, but he couldn't "picture" us now, since he didn't know what Mexico smelled like. This is a VAST subject, perhaps epitomized by the fact that in Walmart you can buy vanilla extract in gallon jugs, but the largest bottle of white vinegar is less than a pint. I'll make a few stabs here at what stands out to my nose, at least.

Vegetation. Humid, jungly greenstuff. When we came here in October, the air was so heavy it was more biteable than breathable. It's dry and cooler now, but there's still a lot of green smell. If you don't know what I'm talking about, visit a greenhouse.

Smoke. Someone is always burning something somewhere. Usually excessive jungly vegetation.

Wood smoke. Like so many others, Chano and Hilda, our handyman and housekeeper, cook over a woodfire behind their house. Yes there's a kitchen, but who wants to be stuck in a small hot kitchen when you live in the tropics? Last February, Hilda and Chano invited us for pozole -- a feast for the senses in itself -- and served it to us in styrofoam bowls from the big smoky pot that sat directly in the coals in their backyard.

More wood smoke. Carne a la lena read the handwritten signs by the side of the road. (And there's supposed to be a tilde over the n in lena, but I haven't figured out how to do that in this blog. It doesn't act like Microsoft Word). It means meat, usually ribs or chicken, roasted over an open fire. Or there is zarandeado, which is every kind of fish roasted over open fire. There is something about fire and flesh that is so visceral and delicious. Even when I'm not hungry, I start salivating!

Fabuloso. I've mentioned it before. It's the all purpose cleaner that comes in myriad neon koolaid colors with accompanying sweet smells. We walk around barefoot on tile floors kept pristinely immaculate through the efforts of Hilda, her mop, and Fabuloso.

Corner grocery stores. Tiendas de abarrotes. They're not air-conditioned, and the produce sections smell -- for better or worse. Fruits and vegetables are eaten in vast quantities down here, and produce is meant to turn over daily. No waxy coatings to keep oranges fresh for weeks, cucumbers stiff and green forever. Use 'em or lose 'em.

Diesel. Lots of public transportation. Lots of smelly buses. Lots of trucks stuck on narrow cobblestone streets.

Kerosene -- or something that smells like it. Used as a deterrent to termites.

Birds. They're pretty. But they're messy. Do you have any idea how big pelican poop can be?

Gardenias. White blooms are just starting to break out on the bushes lining the stairway to our front door.

Food. Tortillas and chilies. Limes. Beer. Churros frying in oil. Tacos and tortas cooked on street corners. Ceviche tostados. Stands whirring out fresh fruit licuados and aguas frescas. Coconut stands that sell the big cocos with a straw, and myriads of multi-colored, achingly sweet coconut products. Stands that sell rounds of peanut brittle -- eat it fast, before it gets soft!

Coffee. Larry just brought be a cup. I think he'd like breakfast. Hmmmmm. BACON!

You want fish, Lady?

Were you wondering where that path leads on the previous post? This is where it comes out on the beach. And there you've got the island beyond. Always something further out there, right?

Those who know me have always accused me of wanderlust. But it should be obvious by now that this blog is far from a travelogue -- unless it's one of the spirit. I've come to rest on a delightful shore where the scenery is beautiful and the people are terrific. I plan on staying put for a while. If there is any pull going on, it comes from the past -- and that is fast losing its power. It's not that I want to "chuck it all" and move on with empty hands. Some things are worth saving. It's like those fishermen we see so often on this beach. You bring in the net and there's a lot you need to get rid of. But the dorado and huachinango -- those are the keepers.

So I'm sitting here in the sand sorting through what I've got in my net -- the culture, the concepts, the career -- and like someone new to the whole concept of fishing, I'm asking questions:

• What's that nice fat one called? Is it good to eat?
• Yuck! Where did that slimy thing come from?
• Is there really any use for all this seaweed? It sure gets tangled in everything.
• Do I need a new net? Or shall I just keep mending this old one?
  

...the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: Which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away. Matt 13:47,48

While I'm at this this morning, one more question: I want to know why my camera doesn't take great pictures like it used to. I must have changed the resolution or something. Lately everthing looks grainy. Take a look at the most recent photos on Luke and Emily's blog. They're in San Cristobal de las Casas. That photo of the three women on the church steps is breathtaking.

I feel like I've been on a learning curve this past year that resembles a skateboard half pipe: the world of international wire transfers, Mexican taxes, the intricacies (or lack thereof) of foreign plumbing. (Don't ask. You really don't want to know.) And that doesn't even take into account anything remotely digital. I may be busy sorting through my net, but the waves keep crashing away. I'm going back to bed and pulling the covers way over my head.

This is for mi mama

She's always loved bouganvillea -- or bugambillas as they write it down here. Growing it in Lubbock, Texas, was a challenge. Only in giant pots which required two or three men to carry them inside from the patio every autumn. There they'd gather strength through sunny winter months until the last frost was past -- usually the end of April.

It was mid-February when Larry and I moved from West Texas to Southern California. The bouganvillea were in full glory, tumbling down hillsides, filling ravines, competing with freeway daisies and iceplant for the attention of commuters stuck in traffic. I thought -- in a southern twang -- "I've done died and gone to heaven."

So this is the public path from our neighborhood to the Guayabitos beach. It's glorious. And it's waiting for you, Mom. Glad you're moving out of the skilled nursing unit tomorrow. I'm looking forward to bringing you back to Mexico with me this coming February so you can spend some time before your "independent living" unit is ready. Glad you've lived. Welcome to heaven.

Is heaven a siesta? No, it's a coffee chat

"If Heaven were a siesta, religion might be conceived of as a reverie. If the future life were to be mainly spent in a Temple, the present life might be mainly spent in Church."





The photo is not a church. It's a coffee shop in San Juan Capistrano. The quote is from Henry Drummond, known mainly for his exposition of First Corinthians 13. His little book The Greatest Thing in the World has sold over 12 million copies in English alone. But he wrote another work I keep going back to. It's called The City without a Church, and is based on St. John's vision of new Jerusalem found in Revelation 21. "No temple therein." Drummond's take is that we live our religion not within the walls of a church, but in the nitty-gritty center of things, where citizens get together and connect. We live our religion by our service to one another. You can read the whole thing by clicking here.



Jonathan Voltze is the editor/publisher of The Capistrano Dispatch an independent local paper published every other week in English and every other week in Spanish. He instituted Friday morning "coffee chats" at an independent coffee house (hard to find in a town of 35,000 which has FOUR Starbucks in a half mile square). Dependable independence, I guess. It was good to be back with the "regulars," even if they were talking about the same old stuff. They were talking, and that counts for a lot these days.

Seems I spent most of last week talking or listening in meetings of all sorts:
The Guayabitos Homeowners Association
The coffee chat at Metro Java
The Christian Science Society in San Juan Capistrano
The Capistrano Valley Community Foundation

So I'm staying connected -- have even learned to do hyperlinks. Did you notice? Now it's market day in La Penita, and I'm up for some serious shopping. That is what I call heaven!

On the road

I'm busy packing this morning. My flight for Orange County leaves from Puerto Vallarta at 2:43, but Larry and I want to make a Sam's Club run before he drops me off at the airport. Before I go, I'd like to introduce you to Luke and Emily from Fairbanks, Alaska. Emily's parents are friends of ours who live in R de Guayabitos, and she and Luke arrived shortly after we moved down here. They both quit their jobs to travel in Mexico for a year. Their blog is FULL of great pictures and the writing is terrific. They both have an eye for detail and cultural exclamation points.

I've added a link to their blog, so you can see for yourself. If you scroll down to the very beginning of their adventure, you'll get their perspective on the area around here. They have actually done a lot more exploring than we have, and can show you around town much better. For instance, Luke took some great shots of the tianguis market in La Penita.

Don't know if I'll blog from OC or not. If I don't, see you later. And I promise more pictures!

"Once more into the breach...."

In a few minutes we're going to be leaving for a property owners' meeting. If you click on the Guayabitos News link, you'll see that Larry and I have landed in another HOA "challenge." It happened to us before back in San Juan Capistrano. Almost the day after we bought our condo on the hill up above the golf course, suits were filed. Turns out our foundations were rotten concrete and the slope above us was headed downhill. We spent the next four years involved in two different lawsuits with two different homeowners associations. Larry became president of the slope association -- with a good outcome. We got a $9.5 million settlement from GlenFed, and were able to reconstruct the unstable slope on the hill above us and leave money in the bank for the association. Our condo was also completely renovated with no cost to us. So I'm not too discouraged about the current state of affairs in the Zona Residencial here in Guayabitos.

I went back through my notes this morning to find the affirmation that I wrote out regarding that past situation. I referred to it constantly as a "reality" check. I'll be revising it over the next few days for this current occasion:

"My household is what I hold in my house -- my consciousness. It is the consciousness that God gives me. It is illumined, orderly, peaceful, joyous, uncontaminated, never stale or putrid, serene, unirritated, unperturbed. My house, my consciousness, is buttressed with truth; it is immoveable, solid, strong, unfragmented, seamless. It is built of the solid masonry of love, precept on precept, action on action. It exists to glorify God, the great architect, the eternal builder. Its foundation is sure.

My consciousness at this time has a particular vista westward, but we are not "strangers on a barren shore." This homeowners association is a spiritual community where we see the love and care of God expressed in our loving and caring for one another. The mental atmosphere on this hillside is imbued with tender words and loving encouragement in our mutual and individual endeavors. We honor and adore one infinite God, good, and we honor and adore God's creation, which is here, and now, and always."