The Split

The shit has hit the fan in the family. Sides will be chosen, although they are pretty obvious already. It could get ugly. And it’s just the beginning of the holiday season.

Last year Luis and his nephew Dorian were chosen to be the Mayordomos of the annual Virgin of Guadalupe run for our neighborhood. Luis was excited as this was something his mother always wanted to do but never had the chance to before she died. Luis and Dorian were to split the responsibilities, namely to change the Virgin painting from household to household every week for the year, and then to organize and sponsor the run on December 12th.

Luis pulled his weight on the weekly task well enough, but could get a bit slack at times about changing the Virgin. He would forget, or decide he didn’t want to go. Dorian, as co-Mayordomo, filled in when Luis wasn’t there.

When the time came to start planning the run, Pati (Dorian’s mom and Luis’ sister) offered to make the shirts that everyone wears for the run. Luis asked her if she would have time because she also has a full-time business to run. She felt confident that she could do it. So Luis and I took a trip up to Guadalajara to purchase the fabric. Pati took the fabric we bought and started making the shirts. This was about a month and a half before the run date.

Luis started organizing water and oranges to feed the runners during the run, a location and food for the after-run party, and people to help in all the support roles (non-runners like me, that is).

Then the trouble started.

Early in December, Luis checked in with Pati to find out how many shirts were done. We needed at least a day lead time to send them to the printers before the run, although we could send them in batches to him if needed. She didn’t have any done. She had cut the material and knew she was going to need more. But no shirts were done and she didn’t know how much more fabric she needed.

Ok, well. We can go to Guadalajara to get more fabric once you tell us how much you need. Ok? So just let us know when you know.

Days went by and no word from Pati. We only had a week before the day of the run. Luis started to get angry. Getting the shirts done was becoming the biggest issue in organizing the run.

Pati finally told us how much fabric she needed. At that point she also mentioned that she was going to charge us 20 pesos per shirt. Keep in mind most of the effort put into this event is on a volunteer basis. Luis wasn’t getting paid anything, and was in fact putting out a lot of money as the sponsor of this event. When Pati originally said that she could make the shirts, there was no mention of money. But now that it was late in the game, suddenly money was an issue.

Luis, in his usual manner, decided not to discuss this with Pati at that point. This, as I see it, was his biggest mistake. If I were in his place, I would have discussed it immediately with her. Clear the air, get things straightened out while there is still time to take the shirts elsewhere if need be. And to make sure that the situation didn’t get any worse. But that wasn’t what Luis did.

As the days passed, Pati started to make excuses. “I don’t have any more shirts because the sewing machine was acting up… someone else let me down… I had to do something else.” But we would see Pati at our house in the evenings, eating tostadas with Cynthia, going home around 10pm. If I were her, I would have been spending all my spare time trying to finish the shirts. But that wasn’t what Pati did.

Finally the day of the run came and it all went off without a hitch. Somehow Pati had produced enough shirts to cover everyone’s back, I drove the van in front of the runners, and Luis ran the majority of the approximately 15k distance. After the run, the food was at the arter-run party location and everyone ate well.

In the days after the run, Luis went around and paid those folks who needed to be paid. Some things were donated in honor of the Virgin, some things just had to be paid for. But he didn’t go to Pati.

One night Pati was at the house. We all sat in the living room chatting for a bit, but when the conversation started to hit on the shirts, the crowd thinned out. Luis, Dorian, Pati and her daughter Mayra were in the living room, the rest of us respectfully disappeared into our own rooms.

In our bedroom, I could still hear them talking, but tried not to pay much attention. From the tones of the voices, it sounded like it wasn’t going well. In the end, Luis came into the room and said he didn’t want to talk about it. He went out to meet friends and came back after 2 or 3 hours, by which time I was half asleep.

The next day I got the lowdown. Pati insisted that she be paid the 20 pesos per shirt. She has become very materialistic in the past few years – ever since she began running her first and only business. She had tried to screw Luis and I over money after we brought her to the States, so I wasn’t really surprised. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, no.

But Dorian had also turned tail and was claiming that he was only Luis’ assistant, not a co-Mayordomo. Which essentially means that his half of the financial burden of the event needed to be covered by Luis. Never mind that Dorian took all the glory and respect paid to Mayordomos during the event. Never mind that the letters, which he wrote and printed up, inviting people to the event named him as a co-Mayordomo. Now that it was time to pay, he suddenly was a lowly assistant. How cowardly, how petty, how despicable! Pati basically made a $3500 peso profit on making the shirts for the run, Dorian hadn’t paid for anything related to the run. Now neither of them would even cough up a measley $750 pesos ($75 dollars) to cover one of the bills for the event.

Pati had screwed us over before, but Dorian had seemed to be an honest guy. So in the end, I felt more betrayed by Dorian’s actions than I did by Pati’s. In reality, it wasn't about the money. It was about integrity. Pati had seen a business opportunity in making the shirts. (And, after hearing some of her comments during their fight, an opportunity to put Luis down for the lifestyle he leads - which has nothing to do with the run, but has apparently been an issue in Pati's head.) She failed to see that the event itself exists to honor the Virgin, and thus was an opportunity for her to give praise by donating her services. Dorian just flat out lied to us.

At this point, Luis and I are planning on staying away from the Christmas celebrations tonight altogether. Neither of us want to see, let alone talk to, Pati or Dorian. So if we go to Laura’s house for the family celebration we will be forced to either pretend that things are ok, or to ignore Pati and Dorian. Neither solution is very comfortable or easy. Instead we think it’s better to avoid the event. Easier for everyone. But sad since there is such a strong emphasis on family here.

Aaaaaahhh-choooo!

Seems I have a hard time staying healthy down here right now. Two weeks ago it was the Dengue Flu. A few days after I recovered from that I woke up with a scratchy throat. I took vitamins and drank lots of water, living in denial. I figured maybe it was just all the sawdust I had been sucking up in the shop. Just call me Cleopatra, Queen of Denial.

Now it has grown into a full-blown cold, or something. I’ve taken Tabcin, a cold medicine, but the illness still persists.

Yesterday sucked. I didn’t get out of bed until 2pm. Then I went to Zapotiltic, a neighboring town, to drive our van, complete with trailer hooked up to the back to lead a pack of runners back to Tuxpan. See, yesterday, December 12th, is the day when people give praise to the Virgin of Guadalupe. Luis and his nephew Dorian have been the Mayordomo’s of this run for the past year. That means that they have moved a painting of the Virgin from house to house every week this past year, then planned and sponsored this run. I could hardly miss out on it due to illness.

But that meant that everyone in the house was preoccupied with getting things ready for the run. Luis was stressed out and running around all day, so asking him to get me some medicine was out of the question. Laura offered to find out what would be good medicine for me, but she got caught up in doing other things. So there I was, crawling out of bed at 2pm and realizing that I needed to make the trek to the Pharmacia to get my own medicine.

God, it sucks to be sick in a foreign country.

I just want to be healthy again.

I wonder if I stay so low below the radar around here sometimes that the family doesn’t realize how fucking sick I am. Or are they expecting Luis to take care of me? Today he talked to a doctor friend of his to find out what medicine to get me. Unfortunately, Luis mixed up his symptoms with mine (he has a bit of this cold too –no where near as bad as I do). So the doctor thought I might have a bug in my guts because Luis told him I had diarrhea. I don’t, Luis does. And Luis, feeling bad, claims that I told him I had diarrhea, and that I didn’t mention that I had fluid in my lungs. Somehow the hacking cough that comes out of my lungs every so often seemed to elude him.

So now I’m hoping that the new cold medicine Luis brought home works. I can’t do this illness shit any longer.

The upside of being sick for a month is that I've lost probably 10 pounds. Better than Jenny Craig.

Birth

We have three bird cages here at the house. One has a bunch of chirpy little birds. The kind that seem to be constantly chatting amongst themselves about the state of their world. Noisy little things. Then there is the lone paloma (dove). I always feel sorry for her being stuck in a cage barely bigger than her body, with no other birds there to chat with. Then again, she lives near the noisy birds and maybe her solitude is a welcome relief.

Lastly there are three fancy doves, one female and two males. They seem to be always fighting each other for the female’s attention. There have been eggs laid in that cage, but never any resulting baby bird.

Until last week. One evening I walked to the bathroom and thought I heard a higher pitched chirping coming from the cage than usual. Since it was some hour in the middle of the night, I didn’t bother to check up on it. The next day the kids told me “Hay una pajarito” – there’s a baby bird. We went over to look at it. It was fairly large, although it doesn’t have feathers yet, so it looked odd. I worried about it surviving the cold nights. I thought I could maybe find a rag to put in the cage to keep it warm. Then I thought better of it and figured nature will takes it’s own way. So far, the baby is still alive.

Holiday Time

Suddenly there are a lot more people in town. We went to get tacos al estacion this morning and a man with his two daughters sat down next to us. The older girl was facing away from us and talking to her sister. Every once in a while I thought I heard her speak English. But as soon as I would try to tune in to her voice, she would be speaking Spanish. One time I was sure I heard English and looked over at Luis to confirm. He nodded and said that they were visiting from the States.

It’s holiday season and everyone is coming home to visit. School lets out at the end of this week and won’t start again until early February. So for the next month and a half we will be swamped with relatives.

There are more cars in the center and more people walking about. Soon the tianguis (temporary stores) will be set up in the center. Lots of plastic items, lots of cookware, lots of clothing. And hopefully one booth of our stuff. Good quality, well built items. Not much more expensive than the competition, but it will last twice as long.

Journey

Have I been wasting my time here? Once I realized that I was in uncharted territory and that I was going to have to learn my way about, shouldn’t I have taken on the attitude of someone on a spiritual journey, forging ahead to learn things about myself as well as my adopted country?

Instead I have fretted away hours, railed against this new world I’ve been in for a year, hated it and wondered why the hell it wasn’t better, why it couldn’t be better. And I’ve been powerless to make changes as I would have in my own world. I’ve fought it instead of exploring it.

But maybe that is my journey. Or maybe my journey is just starting.

One year

Yup, it's been one whole year since I moved to Mexico. One year ago we had just arrived, fresh off remodeling the kitchen in Portland and immediately handing it over to someone else to enjoy. My cats were living with a friend in Portland. I was praying that those Spanish classes I had been taking would have somehow metastisized into a full-blown knowledge of the language. We were the owners of a bar. Luis' family welcomed us with open arms.

One year. Where are we now?

We still live in the same home. But there are obvious issues there. Nothing that will be fixed any time soon, unfortunately. But it's home for now.

We gave up the bar. It was a money pit. Now Luis' nephew Felipe runs it. We had a birthday party for Laura there the other day and I noticed that there was barely any liquor on the shelves. I asked Felipe and he said he pretty much just sells beer now. There isn't enough profit in liquor. Which is pretty much the state of the bar when we took it over. So maybe that was one of our mistakes. All beer, no liquor.

Now we have a carpinteria which has much potential, but not a whole lot of realized income yet.

My friend in Portland had some serious health issues and I had to scramble to find someone else to take my cats in. Now they are back in Hotlanta where they first came from. So far Wade's allergies haven't forced them into another move. And I think he likes having the undying loving attention from them.

My Spanish has come a long way. The other day I stopped in at the video store and ended up talking to the couple who run the place for a whole hour! I was really proud of myself for being able to hold a conversation with them in Spanish for so long, especially since Luis wasn't there.

I've been through some serious down times. I haven't always felt comfortable. I still feel limited in what I can do. I have no friends down here to speak of, or to speak to. But I am learning things about myself and how to deal with those feelings. I've recently felt some emotional strength coming back to me.

So all in all it's been a shitty learning experience of a year. There are parts I could have, and would have, happily lived without. But I think in the long run I will look back at this time and know that even though it was more rough than smooth, that I learned from it. And that's what life is for, right?

Visual Stimulation

I'm on a number of mailing lists. Some of them are regularly interesting to me, others only every once in a while. I got one a few weeks ago about a photography show call for entries. Since I have some 2600 photos of my time down here in Mexico, I figured I would skim through and see if I could come up with a good, solid set to submit.

At first I narrowed it down to 100 photos. Then I cast a critical eye on those 100. I wasn't sure. Did these 10 photos hang well together? Or was this photo too weak? Did they have a cohesive feel and look? Or was I fooling myself?

I finally decided to skip the whole thing. I didn't think I had a good enough set to submit and the deadline was fast approaching anyway. But I asked my sister what she thought. She looked over some of the previous winners and said she thought I had photos that could compete. I love my sister!

I mentioned the show to Luis and he was his usual uber-supportive. He thinks I constantly short-change myself when it comes to showing off my talents, and always tells me to go for it when things like this come up.

So I took another look at the photos and here is the set I have just submitted:












I think my artist's statement is a bit weak, so I won't include it here. Hopefully I will be able to fine-tune it before the midnight deadline...

You can see the winners from last year here. Tell me what you think. Unless, of course, you think my work doesn't hold up. And wish me luck.

Regardless of the outcome, all this visual review has inspired me to pick my camera back up in earnest again. I've been distracted by the carpinteria for the past few months, so not much has been going on with the camera. Well, that and my camera took a fatal dive into a public toilet about two months ago. Not surprisingly it doesn't seem to want to work now. So I have to get it looked at. Or buy a new camera. Any suggestions for good quality digital cameras?

Punk You!

I’ve just watched an MTV program on punk rock. On the program someone said that it only takes 5% of the people to get together and change the way things run.

Mexico needs some punk rock.

Not again....

I’m sick again. This time, Luis tells me, it’s the Dengue Flu. Not a pretty thing. First a day and night of flu symptoms – cold sweats, achy body, the works – which worked it’s way into diarrhea and mean pains in my head. Not exactly headaches, more like my temples are playing ping-pong with electrical impulses.

I’ve pretty much been in the house for the past four days, which is a bit odd this time. I’ve been reading books – three whole books already – and watching English language TV. It’s been a bit of a reprieve from Mexico and my existence down here. So I haven’t much minded being sequestered in my room. Aside from the frequent runs to the bathroom to take care of my runs, that is.

One Gallon

I’ve learned exactly how much boiling water I need to bathe: one gallon. And that covers washing and conditioning my hair, washing my body and even shaving if I feel the need. How do I know this? We’ve been having problems with the water heater.

First, we ran out of gas and didn’t have the money to buy a new tank full (all the gas here is propane and is sold in tanks). So we were either heating water on the stove in order to take a bath, or taking cold showers. Some times we switched the tank for the kitchen with the tank for the bathroom so we could more easily heat bathing water.

Finally, we got some cash and bought a new tank. Hot showers again!

A few weeks later a problem developed with the heating element for the bathroom water heater. Sergio actually did some work one day and bought a new element and replaced it. But something was wrong still. Gas wasn’t coming out. After a bit of wrangling with it all, Luis and Sergio realized that the new gas tank was hooked up to the kitchen and the old tank was hooked up to the bath and was now empty.

Once again we bought a new tank of gas and hooked it up. But there was still something wrong. The heating element wasn't working right. Luis and Sergio looked at it for a while, and I assumed that Sergio, with all his extra time during the day, would investigate and get the thing fixed. I mean, no one *wants* to bathe out of a bucket, at least not for very long if they can help it.

But no. I have no idea if Sergio has never gotten off his lazy ass to figure out and fix the problem, or if the problem is too expensive to fix at the moment.

So we are back to heating water on the stove.

So I boil a gallon of water and add it to about 3 or 4 gallons of cold tap water in a larger bucket and wash like the Old West Pioneers did. It’s humbling and frustrating. It’s humbling because I’ve realized just how fortunate we are in the States. Perhaps not everyone in the States can afford to pay for their water and gas bills every month. But that water and gas is automatically pumped into their houses, they don’t have to wait for the gas truck to drive by and hope they have the cash on hand to buy a tank of gas. They don’t have to open a tap to fill a cistern, then pump that water up to a tank on the top of the house, and rely on gravity to provide pressure. Water is pumped to you. What a fabulous concept. And humbling to live without it.

And it’s frustrating because I don’t understand why Cynthia and Sergio put up with living this way. They both have jobs which pay them fairly well, but they never have any money. I would understand that if there was something to show for their lack of money. Like a new stove, or a working water heater, or some nicer furniture, or food in the refrigerator. But we live in this house as if we are poor. At the moment Luis and I are relying solely on the money we are bringing in from the carpinteria (which isn’t much), so in a way we are poor. But Cynthia and Sergio have consistent income and they can’t hold themselves above the water line.

No use in thinking about it too long.

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada

We rented a movie called “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada”. It’s about a Mexican immigrant living in the US illegally, who is killed in an accident. His coworker, played by Tommy Lee Jones, had promised to take his body home to his family in Mexico if anything ever happened to him. So it is essentially a road movie. But it starts in Texas, in a small town.

One of the characters works in a restaurant, so a number of the scenes are shot there. One of the establishing shots is of a few empty tables at the front of the restaurant. There is a Lion’s Club banner in the background and a window on the far wall.

When I saw that shot I had a bit of déjà vu. When Luis, Pati and I had been driving back to Mexico after our visit to Portland, we stopped to eat at a small restaurant in Van Horn, Texas where I took this picture:



It is the same restaurant, and essentially the same shot they used in the film. Crazy what this world serves up to us.

Chaps

Btw, I bought my first pair of leather chaps in Leon. Leon is the world capital (according to Luis) of shoes, and they have a fair amount of leather goods too. And I was riding on the back of my motorcycle (no, Luis still hasn't taught me how to drive it!), so I figured a pair of chaps would be a good investment. Photos to come soon (I hope - my camera took one too many spills and now is on strike. Bummer.).

Leon

We went to the city of Leon this weekend for a biker event.

I love Leon. I could live in Leon. It is a City with a capital "C". We stayed in a great hotel right on the center. I went out walking by myself one evening. Luis said "be careful" before I left. I said "I'm probably safer here than in Tuxpan." He agreed. So I went walking for an hour and a half.

I was in heaven.

And I realized something while we were in Leon. It's not me. I mean, this whole time I've been down here I've thought that I had a problem, that it was me who couldn't adjust to living in Mexico, that I just needed to try harder. That all my issues in my life have come to the surface and I'm struggling mightily with them, and if I could only get a grip on them things would improve.

HA! It's not me! It's not even Mexico! It's fucking Tuxpan! I just can't adapt to this pueblito (small town)!

There were two other women there with me (and the boys of the Chayacate Bikers Club) - one lives in Tuxpan, one lives in Colima but is originally from Tuxpan. They both agreed with me that Tuxpan is waaaaaaaaaaaay too small and the people here are waaaaaaaaaaaaay too small minded.

Gaby is from here, and so is her husband, but they have moved to Colima City in Colima state. She says she doesn't like going to visit Tuxpan. Her brother and father live here, but she doesn't come to visit too often.

Fatima is married to Herman, although they are seperated at the moment. She lives in a big house with her two kids and works as a housewife. She is concerned for her kids because there isn't anything to do here in Tuxpan. Her daughter wants to take ballet classes, but there aren't any. Her son wants to play musical instruments, but the music school here isn't all that great.

HA! It's NOT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!

What a frickin relief. Now I have Gaby's email address and I plan on emailing her often. Just to remind myself that it isn't me.

Still Here

Yup, I'm still here. Still in Tuxpan. Still trying to adjust. Had a fight with Luis the other day. Called my lovely sister Lisa and had her talk me through my misery. Things are ok with him now.

But I still struggle with feeling out of place. There are so many reasons for this. Mostly I think it's because Tuxpan is a very small town. Everyone is in everyone else's business. They all care what their neighbor is doing. I really couldn't give a hoot. I care about what is going on in my life. If someone around me has some effect on my life, I might care about what they are doing. If something is bothering someone I care about, I care about what that something is. But who really cares what the neice of Sergio's sister in law is doing? Does it have anything to do with me? No? Well, good on her. She should live her life without my interference.

But that isn't how it works down here. I talked to one woman about this issue, and she said that people here are poor, they don't necessarily work every day, so they have to find something to amuse themselves. And the level of education is very low. Not that people don't go to school, but what is taught and the level of comittment to that teaching is very low. My nephew is taking a Shop class in high school. I suggested that he might be interested in doing some work for us in the carpenteria. His mom said no because his teacher doesn't really teach him anything. The teacher is usually drunk.

Oh. Drunk around power tools. Probably better that he doesn't try to teach the kids anything.

Ny neice has been taking English classes for 3 years. She can't even hold a basic conversation with me. And I mean *basic* - like "Hi, how are you today? I'm going to my English class now. I'll see you later."

Really.

So poor education and boredom. Apparently that is all you need to turn your attention to your neighbor's life rather than making one of your own.

But there is this whole culture of isolation going on down here too. TV news is much more shallow than news in the US. Yes, it is possible! Most of what passes for news is gossip about the stars. Who's fucking who, who is having a baby, who is getting a divorce, blahblahblah. News of the outside world is kinda rare. News of what is going on in Mexico is kinda rare. I mean there are reports about floods in the major cities, deaths, robberies, blahblahblah. But what is going on with the people in charge? What is the president doing? What are the other state polititians doing? Who knows.

The television stations are all owned by the same company. Or maybe there are a few companies, but not many at all. It is a monopoly for all purposes. And that monopoly is maintained by keeping the people in power happy. So you don't show them on your stations in any way that might be construed as negative. Or, better yet, only show them when they want the publicity. Wait for them to ask you. Don't go after them.

Freedom of the Press doesn't exist down here.

So you only see what they want you to see. Limiting your viewpoint further.

I'll write more about all this later. I think I'm getting a bit off track right now.

Suffice it to say that I'm still here.

Some things change...

We got another set of stop lights in town. Until recently there were two stoplights, now there are three. All three of them are in the Centro. And for the most part people obey them.

Some things don't...

Luis and I have been looking for our own place to live for a while now. We like Cynthia and Sergio, but having our own place to live in would improve things considerably. Unfortunately it’s difficult to rent a place here. Houses are either family owned or already rented out. Seems people don’t move around here much.

The other day I saw a “Se Renta” sign across the street from our shop. From the outside, the house looked small and nondescript. It was being worked on at the time, so we wandered in and asked the workers who owned the house. Luis knew who the owner was, and we wandered around the place to check it out.

There was a long entrance hall which opened up into a front room. There was a bank of windows that looked out into an open courtyard, which would bring in a lot of light – a rarity in the houses here. Off the courtyard there were two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and another room with a bank of windows. At the back of the house there was the customary water tank, and extra space for storage. The entire house was freshly painted white and was in very good shape. Plus there was a small front room which opened onto the street, to be used as a storefront if we wanted. We could rent just the house or the house and the one room storefront. We had been talking about getting a showroom for our woodworking, so this was perfect.

In fact, the house was perfect. Small, but not too small, lots of light, half a block from our shop, right on a main street (so our showroom would be easily accessible), and clean.

I tried not to get too excited. The “se renta” sign had only been up for a few days, so I figured not too many people would have asked about it. And we had been excited about houses before only to have those hopes dashed. So I tried to remain neutral.

Luis called the number on the sign and we arranged to meet the owner at her house that evening at 5.30pm. The rest of the day we talked about the house and how the front shop would be perfect for our showroom. At 5.30 we went to the owners house. Luis rang the bell and an old man came to the door. Luis said we were here to look at the house, and he went back inside to find the owner.

When she came out, she and Luis spoke for a few minutes. Luis said that he was the brother of Cynthia and they had rented an apartment from her before. He enquired about the house. She said that she had already rented it. She said that someone had given her a deposit, which was allowing her to have work done on the house. But she kept the “se renta” sign up, just in case things didn’t work out with them. Luis thanked her for her time and we left.

Shit. Another house rented out from underneath us.

“She didn’t want to rent to us,” Luis said.

“What? I thought she said it was already rented out.”

“That was just an excuse. She just didn’t want to rent to us.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know.”

This baffled me. In the States someone may not want to rent to you, but they have the freedom to decide that privately. You fill out an application, go away, hope to hear from them that you have the apartment. Here it’s sort of first come first served. Sort of. Unless the renter doesn’t like you for some reason. Then they tell you some bullshit excuse just to get you to go away.

As the day wore on, Luis remembered that his brother Antonio had also rented from this woman. Antonio isn’t the most responsible person. He apparently had skipped out on some rent to this woman in the past. And he wasn’t completely sure how things had ended with the apartment he and Cynthia had rented fro her before – he had been living in the States and Cynthia was responsible for that apartment. She may have been late on rent too.

And Luis had had the genius idea to tell her who his family was.

Damn his family!

And damn this woman for not renting to us! I was really frustrated by her refusal to rent to us. I’m a responsible person! And the place was perfect for us! Damn, damn, damn!

I’ve been fairly level headed about this thing in the past. This was our fifth house we had looked at, and none of them had worked out. But this is the one that pushed me over the edge. I had kept my feelings inside for the previous losses. This time I ranted and raved. “OH COME ON!!!!!! What the hell? What do we have to do to rent a fucking house? AAAAARRRRRGH!"

All of this was in my head, btw.

Now I sway between cursing the woman as we drive by her house and trying to send out happy, loving, pro-renting vibes to her. But people here don't change their minds. It's a sign of weakness if you do. So I don't suspect my happy vibes will do anything.

Dang.

The Shop

I've been saying I'd post photos of the woodshop... so here they are.

Kitty Update

So, in case you were wondering, my cats have a new home. My bestest male friend in Atlanta contacted me at the 11th hour and offered to house them. Love you Wade! So they are back in the South for now.

Blood and Ink

The weekend of September 2nd we went to the 12th Annual Guadalajara International Tattoo Convention. I have actually never been to a convention before, so I was looking forward to it. Since it was international, I figured there might actually be some English speaking people there, and I was not wrong.

Luis, Mario and I made the 2 hour drive up to the big city and tracked down the Salon Fiesta Bugambilias where the convention was being held. As we drove into a nearby parking lot, we were all visually bowled over by a tall, leggy, well-endowed blonde wearing very little, walking out of the lot. She was obviously going to the convention as she had a number of tattoos and the guys with her were also tattooed (I think they were. Honestly, it was difficult to see anything around this woman because she was so visually arresting). I started to say something about her appearance, but shut my mouth as I realized that she and her companions could very well understand English. Just because they were in Guadalajara didn't mean they spoke Spanish. (And, just because she was tall and very blonde didn't mean she was necessarily from the States - bleached hair is pretty common down here, and plenty of Mexicans are very light-skinned.)

Mario, who was driving, reeled his tongue back in and found a parking spot. We walked across the street and into my first convention....

It was the first day of the two-day convention and we were apparently pretty early, so there weren't that many people about. We started looking through the artists' books. Each tattoo artist (ones who have been tattooing for a while, that is) has a book of photos of their previous work. You flip through them, see if they have the style you want, and pretty much decide on who to use based on that. Well, that and price, unless money is no object to you.

Money is an issue for us, so we started to ask around about this particular tattoo Luis wanted. As we walked around the hall, we came across a tattoo crew from the States. It was the well-endowded female and her companions. We browsed their books and continued on. The woman wasn't the tattoo artist (although she does permanent cosmetic tattoo work), her two male companions were. And their work was exceptional. But we wanted to see what other people had to offer.

Besides, there is something odd for me about other Americans down here. On the one hand, I crave their presence. I live in a town where there are 2 other Americans - one retired man and one guy who we suspect is avoiding circumstances in the States. So Americans are a rare thing for me. On the other hand, when I do see them, I sort of want to avoid them. Why? I guess I don't want to do the stereotypical American thing and run to other Americans instead of interacting with the local people. Silly, I know. I think I also don't want to overwhelm the fellow Americans with my neediness to talk my native language. I think I tend to compensate for the time I can't speak English when I talk to other Americans. I just have so much to say about my life here and it is difficult for me to express it in Spanish. So when I come across Americans I have this overwhelming need to talk. I have to watch myself so I don't open the floodgates and drown the person I'm talking to.

But back to the convention. We got three quotes for Luis' tattoo, ranging from $2000 pesos to $4000 pesos. We discussed our options and decided to go with the lowest bidder.

Ok, I know: "You get what you pay for". And we should have known better since we both have a number of tattoos. Blahblahblah. But this particular artist had a really good book, nice work. We figured he was low on his price because he was from Mexico. (The artists from the States were generally higher priced.) What we failed to do was to ask if the book we were looking through belonged to the guy who was sitting behind the table. When we first got there, it was him and another guy who was selling tattooing equipment, so the logical assumption was that yes, this was his book. But you should always ask!!!

Turns out this guy was the tattoo intern or assistant. He had lots of problems just prepping the tattoo for Luis. When we went back for him to apply the pattern to Luis' back, suddenly there was another guy there. And our guy was asking this new guy lots of questions. Too many questions. Eventually we called it quits. We hadn't paid any money, so we were only out our time.

We walked around the hall again and came back to the Americans. They quoted Luis $4000 pesos. We scheduled with them for the next day.

-------

The next day we showed up late. Luis was having second thoughts about going all the way back to Guadalajara for this tattoo. He figured he could find someone local to do it for less money. Now, both of these things are out of character for Luis - he doesn't usually have second thoughts once he has made up his mind, and he rarely worries about money. At least he doesn't do those things outloud, although he might do them in the privacy of his own mind. But I convinced him that it was the right thing to do. We got a late start, but got to the hall before our tattoo guy gave up on us.

As Rich, our tattoo guy, started to outline Luis' tattoo, I could tell Luis was in a lot of pain. Mostly because he told me so. Now, outlining is usually the most painful part of a tattoo. I have no idea why. And the lower back is one of the more sensitive spots to get a tattoo. So I wasn't surprised at the pain Luis was feeling (this is a big full-back tattoo and Rich was working from the bottom up). But I was surprised at how much he was whining... I mean commenting on it. I chalked it up to men's lower tolerance for pain. But apparently Rich has a heavy hand, so Luis was in some level of pain the whole time. All 6 and a half hours. 8^) Poor guy. But as I told him, pain is temporary, a tattoo is forever.

When we first got to the hall, the girls from the day before weren't there. But they showed up after an hour or two. The tall blonde is Rich's wife Lorrie, and she was very cool. By her outward appearance, you could easily assume things about her personality. But you would be wrong. She has her own website: tattooedpinup.com which promotes her obvious good looks and her modelling career. The bio page there doesn't really do her justice, but then again, it is a marketing tool. For a more complimentary article on her, go here.

The other girl there was visiting Lorrie and Rich from New Zealand. She was also in the cosmetics industry, and her partner was a tattoo artist. Unfortunately, I didn't get her name.

While Luis was wallowing in pain, the three of us got to talking. They were interested in what life was like for me in Mexico. And I was very interested in talking to some American girls! It was a shock to hear from them their impressions of Mexico. I was reminded that they were visiting for a short amount of time - I live here. My experiences are so much different from theirs.

For a little while I felt like I had girlfriends here. It was wonderful.

The funny thing was watching the people walk by the table while we were there. Lorrie doesn't just show up to support her husband. She sells photos of herself, specifically this one. And if you like, you can have a photo of yourself with her.... for a price. If you are walking by and want to take her picture, that's free. She'll even smile for you. But for a polaroid of the two of you, it's $60 pesos. Rich commented that she had to charge or else everyone would be asking her for a photo all day.

But having Lorrie at your booth will get you some attention. And she knows it. She dresses for it. So people - ok, mostly guys - will walk by and do a double take. They will stop and stare. Some will pretend (or maybe they really were interested in the tattoo work) to look through the books. But they will steal looks at Lorrie as they flip the pages. It was fascinating to watch.

Before we got to talking, I had a lot of typical thoughts about Lorrie - she's probably too aware of her good looks and probably doesn't talk to "normal" humans like me, maybe she is a bimbo, she probably loves the attention and would break off a conversation if one of her admirers was around. Well, I was happily very wrong. While the three of us were talking, she pretty much ignored the people walking by and staring at her. If someone directly asked for her picture, she would oblige, but otherwise her attention was on the conversation. And she was so down to earth, it was refreshing.

When Rich finished Luis' tattoo, we exchanged emails and phone numbers. They even asked to have a photo taken with us. I was so excited to meet them and really do wish to cross paths with them some time in the future.

So if you are in the Salt Lake City, Utah area and need a tattoo or some permanent cosmetics, swing by The Big Deluxe Tattoo and ask for Rich or Lorrie.


Luis, Lorrie, Rich and Me




Luis tattoo immediately after Rich finished

Busy Busy Busy

We are swamped with work at our shop. Word has gotten out and everyone has something for us to do. This is good.

• We have completed a sales counter for a local shrimp and seafood business. They want some other items now.
  
• We have three kitchens in the process of being designed.
  
• We have a wooden horse saddle that needs some alteration.
  
• We have a table and a chair that need repairs (my least favorite type of work because of the small returns on a lot of work).
  
• We have another desk to make.
  
• We have a cabinet to alter (another one of my unfavorite tasks, specifically because the guy who wants this done wants it done as cheap as possible. And altering furniture is time consuming, so doing it on the cheap results in a poorly done piece. Nothing I want to put my name on.).
  
• We have a doorway jamb to replace.
  
• We have some bathroom cabinets to finish and install.
  
• We have a request for two beds.
  

Whew! We need to hire some help. Anyone interested in living in small town rural Mexico and working in a furniture shop? 8^)

The doors

Here are a few photos of the doors. There are three pairs like this on the front of the house, but we only fixed up two pairs. I'm sure we'll get the third pair as a future project. The first photo is the shape they were in when we first saw them - covered in multiple layers of paint and in need of repair. There was water damage as well as termite damage, and some parts of the doors needed to be completely replaced. Photo #2 is a detail shot.




Luis scraped them clean, I replaced rotten wood and reassembled them, then Luis sanded, stained, and put a finish on them. You can see the surface transformation in photo #3. Photo #4 is a shot of the doors re-hung at the house.

How is it...

...that I know a slew of people in four different countries, and at least six different US states, and I *still* cannot find anyone who is willing to take in a cat for a few months??!!!!

How is that possible?

I can bring a cat on a flight down here - If I'm on the flight, and I can only bring one cat with me. So one of my precious pets will be staying in Portland....

...assuming I can find someone who will take one in.

I am really boggled by this. How could you not want to help out a friend in need? I'd do it for you! Really.

A Break

We got a bit of a break today. Luis took Joel and some tools over to the house where the doors will eventually reside. He needed to do some on-site clean up before we installed the doors. So, as he arrives, the woman who owns the place runs up and tells him to stop working. She was really rushed apparently because she didn't have time to explain why. Joel, who seems to know a lot about the going-ons in this town, said that she owned the house with an ex-boyfriend. Now, I'm assuming, there is some dispute about ownership, so we are on hold. Which means that we had a relaxed afternoon and actually left the shop before 8pm.

Tomorrow I sharpen my chisels.

Exhausted

I am friggin exhausted. Maybe it's because we've been working feverishly on these doors and we're still not done. It's been interesting and challenging. I've had to figure out how to fix things without being able to take the doors apart, so it's been a bit of brain work for me. Very tiring.

Then again, maybe it's because I'm working at all. I mean, I haven't really had a job since December 2005, so I've had a full 7 months to learn how to do nothing. Now that I've got projects in my life again, I'm exhausted.

Poor me.

One Stop Shopping

Mexico is the only country of the ten I've visited that has the Junior's clothing section right next to the Maternity section. And I actually saw a store that was "Juniors and Maternity"!

[The ten countries, in case you cared: US, Mexico, Canada, Australia, India, France, Netherlands, Belgium, Scotland, and Monoco.]

A Good Day

Today was a good day. We are working on stripping, fixing and refinishing a set of really old doors for a woman here in town. I'm finally feeling like I'm working in my arena again! I've patched old parts (with wood, not putty!) and made some new parts for the doors, and I think they will look great when they are done.

We have our shop space (photos coming soon) because our friends Joel and Miriam had extra space and are letting us use it rent free. They still have some things in there, and they are raising chickens in a space off our space, so they are around a lot. But they are really good people and I like them a lot. I have an easier time talking to them sometimes than I do with the family down here. They just seem more at ease with my limited Spanish.

I'll post some photos of the doors (before and after) once we're done.

8 Hour Flu

Last night I went to bed exhausted. We've been working hard on this job of refinishing these really old doors for a really old house. We were actually at the shop until 8 or 9pm last night! Sometime in the middle of the night I got up to use the bathroom. As soon as I sat up in bed I got the chills. I walked to the bathroom shivering. I walked back from the bathroom with chattering teeth. I crawled back into bed and snuggled up to Luis who is usually a furnace when he sleeps. A while later I woke up feverish. The light sheet we sleep under was too much for me. I was sweating a bit. And my body ached. I couldn't find a comfortable position. I slept some more, fitfully, constantly moving around.

I finally got up to find some aspirin. I used the light on my phone so I wouldn't wake Luis up. I figured I had been active enough in bed that he probably hadn't gotten much sleep either. To my surprise it was only 3.30 am. I thought for sure it was more like 5.30 am. I eventually slept some more, and woke up not feeling cold or warm. It was odd. Like I had an overnight flu. But today I've been low energy and my body still aches. So maybe I'm not over it yet.

So much to say...

...so little time to write it down! I've got all sorts of things to post here, and even have a few items drafted. But I'm so busy these days and am having a hard time finding time to sit and write it all down. So keep yer eyes peeled for a bunch of new stuff soon!

The Church of Madonna

No, not The Madonna, just Madonna.

I've been listening to a lot of her music lately. My workout track listing has at least 6 or 7 of her songs on it. And I've been finding a lot of inspiration in her lyrics. Take this for example, from Issac:

staring up into the heavens
in this hell that binds your hands
will you sacrifice your comfort
make your way in a foreign land

wrestle with your darkness
angels call your name
can you hear what they are saying
will you ever be the same


Ok, Mexico isn't a "hell", but I have committed to being here through the end of the year, so in a way my hands are bound. And, quite honestly, I do stare into the heavens here a lot. Not out of any prayer-type thing, but because there are beautiful skies and clouds here. And when a storm starts to blow in.... man, how gorgeous!

The "sacrifice your comfort" part - well, that fits me. And I am making my way in a foreign land. Which is causing me to wrestle with some long-term deamons. And no, I will never be the same.


remember, remember never forget
all of your life has all been a test
you will find the gate that's open
even thought your spirits broken


Here's the inspiration part. No matter how frustrated I can get down here, I will eventually find the gate that's open. That's some damn powerful stuff for me to hear on a daily basis!

Maybe you don't like Madonna, and maybe I'm making too much out of this, but what the hell - it's working for me!

Ponte la verde

Everything is going green here. It's finally rainy season and the once-dead plants are sucking it up. It's nice to look at the mountain outside of town and see green instead of dead, dry brown. The road-side fires have stopped since there is nothing to burn, and the sugarcane is no longer being burnt either, so there is no "black rain".

However, we have to time our laundry just right. If we wash in the morning, we need to watch the skies for rain, and run home, or hope Sergio is there to take our laundry in. Otherwise it will get doused with rainwater, and that means stinky clothes. I'm not sure if that's how it works in the States, but the rainwater here is not clean. Clothes end up smelling like old socks. Ick.

The skies are gorgeous now. Covered in clouds of all sorts. Sometimes they lay low in the sky, sometimes they are high and fluffy. With the green hills in the background, Tuxpan has suddenly become surrounded by beauty.

I'm frickin' manic!

So I haven't been online in about two weeks or so. It's rainy season and that means that power and phone lines are not necessarily constantly functional. Add the mid-day siesta time (roughly 2pm to 6pm) and the new business we're starting (furniture, cabinetry and dry wall work!), and suddenly it's the end of the day and I'm too frickin tired to slog down to the internet place, or it's closed, or whatever.

So today I finally get back online, but my email is not working correctly. I have to use the web-based interface to get my mail. This isn't too bad, but the connection was slow and it was 30 minutes before the internet place closed for the afternoon. So I was pretty frustrated.

One of the emails I had time to check was from Ginny, the woman who has been watching my cats for the past months. Or at least it was addressed from her. Turns out it was from an assistant at her job. She was writing to tell me that Ginny had brain surgery a few weeks ago and couldn't take care of my cats anymore.

Wow.

My first thoughts were for Ginny. This woman has been so frickin wonderful to me. When I was first buying my house, she helped me get the loan. And since I bought it directly from the owner, no real estate agent involved, she went to the closing with me just to keep me company and explain all the legal mumbo jumbo.

Six months later she called me up, out of the blue. Said she just wanted to check up on me and see how I was doing. Said she really liked me and just wanted to catch up. So fabulous.

Another year later and I called her to refinance my house. She remembered me and helped me out with that too. Then, when I needed to house my cats while I came down here to Mexico, she offered to take them in. I mean, this woman barely knows me and she is taking my cats in for at least 6 months!

And today I find out she has had brain surgery and is still in ICU.

I keep visualizing her laying in bed with tubes coming out of her head, groggy and not really herself. I wish I was there so I could visit her.

And then... my cats. What the hell am I going to do with them now? I had a difficult time finding anyone to take them in when I first came down here. Everyone I know already has cats or dogs or kids. Ginny was a last-minute angel swooping in to save me and my felines.

Now I'm back in the same spot, only I'm 1500 miles away. Anyone wanna watch two cats for me?

Mall me

This past Saturday Luis and I went up to Lake Chapala to check our mailbox. We have a mailing address in the States which forwards our mail down here, but the closest location is an hour and a half away. So it’s usually a half-day trip for us at least.

From Chapala we decided to drive up to Guadalajara to the Home Depot for some furniture making supplies. We hadn’t had anything to eat all day and they were offering free hot dogs outside the Depot, so we noshed on those and decided to head home, stopping somewhere for dinner.

Now, most of what is available to eat in Tuxpan is meat. Vegetables are very rare and are usually mixed together and used as a topping for the meat. Sort of like when the US tried to call catsup a vegetable. Every once in a while I become overwhelmed and need something lighter than carne. That’s how I was feeling that day. Luis suggested one of our usual spots, but it was a meat-heavy spot. The other option was to stop at the Discount Mall on the outskirts of Guadalajara and eat at their food court. Yeah, kinda sad, I know, but at least they would have some other options.

At the food court we chose the Chinese place. Luis had eaten there before and it was passable. I had been fighting a sick stomach all day, so I said I would just share whatever he got. We sat at a table and opened the food container. It was awful. So bad that Luis took maybe five bites and couldn't eat any more. And he usually eats whatever is placed in front of him! So we tossed it in the garbage and went to see a movie instead.

The movie theatre at the mall is great. (Ok, there is a sentence I never thought I’d write!) You can see first run American movies (most have subtitles, some are dubbed! Imagine MI:3 dubbed! Hahahaha!) for the huge price of $38 pesos – about $3.80! And at the moment they are running a 2-for-1 special! So we chose “The Davinci Code”. Two hours later we walked out, not completely satisfied with our choice. So we coughed up another 38 pesos for tickets to “The X Men 3”. It didn’t start for another 45 minutes and we were still hungry. So back we went to the food court. Our first choice was Subway. Yeah, I know – Subway? But we had a previous eating experience there that was good, and considering the Chinese food earlier, we were willing to stoop to an American chain. Alas, they were already closed. We surveyed the other options – the Chinese place, a Japanese place, a salad place, a Mexican place (!?), a pizza place, and a Burger King.

Yup, we ate Burger King. I don’t even eat that shit in the states! But man, it was good.

Hamburgers down here (in Tuxpan at least) aren’t made from ground beef. They are made from some mixture of salchichas (hot dogs) and chopped ham, I think. No beef. Where’s the beef? (For those of you who remember the 80’s commercial.) So even though it was Burger King, at least it was partially beef (probably mostly soy, but beef flavored soy!). I’m not embarrassed to say I enjoyed it more than Victor’s hamburgers (a friend in Tuxpan who sells burgers and hot dogs at night). Just don’t tell him I said so.

Gone

So I now know someone here in Tuxpan who has died. She was a friend of Luis', whom I met the first December I came down here. At that time she had had at least one breast removed due to cancer. I can't remember now if she only had one or both removed at that point. She was slim but had a great enegy. This time down here, I re-met her once. We saw her in the center and she and Luis chatted for a while. Afterwards I commented to Luis that she seemed much more tired and low-energy. But she still had her fighting attitude. This was back in the early part of this year, I think. Maybe a month ago Luis heard that she had taken a downward turn. And today Luis told me that she had died. I never knew her, really, but I liked the energy she put out. She leave two children behind, and I hope they are well taken care of. She was only 33 years old.

Rainy Season?

It rained this afternoon. And I was so happy. We’ve had hot and humid temperatures here since I got back from the States. So hot it reminds me of my first years in Atlanta without air conditioning or ceiling fans. You can’t escape the sweat. I wake up in the middle of the night to use the loo and I return to damp sheets. (Wait, that makes it sound like I never made it to the bathroom! No, no, no! The sheets are damp from sweat! I am potty trained, dangit!) You realize why the locals always stand in the shade here. Why they thought you were a bit daft to enjoy standing in the sunlight earlier in the season, when it wasn’t so damned hot. Everything sticks to you, but there is no way you are going to wear more clothes and cover your overheated skin.

So rain today was a relief. Luis was taking a shower, and I tramped up to the roof to watch the storm roll in. The clouds were fabulous to watch – the high ones moving southward towards us, the lower ones moving northwards. A cold front moved in and my skin reacted quickly, cooling the rest of me down. Lightning flashed in the north. I counted the seconds until I heard the thunder rumbling towards me, trying to catch up with its creator. Then the first drops fell. I must have been sitting in some sort of void, or the heat coming off my skin dried the rain before it could reach me, because for the first few minutes I stayed dry. Finally I felt the rain on my skin and realized it was time to go in.

Within minutes the rain was pounding down into the courtyards, the scent of dusty concrete rising up in response. I dashed across the back courtyard to get to the bathroom, then dashed back, feeling the cool air and rain on my back.

Luis and I stood at the front door with the upper windows open so we could watch the rain come down. A couple of kids were running down the sidewalk. The stopped at our door to hand us a flyer for one of the local political hopefuls, then ran on to the next door, squealing in the downpour. “Pobrecitos”, I said. “Nah, they’re getting paid,” said Luis. We closed the windows and went back inside.

Eventually the rain stopped. In Atlanta it was more likely to heat right back up once the rain stopped. Here it stayed cool. An hour later I went to the Internet café and actually had to wear jeans and a light jacket. No need to run the room fan tonight.

Felipe’s Bar, Part 2

One reason friends and family suggested we keep the bar here was the upcoming World Cup games. Soccer, beer and a big screen – why wouldn’t there be a huge opportunity for income?

Three words: no night games. Since the Cup is being held in Germany this year, the time difference means all the games are daytime games here. The first game of the day is around 10am, the second around noon, the last one around 2pm. Now, in the States, I could imagine soccer fans taking time off work, maybe taking a long lunch, or calling in sick so they could hang out at a bar to watch the game.

Here in Tuxpan, going to a bar to watch a game just isn’t the thing to do, especially during the day. People will take time off from whatever they are doing, but they would rather stay at home or go to a family member’s house to watch the game. If I had known the games would all be during the day back in April when we were trying to decide what to do, I would have had no problem dropping the bar. As it is, we made the right decision anyway. Now it’s Felipe’s turn.

Felipe is doing what he can to get people in the bar. There is a big sign above the gates announcing the bar will be open for all the games – starting at 9am. He is probably announcing around town too. But I’m guessing he’s losing money worse than we were. Karma is a bitch.

Luis has calmed down a bit about it all. For the most recent Mexico game we were getting some last minute supplies in the center and ran into a few people who were going home to watch the game. They still thought that we were running the bar because they asked if it was open. Luis, in a gesture of good will (I guess) said yes it was open, “vamos al bar” (come to the bar). It’s much more than Felipe deserves, and I said so to Luis. I’m not sure he still feels that way as he didn’t respond.

But it’s true.

Is he making money or not? I have no idea, but I’m sure he’s getting a taste of what it’s like to run a business – the good and the bad of it.

Boys Club of Tuxpan

There is a boys club down here and I will never be a part of it. And that really bothers me.

When I was growing up I was a tomboy. I’ve always had male friends. It’s not that I wanted to be a boy, but it always seemed that boy things were more fun than girl things. I wanted to run and play in the mud, I wanted to play tag, I wanted to build things and take other things apart to see how they worked. Makeup didn’t interest me, dolls didn’t interest me much either. One of my first toys was a Tonka truck. But it was the 1970’s, and gender stereotypes were breaking down it the US, so no one questioned my boyish habits. At least not to me, they didn’t. Perhaps amongst themselves there was speculation, but if I caught wind of it, it never bothered me enough to stop me.

But down here in Mexico there is a definite split between the sexes. Men hang out with men, women hang out at the house with their relatives. Luis’ mom never really left her house. She would stay there all day, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of her kids. And she was apparently happy that way. Cynthia has a job, but her circle of friends consists of her two sisters and their children. The same holds true for Laura and Pati. So I guess I have a built-in group of friends, if I want them. But that’s not who I want to hang out with.

The women I’ve met here in town are nice enough, but I think they buy into the gender roles that have been laid out for them. And in small town Mexico there is considerable social pressure to assimilate, to fit into predefined roles. Rebelling is not as accepted or as common as it is in the US.

So I have looked to Luis’ circle of male friends. They all seemed fairly modern, and being that I am a gringa, I thought maybe there would be some flexibility in the attitudes towards my behaviors. I thought I might be accepted as one of the boys. As if I could somehow lie outside of the social roles. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Luis’ friends talk to me and include me in their events, but I’m seen as auxiliary, an addition to Luis rather than a member of the group on my own right. I’ve realized that I won’t ever be included that group as an equal. And it’s not just because I am Luis’ girlfriend – although I’m sure that factors into it – it’s because I am a girl. And here in Tuxpan, males just don’t make friends with females. Females have their roles, even if they are modern gringas.

Another thing I’m seeing is that men here have different relationships from the men I know in the States. Up there, men may have friends, especially during certain years like college, but those friends seem to dry up once they get married. Or they are incorporated into a circle of friends, both male and female. Men of my age, and older, are more solitary in the states. They are not expected to have a group of male-only friends. They might get together with a group of men to go do something perceived as manly in the States – like going to watch a football game at a bar – but not just to hang out and shoot the shit. (Or am I wrong about this? Tell me if you think otherwise.)

Here in Tuxpan men will continue to hang out with their friends long after they are married. Men go out in the evenings to meet up with their friends and drink. Men see each other in the street during the day and stop to chat. Luis and his friends regularly get together just to talk. They don’t need to have some sort of organized event to bring them together. I don’t imagine those conversations are particularly touchy-feely, but I do know of at least one conversation which centered around a friend’s marriage problems.

I just can’t imagine that happening as often in the States as I see it happening here. Men are much closer in that way here than they are in the states. Some of that comes from the built-in gender split here. The most blatant example of that is when family is all gathered at our house. In general, the men will sit in one area and drink beer or tequila while the women sit in another area, drink Coca-Cola and watch the kids. I’ve seen this happen in the States too, but it seems it’s more a matter of conversation – people tend to gravitate to the group that is talking about something that interests them. Sometimes conversations are about topics that interest both genders, sometimes they are about a more gender specific topic so the group becomes gender specific too. Here it somehow feels more confining, more expected – men just don’t talk to women as friends, and vice versa.

Now, it’s not always as cut and dry at that might sound. The sexism isn’t always that blatant. But it’s there, it exists.

So since I’m a woman, I am excluded from Luis’ male group. And it kills me. I don’t have any real desire to hang out with the mothers of the town; I don’t have kids of my own and don’t plan on having any. Women here marry early and have kids early, so the other age group that is available to me is teenagers. And we all know that teenagers have a hard time communicating with adults, especially when they speak a different language - literally.

So I’m left out of the women’s group by my own choice, and the men will never accept me as one of their own. Dang.

Raw

When I moved to Mexico, I decided to try to be as open as possible to the new experiences I would inevitably have. I’m not completely a “go with the flow” kinda gal to start with, so some of this was going to be an uphill battle. But I find that I have left myself so raw and open that it’s hard to protect myself against attacks, whether internal or external, real or perceived.

And I’m really good at attacking myself. My old joke was, “I’m neither Jewish or Catholic, but somehow I got their guilt complex”. Being down here seems to have brought that out even more. Everything I do stays with me for days. If I screw up, I attack myself for whatever I did or didn’t do, and won’t let myself off the hook. I can’t seem to forgive myself for being human and fallible.

Today Luis and I went to Guzman to see if we could track down a lumber resource for our newest venture - a furniture and cabinetry business. We stopped at a friend’s business to see if he had any leads. He said he knew a carpenter, but wasn’t sure if he would be open to talking to “the competition”. So Luis and his friend went alone to talk to the guy. I stayed behind at a coffee house and waited.

Now, all of this seems logical. And I agreed to wait. But I quickly got resentful at being left behind. This is apparently a big issue for me, but I haven’t gotten a good enough hold on it to be able to either deal with it or explain it to Luis so he knows where it comes from when I freak out about it.

Which is exactly what happened when he got back. Turns out the carpenter was more than happy to give him a number of leads and a bunch of information. This is good, right? Of course, getting all that information down in one conversation takes a while. Luis said it would probably only be gone for half an hour. But half an hour passed and he wasn’t back. Meanwhile, all I could think of while Luis was gone was how resentful I felt. I had been left behind again with nothing to do while he was off taking care of business. Again. I thought I was going to be justified when he came back and I gave him shit.

I knew that I was in that bad mental space, and I knew it would be best for me to get out of it. But sometimes it gets ahold of me and it’s difficult to shake off.

So Luis returns after 45 minutes and I try to stay calm. I let him talk for about 3 minutes and then lean into him. I tell him I feel like I was left behind and tried to compare it to one time when he went off on me for a similar experience. In the middle of my bitching I realized I had made a mistake. I was making a big deal out of something that didn’t need to be bothered with, that I was lashing out at him for something that was really my issue. I tried to back track, and told Luis that I realized I had fucked up, that I realized that I was in the wrong. He said ok.

But I couldn’t let it go. I was worried that I was fucking the whole relationship up, not just the conversation. And I couldn’t forgive myself for going down that path when it wasn’t necessary. I wanted him to give me a hug and tell me it was ok, I’m just human, he still loves me. I was looking for him to be my support system. The one I don’t have here – no girlfriends, no male friends, no family (at least not family who can speak English). But that isn’t possible. Luis can’t be both my lover and my support system. So I ended up feeling like shit and not having anyone to smack me upside the head and tell me I was being silly.

It’s a big circular mental fuck. And it’s hard to pull out of when you’re in the vortex. It’s neverending. And I’m so raw from it.

I think I have lost myself. I need someone else to confirm that I exist. Is this rock bottom? If so, it’s all uphill from here, right?

Once Upon a Time in Mexico

So I’m reading this book about Mexico, supposedly about the non-tourist places of Mexico. But what boggles me is that the author has gone only to places that a tourist would go to: Mexico City, Guanajuato, Oaxaca City, San Miguel Allende (where he has a home). The most alluring place so far (I’m about half way through the book) is a place called Los Pozos, near a town called Xilitla in the Sierra Gorda mountain range. It’s a “surrealist ‘art park’ built by a wealthy English eccentric”. The way the author writes about it reminds me of a place I once visited in Georgia with my friend Ann. It too had been built by an eccentric (Eddie Owens Martin or St. EOM as he called himself) and was quite fabulous to walk around. And of course, for anyone who has lived in the Atlanta region for any amount of time, think of the Reverend Finster and his Paradise Garden where he made “native” art, and it sounds like you’ll have an idea of what this place is like. But with statues instead of paintings.

But I digress. Back to Mexico.

So I’m reading this book and I’m wondering when the guy is going to cover some area of Mexico that doesn’t sound like a tourist spot. I mean, every town he goes to has a café! We don’t have one of those in Tuxpan. We have to drive 12 miles to the next town to get a coffee drink made for us!

I guess I’m just a bit disappointed in the book. I was expecting to hear more about the people and the culture, but he mostly talks to other ex-patriates and goes to places that have some cultural or historical tourist draw to them. I was hoping he would interact with the natives, maybe live in a small town in Mexico to see how the “real” Mexico is.

Guess I’ll have to write that book.

New Ink

So it's kinda funny how I got these new tattoos. Way back when I lived in Atlanta, I came up with the kanji idea. Actually, I had found a great poster with a kanji of "chaos" and a little blurb about how we sometimes need to go through a lot of chaos in our lives before we can find some order again. I really liked that idea and I liked the kanji design too. I thought it would be great to have "chaos" tattooed on one arm and "harmony" on the other. But just the kanji themselves seemed... too little. I needed something more. A lot of thought and research and drawing and I came up with the two-headed snake I currently have on my back. (Btw, the two-headed snake is a symbol of movement between life and death, dark and light, harmony and chaos.) But when I went to have the snake put on, I couldn't figure out a good way to include the kanjis. So they remained off my skin.

Some years later when I had been in Portland for a year or so, I came across Dan at Atlas Tattoo. I went so far as to give him art work and some description of what I was looking for. I even had a scheduled appointment with him and a $40 deposit to reserve it. Well, that appointment never happened. I never found the money to get the tattoos, and I eventually forfeited my deposit too.

Zoom forward to three months ago: Luis and I went up to Portland to take care of some business. I emailed one of the other artists at Atlas tattoo to see if she had any time to put the ink on me. No go. She was booked up for two more months, and so was everyone else in the shop. No big deal.

This past month when I went up to Portland again, I decided to stop by the shop and say hello. I ended up talking with the receptionist for a while and she said:
"Well, Jennifer is booked up for the next month. Everyone here gets booked pretty far in advance. Let me see if someone else might have time. Sometimes we get cancellations. Nope, no one has time available."
So we kept talking for a few minutes about music or tattoos or whatever. Then the phone rang.
"Yeah... ok.... well, it happens. So your appointment was when?"
Turns out someone had to cancel on Saturday the 3rd, the very day I was leaving Portland (on the midnight flight)! Suddenly Dan, the guy I had originally wanted a tattoo from, had an opening. The receptionist rearranged another appointment on that day and I had an 11.30am tattoo appointment with Dan!

I didn't feel like I had the right to turn that opportunity down. Seems the universe was telling me to go ahead and get the damn things already! So here they are:


Left arm (kanji translates to "harmony")


Right arm (kanji translates to "chaos")

I will eventually get some sort of background behind the flower, kanji and snake head. But that will come later.....

Ready?

I've been thinking of my life in Mexico more and more as these past two weeks have gone on. At first I didn't think about it at all. I was busy living my life here. My life there was on hold, in another dimension.

But lately I've been thinking about what my life is back there. I think about spending time in our one room, about not being able to have those everyday conversations, about just existing in the small town. I've thought about Laura and baby Luis, Cynthia, Mario, and Luis.

It's been nice not having to think about all them for a while. It's not a reflection on the people there. It is a reflection on me. It's exhausting living in a foreign country. And getting a break from that is good every once in a while.

But my mind is wandering back there. Preparing myself, I guess.

Wrap it up

Today is Tuesday, and my time here is winding down. I suddenly feel like I'm under the gun to get stuff done. I've gotten most things done, but there are a few outstanding tasks. The biggest at this point is to get some debris out of our back yard. I had seen a pile of wood in the yard one of the first days I was here and asked Amy if it was stuff we had left behind when we remodelled the kitchen, or if it was stuff Nathan had brought home from his construction job. Turns out it is mostly stuff we left behind. I feel a bit bad since it has been in the yard for 6 months, but Nathan and Amy don't seem to mind. But now I need to get the stuff out of there in 4 days.

I have a call into our garbage company to see if I can get a drop box, but I'm not sure if they can make that quick a turn around. Luckily Nathan is going to be staying in the house for an extra week. Jillian (my new renter) has some leeway in her current lease, so she is fine with him staying. So that might give me some extra time to get those things out with Nathan's help.

Nathan and Amy have been some of the best renters I could have ever been blessed with. They are so low key and understanding of my situation. When they moved in, Luis and I were in such a rush to get to Mexico that we left garbage in the backyard, couldn't take the time to troubleshoot why the dishwasher wouldn't work (turns out it was a poorly wired outlet!), and left a bunch of furniture and various things in the house. Nathan and Amy said they would be happy to use the furniture and didn't mind cleaning up after us. While I've been here they have been so accomodating. They even let me borrow their car to go out to Home Depot and Target one day. Apparently I've been living at the foot of the cross (as my friend Cindy would say), and deserve great renters like them.

But alas, they are leaving. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.

And now I have to wrap things up. It's not that there are a lot of things left to do - I could probably take care of all of them in one day - but they are by necessity spread out over a few days. I have some spark plugs on order for Luis' motorcycle that won't be in until Wednesday. I have to exchange keys and checks with Jillian, but that won't happen until Thursday. I have to move our left-behind furniture to storage, but that won't happen until Thursday as well. Everything else is manageable in over one or two days.

So I need to just relax and not worry about getting it all done. Deep breaths, Laura..... Luckily for me it's another sunny day today. Most of the past week has been rainy and cold. So sun is a very welcome change.

1.40pm - Again, I'm living at the foot of the cross. Got a drop box to be delivered tomorrow, reserved a moving truck for Thursday, and I got myself out to and back from Beaverton!

Tuxpan Trivia

I was surfing around trying to Google some info on Tuxpan when I came across this link of photos of my adopted home town:
Tuxpan photos
So when I tell you I was walking around the Center in town, just imagine these photos. Except that last one.

I also found this photo of Subcomandante Marcos actually walking through the streets of Tuxpan:
Marcos
Alas, we were in the US when he visited.

In fact, to prove that I was in Portland, this link also came up on the search:
mmmm... brekkky

For those of you into geographic factiods:
Tuxpan coordinates: Lat: 19:30:11N (19.5031) Lon: 103:18:23W (-103.3063)
Tuxpan elevation: 4,131 ft/1,259 m
In 1990 the population was 25,895. So although Luis has told me there are about 50,000 people in the town, I seriously doubt it's doubled in population in 16 years - it's just not growing that fast. I'm guessing there are maybe 30,000 people there now. Small, small, small town!

And, last but not least, a representation of the town's crest. It translates to "City of the Eternal Party".

Time Stands Still

I'm realizing on this trip that I have a perception of the world that needs some adjustment. I think it's because I'm staying at my mom's apartment. Here everything has a place, a semblance of order. Books are on the bookshelf, work papers are in the office, tools are all grouped together with like tools. And I think that is the way I think the world should be - ordered. This is the environment I grew up in. Not that our apartments when I was a kid were spotless and organized. But things had their places. There was a sense of order, of things belonging where they were.

Now, dating Luis and living in Mexico, I see things differently. For 39 years now I've been trying to instill order on my life. I've been trying to find the right spot for everything in my life. As if once things were in order, all would be well in my world, and things wouldn't change. Like I could find a spot in the world where I could live forever, in an unchanging environment.

But the only constant in the world is change. And like it or not, I need to learn how to appreciate change. Just because I am in the spot I am in today doesn't mean I will always be there. That applies to the good times as well as the bad times. So I should appreciate the good times when I have them, and learn from the bad times. All the time realizing that things will change, I will not remain static in the world.

And I need to learn to enjoy what I am going through at the time I'm going through it. So many times I have been in a situation that is good and all I can do is worry about when it will change and what will come after it. I can't control that, so there is no point in worrying. Besides, if I'm thinking about the future, I'm ignoring the present.

This is a hard lesson to put into practice.

I walked by a guy on the street the other day who just had the best energy. He seemed happy and interested in the world around him, and very open to whatever came his way. Maybe I was just projecting this onto him - I didn't talk to him, I just walked by him - but there are some people out there who just ooze whatever emotions they have in them. You all know people who can kill a good vibe just by walking into a room, and people who can lift your mood just by sitting next to you. This guy was one of those. I thought to myself, "why can't I be more like that?" I imagined what my face looked like at that moment - lips pursed, forehead furrowed in thought - and realized that I quite often have that look on my face. Granted, at the moment I was deep in thought, but I was thinking about stuff in the future, stuff I couldn't control. So I decided to work on keeping a smile on my face while I'm here.

My assignment for this next week: stop trying to force order on your life, enjoy what you are doing while you are doing it, and smile!

Girls are a girl's best friend

I miss my friends. The friends I have here in Portland are all married and/or pregnant, which is such a different lifestyle. And as for friends in Tuxpan - um, yeah, I don't have those there yet. I miss Charlotte, Anne, Angela, Cindy and April. They are my gal-pals, my posse, my soul mates. And we all live in different corners of the continent, even across the pond - San Diego, NYC, Los Angeles, Atlanta, London, and Mexico. So the best we can have is a long-distance phone call, and that is even difficult because it's international with me in Mexico. I think my next trip to the states will be to visit one of them. If any of you are reading this, email me and tell me when to visit you.

Feels Like Monday

I woke up in a crappy mood today. I'm not sure why. I've been very productive while I've been here in Portland. I rented our house, fixed a number of issues in the kitchen, got a Spanish language CD program (I have yet to actually start studying with it, however), returned a car part to Napa, saw my old boss, celebrated my birthday, run a ton of little errands, went out on the town one night, and eaten as much non-Mexican food as I can.

But something is off today. It's rainy, but that's normal for Portland. I'm not sleeping very well. I'm sleeping on the couch, which is very comfortable, but the sun seems to come up here earlier than it does in Tuxpan. Or maybe it's just that there are more windows here than in my room in Mexico. So I end up waking up earlier, and I seem to be staying up later. But I have sleeping problems in Tuxpan as well, so this is nothing new.

I think there are too many things brewing in my brain. Things tend to swim around in my brain for a while before I can actually make sense of them. Sometimes it helps to write about those things while they are still swimming around, but sometimes I just need to let them sit. While I was here in Portland, I wanted to spend a lot of time writing - in my journal and on this site - just to get things out of my head, but I've not written much so far. I'm not sure if I'm afraid of tackling some of the thoughts in my head or if they just need more time. Guess I'll try writing some and then just wait.

6 more months

My cousin Gavan posted the following in response to one of my earlier entries:

“I can only IMAGINE how you feel, being in a new country, immersing yourself in the culture, trying to adapt and fit in, while learning the language, the customs and the dynamics of your new family...you must be mentally exhausted! Give yourself a big pat on the back for sticking it out as long as you have! I think a lot of people would have bailed home a long time ago. It must be love ;^)...(or you must be crazy!!) lol...Seriously, think of this as a major cleansing of the soul...you are slowly peeling back layers upon layers of beliefs, perceptions of past experiences, expectations and ideologies, and replacing them with a new, stronger you. You don't see it now...but the fact you are still down there, and not running home to the creature comforts of American Life...already says so much about you.”

I appreciate hearing this. There have been so many times when I’ve wanted to run home, even gone so far as to plan how I would get myself and all my shit back up here. But I have stayed in Mexico, for reasons that I’m not always sure of. I don’t even know if I’m making the right choice by staying down there. Things could get better, or they could get worse. But I have just signed new renters to a 6 month lease on my house in Portland, so I am choosing to commit to another 6 months in Mexico at least.

Gavan was right, at the time she wrote this to me, I didn’t see what was happening with me, what was changing in me. Now I realize I am going through some huge changes, realizing things about myself, learning what is important to me and what I can do without. Unfortunately I’m deep in the thick of it right now. I’d rather be on the far side of it, or at least on the downward slope. But I feel like I’m still climbing up the hill.

I realize that I have a choice. I can leave Mexico, come home to “the creature comforts of American Life”, and resume life as I knew it before I headed south. But I know that the issues I’m dealing with by being down there will still remain unfinished, unresolved. I will have to face them again sometime in the future.

My other choice is to stay down in Mexico, knowing that I’m having a hard time adjusting, knowing that I feel lonely every day, knowing that it’s not going to be easy, knowing that it is the harder of the two choices. Thinking of this as being the choice I have already made, scares me. What am I doing to myself? It would be so much easier to stay here. Tear up the lease, move back into my house, find a job, get a roommate, find my comfort zone again. It seems so much more… easy.

But there is the spectre of the future, of having to deal with these same issues all over again. I don’t want to have to go back through all this shit just to return to the spot I’m in right now. So I have committed to 6 more months. I don’t know if it will tear me up or cure me of some life-long pain I’ve carried with me for years. I’m hoping for the latter, but there’s no way to know.

Only time will tell.

‘What does it take to change the essence of a man? Time.”

Punk's not dead. It's not cheap, either.

Pioneer Square is a gathering place for the local punk kids. It's a perfect stage for them. People of all sorts gather there to watch other people, to meet up with friends, to just sit and enjoy the weather (when the weather is good). It's a wide open space where sound travels and people are easy to see. So any activity is public, hard to ignore.

I sat down to do what everyone else does - watch people - and ended up surrounded by the punk kids. In front of me were 15 teenagers, dressed to the nines in their best punk clothing. Of course, their idea of what punk clothing is, is nothing like what the true punks in the 70's wore:

http://www.phillipkerman.com/concerts/ (click on the links at the bottom of the page)

I mean, the most wild bit of clothing in these pictures is a pair of skinny suspenders. There are no bondage pants, no piercings, no multi-colored hair, not even a pair of torn fishnet stockings.

But the kids in front of me wore all of that and more. Tattoos, piercings, hairdos, torn clothing, patches hand sewn onto clothing depicting their favorite bands. I was impressed. None of them really looked like they were posers - the kind who buy their punk clothing at the local mall. None of them really looked like they had been into drugs too heavily. Their clothes were too clean, too varied. A real drug habit would have competed with their fashion habit. They weren't the homeless street punk kids, but they weren't fresh out of the suburbs either. Then again, those tattoos don't come cheap. The money had to come from somewhere and none of them looked like they were even old enough to hold a job, nor did they look or act like they were selling anything on the streets to keep themselves well clothed and tattooed.

But they had the attitude. They yelled at each other, calling each other out, gave each other shit, trying to one-up each other, to prove how cool they were, how little they cared if other people in the area stared at them or thought they were weird. Or rather, they did these things so that people would stare at them.

Later I saw some of the homeless punks. They were strung out or high, scruffy and dirty. Maybe they had started hanging out in Pioneer Square, slowly making their way to the streets. Maybe they had started out on the streets and adopted the punk clothing of those around them. Although I had a lot of disdain for the high school punks, at least they were still clean.