Here in the Land of Lakes, not quakes

waiting for the fireworks

The barometer of my body says it's in a new and different place. My hair wants to part on the other side, and I'm still lost in this curvy city by the big river. But last night I connected the place where I went out for a glass of wine with the neighborhood I live in and the neighborhood where my St. Paul condo was. Three dots on a map of a zillion dots.

I'm afraid to drive here. Don't get into the bike lane when you turn, and watch out for the orange cones, orange cones, orange cones. There are giant potholes and trenches in the interstates (don't say freeway) from all the construction. And don't say the 94 or the 35W. Here you just take plain 94 or 35 W to wherever. And let's not talk about the W. Anxiety ramps up in the car like it did after the divorce when I marooned myself in my condo in South Pasadena, going to almost nothing. But I can walk or take the train. My new (to me) red Subaru has been christened Freiya, and I will drive her...eventually.

The sky is bigger and bluer here. Sky is distinctly separate from clouds. No grey linty what-is-what sky. Storm clouds barrel in every other night or so, and  lightning unzips the darkness. The 5th floor is a very satisfactory height from which to view the drama.

There is free yoga in the park before the farmer's market. Two seconds lying on the grass and I'm five years old because it smells like childhood. (That's me bottom right.)

The produce in the farmers' market cascades into more variety every week. First it was only asparagus and rhubarb and peonies. Then morels and bok choy. Now squash and lettuce, lettuce, lettuce, green beans, new kinds of spinach, gooseberries and red currants, and so much more.

A huge crowd came to fireworks along the river. Standing room only by the moment of showtime,and then bound in by rows and rows of people. It  sounds terrible, but it wasn't. The next morning it was all cleaned up even though they said 75,000 people came.

My living room still has its wall of boxes of books, and file boxes strewn with things I'm too lazy to file because it means bending down or lifting the box. And the TV is on a card table, but my bedroom is perfect with my favorite art hanging above the bed. And there's my desk where maybe the muse can find me if I ever sit down there.

Sometimes the morning light makes the view look like a painting. I see beauty everywhere, but I miss my friends. I wish they were here in the land of lakes instead of the land of quakes.

Oaxaca: Fun Facts

Oaxaca is a big city. A million people live here and in its environs.

There are 32 distinct ethnic groups in Mexico. Sixteen of them are indigenous to Oaxaca. There are 16 living languages here not counting all the different dialects.

When someone dies here, this is what people say to express their condolences: "We are all on the same path."

Today was the grand finale of the days long Señor del Rayo celebration. This is completely separate from Day of the Dead. There were fireworks at the cathedral. But not like the fireworks you know, bursting in air. There were dancers. One dancer worn a sculpture in the shape of a bull, another might have been a human figure, the third was spinning so fast I have no idea what it was. Maybe a turtle. These metal framework/costumes were rigged with giant sparklers that were set off during the dancing and spinning. When the dancers were finished a tower (40 ft. high?) also rigged with giant sparklers was set alight in stages. First there were wheels of light, then a giant rose, then multicolored hearts, then Christ on the cross (yes, Christ alight with immense sparklers,) then the words Señor del Rayo.

Then the entire facade of gargantuan stone cathedral was transformed into a waterfall of light. Oh, and yeah, there were regular fireworks overhead while all of this was going on.

Oh, and earlier in the day, a local rock band played in the courtyard at this casa where I am staying. That was after a trip to a perfectly curated museum--

 And I devoured an amazing dish of mango sorbet from a little cafe that served only ice cream and sorbet and special drinks. The menu broke it down--desserts made with aqua and desserts made with leche. There was a flavor called beso de angel. Of course I will have to have that before I leave.

48 hours--and then some

The make-up room in my college theatre department. 

I spent a lot of time with hairspray, pancake, and incredibly good friends there 40 years ago.

My weekend away:

A two hour shuttle ride.
A three and one-half hour plane trip.
An airport pick-up.
A pizza and a conversation with C and her husband.
Five and one-half hours of sleep.
A two-hour drive.
A walk and talk with an old friend
A day of reunion with friends from a semester abroad in France 40 years ago.
Drinks.
Dinner.
More conversation.
Five hours of sleep.
A two hour shuttle ride.
A three and one-half hour plane trip.
An hour and a quarter shuttle ride.
Home.
Out with old friends.

How to get rid of the negative bullshit in your head.

My week thus far:

Seeing my mom change out her walker for a cane.
Reading info from physical therapist.
Follow-up visit to doctor.
Phone calls with two other doctors and physical therapist.
No yoga.
No gym.
No t'ai chi chih.
No beach walks.
Run futile errand search for box of dusting powder. Has anyone bought a box of dusting powder in the last decade?
Ridiculously embarrassing road rage event.
Wallow stupidly in moody bender as worst self.
Shopping for arrival of house guests.
Finding stuffed refrigerator non-funtional next morning.
Refrigerator madness.
Refrigerator repair minutes before guests arrive.
Guests arrive!Eat.
Drink.
Enjoy family.
Write.
Breathe.
Walk around the corner to watch fireworks.Imagine life falling into its normal rythym. Whatever that ever changing rhythm may be.