Mexico Musings

Morning
Gently, I wake. I roll onto my back and catch the first glimpse of the sunrise.
The mountains across the bay are outlined in hot red, as if there were a fire behind them. In effect there is a fire, the sun. The line spreads and fills the cloudy sky. Colors from hot, firey ornage to a blush of peach fill the sky. The bay is molten, the pool a smaller caldron. Depending on their density, the clouds take on the colors of the rising sun. The sky is streaked from black to red, my room is filled with the glow of embers.
It is as if the very air is on fire. I lie and watch the show, in silence. I do not even want to call my beloved, the act of moving may cause me to miss a subtle change. No need to call out, he comes into the room , softly says my name and says “ Darling, are you awake? Look at the sky!”
“ I know”, I say, “ I have been watching it.” He wonders where the camera is.
I tell him it is in my office on the shelf always at the ready to take in the changing view outside. “Sweetie”, I say, “ it will change before you can focus, just enjoy the moment.” And besides I have picture after picture of La Paz sunrises on my hard drive. This one is dramatic and showy, but I have dozens saved, let’s just enjoy the moment.” The sun crests the mountains, the sky lightens, and the few minutes of sunrise are over.
This is a rare morning with me still in bed at sunrise, and him upright and lucid this early. By the time he usually rises, I have been up for hours. I have had my coffee, sat in the dark in the living room watching the city lights fade as the sun rises. By the time he is dressed, I have been writing, and this time of year sewing gifts. In summer I would be in the pool, naked, watching the day come to life. In winter where it gets down to the high 50’s , I am in long pajama bottoms, a t-shirt and fuzzy flip-flops. It is almost chilly enough for a fire.

This Sunday, a few days before Christmas, and a day when 6 friends are invited for breakfast, we are both up at the same time. It is nice, a different pace, slow, expectant, and yet we are busy. We share a moment in front of the Christmas tree with our freshly squeezed juice and hot coffee, then set about on our tasks to prepare for our guests. We chat, banter and joke as we move through our chores.” On days like this” he says, “I really feel like I am in paradise.” I agree and we decide not to sell the house today.
We have been vacillating for years about whether to stay in Mexico, or cash in on the boom down here, sell our dream beach house, and buy something at the fire sale in the old country. That way we will have a home near our kids and we can have all the bookstores, cafes and museums we want. We have convinced ourselves more than once that it would be fun to live in a loft in downtown Portland, Seattle or San Diego. We can walk to a café, a bar or bookstore. With the exception of Portland beaches are right there.
Then we remember the violence, the cost of everything, the increasingly unpredictable and harsh weather and the power outages, and we say “Let’s just visit el norte and stay here.” We would miss so much, among the things we would miss is the fish guy that comes every Saturday with fish and shrimp fresh from the bay for pennies on the kilo compared to Seattle, Portland or San Diego.
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My Favorite Christmas Ornament

I love Christmas. I love trimming the tree, making gifts for my friends and family. I love finding that perfect something to delight my children and my husband.
I love to sew special gifts last years it was hisand her aprons and neck roll pillows and sleep masks for use on airplanes. This year it is purses.And Green Chile Soup.
Even though I have eschewed religion a long time ago, I love the sacred music and have no problem with phrases like “Glory to God” and “Jesus our savior reigns”. The words are lovely, the songs joyous, fun and sometimes solemn. They are a part of Christmas. I am a radical feminist but I still love to sing and chuckle at the words of “Santa Baby”.
It is the tree and the delicate glass ornaments, the lights, and the glow that I love the most.
Do you have favorite ornaments? I do. And over the years the favorites have changed. When my daughter was young any and all of the ornaments that she made were my favorite.
I have an old , very old, as old as my oldest sister, tin Santa that is scuffed and dented, I cherish him.
But my current favorites are my ice skating- themed ornaments. I dream of figure skaters twirling and leaping most nights, really I do. And I have custom made skates from the same place Brian Boitano has his made. I won a drawing and got to skate arm in arm with Dorothy Hammil. I live on the beach in La Paz, Baja California Sur, no snow here, no ice, no indoor rinks. My skates live in my daughter’s guest room in Dallas.
But I have some wonderful ice skate ornaments. And one year last century I was shopping in World Market after Christmas and I found a delicate hand blown Italian glass figure skater. It was 70% off and still cost $21.00. I had to have her! And I am glad I bought her. She is me when I am on skates…at least I feel like her. So here she is and some of my skate ornaments. The big glass skates are from my daughter.
So this year ice skates charm and enchant me more than the other ornaments.

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The air smells like cinnamon. You can feel the pulsing music. We are following our noses and the beat of the music and the crowd.
The outdoor stage is lit in ghostly pale, icy, blue and white lights. Smoke wafts up eerily from the footlights.
A line of young girls in jewel-toned, hoop –skirted, colonial dresses appears stage left. The turquoise, purple, scarlet, and emerald dresses sparkle in the stage lights. Their picture hats are wide and adorned with paper flowers and lace, their hair is plaited and interwoven with ribbons. They stop, turn and face forward. The audience gasps in delight and breaks into loud applause. The girl’s faces are painted in death masks. The eerie smile of a skeleton’s head. It is Day of the Dead in La Paz.

Day of the Dead in Mexico is on November 1st, also known as All Souls Day. It is believed that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest at this time. It is a time to pay homage to relatives and friends that have died. And to poke fun at death. And ghosts walk among us.
The distant sounds of the city are like a whisper on the wind, a sound not relevant to the mix of life and death we are celebrating.
Traditionally the family would gather at the grave of their loved one, bringing their dead relative’s favorite foods. They tell stories, sing songs and eat. All over Mexico in cemeteries big and small this celebration takes place. And in La Paz we have an additional celebration. In the parking lot of the Teatro de La Ciudad booths are set up like a fair. Except each booth is a “grave” or an “altar”. Different organizations and clubs and businesses dedicate their grave to someone they admire, a fallen colleague or in the case of the women’s center, to bring attention to domestic violence.
Flowers and corn and colorful sand paintings tell the story of the graves honoree. To help bring back the dearly departed for a night, pieces of their clothing, their favorite book, a guitar, their picture, and in one case a favorite teacher’s entire living room complete with reading glasses and shawl was recreated.
And we viewed it through a window. On hand are the grave creators to tell the story of their honoree.
Other booths sell Pan de Muerto (Day of the Dead Bread) a round ,sweet loaf decorated with bones made of dough. Clay pots of café de ollo simmer and it is from them the cinnamon emanates. It is a wonderful strong- sweet coffee drink.
There are constant performances on the open air stage. But once you have toured the graves and sipped your coffee, bought a tamale, and a sugar skull, stop and watch the crowd. The young cool crowd has artfully painted only half their faces. And the “sexy dead” have black veils, crimson roses and almost see-through dresses. There is one I call Bianca Jagger with her gorgeous black lace dress, silver tipped cane and cigar.
We love this celebration, and we mix Halloween with Day of the Dead. My 3-d cardboard pop-up Day of the Dead altar is dedicated to Paul Newman.

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So I came here to Bali to escape the frenzy of my plugged-in, revved-up Manahattan life.

My idea was to spend mornings trolling for gorgeous Balinese batiks and sumptious hand-dyed fabrics. Afternoons would be spent in a hammock, genlty rocked by tropical breezes, comforted by gentle sounds, the swish of palms and the sigh of small waves dying on the shore. And evenings, would be split between starlit walks at the water’s edge, or lazy strolls through town, a meal, and a languid walk back to my beachside cottage.

Eash day would have some time for meditiation in the rainforest, near a crystal spring.

It was the red batik that did me in. Soft and supple, a smoldering, hot,sexy, red. A piece long enough to wrap my body twice and knot at my bust. It skimmed my hips, just touching here, swinging loosely there, with tiny shells knotted into the fringe, they tinkled as I walked. “I’ll wear this to town tonight, and have a meal, and sit and watch as the locals gather to sing and socialize.” I snipped a red hibiscus and pinned it behind my ear.

As I approached town, I could hear drums and loud voices. As I got closer I saw disco lights and heard music from the 70’s, could it realy be “Dancing Queen” here in Bali? It was! and all kinds of people had come out to disco dance under the stars. I joined in,I danced with and without partners and drank just a little too much…
This is a writing exercise, click here to view more of Cafe Writing

1. The hot, blistering, heat of summer in Southern Baja is over
2. The threat of hurricanes in Southern Baja is over
3. It is still warm enoiugh to swim (in Southern Baja)
4. Preparations for Day of the Dead begin, pan de muerte ( sweet bread adroned with “bones” of the dead, mock graves, flowers, corn and cafe de olla)
5. Pumpkin soup simmering on the stove…rich, creamy, like liquid pumpkin pie
6. Crisp, salty, air, the shore birds return and call and squawk at dawn.
7. The subtle change of life’s ryhtym leading to the end of the year, we even feel it in paradise!

I thought I was going to write about going to pumpkin patches with Miss Meliss and letting her choose a big pumpkin.
Buying Indian corn and deciding on her costume, alwayas home made, and always really good.
Well I guess I just did.