Act 2, Scene 1

It is interesting to be back in the vicinity of many people who happen to read this blog. As I am visiting with friends they mention things they have read and request the follow-up story, or the behind the scenes details on the little nuggets I provide in type-form here. I hadn't realized how oblivious I am to my readership. I just write like I always have, in a rambling dialogue to myself. Credit should go to Laurie Oliver who introduced me to the concept of journal writing when I was in sixth grade. She had a marble composition book, I think... if I remember correctly, and simply opened my eyes to the fact that I could write my thoughts down on paper. Just like that. We were sitting on the hillside by the dam at Aldeen park in the sunshine, a few of us lounging about probably skipping school, and the discussion about journals came up. I recall asking some incredulous questions such as "really? you just write down whatever you are thinking? you don't need a subject?" I must have been overly influenced by my smarty pants creative english classes or somehow hemmed in by the preconcieved notion that keeping a diary was supposed to be the dutiful logging of daily events (which is why it is called a diary). How binding. Laurie unlocked the door on that one and freed me to just ramble and ramble in spectacular ink on pretty bound pages of boring office supplies. Oh gleeful JOY!

The real point here is that I found out that my mom is reading it. Hadn't thought about that, but honestly now that I know, I am surprisingly very happy about it. I mean, she sleuthed the song lyrics in a previous post and is now familiar with the political rants of Public Image Limited. Dontcha. My aunt is also reading and sends occaisional breif words of support and wisdom when it seems to her like I am struggling. And yes I did go see mom last weekend. Two of my dearest Milwaukee friends found time to read this blog together while out one evening. I love that and I am jealous of their iPhones. Another anonymous reader told Santa Claus about the fountain pen I was pining after... There are other stories of encounters like this that make me smile and think. Thank you all for checking in.

Ok, what I really wanted to talk about here is the fact that it finally feels like chapter one of this adventure is wrapped up. Perhaps the first act of my entire life has just come to a close with a beautiful scene revolving around a dinner with my mom and one of her closest friends. I imagine the thick velvety curtian closing and blowing the snow around in little swirls, leaving a silence and a cosy backstage for me to snuggle up into and change out the scenery. These days behind the curtain have been filled with the sweet luxuries of the most divine royal existence you can imagine. Delicious feasts, showerings of gifts, downy cushions, plush velvets, magical and exotic entertainment, rejuvinating baths set to dreamy music, swedish massages, luxurious pet panthers and the unshakable feeling that I may in fact be a princess. In truth I am a girlscout and am itching to get my hands dirty. Today seems like the day that the curtain rises on Act 2. Time to get a move on the first adventures in making things and going places. Hot cha.

Little Bits of Mexico

I had some very sad little tacos today with a friend from the old office. They were pale replicas of their cousins in DF, but at least they had imported Mexican coke to wash them down. I know better places to get some. I have one guyaba left. I have to eat it tomorrow morning before it goes bad. I washed the last of the black pollution grime from behind my ears. Half of the billboards on the EL platforms are in Spanish. I saw some pictures in which friends were dressed like Katrinas for Halloween. Agt. 3L and I spoke over video last night. DF is starting to feel a little like a dream. Was I really there? Time has zippered itself up. I have been pinched back into Chicago like an errant piece of bread dough and while I feel more like I fit in here, I am afraid to loose my Mexicaness. I want to keep it and share it. It is sad, though, the Mexicans here don't love DF. They got out of that city and don't like to talk nostalgia about it. Maybe it is too hard to think of a place you are not going back to, or that you hate.

Chicago seems like a stage set; perfectly styled humans are sprinkled in here and there on the streets for effect.

Finally I get the Routine

So after a few days of hopelessly running around after a small child, trying to get him to do the things he has to do, I finally got him into bed at a reasonable hour. Not that he has been up THAT much past his bedtime, but seriously, he has been up past MY bedtime. Cause I'm looking at 8:30pm as a pretty viable time to start sleeping. I mean, it gets dark here at 4pm. By 8 it's like way late at night already. I miss adults. Ok, ok fine. I did have lunch with Varla, which included shopping at a very strange boutique in which we were showered upon with style consulting, assistance in and out of platform boots, difficult belts and zippers galore. It was a wild and fun time of celebrity attention. Too bad we don't have celebrity money. I spent way too much on the perfect pair of pants, but I will wear them into the ground. Let's calculate the relative value when they fall apart. They are Peruvian (I don't know what that means) but it sounds good and they make my tuckus look nice. NEXT.

A good friend of mine just launched a design website and I will be giving him a critique of it tomorrow night. I am super excited to be a bit hard on him. I know he's got the talent and the drive to get it done, but he needs it to be shaped up and perfected. I can help him with that. Those who can, do; and those who can't, critique. Dontcha. Besides, we love arguing together. Hot cha.

The rest of this week is a social extravaganza. I've got lunch tomorrow, and a critique at night. The Garfield Park Conservatory on Friday and then dinner afterward. Saturday morning return of the sister and the nephew and then on to RKFD for a drive by mom sighting then up nort' to witness the xmas lounge singers at the restaurant and then more lunch with CN pals and then... oh, I have to work. Busy, busy, busy.

Storage Solutions

So I have finally come to the point in which I am living out of a suitcase. So I need to organize and rock the suitcase living. I must streamline my winter wardrobe with black basics and small accessories for color, get some foldable canvas bins for rotating clean and dirty items, maybe a hard box for toiletries... and then work it out. I am sure, like everything, it will take trial and error, but I am ready.

I already have my fountain pens and my notebook. I could use a better shoulder bag with more compartments. The one I was using in DF doesn't work for Chicago. It is interesting to note how different handbags or shoulder bags do or do not work for different cities. The style, size and functionality work with the kinds of jobs, neighborhoods and transportation available to the local women. There is definitely a Chicago Bag. And there is a DF Bag. I am sure there is a style for every city. I am excited to find more.

Now to brave the cold and get reacquainted with the grid.

The Museum of Science and Industry, or the Train Place

This is going to be an interesting week. I am spending it with my nephew Augie who has just today decided that pooping in the potty is better than in his pants, which he previously thought to be the correct way to eliminate wastes. Of course, he now has a constant supply of M&Ms to promote more potty pooping and a huge amount of positive reinforcement. Right now I have told him that he has to stay up all night and no matter what he can't get sleepy, well, he told me first. He's pretty susceptible to reverse psychology, but I figure if he calls my number then we both can sleep in late tomorrow. Woot! Don't tell his mom... ;)

In other news, who knew that filet mignon, acorn squash and fingerling potatoes were better with raspberry glaze? Mmm hmm. It is no guyaba, but damn was it good. Almost as good as Augie flashing the chef while dancing to Loretta Lynn and getting ready for bath time. Dontcha. Hopefully, if all goes as planned, we will go to the Museum of Science and Industry tomorrow. It is going to be fun!

Welcome home!

By-E

Today is my last day in DF.

I returned after Thanksgiving to collect my leftover items and to spend the week with my dearest of pals from Portland OR who came for a visit and an art show. I have learned more in this week alone about living in Mexico City than any of the four or so months I lived here. I had to take a risk and see a part of the city that is deemed extremely dangerous and deal with my friends staying on the edge of this neighborhood. I had to feel the sickening fear of knowing that if anything happened it would probably be the last time I see them. Because now I know that there is nothing you can do if DF swallows you whole. The reality is clear. That said, the subway is awesome. It is totally clean, very fast, no bad smells and I didn't see a beggar, a busker or a drunk once. Did I mention very fast? And the flea market at Lagunillas is the best I have ever seen. Got some new glasses frames and a couple of fountain pens. GRIN.

So now, as I am on my way out the door, I finally feel free here, like I could really live here and get into it. But alas, this is not my final destination. I am on my way on a journey and I have much respect for the decisions I have made.

There are many things I need to work out and work on. There are details and decisions and deadlines all over the place. However, I am not afraid of it and I know I will need to do the very hard work incredibly soon. For now I am enjoying taking my time and keeping my eyes open. Sadness is included in this process. So many parts of this time in Mexico should have been done differently. Things were supposed to have worked out along the lines of "happily ever after" but they did not. Critical realities about ourselves and our lives were screamed about as well as talked over rationally. And in the end it is the potential that we will miss. I blame our overactive imaginations. Having the ability to imagine the future in great detail without checking to see if it is viable can lead to disastrous results. That said, there is still love, deep and powerful, but I fear unsustainable. The kind thing to do is allow the other to be free. Completely free. And we are free of many things we were not free of before we met. It was a liberating experience overall. It should be a happy one.

I am going to be in Chicago for a few days and then up to Milwaukee to work through the holidays. If any of you are around and would like to have some dinner, let me know.

Elimination Round

So what can't I do? How can I eliminate some options in order to move forward? My sister says I am stupid not to get the Yale MBA  because most people would kill for that degree and that the world will open up and beg me to work for it for a billion dollars if I just get that degree. But what does that mean?? What does anything mean? What is not dirty... what is not clean?What should we not hear? What shouldn't be seen?

If I am going to be the director of happiness and well-being, isn't that like feeding and sheltering people? What is it? Is it making rules and regulations so that the unfortunate don't get screwed over by the first set of rules and regulations anymore? Is it making the world a little more beautiful or useful for the people around me? Don't they say you are supposed to save the world one person at a time? Do I make a home and welcome all into it? Or do I run a fortune 500 company eliminating waste and bullshit and then donate to better causes? I could do that too.

Do I paint my life away? For certainty that is not possible. Pshaw. Some say I would be bored just making things from clay, I am meant for bigger endeavors. Others say follow your heart, but my heart has been silent for so long now I am not sure if I am making up the little noises I hear. And when I give it credence, I say "this is what my heart is telling me..." I get the smack-down. From some. But guys guys guys! I've never listened to it before. I made it this far and am still devoid of property or progeny so why can't I follow my heart?

I am going, I am not stopping, I am not slowing down or quitting. My path just looks different from yours and it involves a period of time where my work will not be compensated monetarily. It doesn't look like house and kids, although I want very dearly to have home and family. It doesn't operate on 9-5 although I am committed to endless hours of service. My path involves an examination of what is supposed to be right in a country that is succumbing to bad management and a world that keeps on keeping on with different ideas and critical masses.

Shit.

Homelessness

I am sitting at my friend's house reviewing my online accounts and listening to NPR waiting to train my first shift at Comet tonight. I am in Milwaukee.

The first time in my life I was homeless and looking for work on the East Side of Milwaukee was because I had decided not to return home for Christmas break, and also to move out of the dorms at art school. I had been let go from my part time job and had absolutely nothing. My poor parents must have been so worried. One day I was riding the 32 up Oakland and had stopped at a coffee shop a block over to fill out an application. They had said they didn't have any openings but that they would keep my application on file. Across the street was a small family owned grocery store called Koppa's. I walked in and asked to fill out an application whereupon I was directed to talk to the owner. He didn't give me an application, I am not sure if I told him my story, but I must have explained that I was looking for work. He looked at me for a full minute without saying anything and then he asked me if I could start right now. Up until that point I had been riding the bus to keep warm, so I said yes. He told me to hang up my coat in the back room and I started that day.

I was with my boyfriend at the time. I have a feeling that it was his idea to quit the dorms and find our own way in the city. We managed to make friends with an alcoholic saxophone player who lived on the corner of Irving and Oakland who allowed us to stay in his spare room while we were looking for an apartment. It was a vile hole of a place and I spent my time there trying to clean what looked like 40 years of unwashed dishes. There was a layer of grime and cigarette smoke so thick on everything that it was all dingy greyish brown. At some point a child had created a crayon masterpiece on one of the walls. I wonder what happened to him or her. I made a dent in the dishes and I still have a scar on my knuckle where one of the many filthy glasses broke in the hot water and sliced through my finger. We eventually had to leave in the middle of the night after our host's drunken fits of rage began to focus on us.

In retrospect, I did everything to keep us alive then. I paid the bus fare to keep warm. I got a job. I found an apartment by convincing my boyfriend to wear a tie and I wore my best imitation of business-lady clothes in order to convince the landlord we were reliable. I put it together out of nothing, but I was blessed with the gifts of a few people who believed I could do what I said I was going to do, without any evidence. I will be forever indebted to Mr. Koppa for hiring me on the spot. My heart goes out to the landlord who trusted that the two kids with no history and one job between them could pay the rent.

So it is interesting to me, now, that the second time in my life that I am homeless and jobless that I have found employment in the first coffee shop I applied to across the street from the grocery store. I wonder if they did keep my application on file. It is no longer a coffee shop, but a restaurant owned and operated by very good friends of mine. Of course this time I am alone and I have a home and the use of a truck. I don't have to ride the bus to keep warm and I am surrounded by friends who are as good as family. Better.

God bless the corners of Irving and Farwell.

Chicago, Indian Summer

24 hours in Chicago and it is so weird to be able to eaves-drop again. I am staring at people on the phone on the street waiting for them to say something that I can understand. I, on the other hand, am still saying "si" "por favor" "gracias" and "con permiso" to everyone. I pull the 100 peso bill out of my pocket when I have nothing else to say. It isn't very funny, I just forgot to exchange cash on the way back into the country. Last night was the 15th Annual Dysfunctional Family Thanksgiving Dinner. Very delicious and very good to be back in the company of some of my very favorite people.

I have seen many friends already and have started to get into the excitement of the upcoming Thanksgiving dinner to be prepared here at my sister's house. In other news, I am working out my living situation for the next two months, looking for some work and wondering what to do next. I haven't made it to the storage locker yet. I think I will do that tomorrow and swap out my clothing for items more appropriate to the weather here. I can't wait to get my boots. It is very warm right now though, very Indian Summer, and I am so grateful for that. I am not quite ready for the cold.

I am off to go have real Chicago pizza at a place called Piece. It will be delicious. Goodnight!

Last Day

I am going for tacos del calle this afternoon. Soooo good. I will miss them. I hope all of my things will fit into the two suitcases I brought them in. Of course, I have picked up a few things, and dropped off a few things. We shall see. The day is beautiful and the weather is perfect. The smog layer isn't even so thick. I will miss here.

Chicago is waiting for me with a line-up of pals and a bead on an artists' loft to stay in while transitioning from DF to India. I am not looking forward to the weather. My hats and gloves are all in storage. For the first time in my life, I don't really have a plan. It is liberating and terrifying.

Vaya con Dios!

Home Again

Home is where, again?

I am sitting here at the table with the requisite three beverages, my notebook, the new novels in Spanish that I purchased from El Pendulo, a handful of pens and my computer. I can hear the noises of traffic outside the windows. It is not too cold right now. There are a variety of fruits and vegetables on the kitchen counter that probably won't all get used before they go bad. The cupboards are full of cans of things and bags of others. Some pork chops sit in the fridge waiting for me; I know Agt.3L will not know what to do with them. We haven't sat on the couch in ages, probably because it is covered with my random clutter of souvenirs and books and maps, or maybe because we never watch TV and there are no lamps for reading books. My clothes hang quietly in the closet and my shoes are piled in heaps beneath. My shelves are stuffed with assorted beauty items, coins, papers and folded (or not quite folded) clothes. This has become my home. I know this place. It is dependable. I don't know when I am going to have a home again.

There is nothing but gray in my life right now. It is one big gray area. There are some bright points of light but an absence of drive and passion. Not very long ago, I knew exactly what I wanted. It was so clear and true and right... right up until it was wrong. I didn't need to know how or when, I just knew what, and that everything would be just fine. But that feeling is not here anymore. I can't figure out where it went or where any feelings went. I feel a bit like I am watching myself struggle and that I should really jump in and help, but I'm not sure where to start. Agt. 3L always says you should put intention into it. I need to put my intention into something, but me? Why me? Haven't I tried hard enough on me already? And at the same time, haven't I avoided me long enough?

Should I relax and concentrate on one thing at a time or should I get that long term what-I'm-going-to-do-with-the-rest-of-my-life thing ironed out? When I am cooking, I panic that I am not learning Spanish. When I am studying Spanish, I panic that I am not writing my essays for grad school applications. When I am researching schools, I panic that I have not been in touch with my friends and family. When I spend my time on the email, I get sucked into Facebook and blogs and shopping and then panic that I need to be cooking for Agt.3L. Repeat. Right now I am trying to read these novels, write in my journal, gchat and blog at the same time and now I am panicking that the house will not be clean in time for me to pack my bags.

They say, home is where the heart is. Has anyone seen it? My heart? I know I had it around here somewhere... I think I feel it breaking again but I can't seem to get my hands on it.

Thoughts on India

My time here is winding down. I can't believe how fast it has gone by. The strangeness and difficulty of it all is thought provoking as well. Of course, now that I am facing the task of making new plans, everything here seems to be just fine. Living here is not so bad, I could find a job, look for apartments in the city, make it work. But then I remember that there are other things I want to accomplish. There is the larger plan: India, school, reinvention.

I will be in touch with the LIFT group when I am in Chicago this coming week. Hopefully we will work out the details of my travel and I can book my flights. It is very exciting. My friends asked me yesterday what I would be doing in India and what it means for me and I had an opportunity to revisit my reasons and motives. I have not thought about it in a while so it was good to talk over my ideas. I am happy to re-connect with something larger than myself as well. My time in Mexico has been all about me and my future goals in career and relationship and while some progress has been made on understanding my path, much has been murky and unsure. Perhaps that is a result of too much inward thinking and not enough outward structure. I think that in my life right now, it will take two major extremes to make a balance. I am totally macro right now.

On the micro level, I am still working on streamlining. Earlier this year I made a plan to reduce my personal belongings to a few portable items. A computer, a portable music device, a bicycle, a camera, a notebook, a pen and I suppose one good traveling bag and some decent boots. Everything else could be temporary. I find that I keep collecting items for the kitchen, though. Not sure what to do about that.

Here are some photos from the last week

 

 

 

 

 

Tired, but no sleep for those who drink Dr. Pepper at 6pm

I am currently keeping Agt.3L awake by computing in bed at 11:34pm. Truly that is not so late, but man am I tired and wired. I just said bon voyage to my visiting pals this morning, and then spent all day in the artisans' market doing my Christmas shopping. After that I found some great deals on stuff for the kitchen down in Centro. That place is wild! I love it! The whole of downtown is basically a giant department store with each street representing a different department. It is unreal. I wish all of you could see this. I got a cookie sheet for 25 pesos so I don't have to bake bread on tinfoil anymore. Woot.

I had a bout of homesickness last night. I didn't want my friends to leave and I wanted some missing parts of my life back. I missed my cats. I can't wait to see everyone next week in Chicago. I am making some more strides toward India as well. More on that soon.

Ok, ok, one false move on the keyboard and a terrible beep has roused the sleeping beast. He's not going to be happy with me tomorrow... Nighty nite.

Acapulco and the week to come

It was warm and wonderful in Acapulco. Now, I have only the space heater to keep me warm...
This week will be full of visitors and birthdays. I am looking forward to it.

Shameless Christmas List

Ok so there are a few things that I really would love to have for Christmas.
Maybe not this one, but someday when I have a job again and I can afford to buy myself some nifty gadgets.

A Kindle from Amazon
A Nook from B&N
This fountain penAnd a small gold medallion for my chain

Thanks for listening.

Anticipating Acapulco

I am staring down a mountain of housework, laundry, dishes, clutter that must be cleaned before we go to Acapulco tonight. We have planned a delicate lunchtime maneuver to pick up the rental car which will take two hours in lunchtime traffic. This means eating lunch in the car. Whee. Time in the car here is totally quality. It is bonding, but hard to converse due to the extreme concentration required of the driver. One false move and you're smooshed between two giant tour buses. After Agt.3L gets done at the office we will hop in the car and head SouthWest and seaward. This means we will also have dinner in the car. Sigh... I am so excited to go to the beach. It has been so long since I saw the ocean. I love how humbling a giant expanse of nature can be. The ocean is big enough to take it all in. Ha ha! Now I know why people get Lake Fever in front of Lake Michigan. Feels so good to let it all go in front of an unfathomable horizon. Also, Agt. 3L tells me there are waiters on the beach who will go fetch just about anything you desire while you bask in the sun. Imagine that.

So naturally, this is the perfect time to write and post pictures! Here is a random selection from the past few weeks.

No más Español

Yesterday I had the pleasure of constructing an ofrenda for Jose Guadalupe Posada in the commons area of the continuing education building at Ibero. It included all of the usual bits and pieces from pulque to calaveras de azucar and papel picado and petalos de cempazuchil. It was interesting to put it all together, and I am very much enjoying learning about Mexcian culture... however, I haven't learned any Spanish in the past month.

Yesterday I also had the pleasure of attending a luncheon hosted by the university for international ambassadors to Mexico. There were about 20 countries represented and the food was phenomenal. I struggled to hold inteligible conversation with my tablemates, but knew the least Spanish of all of them and therefore couldn't say much... until my third glass of wine and then it seemed easy, except that it wasn't. Spanish immersion in Mexico, you'll be speaking in no time... and three months later, 2 hours a day every weekday, and I still am not speaking even the littlest bit.

So today I decided that that was the best way to end the class. I appreciated the Mexican culture lessons, but I really want to speak the language. So now I am attempting to study on my own in the mornings instead of going to a class that is not structured the way I would like. Besides, I do not have much more time to get grad school applications together. In fact, almost none at all.

Chiandoni, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love DF

Last weekend we gave up. I had called it quits a little bit earlier, but Agt.3L was still holding out for a miracle until he decided health and well being was a better goal. So that was it. I started looking for flights back to the states and informing all of my pals with available couches that I'd be on my way over soon. My own body was collapsing under the stress and unhappiness of fighting against the unbeatable DF, the culture shock that I denied out of girlscout inspired sticktoitiveness, and the relative impossibility of reconciling two lives built around completely different conceptions of when the largest meal of the day should be eaten. In the midst of disbelief and a sense of utter failure, not to mention a strong desire not to appear vulnerable, I had to admit to my disillusioned paramour that I needed to see a doctor. Ok, I said I would be fine, but he insisted that we go to the doctor just to be sure. And we did, and I was fine, "healthy as a 15 year old" so said the amiable physician, but overstressed. Ah, you don't say. But something changed between Agt.3L and me that day. I really needed him for something I couldn't do for myself, and he was really sad to be letting me go.

It is an interesting experience to be in a consultation with a doctor who doesn't speak your language and needing to translate through your boyfriend. You have to trust that the BF is describing things correctly, and that the doctor is understanding them correctly. You also have the possibility that you will remember parts of the conversation later and realize that in your earnest efforts to get it right you said some embarrassing things, in front of your BF. Sigh... It is also humbling. I suggested that Agt.3L deserved a popsicle for his supreme efforts to care for me including the death defying maneuvers performed in thick (the kind where the authorized direction of travel is reversed, one-ways become two-ways and people are playing the back-up game) DF traffic on a Saturday. You may think a popsicle no reward for such feats, but I am not talking about a thin frozen sugarwater stick like you may obtain from the freezer section of your local super, but a serious frozen fruit bar, a paleta, from a niveria/heladeria. These things are big solid rectangles of fruit juice and chunks of real fruit and they come in about 100 different flavors such as piña, jamaica, guyabana, pepino con chili, mango, elote, higo, tamarindo and soooo many more. Naturally we were going to need some lunch first.

So we went to a place called Fisher's which is, of course, a seafood restaurant. Seafood here is totally different than in the States. Firstly it is considered THE penultimate hangover remedy, and secondly things are not breaded and deep fried. Ceviche is ubiquitous and super-duper delicious and this particular place serves a shot of steaming hot spiced clam juice to get you in the mood. The one we went to is located in Colonia Napoles and looks like a 1950's chromed diner crossed with a surf shop covered by a greenhouse glass roof with an open kitchen in the middle surrounded by a continuous bar. We got there at just the right moment before it got packed for the futbol game. We spoke in spanish the whole time, me mangling it, he correcting me, and the food was fantastic. Stuffed and still wanting that paleta, we decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could find a good paleteria. After about a 5 block search we were about to give up when I spied a place across the street with big letters above the windows that read "CHIANDONI". It looked a bit like a diner with a counter and low swivel stools from what I could see so we didn't think much about it at first but as we turned to go back to the car I noticed a sign in the window saying something about helado. I am not a huge fan of traditional icecream, but we crossed over to check it out anyway. There were many small tables clad in woodgrain formica with turquoise upholstered cafe chairs. On the far wall was an enormous painting of a European coastal vista and a sweet aroma of fresh espresso filled the air. The staff whisked about in turquoise uniforms with white aprons and we realized that Chiandoni only served coffee and icecream. This was a serious icecream parlor seemingly untouched by time. So we stayed. I ordered a mango sherbet and a Vienes coffee and Agt.3L had a mamey helado. We sat at the counter and as we nibbled, the evening sunshine slanted into the room across our stainless steel dishes and cream colored ceramic cups and I was filled with such a wonderful emotion that I began to cry. I had fallen in love with this one little moment of DF time and space. For the first time I found something in DF that I liked! If this place existed, then I could love it here. I could move to Col. Napoles and eat seafood and have icecream and be happy!

Agt.3L took that opportunity to point out the reality of our situation and I completely crumbled back into my typical sour mood and pouted for about five minutes until I decided to tell him that I hate Santa Fe and that I don't want to live in our neighborhood anymore. Again with the reality, he reminded me that I am not staying here anyway and that his lease in Santa Fe is not up until next May. Harumph. At that point, with complete and total apathy, I told him that my other boyfriends were crazy too and that not a one of them loved me as much as he did so hell, why not give it another try. He kissed me passionately right there at the counter, even though I tried to squirm away (as I always do 'cause where I come from you don't do that sort of thing in public) but he wouldn't take no for an answer so I relented. And smiled. So we went about our evening, walked back to the car and went home.

The next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed to get to church late after eating breakfast. Agt. 3L got persuaded to help a nun pass out donation envelopes. We decided to take off right away after the service instead of sticking around to chat with the expats. And then we looked at each other with no desire to do anything and Agt.3L said to me "Do you want to go to the zoo?" and I said "ok". So we found a parking place in Polanco and headed over on foot to the zoologico in Bosques de Chapultepec. On the way I insisted we stop and look at 1) the bookstore called El Pendulo to find a book printed in English where we discovered an amazing cafe 2) the Da Silva bakery (closed on Sundays, drat) as recommended by The Mija Chronicles and 3) the remote control pirate ships zooming about at the hands of five year olds in the reflecting ponds of Lincoln Park. The zoo was a zoo of swarming humanity. Fortunately for us we had about 6-10 inches on everybody so we could manage to still get a view of the pitiful creatures over the heads of over a thousand boisterous chilangos and their kids. Exhausted and depressed from the heat of the sun and the plight of the animals, we returned to El Pendulo to have lunch and discuss what we were going to do. At this point the mister was not 100% ready to let me stay. And I was not 100% sure I wanted to.

We had a long discussion over some seriously tasty snacks and came to the conclusion that we will just think of this adventure as temporary. It is over in December and we are free to go our own ways. This viewpoint provided so much relief for both of us that the rest of the day was spent in an elated mood. We agreed to be adults and go home and do laundry instead of going to a movie. Since then things have been much more relaxed. We have even started enjoying each other's company. The dishes are getting done again. The rest will come as it comes, I suppose.

A List

1) The first club was not for dancing, but it had good music to dance to.

2) The second club was about as serious as dance clubs get (gyrating bikini-clad ladies in plexiglass boxes included) and the DJ could not keep a beat long enough to groove. The cumulative value in shoes in the place was prolly in the millions. I was dancing (trying, no help from the dj) next to a group of supermodels with a crowd of dudes hanging out waiting for a scrap. There were chandeliers and the smoke was dense enough to obscure your neighbor's features. My true RKFDian roots came out when I told Agt.3L that someone was going to get a second nose job if I got burned. I think I need a) more social grooming and b) lots more money if I am going to successfully hob-nob with the upper class.

3) Back to Spanish 2. Spanish 3 was just too much work to catch up.

4) GMAT this week Thursday. I am again procrastinating on studying. Sigh. More effort needs to be spent on letters of intent and portfolio, dontcha.

5) Need to catch up on some correspondence which I would rather do in person, but alas...

6) I think I have found a decent bakery in DF, but it was closed the day I looked for it. We shall see if they have something tasty for me. In the meantime, if you can't beat them, join them. I have been indulging in sweet rolls lately and can't wait to try pan de muerto.

7) Hopefully want to make my own tortillas and pasta this week sometime.

Obsessions

You may have noticed my recent preoccupation with helicopters. I feel that my obsession is now almost put to rest having captured some lovely photos of the insect-like beasts. I still jump up to look out the window, but I am no longer crestfallen when I do not also have my camera at hand. I feel good about my progress.

This little bit of freedom has opened up some room for a new obsession: The New York Times online. In my life I have had several different affairs with the Times. Once I enjoyed a decadent home delivery... oh how I loved the crossword and spreading out the travel section to get at the good stories about food. Mmmm food. The Times has so many lovely stories and pictures to help balance the horror and depression caused by the regular world news. I began reading the Times again recently in order to catch up on current events so I can write meaningful essays on my grad school tests. The Op-Ed columns are perfect practice for getting in the mood to write an opinion essay. However, after about one or two of those, I turn immediately to the Style section or the Arts or Travel. Oh the science, oh the book reviews! Whee what fantastic stories about far away places and pictures of sumptuous things!

Speaking of far away places and sumptuous things... I went to the Mercado del Sabado today in Coyoacan. This is your typical Mexican market, but with all of the goods being prints, paintings and various crafts. It hovered somewhere between "starving artists" and "craft fair" with many wonderful old creative types mingling with art students and peddlers of chicle. I saw some amazing, simple prints of fighting cocks that looked almost Japanese in their minimalness and colors, and some very interesting surrealist pieces. I also scoped out some perfect gifts for my nephews and pals back in the States, and purchased a small ceramic flower pot for my bathroom spider plant.

The weather was lovely (the rainy season is over) and we met some friends for a very late lunch at a French place called Cluny. I have decided recently that since most ethnic foods in Mexico end up tasting curiously like Mexican food (Japanese included) that a better strategy is to order the ethnic dish with the local ingredients. Chipotle rice with avocado at the sushi place would have been a better option than what I chose. Today I went for the Xochitl crepe with elote, flor de calabaza, rajas and pollo (aka corn, zucchini flowers, poblano peppers and chicken) and I was so happy that I did. It was excellent. Much better than the mushroom bechamel crepe I had last time we dined there.

Now, I am waiting and resting and reading the Times in anticipation of going to a dance club in Condesa tonight. Agent Triple L's sister is celebrating her birthday and we are going to help. Normally I am not one to get excited about clubs like this. It always surprises me when I say this because I love dancing, but for some reason I can't work myself up enough to get glitzy and go out at 11pm. I'mma work on this. So, I am going to go super glam and hope that the right outfit will get me in the mood. For now, snuggly on the couch getting hungry for late-nite quesadillas will do just fine.

Helicopters, dontcha

Strategic Procrastination

I have been cramming my brains full of high school math in order to prepare for the upcoming GRE and GMAT tests necessary to accomplish my goal of going to grad school. Two days from now is the first test and one week following is the second and I will be damned if I can get myself to take one of these practice tests. I swear I am going to do it right now. Seriously. This second. Okay, here I go.

[crickets]

Sigh... the same thing happened to me with the violin. Never practiced that either and look where I am now! Not a single instrument any where near me! Oh. Wait. Okay for real this time. GRE here I come!

[I'm going, I'm going... sheesh]

Trial and Error

Out of anger and defiance, or what my mother may call sheer cussedness, I decided that I am walking now, everywhere. Suck it, Santa Fe and your car dominated master planning. I WILL walk there from here even if I have to cross eight lanes of uncontrolled traffic with no sidewalks through dirt, small boulders, assorted garbage and overgrown weeds down two foot wide passages with major obstacles like trees or light poles or gaping holes where grates used to be and over and around several security barricades that only hinder cars. Don't even think I won't walk three blocks hunched over because the low hanging branches only clear three feet. I don't care how many cars honk at me nor how long I have to wait for traffic to slow down enough to attempt a crossing. I will go where I want to, when I want to, if it is actually possible which often it really isn't. So there.

I am reminded now of another phrase my mother is fond of: You can't get there from here. I am not sure where it comes from, perhaps a joke, or a movie quote... but seriously folks, it is the essence of Mexico City. It should be written on the Mexican flag. No se puede llegar allá desde aquí. Due to the fact that much of the city is nestled in the foothills of the surrounding volcanoes, the streets necessarily have been laid out on snaking ridges or valleys depending on where people were able to glue their homes to the sides of the slopes. Perhaps because folks are used to just putting the roads like this, opportunities to make some reasonable intersections are completely overlooked. OR, as I sometimes am inclined to think, it is the intention to redirect everyone in the same manner that a department store arranges it's goods to force customers to pass by the most merchandise before arriving at what they actually came for. Not quite sure, but the result is that you can't get there from here. Don't even try. Everything is indirect and vague.

Other new adventures include social events with expats from the states. In other words, lunching with the ladies. Ah ha, yes. I have mixed feelings about this. The situation of being a woman who does not work, living in DF while attached to a man who does work here, and having left the comforts of the first world for either a) love, b) excessive amounts of money, c) a really good job opportunity that will lead to lots of money or some combination of those puts us all in the same boat, but doesn't necessarily mean we have anything in common. Of course, then, it may turn out that we have a lot in common, you never know. So far, though, I have the least money of anyone in the group. I don't have a husband, a baby or a muchacha. I do not have construction workers in my home, nor a personal driver. I am not even sure if I want to stay. But we all came here, right? We are all the types who would give up everything we know for a man, right? We would all take the challenge of learning a new language and attempting a new way of life, right?

When several of my friends moved to Abu Dhabi, the world of ex-patriotism was cracked open and a little light shined upon it. What was shown was a spirit of adventure, some fearlessness and quite a few situations where people's closets were so full of skeletons they had to find new lodging on the other side of the planet. I tell you it is interesting here. Very, very interesting.

Dear Chicago

Remember when I said you were ugly and dirty? I was wrong. You are beautiful and clean and relatively safe. Remember when I got upset because you rained on my gloriously free run through the park along the fantastic lakefront? So selfish of me, it rains here everyday and I have no park to run in without an hour drive in traffic first, and it will probably rain on me there anyway. And do you remember the time when I was bored with the food options downtown? How silly of me. Such variety and choice at my fingertips! I apologize for not taking better advantage of the free music at the Cultural Center. I didn't know how good it was to work RIGHT NEXT DOOR to the Symphony Center also. Remember the time when I was unhappy to have to spend 30 minutes on the EL to get to Trader Joe's? How naive was I?

So, just in case you want to write me off I will understand. But I want to apologize for being such a spoiled brat. I truly love you and I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,

No tengo nada

It has been a minute, has it not? I was busy overhauling my daily routine to better equip myself for daily studies and student life. Ha, yeah, one class a day... right. Baby steps for the old lady.

So now I get up at 5:30am so I can shower and breakfast before arriving at Ibero for two hours of study prior to Español 1. Then I find a spot on the mezzanine in the library near the architecture section and peruse the books for an hour. After that I study either GRE practice or Spanish. Then to class for two hours followed by a return to the library with my friend Rebecca. We try to study for a few hours, but we are usually interrupted by some socializing until she catches the bus at 1pm and I then take one more hour for study before getting picked up at 2pm. Agt. 3xL and I then go home for lunch. Hopefully I was motivated enough the night before to prep some vegetables for whatever dish I am inspired to make. After lunch it is a struggle to stay awake and study more GRE. But I try and usually get some work done. This is punctuated by catching up on correspondence and other such diversions.

Last weekend we managed to get away for a day trip to Valle de Bravo which is a lake resort near some volcanoes way up in the sky much closer to the clouds than my house. We nearly ruined the car driving around on back mountain roads to find a small fish farm to practice and teach new fishers how to fish. There were no fish, but plenty of livestock to harass. And plenty of soggy volcanic soil (which stains btw) to stomp around and ruin your shoes in. We had some lunch near the plaza in a restaurant that was not so good, but I found out later that the rest of the group wanted to eat from street vendors and that they agreed to eat at the restaurant for me. Sigh... I would have said "GO! Feed yourselves! I'll find some tacos bye bye" but alas the group solidarity could not be compromised. Until... I couldn't handle all the gossip in Español and needed to break free of groupthink to wander about the shops and vendors along the tiny winding streets. It was very beautiful and we had a popsicle at magic hour.

See above for some photos.

Ondas

Que ondas?

So I am told this is a way to say "what's happening?". Ondas are waves. My waves currently are as follows:

1) Spanish classes at Ibero.
2) Flamenco lessons at Ibero.
3) Modern dance techniques lessons at Ibero.
4) Trying to chat with the server, Jose, at Ibero.
5) New girlfriends from Bangalore and Oslo.
6) Montezuma's revenge (I was doing so well, and then wham...)
7) Mexican Catholic funeral for a dear friend taken too soon.
8) Pressure to really really start studying for the GRE and doing something with myself.
9) Homesickness comes in waves about once a week. I don't know how other people feel when they miss home, but how it feels to me is frustration and fatigue. I feel angry that I can't just go do something I used to do. Then I feel exhausted by trying to keep up with all of the new information and sights and smells and tastes and all the cheek kissing. I was speaking with a very dear friend of mine in Chicago about how I am not even a "hugs" kind of person until I really get to know you. I am usually very formal and polite with handshakes or nods and smiles so it is really taking a lot out of me to LEAN IN and touch cheeks and make kisses in the air with people. I am regularly discombobulated by it.

And then I think it is sweet, and I am touched by it and wonder why Estadounidenses are not in the habit...

Lots of mental and emotional energy is spent on these things. I miss Trader Joe's and thick crusty European style bread. I miss Chipotle (shut up, don't laugh). I miss going for walks outside whenever I feel like it. I miss knowing where I am. I miss corner bars and micro-brews. I miss eavesdropping! One of my favorite pastimes! Sigh...

I like the mountains and the rains. I like the friendly people. I like the ups and downs of working things out with Agt. Triple L. I like the neighborhoods. I like Spanish. I like my new sofa. I like seeing all the dogs on the street even though I know they are dirty street dogs. I like the lagartijas that do push-ups. I like discovering new things like the college radio station (yay!).

Now I will enjoy making dinner and preparing for another day at the universidad. Dulces sueños.

DF Geography... or How Do You Know Where You Are if There is No Lake Michigan?

Right here, south of the 24th parallel, smack dab in the middle of the country sits a wee little state: Distrito Federal. It used to be a lake. The locals thought it was so fantastic to live on an island in the middle of a lake in a valley surrounded by volcanoes that they just kept making the island bigger until all that was left was a soggy neighborhood called Xochimilco. This is the Venice of Mexico City and one moves about the place via canal. I am told it is a great place to party but something about getting drunk on a boat on a canal in DF doesn't sound like so much fun, especially after experiencing how the dry parts of town smell... just sayin'. I expect it to be very romantic when we finally visit there. Where was I? Oh, the lake.



I am a woman who has spent my critical navigtation years in two cities perched right on the West edge of Lake Michigan. There you always know the lake is East. Even when you can't see the lake, you know which way it is by the magnetic pull of the suspiciously empty horizon just past the buildings. It is so prevalent, such a strong coast, that your sense of cardinal directions becomes completely based on the lake. Out-of-towners don't believe you when they get totally turned around and you tell them "no, because the lake it that way" which means you automatically know exactly which direction everything is.

So... if you fill in your lake, how do you know which way is East, or North or wherever? You could remember by the crest of the mountains if you could see them regularly through the pollution. You certainly can't count on a street grid, pff. There are a few tall buildings, but as single points, you find yourself on a radius which could be any direction. Hmmm. Perhaps the rain? The rain next to Lake Michigan always comes from the NorthWest. Here, the rain always comes from the SouthEast. Naturally I was totally turned around for a few days until I became determined to position myself correctly, geographically. Now I can follow the rains which I can see from my fantastic vantage point at 28 floors up. I can watch them cross the whole valley and see sunshine on either side. Also, way up in the sky here we are also right up in the clouds. Yesterday the clouds were right outside my window. Down there in Chicago the clouds are waaaaaaay up in the sky, far far away.

I'm over it

After some serious internet research, I concluded that I had a mild case of altitude sickness. It's gone now. I feel almost normal physically, but there is still a lingering sense of lightness. I swear it is easier to lift water bottles here...

Also, I don't speak Spanish. Not yet, at least. I'm working on it. The first few days I was super stressed out about not knowing what people are saying; now I don't care. They are talking about food and money and politics and the weather, just like everybody else. I'll catch up eventually.

Movies here are very cheap. We saw Terminator last night and it was a new release (here at least) and only cost about $5 each. And the commercials before the show? Super hilarious! Commercials in the US are not usually so funny to me, only weird and appalling. Here I was laughing out loud.

I'd like to thank Tricky for being born on this day and making it no less than a perfect transition from summer to late summer. After a party like this, summer has to take a step down.

HUGS

Mamey

I am adjusting a little bit better today. The first day was a whirlwind of flamenco performance and lunch with family and friends that lasted what seemed like a million hours to me, who did not understand a word of the conversation. Organ grinders in khaki uniforms filled the air with circus melodies, shouts of victory when a Mexico goal was gained against the Estados Unidos punctuated the lazy Sunday mood, and a troupe of young college women in very elaborate troubadour costumes serenaded us with Mariposita and other tunes in a friendly contest among music students. The air was so rich with new sounds and bad pollution that I was dizzy and disoriented. It was beautiful, indeed, but total sensory overload. We followed that up with a trip to the mall [wince] which while necessary and productive to comparison shop on furniture and appliances, was not so easy on the already maxed out sensory input portion of my brain. And then we went to the Superama, omg.

The whole adventure was filled with new relationship sensations on warp speed also. After two months of getting to know Agent Triple L via the webbernets, we were now finally face to face, hand in hand, lips to lips, eyes to eyes, right on top of each other. Naturally I freaked out. Of course I didn't know I was freaking out until the next day when I wanted to run and hide in a corner like a threatened animal. I was too busy being optimistic and positive and insisting on immediately having a perfect and wonderful home less than 24 hours after leaving the sweet cradle of the only home I have ever known, glorious Midwest USA. Cheese whiz. We have discussed these things and are working out the kinks of living together and getting to know each other at the same time. Not easy pals, but so far so good and getting better.

So, Monday was awful. I felt lost and lonely. I was horrified by the discovery that everything you need for your home is twice as expensive as in the US. I was equally horrified that a major portion of the avenue by our house collapsed into a non-reinforced construction pit mere hours after we had driven over the very spot that fell in. This being a primary route on our domestic reconnaisance missions made me a tad bit angry. Apparently, in Mexico, developers save millions by skimping on oh, you know, foundation walls and safety precautions like structural integrity. Don't even think about the fact that we are "situated atop three of the large tectonic plates that constitute the earth's surface, Mexico is one of the most seismologically active regions on earth" [if you believe Wikipedia]. My apartment is on the 28th floor on a hill so I can see quite a bit of the traffic goings on below. I have been watching the jams come and go and listening to incessant angry beeps at the barricade which is conveniently situated just below my window. Word on the street is two months before everything is fixed. Two months of angry beeps.

Today, however, I finally got to try the thing that intrigued me the most on my visit here a few months ago: a Mamey. Hoo boy is it weird. The thing is about the size of a nerf football, looks like a cross between a kiwi and a cantaloupe and is very heavy. I had seen these fruits pedled by the side of the road and they were cut open showing hot orange-red insides. I wanted one. So I got one. I cut it open and found that it was more like an avocado than anything else. The meat of the fruit has the same texture and density as avocado, but it is really red, and the flavor is like an insanely sweet yam with some kind of fake berry flavor. The pit inside was super shiny like it was laquered and smelled more aromatic than the fruit itself. Well, it was too much for me. One bite made me kind of gag a little bit. The second bite I almost enjoyed, but then I decided that the Mexicans might be on to something with all the salt and limon, so I doused the bowl of gooey fruit with some to see if that would be more palatable. Hmm, not so much. I have forced down about a quarter of the thing just because I hate to waste such wonderful fruit, but I'm struggling with it. I think it might be good in a smoothy with some tart yogurt. To the blender!!!

I also drove for the first time today, just from the apartment to the sushi place, and it was quite an experience. I just might get the hang of it eventually. You just put your whole car in, you put your whole car out, you drive around like crazy and you try not to get hit...

HUGS

Home is where...

1) My apartment is filled with rose petals and candlelight, sweet music and delicious dinner prepared by Agent Triple L.
2) Household cleaner smells like fruit punch.
3) Kisses are exchanged with complete strangers (how to: touch cheek, kiss air)
4) You can not drink water from the tap.
5) It rains everyday around 4-6pm but the weather is perfect all year round.
6) The avenue by your house is closed because half of it fell into a non-reinforced construction site pit earlier this morning.
7) You might get kidnapped.
8) The fruit is so delicious and juicy that you are ashamed to say you've ever eaten an apple before, not to mention the MANGOES, the apricots, the limes, the mameys, the persimmons, etc.
9) The pollution makes you dizzy (they say I'll get used to it).
10) English won't get you very far.
11) I am loved like nobody's business.

Santa Fe is dead. Long live Santa Fe.

Tomorrow is my last day at the office. I had to say goodbye to my boss today and was caught off guard by my own emotions. Breaking up is hard to do. There are pens to distribute, files to file, random items to throw away or bequeath to those who remain. There are things I have to communicate, people to say goodbye to. When the layoffs happened there were so many goodbye parties and send offs that seemed so necessary. Going now of my own volition seems to be kind of an insult to those hanging on for dear life. I failed at putting together a happy hour next week. Nobody told me I had to pick a place and time and I butchered the guest list trying to second guess who might actually show. After work Tuesday, at Plymouth rooftop, where it all began...?

It is strange to watch people attempt to cope with loss. I didn't know I would be a loss, but seeing a few people make rationalizations or construct elaborate reasons to dismiss me, I see now that I will be missed. I didn't know that this office would be a loss until my own tears were spilling. I have made friendships here that go beyond the task at hand. I found safety in those relationships and I know now that they only existed because we were bonded by common ground. Other friendships will continue beyond the Santa Fe building.

I spent an hour and a half online with Agent Triple L tonight. We just spent time together. Not much talking, lots of looking at each other trying to imagine what it will be like just to be in the same room. So very strange.

My eyelids are drooping now. I thought I would be up all night, but now I am crashing. C'mon take it easy, baby... make it last all night. She was an American girl...

Two Weeks

Here I am at the dining room table, drinking coffee, listening to the leaves rustle on the trees... breezes blowing in the windows, a green haze of sunlight filtering through a veritable forest of foliage, steady power, knowledge that the water is clean straight out of the tap, favorite Trader Joe's snacks in the fridge, laundry in the dryer. Everything is as I know it to be even though I have only been at this house for one month and a half.

This is Illinois. I was raised here. The dirt and the grass and the flowering weeds in the empty lots have a distinct and intoxicating smell that exists nowhere else on earth. The people look how I expect them to look, talk the way I have always heard, drive in the same bad ways as all the other drivers, eat where I expect them to eat making certain restaurants instantly popular, congregate for the same reasons, in the same ways with the same target picnic blankets. We all look the same. I can spot the Chicagoans in the airports now. You can just tell by the way they dress in black tops and blue jeans and the way they stand with cocky self assurance and the particular proportions of height and girth. These are my people.

I am leaving here to invest in knowing other people. People who belong to someone else, who mean home to them. I am not going to Europe as so many assume when you try to politely skirt the issue of voluntarily not having a job by saying you'll "be traveling". I am going to Mexico, a place I barely knew existed outside of mythical Spring Break Cancun, and the somewhere that all those Mexicans came from to live in Chicago. How's that for ignorant American? Mexico is just as North American as the US and Canada, and I know so little about all three. Yet I stand up and say I'm American as though that is different. There are approximately 900 million people (if you believe wikipedia) who can rightfully call themselves American and I can't see them because they are like my own face. I need to go far away and look back in order to have proper perspective.

I will have new people. In two weeks, I will have new people. I am not going to visit, I am going to live and to love and to be of a place. I am not going to be a US citizen on vacation, or a scholar doing research, although I will do both of these things. I am freely and fully accepting that there is a world which produced a human being who is more like me than most of my people. I am beginning to trust that what is foreign is actually kin.

This kind of blows my mind.

Pancetta and Peace

I had a wonderful dinner tonight with friends who are in the middle of life. They struggle and they learn and they remember. And then we eat pasta with pancetta in it. I am not certain, but I am pretty sure pancetta is really thick chunks of Italian bacon. Pause for effect... Right?

We leave, we come back and what should be full circle is sometimes retrograde. Our lives take us places and it is just like math, you can only move forward, positive accumulation of forward trajectory. But sometimes, the pals back at the ranch expect that you are the same person you were when you left. They are suspicious, they are unsure, they just don't know what you've been up to, so they assume you've been right there with them. Or that you are pulling a fast one. It takes some bravery to say "you have changed" and not have that connote a loss. It takes more courage to admit you do not have the same experience as someone else, especially if you are from the same home town. Humans find comfort in what is familiar, yet sometimes resent familiarity's limits. Humans sometimes fear that which is foreign, yet are attracted to the difference and the potential. It is a hard task to rebuild trust when returning to one's home town from valuable life enriching adventures. Humility, forgiveness and total respect for the growth and maturity of the pals who stayed put are necessary on behalf of the traveler. And the same for the life long residents.

Earlier, before dinner, we all visited our friend who recently gave birth to a beautiful girl. She is brand new, fresh and precious. She has a condition wherein her lower intestine has a portion that does not have nerves and so therefore cannot process the elimination of waste. Now I don't know how many of y'all have been around babies, but the biggest thing they do is poop. It is like life and death for a newborn and all the adults hover around saying "did she poop yet? is she pooping? make sure she poops..." So this is a big deal. And I am so happy to know this family and to be able to help them get through this rough phase until their baby can have surgery and poop like a normal baby.

I love life. Poop and pancetta, and all. (Wait, that is gross...)

GRIN

Well That Wasn't So Hard

Today's accomplishments include the following:

1) Resigning position at esteemed architecture firm
2) Receiving 3rd degree from father on actual intentions for trip to D.F.

Both tasks were so much easier than I thought they would be according to my anxiety and mole-hill-mountain-making. Those sweaty palms suggested that I might have had something to fear. I suppose it is just my respect for authority that caused me such trepidation. Speaking of big words... Little Bro, the correct usage of that word would have been: "Those screaming kids seem to be creating the prevailing background noise in this phone conversation".

It turns out that I have a pretty good plan, fairly well thought out, nicely funded, adequately supported and soon to be executed. I also have a dog on my foot. Belle the black lab likes to wedge my toes in the crook of her ear. She also likes to eat cheese and take dirty Kleenex out of the bathroom waste paper basket. I am starting to see a pattern here. It just became apparent to me recently that there are dog people and there are cat people. I don't know anything about bird, reptile, insect or amphibian people... but dogs and cats are so different. I like dogs, but I don't think I am a dog person. I used to be afraid of dogs due to a few minor maulings in my youth by the family Airedale-ish mutt, but I have had the good fortune to spend some quality time with Belle to get over all that. And, yep, turns out I dig cats as pets way better, box-o-poop included.

Where was I? Oh yes, pasta dinner... wait no, no, I was talking about accomplishments. The result of today's efforts is that I am completely free and clear to continue on my plan to see the world.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Cheeseburger Monday

I highly promote starting your week with a cheeseburger for lunch. It is the perfect food. Perfect, I tell you. All of your food groups neatly packaged and ready for consumption. And you can get one fast. Very fast, depending on your standards of quality.

Just make sure it has pickles on it, okay?

Lisbon Stories

As I mentioned earlier, here are some stories from Lisbon:

This weekend in Lisbon there is the festival of Sao Antonio, the patron saint of Lisboa. The streets of Alfama are all decorated with colorful streamers and little shrines to Sao Antonio depicted at the top of a set of stairs pouring out a jug of water that runs s\down to a little pile of treasure. The story is (well part of it anyway) the Sao Antonio helps women to find a husband. On Saturday the city will sponsor the marriage of twenty couples too poor to have their own wedding. The ceremony will take place on the steps of the cathedral (which is being set up with a temporary platform stage as we speak). The city will dress the brides in gowns and tux the men, perform the ceremony, drive the pals around in Rolls Royces and then give them some loot to set up their new life together like household appliances.

On Tuesday I got pooped on by an pigeon. Right in the eye, goggles notwithstanding. Antonio, our tour guide and chef, told me this was very good luck and alluded to a possible situation in which I might be lucky in love. And I am lucky. And I have love. And I hope I don't get some evil disease from Portuguese bird poo.

Ok, pals, the truth is I didn't do anything special in Lisbon. I just wandered around taking pictures the whole time and discussing the most important things in the universe with my new-found girlfriends from the hostel. It took me two days to figure out how to say "thank you". I ate at the hostel almost every night because I blew my budget on airfare. And it turned out that the home cooking there was much better than anything I had out at restaurants. And it felt like home, like going home to your parents' house and letting your sunburn set in while waiting for dinner. There were big soft rolls for breakfast and slices of cheese and tomato jam (which was awesome) and coffee that tasted funny, not ha ha but weird. There was sunshine, something I don't get much of in Chicago, and fresh air and internet access.

That was it. Every day was about the same, just new streets to wander. It was truly wonderful. I bought a few pieces of fruit and a couple of bottles of wine. I sent postcards for the first time in my life. I didn't have to do or be anything. I just existed.