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.