Viva Mexico - A Bloga-novela

Wow, where to start? Groom and I have just returned home from Mexico after taking a week long workshop studying new jewelry-making techniques with Richard and Jane Salley. I wrote about the magical way this trip unfolded in the blog entry Woo Hoo! Goin’ to Mexico…Thanks in Part to the Kalliope Artist Fellowship just in case any of you are interested in catching up.

We took 2,252 photos during the nine days we were gone. Within the first 24 hours I had used up my camera’s memory card and had to purchase a new one. So it is with great difficulty that we’ve been sorting through our photos, wanting to post the ones we feel might be of interest to you.

My tea bag came with the perfect wisdom tag this morning, “The purpose of life is to enjoy every moment.” Well, let’s just say that we definitely lived our purpose on this retreat.

To tell you that the expedition south of the border was amazing would be trite because it’s such an overused word, but from start to finish, this experience has touched on all the superlatives. It wasn’t just great, it was the greatest. We didn’t just have fun, we had the most fun. Well, you get the idea.

But who wants to sit in the January chill reading about somebody else’s tropical adventure? Even though we are giving this the big thumbs up, there were a few exciting moments here and there, like some blood and guts, our traveling companion falling on the rocks, slicing my toe and having it get infected (I had terrible visions of losing it, or my foot, or my leg…), seeing the immediate aftermath of two serious wrecks (uh-oh, we were riding the bus and one of the accidents involved a bus. Boy, did I ever have a Frida Kahlo moment…), and leaving my purse with everything in it – cash, credit card, passport identification on a bench along the Malecon, and not getting any sleep.

And as long as I’m in the confessional, we also met Jesus, and this next part is so embarrassing to admit, but what I learned about Mexico’s geography comes from watching The Love Boat as a teenager in the 70’s. I remember the Pacific Princess docking in exotic Puerto Vallarta, one of the cruise liner’s port o’calls.

Most of you probably already know this, but it was a new fact to me. Apparently Puerto Vallarta became a household name because of John Huston’s famous movie Night of the Iguana, starring Richard Burton, Ava Gardner and Deborah Kerr. It became a symbol of Hollywood glamour.
 

Puerto Vallarta is located on the Pacific side of Mexico about half-way down the coast, mas o menos (more or less). If you drew a straight line on a map from this resort city in the state of Jalisco to the United States, you’d run straight into New Mexico, so we had to move our watches forward two hours.

Situated on Banderas Bay (or Bahia de Banderas if you prefer), and surrounded by the Sierra Madres, the ideal location can boast, depending on who you talk to, that it is either the largest bay in Mexico or the second largest bay in the world. But no one seems to have the final word on that either. Poking around, Bengal Bay in the Indian Ocean claims numero uno while Hudson Bay vies for second place.

But whatever the case, it’s spectacular.

There is no way we can write and post everything in one day. So the plan is to make it simple; for you and for ourselves. Today was just the introduction and we intend to post more photos and episodes in the coming days, a bloga-novela if you will, so stay tuned.

Until then , que tengas un buen dia (have a good day!).

Woo Hoo! Goin’ to Mexico…Thanks in Part to the Kalliope Artist Fellowship

I’m writing this on 1-11-11, although it’s starting to look like it won’t be finished until tomorrow. But how cool is the date? And here’s some extra alignment. This morning, I open the book I’m reading and the quote for the day is “Pack my bags, going to Mexico.” – Steve Miller Band.

Why is that alignment, you might ask? A few entries ago, I mentioned that Groom and I were dreaming of a white Christmas…in Mexico, and that there would be a story to tell at a later date.

Today is the later date.

Let’s just say that Santa Claus was verrrry generous to us for Jesus’ Birthday and slipped an all-expense paid trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico in our stocking. A friend’s humorous response to us when she heard the news was, “Well, it’s obvious you have a much better relationship to Santa than we do.”

I laughed and thought that’s not exactly Whom we have the relationship with. I know I’m a bit of a maverick believer, but it puts a smile on my face and a giggle in my heart when I think to myself (or say aloud sometimes), “Jesus wants me to have this new pair of shoes!” or “Jesus would like me to have a trip to Mexico,” and naturally I’d hate to disappoint Him.

Why do we have plans to visit Mexico? Last October, Groom and I attended a class with jewelry-guru Richard Salley. At the end of the day, Richard invited us to the inaugural workshop he’s teaching with his wife, Jane, who is also a talented artist. The name of their week-long class? “Fun with Dick and Jane.” Love it.

We immediately wanted to say Yes! and join them. The thought of spending time in warm Puerto Vallarta during the chilly month of January, learning new jewelry-making skills delighted our sensibilities.

But how??

Funny enough, I was listening to Mike Dooley’s audio book, Infinite Possibilities, gifted to us by God’s Minion and he says, “Don’t worry about the how.” Oh, okay.

The phone rings. A friend tells me about a grant opportunity. A woman wants to give money to an artist for “for travel, enrichment or the development of new ideas.” Shazam! Going to Mexico to thaw out winter bones and learn stuff certainly qualifies. We filled out the paperwork and jumped through hoops. Then it was time to wait.

In the meantime, I’m still listening to Mike Dooley. He suggests “acting as if.” Well, I could act as if we were going South of the Border. I purchased a 20!! calendar and marked out when we’d be gone. I looked up flights and took note of the routes. I went shopping, sifting through racks of clothes, imagining a wardrobe that would be perfect for both torch enameling and sipping margaritas on the beach at sunset.

Groom and I created a vision board, photoshopping ourselves in the tropics and included a picture of Richard Salley and his wife Jane, with descriptions of the workshop. We oohed and aaahed over the online images of the beautiful hacienda where the class will be held. We booked a housesitter.

The day of the grant award arrived. Alas, we were not the recipients (it was a basket maker). From the moment I heard the news until a coffee date with a girlfriend, I had 15 minutes to process the loss, as I did not want to bring my disappointment to the café with me. So during that 15-minute walk downtown, I had a conversation with myself in which I made peace with it. By the time I was sipping a cup of French roast, I had released it.

The next day, I receive a phone call from a friend. The first words out of his mouth were, “Boy, is it a good day for Cindy.”

It is?

Oh yes, he continues, and what follows is the rest of the story…

It’s at the end of the year (December 2010), and his business is just about to close for the Holidays. He receives a phone call from a vendor wanting to unload a bunch of raw materials. Our friend neither wants or needs it, especially as it will just sit there without purpose and count as inventory.

A few hours later, the vendor calls back. The guy really really wants to sell his product and offers it at a discount and throws in an “incentive.” Our friend gets a sudden “gut feeling” and agrees. Within minutes of buying it, his office phone starts ringing off the hook. He receives four, last minute orders that eats up everything he just purchased.

If he had received the orders first and then bought the goods to fill them, he would have paid full price and not been bribed. There was only one hang, he said. The incentive, a beautiful condo, was only available for one particular week in January, but did Groom and I want to go to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico? Oh, and he had more than enough frequent flier miles to get us there from buying all that material.

Hmmm, let’s see. We were invited to Puerto Vallarta in January. We didn’t know how. A grant opportunity arose. We applied. We listened to Infinite Possibilities. We acted “as if.” We did not receive the grant, but kept a positive attitude. We were invited to Puerto Vallarta in January, all expenses paid the NEXT day.

Oh, we’ll have to think it over, I told him. NOT. Ha, there was certainly a lot of whooping and thanksgiving and joyful celebrating in our household that day. Thank you Jesus!

“Pack my bags, going to Mexico.”

The ICON

Whoo hoo, it’s my birthday week! I may be turning 46 years old, but there’s still a kid inside me who loves birthdays, whether it’s mine or somebody else’s. I hold a strong belief that for at least one day a year, everyone should have a day unto themselves: To be pampered, adored and showered with cards and gifts. In my opinion, the birthday boy or girl (regardless of age) should not to have to lift a finger. The day is supposed to be filled with pleasant surprises, thoughtful gestures and an overwhelment of love. Maybe even wear a crown or tiara.

This year, however, the University did not consult my calendar before printing the class schedule, so waaaaaah, I have to go to school. What? Usually, Groom and I reserve the week that includes my birthday and Valentine’s Day to sequester ourselves at the beach, renting the same house year after year.

We frolic on the beach, sit outside and read to our heart’s content when Oregon blesses us with our annual faux spring or stay indoors by the fire when the storms rage. Either way, it is one hundred and sixty-eight hours of heaven.

Speaking of heaven, since I’ll be otherwise engaged, I thought this week would be the perfect opportunity to share one of my short stories with you. God’s Minion once told me that I should write what I know and excavate my rich backyard for treasure. Taking her advice, I pulled on a thread of imagination.

My mind meandered one day and while drifting in the daydream, I asked myself, what might Jesus have been like as a child? Did he come with his superpowers intact or did he discover them one by one? What was it like for his mother, Mary, to raise one supernatural child while her other offspring were mere mortals? Did she sit around the playground comparing her eldest child’s development to that of other kids…?

“My son started speaking when he was three days old. He could walk by the time he was a week…” I mean, what did the other mom’s think? So I wrote a short story about a scene I could picture and it made me giggle. So without further ado, I present to you,

THE ICON

“Jesus, stop playing with your food.”

“But look mom, I’m parting the Red Sea.”

Sure enough, Mary watched as her son waved his hand over the bowl Joseph had carved, neatly dividing the contents into walls of lentil soup on both sides without spilling a drop.

In his six-year old voice, Jesus tried to sound dramatic as he quoted the Torah, “And the Lord drove the soup back with a strong east wind - ”

Joseph interrupted the display, “Son, that’s not what the Holy Scripture says, now mind your mother and quickly cover those Egyptians and their chariots back up.”

With a sigh Jesus ceremoniously withdrew his hand from hovering above the Lentil Sea and the soup returned to its normal level.

“I wanna try,” said James.

“Me too,” said Simon, and they both started huffing and puffing, trying in vain to imitate their brother. The only thing they achieved was a mess.

“That’s enough of that boys, you all go outside and play.” Joseph kissed his wife on the cheek and headed out back to his shop.

The horseplay outside suddenly became quiet, too quiet. Investigating, Mary caught sight of a new game, one she hadn’t seen before. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Jesus, put your brother down before someone gets hurt.”

“Jude’s alright,” Jesus reassured his mother, patting her gently on the arm. Jude was suspended in mid-air, his arms crossed solemnly over his chest, floating as if asleep.

“Now,” his mother said, trying to sound firm.

“Fine.” Scrunching up his face in serious concentration, Jesus slowly lowered Jude to the ground, soft as a feather landing. Jude stood up and took a bow. The other boys clapped.

“Do me,” said James.

“Me too,” said Simon.

Mary shook her head and went back inside to clean up the lunch mess. That Angel Gabriel did not tell her everything, like how difficult it could be sometimes to raise a perfect son.

Scraping the plate of goat cheese baked with herbs, Mary glanced at her wrist and marveled at the memory. Born with a strange birthmark on the inside of her wrist, she’d been taken to a fortune-teller as a baby.

“She’s marked for unbearable heartache, this one is,” the old woman warned her mother. “Don’t let anyone see this sign or you’ll never marry her off.”

Growing up, her mother was adamant about keeping her wrist covered and made her promise she would never, ever show the omen to a living soul.

Covered wrist or no, Mary’s family almost didn’t marry her off anyway.

It was all so complicated.

That Night. Oh yes, that night. Mary still blushed whenever she thought of it. Women all over the world have a night of their own to remember, but hers…

It had happened almost seven years ago. That particular night while alone in her room, Mary began the ritual of unwrapping her wrist in the dark. She was so bored of keeping it hidden, unable to wear the noisy bangles like all the other girls or the fancy bracelet Joseph had given her at their betrothal ceremony.

Without warning, a blinding and terrifying apparition appeared in her room. This Angel, who said his name was Gabriel, told her all sorts of confusing things. What happened next, well, Mary never spoke of it, not even to her fiancé, Joseph.

Especially not to her fiancé.

In the aftermath of the scandal, Mary’s parents reminded her several times a day that a dowry had already been paid to Jacob’s son Joseph, from the House of David.

A reasonable explanation of “how she could have done this to them,” simply did not exist.

But for a fleeting moment, in between the terrifying part and all Sheol breaking loose, Mary felt entirely transformed. What an amazing dream, she thought, savoring the extraordinary feeling.

As that special night caved to the pressures of dawn, Mary started to rewrap her wrist as she’d done each morning, paranoid, lest anyone see her secret marking.

Hold on - Mary couldn’t believe her eyes. The scary birthmark on her wrist, the dark symbol that foretold her unbearable heartache was gone. She rubbed her wrist, yet the skin where the omen had been was perfectly smooth, there was no sign of it anywhere.

Nine months and an arduous camel ride to Bethlehem later, Mary began to suspect there was more to that night than a vivid dream.

Her beloved Joseph stayed true, if not silent, during those torturous months while her flat belly grew into a public bump. His eyes grew kind again after he’d had a visitation of his own. He whispered to her that an angel had revealed what to name the baby.

Whenever Mary felt overwhelmed, she’d think about their impromptu baby shower in the stable, with all those generous gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. They’d had such curious guests, from shell-shocked shepherds to wise kings. Oh, and that star as bright as the sun.

How could she ever forget the Prophetess Anna and that nice old man Simeon who had blessed her infant son in the Temple and said all those nice things about him after his Briss?

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.” Mary quietly treasured these things in her heart and thought about them often.

“Hey mom,” Jesus yelled. “Look what I can do!”

Mary turned her thoughts back to the moment, just in time to see her eldest child climb onto their rain barrel and stand directly on the water without sinking.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he said, his arms outstretched.

“Yes, you are, my son. You certainly are.” Mary looked down at her wrist and smiled.

She was so glad that her future of unbearable heartache was over…

“I want to try,” said James.

“Me too,” said Simon.