Mexican Vignettes

It was easy to go to Mexico, to the big flowery city, to the Orozcos, to the beaches where an ocean view costs change.  It was easy to love from the beginning.  

It was the frogs on the curvy mountain road in the midst of the storm.  It was La Ciudad de Dios, mini-Rio, where El Cristo Rey and los apostolicos watch over Ejutla.  It was seduction in Spanish, because everything sounds better in a language that is not your own.  It was the late night, the rain, and the fuzz in my head.  It was the songs in the streetlight and the supportive adobe wall. It was okay to say nothing in the morning. 

It was riding in the back of a truck, jostling out of town onto the cobblestones of Puerte in the obscurity of 1 am.  It was drunkenness off good tequila that remembered me in the morning.  It was the mariachi sitting next to me, picking la guitarra.  It was the low slung brick house and the night-time serenade.  

I emailed no one, called no one, missed no one.  Perhaps you would say I did not love enough.  But it was only that I loved Mexico too much.

Mother

My mother stands in front of a mirror and says,

“I hate to look at my face.”

It’s the wrinkles she fears – those subtle

            lines of wisdom, experience, life itself

Fifty-five, looking barely forty-six

Her worries are needless

Yet she compares her face to mine

            And I am green in the world, young in life

            My face like a baby’s – two eyes peering out unknowing

            Innocent

            Brash

My face is my mother’s a few years ago

But she faces the mirror and says,

“I look so old.”

She does not understand she looks like life treated well

            I want to age like her

            An imprint of a good life to show the world

            Lines of age, but mostly beauty

Grandma

We were sitting in the lobby of the optometrist, arguing about some hangers. 

After she was called into the office, a gentleman near me leaned over and said, "She sure is a firecracker!"

When was it that the fire started ebbing? 

When was it finally gone? 

Like a “fierce green fire dying in her eyes,” we let it, she let it, slip away.

“I’ll see you later,” I said, knowing there was no later. 

I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye. 

I wish I’d known her when I was older and she was younger. 

I think I would have learned more, understood more. 

Maybe I wouldn’t have given her up so easily.

Bryce Canyon Collection (Part II)

II

I walk over rocks;

I walk through time,

through space, through beauty,

through true amazement.

My shoes grow white, and orange, and yellow;

dust coats my pants; eroded limestone.

I am part of the landscape, of the rock, of the spell of the hoodoos.

The wind blows as I traverse the ridge,

trying to conquer my harsh environment

while it threatens to conquer me.

Just pick me up and toss me off like a feather in the wind.

But I will still be with the land and it will be with me

as I fade into purple and pink and red,

the color of hoodoo in the setting sun.

You cannot separate me from this place,

for it is a part of us all.

The Legend People watch over me, serene in their eternal beauty;

inviting almost to join them as they cast their spell.

I walk through trees, a part of the rocks,

an inspiration in their survival in a land

of streams without water.

I walk through history

and the fears and happiness and awe and power

that are extracted from all who pass by.

I am a Fremont, a Paiute, a Mormon, a geologist.

I am everyone who has gone before and all who will follow me.

I was history,

I am history,

I make history

with every step I take in this awesome place

and every breath that takes in the dust of the hoodoos

and the scent of the ponderosa pine.

I walk through would-be camera snapshots

but I have left my camera;

it will not tell the story that my mind can tell

of the hoodoos’ color in the cloudy light when shadows

fell through the Amphitheater

and each minute was a different picture

and story within itself.

I walk like a cloud,

a hoodoo,

an ever-changing shape

for no emotion is ever the same, nor I’m sure is the look on my face.

I walk through people who are utterly impressed

slowly seeing the beauty which passes so fast

and can’t be described with words.

I walk in the rocks

and the dust

and the years

and I become a legend as well.

Bryce Canyon Collection

Once I wanted to be a writer. Once I even got paid to write. I started digging through old writing, looking for something. I might as well self-publish on my blog. Beware: a series of writing from my early twenties.


I

Limestone:

soft rock, crumbly to the touch,

completely unfit for climbing,

but rather good at falling.

Prime substance for erosion,

ice-wedging, geological processes

before my very eyes.

Limestone welcomes; it lets the water into its pores

in the warmth,

but the water remains indebted to no one

and will freeze as the day turns to night,

popping apart its host

slowly

but surely

until suddenly

the rock falls.

Two hundred nights a year,

freeze thaw freeze thaw.

Fin, window, arch, hoodoo.

(Like holding up your hand

and slowly splitting the fingers apart.)

Hoodoo?

Pinnacle like voodoo.

To cast a spell.

Hoodoo, like a cloud ever changing

and not looking the same to two people with eyes

side by side but different minds to process.

Like a cloud, no two hoodoos look the same.

Hoodoo, like a cloud, changing,

the limestone does not stop welcoming.

Is it voodoo?

Coyote the demigod once welcomed,

but his guests were rude and raucous at his party, 

all of them,

snake, prairie dog, mountain lion,

sometimes looking like people

but all rude and now stone. 

They wore out the welcome and

Coyote turned them into stone. 

The Paiute’s Legend People of the limestone,

lurking in the Amphitheater. 

Reflections on 40 Days of Writing

It feels weird to be done with 40 days of something before Easter. For someone reason Lent really lasts more than 40 days because Sundays don't count. Anyway...

I don't think I fully committed to this project, and for that reason, it rang a little hollow. I did not set aside time for writing. It was often an afterthought, a burden when I really wanted to go to sleep. Some days I had exciting things I wanted to write about; some days I eked out a half-a**ed poem or some boring prose. I only posted things I actually liked on Facebook, and that did not amount to very many of the 40 days.

I do hope that the project gave me the impetus to actually write blogs when I have something interesting to say. I had been slacking on my blog before this project with the exception of posting photos from trips and adventures. So I hope to get to a place where I am not writing boring posts but I am writing worthwhile posts. And I truly appreciate all of you who came with me on this journey.

April Showers Bring Gorgeous Bike Rides (Day 40)

Yesterday it poured sideways. Today I stepped outside early in the morning to hang my laundry and found a beautiful day in the garden. My landlady was outside too, and she noted that it is always gorgeous after the rain.

I headed to Marin to meet two friends for a bike ride, and not surprisingly we were greeted by strong winds but gorgeous sunshine. I set out with a vest, arm warmers, and leg warmers, and I never took them off. We headed out from San Rafael over to Point Reyes Station, along beautiful cycling roads and lovely scenery with green hills and churning water in creeks, reservoirs, and even water falls.

We stopped at Bovine Bakery, along with about 40 other cyclists, all outside enjoying pastries in the sunshine amidst a hodgepodge of bikes. Since we started so late in the day, we were starved, and actually had pizza while there. Although it was from a bakery, it did not disappoint in the least. While in line, a man behind me asked if there was a bike event going on. No, I responded, cyclists just like to hang out here.

The way back was gorgeous and with no head wind. A few times I was by myself with no cars passing, and the soft whirring of my bike in the beautiful scenery just made me happy. We did 43 miles with 2000 feet of climbing, which I figure is not bad for my first time on a bike (outside of a trainer) since December. And we had a lovely time.

On my way home I stopped at the bike shop to have my new saddle put on, so between that and my upcoming duathlon and metric century, I better get out riding more. (I have 30 days to decide if I like the saddle.)

I am looking forward to more rides with my cycle buddies from last season, and I am already looking forward to the upcoming season. It will be a double header - Moab Century Ride followed by the Gran Fondo the following week. I am also contemplating the Tour de Tucson if I can get any Arizona people interested. (And pending me figuring out how much it costs to ship a bike...) I am not often motivated to ride by myself because of how much effort it takes to get ready, but I love having people to hold me accountable. Yet another benefit of the Team! Now if it would just warm up a touch.