Abue

My Tia Mague's tribute to my Abuelita today on her birthday....

Today is my mother's birthday, she would have been 97 years old. You wonder why my father Ernesto traveled so far from Germany to live and stay in Mexico? My mother was the reason. She was a quiet woman, her eyes small but a penetrating gaze. Petite in stature and yet a gigantic prescence in our lives. Orphaned as a child she bore almost a nation. A tribe of Kullicks cut off from the roots of the old world, we grew strong, attached, gave shade and refuge to one another. You could say my father gave her the greatest gift of all the love for the written word, teaching her to read and write so that even when the years faded beauty and youth her wisdom has withstood the test of time. Feliz Cumpleanos Mami.

Today my grandmother turns 97. The Azteca who taught me all the songs I know in Spanish, who sat in the quiet sunlight on our back porch every summer reading every book en espanol our little library had to offer, the lady who could knock a baseball into left field at 75 years old, oblivious to the fact that her nylons were rolling up at her ankles as she rounded the bases, the mama who carried me in her arms when my knee caps burned raw from the pavement, in my ear breathing the magical, healing words "sana sana colita de rana," the curandera who pinched off the heads of fresh mint sprigs from our garden to make me a tea of yerba buena for my cramps, time and time again. My abue. the storyteller. my first teacher whose spirit breathes life again through my voice when I roll my R's and when I cradle my own son in my arms it is her words that heal the wounded that dry the tears. Te Extrano mi Abue.

Studio Time

He came back today.
The artist with an edge of mystery that I met in college.
The one who went to see Howard's End, our first movie together, just so he could capture the blue bell scene for me on canvas.
This boy who smuggled flowers out of Glacier National Park so that their tiny heads would kiss plated glass and hang immortally above my bedside.
The crazy one who declared, one lazy afternoon, that in Salt Lake City, sundays from here on out, would be dedicated to "Studio Time," a time to get creative, to seduce clay between our fingers, to paint like Jackson Pollock, to write like Fitzgerald, to experiement with Einstein ideas.
And so began our work together.
On our porch, as the sun turned the Wasatch mountains a deep mahogany, we sipped wine and moved clay till it became a set of sushi plates for a wedding we would attend. For my nude collection. He sculpted my right leg, capturing every sinew and curve and I by his side made a functioning water fountain that once fired and painted lulled us into a peaceful slumber every evening.
Other days we intertwined on the couch as he sketched out science ideas and I wrote. Then we moved our creativity into the kitchen, opening cookbooks we dare not open, spending hours chopping, mincing and preparing our greatest culinary feats or so we thought: Beef Wellington, Pad Thai, Crab Cakes, Ahi ceviche swimming in blood oranges.
I savored every moment and the boy who came out to play.
The wind changed as it always does bringing us to a new city, bringing us a baby boy.
Studio time closed shop without notice.
The pottery tools we roughened and put to work nearly every Sunday stayed packed somewhere, in some box in the abyss of our basement.
Until today.
It took me by surprise because there was nothing significant about this particular Sunday only that I had gone on a run with friend and when I came back....
Studio time. The rennaissance of creativity that had laid stagnant between us, among us, inside us.
A Buddha for our garden.
Something I'd been looking for in shops all around the city he had imagined through his own fingers.
The boy had come back to play.



I do not believe in a fate that falls upon men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act. Buddha

Staycation

Dear friends,
We are enjoying our staycation in Seattle on a day coupled with bright sun and crisp winter air. First on the itinerary: Volunteer Park. We were craving an open space a place to spin and roll around in the fresh green grass. The beauty of being a tourist in your own town is that you can pack lightly. We filled up a carry-on bag with only the essentials, pesto and goat cheese sandwiches, ice cold grapes and a handful of ripe satsumas. The picnic spot G picked on the grassy knoll overlooked a reservoir that reflected views of the space needle and the city sky line. We watched the ducks land and take off, the rippling water distorting the image of the needle till it became stretchy, like pulled taffy.
"This hill is a ski jump" the little man observed as he licked the sticky satsuma juice running between his fingers. It was clear he was getting the wiggles and the sharp angle of this montecito was inviting the G to begin a series of "rolly pollies" down the hill. Over and over he would go like a crank turing out of control. It made me nauseous watching him and I laughed as it reminded me so much of myself, how i loved to feel dizzy twirling down the dunes of Lake Michigan.
The Seattle Asian Art Museum was our next stop. I couldn't stop taking photographs at this point so many art noveau windows and their shadows. The two camels guarding the entrance became the G's playgym. Strangely I felt connected to them the idea of carrying this load, this hump on your body made me appreciate this awkward looking beast. The G enjoyed the museum especially since the Chinese incorporate so many animals into their pottery and art work. We played i-spy to keep him busy..I spy tigers, I spy vipers and then went balmy when we spied a "real" griffin's head. As I walked through the silent hallways talking about art with the G, I relished the moment. We had him all to ourselves this boy bursting with questions. On this day there would be no baby distractions no screaming younger sibling. Just the G and his mama. Just the G and his dada.
Before heading to the car we decided to hike up the 100 stairs to the top of the water observatory. What an amazing sight to see Mt. Rainier against a blue cloudless sky to see the space needle, the city windows refracting light, a redwood 60 feet high.
The G didn't want to leave. He loved the perspective from this height. This tiny boy floating above the world like a bird, a cloud, the wind.

I've always pined to be in other places throughout my life...booking flights and making reservations to cities and towns all over the world. But in 2009 I've made a resolution to plan many staycations making travels in my hometown, becoming a tourist of the mind so that I might better focus on the beauty of the present moment.

What I've Learned: Mi Padre

Little Bambinos,
I want to teach you to wonder about the world to let your eyes fall off the confines of road maps and coloring books. I hope I can give you the sense of curiosity that my father shared with me as a child. I think those lessons really started on the long road trips we used to take. My dad in the driver's seat and I his "navigator" learning to read the road map, deciphering the arteries and veins of concrete highways from Michigan to Mexico. To pass the time, my dad would teach my brother and I the state capitals until we could say them by heart and belt them out at record's pace.
"Delaware," he'd say.
"Dover" we'd chime in unison.
As the miles flashed before us, I wondered about the places we'd shouted out. I remember thinking: Do they play flashlight tag in Carson City? Are there Tamarack trees in Tallahassee?

It was never necessary to ask dad "are we there yet?" because he had empowered us long ago to figure this out for ourselves. I loved looking up our destination cities on the mileage chart on the last page of our tattered and frayed road atlas.
"We have 246 miles to go" I would announce to the car.
"What's the next highway I have to take kid, figure that out would you?"
Back to the map I'd go, running my finger along the tiny blue lines until I had an answer. Of course he always knew the way but since he never checked my work, it felt good to know that my answer was respected, my suggestion heeded.

Just a few years ago on a trip to Rome with my family, I stood in line behind my dad, like a little kid, waiting for him to pay for the books I had just picked out about Caravaggio and Michelangelo. We had just wandered the halls of this spectacular museum, our conversation a simple a stream of questions and wonderment.
"Pick out some books kid" he told me at the shop.
"Go on..." he urged and gave me a nudge as if to say "find those answers to those questions kid." The greatest gift I can give you Griffin and little bambino on the way is the present my father continues to share with me, which is to wonder about the world, to be curious about even the smallest of things.

80 Opportunites

We arrived to the beach at midnight wound up, eager to hear the roar of the waves and the rattle of palm leaves. Stretched out side by side on lawn chairs, my mama and I moon bathed as hundreds of hermit crabs inched along the sand beneath our feet. Since I had never seen so many crabs gathered together like this, it felt like I had stumbled upon a secret, a private pilgrimage that up until this point only the waves and the sand had been privy to. I envied them and the philosophy that “home” does not have to be confined to an address and I imagined their whisperings…Tonight I will find a nice piece of coral to crawl under. Tomorrow I’ll sleep with the waves. I had come to Mexico to learn again what it means to be present and at the same time I had hoped that in this journey I would forget.
++++++++++++++++++++++++


We had waited all week for them like anxious little girls on Christmas Eve. Will they ever come? The Turtle nest in front of our beach house had been ready since we arrived. 60 days up. The volunteers had already begun preapring the site by removing the coral that bordered their natural crib. Each day after my morning run, I would inspect the site for any signs of movement.
Nothing.
In the early evening as we watched the sunset and sipped vino, we circled the perimeter calling out to the little ones below.
“It’s safe now you can come out little babies.”
Nobody stirred.
On our last evening together, just after my cousins had said their last goodbyes and headed back to the city, I had stretched out under a palm tree when I noticed the ground shaking,revealing a tiny paw scratching its way to the surface.
“Vengan! Vengan! Rapido! They are here!,” I screamed announcing their birth like a proud mama to everyone on the beach. Suddenly dozens of turtles and their siblings erupted from the ground like a volcano pushing their way into the moonlight. 71, 72,73 the volunteers were counting them as the little ones marched into a single file line. They knew exactly where to go magnetized by the pulse of the ocean, it was as though they had been here before. The first one showed no fear as he headed deep inside the darkness of the thundering wave. He churned and somersaulted for a time before taking a final dive into the abyss. It hadn’t occurred to him to wait for the others. There was no doubt that this is where he should be, that this is the direction he should go. He seemed so sure of his destiny he didn’t need to glance back or look over his shoulder. And he need not be consumed with thoughts of predators and shark infested waters for there would be algae and seaweed to eat and fish of every color to admire.
“Have a safe journey my little friend, ” I called out.
“We were a part of something magical tonight, a special secret that nature keeps for those who need to hear its message.” My uncle tells me wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.
80 new lives cast out to sea. 80 opportunities. 80 reasons to be courageous, to dare, to risk, to create, to explore, to love, to hope.

My Scarlet Ibis

“At that moment, the bird began to flutter. It tumbled down through the bleeding tree and landed at our feet with a thud. Its graceful neck jerked twice and then straightened out, and the bird was still. It lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and even death could not mar its beauty.” – James Hurst

Caged.
This feeling.
This Scarlet Ibis, this wild bird inside me.
She just suddenly appeared four months ago… built a nest in one day.
Knowing nothing about this creature, I read everything I could about her, enough to learn that she doesn’t belong here, that she’ll die in this rain.
Most days she is unconscious of her surroundings, too weak to lift her head, staring aimlessly into the darkness as if she were looking for something she’d lost down a well.
Other times she is too needy, too loud and I hand her over to you awkwardly, impatiently, as if she were made of hot coals.
I say: Babysit this shit for awhile. I don’t know what to do with it so you try to hold her, tame her. Make her a nest, give her a space and then maybe she won’t come back to me anymore.
I've tried to tell her: Goodbye. You are free. Fly back to Central America pajaro. Go home.
But she stays anyway making circles above me… after all nobody knows how to preen her like I do.
And when I’m not watching, when I’m unaware she comes back to me again, this wild bird, because she knows there’s this door right here, right beside my diaphragm and the latch still remains loose and unhinged.

We're on Mexican Time

Lost.
It’s this road Tia I’m sure it is this road. I remember that it’s just past the gas station.
But this road does not have the yellow rope that guards the passageway that they were talking about.
Ok try this one.
We turn off the expressway into a thicket of jungle. There are no markers for this rustic road we are looking for so we’ve been driving down every turn off the highway. We pass somebody’s homestead, a simple palapa…children playing, chickens running freely and in the front yard a thousand corn tortillas are drying in the sun waiting to be crispy tostadas.


No this is not the way but we would have missed this beautiful scene.

We are on our way to the Reunion. We carry with us the picadillo Nancy made this morning, a bag of cups and silverware, our beach towels and sun hats.
On the next turn off, we recognize the bronco of Tia Alvine. Up ahead she is talking to the lady who guards the road. From her hand gestures it is clear she is negotiating….Why should we pay to use the beach we are staying at the cabanas there?
It’s 90 degrees and way past noon when we finally park the car. With only the directions “Let's meet up at those cabanas en la playa quien sabe como se llama. We head for the beach hoping that if we rub our hands together fast enough our family will just suddenly appear.
Heavy with bags and hot food, I start to get agitated filling up with just a little bit of my American impatience that I haven’t quite shaken off even though I’ve been in Akumal for three days now.
Donde estan?
These aren’t the cabanas, but we stop to take in the view anyway white capped waves and turquoise waters. The fact that we are lost and hot and carrying a heavy load does not seem to phase anyone in this group. Their patience and "celebrate the moment spirit" is contagious so I set down the food for a minute to lay in a hammock and watch my cousin’s impromptu game of soccer. My aunt gets on the phone to call another aunt and soon we have a name for these cabanas.
A final hill climb and suddenly we are there.


From behind parked cars and swaying palms everyone suddenly appears like magic carrying salads of nopales, bags of avocados, dragging coolers chilling with Tecate.
In seconds we are gathered in a circle to say a prayer. Thank you for bringing us here together safely senor that we may enjoy this beautiful paradise and our time together.


Kisses on both cheeks to everyone. Moni you cut your hair. Itaty how was your quincenera? We pull chairs together in a horseshoe sharing chistes, jokes, and stories of childhood, embarrassing moments, love lost, love gained.
Quien quiere un vino? I’m the waitress for awhile then my cousin Chava. He brings a plate of limes and clamato for cheladas. My cousin rubs sunscreen on my back because I’m la guera(the blondie) and he’s looking out for my pearly white skin.

The night of talents is next Gael has practiced his magic trick all day and with the help of his papa back stage he executes it with gusto.

My cousin Alina who is studying opera sings two songs.
Itaty recites poetry and raises every hair on my body.

Sabina buries her head in her notebook singing a song she learned in English. I sing a duet with my cousin.
Pati, the resident writer, raps freestyle for a bit

My mom shares some words of wisdom.

My aunt tells a joke.

My cousin shakes his booty. That’s his talent he says.
For the younger ones we decide there will be prizes and everyone throws some pesos into the hat. It is a four way tie of course everybody wins something.

The night goes on like this…we find a venomous snake, a snake the local senora del pueblo called los cuatro narizes


We share confessions in the moonlight, we take turns singing the chorus of our favorite songs, my cousin makes a toast to my mom for her returned good health after having a tumor removed from her spine, we put up a tent and forget the tarp, we laugh open mouthed, we make a midnight snack of papitas with limon y sal, we swat mosquitos and chase each other down the beach all the while waiting to finally receive the dawn....


I find myself here year after year snuggling in with my family as if no time has gone by…and each time I leave them I take away a little bit more of their good humor, their patience, their generosity, their courage, their intelligence, their love…

On our last day after swimming in the ocean and browsing the markets of quinta avendia in Playa Del Carmen we must say our goodbyes. I don’t want to leave them my chest hurts with the despedida and I’m crying.
Te quiero mucho, my cousin Yani tells me squeezing me like a Boa. We don’t let go for a long time…and then just as my mom and I round the corner we hear their shouts…”A la bio a la bao a la bim bom bao…Mamacita, Tia Beby rah rah rah!”