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!”

Beach Camping

Beach Camping with the D fam

The Essential Packing List:

port (always a good tawwwwny port as they say in Brooklyn)
dark chocolate (goes well with campfire smoke and port of course)
Grapes (who would have thought that the G would spend a whopping 45 minutes entertaining himself by making little "characters" out of the stems and then popping them in his mouth for his latest amazing trick)


eggs and canadian bacon (mmm bacon)


brie and crusty baguette for brie delights (a recent discovery on our last camping trip, a savory s'more,,, just skewer and roast for some gooey goodness)


pirate mask and eye patch (for the pirate daze festival we happened upon)

The G was a little scared to pose for a picture with a big group of "local pirates" so the Docta tried to comfort him by telling him "they are not real G, they are just pretending" ooohhhh don't ever ever say that to the local townies of Westport. Man did the swords come out.

"Sir, I beg your pardon but we are real, very real,"they told the Docta.

Blankets and rash guards (not quite tropical yet :)

Forget the sunscreen it was 60 bloody degrees our first beach day

A bucket for sand dollars (here's the docta gloating that he found the first one and then look what eagle eyed mama brought in :) aaahh yeahhh)


Multiple light sources for the show on the beach...

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