Saturday morning recap

Here's what I did this morning.

Got up at 5:30.
Meditated for thirty minutes.
Did HEAs (Health Enhancement Activities).  These involve mostly stretching and abdominal strengthening.  Have been using this euphemism instead of  "exercise" to help me be more motivated.
Took a shower.
Brushed my teeth
Shaved.
Took medications. I'd make a list here but there's not enough room.
Walked with D for about a mile along quiet, cool early morning streets.
Picked up laundry at the lavanderia.  Three pounds for sixty five pesos. ($3.46)
Had breakfast at our hotel.   Huevos revueltos con tocino y jugo naranjo fresco. Breakfast is included with room fee.  Hotel's restaurant "El Pipe" is wonderful.
Went to Intercambio at Oaxaca Lending Library  (The link is to a 2016 post) Spent two hours speaking Spanish and English with Kathy from New Mexico and Luis from Oaxaca.
Bought a fifth of Jose Cuervo Especial at Pidico market. 136 pesos.
Walked to Mercado Social Sustentable
Ate some hand-made mango ice cream
Had a excellent cappuccino at a small shop on Avenida Reforma.
Called Dorothy.  She requested a torta from La Hormiga. (the video that's part of this link is great!)
Purchased a chicken and cheese torta at La Hormiga in Jardin Conzatti  (27 pesos)  Muy saboroso!
Walked backed to the hotel.
Shared torta with D.
Started writing this blog post.
It is now 2:34 PM.
Walking distance so far today is 2.2 miles.  Averaging 3.3/day on trip.
Hasta luego!

Waiting For Nothing

"I want to fill my days with wanting nothing from them..."

This line is from a poem by Fernando Passao which I included in the "Hopeless Refuge" post a couple of weeks ago.  It comes to mind as D and me laze in our hotel room in the middle of the afternoon until the mid-day heat fades. (It's currently 83 degrees outside)

Shouldn't we be doing more?  Wanting more?  We're both quietly content lying on top of our newly maid-made bed (getting under the sheets would be far too decadent and hot)  reading, writing and watching a videos on our iphones.

The room is cool and shady with a fresh breeze coming through an open/shaded window.

Getting comfortable doing nothing is hard work!

We've been traveling for a week so far and I'm just starting to get the hang of it.

On Sunday, while we were waiting  outside the Teatro Juarez before an exciting modern dance presentation.(2 Segundos), we met a man from Maine who lives in Oaxaca four months a year.  He said that each year it takes him about three weeks to really settle in.  He described the process as moving from him "doing Oaxaca" to Oaxaca "doing him."

This made sense to me.  Every time I travel I'm amazed how much time it takes for relaxation mode to kick in.  To find a place of calmness that makes it okay to not always be doing things.

This is our fifth visit here. We've already done our tourist duties.  The things we've seen and done have been memorable and worthwhile but for most, once is enough. (The extordinary Monte Alban is a clear exception to this)

What do we do now?  How do we let "Oaxaca do us?"

At this point, spending this peaceful afternoon in our pleasant room, waiting for nothing, seems like a good plan.

Oaxaca beginning again

Back in Oaxaca

First four days settling in.

Travel anxiety lifting.

Shedding armor.

Slowly slowing down.

Morning walk to get D coffee. \

Empty, quiet streets.

Sky bright with deep colors of sunrise surrounds Templo de Santo Domingo.

Nuestro viaje a Mexico

Hello out there.  Glad to see you made it back.

Response to last post was muted to say the least.  Only direct comment I got was from a golfing buddy who gave me a quizzical look and then asked, "Were you on drugs when you wrote that?"

Okay.  I get it.  Some people may be made uncomfortable by a 72 year old, retired guy, speaking so directly and personally. After that comment I did feel a little embarrassed and considered removing the post. I talked to D about it and she, as usual,  could  only find positive things to say.  She seems to think my writing could save the world.  I ended up deciding to keep the post and not walk away from my global responsibilities 😊, accepting the fact, once again, that being myself can be a real challenge.  I'm reminded of John Prine's song "A Good Time"  with the line "I could of had me a million more friends, all I had to lose was my point of view."

Adelante a Mexico!

Realizations -

Traveling gets more difficult as you get older. Duh.

Por ejemplo,

Shrinking seat width and leg room make my arthritic joints angry.
 Luckily I was sitting next to D and I could straighten my leg out under hers.  It would be tough doing that with a stranger.

Keeping focus in the middle of travel craziness is harder.
When we arrived at Mexico City airport after a five hour uncomfortable flight, it took us about an hour to get through immigration. By the time we were able to get to the baggage carousel there were no bags from our flight. Uh-oh.

I spent about ten minutes looking and finally found our two bags grouped with four or five others at the other end of  the long hall.  During the search I had to ask several people for help and my ability to speak Spanish helped quite a bit.  Would have been a lot more anxiety without it. Nevertheless my stress button was pulsating.

Next we tried to make our way to the main terminal concourse but D was stopped by a uniformed woman with a surgical mask. (Many, many people wearing these masks). She did a cursory inspection of D's carry on and let us pass.  Never asked to look at mine.  (This, by the way, is the second time in a row that D was stopped trying to enter Mexico.  Two years ago she was busted by a drug-sniffing dog that nabbed her for having a banana in her purse.)

Next I tried to get some pesos from an ATM (cajero automatico) while an ocean of people passed by behind me.  It took four or five tries to get the machine to work  I was afraid the machine was going to swallow the card.  Head spinning faster.  I eventually, with the help of a friendly hombre,  was able to withdraw 2000 pesos.in the form of four 500 peso bills.  These are difficult to use because they're so big. 500 pesos =about $25.  I shoved the bills into my back pocket (mistake) and we made our way to Door #4 of Terminal #1, about a half mile walk. Our hotel, Hotel Riazor Aeropuerto,  had said there would be a staff person stationed there to call a van.


No staff person was found. Outside the door it was pure craziness.  Sirens, horns, police whistles, yelling.  A multitude of cabs, vans and Uber cars  trying to twist into a very limited area to pick up people.   I tried to call the hotel but couldn't get the number to work. I asked a guy, who was waiting for an Uber,  to help me call.  He made the call and told me the van would arrive in about 10 minutes.  He said we'd be better off taking an Uber.  "They're 95% safe." In October, Mexico City was ground to a halt by a protest against Uber by 4000 taxi drivers.  This protest included a blockade of airport roads. (picture above is from October protest)

I went back into the terminal and was able to get the 500 peso note changed at a money exchange shop. I put the smaller bills in my back pocket, too.  (mistake compounded) I rushed back to Door #4 where a woman was shouting the name of our hotel.  It turns out she was the staff person we were trying to find. She had been there the whole time chatting with her friends.  She was wearing no clothing or sign to identify her.

The van eventually came.  We careened through 10 PM heavy Mexico City traffic. When we arrived at the hotel I reached into my back pocket to get a tip for the driver and found I was missing a 500 peso note .  It probably fell out of my pocket when I was getting change.  I beat  myself up a bit for being careless. 

We checked into our hotel and went directly to the bar while our bags were brought up to our room.  "Centenario" reposado tequila on the rocks con limon.  Whew!

Despite all this it truly felt wonderful to be back in Mexico.

Shitstorms and Epiphanies

Thanks to everyone who's contacted me with positive words about this blog's resurrection.  I feel encouraged and a little under the gun.  What have I done? Now I really have to write stuff. No slacking off.  So far it's been fun,  I just hope it doesn't turn into a slog,  something like having a term paper due.  Yuck.  

One way to prevent this, I believe, is to stay true to my initial 2010 blog goal of "helping me be more accepting of myself and others" and "whatever I write to not be too constricted by a perceived need to have it be well-planned, thought out or brilliant." 

Just reading this makes me feel less anxious, freer to write what I really care about and less likely to be held back by fear/self-doubt.

Whether or not you'll find my musings interesting enough to keep reading is another question. 

Back in 2010 I also wrote,

 "I want my writing (of this blog) to help me connect with guiding forces which will help me through the 'tricky end game'." (Through?  As if there's another side?  "With" seems like a better word at this point.)

I bring this up because since I restarted this blog the thing I find I'm most interested in writing about is not my upcoming trip to Mexico but my ongoing wrestling match with life.  How can I reconcile its joy and wonder with its inevitable losses and sorrow?  I find exploring the questions of trying to figure out the best way to live and looking for guiding forces to be a wonderful adventure.  What could be more exciting and  important?

Which leads me to shitstorms.

Wikipedia says "Shitstorm is a vulgar dysphemism of a chaotic and unpleasant situation."

You don't have to know what a dysphemism is to understand shitstorms. Most of us have experienced them personally and collectively.  Hell, lately every time I read the newspaper its the first word that comes to mind.

To be clear, I'm not talking about the day-to-day anxiety that normal living brings but the deep down and dirty sadness, anger and/or fear usually due to a major loss or threat.

What should you do when the storm hits and just won't let go? 

The answer to this important question is probably different for each person.  Here's some of my current thinking...

The past year has been tough.  I've had several medical and relationship issues that put me in a dark, sad place.  I had hoped that the philosophical and spiritual ideas I'd explored and embraced would provide an underpinning that would help me keep my head above water when the proverbial shit hit the fan.  No such luck.  It all just felt like empty words.  I found myself sitting in the cellar singing Levon Helm's song "Calvary" over and over. 

Every man will  see the day

That his hopes are dashed away

No word can bring him peace

No man can set him free

Pretty pathetic.  Luckily, I didn't shut down.  Dorothy and I continued to be in a good, supportive relationship, in fact we seemed to grow closer.   I saw a counselor, talked to my minister and some friends and shared with a small church group that I meet with regularly.  Still the cloud wouldn't lift.  It went on for about ten months.  It was getting very old and deeply discouraging.  And then something happened...

About a month ago I was listening to The Moth on WSKG our local public radio station.  This is a wonderful program where people share stories about their life.

One of the stories this day was about an experience a man had with his terminally ill wife who was in a hospice. (I was unable to find the show on The Moth's website.  If any of you happen to find it please let me know.)  This man said that one day he bought a fancy new Harley Davidson motorcycle and excitedly drove it to the hospice to show his wife.  He related that when she looked at it through the window she unexpectedly seemed sad and a bit angry.  He didn't understand this reaction and his wife didn't explain.  When he described the situation to a hospice staff worker the worker told him that most people in a hospice were focused on living not dying and for some reason him showing her the bike made her feel like he was treating her as being already dead.  He thought about this then suddenly disconnected the tubes going into his wife's body and took her outside in her hospital gown, put her on the Harley and headed out of the parking lot.  He described her screaming with joy as they flew down the freeway in Los Angeles. He was crying as he described this wonderful moment.  So was I.

Don't know why but this story changed me.  Since hearing it I've been different.  I'm happier and more engaged with life. I'm playing more guitar, writing a blog, I've become a Meals on Wheels volunteer,  I've had moments of joy and peace.  It's not a full 180 degree recovery.  I still feel pretty awful at times.  But it's a lot better.  

I don't know why this story helped.  I do know it struck a chord that helped open a door, especially the part about focusing on living not dying. It taught me something that I don't think I can explain.  It gave me an insight that I'm hesitant to even try to put into words.
Perhaps it wasn't just the program.  Maybe enough time had passed that healing was starting to kick in.  Maybe my efforts to share and resist withdrawing were paying off.  I don't know.  I do know that I feel incredibly grateful for the change that has happened.

Which leads to epiphanies.

Wikipedia has a lot of different definitions of epiphanies.
The one that's closest to what I experienced describes it as 
"an Aha moment. As a literary device, epiphany is the moment when a character is suddenly struck with a life-changing realization which changes the rest of the story."
Yep.  That's pretty close to what has happened with me.

I'd like to end this post with an excerpt for Jack Gilbert's poem "A Brief for the Defense"
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.

Be well.  Next post will be from Oaxaca.

.

Hopeless Refuge

Each morning D and me have a "meeting" where we review our plans for the day and then share short readings.  We're currently working through a book of "Over 125 poetic companions, from Basho to Billy Collins, Saigyo to Shakespeare"  The title of this collection is The Poetry of Impermanence, Mindfuness, and Joy. edited by John Brehm.

This morning's non-titled piece was written by Portuguese author Fernando Pessoa.

Calm because I'm unknown,
And myself because I'm calm.
I want to fill my days
With wanting nothing from them.

For those whom wealth touches,
Gold irritates the skin.
For those on whom fame glows,
Life fogs over.

On those for whom happiness
Is their sun, night will fall.
But those who hope for nothing
Are glad for whatever comes.

 "I want to fill my days with wanting nothing from them."  I'm sure that for most of my life this line of thinking would seem like non-sensical buddha babble. Maybe it's starting to make more sense now because I'm  getting old and it's foolish to hope for too much.  Maybe, but I think/know its more than that..

Reading the lines of this poem was like hearing the clear, shimmering, beautiful sound of a wooden hammer hitting the side of a Tibetan singing bowl on the fifth day of a meditation retreat.   A welcome call to reenter a place of peace and stillness. A hopeless refuge.

In December, 2010 one of my earliest blog posts had extended excerpts from East Coker, one of Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot.  These lines seem especially apropos here...

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

How wonderful it is to find words like these.  Thank you Mr. Passao and Mr. Eliot.

What would Bill do?

D and me are going back to Mexico at the end of the month.

A friend of mine who has fine-tuned  literary taste but a problematic political perspective encouraged me to resurrect this blog to report on the trip. Whoa..someone actually remembers Ferdrightnow!?  I was surprised and flattered.  Surprised because when I was posting the blog regularly very few people would read it and even fewer would ever make a comment.   Flattered because this guy actually seemed to think I might be able to write something worthwhile. At seventy-two compliments seem to be few and far between.  Best one I remember over the past year is "Nice putt!"

I unexpectedly found my blog juices flowing.  Hmmm.  I had posted 78 entries starting in 2010.  My  last one was in February 2017.   I started rereading many of these past entries and and some of them were pretty good.  It seems I could be inspired,  every now and then, to write something worth reading.  Maybe I should try it again.  Maybe my synapses could still fire fast enough to enable me to capture some fleeting insights or observation.

Why did I stop three years ago?  Not sure.  I think a major reason was that, Bill Knipscher, my dear friend and one of my most loyal and supportive readers, died in November 2017.  Often, knowing Bill would be reading, was enough to motivate me.  Consider Bill's comment re my "Artful Greed" post in February, 2017. 

"Hey, Ferd, your're perfect just as you are.  No need to strive for perfection. So are we all.So is the world. Enjoy it." 

This quote plus the golf bag attached to his motorcycle with bungee cords gives you an idea of what Bill was like.

I'll never know for sure why I stopped writing.  The more immediate question is do I really want to start again?  I'm just not sure.  I know trying to effectively share experiences and perspectives makes me look at things more carefully and engage more fully and deeply.  That's a pretty good payoff.  I just don't want to make a commitment that turns into a chore instead of the joyful pursuit of truth and meaning that I want it to be.  It seems that I continually have to relearn that some of the best things of life usually flow out of focused, committed action.

When struggling trying to make a decision I often say to myself "What would Bill do?"  Well I'm pretty darn sure what he'd tell me at this point.  "Stop fartin' around and just do it."   Okay Bill.  I'll get back in the blog saddle and see what happens.  I hope some of you are interested in coming along for the ride.