Sunday, 27 March 2011
Lately, I have been thinking (obsessing some might call it) about having a place of my own to call 'home'. Well, to be truthful, I never really have not thought about it, I have just pushed it to the background for a few years now. Why? Well, just to keep the peace & tranquility, I guess. But, you know how it goes with denial...eventually, it rears its ugly head. Admittedly, we have a sweet little spot of wonder here and to choose to leave it for no good reason except that it is not really 'ours', is a hard pill to swallow. But, as good as it is, it is too small for two people and a dog. I just need a bit more interior space, not to fill it up with stuff....no. I have enough stuff for any size house and the thought of it spread out in a bigger space is quite exciting. I have pared down so much over the last few years yet I still have, in bins, some beautiful useful items that I haven't had room for in this tiny place. I would like to see them again and to use them again. I promise to hold on to 'simplicity' as my mantra, even with more square footage. I have so many out-of-the box ideas for 'home' and it is frustrating to not get to try them out. I find myself stopping at a certain point in a project and saying to myself...'that's enough...this isn't your house'. Ingrained 'nature' is so obvious. So, what then? Well, my 'nature' tells me to plod on forward and wade through the mechanics of the mountains of paperwork (mortgage loan papers) and see if it can happen. Maybe the question is, should it happen?
Sunday, 20 March 2011
My father died 26 years ago today. He was really quite young. Only 55 years old. At the time I didn't realize quite how 'young' that is. I do now. I feel like I hardly had time to know him. Like, he had hardly enough time, period. He was a solid, quiet presence in our lives. One that I never ever considered wouldn't be there, until the day he suddenly wasn't. I remember saying goodbye on a Sunday evening and making arrangements to see eachother again the next weekend. Then, there was the middle-of-the-night call, just 3 days later. It was my Aunt on the phone at 3:30 am Wednesday, March 20th, 1985. When she told me the news, I hung up on her. It just could not be. But, indeed it was. It was the sudden, unexpected nature of his death that was the big shocker. But, I know now that, that is the case much of the time My father was a good guy. He always, always worked hard. He didn't take 'vacations' like other dads did. When he had time off of work, he did things like put on a room addition or re-roof our house. Of course we (me, my sister and my brother) whined and moped because we had to help. (typical) He trusted us kids completely. He provided us with everything we needed on a very meager paycheck. I know because I used to go to the bank to cash his paychecks for him on Fridays after I got my driver's license. It was a few bucks and some change. At the time I did give it much thought but now, I can't imagine how he and my mom did it. Lucky us. Lucky me. Lucky anyone who has, or has had, a great dad.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
...let me 'splain. So it seems everytime I spend time in Mexico I end up searching for creme/crema/cream for my coffee. People! I do not see the point of coffee without cream. Seriously, I would quit coffee in an irregular heartbeat, if I couldn't have it con crema.
That used to mean, in the early mexican days (mucho moons ago), doing without cream (ie without coffee) and thus being very cranky for about a week into the holiday. Mostly it was the insufferable headache and the cold-turkey withdrawal from that morning java jolt that caused my misery. The headachey week was always spent searching in every tienda, in every pueblo, for the elusive crema. Yes, "hello my name is Gina and I am an addict...". I would be met with openly puzzled stares when asking for this product because apparently the concept of adding it to cafe in Mexico was unheard of. Stupid gringa.
I mostly always got pointed to the enchilada crema and yes, I did try it in my coffee (several times) and no it didn't work....it separated into an oily, greasy mess.There were several other white, viscous and solid concoctions that I tried over the years as well....all complete failures.
What I am saying is that for years I was always in Mexico in an altered state of consciousness one way or another, UNTIL....the appearance of WAL-MART in Mexico. Okay, at first I hated it...hated it...hated it....until the news got out that the evil - Mexican WAL carried real cream !!!! The proper name being: crema para batir....cream for whipping.
In the name of the father and the son and crema para batir.
What a thrilling discovery . I hightailed it out of my NA meeting and hitched a ride to the evil - WAL and gazed upon the cold case filled, FILLED, I tell you, FILLED with litres of crema para batir.Although it is easier to find nowadays as not only the evil - WAL carries it but also the MEGA store which eases my conscious somewhat because that is a mexican store chain at least. But inevitably what happens is that I end up no where near these big stores when I run out of my sacred crema. So I hit all the little tiendas, all of them, and pathetically ask in each
"tienes crema para batir ?"It becomes my very own Groundhog Day (you know... the movie).
As I find myself being led back to where the enchilada crema is, my head starts hurting. OWwwwww.'La Crema Dona in Misery'.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Climate change? You might say that. Easing back into life here in the north. All lovely. Mexico is as usual, Mexico, with all its quirks, chaos and common sense. Imperfection reigns supreme and that is so refreshing. It is such a psychic break. It is easy to understand why so many Mexicans work, for years, in the US and then return to whatever village they came from to live simply again. Or maybe just to simply live, again. I heard a lot of stories, all with the same ending. Work hard. (At the worst jobs) Provide for yourself and your family (mainly your family). Return to your home when you can. The details left out are the ones that wreck your heart. And still they put up with us.