Something Happened

If the purpose of a vacation is to relax and not do anything, it makes no sense to set goals. It would be like making a plan to be spontaneous. But not doing anything was only one of the things I wanted to accomplish, and I did it one day in June staying in bed until three in the afternoon.

I dropped two belt holes, due probably to trips up and down Alameda to downtown or hikes to the top of Cerro de la Sirena. I read seven books and kept a weblog for each day in Mexico. I lost at chess, saw short films and danced to Barro Negro in the funky back room of Bar Fly. I participated in the creation of friendships and re-booted some others. The grocer hugged me on the way here to the internet, because we leave for Phoenix in an hour.

And what is that? In my heart I have no idea of what Phoenix is anymore. Something happened in fifty-two days in Mexico. Phoenix has become a shadow.

Bicultural Is Better Than Bicoastal

Clarissa said, "Duh!" when I told her she speaks Spanish like a Mexican. In a bicultural family we never stop to think about what language we're producing, but Spanish seems to fit us when we're in Guanajuato.

"I'm not gringo," I told Salvador. "I'm from Alameda." This is the street where Skyler and his playmates kick a soccer ball down the trash ramp. The downhill goalie has to be a good one. My kids eat choco-roles without translating them into twinkies. Christian screams in delight at the sight of horsies as well as caballos.

There are no beaches or amusement parks in Guanajuato, but there is a chance to put down roots. Fifty-one days have been a long and fruitful planting.

Rocks Supplant The Seventh Art

There are times when everything seems wonderful: warm sun on wet skin, laying on a cool rock, listening to trickling water, green leaves glowing golden around the edges. Time has proven its irrelevance once again. We hiked past the kingdom of tadpoles to get here. Continent-sized clouds float across the crevice of blue sky visible from within the ravine.

We Will Be On Film, I Think

Film crews are busy today in Guanajuato. Five teams are participating in the "Rally Yerbabuena". They have 24 hours to make and edit a movie. The sponsors of the festival provide them with cameras, lighting equipment, sound equipment, an editing station and actors. The results will be shown tomorrow night in the State Auditorium at 6:00.

We watched the yellow team film a scene in San Roque Plaza for their short film, Muerte Anunciada. It took them a half hour to film a dude in slicked-back hair screaming, "Tienes que hacerte muerto o no te pagan la lana, cabrón!" (You have to be dead or they won't pay you the cash, as*hole!") I can hardly wait to see how that scene fits into their project.

International Film Festival Expresión En Corto

Rosy and I saw two clusters of shorts today in the festival. Experimental films and animation. The experimental films included Kasino 2001, a bizarre German hillbilly fantasy that ends with a woman clutching a dead baby, and Flooding the Victoria Plains, the animated film about a tour bus that gets hijacked by a heavy breathing aquaphile who delights in seeing everyone submerged beneath the waters of a newly constructed reservoir.

The animations included a Spanish film about a boy who travels to mars in his grandfather's tow truck. His booger-eating classmates don't believe the story. There was also a claymation piece about a snow hare with carrot lust so strong he chases a snowman into the city to try to steal his nose. They join forces to escape a ferocious dog and seal their friendship by snapping the nose in half and eating it.

Last Days

The last days in Guanajuato are the most difficult, because we are out of money. We have a new cyclone fence that will keep the babies from spilling into the street while they run around burning calories from the cheerios we bought with a credit card.

We have begun the cycle of good-byes. To some people we only give a tentative good-bye because we might accidentally see them again before Sunday. George is meeting me Friday afternoon. I want to squeeze in more hikes for the final four days, and the short film festival begins tomorrow. (Both of these are free activities.) We haven't made our annual visit to the Diego Rivera Museum.

I have begun to miss our house in Phoenix. I'm not looking forward to the deadly heat wave, but I miss the living space. Some people wonder how the six of us find room to sleep in our Guanajuato house. The answer is, "wherever there isn't a body already". There is a double bed, a bunk bed with a double futon below and a portable crib. (I never choose to sleep in the crib myself, but it's quite comfortable for Sterling.)

Patzcuaro

Patzcuaro Michoacan:

• Sixteenth century colonial city
• Buildings are all adobe with wood beams
• Buildings are white with red mudguards
• Streets are cobblestones
• Miraculous religious icon in the cathedral
• Wooden toys and traditional candy
• Wooden furniture for sale
• Los Viejitos dance in the main plaza
• Boats take you to an Indian village on an island
• High elevation
• El Estribo hill overlooks Patzcuaro Lake
• Two and a half hours from Salamanca, Guanajuato

Alternative Capitalization Strategies

Rules for capitalization are rigid and can never be modified, unless an author does it on purpose. There is a specific reason I choose to capitalize articles and prepositions in blog titles. Can you guess the reason?

Explosion

At 11:20 PM last night, I was standing outside of my house. I saw a flash on the hillside above and heard a loud explosion. I don't know if it was a propane tank explosion, an errant stick of dynamite or Al-Qaida operating in Mexico. It ruined my plans for the evening. I locked myself inside the house. At least one other person heard it, Doña Markokio who lives on the switchback above us.

Obligation To My Sweater

(Click to enlarge).

This morning before I could go outside to drink Chiapas coffee and read The White by Deborah Larsen, I had to put on a sweater. The temperature dropped to sixty last night. Birds sang as the lemon rays of the sun poked through the treetops into the dark corners of the property. Tendrils of steam lifted up from the rain-sodden ground.

I only heard one thunder clap last night, but it shook the house. The flash of lightning that preceded it revealed the ground outside covered with a plane of water and waterfalls cascading from the trees.

Yesterday, I walked through downtown Guanajuato with a four and a half meter pole. It was long enough to knock down five innocent Christians, if I had pulled a Gilligan and turned around with it in my hand.

Unrealized Yearning For Out of Body Experience

Maybe you have had an unrealized yearning for an out of body experience like me. It happens to me when I'm in the middle of a series of repetitive tasks like measuring three cups of water from the garrafón or pasting lines of html code into a web document. I know what's going to happen. There is no sense of mystery, no critical decision markers. The awareness that succeeding moments of my life are already determined is a prison for me. I want to jump out of my body, skip ahead or at least distract myself with a different task while my fingers perform their drudgery with blind obedience.

Nixon Resigns

The mailboat brought the Chicago Tribune to Elgin Club everyday when we would take family vacations to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. On Friday August 9, 1974 when the papers came off the boat the headline font was much larger than usual. Two words filled the width of the page: Nixon Resigns. I was nine years old. It was hard for me to believe that the only president I'd known, whose picture was displayed at school, whose image appeared nightly on TV had been forced to leave office.

But then, I was told what happened. Nixon had lied. Then everything made sense. Lying is evil. No one, not even a president should get away with a lie. Not even a president should be above the law. Even as a child I remember being awed by the awareness that there was accountability for even one of the most powerful man in the world. I learned that there were principles that were more important than power and wealth. The principles of honesty and fairness are what is most important. I abhorred the deceptions and crimes that Nixon had committed, but I respected him for resigning. What else could he do? There were no honorable alternatives.

The Associated Press reported on July 19, 2005 that 1,771 members of the U.S. military had died in the Iraq war. ( A look at U.S. Military Deaths in Iraq ) Ninety-two percent of those deaths have occurred after Bush declared an end to major combat operations on May 1, 2003 in front of a banner that read "Mission Accomplished". There are 13,559 U.S. servicemembers that have been wounded since the beginning of the Iraq War.

The human cost of the war is high and will continue to grow. And what about the rationale? Why did the president claim that Iraq was seeking refined uranium from Niger? Where are the weapons of Mass Destruction? The Downing Street Memo reminds the public of the truth.

Preferential Seating

The meaning of this bus sign is clear to anyone regardless of what language they speak or their cultural background.

Preferential Seating is reserved for people from four specific categories:

1. People with a prickly pear cactus growing out of their knee.
2. People who are traveling with a watermelon in their lap.
3. People who are bending over to lick a candy cane.
4. People wearing ski boots while straddling a giant golf tee.

Walk To San Juan De Los Lagos

Rosy invited me to join her on the last leg of a pilgrimage she promised to make to San Juan de los Lagos to see the miraculous image of the virgin. Some people walk the distance from Salamanca in three days. Others take up to five days to complete the journey. It took Rosy eighteen years. The final leg was long enough, thirty-eight kilometers along open highway past trees, water tanks, old buildings and road kill. We baked ourselves in the sun and pounded our legs on the pavement, but it was worth it. I joined Rosy for a prayer of thanksgiving inside the cathedral.

Partying With "Barney"

Barro Negro played last night in Bar Fly without the bongos, but it was funky groovy nonetheless. There were so many of us dancing in front of the band that I kept getting pushed into the saxophone player.

I ended up drinking beer with drummer Laloc, his architect brother Barney and Titi, world traveler and jewelry artisan who is proud of his Guatemalan pants. Bar Fly closes early, so we were forced into the street with our beers.

Our train moved to El Bar del Santos, but we lost Titi who peeled off at the freak bar, Los Lobos. Inside, I hooked up with Josue and other friends.

The next stop was Bar Ocho, where Sam was working as a waiter on the second floor. Barney, Laloc and I stood drinking our beer on the street in front of the bar long after closing time.

We eventually decided to go to El Divan. I found out later that the after-hours party there had lasted until six o’clock, but I left at 4:30. I had had enough beer and trance dancing by then. I swam through the crowd and said good-night to Rafa who was working the door.

Walking home, I passed Pedro, the Barro Negro guitarist who was perched on a stone monument making out with a groupie. He grinned at me when he came up for air.

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Vacation Within A Vacation

There was a rich moment of bed stretching this morning when I recognized during the transition to wakefulness that I was alone in Guanajuato for the weekend. Rosy and the kids are safe and content in Salamanca. I will: hike, read Dune, listen to live music tonight with George and Nick, outline the "Janos" novel, work on TC project, write the "Cone of Silence" and sleep an extra 30 minutes.

No babies or ten year olds jumping on my chest. No imperative errands to buy evaporated milk. No sour diapers to process. Twist. Stretch. Extend toes. Breath deep. Roll eyeballs back inside my head for an extended session. Dream.

Solitaire Commentary

... I am still playing the original deal.

The top card of pile six is removed by placing it on the appropriate proceeding card on pile seven. (sequential opportunity and color match)

The top card of pile six is removed again for a sequential opportunity on pile seven. Two card chain.

The original deal is stalled. First card from the hand is exposed. Sequential opportunity, but no color match.

Second hand card is playable on pile six.

Third hand card. No sequential opportunity.

Next hand card is playable on pile two. The next card in the hand is a duplicate. (same color and number)

Top card of pile seven is played on pile two.

Next hand card. No sequential opportunity. It duplicates the top card on pile two.

Next hand card. No play.

Next hand card. No play. It duplicates the top card on pile four.

Next hand card. No play. It duplicates the bottom card on pile five.

Last card of the first hand. A red ace. It is used to start the first ascending pile.

The next hand card is playable on pile four. (Sequential opportunity and color match) The first hand keeps going.

Next exposed hand card is played on pile four.

The next card is a low card. In fact it's a terminal card. There is no place to play it anyway.

Top card of pile six is played on pile four.

The top card of pile four is played on the new exposed card of pile six. A black descending anchor card is revealed, but there are unplayed cards underneath.

The top card of pile seven is played on pile four. The new exposed card on pile seven is a red ace. A new ascending pile is created.

A red descending anchor card is exposed on pile seven.

The exposed hand card is played on second ascending pile.

The exposed hand card is unplayable. It has been a long productive first hand, but now it's over. Time to turn over the hand and reveal the first card of the second hand ...

Ex-Hacienda San Gabriel De Barrera

Fantastico Museo en Guanajuato!

Donde puedes ver: muebles... capillas... albercas... norias... jardines... cactus... naranjos... flores... bancos... fuentes... camas... mesas... pinturas... y...

Es muy relajante. Creeme.

Sterling Tonalli (a.k.a. Guita)

Smiling flower picker
Stick horse riding stone hunter
Sinbad smasher
Clothesline rodeo clown
Future tree wrangler
Sand shuffler
Devourer of bread
Single-shoed spider man adversary
Baby tooth smiler with diaper

Pigs In The Blanket A La Mexicana

Ingredients

1/3 cup vegetable oil
6 wieners
6 flour tortillas
6 toothpicks
1/4 cup mustard
1/4 cup catsup

Heat vegetable oil in a fry pan. Wrap each wiener in a flour tortilla. Secure each tortilla with a toothpick. Insert the tortilla-wrapped wieners in hot oil. Deep fry for about five minutes turning with a fork so the tortillas are cooked evenly on all sides. Serve on a plate with mustard and catsup for dipping.

Checklist For Georgie Bresnahan's 1st Birthday Party

Double park on Arandas Boulevard in Irapuato
Drink jamaica
Play mini soccer
Go down slide
Ride merry-go-round
Eat green mole and rice
Get locked in archery cage
Break piñata
Buy inflatable spider-man for 30 pesos
Wait in line for women's bathroom
Sing Las Mañanitas
Eat cake and jell-o
Make hiking plans with Nick and George
Talk to poet Jorge Olmos about writing
Say good-bye to birthday boy Georgie Bresnahan

Why I've been So Thirsty Lately

When I read Razor’s Edge, I had a craving to drink gin.

When I read Under the Volcano, I felt a need to drink mescal.

When I read Lust for Life, I wanted to try absinthe.

When I read Cypress Grove, I was driven to buy a bottle of whiskey and drink it.

Now I’m reading Dune, by Frank Herbert, set on the desert planet of Arrakis where water is so scarce the dew is harvested, body fluids are re-cycled and water merchants are the wealthiest people in society. I’ve been drinking lots of water.

Pizza And Old Doors

Do people have a limited supply of affection? If so, should they waste it loving pizza, old doors and other inanimate objects that can't love them back? What if a bachelor loved pizza so much that when his destined bride showed up, he didn't have sense enough to push the parmesan aside and marry her? If destiny were real, bloodlines would be lost, the vaccine for warts never discovered.

If objects could love you, they would jump off the store shelves into your pocket, socks would stick with their mates and bicycle tires would patch themselves. Objects are no more capable of reason than cobblestones, avocado pits or Karl Rove. It's just stuff! It doesn't hover around us like Neptune's ring. It's just piles of dross that fade or bury us if we let it.

Movies And Film

One of Skyler's classmates didn't think there were movie theaters in Mexico. Actually, movies are quite popular. DVD's cost twenty pesos in front of the Mercado Hidalgo. They come on two unlabeled cd-r's. We haven't gone to see a movie in the theaters this year except for The Straight Story by David Lynch that was showing in the Teatro Principal as part of an Art House Film festival. It was the painfully slow story of an old man who drives a lawnmower and eats roadkill for six weeks on a trip to visit his brother.

The annual short film festival, Expresion en Corto, will take place in Guanajuato from July 23 through July 30. I'll be posting updates. Some of the short films last year were quite entertaining like the Central Park Screamers. Rosy and I saw three short films in El Divan two weeks ago including am MTV-inspired dancing gorilla piece. And of course you can see Batman in Guanajuato. The movie theater is located behind the University. You have to walk up eighty steps to get there.

I'm Finished With Nausea

I’m finished with Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre. The novel about a man who is nauseated by his own existence definitely falls into the “downer” category. There is a slight upswing in the mood of the book at the very end. Antoine Roquentin resolves in his mind the raging debate that has supplied the underlying conflict throughout: Do things exist?

On page 181 he narrates, “…nothingness was only an idea in my head, an existing idea floating in this immensity: this nothingness had not come before existence, it was an existence like any other and appeared after many others.”

This revelation makes him crazy mad. He runs from the public park, arms flailing, cussing at all the stuff around him, the existence of which he can no longer deny. This demonstrates that you can solve your own problems through thoughtful meditation and mental discipline, but if your problem is a stupid one, you will end up looking like an idiot.

What Kind Of Reader Are You?

Today is Day 26 out of fifty-two. What kind of Weblog reader are you?

Procrastinator- "I received the link to Fifty-Two Days in Mexico, but I'm just too busy to look at it everyday. Yes, I am aware that I am depriving myself the chance to experience Garrett's considerable literary and artistic talent. The only one being hurt by my procrastination is myself."

Cynic- "Garrett's Weblog is probably boring. I received an email with the link, but I deleted it. I have no intention of visiting his site. My life would be so much more pleasant if I knew that dross like Fifty-Two Days in Mexico didn't exist to clutter up the Internet."

Disenchanted- "Yes, I was reading Fifty-Two Days in Mexico on a daily basis, but I got tired of it because Garrett never wrote anything about me. I could care less about Garrett's vacation. What I really enjoy, is reading about myself."

Fan- "I find myself arriving at work an hour early each day, so I can check out the latest post on Fifty-Two Days in Mexico . I usually check back every ten minutes to see if Garrett has made any revisions. I persuaded the IT department to push Fifty-Two Days in Mexico as the mandatory home page for everyone who works in my corporation/school district/government agency. Because of Fifty-Two Days in Mexico, I am living the apex of my life. I dread July 31 when Garrett will make his final post. At least, I will always have the memories."

Hike To The Summit Of Cerro De La Sirena

The wind was so strong it nearly carried away my backpack. The summit of Cerro de la Sirena is one of my favorite places in Guanajuato. On one side you see the city. From the other side you see the Santa Rosa Mountains, la Presa de la Mata and thunderclouds over Irapuato. There is a rock I like to sit on when I look toward the mountains. I have decided to declare it a beach and spend a day there laying on a towel.

Third of July Celebration

We celebrated the 3rd of July today with hot dogs, cake, tostadas and French Fries. We lit sparklers after it was dark. Guests include: Don Vicente & Nina, Armando & Family, Jorge & Family, Suegra, Laura & Family, Comadre Lupita, Suegro & Grandparents, Anita & Kids, Josue, Leonel & Mariangel, George & Family. Thanks for coming. Hope my family is safe this weekend and enjoying Independence Day. Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Sis! Hi Pete!

Being Nocturnal

I sleep all day waiting for George while the rain falls outside. Yes, rain. Soon, the hillsides above our house will be green with summer grass, and the purple garambullos will ripen on the tips of the cactus arms.

Bar Ocho We arrive before Sam begins his shift. Early. But we are there to eat vegetarian hamburgers on the patio and wait for darkness. Shortly, our evening will begin.

Cafe Santos A jazz band that jingles and rips. The guitarist jams us up to the cieling and back down. Chiapas coffee!

Bar Fly Barro Negro is the jam spankiest Mexican band I've heard in a while. It's danceable funky rock delivered by musicians in Aztec tunics. The skirt over jeans crowd is hip pip popping. Everyone is moving to the music.

Bar Santos Son de Montón. Can't help falling in love with the yip yapping of dueling jaranistas tinkling the strings on tiny guitars. Urban Mexico meets the Yucatan. There is dancing and whistling for more.

Bar Ocho Things end where they begin. Sam behind the bar extends his hospitality. Rain dumps on the cobblestones outside. I am dry and drinking an Indio.

Home before the sun comes up. A good Friday night.

Sobre Lenguaje

Siempre hay los que preguntan como lo hago para hacer la transición al español. No lo voy a decir. Me aburre. Aunque comprendo como eso fascina a los que están sentados en los bancos duros del Instituto Falcón. Ellos concentran y esfuerzan para sacar el significado de lo que escuchan a su alrededor. Cada palabra que alcanzan a recoger de la cadena desordenada de sonidos es un paso más hacía la comprensión. Lo mismo haré cuando voy a Francia para perfeccionar mi francés. Pero, yo domino el español y no es un lenguaje extraño. Se siente normal. Y los momentos, supongo que todos tenemos esos momentos, en que las palabras que salen de mi boca están habladas por otra persona, son momentos en lo que estoy usando el inglés. No rechazo el inglés. Lo adoro. No soportaría leer Hemingway en traducción. Pinto mis cuadros léxicos con la brocha inglesa. Pero dentro de mí, hay una expresión en español válida y valorada.

No es mi culpa si no sabes leer castellano. La página Dictionary.com tiene un buen traductor.

Which is better: Guanajuato or San Miguel de Allende?

	Guanajuato	San Miguel de Allende
Granted, for me to compare Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende is a little like me comparing being a man and being a woman. I just don't have much experience inside San Miguel de Allende. Here is a comparison chart anyway.
Music in the Plaza	Estudiantina	Mariachi
Museums	At least six, although I tend to walk fast through the Quijote museum.	One, I think.
Night Life	You can stumble from one bar to another before you even lose your balance.	Pretty lively,I think, but I'm just guessing.
Restaurants	I don't really know since I only eat in one restaurant, the Truco 7.	You will be relieved of the burden of paying less than American prices.
Shopping	Lots of shops selling obscene t-shirts.	Artesanias galore.
Baby Strollers	Forget about it; too many stairs, too many uneven cobblestones and too many pedestrians	Limited viability. You will have to do some lifting and carrying.
Gringos	Now that everyone is reading 52 Days, we'll be expecting to see a lot more.	Well, San Miguel de Allende is part of the United States, isn't it?

What if a blog fell?

If a blog was posted in the woods but there was no one to read it, would it still be a blog? And if a blog wasn't posted because the author was enjoying a delicious shower bath beneath a magic weeping mushroom, would it be a literary disater? Some people work on Wednesdays, but me, I place my babies in the mouths of giant frogs. Vacation is sweet.

Hike to the Caves

Clarissa has been keeping a journal of our vacation that she writes in with a giant blue pencil from the Guanajuato market. She wrote an entry about our hike to the caves on Saturday. Clarissa, Skyler and I enjoyed them deeply.

We climbed the road to the Bufa for a half hour checking out the view of Guanajuato. We went straight to the deepest cave which is called either Garrett's Cave, Skyler's Cave or Two-way cave, depending on which one of us you talk to. The entrance is a tight squeeze and quickly separates into two passages. The left tunnel slopes down into a subterranean pool of water. The right tunnel continues deep into the mountain, but we turned around after forty yards. Skyler turned off the flashlight for a second so we could get freaked out by the darkness.

This reminded me of the time I visited a commercial cave in Chiapas in which the lighting system wasn't working. I rented a weak flashlight from an Indian woman who was selling jewelry at the entrance. It gave off less light than a lit cigarette and I had to thump it against my thigh avery ten steps to jiggle the batteries when it went out on me. Altogether, I went in about half a mile. I was never worried about getting stranded inside. I just assumed that some tourist with another weak flashlight would eventually come along and step on me.