Guanajuato Day 9
7.29.06
The morning begins with a brisk crepuscular saunter down my street to meet Michael and the kids at the central square at 7 am after their taxi in from the airport. I am aware of the quiet, aloneness of the street, a few Friday night stragglers and then 3 people approaching. Two are men, one woman. One of the men has blood dripping all over his face and drunkenly wobbles along the sidewalk, bouncing off the wall. I look briefly at his creepy visage and choose the center of the street instead of passing near them when suddenly he lunges at me, yelling. I try to scoot away and scream myself as he punches me in the arm. His companeros restrain him for a moment as I try to evade the group on the narrow street, but he comes at me again and I yell out “me proteje!”. The other two apologize as if he’d just sneezed on me and I run around the corner where I hear him calling out in anger, “la morena, la morena” (the brunette, the brunette). My heart is racing and my arm throbbing as I enter the quiet plaza. My body has woken up completely as I think back on what had just happened. And then reprimand myself for using the incorrect imperative. It should have been “protejame!”
What did he see in me, that provoked such rage? Had a similar looking woman just broken his heart? Betrayed him to his wife? Did I remind him of his boss who just laid him off? Who knows. I’m just glad he didn’t go for my face as I’d hate to have had to spend the day getting my nose set.
Hanah’s reactions as we walk down the street to the street pavers and the colored houses is: Mexico has a rainbow stretched through it. She instantly befriends the 7 year old cousins who live here and they’re playing with dolls. Noah, bereft of his electronic umbilicus, brings out his Star War characters and reinacts some major battle. We have been moved to the top rooms of this 4 floor house and have a marvelous view of the city, our own private patio amidst the wash lines. Michael took this picture of a dog on someone’s roof, nearby.
We head to school so Michael can get his placement test out of the way and have a Europpean lunch to accommodate the kids and walk around the reservoir which has huge sluice gates that periodically wash out the town’s tunnels. Then a stop at a playground where the usually taciturn Noah engages his imagination on the jungle gym. I love watching him be a boy again. Sometimes I see him stretching into the teen years, taking on their mannered insouciance, their slang, their studied postures. Hanah on the other hand is all things sophisticated, with Valley Girl speak mixed with princess parlance.
Watching these kids play, feeling, seek succor in an abuela’s bosom when bonked in the head by a swing, scream in delight on a slide, I wonder when this all ends, this living in the moment so openly and intensely. It drives a parent nuts when they are so focused they can’t transition from task to task. Is adulthood the terrain of restraint, responsibility and remorse? This town of endless plazas makes me think we need more of these moments to rest and reflect, to gather back into ourselves. Someone once joked that on hot days we leave our car doors open a crack so that the 70% of us we leave inside can breathe. I’ve heard that we only use %10 of our conscious brain at any time. If true, is this to conserve some of our senses from overload? Or does our society just not train us to tune in to ourselves as perhaps those that include meditation and retreat do?
When alcohol triggers such uncontrollable emotions that they are mis-directed at a stranger, it makes me wonder what lies beneath all of us that may be tapped when the circumstances or stimulants are right. We should let more of ourselves out of the car each day, take ourselves by the hand and get better aquainted.
The morning begins with a brisk crepuscular saunter down my street to meet Michael and the kids at the central square at 7 am after their taxi in from the airport. I am aware of the quiet, aloneness of the street, a few Friday night stragglers and then 3 people approaching. Two are men, one woman. One of the men has blood dripping all over his face and drunkenly wobbles along the sidewalk, bouncing off the wall. I look briefly at his creepy visage and choose the center of the street instead of passing near them when suddenly he lunges at me, yelling. I try to scoot away and scream myself as he punches me in the arm. His companeros restrain him for a moment as I try to evade the group on the narrow street, but he comes at me again and I yell out “me proteje!”. The other two apologize as if he’d just sneezed on me and I run around the corner where I hear him calling out in anger, “la morena, la morena” (the brunette, the brunette). My heart is racing and my arm throbbing as I enter the quiet plaza. My body has woken up completely as I think back on what had just happened. And then reprimand myself for using the incorrect imperative. It should have been “protejame!”
What did he see in me, that provoked such rage? Had a similar looking woman just broken his heart? Betrayed him to his wife? Did I remind him of his boss who just laid him off? Who knows. I’m just glad he didn’t go for my face as I’d hate to have had to spend the day getting my nose set.
Hanah’s reactions as we walk down the street to the street pavers and the colored houses is: Mexico has a rainbow stretched through it. She instantly befriends the 7 year old cousins who live here and they’re playing with dolls. Noah, bereft of his electronic umbilicus, brings out his Star War characters and reinacts some major battle. We have been moved to the top rooms of this 4 floor house and have a marvelous view of the city, our own private patio amidst the wash lines. Michael took this picture of a dog on someone’s roof, nearby.
We head to school so Michael can get his placement test out of the way and have a Europpean lunch to accommodate the kids and walk around the reservoir which has huge sluice gates that periodically wash out the town’s tunnels. Then a stop at a playground where the usually taciturn Noah engages his imagination on the jungle gym. I love watching him be a boy again. Sometimes I see him stretching into the teen years, taking on their mannered insouciance, their slang, their studied postures. Hanah on the other hand is all things sophisticated, with Valley Girl speak mixed with princess parlance.
Watching these kids play, feeling, seek succor in an abuela’s bosom when bonked in the head by a swing, scream in delight on a slide, I wonder when this all ends, this living in the moment so openly and intensely. It drives a parent nuts when they are so focused they can’t transition from task to task. Is adulthood the terrain of restraint, responsibility and remorse? This town of endless plazas makes me think we need more of these moments to rest and reflect, to gather back into ourselves. Someone once joked that on hot days we leave our car doors open a crack so that the 70% of us we leave inside can breathe. I’ve heard that we only use %10 of our conscious brain at any time. If true, is this to conserve some of our senses from overload? Or does our society just not train us to tune in to ourselves as perhaps those that include meditation and retreat do?
When alcohol triggers such uncontrollable emotions that they are mis-directed at a stranger, it makes me wonder what lies beneath all of us that may be tapped when the circumstances or stimulants are right. We should let more of ourselves out of the car each day, take ourselves by the hand and get better aquainted.
posted by Barbery at 8:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home