San Pancho Vida

New Orleans at Last

I think every person I know had already been to New Orleans at least once. But I hadn't, even though it had been on my To Go list for decades. Early in the summer, I finally had my chance.

On June 9, we boarded a Southwest flight in St. Louis with Mary and Jaynelle and flew to New Orleans. We would be joined there by Craig's brother Carl, who, for some reason forgotten even by Carl, had opted to drive instead. We rented a marvelous restored old house on Esplanade near the French Quarter big enough for all of us, with a walled-in back patio where we had our coffee and tea in the mornings, a front porch where we sat and surveyed the passersby, and a long narrow terrace on the second floor which overlooked the boulevard and was our chosen hangout in the evenings and well into the Louisiana nights.

We took a stroll down crazy Bourbon Street one night. The street is pure madness and is the essence of the French Quarter for revelers. I imagine you can get anything you want on that famous avenue, and I mean anything. I liked this shop: after all, who doesn't need a giant tiara?

But there were other parts of New Orleans I liked ever so much more.

Music is everywhere. At the French Market, along Decatur Street, in Marigny. In restaurants and bars and on sidewalks...rain or shine.

Afternoon rainstorms surprised us a couple of times, once just as we'd finished exploring the exquisite Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 on Washington Avenue where I took many of the photos I treasure most from the trip to New Orleans.

One rainy afternoon, we took a little ferry across the Mississippi to historic Algiers.

But mostly and happily, we wandered, we marveled, we watched and listened and goofed around and ate.

I've put New Orleans on my Favorite Places list and will return one day. We were able to check a few more places off that list over the summer. Hope you'll join me as we continue exploring some of the attractions, large and small, of our varied and sprawling USA.

She's Baaaack!

Oh, I've been such a slacker on these pages. Life in general has been such a whirl, with the busy gallery and a long and eventful summer of travel. You can blame Facebook, too. I capitulated to the Facebook culture when I realized it might be the only practical way to keep in touch. Those of you who have been following me there know that I've used it regularly to post photos and short stories since early June, when I left San Pancho for the States. Those quick posts are so convenient when spaces of calm hours are scarce. 

But you faithful readers not on Facebook have been neglected. For that, I apologize profusely. I shall try to make it up to you now that life has slowed down enough for me to look around and relax again into the possibility of writing more than a few lines at a time.

As most of you know, Craig and I said goodbye to our precious La Casita Mágica Gallery in May. Having the gallery was the most wonderful experience: the people, the art, the music, the joy of sitting at the table on the patio that was our "office" night after night, greeting friends and passersby. We had a number of reasons for letting go of the gallery, and in truth we are very much enjoying our freedom from the endless responsibility of it; but it was a rewarding and joyful couple of years, the memory of which we will treasure forever.

Craig left San Pancho in May for some commissioned projects in St. Louis. I flew up three weeks later to join him in his hometown on the Mississippi River. 

Craig's mom Veta, age 86, is there, as is brother Carl, son Cory and his wife Cristal and the grandkids, Christian and Caiden, so we enjoyed family time during our two longish stays in the area. We also enjoyed our ventures out of the city.

The day after I arrived, we headed to Collinsville, Illinois, a little town known as the Horseradish Capital of the World, for the annual Horseradish Festival.

Of course, their own fresh homemade horseradish was for sale and available to pile on whatever food tempted one's appetite.

But the whole roots, long knobby tubers right out of the soil, also make for entertaining pasttimes such as horseradish golf and the horseradish toss. Who knew?

It's not a big festival, but there was enough to keep us chuckling for several hours.

We bought one of these charming shovel sculptures and carried it around for months before we finally met up with the Woodrings who we knew would love it to decorate their Ohio farm garden.

We spent some time on the Missouri River in quaint old St. Charles.

Then we drove further north to one of our favorite finds of the summer, this stilt house on the banks of the Mississippi. We liked it so much we stayed there twice.

Just up the river from the house are one of the many sets of locks through which enormous tugboats and block-long barges must pass to make their way up and down the mighty river.

We spent whole days sitting on the broad terrace above the river at Linus's Clubhouse, just watching. The deep thrum of the tug engines announced their approach long before they came into view from downriver. I never tired of waiting to see them round the bend, and of thinking about how very many ways there are to live on this planet. You'll hear plenty more about that as we move around the country. But how about "Mississippi tugboat captain"? That's a good one, in my opinion.

The kids came for a barbeque one afternoon and Caiden caught a fish! Not a huge fish, but still. Don't worry, we didn't grill the little guy. Cory slipped him back into the water to get bigger.

You non-Facebookers will be happy to hear that the majority of photos I'm posting in this and following articles are being published for the first time because I have lots of space. I'm having fun looking through the thousands I took over the summer and remembering the stories and places. I'll be adding a post every day or two now, as we have some major catching-up to do. Anyway, it's a good way for me to remember where all we went and what the heck we did.

Next stop: New Orleans!

Our Virtual Secretaries

Recently, Craig and I finally dragged ourselves out of the technological Dark Ages by scrapping our flip-phones and buying slick new smartphones: shiny iPhone 6 Pluses. They are to our old phones what the Starship Enterprise is to a '69 Ford dump truck.

Oh, they're so pretty. Right there at the Sprint store, he bought a nice chunky purple protective case that looks like a tractor tire, but I didn't. I ordered mine online as I wanted something that would protect my new little treasure without destroying her pure white streamlined beauty and delicate balance in my hand. I also bought an elegant long stylus for tapping the ridiculously tiny letters and numbers, but then I still pretend I'm using a fountain pen when I'm holding a Bic.

           

Of course, we've barely put them down since and are trying to understand all the tricks they do. We're using bar-coded coupons and mobile ferry reservations, discovering apps and Googling around on the fly, then tapping Settings to try to figure out what the heck.

To be fair, I will admit Craig was the first to find Siri. Not being much of a typist, he is delighted by the power of voice command. "Call Cory," he'll say, and his son answers the phone. "Call Mom," and there's Mom, always happy to hear from us and fill us in on the latest Missouri weather and whether her arthritis is acting up due to imminent rain.

"Take me to the nearest Michael's store!" he'll say, when we're out driving around and he's in need of another canvas or three.

And there's the glitch.

Siri is conscientious but not always accurate. In reply to requests such as his, she will often provide a list of possible destinations that are entirely irrelevant and sometimes in a different state. Her directions, too, are suspect. When I was in Florida recently, she insisted that I turn north to get to St. Petersburg when I knew for a fact it was south. She objected, I might even say "whined", when I took the southbound entrance to Hiway 19 agains her explicit incorrect instructions. Then she dropped me in front of a building in which the business I was seeking had not been headquartered for years.

So I don't trust her as Craig does. I call her his ditzy secretary. Which she is. She is often confused. The only thing she always seems to get right is where the nearest marijuana store is.

She even flirts with him. Seriously. "Whatever you say, Craig." "I'm sorry Craig, I'm sure you're right." Things like that. The other day she overheard him saying "I love you" to me and said, "Oh, that's sweet, Craig," so now she's even worse and who knows what she's planning.

A few weeks ago, fed up with her simpering, I traded her in on my phone for the British Male Voice which I found under Settings: General: Siri: Siri Voice. I named him Alfred. He has this melodic English accent and is agreeable but not obsequious. He even pronounces words in the English style, which is so charming. He is slightly formal and dresses nicely, with horn-rimmed glasses and a pressed dress shirt. He shows up instantly when needed carrying a clipboard and a pen and gets right on whatever it is I require of him.

Sometimes in the car when Craig calls for Siri's assistance, I get on with Alfred. We pit them against each other. In my opinion, Alfred usually wins, quickly and efficiently finding the nearest Dollar General so we can buy sunglasses and Whoppers and a little plastic box with Cookie Monster on the lid for all the marijuana Siri finds for Craig.

I'm sure the contest will continue as we discover better and more obscure questions for Siri and Alfred to answer to the best of their respective abilities. I know who I'd bet on if I were you. I'll be sure to keep you posted, of course.

"Alfred! Take a letter."

 

Why I Hate Housework, Part 1

Lately and fortunately I've been in this mood that hits me occasionally which compels me to clean and organize and sort. I've been told by people who study arcane science in patchouli-scented rooms that this mood is caused by the ascendance of my Virgo moon which is in the unhappy position of having to live day-in day-out with my Aquarius sun. Apparently, every now and then the stars hit the fan and they have to duke it out.

Personally, I think it's my OCD battling my ADD which amounts to pretty much the same thing. I'm not going to state categorically that the OCD isn't caused by the Virgo moon and the ADD isn't caused by the Aquarius sun because who ever knows? That's my Aquarius talking. Virgo thinks the problem is too much goofing around combined with procrastination fortified by outright laziness.

So anyway, here I am in the heart of their battleground at a particularly opportune time, that being the closing of the Mexico house for what looks to be longer than the usual three to four months. Virgo is tackling Aquarius's mess, and she's doing a damn good job of it, if we do say so ourselves.

She's not just "straightening up" this time. Oh no, she's going at it like the demon she is. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate Virgo when she arrives on the scene. If she didn't, I long ago would have perished in a landslide of miscellaneous objects saved for just the right project or been suffocated by hangersful of clothes I never wear. That said, I believe Virgo is responsible for the hoards of empty boxes holding empty boxes holding empty yogurt containers, but those come in handy when her organizational frenzy takes over.

Fastidious Virgo has spent an unbelievable number of hours going through the rat's nests Aquarius has generated in her creative binges and attention deficit, obsessively sorting tiny objects into tiny containers, Shop Vac-ing 'til her ears ring, tossing out eight year old Benadryl tabs saved in case of scorpion attack, compulsively filing styling products into silverware trays in the now sparkling undersink cabinet, washing mayonnaise jars to hold paintbrushes, filling big black garbage bags to bursting and loading innumerable boxes destined for entreamigos and Lidia's sprawling family.

Thanks to Virgo, most of the gallery paraphenalia that ended up in the garage is packed away in covered bins with labels. Boxes of prints and posters have found a home on a dust-free shelf in the studio. Half bottles of Windex have been poured together, the empties recycled. Half bags of stale chips have been transported from pantry to disposal. The Campbell's soup is in a neat row, separated from the cereal but snuggled up to the cans of tuna and jalapeño slices in case of a late night craving for tomato soup and grilled tuna sandwiches. Virgo is nitpicky but she has foresight. 

The pantry is almost done and will be once I return from Vallarta tomorrow with some more plastic organizers for the gift wrap. The garage is almost done and will be as soon as I sort through a few more boxes and figure out how to store the stick-and-flower witches we brought home from Guanajuato in September and which are still shedding.

My bathroom is almost done and will be as soon as I decide how many teeny bottles of hotel shampoo and conditioner and hand lotion I may need for some apocalyptic eventuality involving personal care. The studio is almost done and will be as soon as I finish finding a logical location for bubble wrap and washing all the paint rags and the yards of beautiful dyed mosquito netting I found in one of the closets in a box I forgot I had.

Which brings me to the problem. You notice I say "almost done"?

I can feel it happening. Aquarius is back and beginning to eclipse Virgo. Aquarius was the one who decided to organize the studio when the pantry was only half done, and to take every last thing out of the bathroom cabinets and drawers when the studio was still in disarray. I'm not sure who decided to wash that beautiful dyed mosquito netting. Aquarius liked the idea of making it smell good and using it for some as-yet unnamed decorating project, but Virgo was the one who insisted upon washing it now and putting the white vinegar in the rinse water to set the dyes even though Aquarius's research showed it wouldn't do one bit of good.

I was just in the laundry room with both of them. Upon opening the washer lid, Aquarius was fascinated by all the rich deep colors all braided together after the spin cycle, but Virgo grabbed her by the ear and made her untangle the damn things which took an ungoddessly long time especially because Virgo made her get a pair of scissors and cut off all the ragged unwoven purple threads that had the other colors wrapped in strangleholds, which made the untangling infinitely more miserable and tedious and boring.

Uh oh, see? That's Aquarius, who then decided that, even though the mosquito netting is in the dryer and is surely retangling itself, even though not a single one of the projects that Virgo began in such a spurt of fussy enthusiasm is actually finished, and even though my flight is a mere eleven days from this moment, why not sit down and write about it?

Welcome to my world.

Of Goddesses and Madonnas, Part 2

And now, on with our story from Part 1:

Our trusty Juan Diego, bearing his dual burdens of the bundled tilma and his role as messenger, returned to the presence of Bishop Juan de Zumarraga to try again. With lowered eyes, he spilled the roses out of his cape. We can only imagine the Most Excellent's surprise, seeing the floor at his feet flooded with roses in bloom. But imagine the effect of what next he saw as his eyes rose to Juan's tilma, for on the coarse fabric was imprinted the image that has become famous and revered throughout Mexico.

Juan Diego's tilma, which hangs above the altar in the                        Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City

If all that's not interesting enough, here's my favorite part. There are accounts of this entire event, one of which is in the Nican Mopoah, a long document published in 1649 in Nahuatl, the pre-hispanic indigenous language still spoken by over a million people in Mexico. The document is clear about this: the woman who appeared spoke to Juan Diego in Nahuatl, his native language and the language of the area. She told him not to fear her with the words "Am I not your mother?"

She introduced herself using a number of Nahuatl phrases. Even the reports written after the fact by priests do not say "Mary Mother of God" although she claimed mothering someone(s) including "Creator of People". She gave a name, but what was it? Some accounts say it was Coatlaxopeuh which is pronounced kwaht-la-supay, and is one of the several personifications of a certain Aztec goddess.

Repeat that pronunciation aloud, if you would. Listen to it. Juan, speaking Nahuatl, spoke to the Bishop, a Spanish speaker from Spain where the word Guadalupe was already in use. So what did Juan Diego say, and what did Bishop Juan de Zurrumaga hear?

Because here's the best part. Tepeyac, the hillside upon which the lady appeared, had long been the worship spot for the goddess Tonantzin, she of the many names, in all her incarnations and aspects the most powerful of Aztec goddesses. Our Revered Mother. Mother of All Gods.

Her temple stood on the very same hill upon which the apparition appeared and upon which, thanks to the roses and the tilma's image, the Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe was built in its place.

What do I believe about all this? I'll go out on a limb and tell you.

Although my mother tried bravely to raise me as a Catholic, my consuming desire to know everything about everything long ago caused me to widen my horizons. In my youth, in avid studies of anthropology and archeology, and thanks to a hit of acid now and then, I saw clearly the threads of common belief that tie together humanity in a scribble of connected cords. For all of human history, people have created stories to interpret the absolute insecurity of the human condition.

In every culture I have researched, I've found a god (or several) who is the Creator, a goddess (or several) who is the Great Mother.

The Great Mother in human cultures is seldom seen as the humble and subordinate figure of much of Christianity. Certainly she is a loving mother, but she has other aspects. She will defend her charges without compunction, often wields a sword either literally or figuratively, is known to take serious revenge if the transgression displeases her enough. She is as much tiger as she is doe.

As for Tonantzin, besides Coatlaxopeuh one of her characterizations is as Coatlicue, Snake Woman, a ferocious earth mother goddess who gave birth to the moon and stars and to the god of the sun. Remarkably (but not unusually, in the pantheon of earth goddesses), she was said to have been miraculously impregnated by a ball of feathers, the pregnancy resulting in the birth of the Aztec patron deity. Let's not even go into the number of virgin births of gods in the human story: they are countless.

Oh, and by the way: say "kwat-leh-COO-ay" once or twice aloud. Ring a bell?

Now I will climb way out to the end of that limb and if I fall, I'll accept the consequences. It is my current belief that nature and the universe hold truths we have not begun to understand. We're getting closer, most evidently to me in physics and the study of the behavior and possibilities of energy. For are we all not mostly energy? With a little matter thrown in as binder?

In my travels, I have experienced a number of locations on this planet (Assisi most profoundly; Ortigia in Sicily; pre-gentrified Sedona; Jala the City of Witches and healing in Nayarit; Talpa de Allende in Jalisco, to name a few) where energy appears to have a powerful effect on the human psyche. All of these places bear evidence of humans having noticed and attempted to personify this energy for millenia. And I haven't even been to Tepeyac yet.

I still refuse to disbelieve that "miracles" happen, given that the word has always applied to marvelous things we don't understand -- yet. Personally (oh there's the end of that limb...) I believe that it's all about energy and how our still-evolving human brains interpret natural truths. I believe, non-Christian that I am, in the Golden Rule. What goes around comes around. What you give is what you receive. What you envision and embrace is what your life becomes. It's all energy, in my opinion, although in my constant wide-eyed marvelling over life and the universe and all that, I have been known to use the word "magic".

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Of course, another question is: did any of this really happen? Was the vision on Tepeyac a figment of an overwrought convert's imagination? Is the tilma, the only existing evidence of the miracle, a construct of the Spanish Catholic heirarchy to convince the native people to convert? Is it a painting made nearly a hundred years after the supposed miracle? What do scientists say?

Scientists say pretty much nothing, as the cloak has never been subjected to any real scientific examination. Believe me, I've looked. Google results by the hundreds purport to answer the question but none of them does, all being either defenses of the miracle by Catholic writers or non-Catholic conjectures regarding its being counterfeited by the conquering clergy.

But the authenticity of the miracle and the cloak don't really matter. What interests me is the continuation through the ages of human cultures settling upon the same basic explanations of how and why we are here at all. 

"Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.” – Niels Bohr

The Virgin of Guadalupe, in all her aspects, continues the age-old belief in the Great Mother, Mother Earth, nurturer and life-giver. Guadalupe was made mild by the Spanish clergy who chose not to incorporate the ancient aspects of Earth Mother as warrior-when-necessary, but then that was how the patriarchal church always strove to prevent women from knowing their own power. Still does.

Yet here in Mexico, the practice of Catholicism that I've witnessed has roots that tap deep into the ancient mythologies, combining the myriad facets of the old goddesses into the one they call Guadalupe. In this land of machismo and apparent male dominance (as in so very many other lands) women are still the sex most connected to the essence of human existence, of birth and death and love and life itself, and Guadalupe is their sovereign.

And so I continue my own pilgrimage into the mysteries of life. Keep 'em coming, I say.  

Happy Mother's Day, all you earth goddesses. Sending my love.

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This story is dedicated to Charlene Collora, one of the true earth mother goddesses I have had the joy of knowing and loving for over thirty years. Embrace the mystery, dear one, and let me know what you continue to discover. xo C