San Pancho Vida

Who Are You?

        "Who, who, who, who? I really wanna know."   The Who, 1978

 

Headquartered as I am in the Seattle area for a few weeks -- and slightly discombobulated due to the drastic change of pretty much everything -- I was fairly astonished to discover it was Thursday, the day I write my weekly post to publish on Friday. 

I’ve written from Seattle before, but now the old house is sold and closed (as of today!), and I haven’t yet had time this trip for any adventures to tell you about. But there is something I’ve been wanting to write a bit about, and that is this mystery of writing a weekly column.

That’s what this really is, I think. The idea of writing a column has intrigued me all my adult life. A column in a newspaper was what I always had in mind. It never happened. Then along came the internet and weblogs and suddenly there was a way to do it.

I like this forum. I like not having an editor looking over my shoulder, being free to write about whatever I feel like, free to add photos when I want, to be serious or silly or something in between.

I suppose one of the similarities between writing this and writing for any print publication is that one seldom knows who is reading. How can one know? These days, there are fancy, nosy internet programs that track readers, but they’re expensive and more than I care to download right now. I do have something provided by Typepad, though. It's called "Stats".

I have to tell you how strange, how otherworldly it is to open the “Stats” window on my Typepad dashboard and see what I am able, and unable, to see.

The Typepad stats are less than elementary. Even so, every day I see how many people have visited this blog. I can see how many page views I’ve had since I started writing it sixteen months ago. I can tell whether I was bookmarked as “San Pancho Vida”, or whether someone bookmarked a particular article or photo that they use as their gateway. I don't have a clue who that person is, however.

I see Google or Bing searches for “San Pancho Vida” or “Candice’s San Pancho blog”, but I can’t tell who entered the search. One time I saw a google for “concrete block” (from Google Russian!) that led the seeker to my blog; there have been others, equally as goofy, several in Arabic or Farsi or some other alphabet entirely unknown to me. One or two of those have actually been a search for San Pancho Vida. Explain that.

I can tell when a reader has come to me through another website: Life's a Beach or San Pancho Weather or Rollybrook or Mexconnect. But again, I can’t tell who you are, whether it’s your first or fiftieth visit.

I can often get a peek at which posts a visitor visited. Other times, there are annoying hash marks that tell me nothing at all, except that Someone visited Some Page. 

What I never can see are names and faces. I can’t tell who is visiting for forty-eight minutes in the wee hours of the morning, who is catching up by clicking through the archives index, who read every single Tracy Guadalupe entry as instructed (I mean, requested) in a recent post.

It’s surreal. I want to know who you are, where you are, what you are doing up at 3:37 a.m. I want to hear from you. What are you doing? Why are you reading? 

Of course, some of you correspond regularly. Many of you who do, I have met on Mexico travels or on other Mexico websites. Others are old friends who delight me by reading each Friday post. I thank you and love you for reading. I cherish your funny and perceptive comments.

I’d really like to know who you are, the couple who came into Panchito’s asking for me while I was in Tonalá. From the Portland area? Somewhere in Oregon, I think. You told Nicole you read these posts regularly. Write to me.

How about you, the woman who built a house in San Blas, who found José Orozco’s website here and went shopping with him in Tonalá? I want to know about your house, how your shopping trip went, and about building and living in San Blas.

How about others of you, who read this for whatever reason? Will you write?

You can comment at the bottom of any post by clicking on “Comment”. You’ll have to put in your email address (to prevent bad guys from getting in), but those addresses are never published. Comments end up in my email box and I publish them from there.

Or you can click on “About” up in the right corner and email me directly at sanpanchovida@seanet.com.

I hope you’ll do one or the other.

And if you don’t, that’s okay, too. I’ll continue to notice you in that other cyber-dimension, on the hazy stats page where at least I can tell I’ve had a visitor. And I’ll thank you for coming by.

Thank you.

Gretchen asked me once if I were going to discontinue this blog after construction ended. I assured her that it had become a habit that I thoroughly enjoy. Also, I’m pretty sure construction never ends; and I see Casa Luz de Luna as a launching pad for travels, adventures, and discovering stories. So I’ll keep writing as long as you read.

xo

Candice

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Life's A Beach   Beck's heartfelt and colorful blog, full of good humor, fabulous photos, and delicious details of her life and travels.

San Pancho Weather  Curt’s website is more than just weather, with news, stories and photos too. We who live in the area make a habit of visiting. Especially those of us who need to know the moment of highest humidity, the overnight low, how this month’s rain compares to a year ago. Like me, for instance.

Rollybrook  How does Rolly cram so much useful information about living in Mexico and moving to Mexico and managing in Mexico into a website that remains readable and navigable? Must be quantum mechanics…

Mexconnect  A big, rich, elegant site with information, articles and forums about all things Mexico. 

 

¡Mama Mía!

Who is the most influential figure in Mexico? President Felipe Calderón? A sports star, maybe footballer Carlos Vela? A singing superstar such as Luís Miguel, or telenovela goddess Maite Perroni? Bazillionaire Carlos Slim? 

I don't think so.

I  think her name is Guadalupe, and she's a mother.

You see her everywhere, in her various garb, called by different names and endearments, in churches and paintings and sculptures, in homemade altars and on house walls beside cobbled streets.

She holds the heart of most Mexicans I know and is more influential by far in everyday life than the Holy Trinity, the President, and all the superstars combined.

The retablos below are traditional thank you messages to La Virgen for performing her maternal miracles. See her hovering in her many guises above the inflicted, the threatened, the frightened?

You might be under the impression, primarily due to the U.S. press, that Mexico is a male-dominated, macho culture, but it isn't. It's a matriarchy, where women and female energy infuse everything of real import, unless you believe cops and robbers and politics are really important. They're not so much, here.

What matter most are children and family, friends and tradition, decency, gratitude and care. 

In a land where the Virgin of Guadalupe is queen mother of all, Mother's Day is more than a Hallmark holiday. This year, I had the opportunity to experience this day that became a week of festivity and honor.

My first small clue was on Sunday, our U.S. Mother's Day. After receiving my lovely cards and calls, I took myself to the beach. My little amigo Javier spotted me immediately and insisted upon knowing what day I would be back: Monday, or Tuesday?

I can come Monday, I told him. "For sure?" he asked. "Absolutely," I replied, and he scampered off. As I was leaving the Malecón that afternoon, his aunt Olga (who is his acting mother) hurried over to me and asked the same question. "I'll be here Monday," I assured her.

Of course, I made a point of being there Monday. Figuring something was up, I strolled casually through the Malecón where Olga and her brother weave their baskets and headed to a table at the middle beach restaurant. As my feet touched the sand, I heard Olga calling, "Javier! Javier!" 

I sat, ordered a limonada, and opened my book. Half a page later, I felt the familiar tap-tap on my left shoulder. I turned my head to the left, just in time to feel the tap-tap on my right shoulder. This is a game we play which lasts as long as my patience holds out, ending when I turn real quick and grab Javi and hold him as he dissolves into hysterical giggles. This time, though, he ducked my hug, as he was holding something he did not want squished.

Solemnly, he presented me with the gift he had made me for Día de Mamas.

He made it all by himself, in school. The flowers, tucked into tissue paper in a little basket, began to wilt before I left the beach, but I honored his careful arrangement by not transferring them to water. That pretty piece of pink fringe is actually a flower, known in these parts as clavellina.

Javier accepted my thanks sweetly, and hugged me for an extra-long time. He has adopted me, apparently, as his other abuelita, a pet name for grandma.

The next day, Tuesday the 10th of May, was Mother's Day in Mexico. It's a school holiday, which no doubt was some man's idea. Flower sellers were everywhere, the cemetery decorated with bouquets of lilies.

Esteban and Lidia, my perfect helpers, had insisted I come to the Malecón that night for the celebration. It's all for mamas, they told me, for women only. There will be entertainment, food, drinks, dancing. The men, Esteban pronounced, have to serve!

I went, of course, with a bagful of fresh-picked gardenias from my garden for my Mexican amigas, who I was sure would be there. They were, with their sisters and children and grandchildren.

The beach plaza was packed. I was presented with a chair as soon as I arrived, just in time to watch the performance of a clown who seemed to be more for the youngsters, but whose antics the adults enjoyed just as much.

Just as Esteban promised, men passed around trays with complimentary margaritas and punch and served a meal. Each mama was given a ticket for the carnival games and a token for a plate of food. Then the folklorico dancers entertained us.

I sneaked back into the dressing area to take photos.

I chatted with Lidia and her son Waldo, who told me the dancing would start soon...

...with music to be provided by our Banda. Uh-oh. The next morning, Lidia told me the party had lasted until after 2 a.m., but I wasn't there, having slipped away the moment I saw the tuba arrive.

On Thursday morning, also at Lidia's invitation, I stopped by the Día de Las Madres fiesta at the elementary school. No classes today.

The students were all rehearsed and ready to perform for their mamas.

Again, there was food and punch. No margaritas this time, though.

I stayed for half an hour or so, watching and taking photos.

It was a lovely week of celebration here in San Pancho, with music and parties and get-togethers nearly every night.

Next year, let's make the U.S. Mother's Day last a week, too, shall we?

¿Por qué no?

 

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How to Build a Wall Fountain -- Part 2

So, as I was saying last week before we ran out of time, you get your ladders and your paints and your brushes and a couple of rags. You also need a yogurt container of water because -- and this is very important -- there is no water yet in your fountain!

You paint for a little while, until you get hungry. You go inside and have a half a carton of cottage cheese (which is so delicious in Mexico) and take a picture.

You paint for six hours. Then you look at your wall and have a conniption fit because it is so awful. You sulk and cuss and go to bed that night convinced you have wasted an entire day and will now have to repaint the whole wall in a solid color with a normal roller and forget this whole stupid idea.

The next morning, you skulk downstairs, avoiding looking in the direction of the fountain wall outside the living room window. You have several cups of tea to steel yourself. Then you go take a look. Huh, you say to yourself. It's not quite as bad this morning as it was last night. Let's just start messing around with it and see if it's totally hopeless or not. 

Up the ladder you go. Five hours later, you stand back. You pick up a brush again and add a bit of paint here, a bit there. You wipe some of it off with the rag, which now has a lovely impressionist look to it. You admire the rag for a while. You dab some more colors on the wall. You stand back, then spend another hour adding some more color here, some more there.

You wander into the kitchen and open a cold cerveza, just to allow the paint to dry a bit, because you've had another idea.

You go get the wax you bought at Comex to make your wall lamps look aged. Although you are somewhat pooped by now, you climb back up that ladder and smear the brown wax all over everything, then wipe it back off, leaving some of the wax behind in the deep parts of the plaster finish.

Hmmm. Getting closer...maybe just a few more hazes of color up there and down here...

By now, it's been over seven hours, and it's time to clean up and go out to Panchito's for a visit and a break.

The next morning, you wake up a little bit excited. You barely finish a cup of tea before you start applying the purple that Jesús, the genius paint-mixing child down at the Prisa store on the corner, figured out how to get just right after nobody else could. It doesn't take all that long, which is good, because it's Easter Sunday and you want to spend the afternoon at the beach.

Now you have to wait a few days, as Jesús insists there is only one epoxy-type paint that you can use on the inside of the fountain, even though Lupe put on a coat of sealer. But you've learned to trust Jesús in matters of paint. So he orders it from somewhere.

Finally, it comes, and he's had it mixed to exactly the color you wanted, and of which he approved. You spend an hour or two mixing and applying it, bent over double and headfirst into the fountain, which would make you very dizzy even if you weren't inhaling epoxy fumes the whole time. Whoof.

A couple of days later, after the paint has cured and during which you went out and bought some papyrus and some pots, you turn on the hose. The fountain begins to fill. You go pot the papyrus and come back. The fountain seems no fuller than it was when you left. Uh-oh. You reach in and push down the bathtub style plug at the bottom. It definitely seems to fill faster when it's not simultaneously draining.

You put some of your water plants in there.

When the water is deep enough to cover the submersible pump, you try all the switches on the wall until you figure out which one might actually turn it on. The motor starts to hum...but nothing happens. You count to ten...and the water starts to flow.

Real quick, you put another plant in a hanging pot you bought in Tonalá and hang it on the screw Esteban put in the wall yesterday.

Then you try the submersible light, and it works, too.

Well, can you beat that! you say to yourself. I think it's done!

And it turns out that it is.

(...except for more landscaping, and the free-form mosaic on the front curve of the basin, which I'll get to eventually (see math formula in last week's Part 1)...)

P.S. As far as colors go, they're going to look different on everyone's monitor, so I'd have to suggest you just come on by one of these days and take a look!

                                        ≈    ≈    ≈    ≈    ≈    ≈    ≈

 

Next week we'll take a peek at Día de Las Madres, Mother's Day in Mexico, which seems to last a week, as well it should.

 

How to Build a Wall Fountain

Hola, amigos y amigas, and welcome to the second installment of our sporadic series entitled “How to Build a (dot, dot, dot)”. 

The stretch of time between the first installment, published here on November 5, 2010 ("How to Build a Pool Fountain") and this second episode can be entirely attributed to a common mathematical formula: the total number of days of elapsed ÷ the amount of time actually spent at the casa × Other Projects And Involvements + normal Mexican mañanas and glitches².

The important thing is, we’re back and we have a wall fountain that might even work. 

You may remember the last time you saw reference to the wall fountain, which was one particularly frustrating day when I banged the bejeesus out of it with a hammer, ostensibly to make it look old, but also to relieve a surfeit of tension. Here’s what it looked like at the end of that day:

                     (From "If I Had a Chair" , November 12, 2010)

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, as usual. Let’s start from the beginning steps, shall we?

(1)  Pick a wall, and have your plasterer put the plaster on real thick and sloppy, sort of like a 4-year-old icing a cake. Do not lick the spoon.

(2)  Find some old pieces of cantera stone that nobody else wants and bring them home.

(3)  Have your builders make a basin up against your chosen wall, then plumb and wire it.

It's okay if your painters decide to paint the wall in there somewhere. Also, you can have Julian use some leftover cantera pavers to build an edge around the basin (optional).

(4)  Get Lupe. (Not optional) 

(5)  Figure out, with Lupe, how best to mount the old cantera pieces so that they look nice and will enable a gentle flow of water into the semicircular basin.

Lupe will then do some fancy chiseling followed by some measuring and drilling in order to insert pieces of rebar into the wall and the cantera pieces so they will stay put.

Then he will attach them to the wall.

(6)  Pick up a piece of burnt cooking wood from beside the fountain and trace a shape for Lupe to fill with concrete.

(7) Add a submersible pump, a lamp, and switches for both, any or all of which may or may not operate.

Later, get a hammer and bang up the new concrete (see above).

(8)  Wait. (See above, mathematical formula.)

You can buy some plants in the meantime.

Eventually, when the time finally comes, bring all your leftover paint up from the studio. It will probably be all dried out, or moldy, so go buy some new paint and gather up a bunch of other stuff.

Borrow Jack’s tall ladder so you can reach the top of the wall, and start playing.

Oops, I see we're out of time. I guess we'll have to continue this installment mañana, by which I mean next week.

Don't forget to come back! We can find out together whether we have a working wall fountain...or not.

Have a great week, pleasant travels to those of you who are returning to the States this week, and Happy Mother's Day!

♥

 C

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