San Pancho Vida

Glitches and Glory

You may have noticed a problem this past week accessing San Pancho Vida. So did I. Typepad experienced some sort of a hack-attack, which they handled bravely and communicatively, keeping their bloggers well-informed with reports every few hours on their status page.

It must have been a frustrating and miserable time for them, solving problems just to have others arise. But they succeeded and likely came out of it knowing more than they did before, which I suppose is all we can ask of a crappy situation...that we emerge with more knowledge and understanding than we had going in. My thanks to them for all their hard work and persistence.

I received emails from several of my readers about the problem. I checked in regularly for several days, monitoring the situation. Then the week sort of got away from me, as it often does. But now that I have access again, I'm in the mood to write a bit.

I want to express my appreciation to all of you for your patience with the temporary disappearance of sanpanchovida.com, and to the many who wrote such thoughtful and kind emails and blog comments regarding my Only Reflections post last week. I enjoyed writing it and enjoyed even more hearing your own reflections.

We had a sweet week here in San Pancho. The sunsets have been glorious, the weather beginning to warm but most nights still cool enough to sleep happily.

The season is winding down, people preparing their houses and themselves for settling in for summer or for heading out to their northerly homes or for a few months of adventure. It's always a time of year that touches our emotions: the realization of the depths of friendship, of how quickly (in retrospect) the months have flown by from October to May and how we'll miss being together. 

My reflections these past few days have been on how affectionate this culture is. People touch each other. No matter whether people pass on the street, or see each other in a restaurant, on the beach or at a front door, there are always hugs, kisses, cheek touches, eye contact. The younger men, and even some older ones, greet one another with a hand-slap fist-bump, an acknowledgement of comaraderie. The women often find times to slip away for a private moment, a "how are you?" that holds meaning. Even the dogs, especially Gypsy, Glenn's border collie, come over for a smile, a wiggle, and a hug.

This time of year, meetings at sunset are even better than usual. Lazy chats as the sun goes down are often followed by a meander down the street to one of our little taco places and more conversation, discussions of summer plans and reminiscences of times spend together in our months here.

Last weekend was one of the busiest weekends of the year, Easter being the major Mexican holiday. The beach was packed, the town bustling. Even San Pancho experiences gridlock during Semana Santa. But people helped out, volunteering to direct traffic in a creative loop-de-loop around town and to pick up the inevitable trash left behind. All in all, it was a fine celebration.

There's also been dancing this week. Chas and what's left of the Dos Bertos y Las Musas combo played at Maria's on Monday evening. The energy that night was perfect, with lots of big tables set up, some in the street; excellent music; and most everyone who's still in town jumping up to dance simultaneously at the first good dancin' song. Our musicians played an extra long time as no one was in the mood to stop.

Carol's family from California is here visiting, so we had the opportunity to show her daughter-in-law Laura and her grandchildren how and why we enjoy our little pueblito.

Later in the week, we were treated to a different kind of dancing when some beautifully costumed indigenous dancers showed up at the Malecon. People trooped up from tables in the sand to watch.

Coming back up from the beach yesterday, friends pointed out a new addition to the town. Luis from the rib restaurant had taken the initiative to paint a sign on the little footbridge that crosses the arroyo just up from the Malecon. You did know, didn't you, that San Pancho's real name is San Francisco?

Well, if not, you do now.

Have a great week. Get out there and dance...and keep your anklets tied.

Only Reflections

Lately, I've been noticing reflections. I've been wandering around the house looking for them and taking photographs. Sort of a dopey thing to do, but I've been enjoying it. It's got me to thinking.

The first thing I thought was that people, unlike mirrors and windows, need to have some silence in order to reflect. Reflection doesn't have to be solitary, though: people can reflect together, and even in groups sometimes.

The little group on my roof at 2 a.m. Tuesday had some moments of reflection in between chatting and laughing. We had joined up at midnight to cook pancakes and bacon and brew coffee, then trooped upstairs to watch the total lunar eclipse. It took a long time for the earth's shadow to cross and cover the face of the moon, during which we mostly talked and tried to make shadow puppets on the moon.

But once the eclipse was total, as the moon ripened into an eerie and unfamiliar celestial object, a fat gold and red peach hanging among the stars, we experienced some quiet moments. It was easy to see how ancient mythologies developed, when a flat white plate of moon was, in an hour, transformed into a dusky dimensional globe. It was tempting to reflect upon how those mythologies, inadvertently or not, stumbled upon some truths. 

I read on space.com that the reason the eclipsed moon blushed as red as Guadalupe's gown was that it was reflecting the sunsets and sunrises on earth. I really liked that, but it probably isn't true. The more likely truth is that the moon was red because the light of the sun passed through the earth's atmosphere as it created earth's shadow on the face of the moon, and the dust in our atmosphere filtered out the blue rays and let the red ones pass. 

I like mythologies, though, so I'll probably remember the first explanation best.

I've also had moments of reflection on life and death this past week. We lost a treasured member of our community last Friday. Cele Hahn died after fighting courageously and gallantly for a long time with a relentless disease. I never watched a more graceful battle than Cele's. She kept her wry humor and her dignity intact, intelligent and strong to the end. And then, I believe, she decided to surrender. Cele's dear husband, Curt, is in our hearts and minds; he, too, a graceful and dignified human being.

I guess when we lose someone from our midst who has been a part of our lives, we must reflect not only on her life but on our own. My reflections on Cele's life have reminded me of the value of courage. For me, no mythology explains it all. We are mortal beings. That can be a fearsome state. Yet simply facing it is not enough: embracing it is better.

I've told a few people that my joy in writing came from the realization that I write best when I write to a friend. Those of you who I know personally or with whom I have developed a friendship through this blog have each been the imagined recipient of one or more of these columns. Cele was, too...more often than she knew.

Cele was a writer too, all her life. She'd write me notes now and then after a blog she particularly liked. "One of your best," she'd say. I always believed her.

I've been reflecting on love, too. Eileen told me last night that Ekhart Tolle says that real love does not want. I pondered that for a bit, across the table from Eileen, and told her I was absolutely willing to argue that point with Ekhart, should he care to stop by. 

I'd listen to him first, of course, let him elucidate his point. If he means what I think I heard, though, I beg to differ. I want the people I love near me, at least sometimes and mostly a lot. I want for them to be happy and fulfilled. I want them to know they are loved, and I want to know I am loved.

We all want love. We all want to know how to love and how to allow ourselves to be loved. Perhaps the love he espouses is more esoteric, but human love is hardly meant for a lofty few to understand and to experience. Human love is human.

And I've been reflecting on being human. On relinquishing perfectionism and surrendering control. Not easy tasks for some of us. Takes attention. Takes trust. Trust.

Trust in others. Trust in ourselves.

I've had this overwhelming sensation lately that it's all about giving...and receiving. Learning to do both without reservation.

But how do we give to--and receive from--a universe still so filled, for us humans, with mystery?

I've no idea, really. Except I'm thinking it's about opening ourselves wide, wide, to love.

About banishing the fears, gallantly and courageously. Accepting that being mortal is by definition a risky business, and that attempting to protect ourselves is not only folly, but also a denial of all that is best about being alive.

We see and experience things all the time that can cause us to draw back in fear if we let them.

We see things in the sky and in mirrors and windows and refrigerator doors that are all explainable in logical and scientific terms.

But isn't it exquisite, and ever so human, to give that all up now and then and surrender to the mystery?

Dedicated to Cele Ferner Hahn--March 21, 1942 - April 11, 2014

Stories with Wings

The night after the Circo de los Niños, much of San Pancho re-congregated at the huge remodeled bodega that is entreamigos. At times like that Saturday night, this center of our community comes to life in a spectacular way, creating new appreciation and lasting connections.

This year's fundraiser and art show was titled "Stories with Wings". For months, the children of San Pancho had been drawing pictures and writing stories from which adult members of the community created art, turning entreamigos into an art museum and a showcase of collaboration.

Indira Santos Aznar, aka Indira the Magnificent, conceived and designed many of the ideas used in the show, working with the children and adults for months.

Indira chose five books, one for each age range, and used the books to inspire the children's work. The littlest kids were given a book of scribble art, in which random scribbles are then examined for interesting shapes and colored to bring the shapes forth. How then does an adult artist interpret these random and exuberant scribbles in an installation?

Take a look at this marvelous piece entitled Yo Veo, I See, created by Gabriel Fontanillo.

Inside this scribble nest, built of thick heavy wire, hang the drawings of the children.

As usual, entreamigos had been teeming with volunteers for weeks, executing designs for the show. Many of these volunteers helped bring to life the ideas and designs of Indira, including the story tree upon which hangs book-houses, birdhouses made of books.

Boxfuls of old water-damaged books were converted into Indira's flock of storybirds, which swooped in through the main entry and flew through the rooms.

As the birds passed overhead in the main room, they began dropping black letters from their book bodies, letters that turned color as they approached the mouth of a strange yellow funnel.

What was this about?? This was the beginning of my own contribution to the show, the Imagination Machine. This particular imagination machine is about imagining a book, and the processes we writers, young and old, employ to create our work.

As the letters exit the funnel, they begin combining into words in the manner of a jigsaw puzzle.

The words enter Synthesis Mind, the second piece of the five-piece sculpture which was created nearly entirely of recycled and found objects from the entreamigos recycling center and "junkyard".

Synthesis Mind, in the right foreground, is connected to the cool blue tower of Left Brain, where the writer organizes thoughts, writes outlines, and decides logical steps for moving forward.

Also connected to Synthesis Mind (and to Left Brain) is the creative center of Right Brain, place of inspiration, brilliant (and not-so-brilliant) ideas, intuition and artistic expression.

Of course, not only words and letters inform a book. Images, memories, emotions and visual input are a few of the other sources of creativity. In the Imagination Machine, these float above the brain centers as a mobile designed with the help of eleven-year-old Tyara.

Photo by Craig Downs           

And so the ideas circulate round and round and back to Synthesis Mind. Where do they go from there? Why, to the writer herself or himself, where the words and art become reality.

And what does that look like? You'll see in Part 2!

Stories with Wings, Part 2

All the work and play of the imagining mind now become a story...a story with wings and a life of its own.

And, oh the stories our imaginers created!

Indira and the volunteer corps constructed giant stand-up and pop-up books from the children's work, which flowed from the hand of our little writer into the rest of the big room.

This one is The Gorilla Ramón, by Ceiba Marilud and Maia Ilmar.

Loosely translated, it says "There once was a gorilla who wanted to live in an igloo. So he escaped from his cage and went to Alaska. He was running around until he saw an igloo, jumped for joy, and spent a few days. After he got too cold, he wanted to return to the city."

This one, by Reyes Yahir and Nayar Rodrigues, two fourth grade boys, is The Penguin in Love. Here's an excerpt:

"In the sea, a penguin met a witch. The penguin fell in love with her because she was very beautiful...her face, her lips, her eyes..."

The children weren't the only ones who created wonderful books. Visiting artist Kim Howard used the illustrations of the children, backgrounds by local painters, and her own art and creativity to write A Magic Circus Among Friends, Un Circo Magico Entre Amigos. The book will be published soon and will be for sale on the entreamigos website (shippable to the USA, or so I've heard). I'm delighted to be able to preview for you some of its exquisite pages.

Above the installation of big books, Indira and friends imagined another, which revolved above a display of the children's handmade accordion books. These pieces were all inspired by the same storybook which tells the tale of a pea who doesn't like being the same as all the other peas on the plant, and so ventures forth to find his personal identity.

At the end of this perfect story, shunned by the other peas for his elephant nose, his tiger stripes, and his peacock tail, the little pea plants himself and grows into a pea plant upon which each pea is a unique and colorful individual.

Stories with Wings gave many people in our community, young and older alike, an opportunity to express our own unique individuality. I believe this installation continues to have a life of its own. It may be moving on, so others in Mexico can see it. I'll let you know when I'm certain.

In the meantime, I have more photos to show you, including those of the school children visiting the entreamigos museum in the following days...which means, of course, a Part 3.

Stories with Wings, Part 3

This final post in the Stories with Wings series can only be about...

...love and gratitude.

On the night of the show, I and my fellow adult contributors of art were honored sweetly by being brought up on stage. I had been ambushed by a group of entreamigos staff, herded to the stage area, and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until further notice. I had no idea I was going to be offered the microphone once they got me up there and so have no idea what I said except for a vague recollection of voicing my appreciation that the school children of San Pancho would be brought to see the whole exhibit in the following days...which photos follow in this post.

Photo by Craig Downs

Nicole Swedlow and Indira spoke many kind words and Plantaté stayed for moral support. Beside me is Gabriel, the creator of the scribble iron sculpture. Just behind Nicole, in pigtails and a handmade paper dress, is Kim Howard, artist/author extraordinaire of Un Circo Magico Entre Amigos.

Photo by Craig Downs

A few mornings later, I was honored yet again in a wonderful if somewhat less formal fashion.

I was privileged to be on site when the kindergarteners arrived at entreamigos to view the installations. The waited politely at the door with their teachers as Estibaliz explained to them the rules: 

"Are we going to touch anything?" "NO!" 

"Are we going to eat anything during our tour?" "NO!"

"Are we going to listen and be quiet?" "YES!"

These beautiful and courteous children listened closely as Estibaliz explained what they were going to see. "Who is ready now to go inside?" she asked. They were ready.

They filed in, holding hands two-by-two, fingers in noses, and Estibaliz introduced them to the Imagination Machine.

Then, in time-honored kindergarten fashion, they sat cross-legged on the floor, and, to my surprise, Estibaliz introduced me to them. I received a generous round of baby applause and a lot of wide-eyed stares.

That was it for me: the moment it was really all about.

The children who performed in the circus and produced the artwork for the show were given the gratitude of the community in a sunshiny ceremony on the entreamigos stage.

The circus kids (who, by the way, had a fabulous time at their invitational performance in Vallarta where they were treated to several fancy meals, tram rides around the elegant grounds, and enthusiastic applause) received certificates and DVD's of the circus from Indira and Condor, their amazing and humor-filled San Pancho trainer.

A huge thank you and much applause went to Gilles Ste-Croix of Cirque du Soleil for his creativity and inspiration and for his big part in making Circo de los Niños 2014 come to life.

The child artists also received certificates of appreciation along with their own artwork, framed and ready for hanging.

Of course, my own gratitude overflows for the many wonderful people who were crucial in the creation of even my part of the exhibit. My thanks goes out to all of them, and most of all to Carol Lee, tireless and faithful full-time co-creator, helper and partner-in-crime whose antics, intentional and unintentional, fueled me with laughter constantly. 

Here she is giggling with Travis, her accidental sidekick (in that he arrived for a visit and was immediately conscripted to the studio, where he performed bravely and added considerably to my own laughter-induced belly ache).

There was plenty of time for fun as we worked. Here are Jenelle and Sara, jigsaw bottle technicians, at work...and clowning. (Which reminds me: thanks to Doug Woodring who cleaned every one of those bottles and discovered innovative ways to remove the sticky labels and make them sparkle.)

Behind them, taking a well-earned feet-in-the-pool break, is Corinna, paper-maché maestra and endless font of patience and good ideas. Her daughter, Tyara, created the moon, sun, and heart in the Idea Mobile that hung above the sculptures.

Thanks also to the entreamigos recycling center, a rich source of empty bottles, plastic crates, bicycle wheels, gears, unidentifiable plastic thingies, bottle tops, tubes and valves and pieces of metal, broken fans and lamps and table legs. Thanks, too, to the people who send all that stuff for actual and potential recycling, for without them, the Imagination Machine could not exist.

And finally, one day, it was done (-ish). Deb and her partner Jennifer arrived with an empty van and we loaded it up for delivery down the hill. Here are Carol and Deb, spray painter and queen of the power tools, carrying Left Brain out to the van.

Last but not least, I wish to thank an eight year old named Adesha. She is Estibaliz's daughter, although I did not know this until very recently. When Indira gave me the stack of drawings that the children had made of their own "book-making machines", from which I received lots of inspiration and ideas, I had a long and happy laugh when I came across the one by Adesha.

She had drawn her picture at school during the same days I sat at home and drew my own idea of a "book-imagining machine". I am excited about the prospect of doing some dimensional art with Adesha, as I can only conclude either that I have the brain of an eight year old or that Adesha and I are kindred spirits.

 

My amor y gratitud to all.