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Good Times

Like I told you, I didn’t experience the layered love embrace of Mother Mexico upon arrival in this country, or really ever. So be it. Some people discover a love of this place that burns like a thousand suns. For others it just burns. I know that sometimes my tart reactions are triggered by the bad behavior of a few individuals, or even my own. If I am having a day of not understanding or feeling like I am not communicating effectively then I am likely to say, “Curses to you Mexico, a plague on your houses, and suck it as well.” Which is not a very nice thing to say to Mexico, I know. And when I am greeted with the smiling sweet old faces of ladies selling fruits and flowers in the mercado or getting a deal on Calvin Klein underthings at the mall, chatting with the sales girl and making a joke (in Spanish no less) about how my husband will kill me for all the money I am spending, all that warmth is reflected in my mood. I think I know when I am grateful and try to say so but somehow negativity often wins out. That is something to work on. It’s important to document those times when you feel like it’s good to be alive. But don’t get too excited – nothing really happens.

The sun was shining. Olivia and Tripod were happy to see me. I made coffee with cinnamon. I read the book I’m reading, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. I decided to get the mail. Unfortunately this doesn’t mean a pleasant walk to the end of the driveway where my friendly neighborhood mailman will greet me in his comically small truck and hand me a stack of square envelopes containing gift cards, magazines and well wishes from old admirers. It entails a drive that is, when done aggressively, one hour and one half long, door to door. A pain, but one I decided to endure for the greater good (new Gap tees and nightgowns, mostly). And so though annoyed I got in the truck and something strange happened. Do you want to know a secret? Something not even Malcolm knows about me? Here it is: I like to drive that big old truck. Not everywhere all the time. Certainly sometimes I pray for it to turn into a Mini Cooper in the middle of the night, but alas, it never does. On a fine sunny morning in March when I am wearing my best expat outfit (cut off True Religion jeans and a white peasant shirt) barefoot, with good tunes on and the open road ahead it feels fantastic, like exactly what I should be doing.

I don’t know what Mexico is going to mean to me later in my life, but I can tell you from my heart that on mornings such as this one, I am wholly thankful for all these blessings and happy to be exactly where and who I am.

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