Thursday, October 17, 2013

ranchito


A few days back from another trip to Mexico with the crazy, loving familia. It was, as always, intense and beautiful, slightly crazy-making and home. Ten of us were down visiting, roving, eating our fill and more. We spent hours and hours in the sea, floating, getting tossed around by big waves, darkening. We drank. We danced. We were always a little bit sandy and always that peace that comes from being away home.

Sunday night was the village festival. H, my dad, a cousin and I were the only ones who went down for it. Everyone else wanted to enjoy the last night in the hotel. We arrived late, turned the last curve before the village and had to brake as the entire village was before us, the Virgin carried on the shoulders of uncles and strangers, a band blasting out hymns while fireworks exploded up over the crowd. We detoured a dirt road east and made it to my grandmother's house where we downed quick cold beers and headed into the street. We lost grandma's chihuahua and so instead of Virgin gazing we ran the streets looking for the little creep. He was hiding but eventually we found him. We relaxed on the porch, wandered the town a bit, watched the old ladies sit and gossip.

Eventually we headed to an uncle's house. There, under a palm thatched roof we sat at a plastic table and ate small crabs smothered in hot sauce and lime. So much work to eat a crab but satisfying too. My uncle stood at an outdoor fire and boiled pot after pot of shrimp he'd caught. We sat with cousins and uncles and aunts. H impressed everyone by carrying on entire conversations in Spanish. My empty, never-occupied uterus was lamented and mentioned more times than was comfortable. My cousin gave us tales of working on the prison island west of the state, how there are little colonies everywhere of prisoners who live outdoors, eat fruits off of trees but are threatened with death if they wander near enough the ocean to touch it. He cooks for the guards.

All in all it was a good trip. There was bickering, and a few snaps but family vacations do that. Close proximity brings up the old wounds and triggers. I'm more aware these days of what the triggers are and the child that wants to come crying out. I'm better at keeping the calm. I imagine it is the result of experience but mostly the mostly steady meditation practice.

Chatting with cousins we started talking about writing. I told the cousins I'm working on a book and tried to explain a bit about representation of people of color in literature, especially fantasy and what my hopes and intentions are. A cousin asked "Like Narnia, but for us?" Yes. Pero mas.

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