Sunday, May 27th, 2018
CUMBERSOME WITH A TOUCH OF FINESSE
My life has been out of sync with a kind of finesse to it, meaning that it was so cumbersome in so many ways, there seemed to be design to it, a kind of artistic flair.
Mexico was just plain irritating. I had two GI infections which is not at all like turista. The symptoms are fatigue, dizziness and stomach ache. It starts out subtle and takes a while to realize you are sleeping six hours a day!!! To see a doctor seems like climbing Mount Everest. Taxi to doctor, taxi to lab, taxi back to doctor, taxi to pharmacy, taxi back to doctor, taxi to lab again. Finally, I stay awake all day.
So I had to take a few taxis, so what? Well. Our street which is really a little alley is ugly. It’s always been ugly—stones and trash and an empty lot across from us owned by the past president of Mexico who fences it off and lets it run wild. (I love that the neighborhood just cuts hole in the fence and make paths that are helpful short cuts. Do not fence us out!! So we were thrilled to hear our street would be repaired and new sewer put in.
The work began. The communication was sparse. The road was to be impassable for three months. No cars. And then the phone company decided to do work as well.We had twelve foot mounds of dirt and gravel to travail to get to the corner. Our gate was now four feet above the road. Two ditches were dug in parallel that were four feet deep. Each household had their version of a bridge/plank/ or corrugated tin to get across the abyss. . I fell twice and slashed my leg. I love to be plucky, but getting groceries from the taxi at the corner over the hills and through the dales of stone and gravel to our gate, walking the planks and then carrying up the 40 stairs to the kitchen lost its pioneer challenge fast.
I decided that sequestering was the best choice. . So I signed up to write a book in nine weeks, except that I put a trip to Maine in the middle of the nine weeks (bumping suit cases over the planks and stacks of stones (progress of a kind). Let’s just say I finally sat down at my Mexico office desk back in Mexico with just three weeks left to write the book in order to go take to a three day workshop in DC for editing and review. I spat out a book (which I have yet to read) and left for Maine to head next to DC.
My computer gave up the ghost. It had no display. The workshop demanded a manuscript in Word on a computer. I had pledged to watch my daughter’s daughter. She and I spent a day in the Apple store. She wins the ‘good kid” award of the year. I finally bought a new computer, they transferred the content the next day and I was off to DC. Never shut your eyes and just point and buy a computer and go to a workshop that demands familiarity with said computer. Even the USB thingies are different. What do you know! Word doesn’t magically appear. It has to be magically downloaded. Laugh all you souls who are not 74. My tech anxiety makes me whimper. My vision for it is great. The difference between the two define cumbersome for me.
The barriers to ease and getting things done continues.My purse strap will get elegantly caught on a door knob in a way that would be impossible to do deliberately. Needed appointments collide with fantastic cancellations and changes. The topper was I called my Oregon daughter to ask her to come to Brussels with me and then to Paris. She has wanted to take a trip with me for a long time. Her voice sounded funny and told me she appreciated me asking and would get back to me. Odd. I expected a little delight. Then I got her email telling me she was leaving the following to go to Paris with her mother-in-law!!! See what I mean? That is art. That being out of sync has finesse. Artfully awful.
I have just come out of a staycation thinking I would luxuriate and read for pleasure. It was, instead, somewhere in between the life of an invalid or a woman in an old bathrobe with a cigarette in her hand wandering listlessly as she slipped into slovenly bliss. I watch daily triple episodes of House trying to get to get to his final self- destruction or salvation.
I sit as I write at the chiropractor, healing my Mexico fall. I just came out of four days of watching my five year old granddaughter. I had to function and function well, so I did. (But still haven’t won one game of Sorry.) But the days stayed “bumpety” which is what we call days, when we lose shoes, Elsa’s dress and our favorite book and most of all when we drop things and have to pick them up over and over and over. We prefer “yes” days when we say “yes” to everything and everything says “yes” to us.
And I am heading to “yes”. “Yes,” here I come. I’m ready for you. My arms are open.