Vulcanizadora Rag

Daydreaming of retread tire shops while eating mango ice cream in the newly restored Plaza Grande. As much as I love Scott Joplin, and the newly refurbished plaza, I prefer the clippity cloppity of "old men" dancing in wooden shoes with twisted canes... to the piped in ragtime. Bose must've chipped in handsomely for the new pavers, flowers, and speakers. Still, Plaza Grande is beautifully understated.

Reading Hokusai surrounded by teenagers necking, admiring his women diving for abalone in Sangi Takamura from "The Hundred Poems Explained by a Nurse." Amazing detail and very inspiring, but my hat keeps blowing off in the wind. Lost a day due to a stomach bug, which I blame on the altitude and not the delicious eats. I don't blame the mariscos, carne apache, pizzas, cervezas, mescal, ravioli, Sopa Tarasca, guacamole, chuletas de cerdo, Huevos Rancheros, mango smoothies, chocolate flan, consomme de pollo, chilaquiles, or the endless pastries available only a few steps from our front door. Fireworks exploding at all hours, LOUD explosions...sensory assaults demanding God's attention. "Hey God, check this out...BOOM!"

So good catching up with old friends in new places. Walking muchly, making more, sleeping soundly.

los cerebros de diez hombres diminutos

Dang, these masks are so hot I had to take my shirt off. But it feels like I got the brains of ten men! Granted, some are kindly tiny.

Retorno

When I was a kid, we used to tie strings to the legs of June Bugs and they'd buzz around our heads like little motorized kites. I don’t remember who taught us how to do that. We caught Yellow Garden Spiders in glass jars filled with toilet paper soaked in fingernail polish remover and pinned them to boards for show & tell. We shot pretty much anything that moved with our bb guns and reloaded them from cardboard tubes. Of course this has nothing to do with where I am today, sitting here typing at midnight listening to dogs barking and trucks clattering along the Libramiento. Becky’s sleeping and Guinness is lying in a grassy patch in our courtyard. The moon’s almost full and I’m thinking about dinner and laughing with friends. We watched the most amazing fireworks exploding up and over Plaza Chica.

Back at it one year later. Landed safe and sound in Patzcuaro after the four day drive from Nashville, after the flood. Not sure why I didn't keep up this blog thing. So many good things have happened over the past year, and many sad things. Just decided it would be a travelogue. Our adventure south began last week without our dear sweet Nemo. Hate to start up again on such a down note but I miss that little guy so much it's been hard to breathe sometimes. Can't quite believe he’s gone, that happy, manic, busy little dog: Nemo, Buddy, Bud, Little Brother, Brud, Little Guy, Bro, Little Man, Crazy, Boo Boo, Mister. He traveled to Mexico twice only to be hit by a random car on our quiet little Nashville street. Best little companion ever. I missed seeing him in my rear view mirror on our drive down. Came close to canceling our trip but finally realized we would miss him wherever we were.

We headed south last Wednesday, just one day late, and spent the night in Texarkana. Traveled to Laredo the next night and met up with our friends, Susan and Andy. Crossed the border bright and early the next morning into Nuevo Laredo only to drive straight through customs without showing passports, receiving tourist visas, or vehicle permits. We were encouraged right on thru and traveled on for almost an hour before it occurred to me: "Um, we ain't exactly driving here...legally. How did that happen?” So I pulled over and Susan called the embassy, and Ms. Embassy said: “Get your butts back to the border!” We promptly returned and were properly processed. Some time passed and we headed south again. Drove onwards towards paradise with all the requisite stickers in place. Saw some stuff along the way, including a double rainbow. Spent the night in Matehuala at the crappiest motel in the country with doors that partially locked and curtains that partially closed, and things that go bump in the night kept bumping and rattling chains. The next day was full of beautiful scenery and women selling dried snakes and cactus and red birds, and strawberries and caramel and watermelons. We saw one million Joshua trees dancing and boxing, and almost as many retread tire shacks. And we faired well while passing down the middle.

shifting gears

I really need to push the pause button on this travelblog soon now that we're home...and push play at a later date. But first, a few thoughts about the trip. It all started with virtually the whole planet telling us not to go to Mexico. Well, we went anyway...Swine Flu be damned. After many emails, phone calls and comforting words from friends on the ground, we headed south and proceeded to have an amazing summer. Best summer ever. Granted, it was weird that we were the only people driving thru customs on the way down, and if you had filmed us from way up in the sky you would have seen a little red speck of a car zipping along all alone, pushing south on the cuota towards Patzcuaro. Maybe you would've heard a dog barking madly as we drove out of toll booths, but maybe you wouldn't have...being so far up in the sky and all. Our dogs were always relaxed when I "rolled" the window down to hand attendants 15 or 150 pesos, but as soon as we drove away Nemo would go ballistic. I finally figured out that he must've thought the attendant was running away as we drove on. Who knows. We discovered Nemo hated men in hats, especially men in hats on bicycles, and horses were the devil's work. So they suffered the fullness of his wrath.

Our summer was BUSY, full of artmaking, good food, reconnecting with old friends and making lots of new ones, experiencing small and large cultural events, gardening like crazy, painting the house and fixin' what needed fixin'. My head is so full of stories, memories, and future pics that I have spent the past two days pulling weeds and not saying much. Blissfully exhausted, continuing to prepare for the upcoming semester. Definitely not going down to the farmer's market with a pocket full of cash.

Almost exactly one year ago Becky and I returned home after an exciting summer south of the border. Returned home early because a commercial gig demanded our attention. I thought to myself: "Well, atleast tomatoes and peaches are still in season." After unpacking and doing some laundry we went to the ATM and withdrew $60, then drove down to Nashville's Farmer's Market. Blinded by heirloom tomatoes and white peaches, I was blocked by an old woman with a walker. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't shopping, and she was in my way. Then someone bumped into me. For some reason I said "Excuse me" and turned around to see a small red-headed woman, not smiling, then turned my attention back to the wild display of wonderfulness. Drunk on blueberry lemonade, and loaded down with Cherokee Purples, Japanese Blacks, and Abe Lincolns, I walked over to pay but couldn't find my wallet. My first thought was, hmm. Then I thought I must've left it in my car. Weird. Went back to the car, looked inside and around and on the ground, puzzled. Then I thought of that little red-headed girl; I felt flushed, then pissed, then I started running through the market looking for her. Arrrgh! No luck. No, no, no! This hasn't happened. I drove all the way to Mexico, spent the entire summer in FULL markets surrounded by hundreds, driving all over the country in search of adventure and weird pottery and back again, safely. Back to Nashville only to get ripped off in my own hometown. NOOO! Yes. Went home with no tomatoes. Becky was wise enough to shut our credit cards down immediately, but still, the hassle of getting a new driver's license and all. Uggh. What a pain.

Later that evening, still not believing what had transpired but strangely amused by the irony of it all, we prepared to have dinner at a friend's house. Running late, we were stepping out the door when I heard the phone ring. Should I answer or not; we were already late. I answered the phone then heard a country voice ask: "IstherahDahngthr?!" I said, "What?" "Ids ther ah dang brawthereha?...Ifou nd hidz walletintha Famur'sMakat today." I said, "YEAH, I'm Dang Brawner; who is this?" "My name'sOllie Stanntonn and I'm a truck driver and I'm live in Millusville at Exit 108; turn right near the fireworks stand, past the Doller General and the trailer park; my wife's paralyzed and we're having dinner downstairs; turn left into the agongnaogaog Bnvln vn lsv...I'm a truck driver, leaving tomorrow; if you want your wallet, you better get up here tonight." "WO!!!!...BACK UP a minute; let me find a pencil; which exit?!" Next thing I know I'm dropping Becky off at Jane's and headed to Millersville relieved that I won't have to renew my driver's license. (And as I'm driving along, my mind starts to wander.) And I start thinking about the events of the day and my conversation with the trucker. He kept saying, "My wife's paralyzed." He said, "My daughter's been visiting, and I'm leaving for Knoxville in the morning." He said: "I found your wallet but there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." About that time I started thinking about Pulp Fiction and men in boxes jumping out at me." I started thinking no one knew where I was headed and about Ollie Stanton and his paralyzed wife downstairs eating me for dinner. I started thinking there was no way in hell I was going into that house.

I turned left into a surprisingly nice, new apartment complex, past a swimming pool full of laughing Mexican kids. I parked my car and saw who I guessed was my hero. Toothless, unsmiling, he handed me my wallet. "I'm having dinner with my wife downstairs; did I mention she's paralyzed? We're having fried pies for dessert." I said: "Thank you for calling about my wallet. I really appreciate this." Then he repeated: "Well, there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." Stupidly trying to lighten an unusually unfriendly moment, I said: "This sure is a nice place. Nice pool, too." And he said: "If I want to swim; I go somewhere clean; I go to the river." Chilled to the bone but desperate, I said: "So you like pie and you're a truck driver; do you ever travel thru Arkansas?" "Yeah." "You really ought to try the DeValls Bluff Pie Shop near Brinkley." He said, "I go to WalMart each week and buy six fried pies: two peach, two cherry and two apple. This week they were out of apple so I bought four peach. My wife, she's paralyzed, is downstairs having a peach one right now." I said: "Thanks again", shook his hand, and got the heck out of there.

Oh yeah, it was a family thing. And the experience was absolutely worth sixty bucks.

don't text while driving

Write longhand but keep your eyes on the road.

the road home: day 5

The last leg of our journey was fueled by ice cream from Sheridan's Yellow Jacket Drive-In, and fried catfish and tomato pickles from Gene's in Brinkley. I missed the DeValls Bluff exit to the Pie Shop this trip but decided to keep going. Made it home in 8 hours surrounded by pine trees, past funny little cabins with vertical logs, and hours of flatness, over the Mississippi, the crazy bends and curves thru Memphis, and deeper into green, green Tennessee, home. It's been unseasonably cool this summer with a nice bit of rain so everything is really lush. We made it home around 6pm to a locked house and no house key. Luckily, our dear neighbor Melanie left one door unlocked, so we unpacked and hopped inside. The dogs found their backyard overpopulated with chipmunks, but they'll soon make the necessary correction. Feels good to be home.

the road home: day 4

From Tyler, Texas to Texarkana to Camden and Locust Bayou, we saw lots of "melons ahead" signs. Mostly from Hope, but we bought a tasty sweet seedless one from Harmony Grove (where Becky went to grade school). Across Cypress Creek, thru pine thickets, past flattened armadillos and foam deer targets guarding metal towers, thru Ouachita County (where Becky was born) and big trucks carrying long pine logs near Poison Springs. We enjoyed our visit with Becky's family, and a pork chop dinner with Devine, Texas pork tamales, fresh peas, yellow squash, cornbread, and Chicago beer. Afterwards, we fished Doyle Jrs' new pond, and Conner (our 4 yr old nephew) caught a catfish with stinkbait. Guinness went for a swim while Nemo visited Jason's howling Walker Hound. Some photos were taken, and I never could find JT's false teeth, presumed hiding within his Lazy Boy. I spent some time walking with Nemo in their deceased neighbor Floyd's deserted shop, looking for relics. He was a nice old man whose company I really enjoyed when I was in Locust. I never saw him wearing anything but overalls; he always asked me about my life, and he loved his Brittany Spaniels—Tuffy and Detective. He would tell me: "There aren't any quail around here any more, but I enjoy taking the dogs out anyways...they like to run." I enjoyed visiting with Floyd. He seemed to me a talented man (a carpenter) who had raised a family he was proud of, knew how to prepare a fine garden, and really enjoyed life. It's sad to see his garden overgrown and unattended, and his house for sale. His shop looks odd with a john boat leaning against it.