Color in the Streets

I finally took a dream trip last month, or rather, a trip I’d dreamed of for years. 5 1/2 years to be exact. When we first arrived here in late 2018 people I met started asking if I’d been to the charming city of San Cristóbal de Las Casas in the state of Chiapas…”You’ll love it!” They were right.

After all those years of longing to be there, wanting to tour with my dear friend Norma Schafer, tour guide extraordinaire (www.oaxacaculture.com), I finally made it this February. The book pictured below, purchased after meeting Norma in Durham, NC, in 2018 and before moving to Mexico, MAYA THREADS: A Woven History of Chiapas by Walter S. Morris Jr. and Carol Karasik, is what drew me to Chiapas, especially to Zinacantan where villagers are steeped in flowers both live and sewn and the colors change every year. But the city of San Cristóbal itself was a pleasant surprise.

Chiapas is the southernmost state in Mexico, bordered by Guatemala (as evidenced by the some of the textiles in San Cristóbal) and the states of Oaxaca, Veracruz, and Tabasco, as well as the Pacific Ocean. It is dominated by the Sierra Madre mountains and the plateaus of the Highlands. It is a state made almost entirely of forests, including the Lacondón rainforest in the east. Home to one of the largest indigenous populations (30%) in Mexico, more than half live in impoverished rural areas. The state provides a large share of the corn, beans, bananas, coffee, and cacao of Mexico. About one-fourth of the people speak Mayan dialects in this state of fourteen languages.

San Cristóbal is much more hip than I expected. And bigger – 209,500 population, with cosmopolitan restaurants as well as the “run of the mill” variety. It lies nestled in the mountains an hour from the small but modern Tuxtla Guitierrez airport where numerous hawkers announce taxi and shuttle rides to the city as you enter the building. A bit confusing if you’re new to the place, but luckily our leaders had informed us of transportation options ahead of time.

The ride in the crowded shuttle gave an open view of the picturesque landscape surrounding us and for me there was an air of excitement coming to this place I had so longed to see. Behind me in the van was a Mexican family. I noticed that the man was holding a bag from the “Feria Maestros del Arte “, a large “cream of the crop” craft sale held here in Chapala each November. So, in broken Spanish, I commented on it and told him I was touring with Norma Schafer. “Norma? Norma Schafer?” he replied with animation. Yes, he knew her. I would meet him formally a few days later.

After I arrived at our hotel, Norma, her friend Leslie, and I spent a few hours in the city the day before the tour began. We enjoyed the lovely boutique shops on the tourist street. Winding our way into the back of one, I made my first purchase which was not handmade at all – an alpaca poncho – but was something I’d been looking for. In the courtyard outside the shop, we found a group of women gathered around a large canvas and painting supplies. Nearby a Japanese woman sang and played the violin for the small crowd. Her husband stood at the edge of the courtyard enjoying the scene he had orchestrated. The mood was light and playful.

The mix of gringos (both European and North American), locals, and indigenous women and babies in their specific trajes (costumes), each identifying the village they hail from, was a thrill for me. The diversity was striking and unexpected. I enjoyed a scene at a bank near “Peace Plaza” of a young Mexican woman in her long wool skirt and straw summer hat holding a toddler on her back in her rebozo (long scarf), holding onto one of the child’s feet, and standing in an ATM stall with her mother (?) while both tried to figure out how to use the machine, with a little help from the cleaning man. Everywhere there were scenes that made me smile.

Norma’s business partner, Eric Chavez Santiago, weaver, teacher, translator, and all-around nice guy, was with us on this trip, along with his father, “Fe”, whom I know from Oaxaca. We also had the pleasure of traveling with Gaby Yaz, a local tour guide with what must be a photographic memory and a warm and charming personality!

Though what brought our group to “San Cris” and the surrounding area was an educational tour about local handmade textiles, we had plenty of opportunity to experience a broad sampling of its amazing restaurants: Belil, an open, airy space serving delicious earthy dishes; a classy tourist-street food court where Japanese food was our pick; Lebanese food from Malaak, tucked inside an Italian restaurant, was truly some of the most delicious food I have ever eaten. Gloria Sántiz Restaurant, run by the “Iron Chef” of Mexico, served picturesque gourmet delights, family style. Last but certainly not least, Tierra y Cielo (Earth and Sky) was the site of our grand finale dinner the night before departing, though several of us were still feeling the effects of food poisoning earlier in the week and had little appetite. The presentation and service were superb. But I must admit that some of it was a bit too complex for me and I preferred the simple tamales and roasted squash seeds served to us in the humble homes of the mountain villages. Oh, I can’t leave out the tiny little bar/restaurant on the tourist street near a few shops we wanted to visit, where a “classmate” and I were delighted to find THE best chicken soup I have ever had! It hit the spot on an unsettled tummy (the reason the two of us missed the day in Chenahlo).

Oh, the food!!!

Our local tour guide Gaby Yaz and Oaxaca weaver and teacher Eric Chavez Santiago opened our first day with a massive amount of information about, and I quote, “weaving and embroidery traditions, patterns and symbols, women and villages, history and culture” of  Chiapas, the Maya world. Afterward, we took a van to Centro Textiles Mundo Maya, a stunning museum of some of the finest trajes you can imagine. The gift shop (Sna Jolobil – The Weaver’s House) there is a bit high priced but certainly beautiful with a fine selection of items from the surrounding villages.

It was shocking to enter the Santo Domingo outdoor market after the elegance we’d just witnessed. Decades ago a priest OK’d a single vendor setting up shop outside the church and it hasn’t been the same since. It is surrounded now by tents full of…well, probably mostly cheap stuff from China?…and you have to pick your way through to get to the real stuff AND to find the incredible Baroque church. It was a maze you could get lost in. A piece of the culture. Like it or not.

We ate lunch at Belil Restaurante where we met Francisca…..an amazing young embroidery artist and primary breadwinner of her family of 4,* who joined us across the street at Casa Textil, the sight of design and production of simple Mexican styles woven mostly in rayon, giving them a superior drape and flow. (Most items in the surrounding villages are woven of cotton or wool.) Owner Ben is a young man from England who came to Guatemala to learn Spanish and then parked himself in San Cristóbal. He talked with us about his goals for the future of the shop where he employs several locals then we spent a while with Francisca and Letty trying to learn a few embroidery stitches.  

Lightweight upholstery fabric had been prepared for us with the goal of embroidering our own designs to be turned into lovely purses by Ben’s employees. I gave up early. I was too tired from health issues and the intensity of the experience. Ultimately a time crunch prevented the project from being accomplished, but we had fun trying. (Since returning home I’ve purchased embroidery supplies from our local Mexican market. I was somewhat skilled when I was young. We’ll see how it goes in my old age…now there’s an image.)

*(Francisca is a slight young Chiapan woman with a beautiful, but sad, face. Her husband was in the US for a while and when he returned he was assigned to a village cargo. This is basically a variety of “social work” positions that each male villager is expected to participate in for 1-3 years, depending on the position I believe. Just home after 2 years, having left Francisca with their 2 young children, he was assigned to a 1-year cargo. Without pay. No wonder she looked sad. With her embroidery, she is the sole breadwinner for her family of 4. Nothing would’ve stopped me from buying something from her.)

Next a visit to Na-Bolom, House of the Jaguar, purchased in San Cristóbal in 1950 by Danish explorer/archeologist Franz Blom and his Swiss wife, social anthropologist/photographer Gertrude “Trudy” Blom. Here they created a cultural and scientific center and a home base for expeditions that now serves as a museum, gift shop, and research center steeped in evidence of their explorations and photographs, including in the uncharted Lacandón jungle territory. 

And then there was Sergio Castro. Sergio is a well-known, revered “humanitarian healer”, a curandero if you will, who has spent most of his adult life offering healing to anyone who asks. During the years he has taught himself simple medical procedures like cleaning and dressing burns and wounds, but some of his techniques are probably more esoteric than we are used to. There was a line when we arrived and he was a few minutes late giving us a simple but extremely educational description of each traje, given to him by grateful clients over the many years he has served them. He charges…nothing. His subsistence comes from donations.

His time was limited so we wandered outside the clothing room, of the Museo de Trajes Regionales (Museum of Traditional Costume), after the presentation, to find 2-3 other small rooms crowded with gifts given to him by clients, including a deck of playing cards embroidered with silk. In the background, we heard the silence of a wailing child soften to a barely audible whimper under the touch of the curandero. Burns are common here, cocinas (kitchens) being what they are. Others were waiting. We moved on.

We spent day 4 in the city. Our first stop was at the home and studio of Alberto Lopez Gomez. Alberto is a 27-year-old man who has made a name for himself in Sweden and New York, as well as his native Mexico, by tweaking the styles just a bit, yet maintaining their integrity. “Cultural appropriation” (use of designs without giving credit to the originator) is somewhat of a topic in the textile world at this point so Norma asked Alberto to give his thoughts. “At least people know we exist,” he told us. All the same, he holds his designs close as part of his village (Aldama) identity.

Alberto’s studio

On the Tuesday before we left our local tour guide, Gaby Yaz, gave a clear, detailed presentation on the Zapatista Movement (EZLN) that became public in 1994 and continues to this day, though with profound changes. I won’t delve into it here but just know that the initial battle, accompanied by unforgettable images of renegades wearing balaclavas and carrying guns, was about regaining the indigenous people’s native land that the government had taken from them. Today they say “Our weapon is our voice” as they work to maintain hold of their land and support women’s and indigenous rights. Little shops of goods to support their cause exist all over the city as the Zapatistas live scattered throughout some of the mountain villages. Upon entering some of those villages we encountered their signs – black with a red star and others with a list of expected behaviors, ie, no drinking or driving over 20km/hr, etc. 

It was an amazing trip and I learned a lot about myself and how I travel now. I wear out easily and my balance is not good. I nearly fell twice on escalators trying to manage one rolling suitcase, one half-rolling suitcase, and a tote. Frightening. So on return, I will ask for help but I will never take 2 carry-ons again…I forgot that there are often tight bathroom stalls and stairs, including those on the plane, where I almost fell again. (I wrote this part early on in the trip. On Day 3 I took a tumble on a set of concrete steps leading down from a home we’d just visited while trying to keep someone else from falling. It didn’t hurt to have retired physician Cata with us and luckily we suffered only a little embarrassment and a few bruises.).

I also learned a lot about traveling with a group. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was a bit nervous, I guess. But this group was amazing. “This is a spiritual group,” Norma told me. “It’s not always like that.” It was true. We looked out for each other. It showed up in our respect for the artisans. It showed up when I fell. It showed up when half of us had food poisoning and the other half came to our doors with tea and bread and Coke asking what they could do to help. It showed up when I needed a front seat in the van to avoid motion sickness and one person after the other handed it off to me without question. We enjoyed each other. We connected.

I have to get stronger…I have to go back. There is so much to learn.

More to come! Stay tuned.

CACAO – NOT YOUR AVERAGE CHOCOLATE 

Remember back in March when I visited Oaxaca and came back singing the praises of chocolate/cacao (and other Mexican beverages)? I think I even mentioned eventually discussing its sacred uses.  Well, last month I was invited to participate in a class on the processing of cacao to create yummy, healthy superfood drinks and candies. 

I met Nora Maldonado 4 years ago at a festival here in Ajijic when she participated in an indigenous dance as part of the celebration. It was obvious that she was totally absorbed in what she was doing so when I saw her later that day I complimented her on her performance. That’s when I learned that in addition to the rituals of dancing she is also totally absorbed in the study, presentation and sale of cacao – what most of us call “chocolate”.

From Nora’s class I learned that she had been working in Guadalajara in a large business when she had the opportunity to help a friend sell chocolate at a local event. She did it, loved it, and soon there was no looking back. Now, in addition to her family, Nora is all about cacao. She continues to expand as she is able with two young children and has future plans for educational tours in areas where Mexican cacao is grown. But for now her work includes managing her brilliant blue-faced shop where she sells food and cacao drinks as well as take-home items, selling her products at the local (and very popular) Tuesday organic market and providing educational opportunities. Recently my classmate Annabelle, who is bilingual (at the least), sometimes joins Nora and her staff in the shop to help educate and answer questions for people seeking more information about cacao and its uses.

The class was held in the grassy area just behind her shop. I’m proud to say that I was the oldest, and also the only gringo in the group of 6 though luckily not the only English speaker.  I’d love to see other expats join in but I must admit that my trips to Oaxaca are what peaked my interest in chocolate – it is so prevalent there – while others who go there may be drawn to different things. Meanwhile, I’ll help spread the word.

The origin of the cacao tree was in the Amazon basin but now there are plantations in Africa (cheaper variety) as well as the tropical forest areas in other countries, including the states of Chiapas and Tabasco in México.  The conditions that the forest provides – including allowing the smaller cacao trees to grow under the taller trees – help prevent disease and enhance flavor. Oddly enough, the football shaped pods grow from a short stem attached to the trunks of the trees. Though they come in a variety of colors, in México they are primarily pale yellow. The original thinking was that the Aztecs brought us cacao, but research shows that it was actually the Maya who brought us not only the beans but also the word “cacao” and how to use it. Though 90% was used for drinking (often as thin porridges and gruels which provided quick, easy calories), the seeds/beans were also used as currency as evidenced by storage of millions of beans in the storehouses of the wealthy.

The Maya and Aztecs considered cacao a superfood. It still is, providing antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties as well as being a vasodilator, stimulant and diuretic. “Commoners” were not allowed the use of cacao for decades. But for soldiers, officials, and the wealthy this superfood was part of daily life.

Artisanal chocolate is very laborious and time consuming so don’t be surprised when your little package costs 2-3 times what you’d expected. After collecting the pods from the trees, they can be cut lengthwise or crosswise to give access to the beans. The pods will not open on their own. Once opened you can see that 30-40 beans are enmeshed in a web of slightly sweet white fibers high in fructose. By the way, fresh pods do not rattle. If the pod rattles your beans are not fresh. Don’t bother. After the beans are separated from the sweet white fibers they must then be fermented to kill germs and enhance the flavor. This involves spreading them in boxes that are raised slightly on “legs” so that the acidic alcohol can drain off , covering them with banana leaves or reeds and leaving them for 4-10 days (depending on climate), rotating or mixing them frequently. The beans are then laid out on boards and dried in the sun or over a low fire (again depending on climate) for 5-10 days. By the way, cocoa butter is the fat rendered from the fermentation process and is used primarily for cosmetic purposes.

Next comes roasting over a low, hot fire. Carefully, to avoid burning. The familiar chocolate smell just barely begins to rise into the air during roasting. Once roasted the thin papery covering is rubbed off – blister time! -and the beans (the broken pieces are called “nibs”) are ready for grinding.

In Oaxaca I visited a chocolate store with oversized hand-cranked machines used to grind large quantities of beans. Smaller versions are more practical for home and shop use, but there’s nothing like watching the big ones turn out mass quantities of paste. The 3rd grind is the charm for the small grinders when the familiar odor of chocolate fills the air.

After the grinding Nora passed out sheets of red and white checked wax paper and loaded us all with dollops of the ground cacao along with ingredients to add at our discretion…white or brown sugar, cinnamon, chili powder (YES!), cardamom, dried cranberries and nuts. We worked quickly to mix in what we wanted then shaped our creations into bars. The shaped bars stood oily on the paper for hours but once home and refrigerated they looked like your average dark chocolate crunchy bar. Well, not exactly, but boy oh boy! They did NOT taste like it! I thought I’d added too much sugar but you could barely taste it. The bitter flavor of true cacao was definitely prevalent. And like the Maya, I treated it like gold, eating only tiny bites now and then, savoring the strong taste and lamenting the disappearance of the last bite.

There are a generous number of websites about cacao. And if you really want the deep details, check out THE TRUE HISTORY OF CHOCOLATE by Sophie D. Coe & Michael D. Coe. Thank goodness Nora loaned me her English version.

Thanks to Nora, her sweet daughter Anandi & all my classmates. It was a blast!

Well, 72 years of age that is. July 26th was my birthday and I decided to take a day trip that Ben and I kept talking about but somehow never got around to. My friend Robyn and I have a common interest in art and architecture so with Guadalajara, a city of nearly 1.5 million, only an hour away, we decided to make a day of it. Our wonderful driver Juan, a native Tapatio (Guadalajaran) picked us up and off we went. My list was long, taken from an old walking tour guide Ben had picked up from a friend, and I hoped we’d take most of it in. Wrong. Too much to see in just a few places.

Our first stop, conveniently located (thanks to Juan) next to our parking lot, was the Mercado Libertad, an enclosed daily market built in 1958 on the site of the traditional open-air market (tianguis) held there since pre-Columbian times. Though most stalls weren’t quite ready to open, we got the flavor of the place, we got the tacos. And I must say they were some of the best I’ve ever had. The atmosphere was lively, the aromas enticing. After I finished the woman obviously in charge came around to my seat and began, with a huge smile, conversing in Spanish. Luckily I understood that she was asking where I was from. We chatted for a minute then she welcomed me and thanked me for coming. A delightful start to the day.

From there we moved on to the gigantic Hospicio Cabañas (half the size of the Vatican!) completed in 1810 and used as a “House of Charity and Mercy”, a home for orphans as well as the sick and infirm, for over 170 years. The orphanage, which operated into the 1970’s, was moved years ago and this UNESCO World Heritage Site now serves as a cultural center (Instituto Cultural Cabañas), full of art exhibits (painting, photography, fabric), classes and cultural events of all sorts. The big draw for us was the centrally located murals by José Clemente Orozco, one of the 3 great muralists of México (–http://colorinthestreets.com/murals-mexico/), whose work stemmed from political cartoons and the early works of Goya, leading him to “jolt the world awake to the suffering and futility of war” (MOON HANDBOOKS/GUADALAJARA, pg. 32). His murals in the Cabañas and the Palacio de Gobierno (Governor’s Palace) were completed between 1934 and 1940, and are gigantic, thought provoking and disturbing. Hard to believe that he lost his left hand and use of one eye in his early 20’s. An accident in mixing chemicals for fireworks occurred on a holiday when no medical care was immediately available. Obviously it did not stop him. As we were walking from one panel to the next, a handsome young Cabañas employee stepped up to ask if we wanted more information (in English). He was delightful and full of stories and explanations. His last name happened to be Orozco, but, alas, no relation.

We headed out to the scattered but interlinking plazas where statues significant in marking the history of Mexico abound. On the Plaza Tapatia the large “pine” tree seemingly secured by two standing lions (sorry it’s so hard to see) speaks to the ideals of nobility and courage, and are symbols of Guadalajara’s coat of arms.

A nearby favorite of the locals is the Imolación de Quetzalcoatl, a combination fountain/sculture created in 1982. Known as the “big corkscrew”, the combination of bronze “serpent-birds” and central “flame of Quetzalcoatl” is a favorite for families and tourists. To the Aztecs Quetzalcoatl was a feathered serpent, a “creator-deity” attributed with the creation of humanity.

At the eastern end of the plaza is the Teatro Degollado, built in the 1800’s and famed for its classic, columned facade. The building, known for its ever-changing menu of artistic events, was closed when we arrived but the outside was busy with tourists, a small coffee shop, families and those seeking fame (note the matador wannabe).

Nearby we came across a lovely sculpture of Doña Beatriz Hernandez who in 1542 interrupted an important but lingering meeting to insist that the men involved make an immediate decision to found the city on the spot they were in (their 3rd pick) or she would make the decision for them. Brave actions for a woman in the 1500’s.

The Catedral de Guadalajara (which we skipped) is an easy walk from the Teatro and right next door to the Palacio de Gobierno, the home of the Mexican government. Ben and I had been to the Palacio our first year here but I was ready to see the famous Orozco murals housed there again. This time the building was surrounded by portable fence panels and guards. No entry. Lucky for us Juan had an uncle who was once governor. That little tidbit got us a warm welcome and entry into the building.

Over the stairs leading up to government offices you are struck not only by the textures of the stairs and elaborate railings, but by the looming “heat” of Orozco’s murals bearing down on you. Climbing up you feel as if you are right in the middle of the ominous scenes. It was Miguel Hidalgo, father of Mexican independence, who inspired the Mexican people to rise up against the Spanish conquerers. Orozco’s murals show his – and Hidalgo’s – passion for the cause.

On ground level the auditorium where legislation is hammered out is also the sight of an Orozco mural, this time with characters Trotsky and Poncho Villa, as well as Hidalgo. In this mural, circa 1810, Hidalgo is signing a document banning slavery. It is important to remember when viewing the murals of Orozco and his contemporaries Rivera and Siqueiros, that at that time the majority of Mexican people were illiterate, making murals the perfect educational tool.

Guadalajara is an engaging city, proud of its heritage and its contemporary flare, as well as its walkability. There are lots of people, galleries, restaurants and shops. Families congregate in the famous plazas on weekends. The market is open daily with light rail and an occasional electric streetcar at the ready. Like any big city, there are areas to avoid but the central area we just began to touch on is well worth a visit. In fact, more than one. I’m pretty sure we’ll be going back to explore areas we didn’t get to.

By the way, though I was too busy eating to take pictures, as we headed back toward Ajijic Juan took us to his favorite gordita place for my birthday lunch. These are not your Taco Bell version. And the chocolate flan wasn’t bad either! Feliz cumpleaños to me!

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. The anniversary of the weekend of Ben’s death. Sunday and Monday. The 3rd and 4th of this month.

On Sunday I spent the morning rearranging his ofrenda (altar). It has morphed for a year now, but this one is very special to me. This time I had 3 of my favorite photos printed and stretched on 8×10 canvas. One of him on Banderas Bay, one of him with Tumi, and one of the 2 of us in Tapalpa a few years ago. Happy pictures framed by black clay candelabras from an indigenous village by Lake Pátzcuaro, both stuffed with thick cream colored candles purchased at the church candle shop in Pátzcuaro proper. A carved coconut shell from our favorite market in Tlacalula, Oaxaca, sits atop the treasured box of remains. Printed photos of the 2 of us on different adventures lay pinned by small antique seashells from his childhood collection.

The rest of the day was spent doing whatever came up at the moment as YouTube stretched the Gillian Welch sequence into any artist with anywhere near the same sound for hours. I successfully switched his large iPad over to my ownership after an hour of research then settled in to watch his favorite TV show for the second or third time – BOSCH. He loved that show and the books they were based on. One of his stellar moments here in Ajijic was spotting Michael Connelly near a shop in the village (though that was never confirmed).

Monday morning Tumi and I met a few of the women who physically and spiritually sat vigil with us over the late afternoons of Ben’s last weekend. I have little memory of how or why they appeared but their presence was a gift of angels as far as I’m concerned. In memory of that we met on the malecón, walked and talked for 30 minutes or so then headed to the plaza where we met Loretta, friend and End Of Life doula, and her little pup Paco at my favorite outdoor restaurant run by my sweet friend Elena and her family. Ben loved this ritual every Sunday morning. I skipped it for a few weeks after his death and spent an hour in meditation at the local Buddhist center instead. But ultimately I decided the ritual and time with Tumi was what I wanted more. There are some routines that are shifting while others become more ingrained in this time of changing grief. The Sunday morning ritual is one of them. After several weeks of absence my first visit to Elena’s was a surprise to her. After I explained why Ben wasn’t with me she threw her arms around me, offering heartfelt words of comfort. She has done so ever since. This time, after I told her how these women sat vigil with me during Ben’s last hours, she made the rounds to hug each one…Vidette, Patty, Gayley, Kat, Loretta. And, gratefully, me as well. We pulled tables together and ate her simple, delicious food and drank her café de olla, all made with love. Then we scattered, going our own ways, knowing the time together in that place on that day had been a blessing.

That evening, July 3rd, another group gathered…Tom came with Chinese lanterns. Friends Judy and Robyn came, as well as Ernesto and Rodrigo – both friends from Ben’s art classes that, at his request, received a good portion of his art supplies. We gathered on the terrace for snacks until Ernesto asked for my attention. “ I wanted to give you something for all the supplies you gave me.” Waving his hand when I told him it wasn’t necessary, he said simply: “It is necessary for me”. In his hands he held a framed charcoal/pencil portrait of Ben sitting with Tumi, taken from a photo I’d posted on Facebook. Stunned, I burst into tears while offering a well deserved hug.

When darkness fell I led the way to the mirador where we would release 3 lanterns, one at a time. The gentle breeze was perfect for carrying the lanterns up and over the neighborhood and east toward Chapala. As the orange one disappeared into the night (where do they go anyway?), there was an unexpected and sudden gust of wind, surprising us all. With eyes wide we agreed…Ben’s here! And he liked it! Sweet.

Photos by Judy Miller

A week has passed now. Time goes by so quickly anymore. Ben is my ghostly counselor on a daily basis now. I think Tumi still expects to see him climb the stairs sometimes when he hears the neighbor’s car, thinking it’s ours. It’s been a tough year but I’ve moved from wobbly legs and fuzzy thinking, often curled up on the bed or the couch, to feeling stronger and more clear most days. I don’t know what’s in store for me now though I do have some travel plans. There is much to see in Mexico. Places Ben and I had hoped to go.

In September I will take some of Ben’s ashes to Mexico City as he requested. He wasn’t concerned about that at first when I asked him – God knows these are hard things to talk about yet so very important – but a couple of days later he gave clear voice to his wishes…”I want you to take my ashes to the Avenue of the Dead at the pyramids above Mexico City”, he told me. “I’ve always wanted to take you there and we never got to go. This way I’ll know you got there.” How sweet is that…

I know my days of grief are not over. The smallest thing can set me off, provoke tears. But there is great support, both here and in the US, and I am ever so grateful for that. Each day becomes an opportunity for growth and healing. Each day shows me more about who I am, on my own.

I dedicate this post to Ben, of course, who taught me so much, as well as to his family & to all those who knew & loved him. I know it is hard to read about or talk about death and grief. But it is a necessary conversation. One I hope you will engage in. Poco a poco…Blessings One & All.

Right. That’s not how you spell chocolate. But that’s how you say it in México. And we’re not talking about “lattes”. But think Oaxaca, think chocolate. Most people think of mole (and I don’t mean the kind in a jar) when they think of Oaxaca and chocolate. But there’s a lot more to it than that. And it isn’t confined to Oaxaca, though it’s certainly more prevalent there.

Let’s talk “fruit trees”. I was told that the cacao tree is indigenous to the rain forests of Guatemala. Most recently I’ve read that the cacao tree grows best in the evergreen forests near the equator where rainfall, humidity and shade provide the perfect conditions. I’ve also read that the trees are being raised domestically on plantation settings in several states of México and the Gulf of Honduras. My latest source says that the 15-25′ cacao tree originated in the Amazon Basin of Brazil, Columbia and Peru and that currently 70% comes from West Africa, Peru, Venezuela and South America, as well as the Caribbean. 90% are grown on small family farms, some being ethical fair trade communities, with 5% coming from large commercial plantations. Check out http//:www.icco.org for more official information on the cacao plant and its commercial management (affiliate of the United Nations).

In Central and South America chocolate has been historically used for medicinal, spiritual and ceremonial purposes for hundreds of years. In Mayan tradition cacao means “heart blood” and refers to “the opening of our hearts”. Accordingly, chocolate is believed to be a mild stimulant that increases the flow of blood and oxygen in our bodies, releases endorphins and dopamine, boosts our immunity, and decreases cholesterol and blood pressure. It is noted to be high in iron, magnesium, B vitamins and antioxidants. But more on this in a future post.

Chocolate is a daily staple in central Mexico, often consumed at each meal as well as at celebrations. Though most of us think of chocolate in terms of commercial candy bars and hot cocoa, my focus here is on hot chocolate and other indigenous beverages. The term “cocoa” is generally used to refer to the cacao beans once they have been roasted. But real cacao is the unprocessed, grainy version of the unrefined beans and has a slightly bitter taste. I realized there were differences a few years ago when I asked our Ajijic chocolatier (he makes delicious chocolate bars) if he got his chocolate in Oaxaca. “Nope. Too grainy. I get my chocolate from Columbia, South America.” That led me to discovering the distinction between a “chocolatier” and a “chocolate maker” who creates chocolate from cacao beans and other ingredients such as sugar and almonds.

Maybe the closest you can get to Mexican style “hot chocolate” in most US grocery stores are the boxes of round tablets sold as the brands “ABUELITA” and “IBBARA” (my preference, with its deeper, grainier chocolate flavor), but I’ve read that their cacao comes from Africa since it is more plentiful and less expensive. In my opinion these commercial brands do not compare with handmade Oaxacan chocolate. The closest I came to the real thing before going to Oaxaca was TAZA organic chocolate tablets, a fair trade product, on Amazon, and though they are quite pricey, they have a wonderful flavor and in my opinion come closest to authentic Mexican tablets.

In Tlacalula, a small town about an hour from Oaxaca City, I visited the town chocolate maker and watched as a young woman ground the fermented cacao beans into a liquidy paste in the store’s molino (grinding mill). It is that paste that becomes the hard block of chocolate we know. Fermenting the beans destroys the “coat”, kills germs and enhances the flavor. Stepping through the crowd to the sales window I was given more options for purchase than I expected and “settled for” plain tablets with less sugar and “sticks” mixed with sugar and ground almonds. I’ve learned since that I could’ve chosen plain cacao and added what I wanted later. It is traditional to mix the tablets or sticks with water (though milk has become more common also) and whisk with a carved molinillo (mole-ah-knee-yo) until frothy. I’ve had no luck with this so far. Not sure what the secret is. Yet.

Just so you don’t think “hot chocolate” is the only drink in México, let’s take a look at some others that you’re likely to find in the early morning food stalls of Oaxaca City and the villages beyond.

Café de olla (“coffee from a pot”) is one of my favorites and I’ve learned to make it right here at home, being somewhat successful in capturing the authentic flavor. The little restaurant in the middle of Ajijic that I’ve mentioned before is where I have my weekly cup of the locally made version. The owner, Elena, makes hers in the traditional clay pot, said to enhance the flavor. She’s been trying to find one of those pots for me but so far no luck. Recently she told me if I’d come by on a weekday morning around 9 she’d show me how she makes her version. She seemed excited that I wanted to learn.

So yesterday I decided to take Elena up on her offer to teach me how to make café de olla with her recipe, the recipe handed down to her from her mother many years ago. Elena heats water in her large clay pot then drops in 1 tablet of Ibarra chocolate, 2 large cinnamon sticks, 6 large cones of piloncillo (compacted dark brown sugar), 3 cloves and 3 peppercorns. All this is followed by 10 heaping tablespoons of coarsely ground coffee. The mixture is allowed to come to a low boil for 10 minutes before serving. I can only say – if I did make this batch myself – YUM! (Elena also told me that when she came to Ajijic 48 years ago many local people grew their own coffee plants and ground their own beans. As expats moved in and the town population grew the plants disappeared and coffee began being imported from places like Oaxaca, Veracruz and Chiapas. Not the same, she laments.)

Recipes for café de olla vary from family to family and are passed down generation to generation, with the family matriarch overseeing the entire process. Legend has it that long, cold nights during the Mexican Revolution may have led to finding ways – like café de olla – sometimes to enhance old, reheated coffee. The clay pot and cups are said to retain the heat and lend an earthy flavor to the coffee. Most recipes include dark roast coffee, piloncillo (cones of dark brown sugar), cinnamon, cloves and sometimes chocolate or peppercorns. Though I’m referencing Ajijic here, this drink is popular throughout Oaxaca and other areas of México.

Tejate (tay-ha-tay) In my post about Oaxaca last month I mentioned this delicious drink. Made from fermented cacao beans (fermenting in large outdoor, covered bins destroys the “coat” and the “germ” and increases the flavor), toasted corn, toasted pits of the tropical fruit known as mamey and cacao flowers, this prehispanic recipe varies by region, city and family. This delicious and nutrient rich treat is poured from above into the serving container to produce the foamy surface created by the cocoa butter, then served (with or without added sugar water) in colorful decorated gourd shells. Its odd color put me off at first but a young Mexican man savoring his own cup convinced me to try it. No regrets.

I realized after seeing this in the Tlacalula market that I had unknowingly witnessed the creation of tejate in a home in Teotitlán Del Valle, a few minutes from Oaxaca City, on my visit in 2019. I watched as several women gathered on the floor of the home of a family in celebration. Their son had just been chosen for the lead position in La Danza de la Plume, a great honor and 3 year commitment. As the women fell into rhythm and song together grinding the mix on their volcanic stone metates for what seemed like hours (probably 1), the ground substance was gathered and patted into balls. Before leaving each guest received some of the laborious results wrapped in a banana leaf. A delightful, nutritious treat.

Champurrado. I haven’t come across this drink yet but its ingredients are listed as milk, corn flour (masa marina), sugar, cinnamon, vanilla extract and cacao. It is a cousin of the popular atole, which omits the chocolate and cinnamon. The Aztecs invented champurrado, which is served super hot (cuídate!) next to a nice chunk of Mexican bread or a tamale.

Oaxaca has a deep connection to chocolate, to cacao, greatly due to its large population of indigenous peoples. Oaxaca, and México, are the most important areas of the world known for the preservation of historical chocolate (cacao) drink recipes and tools such as the metate and molinillo. One author (http//:missionchocolaterecies.com) said: “I have been to every country in Europe and Latin America that is considered important in the world of chocolate, and nothing comes close to Oaxaca.” And THAT is enough to make me go back!

For recipes & fun facts: http//:www.eater.com & http//:www.isabeleats.com

Nearly 4 years ago Ben and I visited Norma Schafer in the village of Teotitlán Del Valle, population 5600, about 40 minutes southeast of Oaxaca City. Those of you who’ve followed my intermittent blogs know that that was nothing short of a magical week for me. I posted 3 installments because I just couldn’t fit it all into one. This trip was very different. This was my first major venture without Ben and I was plenty nervous. I’d heard how huge and crazy the Mexico City airport is and I spent way too much time dreading it. Easy – peazy. Not to mention how the Guadalajara airport has morphed into a giant (and they aren’t done yet!). But I digress…

Norma and I met after Ben and I spent a week in San Miguel de Allende in early 2017. Smitten with the textiles I’d witnessed there I began looking for tours. When I found oaxacaculture.com I struck gold. Norma’s house in Durham, North Carolina, was 12 miles from ours in Hillsborough. This lady is an expert on Mexican textiles – people look at her in amazement when she cites the name and village of someone who did the weaving and/or embroidery of nearly any piece singled out in a shop. And she has taught me ALOT! (She remembers it. I can’t say the same.)

Her small deep red wine colored Mexican style home sits at the back of property owned by “Fe & Lola”, outstanding rug artisans. On the edge of the village it sits nestled in a gorgeous valley of cacti, black volcanic farmland, and commanding Sierra Juárez mountains. Its altitude is only slightly higher than my home in Ajijic at 5479′ so the weather is quite similar. Here you are part of Mother Nature. HVAC is not common. Blankets and ceiling fans substitute. Conserving water and composting, using what you have without running to the grocery store every day. Cooking creatively instead of eating out. (Locals go to the daily village market.) Ways of life often neglected in territory familiar to me – Ajijic, Hillsborough, NC, etc. – for various reasons.

That said, our first meal was in Oaxaca City (population 300,000) where famous and hole-in-the-wall restaurants are visible on nearly every street. We had our first meal at Casa Taviche (Yum!) then headed to do a bit of shopping before moving on to Teotitlán.

Saturday led us to the village of Mitla (“place of the dead”) where the Zapotec archeological site was built around 100 BC and occupied until the Aztecs took it over in 1494, then the Spanish in the early 1500’s. The site contains columns, public squares and empty tombs, but is mostly noted for its fretwork. Geometric patterns are made from thousands of cut and polished stones fitted together without mortar against a red stucco background. (Check out www.tomzap.com or Wikipedia for more info.)

Funny that I was so taken with the temporary display of handmade shoes inside the entry to the ruins. With my little bit of Spanish I gathered that these were made to mimic shoes of the conquerors. I could be wrong but fascinating anyway.

We headed out to Tlacalula (I love that word!) market to stock the frig but first stopped to pick up some linens Norma ordered from Arturo Hernandez, a charming well-known local weaver.

Just outside the Tlacalula indoor market, open daily, is a little restaurant known as “Comedor Mary“. The current owner/operator is Mary’s granddaughter. Great food, delightful company.

This is Saturday in the market. Just wait for Sunday. You’ll see.

By the way, tejate is a Zapotec (local indigenous population) drink made from toasted corn, fermented cacao beans, cacao flowers and pixtle – toasted and ground mamey pits (a Latin American tree fruit). It’s all ground into a paste on a metate then mixed with water and a little sugar for a frothy refreshing drink. I’d seen it last trip and was determined to try it this time. A young Mexican man walked up beside me as I hesitated to order, offered me the first sip from his colorful painted gourd cup (I politely declined), and gave me a long explanation – in Spanish – of its worth. I ordered my own and was quite pleased to say the least. Just wish I’d kept the cup.

Sunday is the big day in Tlacalula, population 16,000. All the streets are closed and the whole town becomes the weekly market. It’s truly amazing, if not a bit overwhelming. I bought a few things – chocolate tablets, a clay pot, a carved gourd – but mostly I looked in awe. One stop shopping for sure. This place is not just a tourist attraction.

We met Norma’s friend in the church plaza outside the market and headed off “tuk-ed” into a “tuk-tuk” for her recommended restaurant with “Cocina tradicional” – authentic regional food. Eva, the owner, recently won prizes for her special food. It’s a bare bones setting with a backdrop of their own mezcalería. What fun!

Had a rough night after all that stimulation so we stayed home on Monday while I soaked up the peaceful energy of the valley and mountains surrounding Norma’s home. I was mesmerized. Give me a hammock. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Tuesday was our last day together so we decided to spend it cruising around the City proper. Norma is an unofficial “cultural anthropologist” who certainly deserves an official title. She’s been studying and touring for well over 15 years and, unlike me, she seems to remember what she’s learned. Though she shops for high end collectibles, I’m a more low-key, low-brow shopper. It was a challenge she enjoyed. I’ll stop here while you view a conglomeration of photos of what I think is one of the most beautiful cities in México. People call it “magical” and I must agree. It has an energy all its own and I can’t wait to go back!

My final lunch in the city was at CABUCHE. A tlayuda with huitlachoche. Got that? We met up with 2 of Norma’s friends there and wandered into the textile museum. Hot and tired after that, we sat down for a glass of aqua de sandia, better known as watermelon water, and a shoe shine by a charming local entrepreneur.

There were other places, other people, but off to the big city…airport that is. Tired and ready to be home with my pup. Thanks to Norma Schafer for all her guidance, teaching, and patience. And to all the folks she introduced me to who shared part of this journey. Aren’t I lucky???

Margaret left a couple of weeks ago now.  My dear friend/“sister” from St. Thomas, VI.  We bonded years ago (1996) while working in an Asheville, North Carolina, nursing home.  We hadn’t seen each other since October 2019 so we were long overdue and excited.  What better way to welcome her back – and to take my first “big adventure trip” since Ben’s death – than to spend a few days in our beloved Pátzcuaro in the mountains of the state of Michoacán.  If you’ve been following me these past 4 years you know I love it there.

I’d heard people talk about the wonderful luxury buses available for travel to many destinations, comfortable and less expensive than flying, allowing you to take in more of the landscape than driving so I decided to add that element to our adventure.  (For now I have no intention of driving any distance on my own or with another woman, though that may change in time).  A local travel agent made it easy to plan the to and fro and I hired a driver to take us to the bus stations in Guadalajara and Morelia.  The wonderful staff at Hotel Casa Encantanda (my home away from home) arranged a taxi from Morelia to “Patz”.  So we were set.  Until nausea kicked in for me on the wobbly, OK-but-not-luxurious bus to Morelia that was an hour and a half late.  That 3 and a half hour ride seemed to take forever, followed by a 1 hour taxi ride to the hotel and an uncomfortable evening.

Even so, returning to the hotel was comforting and calming.  Our suite was gorgeous.  One large room on the second floor divided by custom-made sliding wooden doors, bathroom with a shower, 2 sinks and lots of storage, overlooking the back terrace and the room Ben and I had always stayed in.  I just couldn’t bare to stay in that room without him and we wanted separate areas anyway so Árbol was perfect. Thank you Victoria and Luis, as always.

We ate our first meal at El Patio, a favorite for myself and Ben, and enjoyed a brief meetup there with Sydney Lynch, retired jeweler and friend from Nebraska, who frequents Pátzcuaro.  Afterwards the plaza drew us in as we watched workers begin to disassemble the animal figures from a greater than life-size crèche.  The complete assembly must have been amazing.  The pile of shaved reed ducks brought back the memory of visiting one artisan by Lake Pátzcuaro with Animecha Tours guide Jaime Banderas, watching as the artist grinned through the whole 30 minute transformation of a tightly bound hank of local reeds into a duck complete with “feathers”.  The camel was amazing with its twirls of reed.  Reeds are plentiful by Lake Pátzcuaro and the locals put them to good use.  But the best for me, the thing that brought smiles and giggles, was the flock of sheep with their clueless faces and curls of reed “string”.  Wish I’d brought one home.

Remembering how Ben and I loved the local museum I hauled Margaret up the hill to the old monastery to take in the fascinating history of the town and nearby lake.  The Museum of Arts and Crafts (and tools) of the native Purépecha people is housed in a gorgeous 16th century building between 2 of the town basilicas.  Friendly locals just setting up for the day pointed us into each room after waving us in without taking our entry money.  It was a sweet return for me, just as fascinating the 2nd time.

Margaret willingly followed me to some of my other favorite places for food including, on our last morning, the Don Jenaro Chocolatería where handmade chocolate drops or tablets are whipped into a creamy froth with a traditional molinillo and served piping hot in hefty mugs.  Another sweet memory.  The hole in the wall cafeteria off the plaza, El Asadora, is still going strong, with the same friendly owner.  And of course the delicious breakfast and hot coffee at Hotel Casa Encantada consistently kick started our mornings.

Shopping has always been a favorite pastime for Margaret and myself and Pátzcuaro is not lacking in interesting shops full of linens, crafts, clothing, jewelry, candy, carved/painted hearts with Milagros (“miracles”-charms used as symbols to wish others good luck, good health, and hope for the future). I’d set my mind on a lightweight bedspread and had no trouble finding it though I should say that white wasn’t quite what I’d been looking for.  Along with napkins and a table runner.  Pátzcuaro is famous for its carved wooden hearts decorated in a thousand ways. I’ve started my collection… A shop owner on the plaza directed us – in Spanish – to the candle shop (Taller Artesanal below) when I saw candelabras like the ones I’d purchased on an earlier trip. We found it, after a bit of milling around, and found the large diameter candles I wanted, along with a million different sizes, plus other icons of worship for the nearby Catholic churches.

La Tradicion was a magical restaurant when Ben and I stumbled upon it a few years ago and ended up watching as the famous cook was being filmed for her TV show while we were served a most authentic regional meal.  Returning there with Margaret was sweet, joyful.  I was so happy to take her there.  As we sat waiting for a server the famous Victoria’s husband proudly displayed her “certificate of merit” to us and chattered in Spanish as she sat on the other side of the near empty restaurant busy with papers.  But disappointment soon followed.  It was Thursday and technically they’re only open Friday through Sunday so maybe that was the problem.  Everything we had, from tostadas to chili rellanos to margaritas, was tasteless, drab and lukewarm.  Victoria was pleased to see a picture we’d had taken with her when Ben and I were there last but otherwise the whole event was a bust.  (Whereas tacos at Casa del Naranjo restaurante were some of the best I’ve ever eaten – a pleasant surprise on Wednesday when most places were closed. Thanks for that tip Sydney.)

We took our time wandering to the market. So many beautiful tiendas on the way. Rummaging through the open air market took some time.  We spent an hour or so there digging around, up one aisle and down the other, until we finally went into the interior stalls where we discovered the fish market along with multiple stands of baskets, cheap but decent rebozos (long woven rectangular pieces of fabric with a million uses) and other goodies.  (See the “Borderlore” link below for an interesting article on this once staple item of Mexican culture. February 2020.) Clerks were mostly middle-aged women, many wearing the local handmade aprons typical of the area.  Not much of a crowd there so we got a lot of attention and were happy to make a few small purchases.

The ice cream stand at one end of the plaza was truly a “sweet return”, a favorite of Ben’s, with multiple flavors locally made.  The Plaza de Vasco Quiroga plaza is the second largest in Mexico I’m told, the only one in the country without a church as centerpiece, and always bustling with activity of one form or another.  Families and dogs delight in stretches of grass and sidewalk along with benches and a central fountain.

New to me was the upscale jewelry shop near one corner of the plaza that features only Mexican artisan’s work.  Wish I’d taken pictures. I did manage to snap the plexiglass fish hanging from the ceiling of the shop which is actually what drew us in.  I’d done my buying for the day but Margaret was pleased with her pair of bees! No gold there but Ben would’ve appreciated the variety of quality work. I will return.

Our driver back to Morelia, Ruben, another tip from Sydney, was delightful.  Again our bus was late – a luxurious double decker – but our pickup in Guadalajara was, thankfully, flexible. And we were thankful indeed for his attitude when we left the Guadalajara bus station only to be caught up in a major traffic jam due to – we eventually found out – an event going on several miles ahead.  There was so much stop and start that Kryzstof’s car overheated and we had to pull off. We’d had one meal all day and were grateful that he was familiar with the local grocery store for a snack and a pit stop.  Our hour ride took 3 and even though Krzysztof smiled and was gracious the entire time, we were all glad when he dropped us off at my house.

The rest of Margaret’s stay was low key and relaxing.  We rearranged the living room – another thing we’ve always done together – took some walks and enjoyed some good food.  We were both tired when she left but it was worth it and I think she’d agree that our bond was strengthened more than ever.  She will always be the “sister” I never had.  Hopefully our visits won’t be so far apart from now on. Tumi adored her and stuck close so he’ll be glad to see her again too.

I hope to go back next year, spend a month in one of Victoria’s apartments, take Tumi, enjoy the quiet, slower pace. Combined with having my dear friend by my side this visit was the sweet return I had hoped for, the oasis of peace I needed.  There are other plans for travel this year…Oaxaca, Mexico City, and hopefully Chiapas.  Maybe even a weekend at the beach.  But I know for sure (as sure as anyone CAN, that as long as I am in México I will always return to Pátzcuaro.

https://www.hotelcasaencantada.com

https://animecha.webnode.mx/products/owner/

https://lugares.inah.gob.mx/en/museos-inah/museo.html?search=museos&task=search&lugar_id=403&museo_id=403

Artifact: Rebozo

Well, here it is. The holiday I’ve dreaded for 6 months. Ben loved Christmas, especially Christmas Eve.  So I can’t really tell you why we never went out to celebrate here. This year when our friend Cesar invited me to join our friend Judy at his home for a typical Mexican celebration I decided to say Yes!

Christmas Eve is the big day here.  Especially after dark.  So I found myself in the midst of 20-30 people, some gringos (transplanted here from Texas & Minnesota) but mostly Cesar’s family – a sampling of his 8 sisters (3 live in the US) and 5 brothers as well as his partner Noemi and their 4 beautiful children, all 4 of whom gave me tender hugs on my arrival.  I hadn’t seen the girls in about 3 years, a lot of time and change.  The eldest girl, now 13, told me 3 years ago she wanted to be a doctor.  She still maintains that desire.  Love it.  But I digress…

So the celebration at Cesar’s was a typical Mexican scene…a few concrete block and brick dwellings wrapped around a dirt courtyard.  Several tables end to end covered with cups, bowls, spoons, Squirt (think Mellow Yellow) and tequila.  Then bowls loaded with posole accompanied by shredded cabbage, chopped onions, tostadas (crisp tortillas) and homemade salsas with varying degrees of spiciness – all too hot for me!  (Where were the bowls of cilantro and radishes?)  A few feet from the tables a huge metal pot sat steaming on top of a jerry-rigged grill with piles of hot gray charcoal embers underneath.  Noemi had been cooking all day and served it up with a huge wooden ladle.

Small fireworks – cohetes – popped and flashed by a side wall away from the table while the adults ate and socialized, children and dogs excited by the energy of the festivities.

Bellies full we stood and turned toward the corner of the courtyard where the guys were prepping the piñatas, one at a time.  Hanging above our heads the piñatas were pushed toward the person standing ready with a healthy sized stick, all waiting for the first smash that would break the cardboard and foil “stars” to release the candy held inside.  Some “batters” wore a blindfold.  I did not and took several good swings that brought down a few bits of the inside goodies.  Soon candy flooded the dirt floor as everyone grabbed up all the pieces they could find before the dogs got to them!

There were other events in town during the day I’m sure but today when I walked with Tumi on our usual Sunday stroll along the malecón then through town and back to the car…not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.  I’ve never seen it so quiet.  Totally peaceful down by the lake…except for one group in the park playing loud crazy music.  

There’s a Christmas Eve tradition in Mexico of building small (or large) bonfires in the street, drinking tequila and blasting music all night. Cesar had told me it’d been outlawed but it was obvious to me in town and on my own street this morning that that ritual hasn’t totally disappeared.  I saw several beds of coals next to sidewalks and felt the heat rising from them as I held my palm over to test.  I’d say a few folks went to bed very recently.

I’ve enjoyed my little wooden tree and my porch lights, candles and my snowman collection on Ben’s altar.  Now I’m waiting for my friend Vidette to arrive with her 2 poodles while our preordered meal from a wonderful local restaurant sits waiting to be heated. The blender is prepped for a mango margarita or 2 and Christmas music of all sorts sings out from the TV.  Thanks YouTube.

I’ve sent out ecards and messages to all I could think of and hope I haven’t forgotten anyone.  Amazon delivered presents for my granddaughter Hazel.  It’s strange to be here without Ben.  We didn’t miss a Christmas together in our 20 years, the first several celebrated with his large family, a few with my son.  This is surely different.  But last night I met 2 widows at the party, 1 of 2 years, 1 of 2 weeks.  In such different places mentally and emotionally.  The one 2 years out assured me it would get better, easier.  She’d known her husband since they were 4 years old and lost him in a matter of 2 hours.  To see her smiling, reaching out to me, gave me great hope, – no, more than that – reassurance, that life will change, will get better.  Learning, growing, taking it all in.  It isn’t easy.  Yet here I sit, feeling blessed.  Feliz Navidad everyone!

Strangers in our house. No option except managing everything myself. And I couldn’t. Not physically or emotionally. If I’d had a nervous breakdown or injured my back, what then.

Ben spent 3 weeks in the 5 bed Assisted Living/Nursing Home facility and was clearly miserable. But he needed that time to strengthen his body, his legs especially, to prepare for the rigors of chemotherapy. And I needed that time to gather my strength and prepare for the hard physical and emotional work that I instinctively knew was coming.  I knew from the start that we’d need help at home and thankfully he could afford it.

It isn’t easy sharing the intimate space of the act of dying with the person you’ve shared everything with for 20 years, or, for that matter, with the strangers you so desperately need there. Somehow, for the most part, you blend into each other’s spaces while at the same time setting some boundaries. “I’m very tired” I told the 21 and 25 year old paramedics rotating 24 hour shifts. “Please don’t wake me at night unless it’s an emergency.” I knew sleeping well was the best medicine for me. The one thing that would keep me going. I knew they were capable and willing. They respected that need for space and only awakened me once in the 4 weeks Ben was at home. One night I tried sleeping in the twin bed next to his hospital bed but he had a restless night and we both suffered through it.

(I realize while I’m writing this that my geriatric and hospice nursing experience taught me that caregivers MUST take care of themselves in order to take care of others. And it’s true. Don’t ever doubt it.)

Sharing space in this situation required sharing space with new stuff, moving from beloved treasures to IV poles and hospital beds, to drawers emptied out only to be filled with medications and medical supplies, emotionally moving in and out of wanting to remain in this space, this beautiful, comfortable house, and wanting to leave it behind to move on to a simpler space, a simpler life without pain and heartache. I think we both felt that.

It isn’t easy sharing space with grief, allowing it, allowing the “stages” as you float in and out of them. It is truly a process (and not a linear one) that takes patience and time as you let go of the past and move toward acceptance while remaining, as much as you can, in the moment.

Ben and I spent 20 years sharing space, 16 of them in Hillsborough, North Carolina, and just shy of 4 here in Mexico. Tough sometimes, especially during Covid. Both of us independent and set in our ways. But over time we figured it out, often retreating to separate rooms to read, write, or touch base with friends and family. That changed a bit when Ben fell ill, before we knew how ill he was. Looking back now I see that all those interruptions at my door were pleas for filling the space, the empty, frightening space…to relieve his loneliness, his fear of what I now believe he intuitively felt he was facing. “It ain’t right, Honey,” he’d say in a silly voice, attempting to downplay his angst. “Somethin’ just ain’t right.” Or “Thanks for all you’re doing for me,” he’d say. To which I’d reply in earnest, “Your turn’s coming”. Clueless at times, regardless of my training.

We just passed through Día de Los Muertos here with its jumble of gaiety, sorrow, ritual, and promise. Again sharing space with others experienced in loss. There is much to learn from the locals who routinely share their space with loved ones who’ve left this earth. They are practical, loving and wise, lingering in the “thin veil” of their departed loved ones for only a few days each year, to honor and respect them before moving on to the tasks at hand.

I found myself in that space this week as I attended, with friends, the lighting of the terra cotta plaque with Ben’s name engraved on it, mine beside it. He now shares space with all the others honored on that wall in the village. He is now part of the space of Mexico, a land he dearly loved.

It’s up to me now to find what/who I need to share my space with. Right now it is our pup, grieving in his own way, wanting his space to be filled with the sound and movement of other pups and people. And it is space shared with a rumbling of ideas and hopes and dreams, of finding who I am now as I pass out of the sharing of life with men for over 52 years, to learning to be alone in the spaces I occupy. (Something I’d not intended or imagined so soon.) Right now I share that space with the cool evening breeze, the crisp blue skies, the fields of glowing yellow Mexican “sunflowers”, the people who continue to support me, and this house and its memories, as well as its possibilities. Sharing space is not always an easy thing. Yet it is the gift we are given as we experience the human side of life.