Aaaah. Mexico.

Back in Mexico. There's a smile in my Spanish when I speak here, a gentleness that overtakes me. Also, I have this heightened awareness of the absurd circumstance of being a gringa in Mexico. Mostly it feels like people regard me with a sort of bemusement, above all. Many are incredibly helpful; some seem to think that good luck rubs off of me like I'm a chimney-sweep or something; still others are just straight up curious about me. Two reporters chased me down yesterday to ask a foreigner how she celebrates Christmas, and seemed a bit disappointed when I answered that it's a time to practice a bit more good will, tolerance, patience and kindness toward others, hang out with your family, and eat. I guess my answer wasn't very exotic -- on the upside, I might wind up on the six o'clock news for all the right reasons!

Stop me if you've heard this one, or just indulge me instead: there's a game I like to play here an ex-pat friend of mine taught me. It consists, very simply, of spotting the incongruence. The theory is that, wherever you go in Mexico, at any given moment, there's something completely, totally, obviously out of place within your field of vision. A costume shop at the bus station. A truck driving along with its rear-view mirrors lit on fire in honor of the Virgen de Guadalupe. A man painted silver from head to toe. And if you can't find the incongruence, you're probably it.

Mexico assaults the senses. It's a loud, bumpy, spicy, bright place and it always smells like something, whether the sting of diesel exhaust, the heady fragrance of frying chiles, or the slightly ammoniac smell of fresh tortillas. Much of it is homely; some of it is sublimely beautiful, and it's all jumbled together: encimado, they'd say here. On-topped. You have to adjust your vision in order to shut out different kinds of noise, to become blind to different types of visual interference, in order to find the beauty. It takes practice, but when you manage it, you're richly rewarded.

It comes home with me, too, this gentleness. Greater openness to chance experiences and encounters. La entrega: a giving over. With it comes greater patience for unexpected setbacks, and renewed faith that things - all things - have a way of working themselves out. If your problem has a solution, a Mexican proverb says, why worry? And if your problem has no solution, why worry? If I'm mindful I can sustain this state of mind for a time. Three years away though...I was definitely due for a re-charge.

Retrospective

Okay, so it's been an obscenely long time since I posted here, and I'm now slinking back with my figurative tail between my legs thanks to the gentle exhortations of my new neighbor. I thought that for this first post in over a year, I'd bring things up to date by looking at my most recent (if that word even applies) posts with the perspective that a year or more provides. So here goes:

My university is small enough that word seems to have gotten out about me; either that or students are posting mad comments on ratemyprofessor.com; either that or I'm much more effectively conveying my indifference toward my students' hardships because the Lame Excuse Quotient has significantly dropped over the past six months or so.

My mojo and I are still largely estranged, although we have attempted reconciliation on a handful of frosty occasions, and we haven't given up on working things out.

Christmas Chimp passed from this life shortly after I wrote about him, and Hedgehog Version 7.0 reigns supreme over pantry and hallway. Grendl often disappears into the pantry and moans longingly for her while sticking his head out and shooting us pointed glances from under the pantry curtain (a pose which gives him a striking resemblance to Obi-Wan Kenobi).

I confirmed that it was indeed Rachael "Raykle" Ray who stole my stuffing recipe. Either that, or some time over the course of the last year or so I convinced myself that I confirmed this. I am indifferent to which of these things is true.

I still love Julie Andrews, Halloween, and my #1 pop song versions.

Grendl's dog park behavior became too humpalicious, alienating other dog park goers and supplanting his enjoyment of things like Running Around and Doing His Business, so we don't go there as often as we once did.

I have not found a satisfactory alternative to: Kleinstuck, Asylum woods, Martini's antipasto salad, Bluegrass Breakfast, the Heritage Company, Bank Street Market, my twenties.

As predicted by gretchencb, I have found a satisfactory alternative to: the Vine neighborhood, the Corner Bar.

As predicted by madamechuchita, I have not needed to find a satisfactory alternative to: Bell's Two-Hearted Ale. I have also attempted mastery of some of Just Good Food's recipes, to varying degrees of success.

I have found a whole new list of reasons to miss the 10th floor of Sprau Tower, as well as all its other floors, most of which have to do with my gratitude to the professors who didn't just provide me with an education, but also with some much-needed fetchin' up.

Also: the gentleman heretofore known as "the neighbs" is now, officially, "the hubs". And we're still dancing.

And Canada is still a magical place where sun shines out of everyone's ass; the perfect place, in fact, if not for the weather. Which is terrible for, like, half the year.