12-29-10
The year 2010 is drawing to a close.
Curtis and I left tour guide duty today long enough to check email and respond to some. I feel amazed to realize the world exists outside this teaming city, and this hotel room smelling of ‘fragrancia'. We beg the dear cleaning staff of young men to not 'clean', because we cannot breathe at night from the sprays. The concept of 'clean’ suddenly appears ambiguous and cultural as I try to forgive them, for they know not what I smell, or how my sinuses burn at the chemical aerosols, limpiadas, intended as special treatment after a Christmas tip.
Tour guide duty is heavy with museums, El Museo de Archelogia yesterday, following a walk through Chapultapec Park. I’d been to this museo once, but still saw more, as it rivals the magnitude of the Metropolitan Art Museum in NY, yet is more complex.
If you visit, do not order the hash browns in the museum café… but do bring a sketch pad and charcoal if your attention span for ancient artifacts is shorter than 5 hours. Do notice the upstairs filled with life size figures dressed in local custom, painted with mud, adorned in feathers, carved in wood which swings and sways like the woven skirts of a peasant woman in a breezy mountain village. If you take a sun break in the courtyard there are ‘Tortugas’, turtles, which seem quite happy to live in the pond there, and the children watch them with more fascination than any exhibit.
Afterwards we were lucky to catch the ‘voledores’ perform at 4 pm outside the building. Four men, dressed in red pants and hats with roses and ribbons, climbed a 40 foot pole. Their ribbons flowed as they hung from ropes and swung in a spiral from the top of the pole to the ground. One played a flute and beat a little drum as they swung in the widening spiral down. (Precursor to bungi jumping?)
The flute player had the most beautiful dark Native face. I wonder if the advertisers here could be convinced to use native faces in the ads. The natives are so stunning, dramatic and memorable. I feel a sense of sadness every time I see the white Castillian faces smiling on every billboard and milk carton.
Today we walked through the Antiguo Collegio de San Ilfonso. The exhibit featured the work of the famous Mexican artist, Jose Orosco. If you want to talk about dark… well…. Orosco was an ‘anti-cleric’ Given the history of Mexico since Cortez, the wars, the theft of lands, the forced slavery, western deseases, revolution.. Dios mia, there is more violence than one can comprehend. If U.S. politics makes you crazy, well, religion and politics is a bad mix any way you slice it, so this artwork is the visual form of a historical cautionary tale.…Ah, but still the bells of Catedral Metropolitan were ringing exactly at noon, many streets were scrubbed clean by the shop keepers, darling children romped about throwing those helium balloons shaped like huge pencils, and the sky was actually blue.
The holidays have filled the Zocolo with people. There are such crowds, it is like New York sidewalks x 5. My sister Steph’s comment that “In New York you feel like you are always in someone’s way.” comes to me often in this holiday time. Except it is as though we cannot all actually move through this street, but we do, and there are street vendors with items ringing every edge of space, as though shopping could be possible. Even so, the moving throngs of humans in the metro stations, in the square, or on the little cobblestone sidewalks are quite courteous given the crush. Este una milagro, it is a miracle.
I read the subway sign, that 8.84 million people ride every day. The subway, called ‘metro’ is subsidized, which works out to about 4 pesos to ride… something like .35 cents. The max train in Portland costs 2.35. Well, at least we have a train at all.
I love traveling, being in another country, having to communicate in an entirely different language - The miracle of air travel in our age. It has been so short a time that the common proletariat could descend into a foreign land and roam about. This must mean we are all due for a great new era of love and understanding. The linear time concept of NewYears offers that sense of hope, realistic or not.
Prospero ano, y namaste….
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Christmas Eve From Mexico City
Blog entry 12-24-10
Christmas eve in D.F., walking our feet off 2 + miles from the Centro to Café Habana for lunch at noon, then back around through the parks. Everyone is out, and still the vendors line the sidewalks, but fewer because of the holiday.
We sit in the park off the Reforma, in sunshine so warm I think I could sit forever. The carnival continues, and young lovers are on every other park bench exchanging their Christmas gifts or just necking. I love the lovers, that they will unselfconsciously and passionately make out right there in the center of all this bustling city. The only thing I wish more for them is that they have birth control and use it. Today there were several mothers begging with little children in tow.
The vulnerability and transparency of humanity makes me want to sit down and write a poem or something. Walking through this city one sees so many snippets of people’s lives. I can only look for a second and then go on. Try not to stare.
We stop to watch a comedian in the park, and he instantly notices us (the only gringos around ) and begins to add questioning us into his act, : “Te gusta tequila?” Curtis answers mas o menos, and I shake my head no.
“Te gusta mexico?” he asks and we can give a firm “si”. He miraculously continues on to others in the crowd, speaking so fast and clipped I get almost nothing. I like his voice though. It is fun to guess the gist of what someone is saying simply by listening to intonations and gestures, noticing the reactions of those in the crowd. Lots of laughing and teasing. I wish I understood, and someday I might.
I buy a little hand beaded bracelet in Christmas reds and greens from the young huichol man who made it - hecho a mano. It is my one decorative aspect today. I buy una jarro de crema con miel… bee pollen eye crème. The vendor is very friendly and we have fun talking to him about alternative medicines, shamans, honey, and the things he is selling.
The little kids playing accordion are still on the calle, and this time I notice they are even younger than I thought. One is feeding ice cream to his little sister, and singing between his own bites. His singing seems second nature.
The sun is going down on this day, and it’s naptime before mass at El Catedral Metropolitano. The bricks in it’s wall will absorb the music of yet another holiday, the same bricks which used to absorb the prayers of the Aztecs in their dramatic ceremonies. They shed real blood, and now the blood is only in the words.
I am reading the Lacana, by Barbara Kingsolver and it is telling a story which takes place exactly where we are. To stand on the places of so much history feels tender in a way, that tenderness of the human condition. Cortes and Moctezuma are long dead, as are the lovers from so many Christmases past. The gifts mere memories. This is my memory, walking hand in hand with Curtis between buildings of every age, some leaning away into the sinking lakebed. Humanity …. Who, as e.e. Cummings notes, puts the secret of the universe in his pants pocket, forgets, and sits down on it.
Christmas eve in D.F., walking our feet off 2 + miles from the Centro to Café Habana for lunch at noon, then back around through the parks. Everyone is out, and still the vendors line the sidewalks, but fewer because of the holiday.
We sit in the park off the Reforma, in sunshine so warm I think I could sit forever. The carnival continues, and young lovers are on every other park bench exchanging their Christmas gifts or just necking. I love the lovers, that they will unselfconsciously and passionately make out right there in the center of all this bustling city. The only thing I wish more for them is that they have birth control and use it. Today there were several mothers begging with little children in tow.
The vulnerability and transparency of humanity makes me want to sit down and write a poem or something. Walking through this city one sees so many snippets of people’s lives. I can only look for a second and then go on. Try not to stare.
We stop to watch a comedian in the park, and he instantly notices us (the only gringos around ) and begins to add questioning us into his act, : “Te gusta tequila?” Curtis answers mas o menos, and I shake my head no.
“Te gusta mexico?” he asks and we can give a firm “si”. He miraculously continues on to others in the crowd, speaking so fast and clipped I get almost nothing. I like his voice though. It is fun to guess the gist of what someone is saying simply by listening to intonations and gestures, noticing the reactions of those in the crowd. Lots of laughing and teasing. I wish I understood, and someday I might.
I buy a little hand beaded bracelet in Christmas reds and greens from the young huichol man who made it - hecho a mano. It is my one decorative aspect today. I buy una jarro de crema con miel… bee pollen eye crème. The vendor is very friendly and we have fun talking to him about alternative medicines, shamans, honey, and the things he is selling.
The little kids playing accordion are still on the calle, and this time I notice they are even younger than I thought. One is feeding ice cream to his little sister, and singing between his own bites. His singing seems second nature.
The sun is going down on this day, and it’s naptime before mass at El Catedral Metropolitano. The bricks in it’s wall will absorb the music of yet another holiday, the same bricks which used to absorb the prayers of the Aztecs in their dramatic ceremonies. They shed real blood, and now the blood is only in the words.
I am reading the Lacana, by Barbara Kingsolver and it is telling a story which takes place exactly where we are. To stand on the places of so much history feels tender in a way, that tenderness of the human condition. Cortes and Moctezuma are long dead, as are the lovers from so many Christmases past. The gifts mere memories. This is my memory, walking hand in hand with Curtis between buildings of every age, some leaning away into the sinking lakebed. Humanity …. Who, as e.e. Cummings notes, puts the secret of the universe in his pants pocket, forgets, and sits down on it.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Organ Grinders, Snow Mobiles, Acclimating
Can it be adequately referred to as 'jet lag' when one has only adjusted to 2 hours behind and traveled less than 2000 miles in the same hemisphere? Whatever it was, yesterday I felt a bit drunk and slept like a stone when I reached the bed at Hotel Habana on Republica de Chili, Mexico City D.F.. The journey involved a few delays, as must be expected during the holidays, but with the magic of planes I am dropped like Dorothy in Kansas to this huge city once again.
When Curtis and I walked out into the Zocolo after a shower and lunch, it was filled with the pursuits of winter in the North. An ice skating rink, a snowmobile track, snow sculpture and inner tube sliding on the ice, all with the Cathedral in the background. I love the juxtaposition, all these modern little kids romping away in the snow that all kids everywhere seem to naturally love, with the oldest Catholic church in the western hemisphere (1550) towering above, full of its sad karma of grandeur and tradgedy. That combination seems also as timeless as children loving snow.
Curtis, in his tour guide mode, could tell me that the city uses it's revenue to offer this 'Festival a Magica de la Navidad' and all the activities are free. Families stand in line for hours to reach one of the features.
The sun is shining, like a warm day in spring. Last time I was here it was rainy and cold, so the gods are smiling now, ready for Christmas.
Another poignant scene yesterday, as we walked along Calle Gustavo Madero (Permanently closed to cars now, heavenly) we passed 2 little kids sitting on the pavement, about 6 or 7, maybe younger. One was playing a little accordion, and they were both singing in a style I think must be learned from the Son Jarocho music. They had a little lime green plastic piggy bank with a big hole cut into the top for tips. The singing is projected heartfelt and from the mid chest it seems. It is especially heartrending when performed by little kids I think. I left a coin, but still feel concerned about where they live, and what their lives are like.
On the other end of the spectrum is the 26 year old priest we sat next to on the plane from S.F. to D.F. He was going from Vancouver BC to a wealthy area in the city, S. of where we are staying. He had just finished touring with the Arch Bishop and could regal us on how fun it was riding first class to Australia. When we told him where we stayed in the city, he said his mom wouldn't let him go there. He rarely took the metro because "we have a driver', as he said.
He watched an animated movie on his laptop while we slept through the nightflight.
It is good to be here on the ground with the bustling masses.
Two cafe's barely takes me to myself. I have this terrible American female urge to slather on some oil and find a spot in the sun.... but the park is full of giant photo scene background booths and a carnival.. and no one lays in the sun here. They will be posing for holiday photos with the walking Toystory characters or the lifesize glitter castle scenes.
The organ grinders are playing in the street. We will walk and walk, preparing for Dave and Bob to arrive on Christmas, ready to take the Curtis Daily tour de force. Buenas dias, y amor siempre
When Curtis and I walked out into the Zocolo after a shower and lunch, it was filled with the pursuits of winter in the North. An ice skating rink, a snowmobile track, snow sculpture and inner tube sliding on the ice, all with the Cathedral in the background. I love the juxtaposition, all these modern little kids romping away in the snow that all kids everywhere seem to naturally love, with the oldest Catholic church in the western hemisphere (1550) towering above, full of its sad karma of grandeur and tradgedy. That combination seems also as timeless as children loving snow.
Curtis, in his tour guide mode, could tell me that the city uses it's revenue to offer this 'Festival a Magica de la Navidad' and all the activities are free. Families stand in line for hours to reach one of the features.
The sun is shining, like a warm day in spring. Last time I was here it was rainy and cold, so the gods are smiling now, ready for Christmas.
Another poignant scene yesterday, as we walked along Calle Gustavo Madero (Permanently closed to cars now, heavenly) we passed 2 little kids sitting on the pavement, about 6 or 7, maybe younger. One was playing a little accordion, and they were both singing in a style I think must be learned from the Son Jarocho music. They had a little lime green plastic piggy bank with a big hole cut into the top for tips. The singing is projected heartfelt and from the mid chest it seems. It is especially heartrending when performed by little kids I think. I left a coin, but still feel concerned about where they live, and what their lives are like.
On the other end of the spectrum is the 26 year old priest we sat next to on the plane from S.F. to D.F. He was going from Vancouver BC to a wealthy area in the city, S. of where we are staying. He had just finished touring with the Arch Bishop and could regal us on how fun it was riding first class to Australia. When we told him where we stayed in the city, he said his mom wouldn't let him go there. He rarely took the metro because "we have a driver', as he said.
He watched an animated movie on his laptop while we slept through the nightflight.
It is good to be here on the ground with the bustling masses.
Two cafe's barely takes me to myself. I have this terrible American female urge to slather on some oil and find a spot in the sun.... but the park is full of giant photo scene background booths and a carnival.. and no one lays in the sun here. They will be posing for holiday photos with the walking Toystory characters or the lifesize glitter castle scenes.
The organ grinders are playing in the street. We will walk and walk, preparing for Dave and Bob to arrive on Christmas, ready to take the Curtis Daily tour de force. Buenas dias, y amor siempre
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Holiday Letter
I have these lovely holiday cards from Unicef, which I can't wait to send to all of my people far and near, some of whom I see regularly and some I wish I saw more. Maybe you got one, and that is why you are here reading what my pal Lori calls "Bog's blog".
An annual letter of sorts is utilitarian, to convey the 'hard news', but I thought I'd cover the bases this year by inviting you here, because my blog includes snippets of my life since it's inception in July. (My blog's inception,, not my life's - ah, there you go, an SAT grammar correction problem, indefinite pronouns - my little stocking stuffer to you!)
The year has been full, and as the title of my blog indicates, it has included all of my favorite things - yoga, food, love and living with intention.
Where is it appropriate to begin? I always imagine my little family reading this and thinking... hey, she didn't mention me first, or she didn't brag about me. That is, most likely, my own projection, because when I read holiday letters I am excited when I see myself highlighted.... yes, childish, but I'm stuck with it. So, there you go, the first person mentioned in my letter is me. Now all the other wonderful people in my little family will not feel second or third. (You can see why holiday letters are such a challenge for me.)
Amidst all the images of the year, the enlargement of my little family is so awesomely wonderful. On October 23 we got to legally add Kirsten Curtis, ne: Atkin, to our lineage. I have to say, seeing two people so in love is fun beyond words. Kirsten is in her final year of law school at The University of Arizona. Amery has just completed his MBA in Sports Management. Tahoe, their husky, is the third element of the new Curtis family. Tahoe wishes he could dig into mole hills for hours.
The wedding was held in Bend, OR. Amery chose his brother, Arlyn, as his best man, and Kirsten chose her sister, Lauren. What a lovely wedding party... and the start of new family attachments.
Nama and Nampa got on a plane from Sea-Tac to Bend, and so were able to attend Amery and Kirsten's wedding as our very esteemed elders, Nama dressed in the requisite orange. We wondered how Mom would do with the big trip, but it turns out that being patted down by the female airport security agent felt really good on her back. We take what we can get, eh?
The wedding was so fun, I wish I could do it all again...
This year has been one of doing the things I believe in and enjoy, not the least of which is hanging out on the mountain with Curtis Daily, my dear partner. If you have not yet met Curtis, I hope you get to meet him soon. He is an Accomplished double bass player, yep, same instrument that my Arlyn plays. As Curtis puts it, my life is full of 'low notes'. Being an alto, that really works for me!
It turns out that Curtis grew up 4 blocks away from me in Salem when we were little kids. We did not cross paths until our 50's. That is the way the universe works I guess. If it were not for Arlyn's bass recital, we never would have met. I have believed for years that my kids are my lucky charms, and this fully proves it. If you ever wonder how long one must wait for love, don't doubt that it is there, no matter where you are in life.
Arlyn Has been promoted to Wine Steward at Carafe Restaurant in downtown Portland. This allows him to attend 'industry' wine tastings, where he has described tasting over 100 wines in a few hours. Since I live a few miles from numerous wineries, it is fun to go along with Arlyn to make the rounds.
Curtis and I have joined the legions of wines makers. Last year we made 5 gallons of Chardonnay. This year we have 7 gallons of Chardonnay and 7 gallons of Riesling. This does not include the IPA. We have Fish Schaad to thank for letting me trade picking for grapes. What a deal! If you visit you can taste.
In February I spent 3 weeks in Mexico with Curtis, learning the terrain of Mexico City and the road west to smaller towns. When you read this we will probably be checking into the little Hotel Habana in the Centro Historico. We try to blend into the colorful bustling life of this complex and ancient city by speaking as much Spanish as possible and not wearing shorts..... the locals never wear shorts.
I will take some yoga classes in Spanish, Curtis has guitar and string selling work, as well as tour guide duty.
Work, yes we do have that too. I have regular Monday and Saturday morning yoga classes, private tutoring and substitute teaching. I am eternally grateful to my students for inspiring me in my practice. I also love private tutoring. I have not substitute taught for several years, and I am really liking the little rural schools in my area. If you read some of my blogs you may see some of my students there.
If you took the time to find this link and read my letter, you are indeed wonderful. I am lucky to know you... you are my charm too....
May you have a beautiful New Year, where you find that life is what you intend, and love is everywhere.......
Yours,
Bog
An annual letter of sorts is utilitarian, to convey the 'hard news', but I thought I'd cover the bases this year by inviting you here, because my blog includes snippets of my life since it's inception in July. (My blog's inception,, not my life's - ah, there you go, an SAT grammar correction problem, indefinite pronouns - my little stocking stuffer to you!)
The year has been full, and as the title of my blog indicates, it has included all of my favorite things - yoga, food, love and living with intention.
Where is it appropriate to begin? I always imagine my little family reading this and thinking... hey, she didn't mention me first, or she didn't brag about me. That is, most likely, my own projection, because when I read holiday letters I am excited when I see myself highlighted.... yes, childish, but I'm stuck with it. So, there you go, the first person mentioned in my letter is me. Now all the other wonderful people in my little family will not feel second or third. (You can see why holiday letters are such a challenge for me.)
Amidst all the images of the year, the enlargement of my little family is so awesomely wonderful. On October 23 we got to legally add Kirsten Curtis, ne: Atkin, to our lineage. I have to say, seeing two people so in love is fun beyond words. Kirsten is in her final year of law school at The University of Arizona. Amery has just completed his MBA in Sports Management. Tahoe, their husky, is the third element of the new Curtis family. Tahoe wishes he could dig into mole hills for hours.
The wedding was held in Bend, OR. Amery chose his brother, Arlyn, as his best man, and Kirsten chose her sister, Lauren. What a lovely wedding party... and the start of new family attachments.
Nama and Nampa got on a plane from Sea-Tac to Bend, and so were able to attend Amery and Kirsten's wedding as our very esteemed elders, Nama dressed in the requisite orange. We wondered how Mom would do with the big trip, but it turns out that being patted down by the female airport security agent felt really good on her back. We take what we can get, eh?
The wedding was so fun, I wish I could do it all again...
This year has been one of doing the things I believe in and enjoy, not the least of which is hanging out on the mountain with Curtis Daily, my dear partner. If you have not yet met Curtis, I hope you get to meet him soon. He is an Accomplished double bass player, yep, same instrument that my Arlyn plays. As Curtis puts it, my life is full of 'low notes'. Being an alto, that really works for me!
It turns out that Curtis grew up 4 blocks away from me in Salem when we were little kids. We did not cross paths until our 50's. That is the way the universe works I guess. If it were not for Arlyn's bass recital, we never would have met. I have believed for years that my kids are my lucky charms, and this fully proves it. If you ever wonder how long one must wait for love, don't doubt that it is there, no matter where you are in life.
Arlyn Has been promoted to Wine Steward at Carafe Restaurant in downtown Portland. This allows him to attend 'industry' wine tastings, where he has described tasting over 100 wines in a few hours. Since I live a few miles from numerous wineries, it is fun to go along with Arlyn to make the rounds.
Curtis and I have joined the legions of wines makers. Last year we made 5 gallons of Chardonnay. This year we have 7 gallons of Chardonnay and 7 gallons of Riesling. This does not include the IPA. We have Fish Schaad to thank for letting me trade picking for grapes. What a deal! If you visit you can taste.
In February I spent 3 weeks in Mexico with Curtis, learning the terrain of Mexico City and the road west to smaller towns. When you read this we will probably be checking into the little Hotel Habana in the Centro Historico. We try to blend into the colorful bustling life of this complex and ancient city by speaking as much Spanish as possible and not wearing shorts..... the locals never wear shorts.
I will take some yoga classes in Spanish, Curtis has guitar and string selling work, as well as tour guide duty.
Work, yes we do have that too. I have regular Monday and Saturday morning yoga classes, private tutoring and substitute teaching. I am eternally grateful to my students for inspiring me in my practice. I also love private tutoring. I have not substitute taught for several years, and I am really liking the little rural schools in my area. If you read some of my blogs you may see some of my students there.
If you took the time to find this link and read my letter, you are indeed wonderful. I am lucky to know you... you are my charm too....
May you have a beautiful New Year, where you find that life is what you intend, and love is everywhere.......
Yours,
Bog
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Coming Home
I am in my parents home, the place they've lived for 44 years. They have changed, and I have changed. In the quiet of the evening though, we always do come back to who we are. My spiritual choices have diverged from theirs in semantic terms, but I still see myself in them, the basic heart.
They gave me my locus of conviction, however it plays out on the political scene. And we can still sit down to eat fresh dug potatoes and buttered beets, listen to 'Evening Adagios' on the stereo, and feel like we are all at home.We always do come back to who we are, and that is the miracle of love.
The physical changes of aging are a reality for Mom and Dad, We were able to get Mom to the Christmas concert to see her grandson in the Symphony, only by careful planning, and the use this year of a wheel chair. But we did it, and it was worth it. At one point Mom said,"What do people without daughters do when they get old?" Well, someday I will find out.
Taking care of each other is our practice, our gift. It can be taken on with joy, or not, as the case may be. Tonight I chose joy, cooking a simple dinner. How fortunate that my parents appreciate this small gift so much.
The season of giving is upon us, and I have to figure out how to maneuver through the tricky maze of the material world. I wish I were rich, and my car didn't need a new clutch. It would seem I am not alone this year in wishing for quite basic gifts from St. Nicholas.
I don't like shopping, except for books. Every year I feel more like a deer in the headlights at holiday time. I wish fresh spuds and buttered beets were enough. Memories become everything it seems. I think I am in the right place, coming home to myself over and over again. Being with what is, graying hair, the neediness of others, the cold rain, a warm heart.
They gave me my locus of conviction, however it plays out on the political scene. And we can still sit down to eat fresh dug potatoes and buttered beets, listen to 'Evening Adagios' on the stereo, and feel like we are all at home.We always do come back to who we are, and that is the miracle of love.
The physical changes of aging are a reality for Mom and Dad, We were able to get Mom to the Christmas concert to see her grandson in the Symphony, only by careful planning, and the use this year of a wheel chair. But we did it, and it was worth it. At one point Mom said,"What do people without daughters do when they get old?" Well, someday I will find out.
Taking care of each other is our practice, our gift. It can be taken on with joy, or not, as the case may be. Tonight I chose joy, cooking a simple dinner. How fortunate that my parents appreciate this small gift so much.
The season of giving is upon us, and I have to figure out how to maneuver through the tricky maze of the material world. I wish I were rich, and my car didn't need a new clutch. It would seem I am not alone this year in wishing for quite basic gifts from St. Nicholas.
I don't like shopping, except for books. Every year I feel more like a deer in the headlights at holiday time. I wish fresh spuds and buttered beets were enough. Memories become everything it seems. I think I am in the right place, coming home to myself over and over again. Being with what is, graying hair, the neediness of others, the cold rain, a warm heart.
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