True Confessions Amidst A Fiesta of
Friends
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When I was eleven, twelve, thirteen
and fourteen I wanted to join a cloistered order of nuns. It was either a good thing or too bad that any order where I could have boarded for school and
preparation was out of reach. By fifteen, latent puberty had taken over my mind
and emotions. I was rather backward. In those days it meant something special
if I said, “He looked at me.”
In a modified way I got my wish when
I moved to Mexico. I live in a small casita by myself. In the months when the
snowbirds from the States have flown back home I go days without speaking a
word of English. Or at least any word that is understood. My solitude is good.
I enjoy my time of quiet, of reflection and introspection.
Even though this is tourist time in
Mazatlan and my snowbird friends are all perched in nearby nests, I still live
in comparative solitude.
Then all of a sudden Santa came
early with a full bag of gifts. The first package I unwrapped included a week
in a mountain village in Jalisco with my cousin and friends.
When I got off the bus back in
Mazatlan, Carolina stood on my doorstep. We had several days of visiting when .
. .
Surprise!
Kathy, Carolina’s sister and my
long-time friend who first introduced me to Mexico, flew in for a visit. I
quickly re-packed my bag and trundled off to the El Moro to have a two week
holiday in the resort, six blocks down the street on the beach.
Next week Lani and Ariel are in
Mazatlan with a full schedule of social activities.
All this company, unplanned, quickly
planned or as a surprise to me. I like surprises. I pride myself on my
flexibility. I love being with my friends.
But, I must confess to a momentary
twinge, just a smidge, mind you, of dismay that I would lose my quiet time. I
felt like a kid on Christmas morning, with a difference. Beneath the tree were
stacked gifts beyond belief and value: more than the book by Louisa Alcott I
hankered after, more than the pink angora sweater set and the flannel bathrobe
my Grandma made for me. It’s as if there were also piles of Gold and Silver and
Frankincense and Myrrh. Know what I mean? I loved the book and the sweaters and
the robe. But what do I do with the rest? It’s too much.
That little twinge lasted as long as
a pinprick. I quickly pulled myself together and said to myself, Hot dog! I’m
gifted with Christmas, New Years and the 4th of July complete with
bells and whistles. Woo-hoo! Let’s go!
Being older has benefits—if we
discount the other stuff. What people might think loses importance. Just the
other afternoon I was sitting with a group of friends and started laughing.
“Look,” I said. “My blouse is wrong side out.” I wore an African print, equally
bright on either side, but really, the seams are frayed. I shrugged and never
bothered to change.
I admit I am not cruise material.
Never one for fancy dress or bling. When other girls perfected make-up, I
wanted to change my name to Sister Mary Benedict, remember?
A benefit of spending weeks at the
same resort year after year with Kathy is that we have a group of resort
friends. Just this morning several women sat around the table on the beach
discussing old boyfriends, past husbands and reunions. We agreed that no matter
the looks, the changes, past and present experiences, old friends are treasured
gifts.
Today I pulled on my blouse
front-to-back. We laughed. Who cares? Friends love me anyway.
I just spotted a tee shirt on the
beach with the words, “I’m Your Type” in a variety of fonts. I want that man’s
shirt! Sister Mary Benedict, indeed!
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
November 25,
2015
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