Seeing
Through Other Eyes
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We don’t see ourselves. We aren’t
able. Even surrounded by walls of mirrors, we only see glimpses and
reflections. And I’m talking broad scope here. Not just the outside package of
who I am. But the me beneath my skin
and the life I create.
So I delight in being able to share
bits of my daily life with friends from afar who come visit. Sunday morning
Steve and Theresa from Washington arrived tired and bedraggled after an
overnight flight.
Steve and Theresa are beneath the
skin kind of friends; we’ve, over the years, shared blood, sweat and tears. We
know where the bodies are buried. There is ease and comfort with this
friendship that we’ve built simply, on daily life, no pretensions.
“Mi casa es su casa” means more than
mere words to me. I delight when people walk in to my place and are as at home
as in their own place.
From the entrance gate through patio
and into my casita, my friends were entranced. And, like other friends who’ve
been here, one look and they quit worrying about me, quit thinking I might be
stranded in a foreign land.
We are packing a few things into a
few days. This is their “first” trip here. Next time, they said, after being
here a mere day, they will stay at least a month.
Imagine, coffee, croissants and
fruit on the patio in the mornings. Dinner at the plaza while a group of
musicians from Guadalajara performed on a stage set up in the street. A drive
up to the Mirador, the overlook on the mountain with a view of the whole
valley. Eating shrimp beneath the palapa on the edge of Laguna Colorado out by
San Juanito de Escobedo. Egrets, cranes and white pelicans fishing in the lake.
Cattle grazing across the fence.
Come with us to the pyramid site of
the ancient culture of Guachimontones. Afterwards, a stop to see Carlos and
Brenda and their reproductions of artifacts and musical instruments of several
native cultures.
Or a day in San Marcos where we go, shop to shop, to Don
Ramon, Don Chuy and Don Chonito, all masters of clay pottery, each with his
slightly different style. The sadness is that none of these men’s children or
grandchildren wish to carry on the culture. Technology and making real money is
more exciting.
The obsidiana shop is a different story. Two young men use
the old ways modified with a foot-powered grinder, to produce tools,
reproductions of artifacts and jewelry from beautiful volcanic obsidian. They
travel the area to festivals and events to display and market their wares.
I love to take my friends to Tonala, to the tianguis, the
street market where artisans of every imaginable craft display their handcrafts
alongside tourist-junk imports from China. Even when I say there is nothing I
need, I always buy something, this trip no exception. I bought a half dozen
large clay pots for replacements. Two of my older pots with cactus are cracked
and one is falling apart.
We always try for a group gathering at Restaurante Don Luis,
up on the mountainside. Kathy and Richard, Lani and Ariel, John and Carol join
us for gab over huge plates of nachos.
The best times of the week were sitting on my patio in the
evenings, quietly sharing our hopes and concerns. With the new moon just past,
the sky is dark velvet with stars hovering like low-hanging fruit we could reach
up and pluck.
Seeing myself through the eyes of Steve and Theresa makes me
feel rich and blessed and warm and much loved.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
April 19,
2018
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