Symptoms of Being Human
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Several of us here on Rancho
Esperanza begin our days with Qi Gong, a Chinese energy-movement routine; good
for balance, stretching and breathing. Breathing is a good thing.
We have learned the form, Soaring
Crane. Most of us are in our seventh decade. Samantha, our teacher, goes
through each of the five separate movements with grace and beauty. We do the
best we can. I would say I look more like a Crippled Crane. But I keep going.
It makes me feel good.
The last few weeks I’ve noticed
flocks of birds flying over when we begin. In the second movement we arch
backward, arms open to the sky. I watch the birds and keep my mouth
closed. Each day there are more birds.
Each day the birds fly closer.
Yesterday, I swear, they were
laughing at us. “Look at those humans. They think they imitate birds. What a
hoot.”
Laugh at me, they will. But I’ll
continue my routine. Like I said, it makes me feel good.
One day Jim drove to Guadalajara and
I rode shotgun. We’ve become good friends, use one another to bounce around
ideas. He makes me laugh.
“It’s a good thing you are not my
boyfriend or whatever we call it when we get this age,” I told him. “We are not
compatible.”
Jim said, “Nobody is compatible.
It’s a myth.”
He might be right. We agree that the
best trait for friendship is tolerance. And maybe notions such as compatibility
and that really strange new-age idea of soul-mates, are really nothing more
than desperate wishes that eventually morph into myths.
The greater Guadalajara area is huge
with a population of over six million. Every trip to the Big City is an
adventure, to me. Our second stop was at Sundance Hot-tubs and Spas, to get
information. I would like a small hot-tub for therapy. A hot water soak makes
me feel good.
We found the address, finally, down the center of a dicey
looking alley with Federales standing guard at each end. The entrance is a
large metal slide-up door. We found it locked down. The store must be around on
the main street, we reasoned. So we walked around the block—no such store
front. It’s a mystery.
The auto shocks and brakes business next to where we thought
the spa store should be was open. When I finally remembered to pronounce
Sundance the Spanish way, soon-dawn-say, the man pointed us through his garage
back to the alley. Okay.
Back to the locked door we went. Using my Mexican cell phone,
we called the number above the door. Immediately, I knew we needed help. The
man who answered wanted to give me a different number and a name to call. I
could understand that much. But he rattled on too quickly with even more
information.
I know how to ask for help in Spanish. I went to the three
Federale men standing next to the door, handed one of them my phone and a
tablet and pen. The Man in Blue listened, wrote a name, a number and proxima
semana. That means next week. The business will be open next week.
“Jim, we looked up the address online before we came. Why
didn’t we call from home?” His answer, “That would be too easy.” I thought I
heard a whisper, “Bird brain.”
With much thanks, we then asked to be pointed in the
direction of a restaurant. They sent us to the street with restaurant supply
stores. Two, three, four blocks of restaurant supply stores. That sort of
defined the next eight blocks. We finally found a hole-in-the-wall taco place.
The tacos were delicious. But they always are.
On the way home we had a fiery conversation about opinions
and myths. “Where do people get their information?” I asked. “I think they make
it up.”
Jim said, “Facebook.”
Sondra Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
March 8,
2018
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