The Sudden Social Life of a Recluse

 

               The Sudden Social Life of a Recluse

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“They” let me out at night. What a revelation! It was the night of the Christmas Parade in the Plaza at Oconahua. The “they” who let me out is that part of myself which has kept me a recluse these past years.  Note that I had not been out after dark in five or six years.

I had taken on the self-imposed role of recluse due to pain, surgery, the pandemic, habit. With a good life in my own back yard, I felt no need to spice it up with outside entertainment. My mind does it all: comedy, drama, horror, past, present, future. No limits to where my mind might go.

Now I live in Oconahua and have had a regular spate of visitors through my door. One friend said, “We see you more now than when you lived around the corner.”

My friends, Ana and Michelle, decorated their ATV with Christmas lights and flashy fun, filled it with bags of candy, in preparation for the Christmas parade. They invited me to join them. At night. In December.

“Okay,” I said. “Dump me in the Plaza to watch the parade. Throw me candy.”

I’ve lived in Mexico a while. I know that a parade that lines up at 6:30 to start at 7:00, won’t get rolling until 8:00. I know that sitting in the Plaza will be enjoyable for me, no matter the hour.

I mentioned my plans to John and Carol. “We’ll join you. Sounds like fun.”

“Dress warmly,” I said. We had a delightful time in the Plaza, people watching, talking with passers-by, munching goodies, seeing children running and playing and laughing.

We never saw one mean or disturbing incident. Just pure play. This is a small town. If one child acted out, an adult nearby would tap that small person on the shoulder, lift a brow, and that would be the end of necessity for discipline.

Beautifully decorated floats, er, floated up the main street and around the plaza, all aglitter with lights, music and every possible Christmas icon, most of them foreign to Mexico, imported by way of movies and television.

After the parade, the lighting of the Christmas tree and overhead decorative lights in and around the Plaza,  topped the evening with “oohs and aahs”.

A good time was had by all. That was Sunday.

When I arrived home, I found an invitation to a December-birthdays gathering at Lani’s house. Kathy said she’d come get me and carry me home, please accept. I accepted. Lani makes a grand pineapple upside-down cake. In our small group there are five or six December birthdays. I’ll go to celebrate my father’s, same day as Lani’s.

Previously, John and Carol and I had arranged to go to lunch one day at El Parral in San Marcos, the next small town west. We’d not been there for a few years. They serve traditional meals, homemade on the premises.  Food was as wonderful as we’d remembered. That morning came close to being a communications disaster.

Ana called me earlier that day to say we could get haircuts in San Marcos. She and I arranged to meet in the San Marcos Plaza after my meal with John and Carol. We even set up Plan A and Plan B, experience having trained us to expect the unexpected.

Ana and Michelle had finished their business early. Michelle called John while we were eating our last bites. Not knowing about Ana’s and my Plans A and B, they arranged C. I was still operating on A, which was, meet at the Plaza. Add to this mess, a text glitch which was supposed to show us where the hair cutter was located, text sent from a new cell phone which still hadn’t learned to obey instructions.

Unaware of this contingency plan, delicious meal finished, I decided to walk the few blocks to the Plaza. John and Carol intercepted me just before I turned toward the Plaza. In another fifteen minutes of confusion with numerous phone calls, driving, seeking and searching, I decided to forego the haircut, and we’d all meet at the Oxxo at the entrance to town where I’d change cars for home.

I guess that might have been Plan G or H. It worked. I changed cars. We all went home.

Just think, I might still be at the Plaza in San Marcos, turned to stone, my hair grown to my feet. Tourists would ask, “Who’s this?”

“Don’t know. It just showed up one day. Senora Whatshername comes with scissors and cuts her hair once a month. Plaza birds use the clippings in their nests.” Children would leave flowers and trinkets at my feet.

The next big happening is a trip to the new Ikea in Guadalajara next week, four of us. What could possibly go wrong!

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

December 12, 2024       

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