We never know what the day might bring!

                        We never know what the day might bring!

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s probably been centuries since our world has been so united in purpose. We are concerned; concerned for our own health, our families, our neighbors, concerned for those around the other side of the globe.

A few weeks ago I bought tickets for a quick trip to Glendive. Let me modify that—there is no quick trip into Montana from Central Mexico. I bought tickets for the long trip, short stay. I felt I had little choice since on my birthday, my Montana Driver’s License expires.

While I no longer own a car, now and then I rent one or drive one of my children’s vehicles. I’m not quite ready, nor is it necessary (self-assessment), yet, that I give up the privilege of sitting behind the wheel and sailing down the road.

A few days ago my daughter called. After a brief greeting Dee said, “Mom, I don’t know how to say this . . .” and here I interrupted her. “I know what you are going to say and I’m already there. I decided to cancel my flights and stay home. I cannot chance picking up the virus and carrying it to you or the grandbabies.”

She was worried about my advanced age (sage, as another friend would say) and vulnerability due to recent surgery.

Next I contacted my son whose daughter was to join him in Washington for a couple weeks of spring break. Lexi’s parents had cancelled her flight too.

I walked around the corner to Lani’s house to beg and plead with her to cancel her trip to Seattle, Hawaii, and a road trip around several states. Lani is diabetic and even more vulnerable than me. No argument. She and her daughter had just come to the same agreement.

By the close of day, Crin and I were speaking about the possibility of Crin staying here in Mexico rather than flying back to Victoria, BC at the end of the month. Then we also rounded onto her sister Kathy, who with Richard were flying in to Guadalajara mid-April. That evening, Kathy wrote with mirrored thoughts.

Then along loped Josue, sooty smudges on his hastily washed face, ears rimmed in black, as he burst onto our scene from stage left, so to speak. “I just got home from fighting fire. Miguel’s house burned. Everything is destroyed. Anything we can do to help is needed. He has nothing.”

“How?” I asked, looking around my own typical casita, built of brick, concrete, tile and exposed metal beams.

“His house had wooden beams on the roof. From a defective circuit to curtains to beams. The roof caved. Everything inside the walls is destroyed.”

Miguel has worked for Josue several years. We know Miguel, his cheerful wave and daily greeting.

Immediately we jumped into action, each of us gathering items to donate. We counted and divided our pesos, one for you, one for me. I gathered sheets and blankets, soap and toothpaste. Filled a plastic tub with spare necessities.  

While dragging a chair to the curb for Josue to pick up, Crin joked that Miguel would end up with more than he lost and that might be so.

Miguel is going through a rough patch, separated from his family and has been living in a casita owned by his grandmother. Now the fire.

The old platitude is wrong. Sometimes life does bring us more than we can bear. We bear it anyway, with help.

Crin, concerned for her family, flew back to Victoria. Kathy and Richard cancelled their flights into Mexico.

My friend Carol has wonky lungs. She and John are sitting in the on the fence. Stay put? Fly back? Drive back to Duluth? My newest neighbors, Tom and Janet, face the same quandary.

Josue and Miguel will rebuild his roof, rewire the casita. Family will pitch in with clean-up and salvage. In a few days, Miguel will be back in his home, surrounded with our cast-offs.

And surrounded with us, those few of us who remain. None of us are going anywhere soon!

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

March 19, 2020

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I Think I’ll Write A Self-Help Book

I Think I’ll Write A Self-Help Book

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

            Well, why not? Back in the day, I devoured self-help books.

Back in the early 1980’s when my life was shattered like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, in an attempt to put myself back together, I read a raft of self-help, pop-psychology, pull-yourself-up-by-bootstraps, think-your-way-to-success type fluff-and-stuff. I’d finish one, find another, thinking each would have the solution for me.

I soon had accumulated an entire bookcase filled with sugar pills, innocuous comfort, in book form. In those days self-help books were popular. It seemed everybody wanted to get slimmer, richer, beautiful, buff, smarter, mentally, physically, financially and spiritually fit; all from a book. There were plenty of people to tell us how.

It took a well-aimed jab from a friend to open my eyes to what I was doing. “Most of these books are about changing who you are. What if who you are is okay? Is your concern about who you are or is it about mistakes you’ve made? We’ve all made mistakes.”

Ouch. I didn’t like being called out but it got me thinking. I figured I’d made just about every mistake possible. And I never considered that I was a bad person. But how could somebody as smart as me be so stupid?

Along the way I’d noticed that I would read a book, put it down, read another, and in this manner, I’d filled a bookshelf. Hey, they were kind of fun. Each book suggested things to do. I ignored those chapters. When I thought about it, I realized I had been looking for some magic anodyne, an instant inner-makeover.

I quit reading the books and got outside help. Smart move for me. 

So why write a book? Why not? I’ve noticed that self-help authors are rich and famous. They travel. They are invited to give seminars all over the world. I like to travel. Seminars are fun. Money would be nice.

Problem is, I don’t have the answers for you. But, hey, these authors from the ‘70’s and ‘80’s didn’t have answers for me either. Those two little words, “for me”, are very important.

What got me chugging along this bizarre train of thought was talking with a woman who rented one of the casas on the rancho for a couple weeks. She came to explore Etzatlan, to see if she’d like to join our community. The house she rented, fortuitously, is for sale.

A budding friendship emerged. I answered her questions the best I could or pointed her toward people who could better give her information. During this short time she decided to buy the house, decided not to buy the house, decided to buy a house in town, or maybe not, or maybe buy this house after all.

When she left, her decision was still hanging. One thing we agreed on from our accumulated life experiences, is that there is no such thing as a good or bad decision. (I’m not talking about letting your children play on the Freeway, silly.) Each decision I make has consequences, some, “good”, some, “questionable”. Decision A will point my life northwest. Decision B might shuttle me southeast. Neither is “right” nor “wrong”. Just different.

Living here in Mexico happens to be Paradise “for me”. When I talk with friends I try to remember to use those little words, “for me”. My life in my Mexican home is good, not perfect, but good, as is obvious when you visit. I would never try to talk you into following in my footsteps. Paradise for me might be hell for you. I don’t know.

My friend will make her decision. She’s still gathering information, an important function, one I managed to ignore for years. She plans to return for six months in the fall, either as renter or owner.  

So see, I have life skills I can pass along. In my self-help book I might start with a chapter on decision making. Another on gathering information. One on minding my own business. Shucks, I could be my own guru.

Actually I have gotten better (for me) life-changing information from fiction books than from those long-ago abandoned self-help books. So maybe the title of my new book should be The Ultimate Self-Help Fiction Book.

I’m rather fond of magical thinking too. So how about The Ultimate Self-Help Book of Fantasy and Fiction.

Or, The Barely Adequate Self-Help Book With No Answers.  

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

June 22, 2017

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________