May I Introduce

May I Introduce

Filed under Blog Notes

Jul 20

My visitors?

My mother does not succumb to the challenge that small tasks present. She takes in stride that things that should be easy–sitting, standing, tedious little exercises that were automatic once but have the nerve now to be major undertakings, each movement requiring it’s own strategy session. She meets these pain-in-the-ass negotiations with valor. “Never surrender!” she seems to say. Or actually does say, thumping the floor with an African spear she borrowed and is presently using as a hiking stick. “Shit a fat brick!” she may holler when she’s in a less Churchillian mood.

She is saved from being just another courageous old lady- ho hum!- by her delight in technology, and idles away the hours fiddling with her i-phone to bring up google earth or take her turn at international online backgammon. Much more interesting, in my opinion, than one of those tiresome old “rappin” grannies that wear converse sneakers and hang out in discotheques.

My niece is here with her, she of the gold skin and gold hair, hair that makes anything she sticks or clasps into it, no matter how innocent, instantly look like it was purchased in a sex shop in Amsterdam. If she were to tie a black velvet ribbon into a bow in that hair, she would be arrested. My stepson, who is thirteen, isn’t sure he’s allowed to be in the same room as his step-cousin, although he doesn’t know why, any more than a herd of buffalo knows why they have the urge to stampede before an earthquake. She likes to travel with my Mom and is perfectly comfortable with the assortment of innovative approaches that Mom employs to get out of a chair, displaying not a trace of embarrassment, something I find charming in a nineteen year old.

The last time my niece visited, she lugged a steamer trunk with her that cost the price of a new wardrobe at the airline counters both coming and going in extra weight charges. I was pleased to see her strolling out of customs this time with a more modest suitcase, thinking that she had internalized my lectures about how to pack. Now that I ‘ve seen the collection of Ed Hardy string bikinis she brought, I can’t think why she needed a suitcase at all.

As miniature as they are, they weren’t small enough to satisfy the wardrobe requirements of a “Pimps and Ho’s” ball that she was somehow invited to attend her second night here. She borrowed some trashy lingerie from a friend to wear to the party. Not because she didn’t bring any underwear, although it’s entirely possible that she didn’t, but because whatever she did or didn’t bring wasn’t sufficiently “ho-ish” to be her costume. Fortunately, her local friend had a sufficient supply of bustiers. I don’t spend too much time wondering how it’s possible that she was invited to such a ball, or that she has such a friend, several thousand miles from her home.

The thirteen year old is in a class by himself. He lives with his mother and stepdad in England. I entertain him and myself by finding other thirteen year olds, and studying them with an anthropologist’s eye, wondering how it’s possible that a kid from Brighton Beach and a kid from Ajijic, Mexico can start talking gibberish before introductions are even finished. “Pixels!” they say. “Call of Duty 4! GTA, Halo!, ” This much I sort of can make out. The rest sounds like football signals or spy code. “OPM! Megabytes! 42! ” and then once in a while a word that I can definitely recognize, along the lines of “Boobies!” and oh boy, then we’re back in a world that technology has touched not at all, the world where a word like “pencil dick” will get them rolling in the aisles, just like it did when I was thirteen, and when Mom was thirteen.

These characters are in my world this month, to my great joy. I may not get much blogging done. This month I may spend living with my beloved knuckleheads rather than writing about them. But next month will be here soon enough.

9 Comments

9 Responses to “May I Introduce”

Steve Cotton said on July 20th, 2010 at 1:27 pm

I confess to a bit of pencil envy. Blog material not only descends on you, but lives in your house. In truth, I have a well of my own in my house, but I am sworn to never even hinting at some very interesting material.

Torture will not loosen my tongue or fingers.
Elliott said on July 20th, 2010 at 3:30 pm

Oh, come on Steve, no fair!
David said on July 20th, 2010 at 3:34 pm

The one thing I’m going to be drumming out is a personal approach to my blog once I get back to Mexico.

I was 18 the first time I went to Mexico. It begins to grow on you this Mexican life… Maybe this life will grow on your niece.
Elliott said on July 21st, 2010 at 2:08 am

Oh David, she’s passionate about it. This is actually her third trip, and I’m sure she’d like to move here. I don’t blame her. It’s hard to be a kid in the States these days, and as much as I tease her, the fun they have here is much more lighthearted.
TW said on July 21st, 2010 at 2:41 am

It’s amazing how many people don’t experience other countries. They stay in the US, and are afraid to travel abroad. It’s as if they think it’s interplanetary travel!

My wife and I found out over the years that you don’t worry about getting travelers checks, or do a lot of money exchanges, when you go to different countries. You just take advantage of your credit cards and ATM cards in places that give you a fair exchange rate.

We toured Europe back in 1998 with nothing but the cards, and never had a problem anywhere. That includes out of the way places in Spain, UK, and everywhere else. And in the end, we only ended up with a handful of coins worth a couple of bucks, because we didn’t convert travelers checks to currency.

What we’ve found in all our travels is that most people in the world are a lot more like what we want to be than what we are ourselves, here in the US.

We’re materialistic, rely on all our conveniences, and as my wife and I were just talking – devoid of family loyalty like we see in the Mexican culture.

Up here, if people see 10 Mexicans living together in one house, they think it’s all illegals who are trying to save a buck to send home. Although it’s true in some cases, many of them are actually family, and there could be three generations living under the same roof.

We’ve lost that here, and we may never get it back.
Elliott said on July 21st, 2010 at 3:19 am

God, TW, so true. When my thirteen year old visits..and he’s been coming since he was 9…he gets to experience boyhood in a way that no longer exists, in the States, certainly. And I love to have my Mom here, because she is instantly welcomed and treated with affection and respect, which she has earned over her long life! Again, I think that it is rare in the states.
I always look forward to your “guest blogger” comments. P.S. The refrigerater is humming like a top. That was a HUGE favor to us.
cod black ops said on July 21st, 2010 at 4:20 am

Well hope when your niece visits again, shes changed from partying to settling down. I remember when I was 19.
TW said on July 21st, 2010 at 9:15 am

Thanks for the kind words on my post Elliott. If they’re of any value, it’s because you have given me a lot to work with in your blog. They make me think about things from various perspectives, and about past experiences.

I don’t think you’re going to have any problem with that refrigerator/freezer. It was your blog, about the problem, that got me to respond. Had you not done it, I wouldn’t have known. I’m glad we could help. That’s what it’s all about!
Ginger said on July 22nd, 2010 at 4:53 pm

How did the US lose all its pioneering spirit, I wonder? How did all those brave souls cross the country in prairie schooners with a wash tub, a bunch of kids & a barrel of flour? Why did that gene pool die out?

My first trip to Mexico was when I was 16. I instantly fell in love with some young mariachi in a restaurant in Mexico City. My Dad noticed the flirting going on & when we visited the University of Mexico & I announced that that was where I wanted to go to college he thundered, “Over my dead body, young lady.” I stammered out something about learning another language fluently but to no avail.

Instead I went to a college ruled by the same nuns who made my life hell in the Academy for Young Ladies I attended for high school. So here I am, almost 50 years later trying to converse with the cleaning lady.

Wonder ever happened to that young man?