Yep, it has. A lot has been going on. My father's estate is beginning to be settled, and the upcoming anniversary of my Mom's death has been pretty much foremost in my mind.
I have been sad for a year, and it is hard to care all that much about the things happening around me.
There's an issue of maturity and the ethics of skipping grades at the school where I teach, as well as a community art project; an upcoming exhibition of "my" kids' work; an International night to prepare for (I'm learning Greek mythology now).
My son is in full adolescence right now and often pushes my buttons, although we had a serious chat about his "forum" this morning. My heart bleeds for my kid, and I have to be distancing myself to some degree. I don't want him to react to hard knocks the same way I do; and he is showing himself to be stronger than me. I see the little boy inside him crying sometimes; and I so want to comfort him and give him all the answers to make the pain go away.
My husband came on "my" annual March Break for a bit of touring and a lot of Momsitting. We went to the Yucatan because we were both interested in the Mayan ruins and civilization. Walking around Playa Del Carmen trying to find a Walmart was quite an experience! The "corny" aspect to travelling - like eating at McDonald's in Bulgaria - adds yet another dimension; this is a snatch of how the average guy is living. This time, I found one of those lovely embroidered cotton summer smocks - with an attendant Mayan woman - for HALF the price from a few blocks away on "The Strip". Snicker, snicker - I bought two.
We also had a terrific excursion where we rapelled down into a "Cenote" after picking up an interesting mix of tour companions. There were an Irish couple from Chicago, celebrating a birthday without 5 kids. Three teenaged couples with dreads and a few tokes joined us; the first reaction was the invisible gasp. They turned out to be interesting and interested kids who weren't, in fact, teenagers at all, but young couples embracing a California lifestyle. We all worked really well together with our guide, who had an hours conversation with me in French! (Turned out he was a berry picker in Montreal).
Miguel (I think) was able to help each one of us face our fears as we began our rapelle. Jamie went first, which was great, and I followed fairly quickly behind him, thinking better to get it over with, rather than freak out. This had certainly looked different on paper on eTravel.
All it took was for him to remind me to breathe at the top, and down I went. It was wierd when the limestone cliff disappeared into a cave, leaving yur feet danging. The important part was that I had gotten over the edge, and was perhaps hanging on to my rope too tightly. They told me I came down really fast and confidently, which was actually how I felt. We were met at the bottom by an older Mayan guide who paddled you across a short waterway in a Rubbermaid kayak. We watched our friends and compared notes and cheered the loudest for those we knew afraid of heights. It was only the first rush of the day!
As we climbed up and out from the cave, we were met by an ancient Mayan shaman, who waved an incense of sopa (?) to clear the five openings to your soul - your eyes, ears, nose and mouth. It had a very tree-like scent; not sweet, somewhat dusty, but effective, nonetheless. It seemed to work, nonetheless.
Another "Mayan massage" (a bumpy ride across the "jungle") to where we were to zipline acoss a lake of sorts, which apparently was much flooded by Wilma. This time I knew what I was in for, and jumped into first place and left with a "Wheeeeeeee e e e!" That was fun - the same rush as on a downhill run skiing. The speed was just enough to be exhiliarating without the worry of stopping, either in the middle or at the other end. I could have done that twice - at least!
We paired up and kayaked back a bit downstream. John took Jamie to retrieve the hotel-expensive hat he'd bought the night before. He lost it. I had one of the younger men do all the work while he explained getting through borders. Then on a rocky walk, which didn't seem at all jungle-like to me, back to our Mayamobile for lunch and a pyramid. I guess I expect the moist greenhouse rainforest feeling when they say "jungle". Except for the obvious difference in vegetation, you could call our Northern Shield bush a "jungle".
Then we went to the cenote, and that was what I would call an almost holy, but very spiritual experience. We had to climb backwards with ropes through a narrow mouth-like opening in hte rock to emerge into a massive underground cavern. A wooden dock had been set up and there were coloured lights illuminating the stalactities. I was dark, and cool, and I slid in easily and found a shallow perch a tiny way out. A few deeper, refreshing dives and the joy of swimming freely without worring about bumping into anyone. The water and the darkness were so cool and calming that I lay on my back, floating, without fear of hitting my head on anything. Ears just below the water, so that sound is muffled, and real peace flowing slowly through your veins. Understanding why it is a holy place, and having that Hegelian sense of 'worlds worlding' and the "earth earthing'. It was very difficult to leave, but we were fortunate again, to receive the blessing of the shaman on our return to the heat of the sunshine.
We were served a traditional Mayan lunch, and I have yet to find any of the food served us too spicy. I'm disappointed that my photos of these two absolutely beautiful elderly Mayan women didn't turn out. The all have gold fillings. Lots of them. And a zillion wrinkles, and darkest, deepest eyes, with ever-ready smiles. The kind of beauty that the Dove campaign promotes, in spirit.
That afternoon, we went to the Mayan ruins at Coba, where I became fascinated with the ball courts. I was to see more, although grander and with better glyphs, at Chichen Itza, later. To get to the larger pyramid, which one was still able to scale, was a kilometre of so bike ride, and my husbandand son took off with a driver on the back of a bicycle. HAH! I rented a bike, and saw it at my own pace, challenging myself on getting photos with as few tourists as possible. WHen I got to the pyramid, John and Jame had just come down, complaining that it was steep and slippery in parts. Our guide, Miguel, and one of his compatriots took off their shirts, ran the kilometre to the pyramid in the blazing heat, and ran up and down the thing TWICE! Literally ran and skipped in about 5 minutes what was taking tourists half an hour, at least. I didn't climb it, myself, but I was compelled to enjoy these two male bueaties, in their prime, their golden, dark skin glistening in the tropical heat as theyr aced each other up and down. What a rush it was for both of them. I raced the bike back to find them racing the kilometre back to the buses and the shops and this wierd snack.
Passed John and Jamie, who were really surprised, so they made their driver race me back, and laughed heartily as their chauffeur easily pulled well ahead. That called for a cigarette, when one of the gorgeous guides gave me a Halls and a "not good for you" chat,so I jumped up to order this snack from a man with a little frying pan on a cart and some old equipment. This was grated white cheese on a fried tortilla with chocolate poured on it, rolled up and served like a stick in a napkin. It was different, but he didn't have enough chocolate left to make it an exceptional taste experience.
Tired and happy, we all piled back to return to our respective, spoiled-life resorts. The day was crowned by a group toast with some wonderfully smooth "Mexican tea"; and I picked up my Mayan and Aztec horoscope signs, hoping that they would bring me the memories of that hour in the Cenote.
Back to cleaning house again. Cleared at least two cubic feet of paper that had accumulated over the last 16 years, and finally began to throw out Jamie's pre-school drawings. Another trip to St. Catharines to discover even more treasures, although this last batch included rather unfortunate pile in the box of love letters that I found. I read one and found it difficult to stomach, thinking the author a real bimbo. My brother's first reaction was to burn them, and as I write, they are at the bottom of the recycle bin. So much for opening up, in the future, an aspect of someone I thought I knew; but I also thought of myself and an internet acquaintance I once had. Some things are best left as is, and he had his memories as I have mine. Ah, the vagaries of life!
Speaking of which, I should get to my own tasks...cleaning to create room to throw out stuff to make room for new stuff. If you know what I mean.
