Lessons in spanish: Things that don’t translate
Me via text “Estoy en ruta!”
My tattoo artist “Ya salgo” (coming out!)
Me: “En ruta”
My tattoo artist “No te veo” (I don’t see you)
Me: “Uber dice 10 minutos”
My tattoo artist “thumbs up emoji”
Me + Google translate “Estoy en ruta” means “I am on the road”
I’m not feeling positive this week. It’s been an extremely hectic week. For those of you aren’t privy to the chaos that is sometimes my work, during weather events my organization supports both the Multnomah County (aka Portland) and the state in a myriad of ways and that is a part of what I oversee. It’s always a bit chaotic cause everything is moving and changing and adapting and I’m herding 150 people filling at least 10 different roles who I don’t actually supervise on the regular but are suddenly in my purview. So that’s been this week. All week. This year I was going to have two helpers, but instead I have one and they are new. Due to quasi activation I’ve worked the last three weekends at least partially. And this whole last week I’ve started work around 5 or 6am and finishing around 11pm, with an hour off somewhere and it’s all very active work with mulitple priorities all at once and suffice to say, I am exhausted. And grumpy.
On a a positive note, I did encounter this amazing contender for owner and dog look alikes. One of the best I’ve seen.
Strange thoughts take over living on your own in your 40s. In my 20s it felt luxurious, most of us did not get to do that. In my 40s it feels 1. non optional and 2. wrought with bizarre new concerns. Like what if I eat too fast and choke? Who will save me? This has not led me to eat slower or chew more carefully, but I have tested the strength of my chairs and determined which one will be the most effective if I need to Heimlech myself.
It’s a funny thing, trying to stay in transition. It’s very hard when I just want to figure how to rush into being over it and being fully engaged in my new life. As though too much is in flux for this to count as life, and I need to somehow hang on to that flux to roll with it and not try to control it. I keep picturing every movie image of time or space travel where they are going down a tube or on a rainbow or some sort of spiralling portal during which they have no control, but that is the journey. Now, one could reasonably argue that I have this wrong, cause there is no destination. You don’t get “done”. Perhaps my path right now just has a lot more visible doors of possibility than it often does. It’s ironic that this is hard and scary since as I’ve gotten older, I’ve definitely thought that a major goal in life should be to keep as many doors open as possible. There’s some you have to close to open others, but try to keep lots avaliable. And here I am with lots available and it’s just so much right now. My heart is sore and my brain is spinning and all these doors just feel like more I have to figure out. So I’m just treading until my heart and my head catch up and have space for the door situation. But I wanna just swim to a door and have something to hang on to, even though I know that picking a door means closing one, even though I know right now I’m not in the best place to be picking doors.
I’ve been having dreams about you lately. I don’t know if it’s cause I’m exhausted and have a cold. If something is shifting, or what has provoked this sudden development. I don’t generally remember my dreams, only the most intense make it through. I only remember the foggiest bits of these ones in the morning, but in all of them you reject me. Denial is a part of the grief process and in some ways, that’s still where I’m at. Not denial of facts, not thinking we’ll reconcile, more like forgetting. We’ve gone on separate vacations before. Forgetting that you are not gonna be around to take to that awesome, slightly scary taco place you would love, forgetting that you won’t be available to tell about a Mexican punk song I heard called “Vanessa”, which is funny cause we know a Vanessa and we know a song about a different Vanessa, forgetting that I won’t hear you sing “good morning doggie”. New sheet day solo kinda sucks. My body doesn’t know yet that it doesn’t have to save space on the other side of the bed. It’s such a process, all these tiny traditions and habits that somehow have to adapt or die. Some parts of this have felt like choice, this part feels like a reflex. Out of my control and just something I have to work around. I’m hoping that this dreaming business is my subconscious working toward getting me past this particular hurdle.
Lately I find myself wondering if healing from a relationship is just a matter of reconciling every major decision made during said relationship. And the harder they are to grapple with sans relationship, the longer it’s likely to take you. And the longer the relationship, the more decisions you have to work through. Or maybe it’s just a part I’m at right now. The choice to have stayed in Portland. To not go back to school. To get a puppy. To not have children. To travel. To go see music.
Some of them are easy wins, still things I’m thrilled about having chosen. Some of them are harder. I don’t think I would’ve gotten a puppy on my own. And some of them I just really hope I make peace with. And it’s a funny sort of blame encompassing both us. Me for not being sure and therefore not insistent, and you for not sharing enough for me to make informed decisions. Would I have done things differently if you’d said “eh, I’m about 50% in this” 4 years ago?
Work life finally quieted down Saturday afternoon, so I immediately went and got a tattoo. Ok, I am hardly an expert but getting a tattoo is deeply meditative for me, there’s a blind unending repetitiveness that you just sink into. It demands your attention, with moments of urgency (aka pain), but largely just presence. I suspect it’s this and not filling your body with images that draws people in again and again. It’s a similar feeling to some deep tissue massages that you lose yourself in. But it’s better. This was a hand poke tattoo, which means no gun. Still a repetitive click click click, but not as good on the meditative front as the machine which just vibrates and you’re body succumbs to the vibration, almost like being on a boat, it’s just the reality now, a gentle movement beyond your control. There’s apparently a lot of turmoil around control in my brain this week.
And after a week of being cooped up in front of a computer, Leo and I went on a 4 hour walk through Chapultepec Seccion 2. This is getting to be a favorite walk. It’s about 8 miles roundtrip, there are a couple different routes, though I’m kinda enjoying getting familiar with the same one for a minute. Leo has a love/hate relationship with it as we first have to walk past section 1, in which dogs are not allowed, and he clearly knows what a park is and sees a place of great enjoyment and liberation into which his cruel mother will not let him enter.
Once in section 2, which on its own boasts 9000 square meters, we headed a different route than on previous ventures, toward the Cárcamo de Dolores, a museum which features an underwater Diego Rivera mural. Somehow this is not on anyone’s radar, as every single person I’ve asked about it has been like “What?”. And in fairness, I’d never heard of it till beginning some deep cuts research post move. On the way we passed three raised areas, their center each boasting a mini tower surrounded by agave and cacti and encircled by large snake mosaics which I suspect fill with water. A picture will do better justice to this.
This park is insane. Nothing in the above photos, or heck, even below photos will come up as a primary attraction of Chapultepec. Most folks don’t even make it section 2, expending all energy on section 1 at the Anthropology Museum and Castillo de Chapultepec. Not that those aren’t worthy of attention, but just wandering through this massive park, you happen upon this amazing sculpture and art with no further explanation than its presence and it stirs the imagination.
Unfortunately, dogs are not allowed in the museum to see the underwater mural. So boo. However, the exterior is pretty incredible.
Above: 1. Mosaics on the side of the foot. 2. The helado cart. Ubiquitous in Chapultepec with brightly colored cones. Amenities in Mexico have sounds. The gas man yells a deep throated resonating “gaaaaaass” as he passes (I don’t know why this must be a man but the deep bass tones are essential, you don’t so much hear the word as the reverbration), roasted sweet potatoes have a shrill whistle, and the ice cream cart has three bells on the side of his cart which he rings, if not constantly, only with short relief.
In exiting the park, we found this man feeding wild housecats of Chapultepec. It’s a lot of food. And while I only see two, and they are well fed in appearance, I am now wondering how many cats live in Chapultepec.
And tacos of the week: Cochinita Pibil at Escandalo + my exhausted pup
The Yucatan has pork down pat. Cochinita Pibil stems from Mayan dishes which involve digging a pit and lining it with stone. The bottom would then be covered in wood chips, which are set on fire and then reduced to embers. In the meantime, murder a suckling pig and marinate it in bitter orange, achiote, and cinnamon for hours. Then wrap the pig in a banana leaves to retain moisture and place on your prepared embers. Cover and wait. The result is a saucy shredded pork. In tacos, it’s delicious and messy. Achiote is brilliantly reddish orange with remarkable staining capabilities. Tortillas are dipped in the sauciness. Classically served with a habanero salsa and generous topping of pickled onions, these are small tacos, but so rich in flavor. Having a favorite taco seems silly, but this would be a strong contender for me.
Year One Project 
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