Thanks to Dick for commenting on my last posting and sharing his trip stories. One of his remarks did jog my memory when he said he had no interest in traveling outside of the US, including to Mexico.
Katz and I got to spend an extended period of time in the Sierra Madre Mountains in central Mexico in the 1970s, and it was one of the highlights of our lives. We lived in San Miguel de Allende for a winter, arriving by car. We rented an apartment, went to school, and grew to love this friendly little colonial town. We lived down the street from the bull fighting venue, ate the local food, learned to cook what we could buy in the local market, hiked the countryside, and took classes at the local Instituto. There I took my first formal writing courses since college (where a harsh professor had given me the notion that I had no future as a writer) and received an injection of all that was possible from an 80 year old former editor of True Confessions magazine. She loved everything I wrote and opened up my heart again to the sense I'd always had that I could put pen to paper and have some success.
I also got to ride horses under the tutelage of a retired Mexican cavalry officer, and Katz learned to throw pots on a potters wheel. We enjoyed poinsettias that grew 20 feet tall outside our window, slept entwined in each others arms because the old bed we shared shank so badly in the middle, bought fuel for the fireplace from vendors with wood laden donkeys in tow, got to know the locals, and made lots of friends. We dreamed of the days ahead and talked about retiring to San Miguel, or at least bringing our imaginary children back. It was a time of great promise, with our future in front of us.
San Miguel is out of touch these days. Although I hear no news of its decline, it is wounded by all that is scary in the streets of Mexico. I am glad we have our photos and our memories, but with killings in the street and violence a part of everyday life, I haven't the courage to go back. While my concerns are born of real fears, I do wonder: Is my lack of courage partly due to growing old? Did I really have more courage when I was younger, or did I just have no sense of caution?
My sons are getting to the age when Katz and I traveled to Mexico, and they have that same sense of invulnerability that we had. If they wanted to take the same trip their parents took 30 years before, I would be terrified. It is a different world, no doubt, and the thought of all that has changed makes me weep.
2 comments:
Jim, I luv your hair length in this photo in Mexico. Do this again. smiles.
Funny how one memory jogs other memories. Your story of your extended trip to Mexico caused me to remember that on your drive back home you stopped in Fort Worth, Texas, where I was living at the time, and we then drove to Plano, Tx to visit our High School friend Carol (Schwartz) Jasien. I do not remember much more than that. It must have been 1976 or 1977.
In another unassociated memory reminder, just in the last two weeks I was in Texas and while driving back home through St. Louis we drove by Webster University. I remembered that you had gone there your first and maybe second year and I was there once to visit you, something I had forgotten. I think that I had driven there by myself in my 1956 Chevy, maybe right before Thanksgiving (1968 or 1969?) and then you drove back home with me. Another girl drove home with us (possibly Marilyn Callan) and maybe there was another guy as well. We went to a play starring Imogene Coca but I do not remember what play it was. We went to Forest Park and the Gateway Arch. While at the Arch Marilyn fell and badly hurt her leg or ankle, she was in a lot of pain the whole drive home and when we got to you house your Dad determined that she had broken it. I also remembered the little Honda motorcycle that you had secretly (from your parents) bought and had Bob Gabriel and I help you get shipped to St Louis. All these memories just from a highway sign that read “Webster University Next Exit”.
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