Monday, October 31, 2011

making stuff up



Sleepless nights lead to late mornings.


I am sitting at my favorite table in La Rana (The Frog) waiting for a serviceable version of heuvos rancheros


La Rana tends to be a hangout for Canadians – and the few Americans who venture to Melaque.  (I was tempted to use “gringo,” but I am simply not in a mood to start another debate on whether the appellation applies to Canadians, or whether a gringo should ever use as term that the sensitive find derisive.)


But things are different this morning.  The Frog is hosting Mexican diners.  A realtor and his three children.  And an older family of four.  From Autlán.  Famous as the home town of Juan Corona – the serial killer, not the inventor of Mexican beer.


I like the change.  Despite the owner’s well-intentioned, but vaguely apartheidish, attempts to use flags to lure northern tourists, The Frog has a distinctly local flavor this morning.  Instead of the usual leaden and flat consonants, the conversation is filled with a torrent of soft vowels.  A language far more fitted to gossip and seduction than accounting and financial journals.


But accounting was under way.  At least, with the realtor’s children.  The oldest boy was cross-examining his father on the sweeter aspects of Halloween -- and wondering why such a blissful custom did not happen here.


It does.  At least, a beachhead has been taken.


I see a few Halloween decorations about.  Some children will show up at my gate tonight asking for candy (or money) in the few words of English they have learned.  Never with costumes.  As if they were government agents.


And the purists need not decry the loss of local customs.  My little village does not indulge itself in many of the highland customs that entrance northern tourists -- such as, Day of the Dead.  So, it is prime pickings for a holiday steeped in Celtic, rather than Hispanic, traditions.


While I listened to the boy Perry Mason his dad, I started thinking about what I would be doing if I still lived up north.  To start with, I would not be eating breakfast at 10:30.


Had I not left Salem, I would have been at work for three hours.  Probably in my second meeting of the day.  Dispensing sage advice.  And believing that all of it actually added up to something meaningful.  An existentialist void wearing a Yankee mask of purpose.


But there would also be people.  Friends.  Acquaintances.  Ready to share dinner at El Gaucho.  With a good story or two.  Or, even better, a lie.


But my self-indulgent reverie has come to an end.


My plate is empty, the bill has arrived -- and the laguna is still filled with water cabbage. 


My Sisyphean attentions are needed elsewhere.

25 comments:

Dey Valdez said...

Hi Steve, Autlan is also Carlos Santana's hometown.

Marilyn said...

Took the words right out of my keyboard, Dey.  And Autlan is very proud of their native son, rightfully so.

Rushappraisals said...

Sisyphean huh, late nights and less than 8 hours sleep, dulls my already fogged in cranium to the point of mumbling, but you're up to speed without it appears any defect, Bravo.  Maybe the Canadians don't like the term Gringo, because they're not known the world over by mostly worse names, Americans think gringo is a term of affection, comparatively speaking to what we're usually known as. Looking forward to some serviceable heuvos rancheros in Merida in one week.

Felipe Zapata said...

Mexicans refer to Americans as Gringos 100 percent of the time when no Gringo is within earshot. Whether they are using it derisively (among themselves) depends on the topic at hand, but it's the term they always use. They switch to norteamericano or something similar when a Gringo is within earshot, believing that Gringos get their little feelings hurt on hearing Gringo, even though they rarely do. Most Gringos living in Mexico refer to themselves as Gringos. Mexicans refer to Canucks as Gringos usually, and that's because Gringos and Canucks look the same to the locals. Talk the same too.

Any Gringo in Mexico, full- or part-time, who gets upset with the Gringo word should head back over the border and settle in Berkeley or Oakland, maybe Madison, Wisconsin. And don't vote again for Obama, please.

Aren't you glad you brought this up? Happy Halloween!

Steve Cotton said...

And it worked just as I planned.  But you saw through it.

NWexican said...

"believing that all of it actually added up to something meaningful.  An existentialist void wearing a Yankee mask of purpose." - Yup that about sums up this gringo's whole career.

Norm Kwallek said...

On not being able to sleep: I read about a little trick that works most of the time for me. You flex every joint in your body, toes on up, feels silly when your doing it but 9 out of 10 times it works for me

Steve Cotton said...

A little Kierkegaard mixed with Cotton Mather.

Steve Cotton said...

I knew the connection. But the musical reference does not offer as many writing riffs.

Steve Cotton said...

I suspect less so of the decrowned Corona.

Steve Cotton said...

I have tried tha last night to little effect, Norm. I did at least 11 repetitions. But the mosquito bites were itching so bad, I got up at 3:30 and took a dose of Nyquil. At least, I fell asleep. But woke up to the same itching.

Alan said...

I loved your "An existentialist void wearing a Yankee mask of purpose" quote that seemed from my far distant past at a safe corporation, to ideally suit the memory of High Street.  Oh to be pushing up that rock only to have it fall down the other side waiting to be pushed up the next mole hill.  I could have used that empty chair at your table this morning, if for no other reason than the sun and the conversation. 

Steve Cotton said...

And it would have been a joy having you sit there.

Kim G said...

Those folks would also feel at home in Cambridge, MA.

Saludos,

Kim G
Boston, MA
Where we proudly label ourselves as GRINGO and our BF refers to us as his "Gringüito."

Steve Cotton said...

And how goes the snow up there?  And you wonder why my ancestors saw fit to leave three hundred years ago.

Nwexican said...

Some of the dizziness of freedom.

NWexican said...

Easy now!! There are still a few Yankees pushing boulders up that "safe" social service mole hill.

Steve Cotton said...

And I have nothing but best wishes for them.

Steve Cotton said...

Do I feel a theological discussion coming over me?

NWexican said...

No

NWexican said...

That was just the sound of Carlos on Oye Como Va...

Kim G said...

Snow...a sore subject. Since I've lived here (1995) it has never snowed before Hallowe'en. Typically, it doesn't snow much, if any, before Thanksgiving. And even a white Christmas isn't a sure thing.

Me? I'm fine. We only got a dusting here in town, but some of my suburban colleagues are still without electricity. Not much fun.

Yet one of the myriad reasons to live in the heart of the city.

Saludos,

Kim G
Boston, MA
Where shoveling is a great opportunity to catch up with neighbors. It just gets old by March.

Steve Cotton said...

You may find this hard to believe, but I have never shoveled snow in my life. Never lived anywhere that required shoveling.

ANM said...

Please don't tell me this blog is preparatory for a Jungian slog through the archetypal interior of the Cotton mind.  I get worried when writers start throwing words like "existentialist" around, especially when there is a mask involved.

Do you have a string of Hermannn Hesse novels on your night-stand which will figure prominently in this dark journey to die Seele?

Or was this simply breakfast at mid-morning with your simulating ennui over eggs, a thinner version of cooking with Sylvia Plath?

ANM

Steve Cotton said...

Perhaps a new appellation would be in order -- Junger than springtime, perhaps?