A Thank You Card

Mailboxes are rarely used in La Paz.  Although we have one outside our gate, it often remains empty for months at a time.  However, last Thursday, as I returned from a walk, I noticed something pink peeking through the slot.  A small envelope.  With a postage stamp.  Addressed to me.  No return address.  I resisted the urge to tear open the envelope; instead, I brought it into the house,  drank a glass of water, changed shoes, and, tried to imagine who had written.  I couldn’t place the handwriting although the large round letters looked vaguely familiar. 

I refilled my water glass, took my mother’s butter knife from the silverware drawer, sat down, and slowly slit open the envelope.   

It was a “thank you” card.  Handwritten.  Short but specific.  A friend was thanking me for a small thing I’d done.  It was a small in my estimation but to her it must have been important.  Important enough that she’d taken the time to select the card, compose the message, buy the stamp and go to the post office to mail it.  

How long has it been since I’ve received a “thank you” card?  More importantly, how long has it been since I’ve written and mailed one? 

I probably say thank you fifty times a day.  “Thank you for taking out the garbage, thanks for inviting me to lunch, and gracias for slowing down so I can cross the street.”  But, verbal thanks lack the excitement and anticipation of finding an envelope in the mailbox.   

As I sat holding my card I thought of a dozen people I wanted to thank but one person topped the list.  I opened my stationery box and selected a Zen-like card with a matching envelope.  I sat at my desk with my pen poised.  Then I recapped the pen and turned on the computer. 

Some thank you’s are private matters but others should be public.  At times it’s hard to know the difference but I hope, this time, I’ve made the right decision.

This “thank you” letter is to Gari-Ellen, the editor of The Baja Citizen.

Dear Gari-Ellen,

Thank you for creating The Baja Citizen.  La Paz is lucky to have you here.  The first column I read is your Letter from the Editor.  Because of your honest writing style, I feel like you’ve allowed me to get to know you, your family, and the things that are important to you. 

You offer so much in the paper.  We get shopping tips from Shopping 101, learn Mexican history from Helga’s column, coming events from Roz in La Paz, and, through your interviews,  we become acquainted with people we might never meet.  There’s even a Spanish lesson every two weeks.

You’ve also given local advertisers an opportunity to reach English-speaking buyers.     

 I can’t imagine the work that goes into getting advertisers, finding writers, meeting deadlines, and then distributing the paper.  And you’re responsible for all of this.

I’m sure that there are times when you wonder, “What am I doing?”  Or, “I don’t know if all the work is worth it.”  Or, “Does anyone care?”  Well, I care.  I look forward to reading each issue and I’m not alone.  I often hear how much people enjoy the Baja Citizen.  In addition to reading the paper, I’m so thankful that you’ve given me the opportunity to write Ramblings of an Older American Woman. That column has exposed me to an entire new world.  I observe humor and uniqueness in situations that I used to take for granted. 

It’s as if you’ve placed a gift in my mailbox -- an invitation to crack open the door to a creative world that I’m beginning to feel comfortable in.   Thank you, Gari-Ellen.

Judy Ristity

   

It's Easy To Have Insomnia in Mexico

It’s 2 a.m. and you’re wide awake.  No, you’re not at a Mexican fiesta.  You’re in bed praying to fall asleep.  What’s wrong? The problem may be caused by circumstances that are beyond your control.  Or maybe you’ve made some bad decisions.  Either way, it’s easy to have insomnia in Mexico.

I’m a responsible older adult and I know that a decadent double-chocolate brownie will keep me awake if I eat it after 9 p.m.  However, since my memory isn’t what it used to be, I’m usually halfway through the brownie when I pause in mid-chew.  Oh, no!  The last time you ate chocolate at night you were awake until 4:45. Don’t eat another bite!”  But by then my chocolate-addicted self will be in full control of my decision-making ability and the best I can do is vow to refrain next time.

 In addition to chocolate, stress is an express route to sleeplessness.  Anger causes stress.  And stress takes time to dissipate so I always argue with Alex before breakfast.   Any later than 9 a.m. and I’m destined to endure an all-night monologue of self-inflicted anger, blame, pity and guilt before sleep finally drowns out my own voice.  Meanwhile, Alex snores on.

Stress also can be caused by too much stimulation – even if it’s positive.  After a party the extrovert feels “high.”  Excited, alive and very much awake. She lies in bed and relives every detail.  Then, she begins to plan her next party: the menu, guest list, and even the theme. Wide awake, she turns on the lamp, grabs pen and paper, and begins a to-do list. What she can’t grab is a good night’s sleep.    

 On the other hand, the introvert leaves a party feeling exhausted.  He promises himself that he’ll avoid all future gatherings and then falls into a nightmare-filled sleep.  He dreams that he’s stuck at a party that never ends.  Never, ever, ends! He wakes to find himself wrestling with sweaty sheets and turns to his wife who, for some strange reason, is sitting up, and writing a guest list.

We can try to avoid sugar, arguments and stress, but some situations we just can’t control.  Many are unique to Mexico, such as:

The barking dog concert.  Two a.m. and the neighbor’s German Shepherd howls a solo.  Then the baritone pit bulls join in, followed by a chorus of ear-piercing poodles.   My bed seems to be center stage.  Earplugs aren’t effective.  Neither is screaming out the window because, “Shut the f_ _ _  up!” translates to “Encore!” in doggie language.

Finally, the dogs quiet down.  I unclench my jaws. But moments later, I realize that the dogs were merely the opening act for the main attraction – the roosters.

After an all-night dog and rooster concert, I need a double-strength espresso.  But after 3 p.m., it’s decaf for this older woman.  

It hasn’t always been that way.  We moved to La Paz in April 1996 and menopause arrived in May.  Menopause is a dictator.   He gave me a choice:  a full night’s sleep or caffeine in the afternoon.  Never both.    

It’s not an easy choice.  I love to go out for coffee; it’s the perfect way to prolong a wonderful evening.  Unfortunately, it’s when I become a victim of the “God, this Gringa will believe anything” phenomenon.

I remember, years ago, my friend Ginger and I went to the Teatro .  After the concert, I saw a cute cafe.  We walked into the empty shop and I asked in my best Spanish, “Tiene café decafinado?” The owner looked me straight in the eye and said, “Claro que si.”  Don’t laugh!   I believed him.

They sell decaf beans in La Paz.  Why don’t all restaurants carry them?  Why do some pass off regular coffee as decaf? Have they run out? Maybe they don’t want to disappoint their customers.   Or lose the sale. Perhaps they believe that insomnia is psychosomatic.  But, do not try to convince me of that at 3 a.m.  

I’m not alone. My friends have sleepless nights also but we cope in very different ways.  Donneley sets up her easel and paints.  Kathy cleans kitchen cabinets. Ginger makes paper beads.  I just give in. 

I prepare an espresso, eat some chocolate, turn on my computer, and, while it’s warming up, I repeat my mantras:  I’ll never fight with Alex after 9 a.m.  I won’t eat chocolate later than 8 p.m. I will take a sleeping pill after a party. I’ll keep decaf coffee beans in my purse and pay extra if the barista will brew them for me.  Over and over, I promise.  Until, finally, I admit that I probably haven’t learned a thing.

 Meanwhile, what I have learned during those sleepless nights is Photoshop.  It’s a computer program which can “erase” wrinkles, firm up arms, and darken hair.  What it can’t “fix” are barking dogs, crowing roosters, fibbing baristas, or my hormone levels.  It can’t “crop” out insomnia.           

Carnaval is Over



Little Princess

Carnaval is over. And the neighbors’ dogs have finally stopped shaking. But the city’s ears and our windows are still suffering aftershocks.

The eight music stages have been disassembled and the 20 foot speakers have disappeared (they’re probably being stored with medieval torture devices).  Drummers and sound technicians are gone.  Their families may actually be as happy to see them arrive as I am to see them leave. The blanket hawkers have folded their unsold inventory and they’re back on the mainland.  By now new blankets are hugging motel and rancho beds up and down the Baja Peninsula. 

When I walked the Malecon this morning, the street sweepers, probably the most underpaid and underappreciated workers in town, were removing mountains of Styrofoam cups, broken egg shells and confetti.  Although my goal on this post-Carnaval walk was to burn calories, I found myself sniffing for the odor of gorditas de nata.  I know that, like coffee, they smell better than they taste but that didn’t stop us from buying them – several times.  No matter how hard we vowed not to nibble, we always arrived home with an empty bag.  In an unscientific taste test, we tried to decide if we prefer them with cajeta (caramelized goat’s milk), condensed milk, or plain?  After repeated experiments, Alex and I agreed – plain.

Another thing that was plain was that this year’s parade was considerably more humble than in past years. Fewer floats.  More sparsely decorated.   Even the crowds were smaller. This Carnaval left me zing-less.



Ginger, Noreen, Judy, Alex



One factor may be that this year we simply observed the parade from the sidelines.  In the past we created costumes, painted our faces and joined the parade.  Armed with bags of candy and necklaces, we were enveloped by the throbbing crowd.  It’s always more fun to participate than to observe.

The exception is when we’re observing children.  This morning I saw a small boy reach under a bench.  He’d found an intact confetti-filled egg.  He clasped his treasure tightly and I realized that his enthusiasm was a gift he’d unknowingly offered me.  I’d seen that look of awe before.  But where?

I rushed home, turned on my computer and looked at my Carnaval photos again.  I saw kids in giant air-filled bubbles, floating and rolling on a miniature sea.  I recalled a tiny girl with pink cotton candy stuck to her lips, tongue, and chin.  And the little princess who had mastered the royal wave – how many hours had her mother spent sewing sequins and jewels on her gown? Pre-teen boys threw eggs at trucks. The trucks pulled the floats. Alex saw one of the truck drivers drinking a beer!  The boys and the truck driver looked happy. 

 Perhaps this year’s Carnaval wasn’t extravagant but the children’s Frisbee-sized eyes and huge smiles proved that the zing was there.  I simply hadn’t look in the right places.  









Blanket Sellers




Adios until next year!