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I’m on a plane.

As the Gulf of Mexico, seemingly unmoving, peaceful, one giant canvas of blue felt passing beneath me, I am flooded with wave upon wave of memory from my very brief time in Mexico.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, things within my control and outside of my control, I am on my way back to Chicago for a few months. I didn’t plan this. My plan outlined that I’d be in Mexico till September, and I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to anyone until then. I was to spend six months there, and hopefully remember enough of the language by the third month to actually be able to start to do things more naturally, like teach piano to the kids without feeling like a mime in front of a group of blind children.

I hate goodbyes.

The only good bye that I can think of right now is for the Chicago Bears to skip round one of the playoffs. Otherwise, unless I truly don’t like you, and that is rare, there is no such thing as a “good bye” for me. I find nothing really good about them.

I already miss some of the kids, the food, and the atmosphere. I miss the warmth of the rising sun on my right cheek as I walked to morning devotionals. I miss the game of finding the new hole in a bicycle tire that’s already had fourteen. I miss getting gang tackled by little girls who’s names I still mix up, and by guys who pretend to be all tough, not wanting any form of touch, but in actuality begging for a strong arm bear hug.

I do not miss The Cat™.

Puffs of white, popping random thoughts amidst my current calm, waiting patiently for the wheels of this aluminum bird to touch the ground that lies beneath another place I love.

Market day in Tlacolula. Hidden coffee shops. Absolute confusion on where I’m driving the bus for a high school field trip. A prison visit, realizing I’ve got to visit a different one in Texas. Wasp stings hurt. Dancing on top of a mountain to U2 doesn’t. Little Selina standing in the grass, smiling down at my reclined watchfulness. Playing chicken with every car on the highway, making sure they saw the bus of kids behind me, parked on the shoulder. Hitting metal poles full force with your knee while running, playing futbol, really hurts. Finding smiling eyes below mine as an eight year old hugs the breath out of me, doesn’t. Driving closer to the middle of nowhere, in the mountains, finding a home warmer than many I’ve known in my life. Finding joy in a simple hello in the morning from Pedro, one of the grounds keepers.

I love hellos.

Hello my gleaming love, you, who has sheltered me for so many years, been my comforting companion through so many trials, lessons, and experiences. Chicago, where I grew up, in so many ways. There has been no other place so far where I can stand among her buildings and concrete, spaced busy-ness and feel the original pulse that captured my heart so many years ago. Hello Cubs, hello cool lake breeze, hello hot dogs, pizza, sushi, steak, pasta, pad woo sen, bee bim bop, and mussels.

Hello larger gut.

And yet this time, I do indeed, hope for a good bye. I hope to pause for moments this summer, look around, and place another mental Polaroid into my shifting slices of memory. I hope to visit places once so mundane with more special thoughts, and recall the first time I was at that place, and who with, and why, capturing the feeling, the emotion, and tucking it away for a later coffee, relaxing somewhere else.

My journey is a curved one, at best. I will say this: since 1999 my life has been more interesting, challenging, and heart-wrenching than the previous twenty eight. Yeah, I wasn’t really a goody two-shoes as a kid, and I saw and did things that have stuck permanently in the folds of memory. I have seen evil in so many forms. And I have seen the greatness of good as well – overwhelming all with its power through sacrifice, care, and love.

Sometimes, my sight has been blurred these past few years, unable to see past the goodbyes, hellos, more goodbyes and fewer hellos.

They say hindsight is 20/20 but…. what is it if it’s through warped lenses? Is there hindsight without bias? Here’s my point: if you’re looking back on your history during good times, I’m pretty sure you’d say “wow, those years stank…” — but if you’re presently going through what you feel is one of the worst times in your life, wouldn’t you more likely say “Holy cow. It was so easy back then….” How are either of those 20/20?

I have to say I think I see most clearly in the present. I think we all do, if we just take a moment to assess our current situation, try as best we can to do it objectively, weighing pros and cons, and then commenting from that vantage point.

I like the present. I’m here. Now. Looking.

And now the blue above meets blue below, interrupted only by that never beginning, never ending line we have all looked at, one time or another, seeing hope in sunrises, calm in sunsets, trepidation before gathering storms. We seek to see, we ask to know, we strive to reach, intent on experiencing the fulfillment of our goals.

My goal is simple: return to a new place of love, hope and happiness, making my now good bye a better hello. And things are clearer now – I’ll be in Chicago, for the summer at least, working towards exactly that, and all the rest that connects to the return. I reach with open eyes, seeing clearly. And as I say good bye, I’ll turn another way and say hello.

No more clouds.

For those of you that have read my blog or my posts for sometime, or have known me longer than the word “blog” has existed, this post will come as absolutely zero surprise to you.

I’m coming back Stateside. Soon. Like this coming Monday.

There are various (ish) reasons, but the main one being that for the offices of immigration here in Oaxaca to even begin to look upon me with favor is for me to have a significantly larger amount of dinero in my bank account. Consistently.

Ah. Consistency. If there is one Achilles Heel I have, it is money: especially in terms of level, balanced, stable bank accounts. Some people work like clockwork in this area. I do not. I never really shirk from work, and when I put my mind to it, I can literally haul large sums of cash into my pockets. My pockets are very holy *cough* holey, or at least have been.

Before I came down here, I had nearly all holes plugged, repaired, fixed, and or removed. I truly thought I was in the clear, and was SO ready to be down here for six months. However, there have been a couple loose ends, and a couple last minute surprises threw wrenches into what I thought was a well-laid plan.

My next Achilles Heel is exactly about that: planning. Not to be a smart-alec, but I’m pretty damn intelligent. Quite often to my detriment. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been able to either “fly by the seat of my pants” or “wing it” or “play it by ear (sometimes literally)” or whatever. I think fast, learn fast, and really unfortunate at times, talk faster than either one of those.

So my plan, at best, was exactly that: a plan that worked under the best of circumstances, not the worst. And I have to say now, at least, a lesson has been learned. When you really, truly, want to do something, and it actually affects your life, your future, then unfortunately you have to plan for the unfortunate. I did not do that.

So, therefore, my arse is back to Chicago for three or four months. I’m sub-leasing, sub-living (according to average American standards, maybe), and hope to work hard, make bank, finally, finally, FINALLY lay to rest all obligations, and get back down to Oaxaca, prepared for more than just the average, everything’s fine, day.

On the flip side – and in the bigger picture, for I’m only a tiny grain in the continually shifting sands of this great painting we call life, upon reflection I am seeing that this is, quite possibly, a much better idea than what I had planned. In fact, I had a lot of friends asking me right along this thought process… “why are you going to Mexico for the SUMMER??”

Well. I’m not, apparently. I’m in Chicago for the summer, the city that has for so long given me smile after daily smile, the city that in summer knows no equal, especially in the States, the city I do still love an awful lot. And when the brisk, wispy (and then downright rude) winds from Canada begin to push more forcefully back into Chicago’s gleaming face, hopefully, I’ll be exactly where I want to be: back on a plane, with a more prepared plan (and accounts), ready to converse with immigration for the work visa I need with a more stable, balanced, responsible head.

And ya know, that seems like a great plan to me, with bigger hands in charge. Now it’s my turn to step up and use mine.

I need me a milkshake. Chocolate, please, with whipped cream.

Yesterday started out with “musical gates” in Dallas, followed by “musical gates” in Mexico City before finally ending with “I’m sorry, HOW MUCH!? for a cab ride home”. I got ripped.

Today’s lesson is: how to stay cool, how remain patient, and how to not panic when all means of communication are null and void.

For starters, I was in Dallas. Not my favorite place, but as there’s significant family members there, and as we all gathered for Aunt Ida’s birthday, it was all well and good. Very good, and quite well. Happiness!

But I had to get outta Dallas to get back to Mexico. Yes, supposedly the fun country of swine flu.

My political two cents worth (and intelligence) is if you hear anyone talking of only Mexicans as carrying the flu, remember this: viruses don’t give a pig’s snout what nationality you are. You are human. You are a potential host. Viruses are older, better, stronger, and more deadlier than we’ve ever been as a human race. Please remember this the next time someone’s ranting about a particular nationality of people as if they’re the only ones that could carry it across the border. Ignorance is lame.

Meanwhile, at “musical gates” round one, I felt so bad for the people who were just trying to get back to their families and didn’t enjoy mindlessly wandering the airport while jamming out to Jamiroquai / Beastie Boys. Our flight was supposed to leave at 9:40am. We were not airborne until 12 noon. A super storm line was just south of the DFW area and playing air hockey with the planes. Oy. I didn’t really plan on having Starbucks, McDonald’s and two more Dremamine, but I did. Yum! Crunchy white powder tongue annoying motion sickness bleah. We seriously changed gates four times.

And then we were in Mexico City, where about 50% had masks on. No big deal. But I missed my connecting flight. So I hauled my butt to the American Airlines counter (my first flight carrier) and explained the situation while Screaming Head Child Twin #1M couldn’t figure out why his sister (Non-Screaming Head Child #1F) didn’t like him hitting her with the plastic non-flying jet model. Or wrapping his mask around her head. Anyway.

I then asked where my luggage was. HA ha!! Actually, that wasn’t a problem. My luggage was happily on the way to Oaxaca, with me, sans masks. Oh no!

And then…. then I waited some more. Because ya see, once again, Murphy’s Law was trumped by O’Neal’s Law. Murphy’s Law woulda been like “heyyyy yer gonna get delayed by storms in the US, but you’ll make your connecting flight but your luggage will be on the flight behind you”. O’Neal’s Law states “heyyyyy yer gonna be delayed by storms in the US AND you’re gonna miss your connecting flight, BUT you’ll have your luggage BUT you’re gonna get delayed by a storm line in Mexico City. And there’s no air conditioning in the terminal you have to wait in. And the flight boards aren’t correct, you have to LISTEN for your flight gate, which they won’t announce until 20 minutes before you take off, because THEY’RE playing “musical gates” too! And you have no working phone. And the phone machines won’t read your card. Even backwards, with spit on it.”

I really like Sala E, F and G compared to Sala B at the Mexico City airport. They have air conditioning. But B had a Starbucks too. And I had more Dremamine. Yum. Lunch. And early dinner.

We finally left Mexico City for Oaxaca. Rock. But, due to delays in Dallas, and delays in Mexico City, instead of leaving at my planned 3:05pm and getting into Oaxaca at 4:05pm, we were leaving at 7:00pm and getting into Oaxaca at 8:00pm. Wow. Just. Wow.

Mask? What mask? I got coffee, punk!

Got to Oaxaca. No phone. No working phone machine. And… the phones at the ticket counters wouldn’t call thru to the cell phone of Janelle or Jill, my only tele-contacts.

Taxi. Which really hurt. ‘Cause I can drive, I just didn’t have a car, truck, or big giant bus at my disposal to use! And I told the cabbie this and he just laughed. We figured out where I was heading, which, according to the map was Zone 3 and on the price chart wasn’t even listed, which meant me, the blonde little gringo got RIPPED on the price. I know this ’cause Habacuc’s cousin (?) drives a cab and Habacuc told me over dinner that night. I mean, I knew I was getting ripped, but I didn’t know by how much. Let’s just say a lot and leave it at that.

All that being said, I made it, safe, in one piece, all luggage in hand, just needing a place to sleep.

peace