Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.
Packing for the trip has created its usual anxiety as I try to juggle the unsettled permutations with the realities of airline restrictions, weather variations, anticipated activities and my physical ability to juggle bags. There’s also the food lying about the casita and in the refrigerator. I’m hoping D will take some of it. How do I get from home to the bus depot at 6 in the morning? [It used to be easy as I could just roll down the hill whereas now I must go cross-town and will taxis be out and about?] Will the alarm go off? What cosmetics and toiletries do I take that will pass through security? Will I be hungry and so do I need to take food and thus need to make it tonight and will that require a trip to the bakery as I have no bread? I didn’t get the garbage to the basura truck yesterday, so Dolores will have to deal with that on Friday. I try to pack in anticipation of answers to questions I haven’t yet asked. So I must remember Sylvia Plath’s words that this is now.
My 97-year-old friend and I spent a wonderful afternoon in his garden yesterday and we reached the penultimate chapter in the Sylvia Plath biography in which she dies. A sad story, her poetry reaching a peak at the same time her marriage dissolved and she tried to do everything herself (the forerunner of our modern superwoman) as mother, breadwinner, artist, homemaker, and handywoman during one of the most wretched London winters, refusing help from friends and family. She lived life on her own terms.
A market in Plaza Civica has Day of the Dead candies and candles and trinkets and already there are a few memorials around town, such as the one pictured at the Aldama glorieta. I bought Lucha Libre action figures and some skeleton marionettes for the grandchildren at the open-air mercado. Halloween is evident, too, in far smaller doses. So, if I were here to celebrate the Mexican holiday I would have to add Lou Reed and Plath to the spirits I’d try to reach.
I sometimes wonder if the world we live in, with all generations seemingly stuck in their petulant teen years, is all due to rock and roll.