Avocado Tree

Childhood memories are precious, especially the happy ones.  I have to say my memory is not very good, so I treasure the ones that I do have that much more.  Even if the memory is the time I broke my arm playing "rocket ride" with my older brother when I was three!

The thing I do remember the most about growing up are the hours I spent playing outside with my siblings and friends in the neighborhood.  We spent almost all of our time in the front yard and running up and down our street.  There were lots of other kids, too, so we were never at a loss for things to do. 

In the middle of our lawn in the front yard stood an enormous avocado tree.  It seemed to envelope the whole house as it towered above the roof and power lines.  I was an expert at climbing that tree, and I can remember to this day the exact technique I used to hoist myself up there.  There is something about muscle memory; it sits deep inside you forever.  Have you ever noticed when someone is recounting an event that happened to them, they recreate the motions they made during the event-even if they don't realize they are doing it?

The avocado tree had three main branches at the bottom.  I would jump up and grab on to one of them, interlacing my fingers at the top of it.  I would walk my feet up the trunk and hook my leg over a branch on each side.  I could then swing my body right up, and there I was.  I have tried to do it as an adult, as my body feels like it was just yesterday that I swung myself up there.  I never got passed the interlacing fingers part. 

Once I was up, I would keep climbing, hand over foot, until I reached the top of the tree where there was a perfect seat just waiting for me.  A sturdy branch, horizontal to the ground, which hooked around creating a comfortable and safe place to sit and watch the goings on in the neighborhood.  I remember once sitting there and watching my friend Deanne walk up to my front door.  She knocked on the door and asked my mom if I could play.  I watched my mom walk outside and look around, "She's out here somewhere,"  she said.  I just sat up in my private paradise and laughed.

The avocado tree is gone now.  I think it froze one year and never quite recovered.  Now, in it's place stands a cute little flowering plum tree and a nice new lawn.  The street is quieter now.  There are children in some of the houses, but you don't see them playing outisde like I remember us playing; dominating the street.  That was our time.

Never Said Out Loud

It is true; I say this to myself all the time, but it is something I have never admitted out loud...to anybody.  I am scared to admit it because I feel like I know what people will say, and that they will judge me.  I'm not even sure how to say it, but I suppose I can say out loud what I have said to myself countless times. 

He is keeping my light from shining. 

I, on the other hand, am a free spirit.  A liberal, independent, and progressive thinking woman from San Francisco, California.  I have travelled the world and love meeting people, living life to its fullest, and letting loose now and then!  Can those two profiles coexist peacefully?  Well, I suppose we have done just that for the past eight years, but sometimes I wonder at what price.  Should I say again at this time that I love my husband very much?  I do!  And I don't take that back!

I see my old self disappearing little by little, although I know I will always be in there somewhere, and I know change is to be expected as we grow older, have children, etc .  It's just that he doesn't allow me to be completely myself.  I have to think about what I am going to do before I do it; what I'm going to wear, how I will dance at family parties.  I am a dancer, and love to express myself and lose myself on the dance floor.  I can't do that with him...it would be calling attention to myself; asking other men to look at me...in his mind anyway. 

Different=Better?

In my young, ignorant days, I denied that there were any cultural differences.  I thought that was the "one love" way to think.  I am a hippy at heart, and want to think that people are all good, all loving, and that we are really all the same.  As I got older, travelled the world, and married a Mexican man, I now understand how to appreciate the differences, and there are differences. 

My eyes first opened to this concept in Turkey, when I met a man who scammed my sister and I into staying in town another night just so he could have dinner with us, and maybe more.  He ran the travel agency in town, and told us all buses were full, and that we would have to wait until the next day.  He invited us to dinner as a consolation.  Over dinner, the truth came out, which led to a heated discussion about business practices, and my sister and I walking out before the dinner was over.  That man was killed later that night, apparently killed in a fight over a different American girl.  It was that night that I began to open my eyes to the differences between cultures.

Again I find myself being the foreigner, the outsider.  Just take a look at the photo on my page.  It is me, the white girl, with my husband and his family.  You don't have to look very hard to see that I stick out.  My white skin, my light brownish/red hair.  What you can't see in the photo is my accent, which although I have worked hard not to sound like a gringo, still alerts people straight away that I am "not from around here". 

People know who I am; they recognize me as the outsider, and they respect me for it.  I am slightly disturbed by this unearned respect, but I suppose I will take it.  They respect me for the light skin.  They like my hair.  They ask me about speaking English, about "the other side".  They want to climb into my suitcase when I go for a visit. 

I went to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday.  She lives just three houses down.  I walked in and sat down to a lovely bowl of pozole.  I started to reach for the disposable, plastic cup that was sitting in front of me to serve myself some soda.  Her boyfriend quickly walked across the room and handed me a glass.  "No, I said.  It's ok; I can use this."  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous"!  I slowly panned around the room and saw that everybody, including this man's girlfriend and best friend, were drinking out of these disposable, plastic cups.  I accepted the glass but didn't use it; I am very stubborn. 

What is so special about me, I wondered?  I realize, of course, that is not me.  He doesn't even know Mary.  If he did, he would know how flexible and unpretentious I am.  He would know that I have always been the kind of person to make do with what I have.  He doesn't know that, so he gave me the glass. 

I also realize that I am special.  In this situation, I am different, and that makes me special.  I realize the importance of my position as well.  Just as famous people use their celebrity for their causes, I will use my high visibility to show the people here that there is something else out there.  I will show them that women are capable, independent, and equal.  I will show them that they are every bit as special as they think I am. 

Emotions Take Hold

I woke up today with knots in my stomach.  The kind of knots you know are caused by stress, anxiety, depression, or one of those oh so pleasant states of mind that unfortuntately I have come to know recently.  Or maybe it's fortunate that I have only recently come to know them, but certainly unfortunate that I have made their acquaintance at all.

I have always been proud of my ability to handle stress, in other words, I never really felt it.  I am a mellow, positive person, and I don't tend to be a worrier.  People tell me that I have been through a lot; that I am strong.  I always thought that to be a strange concept, that just because I have been through trying times and come out succesfully on the other side that I am strong.  What do they want, for me to curl up in a ball in my room and lock the door?  Well, maybe sometimes I would like to, but I have two kids to take care of.

Anxiety and I first met when I was waiting for the American Consulate in Mexico to make a decision regarding my husband's VISA status.  The decision was life changing for us.  A yes would mean he could return to San Francisco and to our lives as we knew them.  A no would mean the boys and I would pack up and move to Mexico.  Although I had prepared for a "no" somewhat by acknowledging its possibilty, I was actually already planning the welcome home party for my husband. 

It was hard to concentrate on anything that week aside from breathing.  I had to force it.  Deep breathes.  Inhale; it felt cleansing at the moment, but once I let it out I would again forget to breathe, and the cycle started over.  It was a first.  I had never felt these powerful physical effects of emotion, and it was really only the beginning.  Once my husband texted me "we lost" after his interview was over, I could breathe again, at least temporarily.

The next four months of my life were spent dealing with wrapping things up in San Francisco.  Everything from wrapping up a real estate transaction, to wrapping up things in general at work, to wrapping up our valuables in bubble wrap to pack them in a box and take to Mexico.  Tell my son's school, let coworkers and clients know, friends and family had to be filled in, and on top of that let's make four piles of crap:  throw away, give away, storage, keep and take with us.  Doing all of this on my own with the boys to take care of was overwhelming at the very least.

That is when I really met stress for the first time.  It had strange effects, like forgetfullness and a feeling of existing in a cloud.  I was constantly losing things, so I spent an insane amount of time looking for them, like my keys which I should have had permanantly chained around my neck.  I got through it, we are here, and although I still have some unfinished business back home, for the most part I can rest easy in the here and now. 

The knots in my stomcach this morning were caused by having spent the weekend in a depression.  Depression is something new to me as well; only since the move have I experienced it.  It's not about being sad.  For me it is about being in a void.  The feeling of fatigue is so overbearing; even lifting a finger takes work.  I want to shake it but can't, so maybe curling up in a ball in bed doesn't sound so bad. 

I know you don't need a reason to be depressed, but I have reasons.  First and foremost, we have no money.  It makes me feel like a failure, and it means that we are stuck staying home instead of being able to go out sightseeing or enjoying this beautiful country.  Secondly, we are living with my husband's family which is absolutely huge, and sometimes I feel like I am losing my little family to the bigger family.  I sit in the house as my husband is out on the patio drinking and telling jokes with his siblings.  My children are out playing with the cousins.  I could join my husband, I realize that, but I don't want to follow him.  I don't want to sit on the patio and watch the jokes and laughter fly by like I am watching a tennis match.  I usually don't think they are funny.

I want to hang out with my family.  I want to go places with my husband...alone.  I want to visit new places, go exploring, and find my mexican paradise.  I know it is out there.  I am frustrated and looking for help.  I am trying my best to be patient, to have faith that things will fall into place.  My mother always says, "This too shall pass".  If that is true, I will wait. 

The last straw was this morning when I went to do laundry.  I spent time seperating the clothes, started filling the washing machine with water, put in the soap and the clothes, and went to seperate the next load.  I went back to the machine to see if it was full only to find out the water supply had stopped.  NO WATER!  AHHHHHHHHH!  There I was, trying to be positive, hold my head high, get my chores done for the day, but no!  I still haven't made my bed, shall I crawl back in? 

International Job Search

These days, my main focus is on finding a job.  By main focus, I mean after I've taken care of and fed my children and husband, and cleaned the house.  Yes I did put multi-tasking on my resume.  My hope is to be able to find something that I can do from home, and working with a US based company would be ideal, if nothing else so that I can be paid in dollars rather than Mexican Pesos.  I set out for the task with quite the optimistic attitude, and I still feel that with patience I will find the right thing, but my patience is beginning to feel a bit tested.

Before actually moving, I almost had the "to good to be true" job, which turned out to be just that as the company went bankrupt.  How ridiculous is it to be looking for a job in this economy, and not just any old job, but a job that someone allows me to do from another country, from my house!  Are my expectations way out of whack?  My thinking is that I can earn an entry level salary as expenses are so low here, and maybe I can use this opportunity to break into a new industry that interests me, like the travel industry for example. 

I am becoming an expert at looking for and applying for work, and there are enough listings out there to keep me hopeful.  I have been sending out resumes on a regular basis for almost six months now, and it is plain insulting how few responses I have gotten.  I was starting to feel like a joke when I talked to my sister about it.  She reassured me that the etiquette of responding to all applicants has gone to the wayside, and especially these days as many companies are probably receiving a high volume of resumes.  It's true, I have received some "auto replies" saying things like "Due to the high volume of applicants we are receiving, we will not be able to respond to everybody".  Well, I guess that means I am not making the cut.

Since the "too good to be true job", I have received two other offers.  One from a company that I worked for for a week and a half before they completely slipped off the face of the earth, and a second offer from somebody who was only willing to pay $250 dollars A MONTH!  Again, insulting.

I will keep plugging along; after all, what else can I do!  I will remain patient and positive, as any other attitude would be too wearing.  I will continue to enjoy this uninterrupted time with my kids; they deserve it!  Who knows, maybe I will start my own travel agency...anyone want to take a cruise?

Through It All

It's been six months now since the big move to Mexico, and I think I can safely say that I have finally adjusted.  Luckily my kids, ages six and two, adjusted immediately, but for me it was a different story.  Let me be sure to paint a clear picture; we are in Mexico.  Not one of those ex-pat or retirement communities for Americans and Canadians who are looking to live in the lap of luxury for a couple thousand dollars a month, but Mexico Mexico!  We live on the border of Mexico City and State in what I believe to be a very typical lower middle class Mexican community.  It is where my husband grew up and most of his family still lives.  I am by far the only American for miles around.  

It is the slow pace that took some getting used to, and although I was not quite living a life of luxury in San Francisco, I still had to adjust to the living conditions here.  My husband spent some time before we arrived remodelling a small apartment in his family home.  We have a kitchen, living/dining room, one bedroom, and a bathroom.  It is small but we don't mind as long as we have a space of our own.  Actually, in San Francisco we had a two bedroom apartment but for a majority of the time we shared the apartment with other family members, so we are used to small spaces. 

In San Francisco I had a full time career as a Realtor.  Now I am a stay at home mom, which definitely has its perks, but that alone is an adjustment.  I am grateful for the opportunity to get to spend so much time with my kids which I would have never been able to do in San Francisco due to the high cost of living.  Life here is very cheap, especially because we have no rent or house payment. 

There are certain things you just have to get used to, such as there are simply days that no water comes out of the pipes.  Luckily, my husband put a water tank on our roof that gives us a back up supply, but the main part of the house goes without water quite often.  Also, although the cost of living is low, the local wages are even lower.  My husband works a pretty strenuous full time job and makes about eighty dollars a week.  I have not yet found employment but am hoping to find something I can do from home.  Once I am working and the money is less of an issue, I hope to go in search of "My Mexican Paradise"!  But for the time being, things are pretty tight.

We will have been happily married for seven years this coming November, and I am very proud of that.  It is definitely work, and not always chocolates and roses, but in the end it all pays off, especially when you take a look at those sleeping children!  Yes, they are somehow more loveable when asleep.

I think we have both learned a very valuable lesson through all of this.  We are ok as long as we are happy together.  We don't need money or material wealth, although they would be welcome at our door anytime!  The point is, as long as we support each other and love each other, life is rich.  When we are poor and arguing, things seem unbearable. 

We went to bed one night, the boys were already sleeping, and we were talking for a bit before going to sleep.  At the end of the conversation, I said to my husband, "Te amo con todo que tengo", which for those of you who don't speak Spanish means "I love you with everything I have".  There was a moment of slience, and then I hear my husband say, "NADA!"  We both burst out laughing.  It is so true, I love him with everything and with nothing, and will continue doing so forever.

Illegal Husband

The title is misleading.  My husband is not illegal, not anymore that is.  His status did not change because my country decided to grant him legal status.  Oh no, that was not going to happen.  His status changed because we now live in Mexico.  Now I am the immigrant; I am not illegal, of course, because we Americans are allowed to travel freely into Mexico with a simple passport.  The other way around, however, is a bit more complicated.

I met my husband eight years ago in a salsa dance club.  I was attracted to him straight away, and after dancing together I knew there was strong chemistry; I didn't want the night to end although we didn't dance together until the last song of the night.  He walked me out, gave me his number, and I told him that I would be away in Thailand for a month, but would hope to contact him upon my return.  I did, and was equally as attracted as I was on that first night. 

They are raw, human emotions, and have nothing to do with paperwork, or somebody's legal status in the country.  No, I didn't ask to see his greencard; it didn't come up in conversation.  I felt lucky to find him as I had already loved and lost.  We fell in love and decided to take the leap.  We both wanted a family together and didn't worry about his immigration status; we figured it would fall into place.  After all, it will be a legitimate marriage, with kids and all!

Well, for those of you who don't know, it doesn't work that way anymore.  We will celebrate our seventh anniversary at the end of this year, and we have two beautiful children, ages six and two.  After living in the United States together, as a married couple for all that time, we were never able to change his immigration status to legal.  Apparently those who have entered illegally have no recourse unless they travel back to their country of origen and apply for a pardon.  Doing that, you risk being banned from the United States for up to ten years.

My husband grew tired of life as an illegal immigrant.  He missed his family in Mexico as he was not able to travel back and forth to see them.  He is the youngest of fifteen children, and as you can imagine, has a rather large extended family.  He was tired of not having the same rights as everyone around him, although he paid taxes like a good citizen.  We were tired of him not even be able to obtain a driver's license in order to help me with errands or taking the kids to school and daycare.  We were just tired.

It was time for another leap; a leap back to Mexico in hopes of obtaining a pardon and being allowed back into the United States legally.  Well, unfortunately, we were not that lucky.  He has been banned until 2011.  We now live in Mexico City with his family and plan to be here until he can legally enter the United States.  It has not been an easy adjustment for me even though I have been a traveler and adventurer all my life.  I can only hope that the next few years hold lots of new travel and adventure and allow my family and I the opportunity to explore this beautiful country.  Who knows, maybe we will decide to stay!

Loved and Lost

This was not going to be my next subject, but as I was searching through the "Groups" section of PNN, I saw the group called "Help! I love an addict" and felt like I had to tell my story.  There are only a few members of the group, but certainly more than a few who have or are experiencing a similar tale.

It seems like a lifetime ago, but actually only ten years have passed since I lost who was at that time my love.  I was twenty six; he was younger.  One of the best friends of my younger brother, actually, so it was somewhat of a forbidden love.  Once my brother saw that we were serious, he backed off a bit, but it wasn't easy at first.  Nothing about it was easy, I should say, but that seems to be my way.  I never choose the easy road, but always that which is less traveled.  I don't mean to.  I believe it is a subconcious desire to experience, to learn, even to suffer.

We fell in love, and like I said, he was young, and liked to party.  Don't get me wrong, I like to have a good time, but that was where we sometimes felt the age difference.  I was getting ready to move out of that phase of my life, and he was deep in the middle of it.  First drinking and smoking, which was fine by me, but then came the coke, and close behind in came the heroin which was far from ok with me.  It was the one thing we fought about. 

Addiction is an interesting thing.  It affects everyone so differently, but one thing that remains steady throughout is the intense grip it has on people.  He couldn't shake it; it wouldn't let go, and in the end it took him away completely.

The image a heroin addict brings up for most people is a pretty pathetic one.  You probably see a skinny, grungy, dirty person, half asleep, slurring their words, unable to cope.  This was not my boyfriend.  He did not use on a daily basis.  You do not need to use on a daily basis to be an addict.  It was probably a weekly thing for him, at most, and I think he thought that since he could go days and even sometimes weeks without it, that he had it under control.  It could never happen to him, it would never happen to me, it's those other people. 

He couldn't handle it.  It handled him.  He shot up a lethal dose of cocaine and heroin one evening when I was at work.  It is a night I remember in clear detail.  I remember the phone call from our roommate, and before taking the call I knew what it was.  I remember telling my student I needed to go, that my boyfriend had been in an accident, which was one of many cover up lies.  I remember the image of him on my bed; still breathing, but too short, too fast.  The ambulance, a sigh of relief, a false hope.  I was frozen. 

After that there are only "I wish I hads".  I wish I had told his family he was using.  I wish my roommates had called for help sooner.  I wish I had forced him to get help.   I couldn't have.  They didn't.  It happened.  It changed me forever because I loved him.  I will never regret that.

My Sister Can't Have Cancer

My sister was just diagnosed with breast cancer four days before her fortieth birthday.  It stops me; saying that stops me in my tracks, and I'm sure it stops her.  There is something about saying the word cancer that makes it all seem surreal, like we are talking about someone we don't know.  It can't be my sister.  Not the girl I shared a room with growing up.  Not the girl that threw her stuffed animals at me from across the room when I was snoring; yes, I snore sometimes.  Not the girl I used to share clothes with.  Not the girl who taught me everything she knew. 

She is four years older than me.  She does not yet have any children and is not currently in a committed relationship.  She was still hoping to have a child; I should say still is hoping.  Fertility after treatment is an issue. 

This all just happened yesterday.  It was two weeks or so ago that she found the lump, but just got the results yesterday and is just now having to face these big decisions.  I spent some time with her on the phone yesterday as she explained it all to me.  Of course first the mass will be removed, then radiation every day for a month, and then there is the option of chemo which is highly recommended.  Surgery and radiation is definite, but she will have to decide for or against the chemo.  The problem with chemo, ok, there are many problems with chemo, but the most pressing for her is the fertility issue.  After getting off the phone with her I went straight to the internet, which I often do especially for health issues, and googled "harvesting eggs before chemo".

I learned a lot.  I learned that only 50% can still have children after chemo.  I also learned that you can have chemo if you are in your second or third trimester of pregnancy and still have a healthy baby.  I learned that harvesting eggs is an option but with low probability, and that harvesting an embryo is better although that would mean that she chooses a father now! 

One night you go to bed with the regular thoughts and worries; what will you wear to work the next day, your bills need to be paid, you forgot to call your friend back, etc.  The next day you wake up, find a lump, and worries change.  The old ones seem trivial, and the new ones are life changing, every single one of them.  Do I opt for chemo and lose my hair and possibly the ability to have children?  Do I do everything possible to still have a child or do I leave it up to fate?  Do I remove my whole breast or just the lump?

My sister would be a great mother.  I know this because she is a wonderful aunt to my two boys.  They are four years apart too, ages 2 and 6.  The two year old follows his older brother everywhere.  I imagine a similar scene from my childhood, following my sister.  She read to me, played school with me, organized clubs and games, and climbed the big avocado tree in our front yard with me.  If she liked a song, I probably liked it too.  If she bought a new dress, I wanted to wear it too.  I hope that my boys enjoy the same relationship.  I feel lucky to have my sister as a close friend.  She is my only sister, and I know she will be OK.  I love her and wish I could protect her from this, but I can only offer my love and support.  I love you, D!