The Divine Dive : Relocating Again

“Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.”
― Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red 

I've been taking advantage of the natural beauty of the Yucatan for the last few weekends with friends in my fishing village.  We are hiking along worn away roads from one rural village to another, swimming in a 140' pristine cenote, a limestone capped sinkhole of underground water, and walking along the beach just before sunset.  

As it gets closer for me to leave the tranquility of the beach and the friendships I have here, I find I've begun to love my little beach village in unexpected ways.  Having lived through the devastation of hurricanes in New Orleans and along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, fears have dissipated, and a longing is stirred.  I want my friends in New Orleans to know that it isn't so bad.  If only they would come visit me, where I can take care of them, Katrina would have a lesser hold.  I feel compelled to invite everyone at the beach, an hour away, to visit me in the city  I plant enticements, as I am now an incentive program:  Just 10 minutes from the airport!  Tired of waking up at 4:00 a.m. for you 7 a.m. flight?  Wouldn't you rather have a cold beer with a side of chips and salsa, instead of facing the hour long drive to the beach at 10:30 p.m.?  I have hammocks!

With the city house devoid of furnishing, the many sounds of the street slide under the doors, and between the shutters of the paneless window sills  The symphony of early morning is a blur of tempos, glued together by the constant thunk of the ice cream machine in the adjoining building, the other half of my home.  It was long ago sold to to the ice cream family.  A cascade of vehicles - a honking pedal pusher announces fresh corn tortillas, a rusty brake drum weeps the tears of the tropics, and a zombie truck making its' next to last stop, signs-off with the kissing-coughing rattle of exhaust.  

To break the monotony, there is a quick departure within the sharp diatribe of morning madness.  A throng of teens shriek, slug, and smell their way to the neighborhood high school.   Their excitement, anxiety, and body odors, skid into existence, only to vanish a few moments later, leaving the thin thread of a smoke signal for their younger counterparts.  It is 8 a.m.!  

The city affords easy access to contemporary art galleries, the symphony, commercial stores, and of course, all the amazing offerings of the many small tiendas in the various neighborhood enclaves.  The city is where my home is, and this is a foundation that I very much need, in fact depend upon, as my home lends stability to this wholly unfamiliar existence abroad.  I am about to be wrapped by the cover of this life, living in the beginning, middle and end, and I have a hammock with your name on it! 

Create the life you want!
The Broad

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