Ah, the Bite of the Mosquito : Conjuring an Attraction Potion

::  The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity to know why this is so; but we ask the reason of all evil, of pain, and hunger, and mosquitoes and silly people. ::

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Right now, our dreaded Yucatan mosquitoes are reclaiming our heads by joining hands to make fuzzy black halos.  Yes, we have now entered the rainy season and the little tormentors have plenty of breeding spots available.  Having experienced their terrible tiny bites one too many times in my native New Orleans, my experiments in repellant potions before moving to Mérida have paid off.  I've enjoyed this one for almost three years. 

Before you Yucatan Snowbirds and First Years head down, you might consider purchasing a few glass wasp catchers!  The catchers have a concave bottom that forms a well for the Deadly Mosquito Attraction Potion.  I brought two glass wasp catchers with me when I moved to the Yucatan.  There are a few tutorials on how to make a wasp or fly catcher out of a plastic bottle, but mosquitoes require a glass container. 

Let's focus on why mosquitoes love the household products in this attraction recipe.  Hydrogen Peroxide, or Agua Oxigenada in Spanish, and Baking Soda produce Carbon Dioxide.  Shampoo contains Lactic Acid.  Both Carbon Dioxide and Lactic Acid are the stuff we humans off-gas or sweat out.  Mosquitoes also love the heat our movements generate.  Since this attractor recipe can't move of its' own accord, the glass wasp catcher conveniently holds a candle, producing heat and movement.  Ever walked out of a dense brushy patch in your garden to discover you were covered in mosquito bites?  That's because these tiny terrors, like all vampires, love the dark.  To simulate a darkened space, a colored glass container is best, but if you don't have a choice, you can add honey or molasses to your clear glass wasp catcher.  The natural sugar found in honey prevent the mosquitoes from feeling depressed once you have lured their menacing butts into the trap!

You will need a 1 liter container for mixing the liquid ingredients.  I reused a completely dry juice box. Be sure to have a funnel handy.

Mix the following liquid ingredients:
2 cups : Hydrogen Peroxide
4 tbs : Shampoo (any brand)
2 tbs : Dark Honey or Molasses

Now you are ready for some fun with chemistry!  Each of my wasp catchers holds 1/4 cup of the combined liquid and dry mixture of Baking Soda.  Combine a 3:1 mixture of liquid and dry in a measuring cup.  With the wasp catcher corked, turn it upside down and pour in the mixture.  Slowly turn the wasp catcher upright and remove the cork.  Insert the candle, place near a window or screen door.  Light the candle and watch the magic begin.  Depending on how heavy the population is, you may have to reinvigorate the mixture every 4 hours.

Congratulations!  You've saved your skin and the environment from toxins!  Remember, if you do use products with DEET, spray your clothing and not your skin.

Create the life you want and a safe planet!
The Broad

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What Is White And Covered In Flowers? : Huipils!

:: We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning. ::
- Henry Ward Beecher

Sometimes after attending an exhibition I am left with a handful of questions.  The huipil (wipil) exhibition at the anthropology museum in Mérida has made me more curious about the tradition.  The huipil is a very common sight throughout the Yucatan.  It is basically a fancy tunic, always decorated about the neckline, often across the bodice, and occassionaly at the hemline.  Take an evening stroll in the Plaza Grande and there will be reserved seating to watch traditional Yucateco dancing.  The woman in these dance troops are wearing beautifully embroidered huipils.  

Several regions of the Yucatán were represented at the exhibition, and from each there was an obvious embroidering style, with Valladolid having the most varied.  Unfortunately,  the Valladolid huipils the artists were listed as unknown.  I learned that the decorative styles indicate not just the community that a woman belongs to but also her status.  I suppose my own huipil screams tourist community. 

When I was attending graduate school in the Bay Area I worked for an agency that acquired some very large and beautiful heddle looms.  Our facility was small and unable to house them all so, I acquired one of the larger looms and called it the Shipwreck as it looked like a Chinese  junk.  The older huipils were woven on a backstrap loom, with the decorative portions being done on the loom or by hand, sometimes with the aid of a sewing machine.  When I first moved to Merida, I bought a unfinished piece that was still connected to a backstrap. 

I think I will be taking a trip to Valladolid in the near future.  I love the individual expression in their huipils!

Create the life you want!

The Broad

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Sunday Morning Edition 2, No.13 (2013) : No Gringo, Go Home

  The Real Lives of the Expats Living in Your Travel Guide

[SOURCE : West Orlando News Online]

Mexican Airport:  Sir, without your tourist visa we cannot allow you to board the plane.  

Tom:  If I was a Mexican citizen in the US without a visa I would be the first one on the plane!   

Tom quickly retracted his statement.   






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Dia del Trovador Yucateco : A Funeral

:: Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. :: 
- Victor Hugo

When I was twelve years old my family lost my little brother - a red cheeked, towheaded and blue eyed son of postcard beautiful parents .  A thin tree limb, thirty feet above a canopy of smaller trees, could not hold his 50 pound boy body of fiery sweetness.  Michael's death directly links to my early career choice of specializing in counseling children who survived traumatic head injuries, and later, bereavement work with children and teens through Hospice Austin in the Camp Brave Heart and Families In Grief programs. 

A few years before my mother's retirement, my parents began the process of leaving New Orleans for Florida, taking Mamère with them.  While my mother continued to mend broken eyesight and treat odd eyeball disorders, my father was fully adoring his role as the 'Radio Flyer' driver that pulled in the NASA shuttles.  Just before the final push to make the move, Mom's good friend, Betty "Big Mama" Rankin, passed away.  Big Mama hosted the first jazz radio program on WWOZ that brought the sound taste of New Orleans to an international audience.  Betty's curatorial expertise at Tulane University's William Ransom Hogan Jazz Archive inspired her WWOZ program.  After attending Betty's funeral, Mom asked me to make sure that when her time came I would have a jazz party.  I am to pass out decorated umbrellas, serve Bloody Mary's and Hurricanes, provide tables for all the pot luck dishes and of course hire Second Line musicians to pull us out of our funk.    

Recently, I was reminded of those instructions.  Informed by the traditions of the Yucatan, Miss Bella Bell and I were transfixed by the immediacy of beautiful death.  The Cementerio General de Merida, with its' thousands of tiny tombs thrown like seeds and patinated statuary crowding the silky blue of the sky, left us speechless.  This may have been the first time in my life I was completely comfortable with my own death. 

It is impossible to capture a sublime experience with words alone.  It seems natural that I should have been present during the entombment of Vicente Uvalle Castillo's ashes, maestro de trovador and well loved friend to many.  I felt utterly humbled by this communities acceptance of the presence of a hand full of foreign women, and yet, there were moments when I was so embarrassed, so uncomfortable with being out-of-place, that I considered grabbing my paper fan and running back to the car.  Nevermind that the background noise consisted of romantic and humorous trovador ballads, that my mind called forth a head injured client that asked if my own parents were 'above the ground or below the ground', or that the Queen of the Trovadors was smiling behind fine regalia; the fact is, I wept for a man I did not know.  In that moment, I planned my memorial.  When my time arrives, cast my ashes in the waters of Lake Pontchartrain, the Colorado River and the Dzibilchaltun cenote.  Play jazz, country western and trovador ballads.  Cast magic spells, kick up cow pies and swing copal smoke rings around the room.  Until that day,  love.

Create the life you want!
The Broad 

Cementerio General de Merida is on Calle 81-A at Calle 66 

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Billet Doux : Cherchez La Femme

:: Is there anything, apart from a really good chocolate cream pie and receiving a large unexpected cheque in the post, to beat finding yourself at large in a foreign city on a fair spring evening, loafing along unfamiliar streets in the long shadows of a lazy sunset, pausing to gaze in shop windows or at some church or lovely square or tranquil stretch of quayside, hesitating at street corners to decide whether that cheerful and homy restaurant you will remember fondly for years is likely to lie down this street or that one? ::- Bill Bryson

The last two months have been crazy busy.  I'm spending as much time as possible with dear friends that own homes in the Yucatan yet, do not live here.  They explore expatriation for snippets of time, some just long enough to forget the purpose of socks, and others just long enough to taste the fruits of their encore professions.  Our hearts are warmed by the reunion and when they return to the Northlands, wherever the conversation trailed off, it will be picked up again this time next year.  

Still a tourist in my new home, I tag along on their adventures to discover the rich offerings of Mérida and the Yucatán.  When my next visitor, author Mary Helen Lagasse, arrives from the States in late May, I will greet these now fresh places with a gaze reserved for a long ago lover. 
 

[ Viviana Hinojosa :  Studio of Melva Medina & Abel Vasquez  : Samuel Barrera ]

The Mérida English Library has added an art studio crawl to their already successful home tour.  Both have ignited the propane flame in my heart and soul.  I may be wondering an immense landscape without a map but, I have a history of making things come true!  Plans are already being discussed with the SoMe (South Merida) Social Club members of La Ermita.

[ LA68 :: SOURCE :: revistaorigama.com.mx ]

Just as I was missing SXSW in Austin, Miss Bella Bell, a precious Southern prize from Auburn, AL, invited me to a documentary screening at LA68, a cultural center dedicated to Elena Poniatowska.   Everything, and by that I mean every inch of this property and what it offers, was on par with love gushing!  Poniatowska's daughter and son-in-law have created a fantastic tribute to one of Mexico's best known feminist activist writers.  I cannot wait to go back for a meal, a reading or lecture and of course, another film.  

[ Celestun in January ]

Yes, that's me wearing a flaming red bathing suit on a deserted beach in Mexico (in January).  I changed the font size on purpose.  I don't really like to brag but geez, could it get any better than this?  I don't think so!  G and I spent several hours walking up and down this pristine beach collecting shells followed by a delicious seafood mid-afternoon lunch.
 

[ Uxmal Ruins ]

I really do work here.  In fact, I often work so many hours that I can't attend social events that are truly important to me.  However, work must be balanced with play so, for my birthday my very lovely friend from Maine took me to see the Uxmal ruins.  They took my breath away.  I was unprepared for what influence 1,000 compact buildings, begun in 850 A.D. would do to my perception of humankind.  I am profoundly thankful to all the generations that have come before me, showing us all that the sacred is alive today.  

As we approach their departure dates, I will dream of our future adventures.  Next time the snowy egrets land, my greeting will include wrapping them in a well worn suntanned map.  Gracias!

Create the life you want!
The Broad

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When Grandma Turns Blue Haired : New Directions & Much Gratitude

::We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.:: 
 - Thornton Wilder

Today is my birthday!!!!!!!!!!  Or it will be when you read this post.  I'm actually in Uxmal (Oosh-mahl), Yucatan standing atop one of the ancient structures thanking everyone, and I mean everyone that I have ever encountered.  You see, I have birthday rituals that span the entire month of March.  Yeppers, I'm one of those gals that believes one can never celebrate just once, the most magnaimus thing that has ever happened in your life.  Besides, it's Women's History Month!

For over 100 days I am greeted by the request to express gratitude.  One of the very loveliest of the Broads Abroads began a status post that has now become a morning ritual.  By participating and reading the post of others, I piece together the remarkable journeys of the men and women who unwittingly chronicle their lives.  From tragedy to wonder, from excess to simplicity, all of life is made visible in their comments.  Thanks to all of them for adding new ways to my own journey.  

To the few petty tyrants that got through the looking glass, thank you for giving me a space to regain my Godzilla energy and practice the Four Agreements.  Without you, I would have stayed small or too tall for my own britches!  If I have done the same for you, great!

Every once in awhile I introduce you to the Broads Abroad that give my transition a bit of Gitty-Up!  This one is for the men inching me closer to Boyfriend For Life.  The Husbands, especially, THE Emperor, with the fabulous teeny-tiny-small-small-small wife, keeps impressing me with his public declarations of love for his princess bride.  Quickly approaching their fifteenth year of marriage, the bonds are stronger than ever and deep as the roots of tall Texas grass (that would be 12 feet, ya'll!)  If not for G, my homeboy in Merida, Southside adventures would not exist. Over the next year I'll be sharing more about South Merida living. SoMe, is it SoYou?  I can never thank Manuel, aka Lolo, enough for all the small pleasures and huge acts of kindness.  He has taught me many a Machiavellian tricks that have altered my relationships.  Gracias, Amigo!  

OMGosh, how am I ever going to cover all the amazing Loud Sisters?  First, if you think you are not on this list, you are WRONG!  Maybe I have known you my entire life or we just met or we have never met.  Maybe you live with dyed hair, have long white locks, tied locks into baby knots, whipped locks that fly into the faces of others or sheared your locks for Locks of Love.  Maybe you live with two bouncy breast, down to your knees breast, augmented breast or no breast.  Maybe you have lots of junk in the trunk or a really famous flat ass.  Maybe you think I don't love you because I don't call or write - that's because I'm not always a great friend - but let me tell you something, YOU, MY DEARS are the forces in nature that drive every blasted act and mark.  PERIOD!  (Thank Gawd those days are gone for most of us! WINK)

Kids, and I mean my children, every word and each act of kindness you share with one another makes me unbelievably proud that you two are brother and sister.  More than any other people in your lives, you shape perception of the opposite sex and teach one another the greater meaning of family.  Your respect for one another is a joy to watch.  Break all the family patterns!  Untie the knots!  Long live Link and Zelda!  The tattoos are on me during our next family reunion!  Let's make it soon!

Happy Birthday Everyone!

The Broad

 

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Sunday Morning Edition 2, No.9 (2013) : Friendly Fire

     The Real Lives of the Expats Living in Your Travel Guide

[SOURCE : Times Union]

Martha: Our first dinner party in Mexico seems to be a real hit.

Tom: I know, even though our new friends here are very different from each other, they all seem to be getting along really well.

Martha: I really don't know what we were so worried about. 

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What To Do When You Have No Answers :: Stop Thinking

::No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.::

- John Donne, No Man Is An Island 

Moving to Mexico has been one of the bigger moves I've made in my life.  After high school, I left New Orleans for Lafayette, LA.  After college, I left Lafayette for New Orleans, stayed a year, moved to Austin, TX for a few years, back to New Orleans for another year, and headed to Berkeley, CA. for graduate school.  After three years in Berkeley I was led back to Austin via a job offer, and remained there to build a life with my children  for the next twenty years.  

My youth is tethered to cast iron, summer rain showers and real French bread with its' crunchy top and big fluffy holes that melt when you take a bite.  My adulthood is linked to the smell of baby urine on carpet  - children and kittens - limestone infused with cedar and long term friendships.  The maps of both merged through the magic of cartography.  Cast Iron became the living plants surrounding not Live Oaks, but Scrub Oaks.  An oscillating garden hose simulated summer rain showers in the backyard of our city house, and formed layers for icecicles on the canopy of the oak motte nestled next to our cabin at the ranch.

In this year and a half of living and working in Mérida I've struggled with staying.   There is no consistent theme running through the desire to leave.  A few days ago I felt driven to drive out because I missed the smell of my daughter.  On another occasion I missed the familiar accents of home - the twang of Texans and the port city yat of New Orleans.  Some days I just can't bear to hear one more word in Spanish.  My brain is frozen and overtaxed.  

I came back from my Christmas holiday with a renewed love of place and home - Mérida.  I had that uncomfortable dizziness those living abroad experience when they re-enter their former lives.  Culture shock was a dark shadow around excessive amounts of technology, dependence on a vehicle and inflated food cost.  On the other hand, I was surrounded by people who love me, inspired to make an art practice and reminded to rethink my paradigm choice.  I am not stuck here or anywhere.  In fact, I am more free to think, breathe, and expand than at any other time in my life.  

I sit down with myself and have a little talk.  It begins with this sentence, "SHUT THE F@*%K UP ALREADY!  RE-THINK YOUR MAP!"  Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!  Cartographers have to address many issues when they create a new map.  Here is my check list:

• Address physical and abstract space!
• What is three dimensional stays three dimensional!
• Simplify, simplify, simplify!
•  Venn diagram!   

 











Create the life you want! 
The Broad  






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