Más tranquilo is Nice!

“Wherever you go, there you are…” is a quote attributed to the teachings of Buddha. No matter how far one goes to find greener grass, there’s no getting away from ourselves.

My husband and I moved to the mountains of central Mexico in 2006 and got to work designing our dream home on an extra large lot in the small village of Tzurumútaro, Pátzcuaro. We lived in the small casita while our big house was being built. Our Mexican contractor decided our dream home should be even grander and built us a beautiful Mexican colonial mansion with cut pine beams (which we learned about much later, that’s another story…), ceramic floor tiles, beautiful stone arches (noticeably lacking the keystone), three fireplaces finished with elaborate wood mantels, a circular staircase, new windows to accent exquisite views, and French doors opening to the closed courtyard on one side and the large garden with a pond on the back side. It was beautiful and spacious. Perfect for indoor and outdoor living.

But after the sledge hammers stopped pounding from gutting old walls and the concrete mixer’s revolving drum stopped its noisy spin, we realized the noise would not stop.

Trains rumbled through our village up to ten times a day and blew horns to caution pedestrians to move off the tracks. Since our property line was less than 70 meters from the track, the noise was unavoidable. Besides the rumble of engines and screeching or axles, the loud train horn: LOOONG LOOONG SHORT LOOONG preceding the town’s two level crossings. One of which was one block from our home, and 15-20 seconds before the train arrives, as law requires. Opposite, two houses down, we’d hear the loud frantic squealing of pigs. We never found out for sure what that was all about. I wore earplugs to muffle that. And, every time someone died, the local religious rites included fireworks set off every twenty minutes to commemorate the life of the deceased. Rockets soared up 100 meters then exploded with deafening concussions and continued until someone took away the body. In the meantime, all dogs for miles around howled and barked for hours on end, making it difficult to sleep at night and to concentrate and write by day. A writer friend of ours, doing research for a book on the culture of Mexico, concluded that Mexicans are sleep deprived because of noise.

Mexicans know how to celebrate and do it often. There are official holidays observed nationwide and many local festivities to honor religious events or public celebrations. In 2008, I counted forty-four holidays celebrated with rockets, firecrackers, sparklers, rattles, drums, loud music, a parade, and lots of noise. Many times, in the middle of the night, aerial explosions jolted me awake. And after experiencing the war in Cyprus in 1974 where the bombs bursting in air were real bombs, I cringed at the cacophony of any nerve racking noise.

In 2009 my husband and I traveled from our small village in Mexico to a small country in South America which got good reviews and seemed like a quieter place. Although we loved many things about Mexico (the customs, the traditions, the art, and the delicious food), the constant noise wore us down.

While vacationing in a small Uruguayan beach town, we often sighed and smiled at each other realizing we had found a perfect place. By day, we walked the beach and explored other small towns and villages nearby. All seemed tranquilo compared to village life in Mexico. Each night we slumbered, lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of waves lapping and swirling along the sandy seashore. By the end of our first stress-free week, we decided to move to Uruguay. My head tingled with excitement, knowing I could finish an important project I had been working on for many years—my memoir.

I felt a flood of creative energy wash over me as I walked barefoot along the sandy beach near our new home in Atlántida. I could hear myself think. Aha! Gentle waves tickled my toes and senses and writing became a joy again. I finished my first memoir, The Lullaby Illusion, in 2013, and counted only seven noisy holidays in Uruguay that year. I finished my second memoir, Good Morning Diego Garcia, in 2016. I heard more noise that year but not enough to interrupt my creative flow. At present I’m working on screen scripts and loving the SHOW, don’t TELL way with words.

As the Uruguayan economy grows so does the noise, but I’m happy to say no rockets explode in mid-air. And our two avocado trees yielded several hundred delicious Fuerte avocados this year. So I keep writing, awaiting next year’s harvest.

Connected—Beyond Death

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Surrounded by family, my Aunt Wilmoth died peacefully in her sleep, in her home in Gonzales, Texas on May 26, 2016 around 4:30 AM local time. She had suffered a massive heart attack a few days before and was taken by ambulance to a hospital in San Antoine, where doctors operated … but told family members that she wouldn’t last long because the dye used to do the angiogram had adversely affected her kidneys and other organs. Following surgery, knowing life was failing, she requested an ambulance to take her home to die.

I spoke with her the week before she passed. When she answered her telephone, she sounded out of breath but assured me she was fine and had spent hours that day pulling weeds from her beloved yellow rose garden. We talked and laughed about life and death. She told me she was ready to go and longed to see her husband (my uncle), her sons, and other old friends who had passed on over the years. She told me she would tell family members that I was excused from attending her memorial service in Oklahoma (I live in South America.) because we would see each other again—on the other side. I promised to help her cross over and I did.

Over the years, we had talked about our beliefs; God and the hereafter. Knowing that no one knows exactly when they will die and who will die first, we agreed to let the one left behind know if their spiritual beliefs were valid. And we agreed to communicate our findings after death. It was the same agreement I had shared with my friend Michael and my sister Leah before their deaths.

My aunt’s death, and frequent appearances of her in my visions since, have piqued my curiosity. I am busy exploring the importance of coming to terms with life and death; and inviting an exchange of information between souls on earth and in the great beyond.

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When I lived in Patzcuaro, Mexico (2006-2009) with my husband Doug and son Jesse, one of my favorite celebrations was “Dia de los Muertos” (Day of the Dead). Dating back to Aztec and pre-Columbian times, it is a joyous tribute to life and loved ones who have passed on. November 1 and November 2 are the observed dates when many Mexicans believe that the gates of the afterlife open and spirits are free to mingle with the living. Loving family and friends clean and decorate graves and visit local cemeteries where they leave offerings of flowers, favorite foods (corn tortillas aplenty), drinks (lots of Tequila), and cherished objects to welcome the deceased.

The living, dressed in colorful masks and skeleton costumes hold candlelight vigils as they await a whisper of wind to blow the spirits back to earth.

The intent of this event is to honor the dead and encourage communication between souls. By engaging the living, this celebration teaches all who observe not to be afraid of death, but to enjoy and take advantage of every living moment on earth.

What comes after death? Who knows? When I helped my aunt cross over, I encouraged her to follow the light and reminded her of our agreement. She is onto another journey. So glad she had a quality life, a good death, and is sharing the beyond with me. She lives on in my heart and soul, and always will because we are connected.

Do you feel a soul connection with family or friends? Do you communicate with those who have gone on before? I would enjoy hearing about your experiences.

Tranquilo is nice!

 

house-no-arrow

“Wherever you go, there you are…” is a quote attributed to the teachings of Buddha. No matter how far away we go in hopes of finding greener grass, there’s no getting away from ourselves.

My husband and I moved to the mountains of central Mexico in 2006 and immediately got to work designing our dream home on an extra large lot in the small village of Tzurumútaro, Pátzcuaro. We lived in the small casita while our big house was being built. Our Mexican contractor decided our dream home should be even grander and built us a beautiful Mexican colonial mansion with illegally cut pine beams (which we learned about much later, that’s another story …), baldosa floor tiles, beautiful stone arches (noticeably lacking the keystone), three fireplaces finished with elaborate wood mantels, a circular staircase, new windows to accent exquisite views, and French doors opening to the closed courtyard on one side and the large garden with pond on the back side. It was beautiful and spacious. Perfect for indoor and outdoor living.

But after the sledge hammers stopped pounding from gutting old walls and the concrete mixer’s revolving drum stopped its noisy spin, we began to realized the noise wasn’t going to stop.

Trains rumbled through our village up to ten times a day and blew their horns repeatedly to caution pedestrians to move off the tracks. Since our property line was less than 70 meters from the track, the noise was unavoidable. In addition to the rumble of engines and screeching or axles, the incredibly loud train horn: LOOONG LOOONG SHORT LOOONG preceding the town’s two level crossings. One of which was, you guessed it, one block from us, or 15-20 seconds before the train arrived, which is exactly when a train is required to blow the signal. Opposite us, a couple houses down, periodically we’d hear frantic, very loud squealing of a pig. We never found out for sure what that was all about. I wore ear plugs to muffle that. And, every time someone died, the local religious rites included fireworks set off every twenty minutes to commemorate the life of the deceased. The fireworks, rockets that went up 100 meters then exploded with deafening concussions, continued until the body was taken away. In the meantime all dogs for miles around howled and barked for hours on end, making it difficult for me to sleep at night and to concentrate and write by day. A writer friend of ours, doing research for a book on the culture of Mexico, came to the conclusion that Mexicans were actually sleep deprived because of noise.

Mexicans do know how to celebrate and do it often. There are official holidays observed nationwide and numerous local festivities to honor religious events or public celebrations. In 2008, I counted forty-four holidays that were celebrated with rockets (cohetes), firecrackers, sparklers, rattles, drums, loud music, a parade, and lots of noise. Numerous times, in the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by aerial explosions. And after experiencing the war in Cyprus in 1974 where the bombs bursting in air were real bombs, I cringed at the cacophony of any nerve racking noise.

In 2009 my husband and I traveled from our small village in Mexico to a small country in South America which was getting good reviews, and seemed like it might be a quieter place — más tranquilo. Although we loved many things about Mexico (the customs, the traditions, the art, and the delicious food), the constant noise was wearing us down.

While vacationing in a small Uruguayan beach town, we often sighed and smiled at each other realizing we had found a quiet place. By day, we walked the beach and explored other small towns and villages nearby. All seemed tranquilo compared to our village life in Mexico. Each night we slumbered deeply, lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of waves lapping and swirling along the sandy seashore. By the end of our first stress-free week, we decided to move to Uruguay. My head tingled with excitement, knowing I would finally be able to finish an important project I had been working on for many years—my memoir.

We moved to Uruguay end of 2009. I felt a flood of creative energy wash over me as I walked barefoot along the sandy beach near our new home in Atlantida. I could hear myself think. Aah! Gentle waves tickled my toes and senses, and writing became a joy again. I finished my book, “The Lullaby Illusion,” in 2013. Happy to say in that same year, I only counted seven noisy holidays in Uruguay. Tranquilo is nice!

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