I must leave this blog and the other unattended for a time while I drive north. Preparations for this have prevented me from visiting all of your blogs over the past couple days. I am sick at heart about having to leave my home in Mexico even for a relatively short time. I am determined, however, not to be a drama queen about it. A visit to the United States of America is not a thing that is going to kill me, I don’t think. There is business there that I must attend to for my 91-year-old mother. I have put it off too long as it is. I cannot shirk this and let a brother or sister take care of it because there is no brother or sister.
Come to think of it, however, this is my blog. I am entitled to be a bit of a drama queen here if I want, am I not?
I wish that I could describe for you the experience of staying in that house and sleeping again in the same room in which I slept as a child with the same model airplanes and ships on the shelf, the same books, the same little awards for this or that, my pony saddle on the rail above the stairwell outside the door. The farmhouse is empty of people now, but it is still full of the flotsam and jetsam of people’s lives. I speak to my mother often via Skype. She has never expressed any interest in revisiting that house in which she lived for 64 years, the house into which she first moved when she was 27. I am not sure the house still exists in her mind, not the house that sits there today anyway. I have no interest in revisiting it either, although I must. It rather effectively rubs my nose in my own mortality.
The colors around me in Mexico this morning have already begun to fade, foreshadowing the spectrum of gray that awaits me. I feel no duty at this point in my life to anyone or anything up there except her. She was, after all, a perfect mother. I must therefore go back for a time and do these things as efficiently as I can, the sooner to return to my home in this place that has come to mean so much to me.
With that then I am shutting down for a bit. I must load this stuff in the pickup truck and point it north. Almost against my better judgment, I have developed warm feeling for all of you who visit this blog now and again. I will return here as soon as I am able.
!Viva México! México lindo y querido.
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Enseña Cómo Todas Las Cosas Avisan de la Muerte
Miré los muros de la patria mía,
si un tiempo fuertes, ya desmoronados,
de la carrera de la edad cansados,
por quien caduca ya su valentía.
Salíme al campo; vi que el sol bebía
los arroyos del yelo desatados,
y del monte quejosos los ganados,
que con sombras hurtó su luz al día.
Entré en mi casa; vi que, amancillada,
de anciana habitación era despojos;
mi báculo, más corvo y menos fuerte.
Vencida de la edad sentí mi espada,
y no hallé cosa en que poner los ojos
que no fuese recuerdo de la muerte.
English Translation by A.Z. Foreman
He Shows How All Things Warn Of Death
by Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas (1580 – 1645)
I looked upon the walls of my old land,
so strong once, and now moldering away,
worn out by Time’s long march, day after day,
which had already sapped their will to stand.
I went out to the country, saw the sun
drink up the streams unfettered from the frost,
and cattle groan how light of day was lost
to woodland, with its shadows overrun.
I went into my home, but saw the crude
and rotted ruins of an agèd room;
my cane gone weak and crooked in the grime.
I felt my sword surrender unto Time
and nothing of the many things I viewed
reminded me of anything but Doom.