April 9, 2010 A Girl at Sixty

Here is the prompt for April 9:
"For today's prompt, write a self-portrait poem.Other artists study themselves to create compositions (not all of them exactly flattering either), so it is only natural that poets, who are word artists, write self-portrait poems from time to time. In fact, some poets make self-portrait poetry "their main thing." For at least today, make it yours."





Self-Portrait of a Sixty Year Old Girl

Inside me lives a girl.
An adventurer who
Wears skirts just a skosh below her cheek-line,
Holds a microphone with absolute command.
Babies at her breasts, overflowing with mother nectar;
Dances in the sand,
Street,
Or backwoods tav;
Shoots pool, plays poker, rides biker mama,
Challenges cowboys, cops and all authority;
Hitchhikes at freeway on-ramps;
Writes letters home
Telling weary lies;
A seamstress, farmer, carpenter,
Who forsakes aging
And won’t surrender
To swollen knuckles,
Stiff ankles,
Bloated belly,
Sensing the girl within,
Noting surprise
At the unfamiliar old woman
In the mirror.

The Party

I was very happy to spend the day of my 60th birthday on a rooftop overlooking the ocean, dipping in the pool and playing cards, looking forward to strolling next door at sunset to join a group of friends for a celebratory dinner at one of my favorite beach restaurants. It would have been quite satisfying. I just didn’t expect too much, having made it clear that low-key was the operative word for this year’s commemoration.

My good friend Candace picked me up shortly before noon and with a bit of frustration, explained the errands she had to run before we could get to our first destination: the pool and card table. I told her it was fine with me, we had the whole day ahead of us. We drove out the coast highway and came to a lovely cliff-side villa, where she encouraged me to follow her while she conducted her business. My first inclination was to feel like an intruder, when we ran into a couple who were purportedly guests of whom we were disturbing. They nodded curtly as they gave us their permission to enter, then disappeared. We wandered down a grand staircase into the foyer and living room, with a sweeping view of the ocean and famous volcanic rocks Los Arcos.

There was a woman in the pool; her back turned, taking in the scenery. She looked vaguely familiar but then at my age, many people do.

We wandered into the kitchen area and dining room, me following Candace obediently. She had requested margaritas, which I thought was a little cheeky and even cheekier still for me to ask if maybe we could get them to go. Candace was the one complaining that all this running around was cutting into our card playing time. As we waited for our margaritas to be mixed, we wandered in the direction of the pool.

The woman who I had glanced at moments before seemed much more familiar to me and I stared at her, trying to understand what my good friend Shawn was doing there. She stared up at me and I stared back at her. Candace pulled her dress over her head to reveal a swimsuit and dove into the water.

Maybe my eyes popped out, perhaps my jaw dropped; I don’t recall but just then Shawn said Surprise! Happy Birthday!
What are you doing here? I asked.

I still wasn’t totally getting it.
It took me a while to get my bearings. I didn’t really understand at first until it dawned on me what my friends had done.

The guests, Patti and Gary, who we’d disturbed on our way in, turned out to be Shawn’s friends, visiting from California. They were great actors, playing up the disgruntled vacationers. I wasn’t expecting Shawn to attend my birthday at all, since it was her husband Greg’s birthday as well and he was flying in that day. The foursome had planned to spend that night in Yelapa, down the coast and only attainable by boat. Or so I thought. Greg was not privy to the plans, either, so there were more surprises in store for the day.

At some point, I watched tables being set and nosily counted the place settings. Twenty-four people would be joining us for dinner.

We swam. Played cards. Moved everything inside when the skies opened up. Relaxed. Read. I never really got over my astonishment. In our well appointed rooms, we freshened up and dressed for the arrival of others.

At the appointed hour, they began to drift in. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends. We ate and drank for what seemed like hours. The food was divine. The company was delightful. When the evening ended long past the midnight hour, I retired to my room in this lovely villa and slept like a lamb, only to be awakened in the morning by a knock at the door and a breakfast tray. We didn’t leave Villa Luna Creciente until past 7 p.m., the whole day spent in absolute bliss. I cannot thank my friends and family enough for making this possible. Like a dream come true.

And reflections on turning 60?
It was more than I could have realized. More on that later. I promise.

Thanks for reading.

http://www.villalunacreciente.com/

Back Home

I am home again; arrived a week ago today. Not sure how it feels to be home. Tomorrow I will be sixty years old and as I consider the past decade, I have been very fortunate. We could say it is a matter of luck, but as Dad always said “It’s a good thing there are two kinds of luck or I wouldn’t have any.”
I am in the process of considering how my future will play out and realizing perhaps ten years in Mexico has been enough. I love this country. I love the people and the culture. My experiences here have been rich beyond what I could ever have imagined a decade ago. For the most part, leaving my Mexican friends will be what pains me most. To a person, they have provided me with an understanding of kindness and love. Certainly, I have met a fair number of rogues, but admittedly, one will find those types anywhere. Since many Mexicans are not able to travel to the United States, due to immigration procedures or lack of funds, I will be obliged to return to Mexico on occasion to be filled again with their affection, good will and chicken mole.
I am often dismayed when I hear my non-Mexican friends grumble about some of their problems, criticisms and complaints about the country they have adopted. Foreigners are so welcome in Mexico, which has a very generous and tolerant immigration policy. This is, of course, a part of what makes up the country’s wealth: her mixture. In the beginning, these were conquistadors, who themselves were welcomed by the innocent and vulnerable. From the slave ships that embarked on the eastern shoreline to the present day ex-patriots from all continents, Mexico has been enriched.
I don’t know exactly what happens next for me. That remains to be seen and I am anxious and willing to discover. Thinking that life would be very different at this time, I need to somehow devise a new plan. Getting through tomorrow is my foremost goal. When I am sixty years and one day old, perhaps I will be more enlightened than I am today.