maria

documents

I have a long list of things we have to get done if we ever get our hands on any significant amount of money that may be coming our way via dead relatives - and obviously it hasn't, but it might, still, happen -. One of the things on that list is a divorce.

"What?" I hear you asking, "But, given the situation and the circumstances, I thought... ". Yes. We all thought. We all thought it would be done immediately by my ex. Because why would he want to stay married? And you know, I don't know. I don't get it either. But there it is and there you have it, he hadn't. But he did. I signed the documents on Saturday. We still have to go in front of a judge and resist all temptation to fall back into each other's arms when he admonishes us about the importance of family, marriage, and the sanctity and whatnot of it. If he only knew.

The kids think it's awesome, though. Because they really just want everyone to move on, like they, apparently, have. Which is nice, you know? It doesn't really stop me from feeling a bit guilty - about, you know, failing to keep my shit together in the face of fantastically huge loneliness -, but it does make me feel like, hey, they'll be OK, maybe.

Will has been very cool about it, or so he seems. I think in the back of his mind he is worried that I will grow bitter about his situation. I don't know. I sort of always figured it didn't really matter, but now that this is happening - my divorce -, it's sort of been "there", like the beginning of a headache makes you realise that your head is there, just being there.

Although I still don't think it really matters. I'm actually quite happy to be granted "single" status again. You know, in about three months, given the judge admonishment scheduling, but, wow! I'll be single.

Just typing that I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is going to be awesome.

waiting at the solicitor's office

on the other hand

Paying the credit card is a drag. Not just because you have to actually hand over money - although I will admit it's not my favourite part, but it still makes me think that I've accomplished something, that -, but because it is so problematic to do it when the bank is all the way across the ocean.

I've been going across the border to check our mail every day since Monday. This because we are (were) waiting for the credit card bill, which has a slip that we attach to cheques so that we can mail them, and so, pay. It's the 21st and it hasn't come. This when we have plastiqued so many large expenses onto it. I was freaking out, but Will called them yesterday to find out that we really don't need the slip that comes with the bill, we can just mail the cheque to them with all the data written on it - the account number and whatnot - and so I have to go do that today.

I also have to send my aunt the power of attorney. Supposedly, after she gets it, the whole matter will speed up and it will not be long before the whole thing is done - for now, because my aunt has just asked me to help out with the litigations for the stock. Which is awesome. That she's asked. Because it would mean being in on it. Which is brilliant. Not only for what it means money-wise (although it is a lot of money, if we got it) but for what it means vis-a-vis my relationship with my father's family. You know, I'm being supportive, signing with them, doing my bit. Which is pretty cool.

 

and like that, they're gone

The holidays are over. Will starts tomorrow and, for all effects, he's already there - I'm not complaining about it, I can hardly see how he would manage to keep the holiday mindset when so much has to be done prior to actually having to show up at school -. The holidays are over.

I was worried, at the beginning of the holiday. I was worried that we would, eventually, end up at each other's throats. I have a rhythm about the stuff I do, and having somebody around the house, I thought, was going to cramp my style, if you will. And to be honest, it probably did at the beginning, just a little bit, but things moved on fairly quickly to a very good flow. And now it's over. Boo.

The summer has been wonderful. We didn't do as much as we would have liked, but then we did spend a lot of time together, which is wonderful. Plus - and I'm afraid to bring this up, lest you get all excited about it and then I fail, but I'm going to, knowing that in the end it has no effect on my success or lack of it - I stopped smoking. Which is nice. It's harder when I'm driving, or there's stuff to worry about - I don't know how I got through the whole Laguna Niguel thing without it -, or I'm on the phone. I just wasn't aware of the fact that I was doing it. Smoking. So. There you go.

By the way, totally hooked on the olympics. Too bad that the NBC coverage of it is a bit crap. Unless you're totally focused on how the USA is doing... oh. Right. Well. I'll be going, now.

home

We are home. I thought, after the events, that I would not want to go out or do anything ever again. As it happens, I have. We have. Of course, it's been absolutely necessary stuff, but what I'm saying is that I'm not trying to lock myself in.

We went across the border again today. The truck feels so good that I want to only take it to the best repair shop ever for the rest of our lives, but of course we won't. We would, if we could, but a two hour drive might be beyond the truck's capabilities if it ever needs any work done. Maybe for checkups, though. You know, make a day of it.

In any case, we went to San Diego today to get supplies for the new school year. And vacuum filters. And pies. 22 of them. They're tiny and cute and come in a small brown box. The plan is for Will to be able to take one to school in the mornings. But then - as he dives into the first second one - this might just be MY plan. Which is fair enough.

We went to the Lakeshore store to get more supplies. After picking monkeys as the theme for the classroom borders and signs and whatnot, we considered the possibility of an ant farm. It hadn't been possible to get one before because we didn't have a Postal Box until a few months ago - over a year ago? Has it been that long? - and so we couldn't get the ants mailed to us. Now we can, but, we still decided to wait a bit to get it. I love the thought of it so much you would think it was for me.

We decided to eat at the Applebee's next door, because Will was wondering why we never had. Truth of the matter, we never had because we were always seduced by the Outback Steakhouse - the malt loaf, the green beans, the steak, man! -, and the menus at Applebee's always looked... meh. But today was the day we would try the place.

Turns out, they don't ask you if you're doing OK as many times as they do at Outback, but then they don't have an awesome malt loaf. They don't serve fajitas in 23 1/2 plates like they do at chili's, but they don't have as varied a menu, and so, meh. It was OK. Not bad, not great.

We drove back home, stopping to get our mail, furniture oil at the home depot, and petrol at the nearest Shell. We crossed the border into Mexico and are now home. I still like being home best of everything.

Ithaca, or Ferris Bueller, you're my hero.

Hi. I know it's great and lovely with the handwriting but linkage needs to be done and it is overall clearer to just type, so let's move on.

It's been hectic, as I'm sure you've all read over at La casa de Will. Something I know he mentioned and I'm just throwing my - small - weight behind is Laguna Niguel, and their wonderful Auto Center. This repair shop was a true blessing.

Now. The trip. Will might say that neither of us had a bad feeling or premonitions. I have to confess to having had a nightmare about the truck, something going wrong with it. I dismissed it because I know I am usually very anxious about things and it is not uncommon for me to be incredibly fearful. If I started not doing things out of fear, I would never do anything! So we went. It was fun to get lost for a bit just to meet the fantastic people at Fat Chance and get to see this desk [Check out the gorgeous inlaid brass handles, the beautiful, flawless finish, it is absolutely perfect]. Jeff was very cool about the two sweaty tourists in his store and gave us directions. We got to the gallery with absolutely no problems after that. I loved the show, I fell in love with a painting - trust me, this image doesn't do it justice - and we got on the road, deciding to drive around for a bit.

To be perfectly honest, I expected it to have many more fake breasts, Los Angeles. But there you go. You get the feeling that everyone is busy, that everyone has a dream, that everyone is trying to get somewhere. At a point, while driving down Santa Monica Blvd., I saw an older blonde woman wearing lots of big chunky diamond(?) bracelets, red lipstick, unsmiling expression, and I got the feeling that it's hard to be happy in LA.

We started the drive back hoping to be able to stop in San Clemente before coming home to watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" (I am not even offering an explanation to this, if you read Will's blog, you know how involved we got with the thing and how much I hated the tractor - was he the best dancer? yes, was he the most talented one? you bet. You're missing the point [as I walk away sullenly]). It was not to be. A pit stop at a petrol station in Mission Viejo ended up being the last stop for the day, sot of.

The truck wouldn't start. I thought it had overheated because... I don't know. It made no sense that it would - at all -, but it was missing some coolant, so I just assumed. Me and a man named Mufasa. Or Mustafa. Or something. He seemed like he wanted to help and, stupidly, even though I found the man a bit frightening, I didn't want to seem racist. Which you would think I could, given that I am Mexican, so I shouldn't have any qualms about rejecting people of any race or colour on the basis that I don't fucking know them, but what can I say, I was stupid.

165 dollars later, a thermostat had been destroyed and a band that didn't need changing had been changed. This got us about 30 metres westward on the crown valley parkway. And then stuck in the middle of it. Will and Mustafa (Mufasa, whatever, you get who) and a man from AAA (who could help no further because we don't have a card and left us with a final warning "Be careful, he is not a good man" - Too late, man, but thanks -, before driving away) pushed the truck into what we would later find out to be Laguna Niguel.

At this point, I want to throw up I feel so sick at the thought of everything that is happening. We are stuck. WIth a strange man. In the middle of nowhere! My stomach contracts but there is nothing to actually throw up, so I end up just bent over, stomach hurting.

- at this point half of you have left me here, which is fair enough, this is a long post and I know from comments that make no sense that most people give up anyway, but kudos to you for sticking around, strange person still reading! -

Mufasa (or mustafa) won't just go away. He wants to help, he says. We have no more money, I tell him. He still won't go away. I turn to Will: "Save me". I shit you not, I said that. Save me. I know it sounds corny and ridiculous, but at that moment I really just needed him to get on the thing and move it forward.

And of course, OF COURSE HE DID. How much do I love this man? He and what'shisface pushed the truck into a parking lot for a mall that had, unbeknownst to us the best auto repair centre in the world, and then he told him - politely - to fuck off. I was progressing into the state of "complete fucking wreck" ("why are we even here? The show was not THAT good, we are going to die here! we are going to kill ourselves going down this hill, I could never be an illegal immigrant, I just don't get how they get through the desert, look at me nearly killing myself going down this stupid hill, I picked the wrong week to quit smoking, we are going to die here, this is going to be so expensive, I can just hear it on the news, Fox, almost certainly, "they were last seen walking down the railroad tracks..." , I just want to go home"), Will just fucking shone. ("We are going to be fine. We are together, we are happy, we are going to be fine"), he was hitting his stride as "the person who can get us through anything" ("It's going to be fine, we are going to be fine, we'll spend the night at a hotel, we will watch SYTYCD, we will get some rest, tomorrow the workshop will be open and this will get sorted out, don't worry, we are together, we are happy.").

We walked to the hotel, where we got a room (it was a great room, let me just say, very clean and spacious). I hardly slept.

Next day, Sergio at the auto center tells us he will get us back on the road today. The waiting room has internet service and Will can get his people drunk - avoiding a rebellion -, and we feel like we are back in contact with the world. Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

octopus

respect

We're driving home from the bookstore/sunglasses/watchstrap/supermarket thingie. It's been a good day but we both just want to get home and die, in that order. It's always a dramatic change for me, driving in the US for a day to come home to Mexico, from the straight-forwardness of the freeway - which is exhausting in a surrepticious way - to the maze of streets in Tijuana, I feel safer in Tijuana. There's something about driving on the freeway that doesn't let you know just how tired you are, whereas when you're driving in Mexico, things are a bit slower, you need to give driving more thought. Also, I'm very aware that there are rules I have to follow while driving and I never want to have to deal with police in the US. The thing with Mexico is that it's my country, I know how people's minds work, I know where things are going and where they could go. I'm not afraid. When we're out of the country, there's always this thing in the back of my mind, "this is not your country."

I don't think I was that fully aware of it until someone left me a message on my car, a few years back, explaining that yes, I am a foreigner, and my car is foreign, and they've never seen me but they already don't like me. Everyone I meet is a potential xenophobe now. It's not a nice way to live, but it keeps me out of trouble.

I don't have that feeling in Mexico and - even though things don't always go perfectly - maybe I should. I know a lot of my compatriots feel differently about Mexico, and there is this innate fear that goes with them everywhere, and... maybe I should. But Mexico fills me with hope in a way that nothing else can, and I just cannot bring myself to feel that way about it.

And so but we're driving home. 6 blocks away from the house, a truck with blinding lights on its roof sort of lurches out of a side street in a way that makes me think that it might not stop at the stop sign. But it does, and so I go on. It's a police truck, and I know it's a police truck. I know it's a police truck because it's got the whole christmas tree thing going. The lights on the roof are these high-intensity flashing, blinding job that makes it perfectly clear that this is a fucking police truck and it's open for business. There's no fear in my heart or in my mind because I know that the policemen in Tijuana have many things to fear and don't really bother with suburban housewives.

And because I am not being completely paranoid about this truck behind me, I drive normally. In my mind, if I start driving more carefully because a policeman is close to me, it just tells them that I have something to hide, which I don't. I also find it insulting to myself, as if I would not survive scrutiny. Plus I think it's tacky. I'll try to explain why: If you drive like a complete idiot all the time except when a policeman is around, that means you are making the choice to drive like an idiot the rest of the time. Like driving sensibly is too hard for you. Like the rest of the people in the world are not worth the respect of driving sensibly around them. You are a lout.

It's all about class for me, really.

I reach a stop sign and do a California stop. For those of you unfamiliar with the term "California stop", it's slowing down to a point where you can see that you won't have to make a full stop in order to be careful enough - and no, it does not mean you roll right through the stop sign. It's usually just done in right hand turns, which makes sense because we drive in the right side of the street -. It's not the most legal move you can do, but for the reasons I have mentioned above, I am not driving any different than I would because there is a police truck behind me. And so the truck issues a warning beep to have me pull over. I do. It's a policewoman and she's alone.

I had this boyfriend who used to say that all Mexican policewomen had to have a carreer in wrestling before they became policewomen. I almost believed him.

She asks me if I'm in a hurry. I say "Not really... Yes... Um, no." - Did I want to get home sooner rather than later? Yes. Do I need the toilet at this moment? No. So many things go into the analysis of "am I in a hurry?", I'd never make it through "Moment of Truth" - She asks if I know there is a stop sign there. I say, Yes, I made the stop, there was no one coming.

All this is happening while I am pulled over and she has aligned the windows. She hasn't even bothered putting the truck in Park. Presumably because I might flee at any moment.

She says I am supposed to make a full stop. Like anyone fucking makes a full stop. But I get what she's saying, so I just agree. She asks where we're going. Because of the tone she's using - and this is where being a native mexican talking to a native mexican comes in handy - I use "My husband and I" as opposed to just "we". She asks who my husband is. I ask the man in question - Will, obviously - to say hello to the woman. He waves. She lets us go. I drive off. Again, driving normally. She turns off at a corner. Another, COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TRUCK, with stuff on the top of it, but TURNED OFF, joins us, coming out of the same street where she turned off.

And because I am completely stupid I am TOTALLY FOOLED by this clever stratagem - I'm not kidding, I thought it was the end of the incident and that was why she had turned her rooflights off -. And so I do what I would do when NOT followed by a police truck, which makes no difference in my driving, as I had mentioned. We turn, and turn again, and do the u-turn and park that we do every night. At which point she double parks again, next to me - I get out of the truck at this point, as we are home -, and with the truck idling, she asks if this is home. Where do I live? I point to the first floor of the flats across the street. And I explain that I park where I do because I need to be able to see the truck from the window. Because there have been all these break-ins. I introduce myself and hold out my hand. She doesn't give me her name.

I ask her name. She doesn't give it. She explains. She thought I was driving too fast "Is that right?" She thought I was lying about my intentions - this while Will is taking bags from Target out of the back of the truck -. She thought because my husband is a foreigner that I might be doing something illegal. I ask her name. She explains that she is new in the area and she is familiarising herself with the ins and outs of it. I say that now she knows about it, and she knows about the break-ins. I ask her name again. She tells me if I ever need anything, I can just call the police station.

I ask her name again. She gives it to me. She drives off. I realise at that moment that the reason she didn't want to give me her name - which I have instantly forgotten, as I do -, was because she realised - what with the target bags -, that we were normal people just going about their lives, and this is the kind of thing for which policemen (women) get in trouble.

fun, fun, fun

The play was fantastic. I cannot tell you how proud I am of the work Will did, it was wonderful. The party was so busy there was little interaction with our hostesses, and we survived Will's crash down, after all the stress. And I do want to go into more detail, but I have a graduation to go to.  I will tell you that everyone was very nice, and someone asked to hug Will "while Maria isn't looking!". Thoughts?

hope

There are things about Will that bemuse me. This apologising thing - yes, I understand, I do, in Mexico, we are taught to say please, excuse me, thank you, so on and so forth, it's a social lubricant, politeness, but apologising in your sleep is a whole other business - for starters. But I love all of them. I love him. I like that I know who he is, and that things may throw me, but they are looked at from a perspective of love, trust, and understanding.

And the hope. You know he is happy, you know he's creative, he can tell stories like no one else - except perhaps other members of his family, or that's what he says and I believe him -, and you know about the avocado pits. And the lemon seeds. And green stuff.

He's been trying to grow an avocado, he's been trying to grow a lemon tree. It hasn't quite worked out how he would want it to. But he continues trying. He has hope. I love him for that.

The kids have been here since Tuesday. No socks have been lost yet and all seems to be running smoothly. Of course, during this time, we've found out that Danny cannot dice a tomato to save her life - she's never had to - and that when the hem in her uniform goes, she tapes it - with masking tape, because apparently it lasts longer than most other kinds -. She was going to have the maid do it, but I've taught her how. She did half of it and gave up. Argh.

Oh, and this made me really sad today. If this is what's happening in America - the world? - then what can we expect in Mexico?