CUERNAVACA: Can I ever come back?

I firmly believe that any human is mostly capable of doing most any realistic thing they decide to put time, energy, and effort into. I mean, I could be a dancer, but I just don’t dance. And I don’t know if I’m not meant to be a dancer. I could have missed my calling and the world is missing out on my art. Or maybe not! That’s why life is so much fun, you can’t really plan for what talent you might have or how you get to use it.

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MEXICO CITY: To Cuernavaca!

Cuernavaca, I realized, walking across the bridge with my fabulous black leather bag with the black leather fringe, was a fantasy. I knew that I loved it — we vibed immediately — and I knew that I never wanted to ever lose the dreamy feeling I had looking at the pastel buildings, the wonderfully old Spanish palace with a Starbucks hovering nearby, the cactuses with their flesh etched and scarred with lovers’ initials, the glorious hills, the sky, the flowers, those whitewashed walls that reflected the brilliant light, that perfect eternal second standing in the Museo Robert Brady, oh just all of it. It’s divine!

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MEXICO CITY: Is it art?

I strolled leisurely back along the unbelievably busy streets. I joked to myself that if you stopped walking, the kinetic energy of the crowd would probably have carried you along as if you were crowd surfing at a concert. Have you ever done that? An absolutely terrifying experience. Not recommended. That’s one of my rules. No crowd surfing, no Fireball, no carnies, no county fairs, and never touch a ukulele. I assure you I have a good reason for that seemingly incoherent string of restrictions. Again, that’s a tale for another time. Might be the opener to my memoir someday.

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