Guess what, young people. This stone will be used for new cobblestone streets in the San Miguel RV Park and Tennis Courts! I will be able to watch the installation process at close hand.
18 July 2009
Cobblestone
Guess what, young people. This stone will be used for new cobblestone streets in the San Miguel RV Park and Tennis Courts! I will be able to watch the installation process at close hand.
16 July 2009
Santo Daime
The events of about 36 hours ago were the culmination of a chain of events that occurred over a remarkably short period of time in retrospect. I can summarize that chain this way.
The other Steve here at the Tennis Courts is one of my new acquaintances and is about my age. He is a composer who has written some movie scores and other things that have made him a little money. He is also a remarkably accomplished jazz guitarist who plays professionally here in restaurants locally. We fell into an extended conversation about four days ago and discovered some affinity.
Hard upon that conversation his daughter, Allison, and her husband, Frank, arrived from Montana. Frank is in construction. They will be staying permanently and are a delightful, young couple. Frank is going to build stuff here. His tools are being shipped.
Through Steve and Allyson I then made the acquaintance of a native American shaman and healer named Maria, a gentle and fascinating woman. Not to put too fine a point on it, we all kinda hit it off.
Maria
Now, I know this is all starting to sound weird because I have not been known in the past to hang out a lot with native American shamans. I cannot help it. It is the way things happened. I am not making this up. But I have found that shamans are not too awfully different from the rest of us except that they do not seem to be as interested in sports.
As the conversation developed I was invited to accompany all of them to a Santo Daime religious ceremony. I accepted the invitation. This was the little camping trip to Tequísquiapan that I alluded to earlier.
This religious ceremony took place at a private residence there commencing on Wednesday evening and ending Thursday morning. In the United States some women host Tupperware™ parties in their homes. In Tequísquiapan some women host Santo Daime ceremonies in their homes. It did not seem appropriate to photograph people there, but with permission I took some photos of the grounds around the house where we camped.
The back yard.
The roof.
The back yard from the roof with my little tent prominently in focus.
The parking area at the rear of the walled compound.
The Santo Daime religion is of Brazilian origin. Another Mexican shaman named Mauricio and his Brazilian wife, Anna, assisted in leading the ceremony with Mauricio responsible for the men and Anna responsible for the women. There are a multitude of sources concerning this religion on the internet. You may read as much or as little about it as you wish. There are well-done documentary videos about the religion on www.youtube.com.
Basically, the ceremony consists of lengthy periods of meditation punctuated with the singing of Brazilian hymns in Portuguese and dancing to the Brazilian hymns, the women on one side and the men on the other facing each other. We did this in a circle. It also quite famously involves the drinking of medicine, known as Ayahuasca, which happens to be--I don't know any other way to say this--a fairly potent psychedelic. The ceremony started at about 9:30 p.m. and concluded at about 3:30 a.m.
So I participated in this. I found it to be as fascinating an experience as I have had in recent memory.
To answer some questions that may come up immediately. . . . .
I was mildly frightened at times but that was something easily brought under control. Actually, I was most uneasy on the drive to Tequísquiapan. Driving to Tequísquiapan is like driving to the moon. Welcome to the real México, Steve.
God, this guy's tee shirt is a disgrace, but his presentation is immensely informative. Here is Part II of his lecture:
Yes, I drank all three offerings of Ayahuasca in full over the course of the evening and early morning. Some do one and a half. Some do two. Some do three.
No, I did not vomit, although that is a common experience viewed favorably as a jettisoning of impurities. One might logically suggest, as I did, that the only thing being jettisoned is that nasty tasting Ayahuasca. The answer as I understand it. . . . Well, I guess I never did quite understand the answer.
Two or three of the younger ladies apparently did vomit, although I did not pay too much attention to them. They were stunningly beautiful, and I did not wish to be distracted from my religious experience. By the way there were eight ladies and four men in attendance.
It was a little difficult dancing next to Frank at first. I am not contending that I am the best dancer in the world, but Frank is pathetic.
Exactly as with Alex Grey above, an interesting artist who has collaborated with the band Tool, after the first two offerings, I was sure that this was a bad, ineffective batch of Ayahuasca. It certainly tasted bad. Or there was also the looming possibility that it was not going to have any effect upon me in particular whatsoever. Therefore, I fairly blithely took the third offering. The whole deal then became very intense for me very quickly. As the gentleman with the asinine tee shirt explains above, it is not an entirely pleasant experience until you are done--pleasant then in a healing sense at the risk of sounding a little touchie-feelie here.
Yes, I did experience visions, which would be difficult to describe. I am not really going to attempt a description. You know how when we are in a hurry to accomplish something, we say, "I was meeting myself coming and going!" Well, in these visions I met myself coming and going, but I was not in any hurry to accomplish anything.
I will undoubtedly have more to say about this after I myself have had a bit more time to digest the experience. In the meantime here is a link to Lou Gold's blog, American in Brazil, which has a lot of interesting material, including links to accounts of the recent Oregon Supreme Court case regarding Santo Daime.
The most even-handed account of the religion that I have found, in spite of the very unfortunate headline, is this one from the TimesOnline.
What did Ayahuasca taste like?
Imagine taking a sample of every living thing, plant and animal, and every dead and decaying thing in the jungle and putting them into a big blender. Throw the switch for a minute, and pour it off into a glass.
Afterward, I also had the opportunity to purchase some nice lotion and a bottle of an interesting topical--not tropical--topical oil from Anna. She is trying to raise some extra money for a trip back to Brazil.
The other Steve here at the Tennis Courts is one of my new acquaintances and is about my age. He is a composer who has written some movie scores and other things that have made him a little money. He is also a remarkably accomplished jazz guitarist who plays professionally here in restaurants locally. We fell into an extended conversation about four days ago and discovered some affinity.
Hard upon that conversation his daughter, Allison, and her husband, Frank, arrived from Montana. Frank is in construction. They will be staying permanently and are a delightful, young couple. Frank is going to build stuff here. His tools are being shipped.
Through Steve and Allyson I then made the acquaintance of a native American shaman and healer named Maria, a gentle and fascinating woman. Not to put too fine a point on it, we all kinda hit it off.
Now, I know this is all starting to sound weird because I have not been known in the past to hang out a lot with native American shamans. I cannot help it. It is the way things happened. I am not making this up. But I have found that shamans are not too awfully different from the rest of us except that they do not seem to be as interested in sports.
As the conversation developed I was invited to accompany all of them to a Santo Daime religious ceremony. I accepted the invitation. This was the little camping trip to Tequísquiapan that I alluded to earlier.
This religious ceremony took place at a private residence there commencing on Wednesday evening and ending Thursday morning. In the United States some women host Tupperware™ parties in their homes. In Tequísquiapan some women host Santo Daime ceremonies in their homes. It did not seem appropriate to photograph people there, but with permission I took some photos of the grounds around the house where we camped.
The Santo Daime religion is of Brazilian origin. Another Mexican shaman named Mauricio and his Brazilian wife, Anna, assisted in leading the ceremony with Mauricio responsible for the men and Anna responsible for the women. There are a multitude of sources concerning this religion on the internet. You may read as much or as little about it as you wish. There are well-done documentary videos about the religion on www.youtube.com.
Basically, the ceremony consists of lengthy periods of meditation punctuated with the singing of Brazilian hymns in Portuguese and dancing to the Brazilian hymns, the women on one side and the men on the other facing each other. We did this in a circle. It also quite famously involves the drinking of medicine, known as Ayahuasca, which happens to be--I don't know any other way to say this--a fairly potent psychedelic. The ceremony started at about 9:30 p.m. and concluded at about 3:30 a.m.
So I participated in this. I found it to be as fascinating an experience as I have had in recent memory.
To answer some questions that may come up immediately. . . . .
I was mildly frightened at times but that was something easily brought under control. Actually, I was most uneasy on the drive to Tequísquiapan. Driving to Tequísquiapan is like driving to the moon. Welcome to the real México, Steve.
God, this guy's tee shirt is a disgrace, but his presentation is immensely informative. Here is Part II of his lecture:
Yes, I drank all three offerings of Ayahuasca in full over the course of the evening and early morning. Some do one and a half. Some do two. Some do three.
No, I did not vomit, although that is a common experience viewed favorably as a jettisoning of impurities. One might logically suggest, as I did, that the only thing being jettisoned is that nasty tasting Ayahuasca. The answer as I understand it. . . . Well, I guess I never did quite understand the answer.
Two or three of the younger ladies apparently did vomit, although I did not pay too much attention to them. They were stunningly beautiful, and I did not wish to be distracted from my religious experience. By the way there were eight ladies and four men in attendance.
It was a little difficult dancing next to Frank at first. I am not contending that I am the best dancer in the world, but Frank is pathetic.
Exactly as with Alex Grey above, an interesting artist who has collaborated with the band Tool, after the first two offerings, I was sure that this was a bad, ineffective batch of Ayahuasca. It certainly tasted bad. Or there was also the looming possibility that it was not going to have any effect upon me in particular whatsoever. Therefore, I fairly blithely took the third offering. The whole deal then became very intense for me very quickly. As the gentleman with the asinine tee shirt explains above, it is not an entirely pleasant experience until you are done--pleasant then in a healing sense at the risk of sounding a little touchie-feelie here.
Yes, I did experience visions, which would be difficult to describe. I am not really going to attempt a description. You know how when we are in a hurry to accomplish something, we say, "I was meeting myself coming and going!" Well, in these visions I met myself coming and going, but I was not in any hurry to accomplish anything.
I will undoubtedly have more to say about this after I myself have had a bit more time to digest the experience. In the meantime here is a link to Lou Gold's blog, American in Brazil, which has a lot of interesting material, including links to accounts of the recent Oregon Supreme Court case regarding Santo Daime.
The most even-handed account of the religion that I have found, in spite of the very unfortunate headline, is this one from the TimesOnline.
What did Ayahuasca taste like?
Imagine taking a sample of every living thing, plant and animal, and every dead and decaying thing in the jungle and putting them into a big blender. Throw the switch for a minute, and pour it off into a glass.
Afterward, I also had the opportunity to purchase some nice lotion and a bottle of an interesting topical--not tropical--topical oil from Anna. She is trying to raise some extra money for a trip back to Brazil.
15 July 2009
Hasta luego.
I am leaving in a few minutes for a little side camping trip with the other Steve, his daughter, and his son-in-law. We are headed for Tequísquiapan with just tents and sleeping bags. I shall return in a couple of days, hopefully with some interesting pictures.
Zorba the Geek
It is easier to say that you are going to retain your mental adaptability as you grow older than it is to actually retain your mental adaptability as you grow older. I was thinking back over May in Texas earlier today, but before I go into that, I need to tell you an illustrative story.
Two years ago I began an exercise regimen as part of my substance abuse recovery program. In 2007 I had not set foot in a gym for a solid 15 years. So when I went to the Midwest Athletic Club for my first workout that year, it was as if I had stepped out of a 15-year-old time capsule in many respects but especially in the area of gym wear. And I was ever so slow on the uptake in realizing this, even with some very heavy handed hints.
Just before I went back to the gym for the first time, I had gone to John Wilson Sporting Goods for a new athletic supporter. The elastic in my fifteen-plus-year-old jock was all fucked up. The young clerk there told me they were out of those. I could not believe this. I did not say anything, but the idea of a sporting goods store out of athletic supporters boggled my mind. He said that they would order some more, the little lying bastard, and that I should come back in a week.
That was a locally owned store, not a franchise, and so I determined to cooperate in this. And by the way, this is exactly the kind of bullshit you have to put up with if you want to support locally owned businesses. If you really want to go to a store confident that you are going to find exactly what you want, you go to Walmart. Isn't that sad?
The next week the owner was there. And he explained to me that they had stopped carrying athletic supporters with the exception of the snap together variety that accommodate a cup for baseball catchers. He further explained that young people “don't wear those anymore.” And that is how I came to purchase my first pair of Under Armour athletic underwear, 87% polyester, 13% elastane, made in the Dominican Republic.
That should have put me on the alert for other changes that had occurred with the passage of time, but it did not. I was wearing black high top Air Jordan basketball shoes with socks that came up my calf. And I continued to wear that combination for a couple of weeks. For some reason I could not see that even the men playing basketball did not have tops that high, and nobody in the whole gym had socks that came up on their calves. They were wearing what I call golf socks. Women used to call them “anklets.” You can hardly tell the person has socks on at all. So I bought some of those socks finally and a decent pair of New Balance training shoes, but only after going in there regularly looking retro for two weeks.
Somebody purchased an Under Armour tee for me as a gift, and I took it back to the store insisting it was too small. Well, hell, the whole point of those shirts is that they are skin tight. But I could not compute that immediately either.
Here is my point. I have been looking at my treasured 20-year-old John B. Stetson straw cowboy hat that I wore so proudly for a month in Texas. I finally realize now, two months later, that it does not look at all like the cowboy hats that other men are wearing in Texas today. When I was younger, I would have immediately--immediately--sensed that, and you would not have caught me outside the door with that hat on.
I think I am becoming a kind of geek. I need a minder.
And I need a new hat.
And I wonder if Walmart carries athletic supporters.
Two years ago I began an exercise regimen as part of my substance abuse recovery program. In 2007 I had not set foot in a gym for a solid 15 years. So when I went to the Midwest Athletic Club for my first workout that year, it was as if I had stepped out of a 15-year-old time capsule in many respects but especially in the area of gym wear. And I was ever so slow on the uptake in realizing this, even with some very heavy handed hints.
Just before I went back to the gym for the first time, I had gone to John Wilson Sporting Goods for a new athletic supporter. The elastic in my fifteen-plus-year-old jock was all fucked up. The young clerk there told me they were out of those. I could not believe this. I did not say anything, but the idea of a sporting goods store out of athletic supporters boggled my mind. He said that they would order some more, the little lying bastard, and that I should come back in a week.
That was a locally owned store, not a franchise, and so I determined to cooperate in this. And by the way, this is exactly the kind of bullshit you have to put up with if you want to support locally owned businesses. If you really want to go to a store confident that you are going to find exactly what you want, you go to Walmart. Isn't that sad?
The next week the owner was there. And he explained to me that they had stopped carrying athletic supporters with the exception of the snap together variety that accommodate a cup for baseball catchers. He further explained that young people “don't wear those anymore.” And that is how I came to purchase my first pair of Under Armour athletic underwear, 87% polyester, 13% elastane, made in the Dominican Republic.
That should have put me on the alert for other changes that had occurred with the passage of time, but it did not. I was wearing black high top Air Jordan basketball shoes with socks that came up my calf. And I continued to wear that combination for a couple of weeks. For some reason I could not see that even the men playing basketball did not have tops that high, and nobody in the whole gym had socks that came up on their calves. They were wearing what I call golf socks. Women used to call them “anklets.” You can hardly tell the person has socks on at all. So I bought some of those socks finally and a decent pair of New Balance training shoes, but only after going in there regularly looking retro for two weeks.
Somebody purchased an Under Armour tee for me as a gift, and I took it back to the store insisting it was too small. Well, hell, the whole point of those shirts is that they are skin tight. But I could not compute that immediately either.
Here is my point. I have been looking at my treasured 20-year-old John B. Stetson straw cowboy hat that I wore so proudly for a month in Texas. I finally realize now, two months later, that it does not look at all like the cowboy hats that other men are wearing in Texas today. When I was younger, I would have immediately--immediately--sensed that, and you would not have caught me outside the door with that hat on.
I think I am becoming a kind of geek. I need a minder.
And I need a new hat.
And I wonder if Walmart carries athletic supporters.
14 July 2009
Status Report
I apologize for the long silence. I am a bit ill right now. Nothing serious. Perhaps just one of those twenty-foot long tapeworms or the like.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
More loads of rock keep coming in. Sooner or later my curiosity is going to overcome me, and I will ask Hans what the hell we are preparing to build.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Some of the tennis players who show up here have a great game, worthy of spectating. And I have spectated now and again.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I truly did underestimate the impact of the altitude on my workout, particularly the running. Actually, I did not give any consideration to the altitude at all until I started mulling over possible explanations for my shortness of breath. I can now say that running at an altitude of 6,266 feet above sea level is an experience of a different quality than running or riding a bicycle at 1,800 feet at the very most in Iowa.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
This is the dance studio about a half block away, which the younger girls of the neighborhood attend. I put this up for my granddaughter, Cassidy, to see.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
More loads of rock keep coming in. Sooner or later my curiosity is going to overcome me, and I will ask Hans what the hell we are preparing to build.Some of the tennis players who show up here have a great game, worthy of spectating. And I have spectated now and again.
I truly did underestimate the impact of the altitude on my workout, particularly the running. Actually, I did not give any consideration to the altitude at all until I started mulling over possible explanations for my shortness of breath. I can now say that running at an altitude of 6,266 feet above sea level is an experience of a different quality than running or riding a bicycle at 1,800 feet at the very most in Iowa.
This is the dance studio about a half block away, which the younger girls of the neighborhood attend. I put this up for my granddaughter, Cassidy, to see.10 July 2009
San Miguel Fitness Center
I am getting in the groove in my Mexican fitness center. It was like old home week on my first visit even though I knew nary a soul of course. I think fitness centers are becoming another cross-cultural norm.
The same personalities are there lifting weights, only they are Mexican. The same young woman at the front desk yawning all the time. The same machines. The same mirrors. The same good looking trainers hustling the older ladies. The same black and white poster-size photos on the walls of beautiful models, male and female, with their pants half way pulled off. The same shitty music playing. The same secret room for the women. (What do the women do in that secret room?) And the very same signs on the wall, except now in Spanish:
Al terminar su rutina coloca el equipo en su lugar. Gracias.
Mexicans apparently do not rerack the dumbbells when they are through with them either unless they are reminded.
Here are the very few things you would encounter that are a little different.
1.There is no air conditioning. The windows are open instead. This means that the Americans are in there and out before 10:00 a.m. After that the Mexicans and I have the place to ourselves, which is great.
2.Most of the plates for the free weights are in kilograms.
3.The scale is in kilograms.
4.You might get on a treadmill with the instructions that are appended to the various buttons in Spanish.
5.There is no water fountain.
Other than those little variations on a theme, which do not constitute a problem at all, it is the same old deal.
The same personalities are there lifting weights, only they are Mexican. The same young woman at the front desk yawning all the time. The same machines. The same mirrors. The same good looking trainers hustling the older ladies. The same black and white poster-size photos on the walls of beautiful models, male and female, with their pants half way pulled off. The same shitty music playing. The same secret room for the women. (What do the women do in that secret room?) And the very same signs on the wall, except now in Spanish:
Al terminar su rutina coloca el equipo en su lugar. Gracias.
Mexicans apparently do not rerack the dumbbells when they are through with them either unless they are reminded.
Here are the very few things you would encounter that are a little different.
1.There is no air conditioning. The windows are open instead. This means that the Americans are in there and out before 10:00 a.m. After that the Mexicans and I have the place to ourselves, which is great.
2.Most of the plates for the free weights are in kilograms.
3.The scale is in kilograms.
4.You might get on a treadmill with the instructions that are appended to the various buttons in Spanish.
5.There is no water fountain.
Other than those little variations on a theme, which do not constitute a problem at all, it is the same old deal.
09 July 2009
Joachim's Photographs
This afternoon Joachim was walking by while I was half asleep in the sun. He stopped to chat. The first words he spoke were, “By the way that is not a garbage truck.”
He has the capability to see when someone has linked to his site such as I did below. He was then able to backtrack to my blog here and read our comments about his RV. He took it all in good humor.
They have been on an amazing journey. He spoke most adamantly about Yellowstone Park and Bryce Canyon however. If you did not check out his photographs before, you should do that with at least a few of them now. His galleries are organized by subject matter, such as “Landscapes” (Landschaften), rather than location, as he explained to me this afternoon.
Joachim's photographs are of professional quality. Let me make it easy for you. This link will take you to a gallery of landscape photos near the bottom of the page. Pass your cursor over the thumbnails to get a description. Bryce Canyon is in the middle of the bottom row. That is a spectacular photograph!
His galleries feature the device where you move your cursor up either side of the photo to expose the “back” button or the “next” button. You will be amazed at some of these photographs.
He has the capability to see when someone has linked to his site such as I did below. He was then able to backtrack to my blog here and read our comments about his RV. He took it all in good humor.
They have been on an amazing journey. He spoke most adamantly about Yellowstone Park and Bryce Canyon however. If you did not check out his photographs before, you should do that with at least a few of them now. His galleries are organized by subject matter, such as “Landscapes” (Landschaften), rather than location, as he explained to me this afternoon.
Joachim's photographs are of professional quality. Let me make it easy for you. This link will take you to a gallery of landscape photos near the bottom of the page. Pass your cursor over the thumbnails to get a description. Bryce Canyon is in the middle of the bottom row. That is a spectacular photograph!
His galleries feature the device where you move your cursor up either side of the photo to expose the “back” button or the “next” button. You will be amazed at some of these photographs.
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