Even with the bad bang on the head. Even with the case of intestinal gurgling. Even with the confusion and boredom of the airports, Mexico holds a happiness forever. Not all of Mexico is riddled with drug lords, overtaken by cartels, slaves of gangs, lost. Planes give us the option of moving quickly in and out of time. So in hours I moved from a vibrant indigenous group of people to the complexity of the racial texture of DC. The little Mexican lady who came off the plane with me in Dulles, now psychologically redefining herself to her adopted home in the States.
Janene said it the day we got out into Maryland in a small mall, how Americans can look like real slobs. Flip flops, house slippers, pajamas, low slung pants, baseball caps askew, armfuls of tats and never enough piercings, costume as character. But their characters often approximated circus clowns. Some look like headed watermelons stuffed in tee shirts. Nothing like many of the Mexican indígenas, who gave an air of character in simple tops and jeans in the market. They knew who they were immediately.
I am so glad my flight attendant knew who she was on a lovely July 4. Lovely and fun, I left for home on a cheap 5 hour plane ride that went from DCA to Midway to Orlando. When I got home there were no fireworks as Altamonte decided to do them the day before (?) on July 3. –Someone may want to buy them a calendar next year!
Blank where fireworks might have been!