The Whole Enchilada
This Sunday morning I’m in my Guanajuato studio where I’ve grown very comfortable. Usually Sundays are family time for me, but Frankie and Jake are sick in bed, and chewing on a change in a painting that I want to make, I’m magnetically drawn into my sanctuary.
We have been in Guanajuato for a month now...some of you may have read some facebook postings I’ve done about our adjustments. I’ve wandered the streets, my heart full knowing I have months to take in this wonderful city. As well there is getting to know myself in a new way, removed from my regular points of reference.
I’m grateful for the many people have cheered us on in our adventure, both at home and in Mexico. I chat with taxi drivers, Mexicans who have risked their lives to spend nights running across the US desert border at night only to be sent back home, and I share stories with parents from the kids school, I’m really starting to think of myself as less of a Canadian, more as just a regular world person as I relish our differences and our similarities. I meet Americans who have lived here for decades who feel so little connection with their country of origin they don’t even want to talk about it.
As someone for whom “home” is a central facet of my work, it is interesting for me to muse on what that really means for me living as an “extranjera” or foreigner.
We soak up the wonderful differences; accordion players out on streets every night of the week, orchestras are paid by the government and perform weekly, mimes have packed and participatory audiences. I can’t say I miss “home”, but there are bits I don’t give up. I listen to Michael Enright Sunday morning, and tonight I’ll make lasagna instead of guacamole in my assurances to the kids we will have some Plain Jane food. In the studio this morning I’m listening to Bruce Cockburn’s “All the Diamonds” which for me, evoke sparkling Ontario lakes, granite but as well, something sacred and grand that knows no borders.