July 6 – My birthday in Guanajuato.

 

It was a lovely day and a difficult day. I can’t report it without saying, I missed my mother, who died only 3 months ago. My tears took me by surprise, but, of course, it makes sense. My mother, who bore me, was completely with me all day and completely not with me. Gone. She, who knew me longer and perhaps better than anyone, is no longer here to love me, but she is still here to be loved. Those who have lost a mother understand, I’m sure—and I supposed many who have not yet lost a mother.

 

Breakfast at las Poetas was grand—a buffet of chilaquiles, which mi maestro, teacher Rocio, says is great for hangovers. No hangover here, but they weren’t wasted. Crispy tortilla chips en salsa roja. Y huevos, y carne, y we met two lovely mujeres de Nuevo Mexico, Cecilia y Maria, here for a boda (wedding) in the spectacular parrochia (church) with all the chandeliers. Then, Morgan and I took a trolley car/bus tour, all in Spanish, in which I understood only some of it, but I understood that Guanajuato comes from the Indian word for frog which is used in Mexico and I believe is grana, and juato means all around, and somehow there were frogs all around and now there’s a park with frog statues to commemorate the granas, not to mention the town’s name. Frogs are right up my alley, having been the logo for my dance company (mirror images of frogs in arabesque) and the logo for my storytelling (one frog poised in elocution).

 

We went to the wonderful Museo des Pueblos where we heard a young classical guitarist play a concert, saw exhibits of miniature folk arts (which Morgan photographed extensively) and a modern exhibit of wonderful whimsical pieces by an artist whose name I can’t recall or find on google, but a series called Newsworthy printed on pages from the San Francisco Chronicle.

 

We drank a beer on Jardin de Union outside of the Teatro Juarez which is built along the lines of the Paris Opera (and more spectacular than any theatre that I performed in with One Plus One, my dance company) (and we performed in perhaps 25 theatres in Central and South America—some of which were pretty spectacular). An audience sat outside on the many concrete steps, flanked by lions such as those that guard the Art Institute of Chicago, to watch a street mime-comedian. We eventually met the performer Jorge, who is very funny, clever and uses the passersby to create his irreverent (but) family show. Later, when he came into the Spanish restaurant where we were eating paella, we speculated that he owned it. Just a fantasy. Still, he looked like a man about town. And who knows?

 

I believe that was the night that we went back to the Jardin, even though it was raining slightly and sat under the thickly leafed trees at one of the restaurant/hotels to have a margarita, before going back to our lovely hotel (where I cried myself to sleep). We did have a lovely time in spite of my occasional breakdowns. Morgan is very comforting, although he seems surprised at my tears, whenever they come. And I was much better the next morning.