I'm just back from a fabulous visit to Oaxaca, Mexico. I'm full of pictures, rather than words....
No, it's not so.
Pepitas, gracias, andale, quesadilla, quiero, la cuenta, por favor, izquierda, querido novio, agua purificado, la boda, Iglesias, incandela, mucho gusto, besame, tamal mole, el vino tinto, copa, chocolate du leche, café americano, these are words which mean something to me now. And many more.
We flew in over City Hall, which I showed to The Musician and he sighed, “I love this town.”
So do I.
I love being home. The night is mine and hardly seems long enough to do all I crave to—make parmigiano-scallion noodles, take a bath, read through Sharon Olds poems, talk about the new things I’ve learned about RSS feeds (you can call me ignint now)….
Re-entry is a little delicate—I went to the bookstore, shared some chocolate with Kristi, then failed to run a variety of errands. I went home, folded clothes, sat on the couch, Tonight Jennimi came over and I gave her a gift, shared some wine, and exposed her to The Tick, which she loved in the form of delighted laughter and an avid need to see three (live-action) episodes and a smidge of the cartoon on bad videotape. Conversion is sweet. “Ho ho ho!”