It’s taken a few months to work my way through post-holiday recovery. Or art least as close to recovered as I’m going to get.
Christmas was spent tucked away in a Mexican fishing village.
No cars. No phones. Somedays no water. For Girl Wonder – no shoes. You’ve never seen a girl so happy to be running around with mule shit on the bottom of her feet. Good people. Good food. Much laughter. Much walking.
Walks into town for morning coffee. Walks up a hill to sit in a hammock on a porch with a view of the bay. Walking on beaches and dirt roads. Walking by a river looking for secret swimming holes.
Talking with strangers. Mangling Spanish. Learning how to make tortillas. Passing a traffic jam of donkeys. Dodging fishermen pushing wheelbarrows full of giant red snappers.
Christmas Eve without a tree. No gift giving among ourselves. Just sparklers for Jesus on cobblestone streets and handfuls of Mardi Gras beads calling children from doorways like the Pied Piper.
A fiesta by the bay with new friends and dancing with indigenous men. Joy making. Joy giving. Joy full. The meaning of a season in its purest form.
A place to go back to. A place my brain is letting go of slowly. Because I landed back stateside with my brain unknotted. My thoughts tumbling and bouncing but, for a change, not twisting and churning and tangling up in themselves.
Our plane landed and deposited us back into the craziness of work weeks and laundry and traffic and traffic lights and no view of the beach or balmy breezes tickling us awake.
New Year’s with my mother (hurray!). A quick trip to Birmingham (more hurray!). Back to work (Hmmmph.) Back to puttering in my kitchen (yippee!). Finding my groove again. Slowly. Kind of reluctantly. But finding it anyway.