Surfing A Big Wave

 

It is like surfing a big wave, moving to Mexico. I have been swept along, thrilled to be in each moment, feeling I could fall dangerously, having to concentrate, realizing life has momentum and it is necessary—not looking back.

Oh boy, I wish I could speak better Spanish. Yet people make an effort to help understand. I have been in many countries for lengthy stays while not being able to speak Arabic, or Italian, or Thai or Vietnamese etc… somehow happiness happens. 

There are inconveniences that are actually small things which I notice because I am spoiled by privilege. The house has a cistern that needs refilling regularly. Once a week water pours in from the city, but twice we ran out and had to have a “pipe” truck, (pronounced pee-peh) come pump potable water to our home. If gas gets low, we have to listen for the gas truck come by . . . listen, because he announces himself driving through villages with the sound of a mooing cow blaring from his loudspeaker.

Then there is the traffic in Oaxaca.  Streets fill with cars and trucks going nilly-willy with a mix of motorcycles, buses and taxis added in. We bought a car we like but Amy won’t drive in the city. Good thing I was a taxi driver during my student days in Baltimore so I know how to hug bumpers like the best of them. Sometimes vehicles almost brush each other . . . yet, I have told Amy several times, “We haven’t seen a single accident yet!"

I like that we are having a beautiful iron railing made by a master craftsman and artist who can also make mirrors, screens, lampshades, coat racks, just about anything. And a couple days ago, we had a furniture maker deliver two tables and two cabinets for our art studio. The cost of materials and services is easy to afford. Our water bill for the entire year is about USD 25.00. So for any problem there appears to be solutions . . . just different.

Years ago, when my mother learned I planned to travel to sub-saharan Africa, she begged me not to go, saying, “Oh Steven, don’t go, you will be killed for your shoes!” I went and loved my experiences on safari, being with Masai tribes people, and going “clubbing” with newly made African friends in Nairobi. 

I brought to Mexico a painting by my mother I inherited. I like the title—called “Go Jump in a Lake". It hangs outside our guest bedroom. That sums up a lot.

The wave is big, and has its own life and requirements. The trick is to stay in the moment and enjoy the ride to the journey’s end. 

Fear 

by  Khalil Gibran

It is said that before entering the sea

a river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled,

from the peaks of the mountains,

the long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her,

she sees an ocean so vast,

that to enter

there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way.

The river can not go back.

Nobody can go back.

To go back is impossible in existence.

The river needs to take the risk

of entering the ocean

because only then will fear disappear,

because that’s where the river will know

it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,

but of becoming the ocean.

No Address At All

It is one thing to move and find a new address to receive mail, and another to have no address at all. My brother was incredulous when he learned we had not an address. He was against me moving to Mexico from the start—for several reasons but especially crime that he imagined and also climate change studies. Brent is my “survivalist” brother. He married a woman from Mexico about five years ago. Last we spoke, he said he would be coming down soon, “Well, how am I going to find you?” I replied that I can give him a GPS location. Actually, it will be easier to meet him at the village church, next to the mayor’s office.

There are inconveniences we face everyday here in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, Mexico. But because of the house, and having each other, along with a few good people we can call friends, we are hopeful and happy. The house is the most comfortable I have ever lived in. It has further possibilities—and is paid for in full. Cost of living is a fraction of what we were spending in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. We have all we need.

I can’t speak or understand Spanish. Amy does to some extent. The climate is indeed hotter . . . with only two seasons: wet and dry. We are now at the end of the dry season, and have had a couple rains. Thank God because the landscape has been brown. Now some leaves are coming out on trees that I thought to be dead. 

The other surprise is insects. I have been spoiled by Santa Fe where there is hardly a fly to speak of and no mosquitos—only some garden pests, yes. But here I have killed three scorpions in the house so far. We have both been bitten by mosquitos and maybe some other critters. Oh well, I remember coming home to a rattlesnake coiled up in my front hall in Santa Fe.

Another thing is some inevitable culture shock. The main one being poverty and a sense that beautiful surroundings are not necessary. I have experienced this before in world travels. People have little to satisfy basic needs. Homes outside the center of Oaxaca are often merely pasted together sheets of tin, or unadorned cinder block houses without adornment or beauty. 

There are trees blooming here now that are simply divine. Especially the jacaranda. We have two—one in front and the other out our back door. If I were to make a painting of them, I would use a color called cobalt violet light. It’s my favorite color.

All THE WAY

Our house is magical; it drew us into itself. All the way from New Mexico USA to Oaxaca, Mexico, near Central America. 

We have met neighbors who know the history of this place and of the couple who built it. Everyone in these parts knows it as a landmark. Standing around a bend, on a hillside—unlike every other house for miles.

A Mexican architect designed it and his wife financed construction. Alfredo Figueroa was married to a German agronomist. There are stories about him. It seems he was a tall man with a long beard and something of a mystic. Our neighbor, who is a talented artist and craftsman, knew Alfredo and said that he made this house as if designing a sacred cathedral. And this is the way we feel living in it.

Our art work now adorns the walls. The neighbor Mayolo, has designed a magnificent wrought iron railing for our stairs rising from the front entry to the flight above. He built us curved curtain rods to go above the vaulted windows in our bedroom. We can see Mayolo’s house down below the hill—convenient because he can do so many artistic tasks for us, and knows how to help us with our new culture. The problem is he only speaks Spanish; like almost everyone.

We live among poor people. Dwellings are very humble compared to ours. Mexico reminds me of other developing countries I have lived in, like Egypt or India. Infrastructure is problematic, and being surrounded by manicured beauty is an unaffordable luxury. Amy commented that not many of our friends would like the conditions apparent in our village—i.e dusty roads, hardscrabble little dwellings that are hastily built . . . lack of sophistication.

I like that we often hear singing from the neighborhood evangelical church nearby. There are birds in the trees at our home that make remarkable songs . . . the best I have ever heard. Days are hot but nights are sublime. People are friendly and many have gone out of their way to insure our well being. Our magnificent cactus is beginning to bloom and attracting hummingbirds. We have bought a sturdy comfortable car—a Honda CR-V four-door with plenty of space.

There is a large paper wasp nest outside our bedroom window. It is at eye level hanging from an eve. To me, a thing of beauty—and I respect wasps because they help control insect pests.

The house is built of adobe blocks. Adobe consists of earth and straw. It is excellent at insulation and moderating temperatures. That is why it is commonly used in countries that are typically dry. We knew beforehand that this home has no heating or cooling systems. It is self modulating. We installed a ceiling fan in the bedroom and it is perfect.

Poco a Poco

Oh boy, what a wild and crazy ride it has been for the last three months. And now we are in Mexico, living in the house that brought us here. Many years ago I came to the conclusion that one has to accept the chaos that is part of life. Certainly in our experiences moving, there have been surprises that felt like setbacks. The big truck we thought would take our belongings turned out to be much smaller. Many of our possessions had to be sold or stored away and left behind. The ever present covid-19 pandemic made everything more difficult. The border between Mexico and USA is the busiest and most frequently crossed international border in the world. When our belongings reached the border, an official said our paperwork was not correct. Our driver paid the fee which seemed to be a bribe—and got through. Meanwhile, we flew ahead. All the while, our house beckoned us.

Moving to another country is far more difficult than finding a home within the boundaries of one nation. Amy and I applied for “visas permanente” and Mexico granted them to us based upon mostly financial factors. The little green cards with our photographs on them are protection and privilege yet do not ensure everything always goes smoothly.

We live in a little village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, just outside of Oaxaca. It is rural, and lively in its own way. The drive into town takes far longer than we would have dreamed. 9 miles takes up to 40 minutes.The road is two lanes both directions and marked with frequent speed bumps called “tope”. The closer it is to the center of Oaxaca the more traffic becomes snarled. 

Mexico is also the largest consumer of bottled water in the world. Amy and I cannot drink the tap water, fortunately purified or filtered water is readily available in large quantities.

In our short time here we have met wonderful individuals who are eager to make friends with us. I only wish I could speak and understand Spanish. "Poco a poco."

Our house was built lovingly by a couple who were international. The woman was German and married to a Mexican architect. All the corners inside and out, are rounded. All the finishes are organic. I feel we are here to carry forward creatively. We have already begun.

Change In the Weather

 

A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves. —Marcel Proust

Santa Fe winter

Of a sudden, the weather here in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA changed from almost balmy to sub-freezing. The forecast for the next couple days is for cold, with blustery snow showers and temperatures below freezing. 

I drove this morning for my ritual Sunday coffee, slice of walnut banana bread and New York Times. Usually I eat at a table indoors, but since covid restrictions I have been outdoors. Since the weather changed, I have been sitting in my car, reading the paper and drinking coffee.

On the way home I thought of the changes occurring in my life, and especially our move to Oaxaca, Mexico soon. We will be going from four seasons to two: wet and dry. 

All my life I have enjoyed summer, followed by autumn, winter and spring. Winters are the most difficult. In the past, I took to the mountains to ski and it helped make the season more enjoyable. I have sold all the winter landscape paintings I have made through the years. Yet, as I write this, I am shut indoors with the furnace blasting, dreaming of spring. 

Front entrance

A couple weeks ago, we flew to Oaxaca to buy our future home. During those six days, we never wore our coats, and at least once I regretted not having shorts and sandals. 

Looking through windows to the front entrance

The first time we saw the house, last August, the surrounding corn fields were full of tall, green stalks. Our property had green plants and grass. This time, most of the colors were brown. I wonder what it will be like when the rain comes . . . for sure, I look forward to living in our new home and experiencing the afternoon rains. 

Back side of our home

For Amy and I, in our new home—a house made creatively with love—we will recreate our world and ourselves.

Immigrant

I am now an immigrant, along with Amy. We have “Residente Permanente” visas from Mexico. It all happened rather suddenly but a huge change is happening to us. 

During travels over the past 15 years occasionally a thought would come that I might move from the USA—to Italy, to Thailand, or Ecuador. Amy and I have been married three years and after a trip to Oaxaca I casually looked online at properties down there and found one that grabbed me from head to foot with a price tag that, compared to similar properties here in Santa Fe, was an absolute steal. (See: Mexican Home)
That was over a year ago. Now we own the home and property—outright. It is our dream home and 3 times as much space as we currently have. We can live there for about 1/4 the monthly cost we are currently spending, in a culturally rich region with pleasant climate and easy access back to the USA. Our realtor, John, (see Real Estate Oaxaca) said it is the nicest home he has sold. (Does he say that to all his clients?) His partner said it has "soul".
Further, I have found most of my income is coming from sales of my work online. Amy and I now have better studios, a wonderful home and can continue being creative—expanding into new venues as well. All the while sharing our work online worldwide. 

In order to qualify to move all our belongings into Mexico (one time) without hassles and taxes, and also get free medical and dental care, as well as easy access in and out of the country, we needed a special visa. To begin, we found the nearest Mexican consulate. It is located in Albuquerque, New Mexico, an hour drive south of Santa Fe. They informed us of the requirements to start the process:
• Fill the Application
• Copy of passport (NOT EXPIRED) and COPIES of all the pages that have any visas or stamps.
• 1 passport size photo
• Past 12 months of bank statements (checking’s/savings)
• Social security administration letter with monthly income if applicable
• Pension income letter if applicable
• Proof of purchased property in Mexico, Escrituras, if applicable
• Letter from the bank, stating NAME, ACCOUNT NUMBER/S, LENGTH OF THE TIME YOU HAVE BEEN BANKING WITH THEM (MUST BE IN A BANK LETTERHEAD & SIGNED BY A BANK OFFICIAL).
• Typed letter stating reason for wanting to obtain a temporary or permanent visa (MUST BE SIGNED BY YOU & 1 PAGE MINIMUM)

•Marriage certificate if applicable (ORIGINAL)            

  
Once our application was approved, our passports were given a special stamp. We were told that we had 30 days (from our first entry into Mexico) to obtain our official “green” cards. On January 31 we flew to Oaxaca and six days later returned to Santa Fe—new homeowners and with our residente permanente cards.

To end this story, let me say that lately, every evening, Amy and I have been watching a program called Finding Your Roots on the PBS website Thirteen; “Presented and written by Professor Henry Louis Gates Jr., this series journeys deep into the ancestry of a group of remarkable individuals and provides new understanding of personal identity and American history.”  I have gained an invaluable perspective on the varied diaspora of immigrants that have come to the “new land” of America since before it's beginning as an independent nation. The people that were not slaves, prisoners or indentured servants, came looking for a new start at a better life. They came to escape dire conditions in their homelands and would face any hardship to pursue a dream of renewal and fruition. Often they arrived with nothing, strangers in a strange land, and it is a miracle to see present day descendants of these people discovering their ancestors for the first time on the program.

Me and John

Now, I know firsthand what it is to be a “stranger in a strange land” and feel kinship with all the immigrants of every era. Without our realtor John who is an American fluent in Spanish and lived and worked in Mexico for 36 years, along with his Mexican partner Luis, Amy and I would have been completely lost. We both agree that the hurdles of bureaucracy in Mexico for us—with limited Spanish language capability,  and all the appointments, waiting, and lacking necessary knowledge to attain our goals would have left us feeling helpless. At one point I admitted that without John, I would have given up in exhaustion and walked away from the deposit I made on the house. 

The day before returning to Santa Fe we had breakfast with a young man who has a moving business. We found him honest, eager and straightforward. He is recommended by John, and soon will be coming to Santa Fe to get our goods to take to our new home in Oaxaca.

See: Steven Boone artwork

A Shooting Star

 

The mid wife looked up at me from where my newborn child lay and asked, “Do you want to cut the cord?” It was a special moment in the living room of our little house. The doctor stood nearby and my tired but happy wife lay on her back with the baby on her stomach.

Doctor, at birth of Naomi

Morning light streamed in the bank of windows nearby. I took the scissors offered me and cut the cord—separating mother and child. About a foot of cord stayed attached to my daughter’s navel. I hardly could take my eyes off her, marveling at her perfection. The day: January 11, 1980. 

Newborn

Tomorrow would be her 41st birthday. Naomi died when she was but nineteen.

There are countless mysteries in life, and most of them will not be unravelled. I will have many questions when I cross over to the other side to reunite with Naomi and my ancestors. Then, as I stand in the light of truth and divine love, understanding will be given.

Colored pencil drawing Naomi made hours after learning of her cancer

One mystery that haunts me is the dream I had when Naomi was 12. I woke up with a feeling of extreme sadness and dread and then wrote the details down. It was a marvelous dream in all respect—full of awesome symbols of power and beauty—yet in the end the death of a child occurred. I could not understand its importance and even went to a psychologist to unravel the meaning. I made a painting using its images. Then, when Naomi was diagnosed with terminal cancer at age 17, I thought about the dream again. 

I will carry this mystery with me until the end of my days.

In the dream, which occurs at dusk, after witnessing an amazing flock of birds fly by, I ask for a sign and it is given immediately—a shooting star racing through the evening atmosphere, fiery, fast and bright—just above barren winter tree tops. More events unfold, before the sudden surprise ending that left me gasping when I awoke.

And so too, Naomi’s life was short and bright, for especially in the two years of her struggle at the end, she incandescently shed light as her life burned up. 

I am filled with a wonderful sense of happiness. It is an indescribable sense of utmost freedom and joy. When I am in touch with it I just think, Oh, God, thank you for this beautiful body and life. I have learned how to use THANK YOU throughout everything.
  —Naomi, age 18

The book I wrote about Naomi is available in print and digital edition: A Heart Traced In Sand

Santa Italiano

He called on New Year day around dinner time but my phone was turned off. When I saw I had a message from him, at 10:30 PM, I was surprised and happy. “Gosh, it has been a long time,” I thought. Amazing he is still alive—he must be about 89 years old.

Ralph Caprio, a second generation Italian American, always worked with my father and was a steady presence from the start of my life in Chicago. My father, Richard W. Boone (March 29, 1927 – February 26, 2014), always rose to leadership positions throughout his life, and chose to have Ralph beside him. When our family moved, so did Ralph. 

Handsome and spry, Ralph stayed a bachelor—always with girlfriends. He had style, and effused ebullience.  

All the Boone family loved Ralph. He loved us for the family he never had. In fact, Ralph was our Santa Claus. My parents had five children in eight years. Early on, we were very poor. Living in a tenement on Chicago’s south side, at Christmas, there were meager gifts beneath the tree. Then, on a cold Christmas morning, Ralph would arrive at our door, arms laden with the best presents for us kids. A knock sounded and when the door opened all of us little ones would shout with glee, “Ralph!”

I only had to debate a moment to decide to call him back. I knew it was almost midnight in Chicago on New Year day. I know Ralph has the ability to live on four hours sleep daily, and prefers living that way.

I called back and after a few rings a youthful, familiar voice rang out, “Hey Steve, happy New Year!” He mostly wanted to know how I am. He mentioned that my mother and father would be proud of me and then said, “I love you” before hanging up. 

Amy had been nearby when she heard Ralph answer, and remarked, “Wow, he sounds so youthful and bright!”

Yes, he has always been like that.

Pequeño Paso

 “The more you want, the more you lack.” Five decades after hearing the sentence in my freshman college philosophy class, the words have stayed with me. 

And so it is with all my expectations of living in our home in Mexico. They are desires that simply frustrate me. Amy and I are resigned to make progress, “pequeño paso a pequeño paso” —by little steps.

The Mexican government is not processing visa applications because of covid. 

At least our application will be near the top of the pile of requests. We have made our downpayment and the realtor awaits us in Oaxaca to finish the deal. The house is well cared for. We have plenty of time to pack, and make arrangements for moving. 

We took a sojourn last week, driving south in our wonderful state of New Mexico—visiting places I wanted to return to after many years. Amy had never been to Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, or further south to White Sands National Monument. 

Since the city of Las Cruces is close to White Sands, we went and stayed there with dear art collectors of Amy’s—and took time to wander the campus of New Mexico State University where I spent my first two years of college—some fifty years ago when 18 years old. That’s when I took the philosophy course.

On the way back north, we stopped in a town called Truth Or Consequences, then returned to the Bosque where we witnessed at dawn the mass ascension of migrating snow geese from their nighttime roost on water into surrounding fields to forage.

At one point, while taking deep, wonderful breaths at White Sands, I thought, “how can I leave all this beauty?”

Like the snow geese . . . I will go. 

And return again someday.

Pages of a Passport

 “Home is where your passport is.” – Anonymous

From the time Amy sent her passport off to Philadelphia to be updated with her new name, we have thought about it like two lost children. What can we do without it? Neither north nor south, east or west can we venture beyond the borders of America. My gypsy soul felt convoluted. We are buying a home in Mexico. I have made the downpayment and thought that by now, we would perhaps be living in Oaxaca.

Before moving with our belongings, we must apply for and receive a permanent visa from the Mexican consulate nearby in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The documents required must be consistent, and Amy took a new surname when we married—she is now Amy Córdova y Boone. Her bank statements which are required reflect her new name, but other documents do not.

Passports can take up to three months to process, so we paid extra to have it within six weeks. After the first month, we anxiously searched the mailbox for delivery. 

Meanwhile we packed half our belongings into boxes, selling and giving away more. After another two weeks, last Friday the priority packet arrived with Amy’s passport.

The first stamp for her will be Mexico. 

From the 2nd page of US passports: 

"The secretary of State of the United States of America hereby requests all of whom it may concern to permit the citizen/national of the United States named herein to pass without delay or hindrance and in case of need to give all lawful aid and protection."

You can’t have a narrow mind and a thick passport. – Anonymous

Of all the books in the world, the best stories are found between the pages of a passport. – Anonymous

It's Time

 

“No I am not roaming aimlessly

through the alleys and bazaar

I am a lover searching for his beloved”   —Rumi

For years I have been satisfied with enough money in the bank to travel extensively and not worry about a “home”.  After my oldest daughter died at age nineteen my marriage dissolved. My ex-wife bought my share of our home. Debt free, I realized I had lost my sense of having roots. The world called me to explore. Grabbing my art supplies and camera, I took off wandering.

Sometimes, when returning to live in my hometown of Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA, I would go to a beautiful home and think, how wonderful to own property. Then I would search my soul to see if I had desire for such ownership. It wasn’t there.

I have been to the Taj Mahal, the Vatican halls, in mountaintop palaces. And I have been rapturously at peace and content sitting on earthen floors in houses of baked mud in Egypt. I have felt at home on the back of camels in Morocco or on elephants in Thailand. 

Then, impressed by somebody’s home and thinking, “do I want this?” the answer came back no; I have more. The grandness of the earth and its glory is my home.

I rented . . . and could come and go.

When a homeowner, I had always cultivated gardens. Afterward, I noticed an apathy about doing anything “rooted.” Might I be depressed? I wondered. Perhaps the loss of my beloved Naomi had torn me. When she left this earth, some part of me went with her.

I have been with Amy now three years.We married two years ago. For the past two years I have made a summer garden. The feeling of wanting to stop and settle, to be content with small things has come back. 

This week I sent money to a bank account in Germany. It is the downpayment on a home in Oaxaca, Mexico. The German woman who built it lost her partner and decided to move back to her native country. Now, Amy and I are moving from our native country to live in that magical Mexican house we found and love. We will own it outright.

It’s time.

“The world is one country and mankind its citizens”  —Baha’u’llah