The Narrowing Passage

 Seven and a half years ago, while in Luxor, Egypt, I had a medical emergency.

The problem had been building for some time, but I had become accustomed to it and dealt with the symptoms stoically. Prior to Egypt, I had been living in Venice, Italy. My habit was to walk many miles each day, wandering through the spiderweb of narrow passages and across countless footbridges, taking street photographs. I noticed increasing pressure from my bladder and found myself making frequent stops to urinate.

Then, while in Egypt, my Arabic brothers—who are like family to me—wanted to take me out for dinner and a boat ride on the Nile on Christmas Eve. The wives had prepared a wonderful meal, and the boat was ready to cast off, but I was in crisis. I could not urinate. The pain was intense, and I had to decline the invitation and return to my hotel room.

That night was excruciating.

Early the following morning I went to my friend Haggag. He took me into the city, and thankfully we found a urologist in a rather shabby office who nevertheless was kind, competent, and immediately inserted a catheter, allowing my bladder to empty. I don´t speak Arabic, but understood my prostate was enlarged. 

Although I had airline tickets to Ethiopia, I cancelled all my travel plans and returned to the United States with medications, a catheter, and a urine bag strapped to my waist.

Facing the prospect of surgery, I instead tried a course of medication that, within days, greatly relieved my symptoms and gave me back a more or less normal life.

Now the prostate issue has become an intrusion into normal living once again.

I live with discomfort every day. I continue to have annual examinations, usually in the United States, and thankfully there has been no indication of cancer.

Recently, I sought out a highly respected urologist in Oaxaca. After performing a sonogram in his office, he said that my prostate was considerably larger than normal and that he could see stones or calcifications within it. His opinion was that surgery would likely be necessary, though he explained that the stones could complicate the usual approach.

Since then have been a battery of pre-operative tests, all of which suggest that I am healthy enough to proceed if surgery is recommended. A CT scan provided much more detail. Amy and I also met with an internist to review the results. He was bright, kind, and exceptionally helpful. He has shared his evaluation with my urologist, and tomorrow I have another appointment to discuss the findings, review my options, and learn what the next steps might be.

Appreciated throughout this process is the level of attention given.

Because I am not fluent in Spanish, every consultation requires patience. Amy helps, and we often rely on our phones for translation. Yet I never feel rushed. I appreciate not feeling as though I am being squeezed into an artificial fifteen-minute appointment slot while someone watches the clock. The doctors take whatever time is necessary to answer questions and explain what is happening. 

From what I understand so far, the usual possibility is a procedure in which instruments are passed through the penis and up the urethra to remove obstructing prostate tissue and perhaps some of the calcified material. An epidural is administered to numb the lower half of my body—so I would remain awake but feel no pain. That thought is not exactly on my list of favorite experiences, but if it helps restore my quality of life, so be it.

I may still seek a second opinion if possible. I have written to my longtime urologist in Santa Fe, though so far I have not heard back from him.

All things considered, I suspect the total cost may end up being similar whether I pursue treatment here or in the United States. Medicare would cover much of the procedure in America, but there would still be travel expenses, lodging, and various incidentals. Here in Mexico, the operation itself is estimated to cost roughly one-quarter of what the same procedure would cost in the United States.

For now, I am gathering information, asking questions, and taking one step at a time—grateful for competent medical care, grateful for Amy's support, and hopeful that somewhere ahead lies a more comfortable chapter than the one I am currently navigating.

TOP IMAGE: 

"Changing Woman" by Navajo artist, Dennis Jeffy   70 x 70 inches, oil canvas,

collection of Amy Córdova Boone

Beyond Words

Improvements come gradually to our casa here in our village outside Oaxaca, Mexico.

Solar panels on the roof have reduced our gas costs by about seventy-five percent. The tires that once formed steps from the driveway to our front door have been replaced with stone and brick steps that I built myself. A patch of dirt outside the back door has become a patio where we hang laundry. On the rooftop veranda, with its spectacular views, we installed a large shade cover. Trees and shrubs have been planted. And, of course, there is always maintenance.

Our most recent project has been the construction of a stone retaining wall along the driveway. At the entrance, where a large dirt embankment rose as high as seven feet beside the gate, there is now a wall of carefully placed stones capped with brick. It looks far better and gives the entrance a sense of permanence.

This is where Diego Vásquez enters the story.

A friend from the States recommended him. He lives in our village and had done work for her before. They had become friends.

Diego and I are about the same age. When we first met, he looked deeply into my eyes with a steady gaze. His eyes seemed to penetrate mine—as if sizing me up, but also revealing something of himself. The moment transcended words.

I speak only a little Spanish, and he speaks no English, yet we have become friends. He is always amiable, always ready with a smile.

Together with his helper, he did excellent work building the muro de piedra—the stone wall.

Years ago, I owned a masonry business in the United States, so I helped design the structure and checked on the progress often. As they worked beneath the blazing Oaxaca sun, Amy and I brought them cold drinks. There were always smiles and words of appreciation, even if we did not fully understand each other’s language.

One day the helper arrived with a gift for us—a stuffed squirrel—"ardilla." It now sits on our front porch.

Yesterday, Saturday, Diego stopped by to pick up a few tools he had left behind. Before leaving, he asked if I would be going to church in the village on Sunday.

In my broken Spanish, I replied, “No. God is in our house.”

He looked at me for a moment, smiled somewhat quizzically, and then departed with a grin.

I smiled too.

Intimacy and Camaraderie

Teotitlán del Valle. Memorial procession.

Living in a small village nestled within the vibrant landscapes of Oaxaca, Mexico, often comes with a sense of isolation. However, there's an undeniable joy that fills our hearts when we have the privilege of welcoming visitors into our home. Recently, my brother Brent and his Mexican-born wife Marabella graced us with their presence for a week-long visit, and it was an experience that reminded us of the beauty of connection. They had never been to our home before or seen our our art collection. 

As they settled into our home and also spent time in a nearby hotel in the city, we relished every moment of togetherness. It had been many years since we last saw each other, and this reunion was long overdue.

One of the most cherished aspects of their visit was the opportunity to engage in meaningful conversations in our native tongue, English.

Despite the geographical distance and time apart, our familial bond and shared experiences transcended barriers. We found solace and comfort in being able to express ourselves freely, sharing stories, memories, and laughter⏤as well as some groans remembering inevitable family mishaps growing up. 

The Tulé Tree. Largest circumference of any tree on earth. Tulé, Mexico, near Oaxaca.

Exploring the multitude of Oaxacan cultural landmarks together was a joy. From the ancient ruins of Monte Albán to the vibrant markets of nearby artisan villages such as Teotitlan del Valle, brimming with colorful textiles and crafts, and Tulé, with the grand tree standing for millennia; every moment was an opportunity to immerse ourselves in the rich tapestry of Mexican heritage. As we navigated the bustling streets, we marveled at the fusion of history and modernity that defines this enchanting region.

However, it was not just the tourist attractions that made their visit special; it was the simple moments of intimacy and camaraderie that truly enriched our time together. Whether it was sharing meals prepared with love, taking leisurely strolls through streets, or showing our home full of art and that they had never seen, every interaction was a celebration of our connection.

As they bid farewell and embarked on their journey back home, our hearts felt full, knowing that the bonds we forged during their visit would endure.

In a world that often feels fragmented and divided, moments like these remind us of the importance of opening our hearts and homes to others. Whether they come from near or far, every visitor brings with them the opportunity to learn, grow, and create lasting memories. And here in our small village in Oaxaca, Mexico, we welcome each guest with open arms, knowing that their presence enriches our lives.

Nothing Short of Magical

As we bid farewell to Santa Fe, and prepare to return to our beloved Oaxaca, Mexico, our hearts are filled with gladness. We carry with us not only cherished memories and experiences but also the kindness and love of the friends who have embraced us throughout our journey. They have touched our lives in profound ways, leaving an indelible mark on our hearts, reminding us of the power of human connection and the beauty of genuine relationships.

Not once in our month sojourn did we have to stay in a hotel or rent accommodations. Friends provided everything we needed and ensured our comfort.

Amy's mural

I have many life experiences associated with Santa Fe, having lived in “The City Different’ for over four decades. Amy too, but especially the nearby city of Taos where her family ancestry goes back four centuries. This return felt invigorating, especially stepping back into a very clean world with all the amenities and opportunities that do not exist where we live now. 

We went to Taos overnight. It is where Amy spent many years and is the land of her ancestors. While there we visited her enormous mural on the side of a wall at the University of New Mexico. Amy then went north—to Minneapolis-St.Paul for two weeks to visit with family and do some work. After she left, I had the opportunity to see my beloved daughter Sarah who lives an hour away, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We went to the zoo there. The day was so hot that most of the animals were hiding or resting lethargically in the shade, but we enjoyed ourselves and rejoiced in our togetherness. 

I had an opportunity to experience the annual Santa Fe Folk Art Festival that draws artists and craftspeople from all over the globe for one weekend. It is a celebration of cultural diversity. 

Santa Fe has a vibrant summer music scene and many nights are alive with free concerts for the community. We discovered the joy of dancing to music alongside fellow residents, joining in the celebrations at free venues located in the charming rail yard and lively plaza. These moments of shared revelry were a testament to the unity and camaraderie that define this city. Traveling bands come from all around to play. While Amy was gone, I went alone to hear the music and often ran into people from my past that I had forgotten.

Sarah at Albuquerque Zoo

I had time for walks in the National forest in the mountains above Santa Fe, and to drive into the Rio Grande Gorge and follow the river for awhile. The days have been exceedingly hot, so it was cool respite to find a stream where I could sit in a pool by boulders under cascading water.

Generous souls have donated art supplies for us to take back to the children we serve in our pueblo. We have two suitcases full of materials and projects.

During our time in Santa Fe, we embarked on various endeavors that required our attention. Among them was the task of selling items we had been storing, which provided an opportunity to declutter and move forward with renewed purpose. 

The time in Santa Fe, New Mexico, has been nothing short of magical. The kindness and love of friends, breathtaking landscapes, the vibrant community, and the invaluable moments of reconnection have shaped this chapter of my life into an unforgettable tale.  In parting, we acknowledge the true spirit of reciprocity and gratitude, for our dear friends have bestowed upon us gifts to share with our neighbors in our humble pueblo in Oaxaca. As we journey back to our Mexican abode, we carry these offerings as a symbol of the interconnectedness we have fostered during our time in Santa Fe. It is through the act of giving and sharing that we can create a ripple effect of kindness, extending the love we have received to those around us.

With my friend Paul White on left

As I bid adieu to this remarkable city, I am reminded that it is the people and the relationships we cultivate that truly make a place feel like home. Santa Fe will forever hold a special place in my heart, and I carry with me the lessons learned and the love shared as I embark on the next chapter of my fairytale life.

Memories We Create

Amy and I left behind our beautiful home in Oaxaca, Mexico, and returned to the embrace of Santa Fe, New Mexico, where we had spent four decades of our lives. As we embarked on this transition, we found ourselves immersed in a whirlwind of gratitude, hospitality, and the remarkable kindness of friends old and new. Neighbors Marta, Mayolo and our comrade and house sitter Azul all sent us off two weeks ago with loving warmth . . . and Santa Fe friends picked us up at the airport to take us to the grand home of a couple who collect our art and offered their place and car for us while they are in their other home in Milwaukee.

With daughter Sarah who came
 from Albuquerque to visit.

Remarkably, in our travels thus far has been the absence of traditional arrangements like renting a car or booking lodging. Instead, we have been blessed with the good fortune of finding exceptional places to stay through the open arms and graciousness of dear friends.
As we prepared for this journey, our hearts were warmed by the knowledge that our Oaxaca house and beloved pet dog would be cared for in our absence. The generosity to take on such responsibility is a testament to the profound sense of hospitality that permeates the human spirit.

Everywhere we have been met with love and caring. We took a trip to Taos and stayed with friends . . . and in the past week we have stayed in the house I built with my ex-wife Jean, about thirty years ago. We are house sitting for nine days and caring for her two cats while she attends a creative dance gathering in Tucson. 

There is an enchantment that comes with staying in a space that carries the imprints of love, friendship, and shared experiences. Especially living once again in the house I built and raised my daughters in has caused many emotions to well up—an amalgamation of memories, laughter, and deep connection shared. I take note and understand it is all part of the context of my life.

Further, we have received donations of art supplies to take back to Oaxaca and give to our poor neighbor pueblo children who come to our home once a week for art classes.

These homes have become havens of respite, offering not only a place to rest our weary bodies but also a canvas upon which new memories are painted. Within their walls, we have found solace, comfort, and the sense of belonging that only true friendships can provide.

When we traverse the landscapes of Mexico, we are continually humbled by the acts of kindness and warmth shown to us by strangers-turned-friends. Whether it's an offer to help us with something important we do not understand, a heartfelt conversation over a home-cooked meal, or the simple act of a warm embrace, hospitality has touched our hearts and reaffirmed our faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.

Same in the USA. We have felt great love and hospitality.

Amy and her mural in Taos

Amy leaves for Minneapolis tomorrow to see her sons and relatives for two weeks.
Jean returns and I will move on . . . to another home. A friend has offered me a bedroom. Then Amy will return here and we will go home to Oaxaca together.

Our hearts are filled with profound appreciation for the hospitality we have received, and we recognize the transformative power of genuine connections. As we continue to embrace the unknown and navigate the winding roads that lie ahead, we carry the spirit of hospitality in our hearts, knowing that wherever we find ourselves, there will always be a place to call home.

In the end, it is the people we meet, the friendships we forge, and the memories we create that truly define our journey.

Buen Viaje

 

Travel has become so complicated. Today’s world is one of peril.

My earliest memory of flying was when I was about four years old. I was with my father in a commercial prop plane flying at night. People were happily smoking in the cabin so it was hazy. My father pointed out the window to city lights gleaming below us.  A young stewardess came, spoke with my dad, then took me by hand to the front of the plane into the cockpit. The pilot smiled, said hello and pointed out all the glowing controls. I could see the vast darkness the plane was hurdling through. Given my flying wings, I went back to my seat. Maybe I remember all that because of the openness and love of that magical journey.

It could not happen in today’s world. The tragedy of airplane hijackings and mass destruction on 911 changed travel. Hidden bombs have blasted airplanes full of passengers out of the skies. Everyone is suspect of evil. People and items are scanned for contraband. Everyone must partially undress before proceeding to the gates, and go through scanners. Multi document checks are required. 

Now, in the time of mass pandemics, even more obstacles must be negotiated before reaching a seat aboard a plane.

In two days I leave Oaxaca, Mexico.  Amy already is in Minneapolis with her family. We meet on May 17th in Washington DC. I will attend a high school reunion and see my brother and his family. Then on May 22 we go to Venice, Italy. We will also visit Assisi, and Rome before returning to Oaxaca June 9.

When Amy left, I started coughing, sneezing and had congestion. After a couple days, it dawned on me that if I have covid our trip would be ruined. Everything is booked in advance. In a bit of panic I went to a local lab and paid 25 dollars for a test. A half hour later I got the result: negative. Good Lord! 

To get into the United States, test results taken 24 hours before boarding is required. I still have slight cold symptoms. 

I have been praying a powerful prayer called the Long Healing Prayer. 

Meditation tells me I do not have covid. I hope it is right.

My neighbor Mayolo, his wife Marta, and granddaughter Frida came to the house on my birthday a couple days ago. They brought dinner and a birthday cake. Then we watched the Disney movie, “Coco”. I don’t speak Spanish and they don’t speak English. No matter.

Mayolo will come get me on Tuesday and take me to the airport for my 10 AM flight to Washington DC.  His daughter Kaoni, son in law Carlos  and Frida are house sitting for us. I saw them today. We went over details about the house. 

The last thing Kaoni said was “buen viaje” or good travels.

Two Doves

 

We all knew it was a message of love coming from heaven above. A once in a lifetime display never to be seen again. It’s been nineteen years since it happened but is still mentioned and makes me think how SPIRIT can use all creation to communicate to humans. Moreover, beings in the next world can give us physical signs that write indelible language upon our souls.

Someone recently read my memoir of my daughter Naomi called, A Heart Traced In Sand, Reflections On A Daughter’s Struggle For Life, and he mentioned the event. The story concludes the book. It demonstrates how life is interwoven through many realms; visible and invisible.

Naomi died of cancer in 1999 at age nineteen after a heroic battle to stay in the world she loved. One year later a group of devoted friends gathered at our home to remember her life. A woman who had been Naomi’s teacher brought materials to make a cord that we all could hold. Small pouches holding sacred objects like rose petals and each person’s note to Naomi were tied to the cord. We all went outside to a lawn and garden then stood together in a circle holding the cord and our prayer bags. One by one we read our remembrance and prayer. The sky had been cloudy and now it rained lightly in a mist. This was unusual because we had been in a drought. A dazzling rainbow appeared beside us. When the last person had read, we all stood together in unity. Suddenly two doves appeared directly above our circle, hovered for a second then dove spiraling downward so closely that their wings almost touched. Down they flew with rapidly beating wings and in perfect precision flew upward again, only to spiral down in place and rise again. The beating wings and precision of their spirals was joyous. It was apparent they came to bring a message of love to us. Then they flew away. One young person burst out, exclaiming, “I hope she keeps sending us messages like that, letting us know everything is okay!”

Oldest Continuing Festival

 

I love community celebrations where friends and family come together for festivity and conviviality. Among celebrations in the United States, the Fiesta de Santa Fe is the oldest continuing festival. It began in September of 1712; 54 years before the American declaration of independence.

The most recent fiesta occurred on the city square last weekend. The Boone Gallery is only steps off the plaza so it was easy to hear plenty of music, see dancing, enjoy food, and arts & crafts. Parades and processions rounded out the activities.

In the final hours a mass was held at St. Francis Cathedral downtown. The original charter from 1712 states that fiesta is to end with a prayerful mass. I went with Amy just as bells were ringing and enjoyed the hour-long service with singing and sermon in the stone cathedral. From there, churchgoers walked with lit candles in the cool evening air through darkened streets to a hilltop nearby, where a huge cross stands guard over the city. Bonfires lit the way. The final parade was accompanied by singing and ended with prayer over the city.

Here are more photos, and videos of dancing:

 

Inshallah

“Inshallah.” This is what Amira said the last time I spoke with her and asked if she wanted to go to college. Her father, my friend Hagag, had handed her the telephone. I sensed that she deeply would like to go on with higher education, but is also aware of her family’s needs. They share a difficult life in Luxor, Egypt with deep bonds of love.

Inshallah means “God willing” or “if God wills it.” It is an Arabic language expression. When I am in Egypt I hear it used frequently, and also, alhamd lilah which means “thanks be to God.”

I have raised money for Amira to go to college. Perhaps it was simple minded of me to offer to help in this way without consulting in depth with Hagag. The family has so many pressing needs. The oldest son had to go into the army after graduation since no money existed for college. He is out now, after serving two years. There are four other children. Amira, the oldest daughter, is about to take college qualifying exams.

Iyah, the youngest daughter, Edleah and Amira

Hagag has a spinal disk problem and needs surgery. He is almost disabled and has trouble doing work on his tiny plot of land along the Nile River. Edleah, the mother, has eye problems. Add to this that the refrigerator is broken and they have no money to fix it or buy a new one. The entire family lives on about two dollars a day—yet if you were to arrive at their home they would welcome you to sit and serve you tea with the utmost kindness.

The last several times I have spoken with Hagag about money and college for Amira, he has sounded unhappy. “Edleah needs eye surgery. The doctor said it is very important.”

I have a new friend, Hazem, who is Egyptian and speaks fluent English. He has a daughter attending college in the USA. We have not met personally, but were introduced through someone I know in Santa Fe. I needed someone who speaks Arabic to talk more in depth with Hagag. Hazem has now personally met Hagag and the family. He reports that Hagag insists that the most pressing emergency is saving the mother’s eyesight.

Edleah and the youngest child, Bilal   (December 2017)

Look how much clearer Bilal's eyes are . . .

I have prayed about what to do. The surgery is a little more expensive than the year of college. But I also learned that college is not as expensive as thought. Public institutions are quite cheap. It is the room and board that adds up—but that can be alleviated by sharing.

At this point, it is me saying inshallah . . .

Deep To My Soul

I am glad I had my paints, camera and pen along with me. Oh, and my laptop. Two pair of shoes was enough. So was two pair of pants, four shirts, socks and underwear. I used the umbrella in Venice a few times. Never wore the shorts and decided to leave them in Egypt.

Everything fit in a medium size suitcase and carry-on with wheels. I never needed anything more and came home without a pair of shoes I gave away, and also left shorts, and shirts behind. The special item I brought back is the Jellabiya, (man’s gown) that was made for me in Egypt.

Oh, the four paintings I sent from Italy and two from Egypt arrived safely by courier. No equipment damaged, over 1,800 photos safely stored, and some foreign money in my pocket for souvenir.
The damage that occurred was in my body when I took a flu medication in Luxor and it wreaked havoc on my urinary system which is already slowing down because it is over six decades old. I had to come home sooner than expected. That was the biggest of the problems that arrived. All part of THE DREAM.

Friendships and bonds deepened. With my brother Wade and his family in Washington DC, with Cristiana in Venice, Italy, Fred the hotelier in Paris, and my Egyptian brothers, Hagag and Abu’l Ezz in Luxor, Egypt along with their families.

 

Perhaps I left a footprint behind in the places I sojourned. A memory that I was there.  My friends remember me, and cried when I left them. They went deep to my soul as well.