Amor y Cohetes

¡Hola amigos!

A day’s plane trip and two hours cramming Spanish-language CDs has found me comfortably in vacationland: Cabo San Lucas, Baja California Sur, México.  Parents, sister, niece, grandma.  Sun, ocean, happy hour, tacos, sunscreen, pool, sunscreen, seafood, happy hour, laying around – did I mention happy hour?  In addition to being pleasantly borracho with the family, it’s a week of excess: moderately overexposed in the sun, overeating to skirt the limits of discomfort, lying about and then taking a break to lie about some more.  It’s hell, let me tell you.  I’m only just surviving.  Actually, such luxury and relief took me somewhat by surprise this year (my third year in this place, my third time in another country).  I think it’s because my life – my real life, not this MTV Cribs parody I find myself in – is actually pretty awesome.  Not really something that I crave escape from.  Don’t get me wrong, my body relaxed in ways I hadn’t realized it was tense when I de-planed down the rolling steps onto the tarmac (which always feels so romantic, old-fashioned, pre-TSA) and into the sun.  The sun!  Humidity – warmth on my skin, permeating my clothes, making me peel off layers and bask in it like a lizard. Dios mio: el sol, el sol.  This, in contrast to my Portlander compatriots braving through sub-freezing temps and Snowpocalypse 2010 part 1.  An inch or so!  Stop the presses!  Stop the traffic!  Chain the busses and batten the hatches!  Oh Portland.  I love you so, but – chill.  Out.

Anyway, I don’t mind missing it: the seasonal panic, nor the grating “wintry mix.”  But for all my talk, I don’t know if I’d live in a place like this.  I’ve spent, by now, barely enough time in Arizona to realize that such a temperate life thins the blood, weakens the sinews.  Sure, you can power through triple digit temps as long as the A/C holds out, but can you take a walk in the rain sans umbrella and survive?  Well, pretty face, can you?

Wow, I digress.  My point being: much like the bumper sticker, my heart is in Oregon.  I like my life in Portland more and more – my job is challenging, my friends stimulating, my classes and activities make me feel pretty alive.  If I had that mystical Perfect Habitation, and perhaps that perfect someone… well, then, I’d hardly need to vacation, would I? 

I seem to recall, in previous years, this deep-sigh feeling of “Oh thank god, vacation, now I can relax”.  Yeah, not so much this time.  I was super-excited to see my sister (who lives too far away if you ask me; though not if you ask her, so there’s the tricky bit).  And it’s great to see the springs of my parents’ stress uncoil: just a bit, mostly, except when worrying about calculating pesos to dollars and leaving an adequate tip.  (Dividing by 12.3.  It stymies most people.)  Good thing I’ve got this sweet calculator watch!

Sorry for the lack of continuity.  It is, after all, the happiest hour of the day, and these mojitos are delicious.

Lessons to be taken away: I love my life so much that a trip to paradise doesn’t seem like such a huge step up.  Boy, is that a good reminder to keep on hand: when paying my credit card bill, when trolling Craigslist for non-sketchy cheap domiciles, when stuck in Burnside traffic, when missing distant friends so much I’d almost chuck it all to pack myself into a U-Haul and just GO.  Oh I miss you.  I wish you were all here.  A song I've held on repeat recently says, “I held so many people in my suitcase heart.”  If I could unpack you all, we’d take up all the lounge chairs at the pool, and all the swim-up bar, and most of the beach.  ¡Mis amores!  I miss you, I love you, I carry you with me all the time.  (Maybe  that’s why it takes me so long to pack – ha!)

Buenas tardes, mis amigos.  Hasta mañana...