Vexations and Conundrums

The Fall

Fall, not the season upon us, full of Walt Whitmanesque descriptions of vibrant colors and crisp air, but the kind of fall

where gravity asserts itself. This topic is suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the topic du jour, the topic of the year.

First, I noticed that lots of my friends were experiencing tumbles. There was the unseen crooked sidewalk on a dark street, the step missed coming down a long flight or something as simple as an uneven floor. Some missteps resulted in minor injuries; others required surgeries due to shattered bones. Some accidents required physical rehabilitation and changes to wardrobe. For example, the first thing to go were glamour shoes, especially the type with higher heels. They were told to seek sensible shoes, usually not as pretty. Women tend to have Cinderella complexes where they collect pretty shoes, so this is not what they would consider a delightful point in their personal footwear history.

I had my own stumbles, but nothing resulting in a major event. I tend to walk too quickly, eyes forward, not down. I think this walking method was drilled into me in my younger days when I walked a few runways, as an amateur model. I don’t recommend this style of walking in one’s later years. One must take the long and the short view when moving to ascertain dangers ahead.

Recently I had a need to seek medical attention during the pandemic and a new nurse practitioner was going to interview me. Lo and behold, she asked about falls. I told her I was doing fine, hoping she would move on to a new subject. “Do you have a grab bar in your bathtub?” she casually queried, pen poised to complete her paperwork. “Why would you ask me that?” I responded. “Oh, that question should have been asked on your sixty-fifth birthday.”

I assured the nurse that I was safe in my bathtub for the time being. I failed to mention that I had devised my own unique sawhorse dismount technique which I’d developed to leave the tub. I had also just installed a gorgeous granite finish tub which would not look as pretty with a giant grab bar mounted on the side.

The next time I saw one of my good friends I mentioned this troubling medical conversation. She looked at me without hesitation and stated that she had those bars mounted throughout her home, leaving me to wonder if I was late to the grab bar party. I still resist.

My mother had a specialist come to her home to do risk assessment. My mom plans to stay in her own home as long as she is able, with assistance hired to help. However, the home must be safe. Her clipboard-carrying expert walked her house, making copious entries, and frequently muttering to herself. When she saw my mother’s pride and joy, her over-a-hundred-year-old bed, four feet off the ground, no steps to get up, she froze. She pointed to the bed and just said, “NO!” I can only imagine the mental image she had of my mom making a running jump, at eighty-eight years of age, to mount this towering structure. Now mom has a short single bed alongside the antique monster. Much safer.

I decided we would do our own version of an inspection in our home. We moved any slippery rugs and replaced them with rubber backed, non-skid types of floor coverings. I placed my heels high on a shelf and put sensible shoes on the lower shelves. We now leave lights on, without regard for saving electricity. The new concern is to prevent medical bills, far more costly than savings for operating in the dark.

Our daughter-in-law is in the lighting business. She sent us battery charged lights to mount along the wall. The lights sense movement, so that if we get up in the dark and step out of the bed, they flick on and light our path. This is so ingenious; I highly recommend them.

Now that we are more prepared, I feel ready to face the season ahead. May we all enjoy a lovely fall, complete with floating leaves and a sweet chill to the air. Katina Pontikes

By Christy Wiseman

Irecently heard a beautiful in-

terview with Paul Mitchell (for those of you who don’t know, he was the retired representative from Michigan, who went into office as a Republican, but later left the party for the Independent party, as did I, and for the same reasons) It was on CNN Sunday night - August 22nd.

Now if you’re still with me, question this: His wish was to give an interview from his hospice bed, but not to have it aired until AFTER his death. Why would that be? It bespeaks a sadder, but growing situation in the United States and perhaps elsewhere as well.

When I first came to Ajijic, I was told it was a “gay free” city. I didn’t care. My first husband was “gay.” No, I didn’t know it when I married him, but I soon found out after and stayed with him for ten years. Why? He was a good man, a loving father, a caring person and a good friend. Plus, a priest told me that were I ever to be with another man I’d be excommunicated. After ten years (I’m a slow learner) I gave up as did he.

In my naïveté I thought I could change my husband and he did want to change or thought he did and could. We were both wrong.

Eventually we decided that a gay man and a heterosexual woman can be dear friends and can have a lot in common, but that differing sexual identification does not make for an ideal marriage AND what one is, one is. We divorced which allowed us each to find more suitable partners. We could still appreciate and value one another as human beings without either of us needing to change. I can sympathize with the challenges being gay or a varied lifestyle choice brings, but I can’t empathize, because I’m not gay. “Walk a mile in my shoes” conveys the idea that what is part of one person’s identity is not necessarily what is part of another’s. That shouldn’t diminish the value of each.

In today’s age, “fitting in” which translates to “having the same mentality” isn’t so much a sexual thing as it is a political thing in many circles.

Now when you meet someone, the first question no longer seems to be your sexual preferences, (who really cares what two consenting adults choose to do in private.) The first question seems to be, “Are you Republican or Democrat; liberal or conservative” and if you are what I am, maybe we can be friends, but if you aren’t, we will be enemies as then I’ll know you’re stupid or worse. The damning assumptions seem to be, if you are conservative you are a “Trumper and buy the whole package and only watch Fox TV” and if you are a liberal, you never watch Fox and anything related to Democrats is good and kind. Be cautious of such broad strokes with such a judgemental brush.

Name calling can result, which belittles you and gives the person calling the names the seeming right to harm you, destroy your business and sometimes your life because of his or her fancied superiority. Where is the love or peace or joy in that? Some lovers of violence might find it, but hopefully you wouldn’t.

Now in schools in the U.S., the Critical Race Theory or CRT is being pushed, which divides us based on our skin color. If, by chance you are white, heaven help you. You’ve obviously had “white privilege” and are the oppressor. If you aren’t, you are the oppressed so I guess that means you’ll find it almost impossible to become successful; examples to the contrary. In truth, harder, maybe, because in some areas or companies, there IS still systemic racism practiced, perhaps without intent or even awareness. There is also nepotism, illegal but practiced. The solution offered by CRT is creating equity. That is a simple solution for a complex problem. Creating equity creates a dangerous attitudinal difference because it gives credence to “righteous hatred.” Face it - hatred is never righteous. Life is not always fair. Accept it. Do your best anyway. It will give an example to someone in need of it. Find your passion. Make a difference with your special talents and hard work.

Equity divides us rather than unites us. It leads to destruction of our right to be wonderfully different, unique, amazing human beings who make differing choices depending on our values and talents. Hopefully they are the right ones for us. Equity also negates the possibility of appreciating that uniqueness and beauty and value in another.

I chose my profession because it was the most meaningful to me, certainly not because it was the most financially rewarding. Does that make me “less than?” or mean that by fate or by your professional choices you have an unfair financial advantage? Continuing that line, should you then be obliged/forced to give me some of what you earned. You choose your path, good for you. I’m happy with mine and with its consequences. Good for me.

Can we overlook our differences and still value one another in order to come together to find solutions for common problems?

Kahlil Gibran once said, “Your work is your love expressed. May that also be true of our lives. Christy Wiseman

The Legend The Muisca Raft

By Robert Drynan

Discovered by peasants in 1856, it is the center piece of the Gold Mu-

seum in Bogotá, Colombia. The raft is a single unit made from a lost art using a clay mold. It portrays the rite of propitiation of the God of Lake Guatavita, located north of modern-day Bogotá, and the initiation of the priest-king of the Muisca people. Gold to the Muisca was not a symbol of material wealth, but bore a powerful religious significance; the recipient of the sun’s energy, a life-giving star, and the source of fertility. When Spanish invaders got wind of the ceremony, it gave rise to the distorted legend of El Dorado. European greed led eventually to enslavement of the Amerindian people and terrible acts of cruelty. European diseases wiped out millions who had no natural immunity to them. Pursuit of the wealth of El Dorado drove exploration of the South American Continent to permanent European settlement.

* * *

The aurora of the rising sun outlined the high tree clad ridges surrounding the banks of the Laguna Guatavita, casting a green-golden patina on its smooth surface, a result of the morning light and algae. The population of the Muisca pueblo, clad in cotton finery, adorned with brilliant plumes of feathers and many wearing golden crowns, plaques and armlets, gathered at the edge of the lake. Near-by priests entered the cave where the aboutto-be-anointed king-priest had been fasting, isolated from light and human contact since the death of his predecessor. They led him to the edge of the water where they removed all of his clothing and initiated the ritual of smearing his body with a viscous clay mud. When he was completely covered, but for his face, gold dust was sprinkled over him until he sparkled and glowed as the golden orb of the sun surged into the morning sky. * * * * *

The golden one, soon to be anointed as the new Zipa was led to a balsa, a raft made of rushes, moored to the shore. On the raft four braziers began to spew smoke of burning moque, incense, drifting a fragrant cloud across the lake. The people began singing and dancing to the music of pipes and flutes. Additional braziers were lit along the shore. The golden one was led onto the balsa and heaps of golden ornaments and emeralds were placed at his feet.

He was joined by four subchiefs, also stripped to the skin, but decked in plumes, golden crowns, bracelets, pendants and ear-rings. Rowers boarded the balsa and it set out for the center of the lake. When the balsa arrived, a flag signaled the end of the singing and dancing. As silence fell, the anointed one cast all of his golden treasure into the depths of the lake, and then he leapt into its waters. The accompanying chiefs threw all their adornments into the lake and waited as the golden mud dissolved from the body of the new Zipa. Once the priest-king had returned to the balsa it began its return to the shore, and the singing and dancing resumed.

Saguipa became Zipa of the Muisca in the year 1536 of the Christian calendar. His rule of the Muisca people lasted less than two years. The arms of a distant empire were reaching out to crush Saguipa, his counterpart, Aquiminzaque of Hunza, leader of the second branch of the Muisca, and their culture . . . and to enslave their people.

Robert Drynan