Thursday, November 30, 2006
nattering nabobs of negativity
I´d heard good things about a group here that reads plays every other week, so I went to St. Paul´s Church last night to check it out. The performance, Vita and Virgina, was in English and so is the name of the church, so I´m not sure why I was surprised to wind up in a rec room with about 75 or 100 US senior citizens.
I got there early and waiting outside in line, I listened to people complaining about waiting in line, the darkness, the difficulty of reaching the door, the admission price (the performance cost a dollar). The newspaper article that gave the performance time was confusing; the night was too cool, too damp.
Inside, people complained about heart problems, remodeling projects, traffic, the prices at Gigante, the crowds at the new shopping center that opened yesterday. I told someone that I was in school, and several folks launched into the problems they have had learning spanish, the reasons they don´t like the schools they attended or the partners they studied with.
The woman next to me was quite nice and befriended me, but she too had recently been hospitalized and had problems with the nurses, the bill, her remodeling project and the organization where she volunteers.
Retiring in Mexico has to be a very conscious choice. Why come all the way here if it´s going to make you so unhappy. Or do people expect that things would turn out different? That somehow moving here would magically make problems disappear- the way a husband drives, the way a wife natters on. Or at least dull them.
Suddenly I was terrified: Is this where I´m headed? Am I hoping for some sort of magic?
There are a lot of older single women in San Miguel. More than men. At the jazz and blues festival last weekend, one of the performers joked from the stage: "The blues is a single woman in San Miguel without a dog."
Despite their complaints, the three women sitting next to me, all friends, were adamant about how much they like living here. So maybe I´m projecting something onto them, but there was a touch of loneliness and fear in their tight smiles.
Turns out one lives across the street from me, so they gave me a ride. On the way home, they talked about traveling. With cats.
So, it´s official: last night, 1.5 weeks into my adventure, is the first time - though surely not the last - I seriously questioned my decision to do this.
Oh...and the reading: I think it was lost on the audience that on the rare ocasions she complained about her headaches, her depression, her separation from Vita, Virginia Wolf did it with wit and keen self-awareness. But it gave me the weird feeling that the play was part of a larger play and I was living in the middle.
Much as I enjoyed the performance, I don´t think I´ll be going back there again.
I got there early and waiting outside in line, I listened to people complaining about waiting in line, the darkness, the difficulty of reaching the door, the admission price (the performance cost a dollar). The newspaper article that gave the performance time was confusing; the night was too cool, too damp.
Inside, people complained about heart problems, remodeling projects, traffic, the prices at Gigante, the crowds at the new shopping center that opened yesterday. I told someone that I was in school, and several folks launched into the problems they have had learning spanish, the reasons they don´t like the schools they attended or the partners they studied with.
The woman next to me was quite nice and befriended me, but she too had recently been hospitalized and had problems with the nurses, the bill, her remodeling project and the organization where she volunteers.
Retiring in Mexico has to be a very conscious choice. Why come all the way here if it´s going to make you so unhappy. Or do people expect that things would turn out different? That somehow moving here would magically make problems disappear- the way a husband drives, the way a wife natters on. Or at least dull them.
Suddenly I was terrified: Is this where I´m headed? Am I hoping for some sort of magic?
There are a lot of older single women in San Miguel. More than men. At the jazz and blues festival last weekend, one of the performers joked from the stage: "The blues is a single woman in San Miguel without a dog."
Despite their complaints, the three women sitting next to me, all friends, were adamant about how much they like living here. So maybe I´m projecting something onto them, but there was a touch of loneliness and fear in their tight smiles.
Turns out one lives across the street from me, so they gave me a ride. On the way home, they talked about traveling. With cats.
So, it´s official: last night, 1.5 weeks into my adventure, is the first time - though surely not the last - I seriously questioned my decision to do this.
Oh...and the reading: I think it was lost on the audience that on the rare ocasions she complained about her headaches, her depression, her separation from Vita, Virginia Wolf did it with wit and keen self-awareness. But it gave me the weird feeling that the play was part of a larger play and I was living in the middle.
Much as I enjoyed the performance, I don´t think I´ll be going back there again.
# posted by Anne @ 11:17 AM 
