How NOT to end the year.

Damon’s last day here fell on New Year’s Eve. This meant that any last minute sightseeing and shopping had to be done on this day, and then keep an eye on any possible festivities that would fall on the evening.

Initially, the plan was to get up and go eat some churros at this great little place nearby. This, however, was unwound almost as soon as everyone was up. Damon was hungry, Tonya was…well, doing something and I was concerned about all staying happy. Churros do not fill one up, so this was scratched immediately. In hindsight, this change would set the pace for the rest of the day. Maybe, it was a small omen…scratching churros meant the day would have a dark cloud over it.

We end up eating biscuits form a local bakery. There is a small list of things that Damon needs to pick up for the family at home, as well as some things for his self. We decide to do a hit and run mission to get these out of the way. We tell Tonya we would be back in time for Damon to do his online check-in at 2pm.

We make good time, talking about this and that along the way. It is a beautiful day and yet noticeably slower than usual. Many Mexicans are out of the city and this had made for pleasant times in travelling around the city. Neither of us was thinking ahead, that when we got to where we needed to be and were ready to buy the goods, how do we ask this or that? What does this mean? We go to assorted street merchants sniffing out the necessary items, and of course, we have no idea how to talk about sole inserts. Who teaches you these things? We manage in spite of the lack of knowledge. Then the question comes up, “How do you say ‘mailing tube’” Of course, we laugh at the thought and at the concoctions that come up trying to pair words together that would make sense. It was funny seeing Damon ask where to buy a carton of cigarettes. Of course, when doing so, hearing the salesgirl explain what was what was entertaining. We had no idea what she was saying, just stood there and smiled. Of course, at the closing of the transaction, we’re always mindful to say ‘Gracias’. Undoubtedly, this usually drew a big smile from whoever we were dealing with. I can imagine what a sight it must be for them, two lanky, goony guys talking amongst themselves and trying to debate which item is better, and in turn, convey concerns and interests to which ever vendor has the fortunate pleasure of dealing with us. Hey…we try! At least we just didn’t shrug our shoulders and say “Que?” If nothing else, we get great entertainment out of the adventures. Mission accomplished, and we arrive back home with 5 minutes to spare.

Damon checks in and Tonya says she will shower. She doesn’t want to go on the sightseeing adventure though. Then the topic of lunch is at hand. Tortas seem to be the easiest answer…and Tonya is not in the mood for that. We have nothing here. All things point to tortas. Tonya declines, but two hungry guys forge on. Literally, we are backtracking on the very steps we had taken this morning. Oddly enough, though we opted out on churros, we are now heading to the exact same spot for our lunch. This place makes great tortas. Damon commented on his just after digging in. They are my favorite tortas that I have tasted here.

Lunchtime conversation is over our woes. Are we having our mid-life crisis now? Maybe, but we exchange stories and talk one another up. Damon glances up and notices the sketch in a frame above our table, “Hey. Look! That is the church we were in yesterday, at Tepotzlan.” He adjusts himself in his seat and grabs his camera, “I am going to play ‘turista’” he says, and stands and snaps a photo of the sketch. He sits back down and comments on how tasty the torta is, and how he is even digging his mineral water in a can. Luckily, the first place we want to go to is literally down the street. Agreeing we are finished, we are both up and making strides to go sightseeing.

Walking in to the convent, they ask if we will take pictures, “yes”. The ask us to walk on through. This was an added bonus. “Why didn’t they charge us?” Damon asked. I don’t know, but I am happy none the less. This is a great place and they have some really fantastic old paintings here. I am anxious to show Damon the portraits of people with sayings coming twirling out of their mouths. He had commented on how he wanted to see some of these from photos he had seen. Now, he has the chance to see them in real life. Sadly, some of the paintings were gone, on a travelling exhibition to Spain. It is also a bit of a drag that the upstairs was closed of for renovations. He is only get half of the tour. Luckily, they had expanded the old convent to join on to the house next door, which housed an exhibition of Mexican revolutionary photographs. Damon had wanted to see some, so now is his chance. He gets to see the doctor holding up an amputated leg, a Zapatista hung form a tree, a wild bunch riding into town and several shots of guys dressed in rags with the biggest sombreros you have ever seen. One particular style of head wear Damon takes a particular liking to, “Do you like the sombreros that have the leaning cone?” he asks as he points to the silly hats.

Maries on hand. It is overwhelming. We wind downstairs into the crypts and get to looking at the mummies. Damon takes his time, and leans over, peering into each old coffin, sizing up the once vibrant citizens. “Look at his hands” he says, pointing at a mummy, “Look at his fingers”. A few seconds later, he calls attention to another’s feet. “Look…this one still has hair”. Gross. The rotted skull still has plugs of hair clinging to the dried skin. After the room has been circled, we head back up and out, on to our next mission.

It may not sound like much, but there is a house nearby which houses a few curiosities. The most obvious one is a two story fountain made out of old china, plates and figurines. The same home also has an eclectic collection of art; one piece is from a Dutch school of painting, very similar to the Bosch style of weirdness. It seems that the couple who lived here were somewhat important, they were definitely loaded and had a great pad. A few days earlier we were eyeing up tracksuit tops with the Lion of Judah on them. There is a constant ongoing joke of Rastafarianism between us. This made me recall the freakiest thing I had seen at this ‘fountain’ house. I told Damon that the owner was more ‘dread’ than he could imagine. One day, while at this house (with my mother, as a matter of fact) I noticed a photo of the husband and wife with an odd character in the middle. It was Haile Selassie! This guy was full-on dread! Who would have thought that the dread figure head would be in the same house with the giant fountain of plates! This alone was reason enough to show my brother. We traipse up a few blocks to locked gates. Damon would have to miss the photo of Haile Selassie and seeing the fountain of plates. We carry on talking and chatting and decide that enough time has been consumed that it was now nearing our regular coffee time.

We go home briefly and check in. We take the dogs out for a walk and decide to grab a coffee. It is around 5pm, and Tonya has been pretty much non-existent today. I know this cannot be good. We head out again and go for our coffee. We chat about Damon’s time here. He is a bit down, and misses his pups. He is anxious to get back to the dogs.

After an hour or so, we go back home again. Inside, I notice that Tonya is yet again, a non-factor. I have no idea where she is or what she is doing. After a while, it becomes clear that she is upstairs on the phone. As she comes downstairs, the dark cloud which has developed earlier in the day when we passed on churros, starts to open up and unleash hell. We have an argument. We have nothing to eat in the house, and we have no commitment to a party that we were invited to this evening. It appears that Tonya has been fielding calls throughout the day regarding this soiree. Both Damon and I had expressed a very clear non-interest in attending. After bickering over useless stuff for a bit, we come to the conclusion that the night would be spent at home, and most probably with a foul mood. It also becomes evident that a trip to the store would have to be made if were to have dinner. I go up and ask Damon if he wants to head out with me to go get some items so we can eat. He agrees. Once again, we head out the door to retrace our steps for the third time that day, to head to the grocery store for dinner items.

Upon our return, Tonya had prepped some stuff for pasta, and was ready to begin cooking. I noticed a strange feeling in my chest, as if I was about to cough. It was well after 7pm now, and Tonya had declared 7pm as ‘tequila time’. So, in hopes of having a better evening I ask the question, “What time is it?” and upon getting an answer, Damon and Tonya immediately agreed to have tequila.

Thankfully, dinner was quite nice and plenty of conversation. We were all relaxed now. Having food in your belly can do wonders for an attitude. Even though I am full, I am starting to cough a bit. Kind of like when you get a peanut in your throat of something goes down the wrong pipe. Not so much a cough, but a hack…like a half-expressed laugh. “I hope I am not going to get sick now” I say. “What if I picked up TB today…” Damon interrupts, “What? You think you got it from being too close to those mummies or something?” He nailed it. All I knew was that somewhere, someone had passed on a germ to me that was multiplying and making itself comfortable. It could have been the mummies, or it could have been the German guy with dirty hands, who made our lunch a day or so earlier. Something was in me and I knew it would not go peacefully into the night.

Earlier in the week, Tonya and I had joked how we would probably be sitting on the couch watching the crap show on Bravo TV, ‘Andy Cohen’s 2010 Wig Drop’ Yes, and that is exactly what we wound up doing. So this is it! This is how we end the year and my brother’s visit, by sitting on the couch watching a flaming queer host a wig drop. There were some laughs and chuckles, and Damon asked who the different guests were. Mind you, he doesn’t watch the ‘Housewives’ of anything. My coughing outnumbered the laughs by a far greater margin. By 11pm, the show was over. The wine was finished and apparently, so were we. The question echoed around the room, “is that it? You guys ready to go to bed…” Damon got up and started upstairs first. We would celebrate New Years Eve by already being cozy up in bed by the time midnight struck.

I must have drifted off pretty quick. The day was long and emotionally hard. The arguing was a real downer, and having whatever germ making itself at home in my chest was a real concern. I figured rest would do me good.

I am not sure what time it was, but I woke up to the sound of fireworks in the distance. It was then I realized how bad I was feeling. From whatever time it was at this very moment, I would not sleep again. I lay in bed, my body aching and a fever coming on. Although my eyes were closed, I knew the temperature was rising by the feeling on the inside of my eye lids. They felt hot. My eyes were watery, and every so often they would release a tear. Each time I would try to re-adjust, it seemed like a chore. My fingers were aching! I had to get up and pee. I could hardly walk. It felt like I was trying to move and my limbs were like giant heavy tree trunks. Tonya asked how I felt. She told me to take some medicine. I grabbed some out of the bathroom cabinet and then took a swig form the bottle of water on the dresser (who knows how old that was!)

When I am sick, I am complete baby. I know this…and so does anyone else who has been around me during such times. As I crawl back into bed I am sure I was over dramatizing the ordeal, but it seemed worth it to me. I found my best position and began to buckle in for the rest of the sleepless night. I could not go to the other room, because Damon was in there. I did not want to go downstairs because it was too cold. I had no option but to toss and turn, in hopes that I would eventually fall asleep. I can’t even recall what I was thinking of. I do know that I was hoping to at least have those far-out dreams you do when you have a fever. I tried to lull myself to a peaceful sleep by imaging what an ideal sick room would be like. A big cozy bed, the smell of lavender, nice pillows…then I realized I was just picturing the elaborate bedrooms you always see on Masterpiece Theater, in those boring English period pieces. I was tethered to reality when tiny beads of sweat would form up and then slowly drip of my back and legs. It was horrible. I hate that feeling. Then I felt like the veins in the back of my neck were getting tighter and tighter, like they were drying out and pulling my head taught as they dried. My eyes were hurting. Once In a while I would open the heavy, molten lids to peer at the window with dread and an odd hope that the sun would be rising.

It was painfully obvious, this was not a New Years celebration, and this is truly not the way to end a year. I knew that by the time morning came I would be a complete wreck. I felt somewhat ashamed and dreaded the thought of actually starting out the New Year sick. Still, if it were to be, I tried to console myself with the thought that the only way left to go from this very point, was up!