Geronimo

It used to be just Husband and I, off in the world on our adventures of thirty years together. But these days, we’re three. We stood in a circle at Tucson airport this morning, Mexican visas in pocket and held hands like a church group or pop trio about to hit the stage. Together we smiled and exclaimed, “Geronimo!”

Back in our desert, the Mojave, our beloved, black, maximalist home sits quietly and confidently at a diagonal, on Geronimo Trail. Inevitably, our house, much like us, would not sit front-facing and uniform, neat in a row of ordinariness.

We were so pleased with our address when we bought our house. The last Native American leader to formally surrender to the US government, Geronimo was an Apache leader and medicine man who led a resistance against both American and Mexican military campaigns. So legendary was his story, they made a film about it in 1939. It became hugely popular and led to his name being catch-phrased by the first paratroopers in training in the 40s, who, in a nod to Geronimo’s courage, would shout, “Geronimo!” when they leapt from the plane. And so it was, we named our home, “Geronimo Station”.

While we hope to never have to jump from a plane, we plan to continue making many leaps of faith throughout our lifetimes. As we explained to our daughter, Magpie, while we feel so grateful for our happy, good life, the difference between a good life and a great life, is being brave enough to try something new. Oh, and the risks we took on this new life though! Deciding several months ago to move our family from California to the Yucatán, desert to jungle (the in between life has never been for us, give us the extremes), was a leap. But you know what? You just look for the signs along the way to assure you of your protected path en route to your destiny.

Today, Magpie and I hit the air, Tucson Arizona to Houston Texas to Merida Mexico and will arrive at our beautiful, old colonial in historic Centro tonight, where we will live for at least the next two years. Also today, Husband, his road dog buddy, Derrick and our furry dogs, Hank and Buzz, set out on a two and a half thousand mile, epic, cross-country drive Tucson Arizona, Anthony New Mexico, across the US/Mexico border at Santa Teresa to continue on for seven days through Mexican desert, mountain, jungle and coast via Camargo in Chihuahua, Saltillo in Coahuila, Santiago de Queretaro in Queretaro, Orizaba in Veracruz and Villahermosa in Tabasco, before finally joining us in our new hometown.

Do you know what the border crossing is called on the Mexico side, entrée to the new country? “San Jeronimo”. Sure, he’s a bookish, translator guy, saint to the librarians, but he’s a Geronimo, none the less! SIGN.

Do you know who our new landlords are, of a house found via a real estate agent on Facebook Marketplace? Australians. (We’re Australian Americans for those of you reading who don’t know us.) Do you know where they live when they’re not in Merida? The Mojave Desert, 45 minutes from our desert home. Do you know what else? We rented a vacation rental from them in Merida, three years ago. SIGN.

Do you know where we had to go to apply for our Mexican residency when months of repeated efforts to procure an appointment in California were futile? Tucson, that place so special in our hearts that we’d visit from our earliest days of American life, to marvel at the Sonoran Desert, the bright, or tastefully subdued, beautiful barrios of adobe, steeped in the yesteryears of Mexico. That Tucson, where Husband has made so much music over the years, should be the place we awaited our fate at the Mexican Consulate, that it should be our exit point from our American life, is simply poetry. SIGN.

During our Tucson holding pattern we’d treat ourselves to excellent coffee in Barrio Viejo. A typical hip, serious place of record players and tattoos, with quiet rooms and carefully curated furniture, there was an old typewrite in the corner, usually stocked with paper because, of course. Magpie would tap, tap, tap, tap, bing whenever we went in and then proudly show me all the layered, crooked letters she’d managed. On the morning of our final, big Consulate interview we were naturally nervous with so much riding on the outcome. We showed up at our coffee spot and Magpie went over to type and called out, “Mama, come! Look!” There, totally out of place, poking out of a slot in the mechanics of the old beast, was a paper Mexican flag on a toothpick. SIGN.

Also, during our holding pattern in Tucson, we attended a Katy Perry concert in Phoenix – tickets offered to me, that very much represent a wonderful work time in my American life chapter. Closing the chapter out this way, also poetry. During the part where they turn the house lights up and Katy looks for worthy hopefuls from the audience to come up on stage and meet her and sing along, she picked out a duo of little girls, seven and nine, in cute homemade costumes. They joined the others on stage and when she asked where they were from and they said, “Mexico” eighteen and a half thousand people cheered and started chanting, “Mexico! Mexico! Mexico!” SIGN

When I settled into my seat on the Houston to Merida leg of our flight tonight and I noticed the 60ish year old (he wasn’t, I later found out he’s 71 - he said the trick is dying his beard which I’d never have noticed) bespectacled man looking at me, open-faced and ready for an introduction, I complied. Originally from New York with a husband, a boyfriend, a beautiful colonial FOUR BLOCKS from my new home, and a whole lot of spare time, I know we and our new neighbor are going to get along famously. SIGN.

There are too many signs to mention. They have literally littered our path for months. We’ve been falling over them any which direction we walk. Getting here hasn’t been easy. It has been uncertain, it has been real work and it has been stressful. But always, time and again, we’ve been shown it is right.

Follow your heart. Heed the signs.

Geronimo! Forever.