Sharon's Roses

This post is dedicated to my mother.

Dear Maman,

I went to the beach this weekend: Mar del Plata. It's a smaller beach city about 5.5 hours south of Buenos Aires. My friend Nikki and I left at 2:30 AM on a big charter bus and arrived around 8 AM on Saturday. The weather was horrendous; it was windy, overcast, raining, windy, storming, windy, overcast and overcast. That day, we pretty much stayed in the hostel we booked online. Nikki and I played Cribbage - she taught me how to play - and we made friends with some of the workers at the hostel and played Cribbage with them. They had no idea what the game was, nor did I, but one of our friends Ignacio got too good too fast. Needless to say, I lost. He kind of looked like a more chubby and short version of Josh Groban: it was somewhat scary.

Sunday I went to church at 9 AM. The priest was surprisingly comprehensible - he spoke slowly and distinctly and most noticeably did not have the Argentine accent. The sun was blazing in a clear sky after the storm Saturday night that I thought it would be a good day. When I left church though, the clouds had returned and the wind was picking up. And so it was the whole day. Being that we were at the beach, Nikki and I decided to brave the weather and lay out. It was basically like being in a sandstorm in Dubai. We left shortly after.

That night, we went out for a drink and a concert at a bar, had our first experience with the Argentine dance club - not my scene. Anyways, we hitched a ride in a taxi back to the hostel and went to sleep so we could get up and seize the day before our bus back to reality.

Monday came and so did the sun, and the heat, and the still air. So we hit the beach. With our sunscreen. Nikki and I laid out for about an hour or two until the clouds came back. We went out to eat for lunch and then decided to hit the road for the bus terminal - a good 40 blocks away. After getting lost (aka passing the street we needed by like 20 blocks) we finally found the terminal and arrived 1 hour before departure time. We caught the bus perfectly and were headed home.

So what I wanted to tell you most was thank you for raising me as you did: for nagging me about sunscreen all the time, for being insistent on a "cover-up", for traveling as you did and passing on that passion to me, for your fearlessness but caution in times of unpredictability that I can reflect, and for your ability to have fun and stay safe that I can also have.

On our aimless walk, I noticed several small Rose of Sharon trees: These somewhat ugly slums, dog-poop spattered sidewalks, and garbage-lined streets had the pop of color and familiarity from my childhood. They made me think of you, seeing their poor fallen flowers on the grass and dirt: how someone should be picking them up and throwing them away. I thought of the slugs that would be inside their rottingness and how it was one of the worst chores to do as a child.

But that made me smile and think of how much I am thankful for you and Daddy bringing me up the way you did. Merci.

Lela