Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Our neighbor Andrés is out on his sidewalk raking dozens of tough, prickly seed pods from his liquidambar tree. “Malditos loros!” “Damn parrots!” It is late fall and the city’s Quaker parrots gorge on the seeds, knocking the round pods to the sidewalk. You walk through them at your own risk. Trilling notes from high in the treetops tell me the wild canaries have arrived. They, too, come for the seeds.

                            

    I nominate the gingko’s magnificent saffron yellow attire as the most spectacular of the fall colors.
    It rained last night. This morning I take our grand-dog, Frida, out for a walk. She sniffs along the ground and I lift my nose upwards to inhale the exhilarating fresh air laden with rich wet smells. In the distance, fresh snow covers the mountains, so very white.
    Yesterday, it rained and thundered and hailed and even snowed in some sectors of town. This morning our city lies in the white embrace of the Andes. At noon, it is just 45 degrees in the sun.
    One of fall’s small pleasures is putting out the hummingbird feeder. Santiago’s hummers move out of town during spring and return in fall. The cold weather reminded me that I’d forgotten to put the feeder out. I felt guilty. Where would they get their sugar fix? Now on this sunny day, they careen about competing for the feeder.
    Today is grey and cold. The perfect weather to read and savor a thick chunk of dark chocolate. I'd decide it's time to take on a challenge and read Virginia Woolf. I choose “To the Lighthouse.” It is not a book to read in bed, and even in mid-afternoon, I find my head getting heavy. It’s just not a page- turner. But, when I’m feeling more alert, I forge ahead, determined.
    To brighten our garden I buy four primulas. I yank out the wilting petunias from the blue pot, replacing them with the primulas. Since I’m outside, I’ll do a bit of pruning – the hydrangea and my one rose. My aching back tells me to stop.

                    

All of my fall musings seem insignificant after watching the German documentary “Aquarius- Rescue in Deadly Waters.” Shocking. Deeply disturbing. 

                    

    The photographer takes us aboard the Aquarius, the Mediterranean rescue ship, where we witness a boatload of frightened immigrants grabbing onto the life jackets thrown to them and struggling to leave their fragile inflatable vessel to board the safety of the rescue ship. Tears well up as I listen to their stories. Newborn babies are passed to outstretched arms.  In Libya, because they are black, they’re treated worse than animals. They are fleeing poverty and violence, just as the Central Americans arriving at the U.S. border.

 
PLEASE  watch this documentary.

Stories That Don't Make the News

I am a news junkie. I struggle to keep up on events in both Chile and the States. My day begins with El Mercurio, Santiago’s major newspaper. Yes, the paper newspaper. A fast look at the headlines and I turn the page to read the letters to the editor. The titles and the signee’s name determine whether I’ll read the letter or not. The same goes for the editorials. Though they often reflect conservative views, they do offer varying opinions and allow me a perspective on issues of concern to Chileans: the implementation of the educational reform established by the previous government; the president’s disposition to dialogue with the opposition; the furor caused by a judge releasing two men arrested by police who found a cache of arms in their car with polarized windows; another march downtown by university women demanding equality.

    I turn to the inside pages to news on Venezuela, which the Organization of American States discusses its suspension from the Organization; the disastrous volcano in Guatemala; protests in Nicaragua; the change of the Spanish government; Saudi women allowed access to driver’s permits. Surprisingly, nothing on Trump today, but here’s an article about Bill Clinton’s new book.

    Skip over the society page with photos of Santiaguinos enjoying one of the many coffee shops, but take my time looking over the cultural and science news: the discovery of a colorful new species of fish in the waters of Easter Island; new geoglyphs, formed with rocks, found on Peruvian hillsides, similar to the Nazca Lines; a new cellphone application to facilitate the diagnosis of autism and attention deficit.

    Midafternoon, I turn to CNN, especially Wolf Blitzer, for U.S. news. In the evening my husband and I watch the Chilean news which involves a great deal of channel changing. The three main local channels usually transmit the same news, with a depressing abundance of robberies. If my husband is out with the guys, I switch back to CNN or BBC.

    I can take only so much of this “breaking news” and have learned to pay close attention to the stories of the people who cross my path, sometimes prodding with a question or two. Yesterday Elsa came to the house to give me a pedicure. Unmarried and semi-retired, she now does house visits. How lucky I am.  I’ve known her for many years but it is in this intimate home atmosphere that our conversation flows more readily. She spent last week visiting brothers and sisters in Chillán, her hometown to the south. “We were 14 siblings, though 2 died as infants.”

    “Fourteen!” I couldn’t hide my astonishment. “How did your father support you?”

    “We lived out in the country. My father was in charge of the workers and harvesting at a nearby farm. With the harvest money we bought our school supplies and clothes. They had to last for the year.”

    I'd imagined an impoverished farm family, but she banished that notion.

    “My grandfather kept a vegetable garden so we had plenty to eat. We had a wonderful childhood. All that space, and the animals.”

    I asked if her father helped out at home. “The older kids helped care for the younger ones. My father never lifted a hoe. He was the jefe. But I do remember, when my mother was sick, how he cooled her brow with wet cloths.”

    Hearing her story makes the “breaking news” of political scandals and robberies seem insignificant.