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Biddy is a woman of some years: a GenX'er, Riot Grrrl, survivor, traveler, tattoo collector, senior pet owner, music lover, former public school embattled public school retiree and amatuer vegan chef. Biddy Sounds Off is a thinking woman's bildungsroman and pirate radio station some thirty years in the making: featuring episodic writings and eclectic musical selections.
Welcome to Biddy Sounds Off, a place for episodic writing and music I love. I'm Biddy. When people lose their loved ones, sometimes you hear of stories of them, reuniting through dreams. Despite dead accurate song lyrics from Built to Spill, the song is made up dreams. No one wants to hear what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them.
Biddy:Knowing this, I unabashedly continue, the dream I had last night was not a heart tickling renewal with loved ones. I found myself in this dream abandoned by my family in a Colorado snowstorm. So it's a welcome relief to awaken in Mexico this morning. This winter in the state of Guanajuato in central Mexico, I don't think it has reached freezing. After several moments, regaining consciousness, stroking my pets in bed, the realization of safety, comfort set in, and I was reminded of a conversation I overheard some months ago in my Mexican travels.
Biddy:I'd been spending time in Ajijic outside of Lake Chapala, an expat hub about an hour south of Guadalajara. I used to walk into the town square in Ajijic and enjoy an almond milk cappuccino with heavy cinnamon while watching life unfold around me in front of the plaza bandstand. Vendors sold fruits, sugared nuts, roasted corn. 1 of my dad's friends, he's in his late nineties, and I'm not kidding, joked with me that he had been eating corn wrong until he was 80 years old. And that was the first time he went to Mexico and enjoyed roasted corn on the street.
Biddy:My favorite is mango, sliced and rolled in salt, sometimes chili. People lined up to take away ice cream cones. Children chased one another still outfitted in school uniforms. The girls wore braids secured by colorful ribbons, scraped knees above pulled up socks, and battle scarred dogs, wandered forlornly through the action searching for scraps to eat. Where I sat at the black and white cafe, elderly expats soon descended on the place.
Biddy:A lively bunch sat directly behind me. The expats hail from Canada, the UK, and the US. The friends chatted in English. They were boisterous, making eavesdropping easy. The self identified Texan exclaimed, 'There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.
Biddy:Another couple, who'd heaved themselves onto the patio chairs, complained about the cobblestones, which can be admittedly difficult to maneuver, but ever more charming than concrete. Another man complained loudly about the difficulty of finding trustworthy Mexicans to work for him. Soon, that conversation took an unsavory turn, and I began to feel like I was eavesdropping in a Floridian diner. So I finished my coffee and relocated to an empty bench beside the bandstand. Let's listen to some music together.
Biddy:This is what I wanna hear right now.
Biddy:We heard the velveteers with Charmer and the snake, followed by K. Flay with that banger of a tune from 2017, Blood in the Cut. Finally, we heard Black Rebel Motorcycle Club with Berlin. Not only a great travel song, but positively T Rex towards the end, that moment there. Returning now to the town plaza in Ajijic.
Biddy:An ancient local man sat leaning on his cane, smiling pleasantly as he watched the children chase one another. Soon, another English conversation bubbled up nearby. A white woman, retirement age, scoffed loudly, disapprovingly. I looked up to take in her face, twisted in an expression of disbelief. Galled.
Biddy:This woman was galled. Across from her, the recipient of this disdain sat a pregnant person. The gender of this person was not immediately recognizable, nor is it anyone's business. Beside them sat an unleashed gray and black terrier, a scruffy, medium sized darling who, when our eyes met, sauntered over to me. We appreciated one another briefly.
Biddy:I patted and ruffled the hair on his rump and scratched the fur behind his ears. He nosed me appreciatively, before returning to his companion's side, where the dressing down continued. The woman continued to admonish the local dog lover, whose appearance on closer inspection revealed hard times. Their clothing was unwashed. A bed, and you should be grateful.
Biddy:The terrier knows his companion. Whose gentle hand caked with dirt and grime beneath the fingernails stroked the terrier's back. They replied, in English, with immaculate patience and grace, I do not accept it. I am sorry you went to the trouble. I am grateful, but I do not accept it.
Biddy:The woman finally stalked off. I don't understand you. I am helping. She shouted the word, helping. Hi.
Biddy:Hi, Are you helping? I have been called a do gooder in jest by a friend. We wanna help. Many of us want to help. It was late summer and choosing to sleep outdoors with your companion oversleeping indoors where your friend is unwelcome seemed a logical one to me.
Biddy:The woman clearly believed herself to be righteous and did want to help, but that help was conditional based on her limited value system. She was unwilling to consider she was prepared to give. Take it and be grateful, damn it. Sometimes, martyrdom slips in there. I know that's happened to me before.
Biddy:Well, I
Biddy:think I'm helping but in reality, I'm just making everything worse, especially for myself in the long run. But the person wasn't asking for more. They simply had different needs. Not worse or better. This is where altruism can turn into judgment, a way to elevate your own values and yourself by deciding what another person should need.
Biddy:I applauded my dog lover and was moved by their generosity of spirit. Pets are part of my chosen family. And as cumbersome as it has been to travel with them, to keep them healthy and safe when my own home life was fraught with violence. They haven't so far abandoned me in a snowstorm. Let's close out this episode with Violent Vicki and Get Violent, and then Tribe 8 with Butch in the Streets.
Biddy:If you'd like to get in touch, email me at biddybiddybops@gmail.com. That's 2 biddys and bops with an s, all lowercase at gmail.com. This has been Biddy Sounds Off. Thanks for listening.