Selling Miracles

I just sold my whole collection of milagros, eyes, ears, arms, heads, hands, hearts, breasts, men, women, children, angels, eggs, dogs, cats, donkeys. A selection of milagros probably only found in church gift shops. I’ve had miracles collecting dust for years, ever since I split from my kids’ father. He kept the collection of precious and semi-precious stones to set in jewelry and I got the milagros that we used to make crafts that we sold to Mexican folk art stores in the States.

I stopped making crafts when I opened the restaurant. I didn’t have any free time. I was raising two kids alone and trying to figure out how to run a restaurant with no clue how to do either. Now I have an empty nest, a busy restaurant and two houses, one that I live in and one for sale. When I moved into the new house I swore I would zenify my life. No more stuff that I don’t use. Nothing that needs fixing. No more electronic cables that I don’t know what they connect to. Socks with no pairs. Lids to containers long gone. Old school books. The trunk my daughter grafittied when she was 9. Why is it so hard for me to let go of stuff? I never thought of myself as a pack rat, but I grew up with a mother who would get into a throw-it-all-away rampage. Being me, I rebelled. I shrugged off my privleged upbringing. I embraced a life of hard work. And I moved to Mexico where poverty makes you more waste conscious.

At one point I had boxed up all the stuff we no longer used and put it in a room with the intention of giving it all away. My son’s ex-girlfriend walked into the room as if it were filled with hidden treasures and kindly offered to take it all off my hands.

“Yes, please, take it all!” And by the next day it was gone and I was left with an uncluttered guest room. A few months passed, they had split up, but remained friends, and Kauil asked if Natasha could leave a few things in the guestroom while she moved.

“Of course she can,” and as quickly as she had moved everything out, it all returned, plus some. It was even more difficult throwing away someone else’s stuff than my own. As if some stranger was going to come knocking on my door wanting that vibrating belt that pulses away your belly fat because they gave it away when they were skinny, but have since gained weight and they need it back!

I have made it difficult for myself, fought growing up every step of the way. But as stubborn as I am, I’m learning my lessons. Learning how to be a little more like my mother who can blindly dump a drawer of junk into the garbage without a worry. Leaving behind a house that no longer feels like home. Smiling back at my snarky self, tongue sticking out, holding up a middle finger. Letting go of tarnished milagros, so the miracles can shine.